CHAPTER SAMPLER

sammy keyes
AND
THE

kiss goodbye

by WENDELIN VAN DRAANEN

ALFRED A. KNOPF
New York
Keep reading for a sneak peek . . .

A WARNING FROM
WENDELIN
Let me start by saying Im sorry.
I know you were expecting Sammy.
I know you were looking forward to her telling you all
about some madcap escapade that had her braving shortcuts or snooping through basements or ditching bad guys.
Or cops.
I know youre here to laugh and race along with her as
she gets into scrapes and trouble and finally finds her way
back home.
She would be here if she could, but . . . she cant. And
since everyone else is either too busy trying to help or having too much trouble dealing to let you know whats going
on, youre stuck with me.
Im having a lot of trouble, too, believe me. But I
thought you should know. As hard as it is to hear, as much
as it hurts to tell, you deserve to know whats happened to
Sammy Keyes.
1

1_ WEDNESDAY NIGHT
Holly is the one who found her.
There was a lot of screaming.
And crying.
And as we all know, Holly is not a screamer. Or a crier.
But afterward people said that her wails surely woke the
dead.
Unfortunately, they did not wake Sammy Keyes.
Holly saw the whole thingor, at least, parts of the
whole thingand when Sergeant Borsch found that out,
he became relentless. (Or, as Sammy would have said, like
a dog with a bone.)
From the beginning, he commanded Holly as he
pulled her into a chair in the emergency room. Every detail.
Despite his tough-cop exterior, Sergeant Gilbert Borsch
was, at the moment, a gun-slinging puddle of misery, his
face etched deep with a single burning question:
Who did this?
(Well, there were other questions forming lines among
those already present from years on the forcequestions
3

like Why? and When? and Where? and How? But the deepest, most painful crease was caused by the fiery rage of
Who?)
Holly wasnt focused on Sergeant Borsch or his topographic face. She stared instead at the door through which
Sammys stretcher had been wheeled, and whimpered, Is
she going to be all right?
Sergeant Borsch sucked on a tooth (an infamous habit
cultivated before his doctor had suggested he quit with the
pastrami and take up with turkey). Then he gruffed, Im
not a doctor, which was cop code for No, or Probably
not, or Dont get your hopes upthe latter being something Sergeant Borsch had learned was safer for his heart
than optimism.
Or, regrettably, pastrami.
But suddenly Hollys adoptive mother, Meg Talbrook,
was blasting through the door, wrapping Holly in her
arms as she panted out incoherent phrases and fragmented
clauses and hopelessly dangling modifiers.
And since Meg was a dog groomer, which was just
thiiiis far away from being a veterinarian, which (as everyone suspects but wont actually say) is just thiiiis far away
from being a doctor, and since there were, at that time, no
doctors in attendance, Holly looked at her mother with
desperate puppy-dog eyes and begged, Tell me shes going to be all right.
The fragmented clauses suddenly ceased, Megs shoulders squared back, and her solid frame jelled into a protective barrier between her daughter and reality. Then she
held her daughters face in her hands and lied with the

unwavering conviction only a parent in crisis can muster.

Shes going to be fine.
Its bad, Mom. There was a lot of blood. She wouldnt
wake up. She wouldnt . . . she was just . . .
Who are we dealing with here, hmm? Meg asked,
sitting beside her. Have you ever known anyone to get
the better of Sammy? She lifted Hollys chin. She was
breathing, right? Her heart was beating, right?
I dont know! They put a mask on her and stuck tubes
in her and told me to stay back.
Meg cast a wary eye on Sergeant Borsch, silently asking what he might know of the situation, but the best the
Borschman could seem to do was, She wasnt under a
white sheet. Thats all I know.
Dont you have connections? Meg whispered. Cant
you find out?
Theyll come out when they know something, the
lawman stated. Thats how this works. Me demanding information is gonna get us nothin but stonewalled. What
I need to find out, maam, is who did this. Thats my job,
and I really need your daughters cooperation.
Meg turned to Holly, who looked down to collect her
thoughts, but instead got caught up thinking about her
shoes.
They were high-tops, just like Sammys.
It used to be just Sammy who wore high-tops, but now
a lot of kids at William Rose Junior High did. Even (to the
administrations chagrin) some of the teachers. It was just
one of those things. Something Sammy had started, not by
trying, but by just standing up and being.

