by P. J. Hoover
It’s so obvious that he’s being intentionally vague. I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing that I’m curious or that it matters. My jaw is clenched. My muscles are tight. I need to get out of here.
“Can I go?” I ask.
He puts up a hand to stop me. “Do you remember an artifact from around Easton Estate?”
My heartbeat quickens.
I put on a silly grin. “We have lots of artifacts around Easton Estate. We have an entire room of Egyptian stuff. Even a sarcophagus.”
He holds his hands about a foot apart and makes a circular motion with them. “About this big across and round. With symbols carved into it.”
Oh my god. He is seriously asking about the Deluge Segment. But not the piece he has here. Which means that there must be multiple pieces. He’s asking about the piece that Mom made the rubbing of.
I shake my head. “It doesn’t sound familiar.”
“You’re sure?” he says. He’s trying to hold his face calm, but the muscle below his left eye twitches the smallest amount.
“Yeah, I’m sure.”
“Do you think there are any pictures of it?” he asks.
Okay, this is just plain weird. Why would he care about this piece now?
“Not that I’ve ever seen,” I say.
Doctor Bingham lets a smile fall onto his face. “Too bad. Tell you what, Hannah. If you happen to find anything like that around Easton Estate, will you let me know?” He hands me a business card. It’s green with gold metallic lettering on it.
“Um, yeah, sure,” I say aloud, but inside, all I want to do is scream. Something big is going on. Something way out of my control.
I stand. “Can I go now?”
Doctor Bingham stands and walks to the door, opening it for me. “Of course. Thank you for taking the time to talk to me. Oh, and say hello to your uncle for me. Please tell him that if he ever wants a job …”
No way am I telling Uncle Randall any of that. I’d rather be destitute than have him work for a company like Amino Corp.
I step out into the hallway and act like I’m lost. “Which way is the coffee shop?”
Doctor Bingham points to the left. “That way. Don’t get lost again.”
My skin crawls as I walk away, almost like I can feel his eyes on my back. But I don’t turn to check. Instead, I go right to the coffee shop. Lucas is halfway done with the chalkboard when I get there. His eyes widen when he sees me.
“Hannah, you’re alive.”
I tuck the business card into my pocket and hold up my phone. “Mission accomplished.”
Barely, I think. That had been too close.
As Lucas finishes up, I tell him everything that happened, including meeting both Ethan Oliver and Doctor Bingham.
“You didn’t mention my name?” he says.
I shake my head. “I didn’t mention your name.”
“And why was this Ethan guy looking at the thing? That’s a little strange. Do you think his dad knows?”
I think about the way Ethan had run out of the room and the way he’d hidden the badge from the guards. “I doubt it. He didn’t want to get caught any more than I did.”
But why would he care about the Deluge Segment that much in the first place? Simple linguistics interest isn’t enough to sneak around giant pharma. There has to be more to Ethan Oliver’s interest.
“I don’t know, Lucas.” I study the picture, but I don’t remember the other ones enough to know if it’s the same as the picture from Peru. I’ll have to compare it when I get home.
It’s after six when Lucas finishes both coffee shops and drops me back at Easton Estate. Uncle Randall still isn’t back from his trip yet. I stop by the kitchen to grab a protein bar and a bottle of iced tea, then head right for my lab. First, I release Castor and Pollux from their habitat. They scramble up onto my shoulders and pull at my ponytails. I feed the sugar gliders and Sonic, take a bite of the protein bar, and then pull up the photo on my phone.
I take the rubbing that Mom had hidden away and place it next to the phone. Side by side I can see how similar they are. I didn’t measure the Amino Corp piece, but from what I remember, they’re about the same size, about twelve inches across and circular. Both artifacts have a pattern of five notches near the edge which are similar but not exact. I don’t think they’re in the same place. Covering both artifacts are symbols and markings. These aren’t exactly the same either. These are definitely different pieces of the Deluge Segment.
