by C. L. Stone
Corey shook his head. “Not in the past year.”
“When did Coaltar start going out on these wild goose chases to the shady parts of town.”
Corey nodded slowly as he checked some notes. “Three weeks ago.” He stood up, crossing the room at a jog and knocked on the closed bedroom door. “Brandon!”
“What?” Brandon called back, sounding muffled. Was he sleeping?
“We’ve got a new lead.”
Footsteps sounded and the door opened. Brandon, wearing just a pair of boxers and a T-shirt, squinted his eyes out from his darkened room. “Where?”
SPIES LIKE US
Brandon put on some jeans and a long sleeve T-shirt and Corey put on a hoodie. Corey traced Fitzgerald’s phone number back to his residence: another one of the downtown homes. We hopped in Brandon’s SUV and were off to find his house.
“We’ll start there,” Brandon said after we caught him up on the details. He turned the SUV out of the lot and headed downtown. “Check out his house for now, and try to figure out more about him.”
Corey had his nose in his phone as he sat in the back seat. “There’s not a lot on him on the internet. He’s a supporter of local charities. He’s got an adult kid that lives out of the house now. He divorced fifteen years ago and three years ago he married a girl half his age. His second wife adopted a little girl two years ago. The little girl is four now. They’re rich, but not of interest to society journalists.”
“He said he had a new wife at the party,” I said.
“Sounds like he lied,” Core said. “There’s nothing about a third divorce and marriage so he had to be using it as a ruse.”
I had thought so but this confirmed it. “Does he work?” I asked.
Corey shook his head. “I’d need to do some more research, but from what I’m reading, it’s old money. Living on dividends.”
Brandon found the street we wanted and made a circle around the block. Mr. Fitzgerald’s house wasn’t far from the Market Street tourist buildings. Brandon parked off the street near the outdoor market.
I climbed out, checking up and down the street at the handful of tourists and the occasional local walking around. It felt weird being back here after Dr. Roberts found me. Part of me wondered if more Academy members were walking around here and I just didn’t know.
Corey dug out a black digital camera and hung it from his wrist.
“What’s that for?” I asked.
“So we look like tourists,” he said. “And if we find something interesting we need to check out later.”
“I thought we didn’t collect evidence.”
Brandon’s arm encircled my neck to redirect my attention. “Listen to you, saying all this we stuff. How cute.” He tugged me toward the sidewalk. “Come on, smarty pants. Let’s find your lead.”
The crisp air I had felt the day before had changed into something warmer with the afternoon sun. October was a mix of weather in South Carolina, shifting every couple of days from summer heat to frostbite mornings. It also made for incredible allergies. I could already feel the ache of a headache right between my eyes.
Or maybe it was the throbbing scope mark.
We took our time as we cut across the street and headed west away from the tourist areas. We stopped occasionally to take photographs of old buildings. The closer we got to the house, the more they wanted us to look like tourists in case any of the Fitzgerald family drove by.
Brandon and Corey knew the area better than I did. I walked between them, feeling a lucky because they were good-looking and tall. I brushed arms with Corey a lot, sometimes by accident and sometimes on purpose. He’d push back with his arm and grin. When the back of his hand brushed mine and our pinkies met, I got the wiggles as bad as a girl with a boy band crush. When it got too intense with his incredible smile, I looked over, and there was Brandon, a mirror image. There was no escape. Brandon’s sad eyes dropped me back a few notches as he looked quizzically at me like he couldn’t figure out why I was smiling so much.
When we found the house downtown, Corey and Brandon turned at the corner, looking up and down the cross street.
I paused, standing in between them as if having a conversation, but my eyes went right for Mr. Fitzgerald’s’ front door. “There’s not a car in the drive,” I said.
“Will you stop staring?” Brandon asked.
“Someone’s got to look,” I said. I couldn’t help it. We were here now and I was curious. “What are we here for?”
