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can be in it together and not even sense each other s presence.
Still no noise . . . still silence . . . I m tiptoeing down the corridor, toward the front door, moving faster and faster I m at the door now, turning the big deadbolt
lock, pulling the door open, nipping through it, and closing it behind me as softly as I can. Still, there s a really loud click as the lock snaps back into place, which
completely panics me. I race across the lobby to the lift, pressing the Call button desperately, watching the display as the lift seems to take forever to reach the
penthouse floor.
And then, of course, as the doors begin to open I nearly freak, thinking that maybe Nadia has rushed back and is going to be on the other side of them.
But she isn t. I breathe a huge sigh of relief. There s no one in the lift but me reflected in the mirror on the back wall, my expression so panicked that it almost makes
me laugh. And I step in, pulling up the hood of my jacket to conceal my face, and hit the Ground Floor button with so much relief that my hand is trembling and fumbles
so much I end up stabbing my finger repeatedly at the button, just to make sure.
I walk across the lobby with my hood still up. I thought I was going to have to climb back into the dog kennel lift and find the service entrance to sneak out of. I wasn t
bargaining for having to go past the doorman. But I don t have a choice now. And honestly, I m incredibly grateful. The thought of squashing myself back into that lift,
or getting stuck between floors again, was a constant terror in the back of my mind the whole time I was in Penthouse C. Never again am I doing something that stupid.
Never again.
The doorman says something to me but I don t turn my head, I just keep walking. He says it louder, but I walk faster. Out of the corner of my eye, I see him coming
out from behind the desk, but then the glass doors are sliding open, and I m walking through them swiftly, breathing fresh air, and nothing s ever felt as good before in
my life. I pick up my stride and I m down the street, losing myself in the crowds of Sunday shoppers, before he can get anywhere near me. I know he can t leave his
desk for long, so he ll have turned around by now and gone back in. And even if there s CCTV in the lobby, I had my hood up, so no one could recognize me.
I m free.
Shoved into my jacket pocket are the photocopies of Nadia s diary that I made in the office. I have evidence now, of a sort. Too early to take to the police, just like
the peanut oil bottle in the back of the bar cupboard, but evidence all the same.
I know a lot I didn t know before today.
I know Dan was murdered. I know how he was murdered. And I know that Plum had a part in it, because his EpiPen was in her handbag, and there s absolutely no
non-suspicious explanation for that. Was it Plum who poured the peanut oil over the crisps? But why would she do that? This must have been planned in advance. No
one could have set this up, right down to the oil stored under the bar, on the spur of the moment.
I m going to have to do a really thorough investigation of Plum.
I look at my watch. God, I ve been in Nadia s place for hours! I ll need to hurry to make it back to school by the dinner bell. The Sunday trains take forever. I squint
across at our rendezvous point. Taylor s already gone, as we agreed she should do if I was running late. I start sprinting down the street, heading for the tube station,
dashing through the crowds, ducking and weaving past dawdling shoppers without ever slowing down. I can t wait to show Taylor the photocopied pages of Nadia s
diary. I know that when she hears what I ve found out, that Dan was murdered, it will only make her keener to plan out the next stage of our mystery-solving, to take
on a job that she might get one day for real as a grown-up, licensed private detective.
I have a double quest now, and I m more than ready for the challenge. I m going to find out who killed Dan. And I m going to take my revenge on Plum Saybourne.
How dare she keep accusing me of being Dan s killer, when all along the EpiPen that would have saved his life was hidden in her handbag! I m so angry with her that
whenever I think about that my hands curl into fists. I m already plotting ways to have my revenge.
And something tells me that Taylor will be really good at helping with that, too. . . .
twenty-five
ENOUGH WITH WISHES
I m racing up the drive. God, that Sunday train was even slower than I was expecting! I paced up and down the carriage as if I had live electricity under my feet, hissing
with impatience every time the train jerked to a halt between stations and left me staring at the blank wall of a railway embankment. I m in a panic that I ll miss the
dinner bell, and I m so keen to tell Taylor everything I ve found out that I ve run all the way from the station, tearing up the path from Wakefield Village. The gravel on
the drive is catching in the soles of my sneakers, slowing me down, and I swerve onto the grass instead so that I can pick up full speed again.
Evening sunlight s flooding down through the oak branches and dappling onto the grass. It s so strong that when I catch a flash of red moving through the trees, it takes
me a moment to realize what it is.
Jase Barnes. He s dressed up as if he s going out a poppy-red shirt that looks great against his dark gold skin, and black jeans that make his long legs look even
longer. Wow. He s walking away from me, round the corner of the new school wing, and as I watch, he disappears from view. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]