Can You Keep a Secret? by R. L. Stine Page B

it the dead animals?”
    Eddie shook his head. “I don’t think so. They’re all in coffins. And buried deep. It’s got to be coming from somewhere else.”
    He lowered his head and shoulders and dug the blade into the soft dirt.
    After a few more minutes that seemed like hours to me, he stopped and leaned on the shovel handle. He peered down into the hole he had dug. “This is definitely where I buried it,” he said, talking to himself, not to me. “On this side of the grave. I remember it clearly. This is how deep I dug.”
    He sighed and mopped his forehead again. “Oh, well.” He jumped into the hole and began digging with the shovel in again. Tossing the dirt up frantically now, muttering to himself, groaning with each heave of dirt.
    I leaned toward him. “Eddie? Sure this is the right grave?”
    “Of course I’m sure! I’m not stupid! This is Sparky’s grave. I dug it myself,” he shouted angrily. “Shut up, Emmy. Just shut up.”
    Startled by his anger, I took a few steps back.
    He heaved the shovel away. It bounced off the next gravestone and landed at my feet.
    Then he dropped to his knees in the grave and, groaning loudly with each move, began pawing at the dirt, scrabbling it up with both hands. Clawing big clods of dirt up like a frantic animal, spitting and cursing, tossing handfuls over his head. Finally, he cried out a string of curses and raised himself, chest heaving, to his feet.
    “It’s … gone,” he gasped, eyes wide, sweat pouring down his face. “Someone took it. The briefcase is gone.”

 
    19.
    I reached out and helped tug Eddie up from the hole. His hands were caked with mud. Even in the dim light, his dark hair glistened with sweat. His whole body trembled as I pulled him up and held him, wrapped my arms around him, waiting for his panting breaths to slow.
    Finally, he heaved a long sigh and shook his head hard, as if shaking away his anger and surprise. I stepped back, and he wiped his mud-caked hands on the legs of his jeans. Then he swept back his hair, which had fallen down over his forehead.
    “I don’t know what to say,” I stammered. “One of our friends? One of our friends came back and took the money? I really can’t believe that, Eddie. I really don’t think—”
    “It had to be Danny,” he said, his voice hoarse. He picked up the shovel and slammed it with all his might onto the ground. “Of course it was Danny.”
    “No,” I said. “That’s crazy. Why do you think—”
    Eddie started stomping toward the car, an angry scowl on his sweat-drenched face. “He was the only one,” he said. “The only one who wanted to take his share without waiting.”
    “But that doesn’t mean he came back and took it,” I said, hurrying to catch up with him. “You need to calm down, Eddie. We need to figure this out. But you have to get yourself together.”
    He wheeled around, his eyes wide with anger. “I’ll get myself together—as soon as I get the money back from Danny.” He pulled open the car door and dropped behind the wheel.
    I hesitated. I’d never seen him this crazed before. I didn’t like it. I was frightened, too. The armored truck robber was going to come after Eddie and me to get his money. And we didn’t have it.
    But going insane and blaming our friends wasn’t going to help us.
    “Are you coming or not?” Eddie called.
    “Hey, it’s my car,” I said. He started it up before I was in my seat. “Where are we going? Don’t tell me we’re going to Danny’s.”
    “Of course we’re going to Danny’s,” he murmured, pulling the car away from the cemetery fence.
    “But we don’t have any proof—” I started.
    “Proof? Emmy, why do we need proof? I’m just going to ask him nicely to return the money. He’ll act real innocent. You know Danny’s a good actor. He’s in the drama club. He’s in all the plays. Danny likes to act. So … he’ll act all innocent. And then I’ll persuade him to tell us the truth.”
    “I