Holly? Sergeant Borsch rasped. Holly, please.

But instead of coming out with who, what, where,
when, or why, what Holly said was, She saved my life,
you know. That time at the riverbed? When that creep was
coming after me? She took him down with her umbrella.
That big black thing? Meg asked. You never told
me that!
Please, Sergeant Borsch said again, desperate for
them to discuss the past in the future, not now, when he
was trying to deal with the present.
Holly took a deep, choppy breath, held it for a moment, then said, She was on her way home
Home? Sergeant Borsch asked. But that makes no
sense! This happened at the Highrise!
As youre probably aware, Sergeant Borsch is not
known for his tact or his patience. And although he is a
more tactful and patient man now than he was as a streetbeat officer when Sammy first met him, these characteristics would need major work should he ever aspire to reach
the rank of lieutenant. Or captain. Or (pray for the City of
Santa Martina) chief.
So it came as no surprise to Holly that after just one
short sentence Sergeant Borsch had already interrupted
her, but Meg was not so accustomed to the lawmans
brusque ways. The girls had been studying for exams,
she began.
At the Pup Parlor? Sergeant Borsch interjected, again
interrupting after a single sentence.
At our apartment above the business, Meg said. It
was after nine and dark outside. I was heading off to take

a shower before bed and told Sammy she should get home
before her grandmother began to worry.
But her grandmother no longer lives in the Highrise!
Sergeant Borschs confusion was understandable. Not
so long ago Sammy had lived illegally with her grandmother
on the fifth floor of Santa Martinas only governmentsubsidized housing for seniorsthe Senior Highrise
(clearly named in a moment of unrivaled creative genius).
And although the secret of Sammys residence had
never been openly discussed, the Borschman had figured
it out and immediately wished he hadnt. How could he
let this girl continue to sneak up and down the fire escape
and sleep on her grandmothers couch when doing so was
against the law?
It was the first time in his career that Officer Borsch had
consciously looked the other way, convincing himself that
there were bigger wrongs in this world than a kid sleeping
on an old ladys couch.
Still, no one was more relieved than Gil Borsch when
Sammys grandmother married the straight-shooting Hudson Graham, and the lawbreakers and their cat took up
legal residence with the septuagenarian on Cypress Street.
But that move had occurred months earlier, which is
why (despite his abrasive demeanor and propensity for interruption) it was legitimate for an investigating officer to
ask, What was Sammy doing at the Highrise?
And ask it he did.
Hollys head quivered side to side. She said something
about the Nightie-Napper.
The creases in Sergeant Borschs face deepened.

Especially the ones above and between his eyebrows. Entire rivers could have coursed through them without hazarding overflow. The Nightie-Napper?
Holly nodded. It bugged her that she never figured
out who the Nightie-Napper was.
So this . . . this Nightie-Napper did this to her?
No! Hollys head quivering resumed. At least I
dont think so!
Again, it was Meg who came to the rescue. Holly,
sweetheart, she said with a soothing voice, we dont
understand what youre talking about. Explain what a
nightie-napper is.
The Nightie-Napper has been stealing stuff out of the
dryers in the basement at the Highrise. Theyve been doing it for a long time.
Stuff? Meg prompted. Like . . . nightgowns?
Holly shrugged. And muumuus.
Muumuus, Sergeant Borsch moaned. What has
this
Since Meg was a woman of both internal and external substance, it took a simple stop hand signal for her to
shut him down. Then she continued coaxing information
from her obviously traumatized daughter. Is the NightieNapper someone you think might try to kill a fourteenyear-old girl?
Hollys eyes pinched closed. The Nightie-Napper
doesnt have anything to do with this!
Sergeant Borschs hands flew skyward. Then why
are you
8

