The Arrest (Sweet Valley High Book 96) Read online

  THE ARREST

  Written by

  Kate William

  Created by

  FRANCINE PASCAL

  Copyright © 2015, Francine Pascal

  Elizabeth had seen enough police shows to know what a holding cell looked like, but seeing one on television and actually being locked inside one were two very different things. She almost screamed out loud when the door banged shut behind her. Don't leave me here by myself! she wanted to beg. Please, please don't leave me by myself. But she didn't. She faced the cell with the same resolve that had helped her through her arrest and interrogation. Feeling as though she were crossing an enormous desert, she slowly walked the few feet between the door and the wall and sat down in the farthest corner. She was able to shed her facade of assurance, and she wanted to disappear.

  It took a few seconds for Elizabeth to realize that she wasn't alone in the cell. Two other women shared the small space. The first was a heavily made-up, disheveled, middle-aged woman. The second was a girl not much older than Elizabeth.

  Though she tried to ignore them, Elizabeth could feel them staring at her with hostility.

  The woman suddenly launched herself off the hard wooden bench.

  "Whatsa matta, honey?" she demanded, staggering toward Elizabeth. "You get caught driving your daddy's Porsche too fast?"

  Elizabeth desperately wished that she were invisible.

  CONTENTS

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Preview: College Girls

  Chapter 1

  Elizabeth Wakefield sat at a large wooden table, her damp hands clasped in front of her. Her heart was pounding, and her usually sparkling blue-green eyes were filled with confusion and pain. This can't really be happening, she thought desperately. It just can't be. She bit her lip so hard that she was sure it would begin to bleed. It must be a dream, she told herself. That's it. A bad, bad dream. A nightmare. I'll wake up soon and I'll be safe at home in my own bed, and the sun will be shining through the window and my mother will be yelling at us to get up.

  Slowly, almost painfully, Elizabeth raised her eyes from the table and looked around her. She was in a bare, beige room whose small, dirty windows were set high in the walls and covered with steel grating. The room was illuminated by a single fluorescent light overhead. Her father, Ned Wakefield, sat beside her, one arm around her thin shoulders while he drummed restlessly on the table with his other hand. Across from her, serious and unsmiling, Detectives Marsh and Perez silently read through the typewritten pages before them.

  An unbearable coldness settled in Elizabeth's stomach. This wasn't a nightmare. This was really happening. She wasn't going to wake up back on Calico Drive to the comforting aroma of freshly brewed coffee and the busy sound of the morning radio show. She wasn't going to hear her mother calling her for breakfast or her twin sister, Jessica, noisily getting ready for school in the room next to hers. At the thought of Jessica, hot tears stung Elizabeth's eyes. She wiped them away with the tissue balled up in her fist.

  No, this wasn't a dream. This was reality. Her reality. She really was sitting in an interrogation room at the Sweet Valley Police Station. She really was being questioned by Detective Roger Marsh and Detective Andrew Perez about the fatal car crash that had killed her sister's boyfriend, Sam Woodruff, a few nights ago.

  Fresh, sharp tears spilled down her cheeks. All at once Elizabeth was transported back to that awful night, the night of the Jungle Prom.

  The barren room, the unsmiling policemen, and even her worried father vanished. All she could see was the black road and a sudden, frantic swirl of headlights; all she could hear was the terrified screech of brakes and the angry sound of shattering glass.

  "Miss Wakefield? Elizabeth?"

  Her father squeezed her shoulder. "Detective Marsh was asking you a question," he whispered.

  Elizabeth blinked. Detective Marsh was leaning toward her, a concerned expression on his face. "Miss Wakefield," he repeated. "Miss Wakefield, are you all right?"

  All right? Elizabeth wondered silently. What is all right supposed to mean when you're overcome with so much misery and sorrow? But she nodded automatically. Calling on all her will, she managed to whisper, "Yes." Her father's hand tightened on her arm. "Yes, I'm all—all right."

  "We have to ask you just a few more questions," said Detective Marsh. "It won't take long."

