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Overview
On their way home from an April Fools’ party, Belinda and her friends mistakenly cause a horrible accident. Fearing they’ll be on the hook for murder, they flee the scene and vow to keep silent. But weeks later, Belinda’s conscience won’t give her any peace—and neither will the mysterious person who is terrorizing her with cruel pranks. After enduring a series of sickening jokes, Belinda fears that she and her friends aren’t the only ones who know their secret—and that these pranks may be a deadly warning in disguise.
This ebook features an illustrated biography of Richie Tankersley Cusick including rare photos and never-before-seen documents from the author’s personal collection.
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9781480469051 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Open Road Media |
| Publication date: | 02/11/2014 |
| Sold by: | Barnes & Noble |
| Format: | eBook |
| Pages: | 218 |
| Sales rank: | 1,068,079 |
| File size: | 5 MB |
| Age Range: | 12 - 18 Years |
About the Author
For three decades, Richie Tankersley Cusick (b. 1952) has been one of the most prominent authors of horror fiction for young adults. Born in New Orleans, Louisiana—home to some of the country’s most ancient ghosts—Cusick grew up in a small bayou town called Barataria. Inspired by the eerie Louisiana swampland, she began writing at a young age. After college, Cusick took a job at Hallmark and moved to a haunted house in Kansas City, where she began work on her first novel, Evil on the Bayou, whose success allowed her to leave her job and begin writing fulltime. Since then, Cusick has written more than two dozen novels. She and her three dogs live in North Carolina, where Cusick writes on an antique roll-top desk that was once owned by a funeral director. The desk is, of course, haunted.
Read an Excerpt
April Fools
By Richie Tankersley Cusick
OPEN ROAD INTEGRATED MEDIA
Copyright © 1990 Richie Tankersley CusickAll rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4804-6905-1
CHAPTER 1
"Frank and I are worried about you," Hildy said, popping a french fry into her mouth. "You're acting kind of depressed."
"Well, that's silly, isn't it? What could I possibly have to be depressed about?" Belinda gave her friend a wry smile, then sighed as Hildy leaned forward and slapped her palm down on the table.
"Snap out of it, will you? It's over with. It's been two weeks, and it's over with. Besides, we made a pact and you can't break it."
"He shouldn't have done it," Belinda mumbled.
"For God's sake, it was a stupid joke! You know Frank—it was April Fools' Day, and he was the King of Fools! He doesn't take anything seriously on normal days." She studied the other girl with an exasperated sigh. "You're really being dramatic about this. Your mom's gonna start asking dumb questions if you don't watch it."
"Mom's working double shifts at the hospital again. We never even see each other. Look, Hildy," Belinda spread her hands, searching for the right words. "Someone was trapped in that car. I still see him, being burned alive. We were ... responsible—"
"Oh, come on, we didn't make them miss the road. Those people should have been watching where they were going!"
"It's never even been on the news—I keep waiting and waiting—"
"It was a two-hour drive from here! There's no reason why an accident that happened a hundred miles away should even be mentioned on the local news! Car wrecks happen every day—"
"But they don't have anything to do with us!"
"And this doesn't, either. You're acting like this is some huge tragedy or something and—"
"It is a tragedy! I just keep—keep feeling that somehow we'll be ... paid back for what we did."
"How many times do I have to tell you, we didn't do anything. And we stopped at that gas station, didn't we? Well, didn't we? It wasn't our fault it was closed and the stupid pay phone was broken. Jeez, you're driving me nuts!"
Belinda's voice dropped, her eyes unhappy. "I can't get away from it, Hildy. I dream about it. We should have tried harder to get help. We should have gone to the police—"
Hildy bent low, her mouth pressed into an angry line. "Oh, right, what a smart thing to do. You know Frank was drunk—he wasn't even supposed to be at that party! If Coach Jarvis found out Frank was there instead of at that special swim practice ... I mean, Frank called in sick and lied to him! He could be thrown off the team! And I was grounded—I shouldn't have been there, either. You, either. If you remember, we were supposed to be house-sitting while my parents were out of town." The anger melted, replaced by a quiet pleading that Belinda could never resist. "Do you know how much trouble we'd have been in if we'd gone to the cops? I don't even want to think about what they'd have done to Frank in his condition—and if my parents found out about any of it, they'd never let me date Frank again. Look ... we did all we could."
