Killer's Kiss (11 page)
Authors: R.L. Stine
B
oth detectives turned to Delia. They narrowed their eyes to study her lips.
Her purple lipstick.
Then they stared down at the purple lip print on Vincent's cheek.
“No!” Delia gasped, raising her hands to her face.
Detective Jamison scribbled something in his little spiral notebook.
“When was the last time you saw the boy?” Detective Bender asked.
“He ⦠he drove me home last night,” Delia replied shakily. “We got to my house at about onethirty.”
“When I showed up at Delia's this morning, she
still had on her pajamas,” Britty volunteered. Her voice sounded high and squeaky. Nervous. “She couldn't have been here early this morning. I know she hadn't been awake longâ”
“And we all drove over here together,” Gabe chimed in.
“We'll need all three of you to give us statements,” the tall detective told them. “For now I want you to stay here and wait for your parents. You called themâright?”
Delia and the others nodded.
They turned away from the body.
“Everyone at Shadyside High knows that I always wear Midnight Wine,” Delia said quietly. “Somebody wanted me to appear guilty. I wonder who ⦔
A man with two cameras strapped around his neck hurried over to Vincent's body. A woman with super-short blond hair followed him. She carried a small briefcase with her. Delia watched as she kneeled, set the case down near the body, flipped it open, and began taking fingerprints and collecting fibers.
“Karina has been so out-of-control,” Delia whispered to her friends. “Sheâshe tied me to her bed to keep me from Vincent's party. But you don't think she
killed
Vincentâdo you?”
“I don't know
what
to think,” Gabe replied, shaking his head.
“Why would she do it?” Britty asked thought
fully. “She was crazy about Vincent. Crazy enough to tie you up. So why would she kill him?”
“Delia, try to stay calm when you talk to the police,” Gabe whispered. “Just tell them the truth. You don't have anything to worry about. And don't start accusing Karina. Let them find out the truth. If you start accusing Karina, you'll soundâ”
“What?” Delia demanded, her voice low and hard.
Gabe hesitated. “Guilty,” he muttered. “You'll sound as if you're trying to throw the blame on someone else.”
“You think I killed him?” Delia asked shrilly.
“No way!” Gabe protested.
“Of course not!” Britty echoed.
“I just don't want you to look bad to the police. When they are ready to question us, we'll tell them everything that happened at the party,” Gabe said. “They can talk to every person there if they want to.”
“Here comes one of the detectives,” Britty announced.
Detective Bender hurried toward them. Now what? Delia wondered. She couldn't stand being in this room much longer. So close to Vincent's body.
If I have to stay much longer, she thought, I'll start screaming. I know I won't be able to stop. They will have to drag me out of here in a straitjacket.
“Your parents are out front,” the detective told
her. “I'd like you all to come back to the office with me and answer some questions.”
Delia stared at him. His blue eyes narrowed, studying her face. They reminded Delia of X-ray machines. He can study the inside of my head, she thought. He knows everything that's going on in there.
That's crazy, Delia scolded herself.
“You and your parents can ride in my car,” Detective Bender said. He gazed at the bruises on Delia's wrists. “I think you probably have a lot to tell me, Delia.”
Delia suddenly lost control. “I didn't do it! I know that's what you think!” she blurted out. Her voice echoed in the empty room.
“I see you staring at the purple lipstick on his cheek!” Delia cried. “You think I killed him. You all think it. But I didn't do it! I
didn't!
Doesn't anyone believe me?”
23
“I
told you already.” Delia sighed. “I drove to the house with Gabe and Britty,” Delia answered. “We all walked in together. To help Vincent clean up. I ⦠I don't remember who saw him lying on the floor first. I guess it was me.”
Delia had her elbows on the table, her head resting in her hands. There was no air in the tiny room. The ceiling light glared in her eyes.
Didn't they get tired of hearing the same story over and over again? What would it take to make them believe her?
Detective Jamison signaled Detective Bender from outside the interviewing room. “I'll be right back, and we'll go over all this again,” he said.
Delia slumped back in the hard wooden chair.
She stared around the room. She needed something to take her mind off the police and all their questions.
But the cork bulletin board across from her was emptyâexcept for dozens and dozens of tiny pinholes. And everything else in the room seemed to have been dipped in a big can of tan paint. Tan walls, tan chairs, tan table, tan floor.
A jar of powdered creamer, a stack of napkins, packets of sugar, and some coffee stirrers stood at one end of the table. Nothing else. Delia poured a little of the creamer onto the table and drew tiny pictures in it with one of the stirrers.
I'm going nuts in here, Delia thought. She chipped some of the nail polish off her thumb. Then she reached for her purse. She pulled out a tube of Midnight Wine.