  Ned Wakefield drew himself up straight. "I really don't see why this is necessary," he said in his most authoritative manner. "This has been a terrible ordeal for Elizabeth. You can see for yourselves that she's still in shock."

  Detective Perez moved his chair back from the table. The scraping sound ran down Elizabeth's spine like a knife.

  "We appreciate what your daughter has gone through, Mr. Wakefield," he said in a flat, impersonal voice. "But you're a lawyer yourself. This may not be your usual sort of case, but I'm sure you understand that we're only doing our job. We have to examine all the evidence. There are things that have come up . . . ." Detective Perez lowered his voice. "A boy is dead, Mr. Wakefield. We take that very seriously."

  At the mention of Sam, his face flashed in front of Elizabeth's eyes. He was smiling in his warm, easy way. He looked so real, just for that instant, that she almost felt as though she could reach out and touch him. She had to hold her breath to stop herself from crying again. All right? she thought hopelessly. I may never be all right again.

  Her father was still holding on to her. He nodded at Detective Perez. "I do understand," he said evenly. "Of course I understand. It was a terrible thing that happened. But I want my daughter to understand that as long as no charges have been filed against her, she is under no legal obligation to answer your questions."

  The two detectives looked at each other.

  "Dad—" Elizabeth had been listening to her father and the policeman talking as though they were in another room, talking about somebody else, but now she reached out and put her hand over Mr. Wakefield's. "It's OK, Dad," she said in a hushed, strained voice. "I'll answer whatever I can."

  Detective Marsh smiled at her. "Thank you, Miss Wakefield. You're very brave." He glanced at the paper in front of him again. "Now, according to your original statement, you don't remember leaving the dance."

  Elizabeth closed her eyes, trying to put aside the moment of the crash itself and get back to the Jungle Prom. But there wasn't anything before the crash; nothing at all. She opened her eyes again and made herself look at Detective Marsh. "No," she said, shaking her head. "No, I don't remember."

  Detective Perez tipped his chair back. "You must remember something, Miss Wakefield," he pressed. "What about why you left the dance? Was it because your twin sister, Jessica Wakefield, and your boyfriend, Todd Wilkins, were voted Prom Queen and King? Could that have been the reason?"

  "Now see here!" Ned Wakefield slammed his fist on the table so hard that Elizabeth jumped. "I don't think you have any right—"

  Detective Marsh's calm, even voice cut him off. "There's no need to get upset, Mr. Wakefield," he said reassuringly. "All Detective Perez is trying to do is help jog Elizabeth's memory. We were hoping she might have some idea of where she and Mr. Woodruff were going when they left the school." He turned to his partner. "Isn't that right, Andrew?"

  Elizabeth focused her eyes on the tabletop again, but she could still feel the others looking at her. The policemen were eyeing her with suspicion; her father with concern. In her mind, brakes were screeching and glass was splintering
around her like a shower of stars. Oh, how she wished she could remember something. How she wished she could go back to that night and live it all over again.

  "I truly don't remember," she finally choked out. "I guess we were driving along and then there was all this noise . . . this horrible noise . . . . I must have hit the brakes, and the windshield started to break . . . ." She wondered if the others could hear the pounding of her heart. "I'm really, really sorry," she whispered, "but I don't remember anything more than that. I just don't."

  Elizabeth steeled herself against another attack of tears. During this horrible nightmare, the fact that she couldn't remember what had happened that night was in some ways the worst thing of all. She remembered the days leading up to the gala Jungle Prom. She remembered the fierce competition between herself and Jessica to see who would be selected Queen. She even remembered that she'd been trying to be a new person—a more assertive and less giving person, a person more like her flamboyant twin. But when she tried to think of the dance itself, her mind went blank. No, not even blank. There was a hole in her mind where her memories of the dance should have been. Memories of what she did, whom she talked to, why she and Sam left together, and where they were going . . . . It was as though several hours of her life had been ripped out like pages from a book. Ripped out and thrown away.

