Chain Letter Read online

  “Yeah,” Brenda agreed. “Neil doesn’t have this kind of imagination.”

  “How about Tony?” Alison asked reluctantly. It would be a shame to learn her latest heartthrob was crazy.

  Brenda shook her head. “That guy’s straighter than Steve Garvey. Joan must have sent it. She’s such a jerk.”

  As Kipp was the Brain and Tony was the Fox, Joan was the Jerk. Unfortunately, Joan was also the unrivaled school beauty, and she was extremely interested in Tony. And Joan knew that Alison also liked Tony. The two of them hadn’t been getting along lately. Nevertheless, it was Alison’s turn to shake her head.

  “Joan’s a cool one, but she’s not stupid,” she said. “She knows full well what would happen if that night became public knowledge. She wouldn’t hint at it aloud, never mind have put it in print.” She drummed her knuckles again. “The only possibility left is that one of the seven of us intentionally or unintentionally leaked some or all of what happened that night to someone else. And that someone else is out to use us.”

  “That makes sense,” Brenda admitted. She glared at Fran. “A lot more sense than a vengeful corpse.”

  “I didn’t say that!”

  “Yes, you did!”

  “Shh,” Alison said, her nerves raw. “Do you have a copy of today’s Times, Fran?”

  Fran was anxious. “You don’t think they would have what they want me to do in the paper already?”

  “I would just as soon look and see than have to think about it,” Alison said. “Do you have the paper?”

  “We get it delivered each morning,” Fran stuttered, getting up slowly. “I’ll check in the living room.”

  Fran found the paper and Alison found the proper section and a minute later the three of them were staring at a very strange personal ad.

  Fran. Replace the mascot’s head on the school gym with a goat’s head. Use black and red paint.

  “Who would want to ruin Teddy?” Brenda asked. They had a koala bear for a school mascot, first painted on the basketball gym by Fran, her single claim to fame. Yet, perhaps not surprisingly, she appeared more than willing to sacrifice Teddy to avoid the letter’s promised hurt.

  “I’ll have to do it at night,” Fran muttered. “I’ll need a ladder and a strong light. Ali, do you know when the janitors go home?”

  “You’re not serious?” Brenda asked. She addressed the ceiling. “She’s serious; the girl’s nuts.”

  “But Kipp has to get his letter within five days,” Fran moaned. “That means I have to paint the goat head and move my name and everything by Thursday.” Fran grabbed her hand. “Will you help me, Ali?”

  “What kind of nut could have written these things?” Alison wondered aloud. The tone was of a psychotic with delusions of godhood. A genuine madman could be dangerous. Now was the time to go to the police . . . If only that wasn’t out of the question. “What did you say, Fran? Oh, yeah, sure I’ll help you. But not to paint the goat’s head. We need to tell the others. Then we’ll decide what to do. Who knows, one of the others might burst out laughing and admit that it was just a joke after all.”

  “I can see it now.” Brenda nodded confidently, pouring another glass of milk and ripping into a packet of Ding Dongs.

  “I hope so,” Fran said, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue and blowing her nose.

  “So do I,” Alison whispered, picking up the off-purple envelope and the pale green letter. The line: “What is required of you—at present—is a small token of obedience,” bothered her. Painting a goat’s head on their school mascot was no major demand. Some people might even consider it humorous. Perhaps all the demands would be similar. However, when they were all in Column II, the chain would be complete. Then maybe it would start over again, and the “small token of obedience” might no longer be so small.

  Chapter Two

  Everything looks the same, Kipp,” Tony Hunt said, standing at the window of his second story bedroom, looking west into the late sun. Some kids were playing a game of touch football in the street; their younger brothers and sisters sat on the sideline sidewalks on skateboards and tricycles, cheering for whoever had the ball—a typical tranquil scene in a typical Los Angeles suburb. Yet for Tony it was as though he were looking over a town waiting for the bomb to drop. The houses, trees and kids were the same as before, only seen through dirty glasses. He’d felt this way before, last summer in fact, felt this overwhelming desire to go back in time, to yesterday even, when life had been much simpler. Chances were the chain letter was a joke; nevertheless, it was a joke he’d never laugh over.

