Free The Yearbook by Peter Lerangis Page B
Authors: Peter Lerangis
did you know?”
“I … was the one who found it.”
“Well, thanks. That’s what I get for exchanging rings with old Pigskinhead.” She held up an enormous ring hanging around her neck. “Do I lose his? Noooo. Wait till I get my hands on him. You haven’t seen him today, have you?”
“No.”
“Well, if you do, let him know I’m after him.”
“Rachel — ” I blurted as she started to run off.
“What?”
My head spun. I tried to picture the foot, but I couldn’t. Was it male? Female? Could it have been John’s?
“Earth to David,” she said. “Come in.”
“Um … nothing,” I replied.
I ran to English. John was absent. I sat through forty agonizing minutes of William Faulkner, then headed straight for the Voyager office.
I punched John’s number on the yearbook phone.
“Hello,” said a stiff voice. “You have reached the Christopher residence. We cannot come to the phone right now, so — ”
I hung up and tried the police station. I was put right through to the chief.
“Hayes.”
“This is David Kallas, Chief. I found out that Rachel Green had actually given her ring to a guy named John Christopher. That’s C-H-R — ”
“David, I know,” he interrupted. “We found him.”
My throat instantly parched. “Alive?”
“No.”
Chapter 18
I DROPPED THE PHONE.
“David!” Chief Hayes’s voice boomed through the room, even from the phone receiver on the floor. “Are you there?”
I picked it up. “Uh-huh.”
“David, I need your help. Did you know the boy?”
“Uh-huh.”
“How about Arnold?”
“A little.”
“Can you think of any connection between the two? Were they friends? Enemies? Did they belong to the same teams or clubs?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Well, call me if you think of anything, okay? I’m working with the parents, but the families don’t know each other. Serial killers tend to work in patterns. If we figure it out, we can set a trap.”
“Is that what you think this is, a serial killer?”
“Could be. Could also be a copycat who’d read about the killings in 1950.”
“What do you really think?”
He was silent for a moment, then let out a loud breath. “I wish I could answer that.”
“Me, too,” I said. “I’ll do the best I can, Chief Hayes.”
“Thanks. See you, buddy. I know it’s hard. Believe me.”
I let the phone drop into the cradle. I was numb.
John was my friend. I had known him since second grade.
This was getting too close to home.
I waited for Ariana outside the cafeteria before lunch. That was usually the time we crossed paths.
The cafeteria was at the end of the main hallway. Through the crowd I could see Jason, yammering to a tall, young black guy with a terrible skin condition on his face. I assumed he was the Penn State alumnus. The guy was nodding patiently, probably wondering how the admissions committee could have made such a mistake.
I watched them disappear down a hallway. Ariana was approaching from the opposite direction.
“I have nothing to say to you,” she said as she swept past me into the cafeteria.
I followed behind her. “Ariana, something really horrible has happened — ”
“Yeah?” She took a tray and slid it along the metal track. “Well, try not to think about it. A little repression is healthy. You’d be surprised how well it works.”
“Ariana— ”
“I’m having lunch with Stephen, if you don’t mind.”
“Ariana, John is dead.”
Her hand knocked over a salad bowl. She turned to me, her eyes wide with disbelief. “John … Christopher?”
“Those feet we saw in the pipe — ”
“Oh, no.” Her voice was a whisper. Her face blanched.
“We need to talk,” I said.
I took her by the arm and left the cafeteria. Just outside the door was a group of seniors, mostly cheerleaders and jocks.
One of them shouted, “The yearbook dudes! Yo, how about this one: Leo Franken, jock and flirt, grinds opponents in the dirt!”
“Hey, you guys keeping the
“I … was the one who found it.”
“Well, thanks. That’s what I get for exchanging rings with old Pigskinhead.” She held up an enormous ring hanging around her neck. “Do I lose his? Noooo. Wait till I get my hands on him. You haven’t seen him today, have you?”
“No.”
“Well, if you do, let him know I’m after him.”
“Rachel — ” I blurted as she started to run off.
“What?”
My head spun. I tried to picture the foot, but I couldn’t. Was it male? Female? Could it have been John’s?
“Earth to David,” she said. “Come in.”
“Um … nothing,” I replied.
I ran to English. John was absent. I sat through forty agonizing minutes of William Faulkner, then headed straight for the Voyager office.
I punched John’s number on the yearbook phone.
“Hello,” said a stiff voice. “You have reached the Christopher residence. We cannot come to the phone right now, so — ”
I hung up and tried the police station. I was put right through to the chief.
“Hayes.”
“This is David Kallas, Chief. I found out that Rachel Green had actually given her ring to a guy named John Christopher. That’s C-H-R — ”
“David, I know,” he interrupted. “We found him.”
My throat instantly parched. “Alive?”
“No.”
Chapter 18
I DROPPED THE PHONE.
“David!” Chief Hayes’s voice boomed through the room, even from the phone receiver on the floor. “Are you there?”
I picked it up. “Uh-huh.”
“David, I need your help. Did you know the boy?”
“Uh-huh.”
“How about Arnold?”
“A little.”
“Can you think of any connection between the two? Were they friends? Enemies? Did they belong to the same teams or clubs?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Well, call me if you think of anything, okay? I’m working with the parents, but the families don’t know each other. Serial killers tend to work in patterns. If we figure it out, we can set a trap.”
“Is that what you think this is, a serial killer?”
“Could be. Could also be a copycat who’d read about the killings in 1950.”
“What do you really think?”
He was silent for a moment, then let out a loud breath. “I wish I could answer that.”
“Me, too,” I said. “I’ll do the best I can, Chief Hayes.”
“Thanks. See you, buddy. I know it’s hard. Believe me.”
I let the phone drop into the cradle. I was numb.
John was my friend. I had known him since second grade.
This was getting too close to home.
I waited for Ariana outside the cafeteria before lunch. That was usually the time we crossed paths.
The cafeteria was at the end of the main hallway. Through the crowd I could see Jason, yammering to a tall, young black guy with a terrible skin condition on his face. I assumed he was the Penn State alumnus. The guy was nodding patiently, probably wondering how the admissions committee could have made such a mistake.
I watched them disappear down a hallway. Ariana was approaching from the opposite direction.
“I have nothing to say to you,” she said as she swept past me into the cafeteria.
I followed behind her. “Ariana, something really horrible has happened — ”
“Yeah?” She took a tray and slid it along the metal track. “Well, try not to think about it. A little repression is healthy. You’d be surprised how well it works.”
“Ariana— ”
“I’m having lunch with Stephen, if you don’t mind.”
“Ariana, John is dead.”
Her hand knocked over a salad bowl. She turned to me, her eyes wide with disbelief. “John … Christopher?”
“Those feet we saw in the pipe — ”
“Oh, no.” Her voice was a whisper. Her face blanched.
“We need to talk,” I said.
I took her by the arm and left the cafeteria. Just outside the door was a group of seniors, mostly cheerleaders and jocks.
One of them shouted, “The yearbook dudes! Yo, how about this one: Leo Franken, jock and flirt, grinds opponents in the dirt!”
“Hey, you guys keeping the