All-Night Party by R.L. Stine Page B

earlier?
    A baseball cap.
    Gripped in Cindy’s hand.
    Cindy hadn’t worn a baseball cap to the cabin.
    If the cap wasn’t hers, where did it come from?
    Had someone else been wearing it?
    The killer?
    Did she grab it off her murderer?
    Gretchen raised her eyes to the others. Jackson was watching her. She returned his stare.
    â€œWhat is it?” Jackson demanded.
    Gretchen swallowed hard to clear her throat. “Cindy is holding a baseball cap,” she replied.
    Hannah’s eyes popped open. “What did you say?”
    â€œCindy is holding a baseball cap,” Gretchen repeated. “She didn’t wear one to the cabin.”
    Her hand trembled as she pointed to the cap.
    â€œWho does it belong to? Whose cap is it?”

Chapter
22

    P atrick’s mouth gaped open in shock. “It—it’s mine,” he sputtered.
    â€œYours?” Gretchen gasped.
    Marco jumped off the kitchen counter. His eyes narrowed as he studied Patrick.
    â€œHow did your baseball cap get in Cindy’s hand?” he demanded, narrowing his eyes at Patrick.
    Patrick shrugged. “Hey, come on. Give me a break. I don’t know. Why are you asking me?”
    â€œBecause it belongs to you,” Gretchen said sharply. “You admitted it.”
    â€œJust because my cap is in Cindy’s hand, you think I killed her?” Patrick exclaimed. “That’s the stupidest thing I ever heard!”
    Hannah’s eyes shot to Patrick. She backed away from him. “You killed her?”
    â€œOf course I didn’t kill Cindy,” Patrick insisted. He took a step toward Hannah.
    â€œStay away from me!” Hannah screamed. She darted to Gil’s side. “Don’t come any closer!”
    â€œHey—come on, guys!” Patrick pleaded. “You know me. We’ve been friends forever. Why would I kill Cindy? It’s totally dumb.”
    â€œThen why is your cap in her hand?” Marco demanded again. “How did it get there?”
    Patrick threw his hands up in the air. “I don’t know!”
    â€œIs that all you can say?” Gil cried. He had his arms around Hannah, who was shaking. “That cap is real evidence, Patrick. It points right to you.”
    â€œI want to go home,” Hannah sobbed. “I wish we’d never come to this horrible cabin.”
    â€œIt doesn’t prove anything,” Patrick insisted. “I don’t know how my cap got in Cindy’s hand. I hung it on the coatrack by the front door when we came in.”
    â€œNobody saw you do it,” Jackson told him.
    â€œI am not lying! You have to believe me!” Patrick pleaded. “I hung my cap by the front door. Maybe Cindy decided to wear it.”
    Hannah uttered a bitter cry. “You’re pathetic! Do you really expect us to believe that?”
    â€œCindy is wearing a jacket,” Gretchen pointed out.
    â€œYou’re right,” Gil said. “It’s my grandfather’s lumber jacket. From the hall closet.”
    â€œSo maybe Cindy was going outside for some air,” Gretchen continued. “Maybe it was raining, and she didn’t want to get her hair wet. So she grabbed Patrick’s cap off the rack. Cindy freaked out if her hair got the least bit frizzy. Everyone knows that.”
    Patrick nodded. “That makes sense to me,” he said.
    â€œBut if she was worried about her hair in the rain, why was she clutching your cap so tightly after she was stabbed?” Gretchen asked.
    â€œI think she was trying to leave a clue to the identity of her killer,” Marco said. “Maybe the killer was wearing the cap—and she pulled it off his head while he was stabbing her.”
    â€œNo!” Patrick gasped, shaking his head. “No.”
    â€œYou have blood on your shirt,” Jackson pointed out.
    â€œAnd Cindy is grasping your cap,” Gil added.
    â€œSo what?” Patrick cried. “That