Part 8 (2/2)

safe at last.

”I wasn't spying,” Jeri mumbled. ”I wanted to talk to Ms. Carter.”

Of course, she had been eavesdropping. She stooped to pick up the spilled chips. Handing them to Brooke, Jeri saw that Brooke's palm was spotted with a rash again. I'm glad I don't have allergies, she thought.

The kitchen door opened and closed then, and Ms. Carter was back. Jeri went to show her the bee sting. While Ms. Carter cleaned it and applied antibiotic cream, Jeri's mind began to wander. Something was bothering her-she couldn't put her .nger on it -but it buzzed around her head like that b.u.mblebee.

”Are you all right?” Ms. Carter asked. ”You seem a little dazed.” She felt Jeri's forehead. ”Bee stings can be serious. Are you sick to your stomach?”

”I don't think so . . .”

Jeri closed her eyes and did an instant replay of the last .ve minutes. In slow motion she reviewed the conversa-tion she'd overheard, then running into Brooke and Emily, picking up the chips and handing them back to Brooke . . . What was wrong? What had set her mind to churning?

”I think I might lie down for a while,” Jeri . nally said.

She headed upstairs, thoughts whirling in confusion. Maybe a nap would help. First she walked by Brooke and Emily's room. When she walked by the partially opened door, a pungent odor wafted out. Jeri blinked. What was that strong smell?

Glancing around the room, she couldn't see anything odd enough to account for the odor. Then she noticed the wastebasket. The smell seemed to be drifting up from there. She inspected the contents and found a spoon with bits of red sauce on it. She sniffed again. Salsa.

But that didn't account for the whole smell.

Jeri turned slowly, snif.ng, and then bent down, reaching under the edge of the nearest bed. She pulled out a wad of paper towels, unwrapped them, and saw what looked like a garlic press. Her mom used one when she cooked homemade spaghetti sauce. She picked it up and smelled it. The white bits left in the press sure didn't smell like garlic.

What could it be? And why did the plastic spoon have salsa on it? Had something been added to the salsa? It wasn't garlic, but something that could be crushed in the garlic press.

Then, unbidden, an image of Brooke's tight jeans and the lump in her pocket .ashed through Jeri's mind. Downstairs just now, when she'd handed Brooke the spilled chips, there was no lump in her front pocket. She must have done something with- ”Oh no!”

Jeri dashed out of the room and down the hall and, hanging onto the banister, .ew down the stairs. She b.u.mped into Ms. Carter in the entryway, but there was no time to explain.

In the TV room, the movie had begun. Emily and Brooke were sprawled on the lumpy couch, feet up on the coffee table. A tray of food was between them. Emily had opened her jar of salsa and dipped her tortilla chip full. She had her mouth open wide.

Jeri .ung herself into the room, leaped over Brooke's legs, and knocked the chip from Emily's hand. ”Don't eat that!” she cried.

Emily screamed. Brooke yelled and hit Jeri's back. Jeri cracked one s.h.i.+n so hard on the edge of the coffee table that it took her breath away. She bounced and rolled onto the .oor, landing on Emily's feet and whacking her elbow on the . oor.

”What are you doing?” Brooke yelled, standing over her.

Jeri tried to take deep breaths, willing the pain to subside. Her arm and leg were bent awkwardly under her. She heard steps running down the hall, and several girls pounding down the stairs called, ”What's going on?”

Jeri rolled over, rubbing her elbow and arm. Then she grabbed the jars of salsa before Brooke could. ”Here,” she said breathlessly, handing them to Ms. Carter. ”If you have these tested, I think you'll see that Brooke's jar of salsa is .ne -but Emily's has been poisoned.”

Emily gasped.

”You're crazy,” Brooke said. ”You're trying to frame me now!”

Ms. Carter helped Jeri up to a chair, then -setting the salsa on the table-said, ”I think you'd better explain.” She felt Jeri's forehead again.

”No, I'm not running a fever. I know what I'm saying.” She rubbed her s.h.i.+n. ”When you test that salsa, I think you'll .nd more than onions or garlic in it. I think you'll .nd a crushed daffodil bulb.”

The color drained slowly from Brooke's face. ”You're crazy!” she said, turning to the doorway.

”Stay put, please.” Ms. Carter's voice had a steely edge. ”Let's get to the bottom of this. Jeri, what in the world are you talking about?”

”Check Brooke's palms, Ms. Carter.”

Brooke frowned at her hands. ”It's a rash. You already know I have allergies.”

”I know you told me Monday night that you had aller-gies. That's when you heard me go into the bathroom and rushed in after me, pretending to be sick.”

”I wasn't pretending to be sick!”

”Well, you made a lot of gagging noises anyway, to throw suspicion off yourself. You sure didn't want me to get Ms. Carter that night.”

”I told you why!” Brooke spluttered.

”You told me lots of things,” Jeri said. ”Today at the greenhouse I saw a garden plot with your name by it. It re-minded me that you use daffodils in your science display.”

”So?”

”So if we look in your room, would you have any daffodil bulbs up there?”

”No.”

Emily's voice was soft -and confused. ”But you got some today.”

Brooke turned on her in fury. ”So what! I used them for my science fair project. You know that.”

Ms. Carter stepped forward then. ”Jeri, I'm not follow-ing you. What does Brooke's science fair project have to do with this salsa?”

”Nothing,” Jeri said, ”except I saw Brooke earlier. I thought she was on the way home from setting up at the gym, but she was actually coming back from the greenhouse. She had a lump in her pants pocket then, like a rock.” She pointed at Brooke's front pocket. ”It's not there now. I'm betting that the 'rock' was a daffodil bulb from the greenhouse.”

Ms. Carter shook her head slowly. ”I still don't understand.”

Jeri could see that the house mother thought she'd lost her senses. ”I just found a crushed daffodil bulb under Brooke's bed. In their garbage can I found a spoon with salsa and bits of the crushed bulb on it. Daffodil bulbs are poisonous,” she explained. ”People can get accidentally poisoned when they think a daffodil bulb is a small onion or piece of garlic.” She held up her hand. ”And when you handle daffodil bulbs without gloves, you get a rash-just like the rash on Brooke's hands.”

Emily shrank back from her roommate, pus.h.i.+ng herself into the corner of the couch. ”Is this true? Did you try to poison me?” Her pale face lost even more of its color. ”But why? What did I ever do to you?”

It felt to Jeri as if everyone had frozen. Someone had even paused the movie, capturing a swimmer in the middle of a high dive.

Emily's anguished questions hung in the air. When Brooke just stared at her lap, Jeri said, ”I think I can guess. Ms. Todd believes you'll win the science fair with your brain functions display. Brooke tried at Abby's party to make you too sick to work on your project. When that didn't work, she added something during the week to your trail mix. But you recovered again and got back to work.

Today's salsa would have made you too sick to answer questions for the judges tonight. That would . nally give Brooke a chance to win.”

Emily frowned. ”But Brooke doesn't care about win-ning. Just ask her.”

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