Stone Cold Dead by James Ziskin (android e book reader txt) 📗

how checks on this kid didn’t do it for me the way they did on Paul Drake.

Finally he finished, wiped his hand across his mouth, and said thank you.

“What are you doing here?” I demanded again.

“Don’t be sore, Ellie,” he said. “I mean, Miss Stone. Like I said, I won’t hurt you.”

What game was this, I wondered. I moved a step closer to the table, and Frankie stiffened in his seat. I was beginning to think I had nothing to fear from this kid.

“Okay, Frankie, let’s get some things straight. At Fulton, you told me you’d come looking for me when you got out. And you said I’d get mine. Now you tell me I’ve got nothing to worry about. What gives?”

“I was just saying that up at Fulton,” he said, averting his eyes from my stare. I waited for more. “I had to say that, don’t you see?”

“No, I don’t. Why?”

“I’ve got a reputation to protect inside,” he said. “You made me look like a fool. If I’d have let you get away with it, my life would be ruined. I got to be the toughest kid there, or I’ll wind up the sissy to some guy with ideas that he wants a girlfriend.”

I didn’t know what to say.

“So you see I had to act tough with you.” He paused, looked down into his lap, then continued. “Honest, I’d never hurt you, Ellie, ’cause I’m in love with you.”

“What?”

“It’s true. Ever since that day, I can’t stop thinking of you. You’re so pretty and smart and you got real guts. I just had to bust out of there to see you, if only for a few minutes.”

The last thing I needed or wanted was a sixteen-year-old boyfriend. And a juvenile delinquent to boot. And yet I couldn’t help feeling a little flattered.

“But I taunted you,” I said. “I called you names and mocked you.”

“That’s okay,” he smiled, beaming at me now. “I kind of asked for it. I was pretty rude to you. But I didn’t mean it, Ellie. Not a word. At least not at the end.”

“Look, Frankie, I don’t know what to say. Or what to do with you. You can’t stay here, and you can’t . . .” I searched for the right words. “You know we can’t . . . You know that, don’t you?”

He cast his eyes down again. I felt I’d torn his heart out.

“I know that,” he said softly. “At least for now.”

“Oh, Frankie,” I said. “No. Not now, not later.”

“Is it because I’m too young?”

I chewed on that one for a moment. The age difference would never change. Maybe I should go with that. But it was actually so many other things. For one, I barely knew him. For another, what I knew of him did not help his cause.

“Yes,” I said finally, patting him on the shoulder. “We’re just too far apart in age.”

Frankie seemed to be weighing my words then shook his head. “No, you’ll change your mind someday, I hope. I can wait for you. It’s not like I’m meeting any girls up at Fulton.”

“You know I’m Jewish, don’t you?” I asked, playing my trump card. It didn’t work quite as well as it had with the Karls, but it derailed his love song for a bit.

“Really?” he said, his face twisted like a screw. “You don’t look Jewish. My old man said all Jews had hook noses and fat lips.”

“Well, there’s another reason we can’t be together, Frankie. Think of your father. He’d never accept me.”

“He’s dead.”

“Frankie, what am I going to do with you?” I asked again, changing the subject. “You’ve got to get out of here.”

“I know,” he said. “But will you do me a favor?” Oh, God, I thought. What was he going to ask? “Would you call the cops on me? That way when they take me back, the guys will believe I went through with my threats. I’ll still be top dog.”

“Okay,” I said. “I suppose I could do that for you.”

“And you’ll tell the cops I tried to, you know, do stuff to you?”

“I won’t say that.”

He frowned. “Okay, well, would you mind if I yell and swear at you when they take me away? Don’t be shocked, but I’m planning to say some real bad things. But that doesn’t mean I don’t love you.”

I smiled gently and said, “Sure, Frankie. You can swear and scream at me when they come to take you away.”

Frankie was pleased. “Oh, I almost forgot,” he said. “Joey Figlio asked me to give you something.”

Frankie fished a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket and pressed it into my hand. I asked him what it was as I flattened it on my kitchen table.

“He said it was something to help your investigation. He said if he couldn’t kill that teacher, he wanted you to make sure he pays for his crime. Sounded pretty weird to me, but he’s a strange kid, that Joey.”

“You’re telling me,” I mumbled.

“What’s it say, anyway?” he asked.

“It’s a love letter to Darleen Hicks,” I said, dazed by what I’d just read. “The girl who disappeared three weeks ago.”

“A love letter from Joey?”

“No,” I said, feeling the skin crawl on my neck. “It’s from Ted Russell.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

I had to submit to the drama Frankie wanted to play, accompanying him down the stairs, where we waited a few minutes for the law to show up. We didn’t say anything; Frankie just stared at me with a goofy expression on his face. Then the sheriff pulled up at the curb, and we knew it was time to go. Frankie smiled sweetly at me, told me he loved me, then stepped outside and loosed a bloody scream. Frothing at the mouth, spitting like an alley cat, he yowled in protest and flailed his arms as two deputies corralled him. Bellowing my name at the top of his voice, right there on Lincoln Avenue, he threatened to come back and slit my throat, before performing unspeakable acts