Brandon grabbed my elbow and spun me until I was facing both of them. “Look like you’re talking to us.”
“How are we supposed to spy on him if we can’t even look at him?” I asked.
“Stop talking about spying, for one,” Brandon said.
“No spy talk?”
“No spy talk. We’re just here to take a few pictures of these pretty houses like all the other tourists.”
Corey started up the black camera. He held it toward my face. “Smile, Kayli.”
I made a face with my tongue sticking out.
He snapped a photo and then grinned at the result. “Beautiful. That’s going on Facebook.” He pointed toward the street. “Stand in front of that nice house over there.”
Brandon snagged my arm to position me next to him. I stood on my toes so I could give Brandon bunny ears. To my surprise, when Brandon figured out what I was up to, he bent over slightly so I had an easier time. It was a funny move, since I considered him so much more serious than his brother. This was the type of Brandon I could tolerate, one who wasn’t yelling at me and maybe actually enjoying himself.
“Do we need to know what his house looks like from the outside?” I asked. “Because it’s green and there’s not a car in the drive. And there’s a bunch of bushes that are square shaped.”
Brandon smiled for the picture Corey was taking and then talked through his teeth. “Will you stop talking about it and just go with the flow? You’re the worst spy ever.”
“You’re not supposed to say the spy word,” I said.
“Someone could be in this house we’re standing in front of and hear us,” he said.
“No one cares,” I said. I looked up and down the street. We were a short distance from the main tourist section and since it was out of season, there wasn’t much spill over. Every few minutes a couple of cars passed, but other than that, it was a quiet road. I wondered how the rich felt about being on roads that tourists often took over, photographing their front yards.
While Corey took photos, I kept my eyes on the house. It was pretty plain. In fact, something felt off about it. I didn’t notice until I stopped looking at it and started looking at the other buildings.
“Are we sure he lives here?” I asked.
“That’s what the records show,” Corey said. He was looking at the camera and figuring out a better setting.
I squinted at the house next door and then at the Fitzgerald house and then I realized why it was different. I don’t know why I didn’t see it before. The boys were just too distracting. “Because he doesn’t have curtains.”
The boys blinked almost simultaneously and then turned together toward the house.
All the windows were bare glass. No blinds, no curtains. I didn’t even see a garbage can. Most other houses had one either by the garage or somewhere visible. Other houses had signs of life, this one looked barren.
“He doesn’t live here,” I said.
Corey scratched his head. “That’s weird.”
Brandon shifted on his feet. He glanced up and down the road and then darted across the street.
“Brandon!” I hissed and chased after him.
“Stay there,” he called back to me.
I followed him instead, right up to the low iron wrought fence that was about waist high and useless for keeping anyone out. He gripped the rail, hopped it and then darted through to the porch.
I started to hop over when I felt a pair of hands on my hips. Corey was right behind me. H
e gave me a boost and then climbed over and landed next to me.
There wasn’t a yard at all, just a tiny walkway and a lot of bushes. The house was really close to the road. The porch was empty and ran front to back along the side of the house, typical for sideways-built downtown Charleston homes.
“I told you guys to stay back,” Brandon said.
I pointed a finger at Corey, planting blame. Corey pointed right back at me while trying to mask a grin.
Brandon rolled his eyes. He walked over to the window, cupping his hands around his face so he could look inside. “You’re right, though. The place is empty.”
I stood next to him. There was a barren front room, bookshelves built into the wall, a clean fireplace. Too clean. “Did they move recently? Are they selling this place?”
Corey checked his phone. “Not that I can tell. Looks like he owns the property. There’s no recent real estate listing.”
“But he may not live here,” I said. “Maybe he’s got another house.”
“It’s just odd,” Corey said. “It’s listed as his main residence.”
“Let’s check out the back,” I said.
“We should leave,” Brandon said.
I ignored him, and followed the porch around the side of the house, the long side. The windows we passed, and another door, all revealed more empty rooms.
