A stupid thing

Melissa pulled on jeans and a sweater and hurried to The Corner, the small coffee shop near Shadyside High.

Dave was already in a booth in the back when she arrived. He was wearing a faded, blue-denim work shirt with the collar turned up. He was tapping the tabletop nervously with a blade from his Swiss army knife.

He looked up as Melissa slid in across from him, but didn’t smile. His small, dark eyes were red rimmed and tired looking, Melissa noticed. His long, black hair was unbrushed.

“Hi,” she said tentatively. “You look terrible! Did you hear about Josie?”

He folded up the knife and set it down on the white Formica tabletop. He nodded. “Yeah, I just heard it on the news.”

“I can’t believe it!” Melissa exclaimed. “I mean, I just saw Josie on Friday. And now, this morning...”

The waitress, a short young woman with frizzy orange hair, stepped up to the table and set down two water glasses. “You need menus?”

They shook their heads and ordered omelets and fries.

“It’s so horrible,” Melissa continued after the waitress had walked away. “I haven’t been to their house yet, but my mom called over there, and they’re all in shock.”

Dave shook his head, but didn’t say anything. He slid the red-handled knife back and forth across the table from hand to hand. They sat in silence for a while.

“I mean, murdered,” Melissa said, shuddering at the thought of it. “It can’t be.” She took a sip of water.

Dave remained silent, continuing to slide the knife, his eyes on the table.

Melissa sighed. “I heard the police are questioning Steve,” she said.

“That’s what I have to talk to you about,” Dave said with sudden urgency. He closed his left hand over the knife and held it in place on the table.

“Huh?” Melissa stared at him, bewildered.

“I don’t know how to say it,” Dave said uncomfortably, his dark eyes burning into hers.

“You—you know something about the murder?” Melissa stammered.

“Listen to me,” Dave said heatedly. “Just listen. I did a stupid thing. A very stupid thing.” He stopped to take a deep breath.

“Dave,” Melissa started reluctantly. “Did you—”

“Who gets the one with extra cheese?” the waitress interrupted, balancing the tray of dishes on her hip.

As the waitress set the omelets and fries down, talking all the while, Melissa stared across the table at Dave. She felt a heavy dread moving up from the pit of her stomach.

What was Dave starting to tell her?

He looked so guilty. So frightened.

How horrible was the secret he was about to reveal?

The waitress finally finished and, slapping the tray against the side of her uniform, headed up toward the front.

Dave stared down at his food but didn’t begin to eat it. His eyes darted nervously around the small restaurant, as if making sure no one was listening.

“Dave, what were you trying to tell me?” Melissa asked.

The smell of the grease was starting to make her feel sick.

Or was it the tension?

Dave cleared his throat nervously. “I did a really stupid thing,” he repeated, avoiding her stare. “I sent Josie some valentines.”

Melissa’s mouth dropped open. Is that all? she asked herself, feeling a little relieved.

“Valentines? To Josie?” she asked, her high-pitched voice revealing surprise. “But what’s the big deal?”

“You don’t get it,” Dave said, frowning. Melissa saw that beads of perspiration had broken out across his forehead. “I sent her special valentines. It was so stupid, I can’t believe I did it.”

“I knew you were still hung up on her,” Melissa said, allowing some anger to creep into her voice.

“No—wait—I wrote things on the valentines I sent to her,” Dave confessed, blushing.

“What kind of things?” Melissa demanded, feeling sick. She shoved the french fries away from under her nose.

“Well... uh...” Dave hesitated. Then he let it all out in a burst of words. “I wrote rhymes on the cards. I crossed out the words that were there and wrote my own rhymes. I said—I said she was going to die on Valentine’s Day.”

“Huh?”

Again Dave glanced quickly, nervously, around the restaurant. It was deserted except for an elderly couple having scrambled eggs at the counter.

“It was supposed to be a joke. I was so angry at Josie. I hated her so much,” Dave said, struggling to explain, searching for every word, his face still bright red. “I don’t know why I did it, really. It was stupid.”

Tapping his fingers nervously on the tabletop, he looked away.

Melissa took a deep breath. His words seemed to be swimming around in her mind, bobbing around, not making any sense. “You sent her death threats?” she asked.

“No,” Dave answered heatedly. “Well, yes. I mean, not real ones. It was a joke. I wasn’t serious, but—”

“Is everything okay?” the waitress asked, appearing beside the table once again. “Can I bring you anything else?”

“We—uh—haven’t started yet,” Melissa told her, glancing down at the untouched food.

“Well, I can’t eat it for you!” the waitress joked, and headed back toward the kitchen, laughing uproariously.

“So you sent Josie cards saying she was going to die on Valentine’s Day?” Melissa asked, still trying to comprehend what had happened. “Did you sign them?”

“No,” Dave snapped. “No way. But, don’t you see, Melissa? I sent the cards, and then she was killed on Valentine’s Day. I—”

“Oh, no!” Melissa gasped. “When the police see the cards, they’ll think you killed Josie.”

Dave nodded in agreement, but didn’t speak.

Staring across the table at him, sick and frightened and confused all at once, Melissa felt a sudden chill, a chill of suspicion.

“Dave,” she said, staring hard at him, her voice a low whisper. “Dave, tell me. You didn’t kill her, did you?”

Дата добавления: 2015-07-20