I snag the photo of Dad, Mr. Oliver, Uncle Randall, and the other guy in Peru from the box of photos and compare the piece in the photo with the other two pieces. The one in the Peru photo also has the five notches along the edges like these two, but even with the horrible quality of the photo, I can tell they aren’t the same. None of the markings look exact. There has to be a third piece of the artifact, just like in the sketch Uncle Randall had been drawing.
Ethan Oliver had been interested in the piece, both during the lecture and at Amino Corp. He’d taken a picture today, just like I had. And his dad is in the Peru picture holding the thing. If there is a third piece, which I’d wager next month’s allowance on, then I’m willing to bet there is an excellent chance that the Olivers are in possession of it. I need to see it.
CHAPTER 8
I’M DYING TO ASK UNCLE RANDALL ABOUT DOCTOR BINGHAM AND AMINO Corp, but on Saturday morning, he’s still not home. I can’t imagine what kind of work he’d do for Amino Corp, or even more importantly, why he hadn’t said anything about it when we talked on Sunday. It seems like key information that he had consulted for them. But I also don’t want to tip him off about my sneaking into the company headquarters.
I finish my breakfast and make my plans for the day. A quick check online is all it takes. I locate Ethan Oliver’s address in zero point four nine seconds according to the stats on my search engine. I have no clue how people used to survive without computers. I dress in dark jeans, black boots, and a black long-sleeved shirt. It’s too warm today for a sweater and too chilly for a T-shirt. I add a small amount of color to my outfit by slipping an army green knit hat over my ponytails, and then I set out.
I argue with Devin for five minutes straight. He wants to drive me. I want to ride my bike. Devin wins because Uncle Randall pays him to drive me around.
The address for the Olivers is deep in the heart of downtown Boston, in one of the new apartment buildings just north of Kings Chapel, only about a fifteen minute drive. The bellman is a bit reluctant to let me head up the elevator until I tell him my name, making sure to include the Easton part. Everyone knows about Easton Estate. Everyone also knows about my parents. When their deaths were reported, it made national news. From what I was told, Uncle Randall did a pretty good job keeping us out of the media spotlight, but for a solid three months, theories abounded as to what had actually happened to them.
I take the elevator to the seventeenth floor and ring the bell for apartment D.
A woman I recognize from the photos as Mrs. Oliver answers the door. I’ve been looking at them so much, it’s almost like I know her. I have to remind myself that we haven’t met, or at least haven’t seen each other for many years. Her hair is shorter now, just framing her face, and the spiral curls are gone.
The second she sees me—recognizes me—her face falters.
“Oh, hello,” she says.
“Hi, Mrs. Oliver. My name is Hannah Hawkins. I believe my parents used to be friends of yours.” I’ve practiced this line all morning.
“Hannah. Yes, of course.” She stands there, unmoving.
“I was actually here to see your son, Ethan,” I say. “We met at my uncle’s lecture last week at Harvard.”
Understanding seems to dawn in her eyes, as if this single convenient excuse might explain everything. “Oh, of course. Please, come in.” She steps to the side, allowing me to pass.
I enter the apartment, but once I’m fully inside and she closes the door, awkwardness ensue
s. She’s way flustered, so I nudge her along.
“So Ethan …,” I say.
“Right, Ethan,” Mrs. Oliver says. “I think he’s in his room. I’ll go get him if you want to wait in the living room.”
“Thanks. That would be great.” I’m hoping that maybe he’s not quite ready for visitors, which will give me a little time to look around and see if the artifact is here. I follow her out of the entryway to a room with two chairs, a red sofa, and a coffee table.
“Go ahead and sit down,” she says. “I’ll get Ethan for you.” Without another word, she’s out of the room and heading toward the back of the apartment.
The second she is out of sight, I’m on my feet, scanning the place. I scour the built-in bookshelves, looking behind books, seeing if maybe it’s hidden somewhere. I peer back the way I came, wondering if I have time to actually go searching. But I stop my search when the sound of voices drifts across the air to me.
