Buried by Linda Joy Singleton Page A

the pieces? This cannot end well.
    I’m so lost in my thoughts that I almost miss movement by the silver bus. A shadowy figure creeps close to the tires. Curious, I crouch down by an SUV to watch. The shadow pauses to furtively glance around, as if sensing he’s being watched. He’s draped in all black: long jacket, western boots, and a ski mask pulled low over his face.
    The Grin Reaper!
    Could it be Wiley? I feel strangely excited, but remind myself that he’s no friend. I have a score to settle with the Reaper. No one tosses me to the ground and dumps my backpack in the garbage. You’re through, Reaper, I vow. I’m going to find out who you are and make sure everyone at school finds out too.
    This is a new twist to my finding skill, I observe with a wry grin.
    Ducking behind cars, I move closer to the bus. At less than fifty feet away, there’s no mistaking the furtive movements of the Reaper. He’s creeping beside the tires, clearly intent on trouble. He lifts his hand and something silvery flashes. A knife? Is he going to slash the tires?
    Sprinting forward a few cars, I duck behind a silver Prius, watching. The Reaper nears the door of the bus, his head tucked low. He stops, climbs up the steps, and reaches for the knob, but it doesn’t open. He withdraws something the size of a pencil from his pocket. His back blocks my view, but when the door falls open, I know he’s picked the lock. Wait till I tell Rune! Her hero is nothing more than a criminal.
    He enters the bus, the steps folding up behind him.
    What’s he doing in there? Nothing good, that’s for sure. I wait, not sure what to do. I could run get a teacher. But what if he leaves before I get back and I end up looking like a fool? Still, if I do nothing, he could trash Philippe’s bus. And that’s just wrong after Philippe generously donated his time to the school.
    And why would the Reaper go after Philippe, anyway? Curiosity itches like a bad rash I shouldn’t scratch. But I’ve never been good at doing what I’m supposed to, which is my only excuse for heading to the bus.
    But as I get close, the door swings open. The automatic steps unfold again as if obeying the Grin Reaper’s command. He hits the ground running, his feet flying.
    Instinct takes over and I go after him. He heads back toward the school, turning down a path leading to classrooms. He pauses, glancing around, then disappears around a corner.
    When I reach the walkway, he’s gone. I keep running, straining my neck looking for him. As I near the cafeteria, I hear the hum of voices from the Singing Star rehearsal. The Reaper could easily slip inside and vanish into the chaos.
    Increasing my pace, I reach the auditorium and grab for the door. But I hear a sound behind me. I whirl, and see dark clothes and a ski mask over dark eyes. He’s leaning against the whitewashed wall, one gloved hand casually resting on the rough surface and the other tucked into his jacket pocket. I can’t see his face, but I know he’s grinning.
    â€œWhat did you do?” I demand accusingly. I take a step forward, careful to keep an arm’s distance between us. I doubt he’s dangerous, but I don’t trust him.
    â€œWhatever do you mean?” he says in a mocking voice.
    â€œYou know exactly!” I’m furious he’s not taking me seriously. “I saw you sneak inside Philippe’s trailer.”
    â€œDelusional much?”
    I glare. “You were carrying a knife when you went into the trailer but I didn’t see anything in your hands when you came out. What have you done?”
    â€œYou thought that was a knife? It wasn’t.”
    â€œI don’t believe you.”
    â€œHave you always been such a skeptic?” he asks. “What do you think I did? Vandalized the big famous star’s bus? Sorry, but you’re wrong.”
    â€œI don’t care what you did. But the principal