  “We won’t have such a nice view out the bars of our cell, that’s for sure,” Kipp Coughlan said, sitting on the bed.

  “I’m telling my lawyer I won’t settle for a penitentiary without balconies,” Tony said.

  “A while back, they used to hang convicts from courthouse balconies.”

  Tony turned around, taking in with a glance the plain but tidy room; he was not big on frills, except for his poster of a Sports Illustrated swimsuit model, which hung on the wall at the foot of his bed and which greeted him each morning with an erotic smile. “You know, we’re not being very funny,” he said.

  “Really. Has Alison gotten hold of Joan?”

  “Not yet. Joan’s away with her parents at Tahoe. She wasn’t at school today. But she should be home soon.”

  “She’ll freak when she hears about the letter,” Kipp said.

  Tony thought of Joan, her angel face and her vampish temperament, and said, “That’s an understatement.”

  “Will Neil be here soon?”

  Tony nodded, stepping to a chair opposite his bed, sitting down and resting his bare feet on a walnut case where he stowed his athletic medals and trophies. It drove his mom nuts that he kept the awards locked up where no one could see them; he liked to think it was beneath his dignity to show off. Of course if that were true, why did he collect them at all? When he was honest with himself, he had to admit a good chunk of his self-image was built on his athletic successes. Grant High had won the league title in football last fall, and it had been his passing arm that had been hugely to thank, a fact that was often mentioned but never debated at school. At present, running in the quarter mile and half mile, he was leading the track team to a similar championship. What made him slightly ashamed of his accomplishments, he supposed, was his being a hero in a group he couldn’t relate to. He was a jock but he really didn’t give a damn what NFL team acquired who in the draft. He could never carry on a conversation with his teammates, and he despised their condescending attitude toward nonathletic students. That was one of the reasons he felt comfortable with Kipp and Neil. Neither of them could hike a football, much less score a touchdown.

  “Neil called just before you arrived,” Tony said. “He should be here any minute.”

  “Does he know that he now has a Caretaker?”

  “Yeah. Alison gave him the gist of the letter over the phone.”

  Kipp grinned, which was always a curious affair on him. He had a buffoon’s nose and a rabbit’s ears, plus fair hair that had an unfortunate tendency to stick up, all of which at first glance made him look like a clown. But his intense black eyes belied the comparison. Even when he laughed, which was often, he looked like he was thinking. Kipp may not have been a genius, but he was close enough to make no difference. He had a 4.0 average and was going to M.I.T. come fall to study aeronautical engineering. He and Tony hadn’t been friends for long; they had gotten beyond the superficial “Hey, what’s happening?” level only after the incident last summer—nothing like a shared trauma to bring people together. He had the rare wit that could ridicule himself as comfortably as it did others. He loved to talk and, being a prodigious reader, usually knew what he was talking about. Tony was hoping he could shed some light on their dilemma.

  “Why didn’t you invite Alison to this discussion?” Kipp asked. “She wanted to come.”

  “Did she?”

  “Brenda told me she did
. And Brenda never lies, usually.”

  “Brenda’s your girlfriend,” Tony said. “Why isn’t she here?”

  “She says she’s not scared, but I’m not sure I believe her. I didn’t want us to have to have a hysterical female’s opinion to deal with.”

  “Alison said Fran was the one who was most upset.”

  “You don’t know Fran, she’s always upset. She wouldn’t even give Brenda the original letter for us to study.” Kipp leaned forward and pulled a folded sheet of notebook paper from his back pocket. “Brenda copied it down word-for-word. Do you want to read it?”

  “Alison repeated it to me twice on the phone. But let Neil read it. Then destroy it. I don’t want copies of that blasted thing floating all over the place.”

  Kipp nodded. “So answer my question: Why not have Alison here?”

  Tony shrugged. “At this point, what does she know that we don’t?”