Wait! What am I doing?
Now is
not
the time to be touching up my lipstick!
Delia tapped her fingernails against the tabletop. They can't really think I'm guilty. Everyone at school knows how much I cared about Vincent.
But they did suspect her.
She knew they did.
She could tell by the way they watched her. By the way they asked the same questions again and again.
An officer entered the room. He didn't say a
word to Delia. He strode over to the corkboard and pinned two photos on it. Then he turned and left.
Delia leaned forward and studied the photos. Photos just taken at the house on Fear Street.
One showed the purple lip print on Vincent's cheek. The other showed a close-up of Delia's face.
Detective Jamison and Detective Bender entered the room. They sat down across from Delia. Both turned to study the photos.
“Well, what do you know?” Detective Bender commented. He leaned across the table. “I think your parents had better call an attorney for you, Delia.”
“Huh?” Delia's temples throbbed. She jerked straight up in the chair. “What do you mean?”
“Take a look at your lips and the lip print on the body,” Officer Jamison said softly.
Officer Bender shook his head. “They're a perfect match.”
24
“T
heyâthey match?” Delia gasped. “But ⦠that's
impossible!”
She took a deep breath. Tried to force herself to stay calm. Sounding panicked would only make things worse. It would only make her appear more guilty.
She could feel sweat dripping down her forehead. She grabbed a napkin off the table and blotted it away.
She studied the photos. Yes. Her lips and the lip print were definitely identical. No mistaking that.
“It doesn't make any sense,” Delia insisted. “I'm telling youâI didn't kill Vincent. Why would I kiss himâand then kill him?”
“You tell us,” Detective Bender replied sharply. His voice held a new coldness.
Detective Jamison flipped through the pages of his little spiral notebook. Reviewing his notes.
Delia shredded the paper napkin between her fingers. Then she reached for another.
How can I convince them? she thought. How?
She ripped up another napkin and let the shreds fall to the table.
Detective Bender heaved himself out of the chair and leaned across the table. “The lips match perfectly,” he told her. “Pictures don't lie. Why don't you tell usâ”
“No.” Detective Jamison interrupted him. He gazed at Delia sternly. “Don't say another word. Not until your parents get an attorney here.”
Delia snatched another napkin from the pile on the table. She didn't shred it. She crumpled it into a ball and held it clenched in her hand.
Stay calm, she ordered herself. You must stay calm.
She crossed over to the bulletin board. The photo of Vincent's cheek made her eyes sting with tears. How many times had she seen him with a Midnight Wine lip print on his face?
We had so many good times together, she thought. Hanging out in the Burger Barn after school. Dancing close at Red Heat. Snuggling on the couch in his family room.
She swallowed hard, and turned her attention to the other photo. The one of her own lips.
“They are a perfect match,” she murmured. She gazed at the lip print on Vincent's cheek. Then at her own lips.
Back and forth. Back and forth.
The lip print. Her lips.
She gazed back and forth between the photos.
Then she spun around and faced the detectives.
“Those aren't my lip prints on Vincent's face!” Delia exclaimed. “And I can prove it!”
25
D
etective Bender's eyes went wide. He glanced at his partner, then turned back to Delia.
Delia allowed a smile to spread over her face. “I'm innocent! And I can prove it! I can prove it!”
Detective Jamison ran his hand over his bony jaw. “Go ahead,” he urged softly.
Delia spun back around to face the board. “My lips and the lip print
do
match. But they shouldn't!”
Detective Bender appeared totally confused. But Detective Jamison didn't. He narrowed his eyes and studied the photos. “Keep going,” he instructed.
“If I kissed Vincent,” she explained, “the lip
print on his cheek wouldn't appear the way my lips do in the photo. The print would be reversed.
“Huh?” Detective Bender grunted.
Delia hurried around the table and picked up her purse. She rummaged through and found her new tube of Midnight Wine. She carefully applied a coat to her lips.
Then she pulled out a scrap of paper. She kissed it, and held it up to the detectives. “If I kissed somebody, this is what the print would look like.”
Delia held the paper up beside her lips. “See? My lips and the lip print don't match, do they? The print is reversed on the paper.”
Detective Bender now appeared as interested as Detective Jamison.
Delia spread another coat of Midnight Wine on her lips. She picked up a clean, smooth napkin from the table. Then she blotted her lips and showed the detectives the print left on the napkin.
“The print on the napkin is turned around too. Exactly like the one on the scrap of paper. See?” She showed them the napkin.
“But, if the print on the napkin is pressed against something flatâlike someone's cheek ⦔