"But what about the man I saw up on the hill?" Belinda said stubbornly. "Someone saw us there—"
"There wasn't anyone there, I've told you a hundred times. Look, it was raining, you were upset—"
"Hildy, someone was there. I didn't imagine it."
"Okay. Suppose this guy was there. He'll just think we stopped to help—which we did, by the way. And why didn't he hang around anyway? Why didn't he try to help?"
"Maybe he did. Maybe he went and called an ambulance."
"Then what are you worried about?"
Belinda shook her head slowly. "Maybe he saw us chasing the car. Maybe he thinks we pushed it off the cliff. Maybe he got the license number—"
"Oh, Belinda—" Hildy looked impatient but tried to keep her voice reasonable. "We've been all over this before. Nobody's come around asking anything, have they?" Belinda shook her head reluctantly. "Okay. I just don't think there was a man. Frank and I didn't see anyone."
"I saw footprints."
"All three of us walked around in front of the car—there were probably lots of footprints—" Hildy bit her lip, and Belinda could almost hear her mentally counting to ten. "I know you've been under a strain—studying, and doing everything at home—and you must be tutoring half the school for exams—"
"Not half," Belinda almost smiled at that. "Almost, but not half—"
"Your advertising sure works. All the cards you posted at school and around town—I don't know how you stand it."
"We need the money, Hildy. I don't have a choice."
"Yeah ... well ..." Hildy looked uncomfortable and hurried on. "Mrs. Larson at the library said some guy even asked about you the other day. He saw your card there and wanted to know something about you, so she showed him your picture in the yearbook and told him how qualified you are—"
A twinge of fear hit her, though she wasn't quite sure why. "Who was he?"
"She didn't know. But I guess that means he'll be calling you."
Belinda nodded uncertainly.
"So ... what? Aren't you glad? This might be Mister Right, you know, just walking into your life and ... what's the matter?"
Belinda shook her head. No matter what, her mind kept going back to the accident, and she didn't want to start Hildy off again.
"I've gotta get to class." Hildy shoved back her chair, long silvery braids brushing across the tabletop, pale green eyes narrowed on Belinda like a cat's. "You'd better get your act together. You're getting to be a real bore with all this."
Belinda gave a vague nod and watched her go, Hildy's miniskirted figure sashaying through the crowded cafeteria and drawing the usual stares. "If it was some problem with cheerleading, you'd be panic-stricken," Belinda grumbled, then stopped herself, ashamed. She and Hildy were best friends, after all. Hildy had never been one to dwell over problems; Hildy hated little annoyances upsetting her busy social life. Belinda had always been the worrier. While Hildy was going out on all the dates, Belinda sat home, worrying about studying, about making money for college, about how she was going to help Hildy pass her next big test. But that was okay, wasn't it? Best friends accepted each other unconditionally, didn't they?
Sighing, Belinda gathered up her books and tossed her empty juice can into the trash by the door. Every time she tried to eat lately, she felt queasy. Better to go on to gym and grab something afterward that she could munch between classes. She checked her watch and began hurrying across campus when suddenly the intercom crackled to life, bellowing its message through the entire school.
"Belinda Swanson—please report to the office immediately—Belinda Swanson—to the office—"
It was as if someone had punched her. Freezing in midstride, Belinda grabbed her stomach and fought off a wave of nausea. They know! They know we killed that person in that car! Her mind raced in a million directions, but as she took a deep breath, a frail thread of calm fought for control. How could they know? Just go to the office and see what they want. Act normal. They couldn't possibly know ...
She felt like a wooden doll going back across the yard and into the administration building. She wondered if Hildy and Frank had heard the intercom and what they were thinking. Stopping at the main desk, she leaned forward, her mouth so cottony that she couldn't even talk. The secretary gave her a smile and motioned her toward the principal's door.
"Go on in, Belinda—Mr. Grumes is expecting you."
And she couldn't quite recall getting into his office, but then Mr. Grumes was nodding at her from his oversized desk and waving her into a chair while he hastily finished a conversation on the phone.
Someone else was in the room, too—a tall, severe-looking woman in the chair beside Belinda's. She was dressed in black—suit, shoes, even her hat—the veil of the hat had been lifted slightly, to reveal cold eyes. She looked about fortyish, Belinda thought, but there were bruises on her cheeks, which showed through layers and layers of makeup. Her ringed fingers tapped nervously on the arms of her chair, and as the color began to drain from Belinda's face, the woman gave her a long, hard stare.