  Kipp snorted. “Her liking you is no reason to be afraid of her. Look, you have no excuse to suffer the usual adolescent insecurities over creatures of the opposite sex. You’re built like an ox, have apple pie in your blond hair, and the flag in your blue eyes. You’re as All-American as they make them.”

  “How do you know she likes . . . oh, yeah, because Brenda told you and Brenda doesn’t lie.” Tony scratched his All-American head and tried to look bored. Actually, he always felt both elated and annoyed whenever he heard of Alison’s interest in him: elated because he was attracted to her, annoyed because she was fascinated with someone who didn’t exist. She saw only his image, the guy who could throw the perfect spiral to the perfect spot at the perfect time. If she were to get to know the real Tony Hunt—that shallow insecure jerk—she would be in for an awful disappointment. Besides, Neil had a crush on Alison and he never messed with his friends’ girls. Indeed, Neil had asked Alison out a couple of weeks ago. She had turned him down but only because she was busy with drama rehearsals. He would have to get on Neil to try again.

  “This is not the time to worry about starting a romance,” Tony added, glancing out the window and seeing Neil Hurly limping—he had a bum knee—his way around the touch football game, his shaggy brown hair bouncing against his old black leather jacket, which he wore no matter what the temperature. Neil was four years out of the back hills of Arkansas and still spoke in such a soft drawl that one could fall asleep listening to him. They had met the first week of their freshman year, sharing adjoining home room lockers. Tony had started the relationship; Neil had been even more shy then than he was now. What had attracted him to the guy had been clear to Tony from the start: Neil’s rare country boy combination of total honesty and natural sensitivity. Usually kids who spoke their minds didn’t give a damn, and those who did care deeply about things inevitably became neurotic and clammed up. Neil was a gem.

  “Come right in, the folks are out!” Tony called. Neil waved and disappeared under the edge of the garage. A minute later he was opening the bedroom door.

  “Hello Tony, hello Kipp,” he said pleasantly, hesitating in the doorway. On the short side and definitely underweight, with features as soft as his personality, he was not a striking figure. Still, his eyes, a clear warm green, and his smile, innocent and kind, gave him a unique charm. If only he’d get a decent haircut and some new clothes, he would be more popular.

  “Pull up a chair,” Tony said, nodding to a stool in the corner. “Kipp, give him Brenda’s copy of the letter.”

  “Thank you,” Neil said, taking a seat and accepting the notebook page from Kipp. Tony studied Neil’s face as he read the Caretaker’s orders. Neil was not as bright as Kipp but he had an instinct for people Tony had learned to trust. He was disappointed when Neil did not dismiss the letter with a chuckle.

  “Well?” Kipp said, growing impatient.

  Neil carefully refolded the paper and handed it back to Kipp. His pale complexion seemed whiter than a couple of minutes ago. “The person who wrote this is seriously disturbed,” he said.

  Tony forced a smile. “Come on. It’s a prank, don’t you think?”

  “No,” Neil said carefully. “It sounds . . . dangerous.”

  Tony took a deep breath, holding it like it was his slipping hope, knowing he would have to let go of both soon. He turned to Kipp. “You’re the scientist. Give us the logical perspective.”

  Kipp stood—perhaps for dramatic effect, he loved an audience—and began to pace between the door and the bed. Almost as tall as Tony but thirty pounds lighter and hopelessly uncoordinated, he moved like a giraffe. “I disagree with Neil,” he said. “I think it’s a joke. That’s the simplest explanation and it does away with us having to search for a motive. What probably happened is that one day one of the girls was feeling particularly guilty and blabbed about the accident to a friend, who in turn told God knows who about it. Somewhere along the line, the information got to someone with a kinky sense of humor.”

  “Alison was very firm that none of them had spoken about the accident to anyone outside the group,” Tony said. “Unless Joan did, which seems unlikely.”

  “Naturally they would deny it,” Kipp said. “Girls can’t be trusted, and here I’m not excluding Brenda.” He paused, leaning against the bookcase, thinking. “Or maybe they blabbed about it accidentally . . . Say Fran was talking to Alison in the library about last summer and they didn’t know they were being overheard.”

