Based on an actual crime in 1955, this YA novel is at once a mystery and a coming-of-age story. The brutal murder of two teenage girls on the last day of Nora Cunningham’s junior year in high school throws Nora into turmoil. Her certainties—friendships, religion, her prudence, her resolve to find a boyfriend taller than she is—are shaken or cast off altogether. Most people in Elmgrove, Maryland, share the comforting conviction that Buddy Novak, who had every reason to want his ex-girlfriend dead, is responsible for the killings. Nora agrees at first, then begins to doubt Buddy’s guilt, and finally comes to believe him innocent—the lone dissenting voice in Elmgrove. Told from several different perspectives, including that of the murderer, Mister Death’s Blue-Eyed Girls is a suspenseful page-turner with a powerful human drama at its core. A Kirkus Best Teen Book of 2012 * "An engrossing exploration of how a murder affects a community."— Kirkus Reviews, starred review "This is a thinking-teen's mystery."— Bulletin  "Hahn emphasizes the universality of growing up and facing death."— Horn Book  * "This wrenching novel offers an aggregate portrait of the effects of loss and grief, including both the strengthening and dissolution of relationships."— Publishers Weekly, starred review "This creepy tale slowly and craftily builds tension . . . It has the added feature of offering a unique snapshot of life in the 1950's."— School Library Journal  "The veracity of this tragedy raises the stakes for readers who are already fans of Hahn's supernatural fiction, and the coming-of-age component of Nora's shattered naïveté is all the more searing."— Bulletin Mary Downing Hahn ’s many acclaimed novels include such beloved ghost stories as Wait Till Helen Comes, Deep and Dark and Dangerous, and Took. A former librarian, she has received more than fifty child-voted state awards for her work. She lives in Columbia, Maryland, with a cat named Nixi. Thursday, June 14 Party in the Park Nora Despite the summer heat, I’m sprawled on my bed, radio turned up loud to get the full benefit of Little Richard singing "Tutti Frutti." Dad’s not home from work and Mom’s outside hanging up the wash, so there’s nobody to scream "Turn that radio down!"    The window fan blows warm air on my face. I close my eyes and drift off into a daydream about Don Appleton, a boy in my art class. I’ve loved him since eighth grade. Not that he knows it. Not that he loves me. Anyway . . .    The car radio blasts "Tutti Frutti," and the wind blows through my hair. Don smiles at me as he slides one arm around my shoulder, and I move closer to him, till I’m practically sitting in his lap. The way Cheryl rides with Buddy, her hand on his thigh. He kisses me and someone blows a horn at us. "You’re so pretty," he whispers. "I really like you."    Up ahead is the frozen custard stand. Peggy Turner—Don’s real-life girlfriend—is there with her friends. They all stare. They can’t believe Don is with me. Right in front of them, he kisses me again, and then he—    "Nora, phone!" my little brother hollers up the steps. "Phone!"    Jolted out of my daydream, I holler back, "Who is it?" I’m too hot to move.    "I don’t know," he yells. "Some girl."    Dull from the heat, I go downstairs and take the phone from Billy.    It’s Ellie. "A bunch of kids are getting together in the park tonight," she says. "Can you come?"    My mood suddenly improves. "Sure," I say.    "Sleep over at my house," she says. "We’ll walk to school together tomorrow. Last day! Yay!"    "Who’s coming?" I cross my fingers and hope Ellie will say Don, Don will be there. Which is silly, because he isn’t in the same crowd. Don’s on the basketball team. He dates cheerleaders and majorettes. He lives in Dulaney Park, the rich part of town. I got Mom to drive me by his house last Halloween, just to see what it looked like. I was scared he might see me, so I crouched on the floor and peeked out the car window. His house was all lit up. Some trick-or-treaters were ringing the doorbell, and I told Mom to drive on in case Don came to the door.    "All the kids will be there," Ellie says. "Paul, Gary, Charlie, Cheryl, and lots more. You know how our neighborhood is."    "More exciting than mine, that’s for sure." As I speak, I see Mr. and Mrs. Clements drift past our house, their little dog trailing behind them. They’re old. Their dog is old. Old houses, old people—I guess they go together. Not a person on our block is under forty except Billy and me. Boring, boring, boring.    Ellie lives a mile away on the other side of Elmgrove, in Evergreen Acres. It used to be woods when I was little. Block after block, street after street of row houses built after the war for veterans and their families.    Everybody’s young there, even parents. Most of the dads fought in Europe and Africa and all those islands in the Pacific. My dad was too old for the draft, but Ellie’s father was in the navy. Joined up after Pe