went Megs hand again. And like a Rottweiler

warning off an intruder, she locked eyes with him and
bared her teeth ever so slightly as she growled, Shell get
to it.
And after a little head bobbing and recollecting and
sorting and thinking, Holly did indeed get to it. Sammy
talked about the Nightie-Napper. She also wondered if her
gum was still in the fire-escape doorjamb. She was trying to
picture what the new neighbor was like. Her names Violet, and Sammy thought that was strange.
Why strange? Meg asked, but then with a laugh she
got it. Oh! First Daisy, then Rose, now Violet!
Exactly. Holly took a deep breath, then continued.
It seemed like she missed the place. I told her she should
take me there someday, because Id never been inside, and
after all the stories shed told, I really wanted to sneak up
the fire escape and peek down the hallway and hide out in
the basement and maybe catch the Nightie-Napper redhanded.
Now, an ordinary parent might have filed this particular
conversation away in her mental To Be Discussed folder,
but Meg was no ordinary parent. She had taken the runaway Holly in, saving her from a life of homelessness, and
no sleuthing adventure through a seniors building would
(or could) come close to the dangers Holly had already
faced.
Besides, this wasnt about going places you shouldnt.
This was about Sammy.
So Meg simply waited for Holly to continue, needing
stop

to employ only one stop signal to quell Sergeant Borschs

questions before Hollys focus returned.
After she left, I watched her through the window.
She rode her skateboard up to Main Street and crossed
Broadway. Only when she got to the other side, she didnt
cross again and go toward Hudsons the way she always
does. She just stood looking over at the Highrise for a little
while. Then she rode down Main and disappeared into the
bushes like she used to when she lived at the Highrise.
Meg asked her daughter a question that Gil Borsch
would never in a million years have thought to ask: Did
that upset you?
Hollys head bobbed. Yes! Id just talked to her about
wanting to go there with herwhy couldnt she wait for
sometime when I could go, too?
So you watched to see if she really was going up the
fire escape?
Yes! And she did! And at first I was really mad!
But then?
But then I saw someone start up the stairs after her.
And . . . ?
And . . . and they were moving fast. Like they were
chasing her. I called her cell phone to warn her, but her
phone started ringing in our kitchen! So I opened the window and yelled for her to watch out, but that was hopeless
because of the traffic. And then there was a big struggle
and I saw Sammy fall off the fire escape. Hollys eyes
welled with tears. It was the third floor, Mom. Nobody
can survive that.
10

There were bushes, Meg assured her.

Even in that moment Holly recognized the irony of
Megs statement. Bushes had been a big part of Sammys
duck-and-cover routine. Bushes had concealed her from
foes and cops alike. Bushes had been her primary spy spot,
and once again, she had landed in them.
Only this wasnt funny.
Not funny at all.
But pondering the irony of bushes provided a silence
and, consequently, a long-awaited entry into the conversation for Sergeant Borsch. How would you describe
this person who followed Sammy up the stairs? he asked.
Tall? Short? Thin? Hefty?
Holly thought a moment, then shook her head. Kind
of medium.
If theres one answer Sergeant Borsch has been known
to ridicule, its kind of medium. But this time it didnt
seem to even register on his finely calibrated annoyance
meter, and he just went on. Man? Woman?
Holly hesitated. I figured it was a man, but . . . but . . .
I guess it could have been a woman.
Hair? Clothing?
It was dark! I dont know!
Where did the assailant go? Up? Down?
I dont know! I saw Sammy fall and I screamed and
called 911!
Howd you know it was Sammy falling and not the
other person?
Her backpack! She was wearing her backpack!
11

The three of them sat there, Holly in tears, Meg trying

to comfort her, and Sergeant Borsch numbed to the core.
He had nothing.
Nothing to work with.
Not a single clue.

12

2_ THE SWINGING DOOR

OF (MAYBE) DEATH
News travels fast in the digital age, and not long after
Holly smacked Sergeant Borsch with the one-two punch
of Dont Know and Not Sure, teenagers started coming
through the emergency-room door.
The first one on the scene was Heather Acosta.
Where is she? she panted, looking around wildly as if
Sammy were her best friend, instead of the girl shed tortured and wished dead for well over a year.
Holly groaned at the sight of her. She was not (and
would likely never be) convinced that Heather was sincere
in her newfound enthusiasm for Sammy. And despite Sammys willingness to let bygones be bygones, Holly was not
one to forget Heather Acostas long history of deceit and
revenge (not to mention brazen backstabbing). It was hard
for her to believe that three shell-shocking days in Las
Vegas had really changed Heather.
But there Heather was, gasping and gushing concern,
her red hair flashing like a squad-car light as she spun
around, searching for Sammy. Shes not . . . , she said,