“Kevin’s right,” Brandon said behind me, following close. “A girl’s the worst thing to add to this team. She’s not listening.”
“She’s not part of the team,” Corey said, trailing behind him.
“Will you tell her to stop? I should have left her at the apartment with you.”
“Hey,” I said, stopping at the far corner of the house. I turned, facing off Brandon, who stopped short and tilted his head down to stare at me. It wasn’t until then that I felt incredibly short compared to him. His broad shoulders and his height made him intimidating when he was angry. “You were the one heading in by yourself.”
“I was just going to peek in the window.”
“Well Axel said you’re not allowed to run off and do things on your own. It’s like an Academy rule or something.”
Brandon sputtered and made hand signals like he wanted to say something but couldn’t formulate what he wanted. “I know you’re not spouting Academy rules at me.”
Hypocrite! I poked a finger at his broad chest. “If you’re going to break the rules, I don’t have to listen to you.”
He puffed out his chest at my poking as if to show he was immune. “It’s a rule to not have a girl on the team!”
I ignored this, although I was a little perturbed by it. Axel was going to have me join, but I couldn’t work with guys? That would have sucked. Girls are okay but are usually too prone to drama. I would have wanted a boy team. Maybe not theirs, but at least someone I could get along with. Maybe I could have Corey on my team.
Or maybe I didn’t want to sign up at all.
The yard in the back was tiny. Other houses were built so close, cutting off the view of most of the sky. For rich people, they didn’t have any yard space. I knew downtown homes were worth millions. Was it worth it for such little space?
I wound around to the back porch and checked out the windows, looking inside. The back room had a few pieces of furniture covered in white cloth. From what I could tell by the shapes, there were sofas, and upright chairs, and a useless corner table. Maybe that was why it was stored here. A million dollar storage unit?
Or a decoy? Like Mr. Coaltar’s weird office that didn’t have anything but empty filing cabinets?
I passed by the back door as I couldn’t see through it. The second window was to the kitchen. The counters were clean, but something was different. It took me a minute. “The fridge is humming,” I said.
“So?” Brandon shoved my arm in an effort to keep me walking and head back. “Now we’ve seen his fridge. Let’s get out of here.”
“No,” I said. I pointed at the kitchen. “You don’t leave the fridge running if you’ve left the house. That’s just weird. Let’s go see what’s inside.”
“No!” Brandon grabbed my elbow and tried to drag me off the porch. “I’ve seen enough. Mr. Fitzgerald left his fridge running. We’ll finally be able to make that prank call and actually mean it. Great. Let’s get out of here before someone calls the cops on us.”
Corey held up the camera, snapped a picture of the kitchen. “I’d say let’s break in, but I mean, even if he keeps something in that fridge, there’s no evidence anyone’s been here. He probably keeps the electricity running to keep some kind of alarm system online.”
“Let me see the camera?” I asked Corey.
“We’re leaving,” Brandon said.
I pulled myself out of his grip. Now that we were out of sight of the street, I felt a little better poking around. I don’t know why, but this whole thing bothered me. The puzzle I couldn’t figure out. “I just want to take a few pictures,” I said.
Corey passed off the camera. I held it between my fingers, figuring out the right button to push as there were three on top. I held it up, testing by taking a picture of Corey with a lopsided grin. Another I took of Brandon, looking perturbed and arguing with me that we should leave.
I turned around, taking a snapshot of the interior of the kitchen. I leaned over, taking a picture of the abandoned back living room.
There was thudding next to me and I was pushed hard. The camera was ripped from my hands. I didn’t see who was coming and I fell hard, crashing to the wood boards of the porch. I landed on my side. My hand and knee scraped against the grooves.
“Get off my porch,” a voice boomed over us.
Terror swept over me as I looked up, staring into the harsh, cold eyes of Mr. Fitzgerald. He wore white shirt, his sleeves rolled up on his arms and his face was covered in thick stubble. He gripped the camera, and loomed over me like he wanted to throw it at my face.
