Prom Date (3 page)

But this was her senior prom.

"Are you sure that lock was intact this afternoon?" Adrienne's voice broke into Margaret's thoughts---

Margaret snapped out of it, turned around. "Yes, Fm positive."

Adrienne called the police to file a report,but the investigator found no clues to suggest anything more than youthful vandalism. Adrienne agreed.

Margaret had her doubts. A band of young kids roaming the streets looking for prom dresses to ruin? Taking no money, breaking nothing, not even spray-painting the walls outside the store? What were they doing in the store in the first place? And why had they only destroyed those three dresses? Youthful vandalism? Reality check, please. There had been a purpose behind such selective sabotage.

Unfortunately, Margaret couldn't even begin to imagine what that purpose had been.

If someone thought that wrecking those particular gowns would keep Liza or Beth or Stephanie from the prom, they seriously needed a brain scan. Even if Adrienne couldn't replace them (and she would), there were other stores, other dresses. And lots, lots more money. Liza's, Beth's, and Stephanie's mothers were the other owners of Quartet.

They had invested money in Adrienne's shop because they had so much of it lying around doing nothing. Now, while they played tennis and gardened and enjoyed long lunches at Impeccable Tastes, and only Adrienne worked long, hard hours in the shop, their money grew. No, money was definitely not a problem when it came to replacing the three slaughtered dresses.

So if keeping the Pops from the prom wasn't the intent behind the violence, what was?

She was too tired to think about it now.

When the police had left, after instructing Adrienne to replace the broken lock, she asked Margaret, Caroline, and Scott to please keep the incident to themselves. "Bad for business,'' she said in a disheartened voice.

They all promised not to tell anyone.

In a heartier voice, Adrienne said, "I'll redo the dresses. Margaret, that might mean you'll be working longer hours in the store. I'm sorry."

Refusing to think about finals coming up, which meant hitting the books in a major way, or senior activities like the picnic and Yearbook Day and the senior banquet, Margaret nodded. "No problem." It wasn't as if she'd be busy getting ready for the prom.

When they left the store, after making sure

that everything was locked up tighter than a bank vault, Margaret's eyes avoided the puddle where the dresses had gone to their death. She carefully stepped around it, as if she were afraid that walking through it might bring her the same fate.

Danger and warning visitors against entering the aging structure.

Many people ignored the sign. To some, the word Danger acted as a red flag, enticing them to climb over the chain and push open the rickety old door whose lock had been useless for years. To others, the thought of the awe-inspiring view from the circular wooden platform at the top of the structure just beneath the light itself, drew them onward and upward, heedless of the risk. The floor and wooden railing encircling the observation deck might be rotting and crumbling, but the spectacular view of the endless ocean remained intact. Nature lovers who made the precarious climb up the rusted, metal, spiral stairs that trembled beneath their weight felt the view was worth both the climb and the risk.

The small white metal sign continued to flap uselessly in the breeze as if to say, "Well, I tried my best. It's not my fault if they all ignore

me.

Margaret loved the lighthouse. She'd been making the shaky climb to the top since she was a child, Adrienne's stem warnings going unheeded. Few things were as thrilling to Margaret as reaching the top, breathless, knees trembling from the climb, emerging through the small, weather-beaten door to the deck to

step outside and face the broad, endless stretch of ocean and sky. She didn't mind the wind slamming into her like a cannonball, and she loved the taste of saltwater on her lips. Sometimes the water was gray-green, sometimes gray-blue. On cold, wind-whipped days, it was always gray-white, the whitecaps taller than Margaret.

It was like that on the day of the picnic, the ocean raging gray-white, every last trace of blue or green gone from the water, blanketed by a sooty gray sky overhead.

Still upset over the vandalism at the store and tired of playing softball and volleyball, Margaret left the festivities and trudged up toward the Point alone. No use asking Caroline or the others to come along. Jeannine and Lacey were afraid of the lighthouse, and Caroline hated it, calling it a "creepy old relic that should have been torn down a long time ago." Margaret knew she was just quoting her mother. Cecelia LaSalle, a close friend of Adrienne's, had no interest in the past, and called antiques "junk." She called the lighthouse "an eyesore to our community and a death trap."