13

14

her voice trailing off as she cast her wide eyes on Holly,
Meg, and Sergeant Borsch.
And since Holly, Meg, and Sergeant Borsch each held
similar suspicions about Heather, none of them jumped up
with assurances that Sammy would be all right. They simply stared.
What this lack of assurance triggered in Heather was
a crumpling at the knees and a scream so fierce and pathetic and loud that emergency-room personnel began appearing to see if anyone was being stabbed in the waiting
room (something that was, unfortunately, not unheard of
at Santa Martinas Community Hospital).
Stop it! Holly shouted at Heather. We dont know
anything yet!
But Heather was folded into herself on the floor, so
deafened by her own primal wailing that she didnt hear
what Holly was saying.
And then Casey Acosta came blasting in and saw (and
heard) his sister wailing on the floor, which immediately
set him falling into the same pit of despair as his life with
Sammy flashed before his eyes.
The tortured look on his face could have broken the
heart of Death himself. If Death was around. Which nobody really knew at that point. (Although in the emergency room the odds were alarmingly high.)
What Caseys reaction did do was kick Holly into gear.
No ones said shes dead yet! Holly shouted, jumping
out of her seat. Theyre still working on her!
This did a nice job of shutting Heather up, but it didnt
happen fast enough for Nurse Cathy Abbey, who came

ramming through the main interior door, shouting, You

need to SHUT UP out here! Her pants were a tired blue,
her shoes a scuffed white, and the geometric designs on
her smock were a telling sign of her impersonal approach
to patient care.
Is there any news? Holly asked.
When theres news, well tell ya! Nurse Abbey
snapped, then withdrew through the emergency rooms
swinging door of fate.
So shes not . . . ? Heather asked, looking up from
her crumpled position on the floor.
We dont know! Holly snapped, and then to her
enormous relief, Marissa McKenze rushed in from outside,
followed almost immediately by Billy Pratt.
Marissa and Billy were tried-and-true friends. Maybe
not with each other, seeing how Marissa had dumped Billy
for the smooth-talking Danny Urbanski, breaking Billys
heart for at least a week. But Billy and Marissa had been
through the thick of things with Sammy, and thats what
mattered now.
Whats she doing here? Marissa seethed after Holly
had given all of them a quick recap. Like Holly, Marissa
trusted Heather about as far as she could throw a tiger.
And who is she texting?
Shes not just texting, Holly said, craning a little to
see better. Shes posting.
What? No! Tell her to stop! We dont want a bunch of
people here!
But the reality was, neither Holly nor Marissa knew
how to tell Heather to stop. The only person who seemed

15

16

to be able to reason with Heather was Sammy . . . and

sometimes Casey.
But Casey was fighting back tears as he whispered with
Billy, and Marissa didnt have the heart to interrupt their
conversation to ask him to deal with something she could
do herself. Even though she couldnt.
Meg had noted Heathers flurry of phone activity, too,
and saw a different sort of downside. She leaned over
and asked Sergeant Borsch, Does Sammys grandmother
know whats happened? The question was met with
the blank look of a man in shock, so she added, Ritas the
guardianIm sure theyll need her here. And someone
really should tell her before the rumor mill does. Then,
since the lawman still seemed too stunned to take action,
she offered, If you have her number, I could call her.
Gil Borsch did, in fact, have the number, but even
through the daze of his despair, he knew this was not the
sort of thing he should break to Rita over the phone. So
he pulled himself together and stood, saying, Ill tell her
in person. Then he gave his cell number to Meg so she
could call him if there were any developments and hauled
his heavy heart outside.
On the short ride over to Cypress Street, it occurred to
Sergeant Borsch that he was the very worst person for this
job. Since the facts were sketchy and the outcome uncertain, he didnt know what to say. The situation was gray on
gray, and Gil Borsch worked best when things were black
on white.
So he called his wife. However, instead of acknowledging that he really needed to talk to somebody, he convinced

himself he was doing it because she would want to know.