"Belinda—" Mr. Grumes leaned over and shook her hand—"nice to see you. I wasn't sure if you'd dressed for gym yet or not—glad I caught you in time."
Belinda forced a smile, hoping it didn't look fake. "I was just on my way."
"Well, I won't keep you in suspense, though I'm sure you'd never be afraid you're in any kind of trouble." Mr. Grumes gave her a knowing look, and Belinda squirmed against the sticky leather seat. "Belinda, this is Mrs. Thorne ... and Mrs. Thorne, this is the young lady you were asking about."
Belinda nodded and felt the woman's eyes boring into her, as if searching for her very soul.
"Mrs. Thorne is interested in hiring a tutor," Mr. Grumes went on in his businesslike way. "So when she called the school about you, I suggested she meet you for herself."
He paused, and Belinda felt herself sinking back against the cushions, a long, slow breath draining all the fear from her heart. She closed her eyes and opened them again, meeting the woman's stare.
"It's my stepson. My husband's child." Mrs. Thorne's voice was low and agitated. "He's been ... ill ... and it's ... impossible for him to attend school at the present time. His mother doesn't want him falling behind in his studies, so I'm trying to find a ... a tutor for the boy—"
"Belinda's our best student," Mr. Grumes broke in. "Mature ... dependable ... she's very good with people—"
"My husband's business takes up most of my time," Mrs. Thorne cut him off. "I work long hours and have to do a great deal of traveling, especially now. It was the boy's mother who wanted to send him here—it wasn't my idea." She paused, looking" irritated with the whole situation. "My husband's in the hospital at present; he mustn't be disturbed or upset. I thought if you could come in several times a week ... work with the boy on school assignments ... his mother wants him kept in touch with the outside world—" She stopped herself abruptly. Belinda had the distinct feeling she was holding something back. "Of course I understand you must be very busy ... I'd be willing to pay you generously for your time."
Belinda thought quickly—all the scrimping and saving she'd had to do ever since Mom and Dad's divorce ... the painstaking struggle just to make ends meet. She really needed money for college in the fall. And Mom worked so hard all the time ... and it's not like I don't have any experience—all those baby-sitting jobs, the hours of volunteer work at the hospital—with a little juggling I could fit this one in.
"And if you'd like to meet my stepson before deciding," Mrs. Thorne looked away, "that can easily be arranged."
Mr. Grumes nodded emphatically. "His own school's compiled some lesson plans for him—I've looked them over myself, and you shouldn't have any trouble—"
"Mr. Grumes tells me you've done tutoring for lots of other children—"
"Yes, just about every age group." Belinda gave a modest smile.
"She seems to have a magic touch," the principal said smoothly, "for always squeaking the really terrible students by." He gave her a sly wink and Belinda reddened, thinking of Hildy.
"I hear he's very bright," Mrs. Thorne went on, not looking particularly impressed, "although at this particular time ... well ... he's been rather depressed. He's also difficult. His mother's at a loss with what to do with him—she has a job herself and can't stay home—she thought a change of scene might be beneficial."
"You think about it," Mr. Grumes added, reaching for the buzzing telephone. "You think about it and let us know—"
"If I could just have your answer by the end of the week," Mrs. Thorne said crisply. "So I can make other arrangements for the boy if you decide you can't do it—"
"Of course she'll do it, won't you, Belinda? You'll be great!" Belinda opened her mouth to protest, but Mr. Grumes rushed on. "I have every confidence in you. If anyone can make a difference with the kid, you can." He grinned at her, then spoke into the receiver, their discussion obviously at an end.
"Maybe I should meet him first," Belinda stood up, speaking softly to Mrs. Thorne, who was gathering her purse and jacket. "If he's really having that bad of a time, maybe we should all be sure he wants me there—"
"He doesn't know what he wants—or what he needs," Mrs. Thorne replied tartly, then hesitated, thinking. "Cobbs is in town this afternoon, and I have that meeting—Oh, very well, I suppose I'll just have to be late. Give me your address."
Slightly dismayed, Belinda took the pen and paper offered her and wrote down the information, handing it back with an apologetic smile.
"I just wouldn't want him upset, you know, having me there. It always seems to bring out the worst in kids when they get stuck with a baby-sitter they can't stand."
The woman, walking a few steps ahead of her, turned in surprise. "Were you under the impression that he's a small child?"