“What is she doing here, Ethan?” Mrs. Oliver says in what she must think is a whisper but has that husky undertone that makes it almost louder than if she’d been talking normally.
“I have no clue, Mom,” Ethan says. “I don’t even know her.”
“She said she met you.”
“She did. I mean, I did. We met once. Talked once. I never even told her my name though.”
“Then why is she here? You must be forgetting something.”
I notice that he’s not mentioning where we talked, meaning his parents must not know about his little trip to Amino Corp.
“I’m not forgetting anything,” he says.
“You need to get rid of her,” his mom says. “If your father gets home and she’s still here, he’s going to be upset.”
“He’ll be fine,” Ethan asks.
“He won’t be fine, Ethan. Trust me. You think you’ve seen your father angry before, but you’ve seen nothing. It won’t be pretty. See what she wants, and then get her out of here.”
I hurry to my chair because I’m pretty sure that this is my hint to get back to where I’m supposed to be. I’m sitting down just as Ethan Oliver walks into the room.
He, unlike me, has not had the morning to prepare for our encounter. He’s got ripped jeans on, a rumpled T-shirt, and his blond hair and sideburns are total bedhead. The work boots are nowhere to be seen.
I paste on a happy, bubbly smile. “Hi, Ethan. Did you have a good rest of your day yesterday?”
His mom watches us from the hallway, and he scowls at my words, further confirming that she didn’t know. He can sort that out later on his own.
“Fine, Hannah, thanks so much for asking.” The sarcasm drips from his voice.
So he does know my name.
“I was worried about you when you disappeared so quickly,” I say because I can’t stop myself. This is far too much fun.
“Yeah, I’m sure you were.” He crosses the room and sits on the sofa opposite the chair I’m sitting in.
His mom finally disappears from view and—I’m hoping—from earshot.
“So, I’m not saying this isn’t a nice surprise,” Ethan says, “but why are you here? How do you even know where I live?”
“I’m guessing that you know where I live, don’t you?”
“Of course,” Ethan says. “Everyone in Boston knows where you live.”
I lower my voice as my conversation takes a turn I don’t expect. Words slip from my mouth that I haven’t planned. “I’ve seen you there, in pictures, when you were younger. We used to play together.”
His face softens, and he lowers his voice. “I remember running around the halls. Playing hide and seek in some Egyptian looking thing.”
“Our sarcophagus,” I say. “We still have it.”
“And there were huge gardens out back with a hedge maze. My mom never let us go in the maze without her. She was sure we’d get lost.”
“You remember all that?”
He nods. “It was fun. You, me, and Caden. We were like the Three Musketeers.”
“I wish I remembered more,” I say. Not only about that, but about my parents. It’s almost like I’ve been cheated out of the only five years I had with them because I was too young.
Ethan and I both seem to snap out of whatever trance we’ve fallen into.
“Why did you want the picture of the artifact?” I ask him.
“No reason. I just did.”
“I don’t believe you,” I say. “There has to be some reason.”
He shakes his head, and then his eyes move to the hallway where his mom has popped back into view.
“Ethan, your father is on his way home from his run,” she says. “Maybe it’s time for your guest to be leaving.”
“Yeah, right,” Ethan says. “Hannah, you need to go.”
I can’t imagine why it matters if I’m here when his dad gets home, but they’re both being so weird about it. That said, I still haven’t found what I’m looking for.
“Yeah, no problem,” I say. “Do you mind if I use the bathroom really fast?”
“Of course not,” Mrs. Oliver says, and she points down the hallway, in the direction from where she’s come.
“I’ll only be a second,” I say, and I duck in the bathroom. But as soon as I hear their voices again, I peek out, making sure they aren’t watching me. I tiptoe from the bathroom and continue down the hall, looking in each room I come to, seeing if there is any sign of the third artifact. But each room I look in, it’s not there. I’m running out of time. I can only pretend to be in the bathroom for so long.