  Detective Perez cleared his throat. "I'm afraid that the lab report showed a significant blood-alcohol level in both your daughter and Sam Woodruff." He tapped the report on the table. "I'm sorry, Mr. Wakefield, but on the basis of that and the other evidence we have, added to Elizabeth's complete inability to offer anything in her defense . . ." Detective Perez paused and shook his head sadly. "Well, I'm afraid that we're going to have to charge her with involuntary manslaughter."

  Elizabeth could feel what was left of her control slipping away. The room began to spin around her; her head started to throb. She bit her lip to try to keep the tears back, to try to keep herself from trembling with sobs. Manslaughter! They were accusing her of killing Sam. She was going to jail!

  "Don't worry, honey," her father was saying from somewhere about a million miles away. "This is all a mistake. A dreadful mistake. Don't you worry, I'm going to get you the best defense lawyer money can buy. We'll have them apologizing publicly before we're through."

  But Elizabeth couldn't concentrate on what her father was telling her. All she could think of was Sam. Sam was dead and it hadn't been an unavoidable accident. Sam was dead and it was she who had murdered him.

  Elizabeth had seen enough police shows to know what a holding cell looked like, but seeing one on television and actually being locked inside one were two very different things. She almost screamed out loud when the door banged shut behind her. Don't leave me here by myself! she wanted to beg. Please, please don't leave me by myself. But she didn't. She faced the cell with the same resolve that had helped her through her arrest and interrogation. Feeling as though she were crossing an enormous desert, she slowly walked the few feet between the door and the wall and sat down in the farthest corner. She was able to shed her facade of assurance, and she wanted to disappear.

  It took a few seconds for Elizabeth to realize that she wasn't alone in the cell. Two other women shared the small space. The first was a heavily made-up, disheveled, middle-aged woman who was slumped against the opposite wall, breathing loudly. The second was a girl not much older than Elizabeth. She was also wearing a lot of makeup, and was dressed in a short, tight, satin skirt, a skimpy silver halter top, and glittering silvery stockings.

  Though she tried to ignore them, Elizabeth could feel them staring at her with hostility.

  The woman suddenly launched herself off the hard wooden bench.

  "Whatsa matta, honey?" she demanded, staggering toward Elizabeth. "You get caught driving your daddy's Porsche too fast?"

  Elizabeth desperately wished that she were invisible.

  The girl's eyes looked up and down Elizabeth as though she were a dress she was thinking of buying.

  "You know what?" the girl asked in a slow, wry drawl. "Lucky for me she's not in my line of work." She laughed. "She could make a fortune with that California beach-girl look of hers. That drives the guys nuts."

  Elizabeth huddled into her corner, hoping the others couldn't see how she was blushing. Don't listen, she told herself, refusing to look at her cellmates. Don't listen. And don't speak. If she ignored them, maybe they'd leave her alone.

  "Come on, princess," the woman taunted her. "Tell us what you're in here for." She lurched closer, coming to an unsteady stop at Elizabeth's side. She was so close that Elizabeth could smell the alcohol on her breath. "Bet you've never been in a place like this before, have ya, honey? Bet you can't wait to get back to your nice family and all your nice rich friends."

  "How can you say a thing like that?" the girl asked, almost offended. "I'm sure the princess finds her fancy suburban life totally boring. I'm sure she'd much rather be here with us." She slapped the cinder-block stone wall. "It's so much cozier in a jail cell than it is in a big expensive house."

  Elizabeth dug her nails into the palms of her hands, willing herself not to collapse completely. Please, she silently pleaded. Please just let me get through this. Don't let me start crying now.

  Elizabeth understood that ever since the night of the crash, part of her had been numb. Most of her was torn apart with guilt and grief, but there had been a small part that had felt nothing. That small section of her heart and mind was what had gotten her through Sam's funeral and allowed her to get from one bleak day to the next. It had allowed her to go on, even though Jessica and Todd Wilkins, the two people she loved most in the world, had barely spoken a word to her since the night of the crash. But now, sitting in the cold, dingy cell, staring at the shadows of the iron bars on the floor, the numbness was beginning to seep away.