His other hand held his .38 and he had it pointed at Brandon.
I didn’t know much about South Carolina gun laws, but I was pretty sure he had every right to shoot us, and then tell the police he was protecting his property in self-defense. How did he sneak up on us? How did he know we were here?
Brandon raised his hands. “Sorry, sir,” he said.
Mr. Fitzgerald’s eyes widened slowly. Recognition must have settled in, and then got confused when he looked at Corey. “You ... you both.” His eyes looked down at me and then again he seemed to put the pieces together as he remembered me from the party. His lips twisted into a snarl. “Get out,” he said.
Brandon reached down, scooping me up and hauling me with his arms cradled under my back and knees. “We’re leaving,” he said. “Sorry. We were just ... we thought this house was for sale.”
“It’s not,” Mr. Fitzgerald said in a near shout. He waved his gun at us, ushering us off.
My heart thundered in my chest, but I caught a strange vibe from Mr. Fitzgerald that now while Brandon held on to me, I couldn’t place. It niggled at the back of my brain.
Brandon didn’t let go. I felt myself clutching my arms around his shoulders as he marched off, putting himself between the gun and me. Corey stood by his brother, backing off slowly and apologizing nonstop.
When we were at the front fence, Brandon threw me over it. Corey jumped it and picked me back up. I was going to tell him to put me down, that I could run, but he held strong and Brandon marched next to him, squinting in anger, his mouth tight.
When we were a block away and heading back toward the market place, Corey released me and let me walk next to him, but he held my hand in a firm grip and was dragging me along as I had trouble keeping up. I half jogged as we made a beeline for the SUV. I jumped in between them in the front seat.
When we were on the road again, and I managed to swallow back my heart in my throat, I broke the silence. “Mr. Fitzgerald is terrified,” I said.
“What are you talking about?” Brandon asked. “We pissed him off for w
alking in his grass and his porch. He’s a crazy old man.”
“He’s protecting something,” I said. “He was ready to start shooting, and then he stopped when he realized it was us and we were defenseless. He’s guarding an empty house with a gun loaded and ready to go.”
Corey picked up my hand I was waving around as I talked and opened up my palm. “You’re bleeding.”
I pulled my hand away. It was just a few scratches. I just needed to wash it. I crammed it into my side to hide it. “I’m telling you guys, he’s scared. Something’s wrong.”’
“We’ve got other problems right now,” Brandon said as he turned the SUV down to head to Broad Street and headed south to the Sergeant Jasper. “We have to get that camera back.”
“We do?” I asked. “Why?”
Brandon tapped his fingers against the steering wheel. “There’s stuff on that camera. We need to get it back.”
“What stuff?”
He turned to me. “It’s the camera I used when I was tracking you,” he said. “If he gives it to Coaltar, he’ll know exactly who you are and where you live.”
BRANDON
The full weight of what he was saying took forever to sink into my brain. I think maybe because looking at Mr. Fitzgerald and then thinking on it, I felt bad. We scared the guy by poking around his house. It was almost like getting caught pulling a wallet out of pocket. It was all those fears I’d had since forever coming to life. I hadn’t meant to scare him and I felt horrible.
If what I said was true and Mr. Fitzgerald was terrified, was it true that maybe Mr. Coaltar was the one scaring him? Or if he did work for Coaltar, he’d easily give the camera over to him. Mr. Coaltar would recognize my face in the camera. He may want to know what I was up to. They could come after me at the hotel.
They’d find Wil. He’d be in the middle of this mess. And if Coaltar was as dangerous as we feared...
I tried to tell Brandon that we should go back, but he drove all the way back to the Sergeant Jasper.
“We need to get the camera,” I said. “They can’t know about me.”
“I know,” Brandon said.
“Then why are we driving away? Let’s go knock on his door and ask for the camera. If we approach him slow and nicely, he may give it back.”