I’m about to give up because at least three minutes have passed. I peek in one final door, almost at the end of the hall. My efforts are rewarded. This must be the Oliver’s library because it’s filled with all sorts of books. Inset in the giant bookshelves is a glass display case, and in that display case is the third artifact, identical in shape and size to the Deluge Segment. This is what I’ve come for.
I grab my phone from my pocket and turn on the camera. My finger hovers over the shutter as I wait for it to focus.
“You need to leave, Hannah. Seriously,” Ethan says from behind me, causing me to jerk around and miss the shot. And now it’s too late because he’s standing there watching me, like he knew what I was trying to do all along.
I have no clue what I’m supposed to do now. It’s not like I am going to break into the Olivers’ house at night and try to steal the thing.
“I was just looking for the bathroom,” I say.
“Yeah, right. Come on, or my mom’s going to freak.”
“Let me just wash my hands,” I say. “I’ll meet you—”
“Now, Hannah,” Ethan says.
I raise my camera to quickly take a picture since I’m already busted, but he grabs my hand and drags me out of the room.
When we get to the front door, Mrs. Oliver stands there holding the handle. She pulls the door open, like she doesn’t want to waste one second getting rid of me.
“Okay, well, thanks for letting me drop by,” I say.
“Not to be rude, but it’s best if you don’t come back,” Mrs. Oliver says.
So much for a warm invite or hopes of rekindling the friendship between our families.
“Don’t worry. I won’t.” I step toward the door.
“Hannah?” Mrs. Oliver says.
I turn back. “Yes?”
She steps toward me and catches me in a hug. “It’s so wonderful to see you. You’ve grown up into such a beautiful girl, and I’m so sorry that things had to work out like they did.”
My brain has no idea how to respond. There are so many pieces of this puzzle flying around me, and I’m trying to catch on to them and fit them back together. To decipher this mystery that happened in my past. “Thank you, Mrs. Oliver,” I manage.
She releases me from the hug and gives me a final smile. “Now you really need to go.”
I nod and leave, and no sooner do I step out the apartment door, they close and lock it behind me. And though
part of me wants to wait around and see Mr. Oliver, too, and maybe gauge his reaction when he sees me, another part of me cautions that this is not such a good idea. That maybe there is a very good reason why Ethan and his mom want me out of the apartment before he gets home.
CHAPTER 9
UNCLE RANDALL IS HOME WHEN I GET THERE. BUT IF I THOUGHT FOR ANY reason he was going to jump into telling me what was going on, I am completely wrong.
“Tell me about Amino Corp,” he says.
Crud. Somehow he’s found out.
“What do you mean?” I ask because before I admit to guilt, I am going to get as much information as I can.
“You went there,” Uncle Randall says.
I take a deep breath. There is nothing wrong with going there. I was there for a valid reason. And maybe he doesn’t know I got caught in a restricted area.
“Lucas had a gig,” I say. “Painting the coffee shops.”
Uncle Randall’s face is deadpan. He knows more.
“And I went looking around while I was there?” It comes out more like a question. I didn’t technically do anything wrong.
Okay, fine, I did. But I didn’t do anything bad.
“Anything else to that story?” Uncle Randall says.
What does he know? About the artifact? About me talking to the CEO?
“Anything like what?” I ask.
“Getting caught by security for being in restricted areas?” Uncle Randall says. “Does that sound familiar?”
“How did you know that?” I ask.
“Because they called me,” Uncle Randall says. “And I don’t particularly like getting phone calls about you being in trouble.”
“I got lost,” I say. “What’s the big deal?”
“The big deal is that you got lost in Amino Corp,” Uncle Randall says. “Those aren’t the kind of people you want to mess around with.”
“And you know that because you used to work for them?” I say, but the second the words leave my mouth, I want to take them back.
I count as the seconds go by. One. Two. Three.
Uncle Randall raises an eyebrow.
“You used to work for them. You forgot to tell me that.”