Margaret had never thought of the lighthouse as "a death trap." The only person who had ever died at the lighthouse, as far as Margaret knew, was old "Suds" Crater, who was

ancient himself and drank so much that people in town joked that he'd actually died a long time ago but the alcohol in his system had preserved him for all eternity. He had fallen from the observation deck on a warm, balmy night in October. The fall had literally scared him to death, Margaret had heard. His heart had stopped on the way down.

When she finally reached the top of the lighthouse stairs, Margaret moved to the edge of the circular walkway, avoiding broken floorboards. The wind ripped her sweatshirt hood off her head and stung her eyes. Careful not to lean against the white wooden, waist-high railing, she thrust her hands into the pockets of her bright blue sweatshirt. The sound of the breakers crashing into the rocks below thundered around her, as if a storm were imminent. She loved that sound.

But it was so loud, that when a voice behind her said, "Awesome, right?" she almost didn't hear it. She turned to find a tall, broad-shouldered figure in a red sweatshirt standing slightly behind her on her left. Because he was wearing his hood, it took her a few seconds to place him. Then a gust of wind caught the hood and flung it backwards, setting firee thick, dark hair.

Mitch McGill. Liza Buffet's sometime boyfriend. Hard to figure why one of the cutest guys at Toomey would put up with an on-again, off-again relationship. And he must be nice, too, because he was always getting elected to things.

What did he see in Liza?

Oh, come on, Margaret. Beauty, brains, popularity, for starters. And Liza wasn't mean, like Stephanie. All of the Pops couldn't be mean, or they wouldn't be popular, would they?

Mitch moved up to stand beside Margaret. "Sort of gives you a chill, doesn't it?" he asked loudly over the pounding of the surf. "And Tm not talking about the weather."

Margaret's tongue had had a stroke. It was completely paralyzed. She was so conscious of how close he was, she could only nod silently. But she did turn her head to glance over at him. A great face. All strong bones and angles, and his eyes were a warm, spaniel-brown. He wasn't smiling, but he looked as if he might have just finished smiling or was about to do so again. She'd seen that face smiling, at school, when he didn't know she was watching. It was awesome.

Then he shocked her out of her sudden muteness by turning toward her to give her a long look before asking, "Aren't you Margaret

Dunne? Is everything okay now at Quartet? I heard you had some trouble over there."

Margaret's jaw fell open. But she couldn't be sure if she was surprised because he knew about the vandalism at the store or because he knew who she was. "No one is supposed to know about that," she said, tasting salt spray as she spoke. "My mother was hoping no one would hear about it."

"Oh, sorry. My brother Eddie was one of the cops that night. He felt really bad, said your mom seemed scared."

"She wasn't scared," Margaret responded a bit sharply. "My mother's not afraid of anything. She was upset, that's all. Who wouldn't have been?"

He held up a defensive hand. "Hey, take it easy. I wasn't insulting her. Eddie just felt bad for her, that's all."

Had she heard the officer say his name was McGill? Margaret didn't think so. If she had, she might have paid more attention to him. "It made all of us sick that the dresses were ruined. My mother worked really hard on them. And the prom isn't that far away now. Doesn't give her a whole lot of time to replace them." She couldn't believe she'd mentioned the prom. If he asked her who her date was.

she'd have to utter the dreaded words, "I don't have a date."

Well, so what? It was the truth, after all.

So if he asked her, she would tell he truth. And she wouldn't lower her eyes or turn her face away, she'd just say it, straight out.

But he didn't ask. Instead, he leaned his elbows on the railing and to Margaret's surprise said, "Me, I'm skipping the prom this go-round." The railing's flaking white paint clung to the sleeves of his red sweatshirt. "The old wallet's anorexic. Flat as a pancake."

Or flat as a dress run over by the tires of a car, Margaret thought darkly. Why had he reminded her of what had happened at Quartet? She'd been trying not to think about it, or about what it might mean.

She said nothing aloud. He wasn't going? One of the most popular guys in school wasn't going to his senior prom? He wasn't taking Liza? But she'd bought a dress. Never mind that the dress was, literally, roadkill now. There would be a replacement in time. Adrienne would see to that. Had Liza snubbed Mitch for a college guy?