  “Have either of you ever discussed the accident in public?” Tony asked.

  “Are you kidding?” Kipp said.

  “I would be afraid to,” Neil said, glancing at the closed door. “I feel bad talking about it now.”

  “I know what you mean,” Tony said. “I’m sure the girls feel the same way. I can’t imagine them gossiping about it with even the slightest chance of being overheard.”

  “Then let’s return to one of them doing it intentionally,” Kipp said. “That medieval urge to go to Confession could be at work here. One of the girls must have felt they had to unburden themselves on someone unconnected with the deed.”

  “I can’t help noticing how you keep blaming the girls,” Tony said. “Do you have one in particular in mind?”

  “Fran,” Kipp answered without hesitation. “She’s high-strung; she speaks without thinking. She could have told anybody. I think a couple of us should take her aside and squeeze the truth out of her.”

  “But even if she were to admit to telling someone,” Tony said. “That doesn’t mean that someone wrote this letter. Like you said, the information could have passed through several hands.”

  “We can only hope it hasn’t gone outside a tiny circle of people,” Kipp said.

  “And what if this Caretaker is not joking?” Tony said. “What if he or she really would try to hurt us?”

  He had not expected an answer to that question and he didn’t get one. A minute passed in silence, during which Tony had a vivid mental image of the expression on his parents’ faces if the truth were to come out, their shock and disappointment. More than the others, he had been to blame. Certainly a judge would see it that way. He might be sent to jail, and if the family of the man came forth, his parents would probably be saddled with a heavy lawsuit. College would have to be put on the shelf for years, and his record and image would be permanently ruined. Above all else, the incident could not be made public knowledge.

  “We’ll question Fran,” Tony said finally. “But we’ll let Brenda and Alison do it, and no one’s going to squeeze her. And I don’t think we should count on a confession. Let’s look at other alternatives. What do you say, Neil?”

  Neil appeared momentarily startled by the question, as if he had been lost in his own thoughts and had not been listening to the discussion. He fidgeted on his stool, said hesitantly, “I think the Caretaker might be one of us.”

  “You mean that one of us is playing a joke on the rest?” Kipp asked.

  “Not necessarily.”

  “I don’t understand,” Tony said, not sure he wanted to.


  “Someone in the group might be out to hurt someone else in the group,” Neil said. “Or maybe everyone in the group. The Caretaker could be right in front of us.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” Kipp snapped. “What would be their motive? They would only be hurting themselves by revealing the incident.”

  Neil reached out his hand, indicating he wanted another look at the letter. Kipp was quick to oblige him. Neil read it at least twice more before speaking. “The way this is worded—the paragraph structure and all—the Caretaker seems to be separating the revelation of the accident from the manner in which he would hurt us. He could hurt us without telling a soul about the man.”

  “How?” Tony asked.

  Neil shrugged. “There’s hundreds of ways to hurt someone if you really want to.”

  “But who in our group would have the motive to do so?” Kipp asked, dismissing the possibility with his tone.

  Neil gave a wry smile. “A crazy person wouldn’t need a motive.”

  “It’s illogical,” Kipp said. “None of us fits the psychological profile. Now I say we—”

  “Just a second,” Tony interrupted. “The theory simplifies things in a way. We wouldn’t have to explain how someone else came to learn about the man. Who do you think it could be, Neil?”

  “I can’t say.”

  Kipp went to speak but changed his mind. There followed another lengthy pause. In many ways, Neil’s suggestion was the most disturbing; it was always worse to be stabbed in the back by a friend. Yet, try as he might, Tony could think of no one in the group who could write such a letter. On the other hand, he scarcely knew Alison and Fran, or for that matter, Joan and Brenda. He needed more information and wondered how he could go about getting it. He also wondered why Kipp was so anxious to dismiss Neil’s suggestion.

  The warm orange light slipped off Tony’s face as the sun sunk below the city’s false horizon of smog. In spite of the fact that he was sweating, he shivered. The day would be gone soon and they still had no clear idea what to do about tomorrow.