After all, Deb was a huge fan of Sammys. Shed even asked
Sammy to be a bridesmaid in their wedding! Never mind
that Sammy had almost ruined the wedding with one of
her daredevil escapadesthat was beside the point. Deb
loved her and would want to know.
Plus, he could try this breaking-the-news thing out on
her.
Unfortunately, it did not go well.
Not due to Debs reaction.
Due to his.
Besides breaking down while breaking the news, Gil
Borsch also broke the hands-free law while making the
callsomething hed been quick to ticket other drivers for
doing.
So after hanging up, he felt both broken up and dirty
worse off by far than hed been before hed made the call.
But as awful as he felt (and as raw and red as his eyes now
looked), he was already at the Cypress Street residence,
and really, there was no turning back from duty. Especially
since Rita and Hudson were both sitting on the porch, presumably waiting for Sammys postcurfew return.
Sergeant Borsch appearing at the Cypress Street residence (either via squad car or in his personal vehicle, which
he now drove) was not, in and of itself, cause for concern
for Hudson or Rita. The two had grown to know (and
even like) the lawman, especially since he seemed to keep
a weather eye out for Sammy and had delivered her home
safely from one tangle or another more often than they
cared to recall.

17

This time, however, neither the front nor back passenger door of Gil Borschs car swung open.
This time, no skateboard or backpack or high-tops
emerged.
This time, Hudson was the first to realize, something
was wrong.
Sergeant? he called, hurrying down the porch steps
as Rita followed closely behind.
So, with a fumbling of words and barely checked emotions, Sergeant Borsch managed to convey the crucial
points:
Sammy was hurt.
Badly hurt.
They needed to get to the hospital.
Now.
Old people are not known for their quick movements.
But these two seniors became instant Olympic contenders,
dashing and leaping and propelling into the house and out
again as they snatched up keys and cash and insurance cards
and dived into the Borschmans car without invitation.
Gil Borsch just went with it. He jumped in behind the
wheel, slapped his portable spinning light onto the roof,
and gunned it back to the hospital.
The car was still rolling when Rita and Hudson (apparently still vying for slots in the Olympics) bolted out and
ran for the emergency-room door, leaving Sergeant Borsch
to find legal parking on his own.
Once through the door, Rita and Hudson skidded to
a halt.
18

It was as though William Rose Junior High School

were conducting an assembly in the waiting room.
Only there was no presenter.
Just chaos.
QUIET! a voice across the room bellowed, and
when Rita looked to see who had made the sound, she saw
a bullish woman with bulging eyes. WHERES THE LEGAL GUARDIAN FOR SAMANTHA KEYES? Nurse
Abbey shouted.
Right here! Rita called, holding up her hand.
The flash mob of teens turned to face her. And while
they didnt break into a spontaneous rendition of Queens
Bohemian Rhapsody, they were clearly in a Bohemian
Rhapsody state of mind, parting to let this older woman
through as they wondered, Is this the real life? Is this just
fantasy? . . .
Then they watched the guardian and the nurse disappear behind the Swinging Door of (Maybe) Death.

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this is a borzoi book published by alfred a. knopf

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product
of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons,
living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Text copyright 2014 by Wendelin Van Draanen
Jacket art and illustrations copyright 2014 by Dan Yaccarino
All rights reserved. Published in the United States by Alfred A. Knopf, an imprint of
Random House Childrens Books, a division of Random House LLC,
a Penguin Random House Company, New York.
Knopf, Borzoi Books, and the colophon are registered
trademarks of Random House LLC.
Visit us on the Web! randomhouse.com/kids
Educators and librarians, for a variety of teaching tools,
visit us at RHTeachersLibrarians.com
Grateful acknowledgment is made to the following
for permission to reprint previously published material:
Alfred Publishing: Excerpt from The Teddy Bears Picnic, words by Jimmy
Kennedy, music by John W. Bratton, copyright 1947 (Renewed) by WB Music
Corp. and EMI Music Publishing LTD. All rights administered by WB Music Corp.
Reprinted by permission of Alfred Publishing.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Van Draanen, Wendelin.
Sammy Keyes and the kiss goodbye / Wendelin Van Draanen.
p. cm.
Summary: Sammy Keyes has spent the last few years solving other peoples
mysteries; now her friends (and some foes) come together to unmask
the fiend who has put Sammy in a coma.
ISBN 978-0-375-87055-2 (trade) ISBN 978-0-375-97055-9 (lib. bdg.)
ISBN 978-0-307-97410-5 (ebook) ISBN 978-0-307-93063-7 (pbk.)
[1. Mystery and detective stories. 2. FriendshipFiction. 3. ComaFiction.
4. Conduct of lifeFiction.] I. Title.
PZ7.V2857Safq 2014
[Fic]dc23
2013039890
Printed in the United States of America
September 2014

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