Or . . . delicious thought * . . maybe he hadn't asked Liza. After all, she could afford to foot the bill, if he really wanted to go with

her. Was he one of those stifl&iecked guys who insisted on paying his own way? Whatever the reason, Mitch McGll wasn't going to be escorting Liza and her sexy black dress to Toomey's prom.

The sun suddenly seemed to be shining although, when Margaret glanced up, the sky was that same solid slate-gray. It hadn't changed. So why did she suddenly feel much warmer?

Might as well spit it right out, Margaret told herself and said, "You're not taking Liza?"

"Liza? Nope. Went with Liza last year." His voice was noncommittal. "I heard she's going with some college friend of her brother Brandon." Still no inflection in his voice. He'd heard? He hadn't talked to Liza lately? More good news. She couldn't help wishing that something in his voice would tell her if he cared that Liza was going with someone else. But it didn't.

"You shouldn't lean on that railing," she warned. "It's too shaky. I don't want to have to climb around on those rocks down there picking up the pieces if that railing crumbles and takes you down with it."

Nodding agreement, he took a step backwards. "So, is the store okay now? Haven't had any more breakins, have you?"

'"No." She wouldn't have minded talking about the incident with him. It would have been nice to bounce all of her questions off someone who could be objective. Adrienne refused to discuss it, insisting that it had just been a prank and the police would handle it. Caroline had been so frightened by the whole thing that her face went gray if Margaret even mentioned it, and the only thing Scott had on his mind these days was how to persuade Caroline to invite him to the prom.

Even if the juvenile-prank theory had made sense to Margaret, which it didn't, it wouldn't explain the deep, dark chill she felt when she remembered kneeling on that cold, damp cement holding the remains of those dresses in her hands.

She had many, many questions about the ugly incident, and needed to talk them over with someone. But she couldn't talk to Mitch about it. Adrienne would be very upset if she knew Margaret was discussing the incident with anyone other than Caroline or Scott, who already knew.

The wind attacked them with a gust so fierce, it took Margaret's breath away. "Everj^hing's fine at Quartet," she said. "I need to go back now. I've been gone a long time. And I'm getting cold."

"Right. Me too."

She hadn't expected him to come with her. But she couldn't help thinking how neat it would be if he walked all the way back to the picnic with her and they showed up at the park together. Caroline would freak. Unfortunately, the Pops would probably freak, too. The Pops freaking would not be a good thing.

Making up her mind to stay slightly ahead of Mitch when they arrived at the park, Margaret started down the circular metal staircase, stepping carefully and avoiding the rotting railing.

They descended then, their sneakers making gentle slapping sounds on the steps. They passed no one. Margaret wondered how Mitch had known who she was. She wasn't wearing her Quartet pin, a small, silver piece made by joining together four tiny musical instruments: a violin, a clarinet, a viola, and an oboe. A friend of Adrienne's had designed them. She'd ordered hundreds of them to give away as souvenirs to customers. They sat in a wicker basket near the register. Anyone could take one.

But Margaret wasn't wearing hers. Not that it would have told him much. It wasn't as if the pin spelled out her name. Tons of teenagers in Toomey owned one of those pins. But

he'd said, "Aren't you Margaret Dunne?" How had he known that? Maybe Liza had pointed her out, mentioned that her mother ran Quartet.

Any other time, Margaret would simply have asked. That was the way she was. If a question was on her mind, she would blurt it out, fully expecting an answer. Sometimes that tactic got her into trouble, but so far, that hadn't stopped her.

But this felt different. Although her tongue had fully recovered, she couldn't quite make it ask, "How did you know who I was?" She wasn't sure why. Maybe because she was afraid he would say, "Liza told me." She'd hate that. Yuck!

They were outside and on their way up the dirt road toward the park when he answered the question for her. "Eddie was right," he said casually.

"Eddie? Your brother the cop? Right about what?"

"He said the woman who owns Quartet is gorgeous."

Margaret nodded. It no longer pained her that she looked more like the pictures of her father than she did Adrienne. For years, she had just assumed that when she was old enough, she would look exactly like her