This time it was Belinda's turn to look surprised. "Well, when you said it was your stepson ... the way you were talking about him ... I just thought—"
Her smile was tight. "You and my stepson are probably near the same age."
"Oh ... well ..."
"Adam Thorne," she said. "He just turned eighteen. In spite of the accident."
The woman's tone of voice chilled Belinda, and she stared at Mrs. Thorne, as if from a long way off.
"Adam ... was in an. accident?" she asked weakly.
"You're a very polite girl, but you must have noticed my injuries. It's a miracle I lived through it at all. It's a miracle any of us did." They came out into the daylight and Mrs. Thorne adjusted her black veil with trembling fingers. "My husband isn't going to make it, Belinda." Her voice sank to a bitter whisper. "And now I'm stuck with Adam. All because of that car accident two weeks ago."
CHAPTER 2When Belinda got to her locker, Hildy was already there waiting for her.
"Belinda! God, what happened? I heard the intercom and—"
"We've got to talk," Belinda said. She grabbed her books and steered Hildy outside, weaving through the swarms of students heading for home. As they ducked beneath an outside stairwell, Belinda glanced around to make sure they hadn't been noticed, while Hildy huddled there looking frightened.
"Belinda, tell me. Is it about ... you know ..."
"Mr. Grumes wants me to tutor some boy. Hildy, the guy's a senior, and he can't go to school."
Hildy stared at her. "So? Is he contagious or something?"
"No! He was in a car wreck two weeks ago." Belinda stepped back, waiting for her friend's reaction—panic, guilt, something—but Hildy still looked blank. Belinda grabbed her shoulder and shook her. "Did you hear me? Did you hear what I said—"
"Hey, what's going on?" Frank suddenly appeared out of nowhere and slipped between them, his handsome features locked in a frown. "Is this a fight? No hair pulling or blouse ripping without the referee." He grinned wickedly and looked down at Belinda. "So what was that little trip to Grumes's office all about?"
For a moment neither girl spoke. Then Hildy began to laugh as Belinda gazed on in disbelief.
"Hildy, this is not funny! Don't you under—"
"Oh, but it is funny." Hildy couldn't stop giggling, and Frank leaned back, watching them both in growing amusement. "It's funny 'cause you're so predictable! Oh, poor Belinda— I'm sorry, but—"
"So what's this great joke, anyway?" Frank demanded. "What'd I miss?"
"It's not a joke," Belinda said quietly. She stared down at the ground, praying she wouldn't start to cry. She always cried at the wrong times. And then they'd just make fun of her some more, and why can't they see how serious this is.... She felt Hildy's hand on her arm and reluctantly raised her eyes.
"Belinda, look, it's just so funny, I—"
"It's not funny, Hildy. It's horrible. Don't you see what it means?"
"No, I don't. But I thought, by the way you were acting, that ... well, you know. I'm just so relieved, you scared me half to death—"
"Well, great, but will one of you please tell me what's going on, so I can share in all this fun?" Frank crossed his arms over his chest, and Hildy gave Belinda an encouraging pat.
"Go on. Start at the beginning."
Belinda swallowed ... nodded. "Some woman came to see Mr. Grumes. Her stepson's staying with her, and he needs a tutor." They were staring at her so intently now that she paused, and Frank shifted his gaze briefly to Hildy's.
"Well, okay, so what?"
"I'm not sure what's wrong with him, but he can't go to school. The woman—Mrs. Thorne—had bruises on her face and said her husband's dying—all from this car accident they were in two weeks ago." Belinda stopped, pressed her hand to her mouth. For a moment there was just the soft popping of Hildy's gum.
"Belinda—" Frank said carefully, "you don't really think—"
"Two weeks, Frank. Two weeks!"
"Yeah, okay, I know, but wrecks happen every single day and what're the chances of—"
"Where did it happen?" Hildy butted in. "Did she say where it happened?"
"Well ... no."
"Then it could have been anywhere. Frank's right, Belinda, I think you're really stretching it."
"Give it a rest, huh?" Frank patted her on the back. "You're making yourself crazy for no reason. You're seeing ghosts in every corner."
Belinda looked back at them, reading their patronizing expressions. She sighed and turned away. "I'm not going to take the job."
(Continues...)
Excerpted from April Fools by Richie Tankersley Cusick. Copyright © 1990 Richie Tankersley Cusick. Excerpted by permission of OPEN ROAD INTEGRATED MEDIA.
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