  It was leaving, but it was being replaced by terror. Elizabeth had never felt so alone or so frightened before in her life.

  Against her will, her body began to shake with silent sobs.

  "Whatsa matter, honey?" the woman jeered at her again. "You want your daddy to come and take you home? You missin' your favorite TV show or couldn't you get a date on a Saturday night?"

  The girl threw herself on the bench. "Oh, leave her alone, why don't you?" she snapped. Her voice was loud and tough. "Can't you see the poor kid's upset? Why don't you do us all a favor and just sit down and pass out?"

  Hugging herself as tightly as she could, Elizabeth looked gratefully up at the girl through her tears.

  "You just go on and let it all out," the girl advised her. "It'll make you feel better. Really. It will."

  But Elizabeth knew that she might never feel better again.

  Amy Sutton watched warily as Lila Fowler dragged more and more clothes out of her enormous closet and spread them on the bed for Amy's approval.

  Lila was not only one of the prettiest and most popular girls in Sweet Valley, she was also one of the wealthiest. Which meant that if she was going to make Amy look at everything in her wardrobe, they might be here for the rest of the week, or at least the rest of the weekend.

  Lila picked up a soft cotton dress in a delicate shade of lilac and held it away from her. "You know, I've always been partial to purple," she said, eyeing it critically. "But I'm sure I once heard my father say that my mother couldn't stand purple, unless it was on a plum!" She laughed as though this were the funniest thing she had ever heard.

  Amy smiled woodenly. The size of Lila's wardrobe wasn't the only reason Amy was nervous. An amazing change had come over Lila in just a few days. Lila had been going through a bad time recently. It had started with John Pfeiffer and blown up with Nathan Pritchard, and she'd become unusually silent and withdrawn. She'd stopped dating. She'd stopped hanging out with her friends. She'd even stopped shopping and gossiping, her two favorite activities. Today, however, she seemed as happy as a cheerleader at the Rose Bowl—and more like her old self than her old self had
been.

  Lila wiped tears of laughter from her eyes. "Gosh," she said. "I can't seem to stop talking today. I guess I'm just nervous about seeing Grace after all these years."

  Grace, Amy repeated silently. She was already tired of hearing the name. Ever since she'd arrived, everything had been Grace this and Grace that. Maybe Grace would like this. Maybe Grace wouldn't like that. Maybe Grace and I will go away for a weekend. Maybe Grace and I will go to the theater. I wonder what Grace's favorite food is?

  Amy forced another smile on her lips. "Well, it isn't every day you meet your long-lost mother, is it?" she asked brightly. "I mean, it's been a long time since your parents were divorced. You're bound to be a little edgy."

  "That's true, isn't it?" asked Lila. "I mean, I should be nervous. In six days I'm finally going to meet my mother for the first time since I was two! But then again, she is my mother." Lila laughed again.

  Amy sighed inwardly. Sometimes she couldn't help thinking that Lila was the classic poor little rich girl. Lila might have everything money could buy, but there were things that money couldn't buy that she needed desperately. Things like her busy father's time and companionship, and her mother's presence and love.

  Lila's laughter bounced through the room again. "I just want to look perfect, that's all. After all, Grace does live in Paris. I don't want her to think I'm too provincial." Frowning, she picked a pair of black silk pants off the pile. "On the other hand," she continued, "I don't want her to think I'm too sophisticated. I mean, the last time she saw me I was a little kid. I want her to remember me like that, too. You know, so we can bond."

  Amy was grateful that Lila's attention was back on her clothes so that Lila couldn't see the expression on Amy's face. So they could bond? It was all Amy could do to keep from laughing out loud. The only times she'd ever heard Lila Fowler use the word "bond" was when the word "stock" was right before it.

  "I'm sure she remembers you from when you were little," Amy said reassuringly. But to herself she added, How else is she going to remember Lila? She's never even seen her with a full set of teeth.