“I needed me to do that.” Zef’s cheeks were still pink. “I know you miss Jason. You won’t believe me but… I miss him too. He was a good friend, if I’d had the brains to see it.” He cleared his throat. “But I’ve lost Kate, okay? I’ve lost my best friend too.” He leaned against the lockers, looking at the ceiling. “I go up to her room sometimes. Out her window and up on the roof, where we used to hang out, and I talk to her. Talk to the fireflies. Tell them about my day. It’s like she’s up there with me. Does that sound crazy?”
“No.”
“You’re not alone. If you need to vent or hit somebody…”
“Yeah. I’ve got your number.”
“Do you? We’ve changed everything, you know.”
Joey hesitated. “Give me the new one then.”
Zef looked hopeful. “Got something to write on?”
Joey still held the flyer wadded in one hand. He flattened it and handed it to Zef. Zef pressed the page to a locker and wrote his number on the back. He started to return it but hesitated. “Is this the flyer from last Easter?”
“I don’t know.” Joey kept his tone casual and indifferent. “I guess so.” He took the page, shrugged, and held it behind his back.
Zef took out his wallet, fished in it, and unfolded a piece of yellow paper. Another copy of the same flyer. They stood in silence. Zef slipped the paper back into his wallet. “Give me one date. One date, and then if you say go, I’ll go. At least think about it?”
“I’ll think about it.”
“That’s all I’m asking.” Zef raised a hand and walked away.
“Okay,” Joey blurted. Ethel had started to sing again, damn her. “One date.”
Zef grinned. “Really?”
“Yeah. I… I think fast.”
“Where do you want to go?”
“Your call.”
“You tell me.”
Joey shrugged. “Where can we go where nobody will see us?”
“What do you mean?”
“What would you be comfortable with?”
Zef pointed at a poster on the wall: GO HORSEMEN. “We’re going to the homecoming game.”
“Yuck. Why would we?”
Zef drew near. “Because the whole school will be there. And I want them to see us together.”
Joey blinked. “Who are you and what have you done with Zef?”
Zef squared his shoulders, trying to look serious and brave. “I’ve never been ashamed of you, Joey.”
Joey bit his lip, hesitating, but said, “All right. If you’re sure.”
“I’m sure. I’ll pick you up at seven.”
“Okay.”
“It’s a date, then. An actual… date. Wow.” Zef pulled away, walking backward. “And I, uh, I—like your tan.” He turned and was gone. A few seconds later, he shouted, “Yes!” somewhere in the distance.
Joey stood in the lonely hall and stared at the flyer in his hand. He opened his locker and taped the sheet back up, smoothing it out. It was plenty wrinkled.
But it wasn’t ripped.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“The Deal”
“Seven years?” Jessica’s fist struck the conference table so hard that Hadewych’s water glass rippled. “That’s completely unacceptable.”
“I’m sorry, Ms. Bridge.” Hadewych twirled a pen. “We can’t break the law.”
She rubbed her sore hand, flexing her fingers. “Of course not.” She gave him a knowing smile, the kind a grifter might give a fellow con artist seen casing the same bank. Hadewych struggled to keep his own face grave and sympathetic but oh, he was laughing inside. He had thwarted her ambitions, and she knew it.
Jessica’s lawyer, an elderly bird-faced woman in a blue blouse and pearls, chimed in. “What my client’s trying to say is that we consider a seven-year wait before establishing the fact of Mr. Crane’s death to be unnecessary and, frankly, anachronistic.”
Jessica leaned back in her chair. “It’s bad enough I had to wait sixty days to get this meeting.”
Hadewych’s lawyer, a chubby fellow he’d mentally nicknamed “Tweedledee,” spoke up. “My client reported Mr. Crane missing on July tenth, and filed an inventory of the Crane holdings as required by August ninth.”
“He dragged it out.”
Tweedledee adjusted his glasses. “He met the statutory requirements. And the additional thirty-day wait was necessary to allow for all interested persons to return notice. Today is the absolute first day that any potential heir could have made a claim.”
Jessica sweated through her white suit. Her forehead sparkled. She fidgeted, wanting a cigarette probably. “I know. I know. And another thirty days for a goddamned hearing.”
“Language,” chided Hadewych.
“Forgive me. I forgot your delicate sensibilities.” She put a hand on his, giving him a brief blast of telepathic profanity so foul he blushed and snatched his hand away.
“If I may continue?” Bird-Woman turned a page. “We believe that the seven-year waiting period before reaching a finding of death has no relation to the facts of human experience in modern conditions. It’s an artifact of a time when travel was by horse and buggy, before telephone or modern—”
“It’s the law.” Hadewych shrugged.
“It’s a dumb law,” said Jessica. “We know Jason is dead.”
“He’s run away. Children do these things. But he’ll be back. And I have to protect his property until then.”
Jessica drummed her fingernails on the polished wood. “They pulled his Mercedes out of the river.”
“But he wasn’t in it, was he?” Hadewych leaned forward. “Honestly, Ms. Bridge, I’m beginning to think you want your poor cousin dead.”
Tweedledee raised an index finger. “We have gone to extraordinary lengths to secure the surveillance footage of the Tappan Zee incident, but were told that the cameras weren’t recording that night.”
Jessica’s eyes narrowed, but she said nothing.
Bird-Woman cleared her throat vigorously, as if she had an earthworm stuck in there. “We have no doubt that Mr. Van Brunt intends to perform a diligent search. But given the circumstances of the bridge accident, any judge or jury is certain to find that the preponderance of evidence points to a tragedy having occurred.”
Tweedledee shrugged. “You are welcome to argue that, but without a body you’ll just be wasting your time. All you can reasonably prove is that an accident occurred. He could have swum away. He could have been rescued. He might not have been in the car at all.”
Hadewych sniffed. “Jason’s alive. I can feel it in my heart.”
Tweedledee tapped the wood. “And he will be so presumed until the seven-year period has passed.”
“This is ridiculous,” hissed Jessica. “I’m a Pyncheon. The Legacy is mine.”
“The Legacy is Jason’s,” said Hadewych. “And I intend to protect his interests until he comes home to me.”
Bird-Woman raised her chin. “Are you any relation to Mr. Crane?”
“No.”
“Then why should it fall to you to protect his interests?”
“His beloved grandmother was my good friend. When ’Liza died, she chose me to be his guardian.”
“But only until the boy’s eighteenth birthday, which is this November first. At which time—alive or dead—Jason Crane is legally an adult.”
“Yes.” Hadewych glanced at his lawyer, who’d frowned. They’d discussed this, but had hoped that Jessica’s lawyer wouldn’t press.
“So your part in Jason’s life will end in a matter of weeks, Mr. Van Brunt. Once he is an adult, the Pyncheon Legacy passes into Mr. Crane’s control. Ms. Merrick’s will is satisfied and you are no longer guardian. Period. If, on November first, he is still missing, a conservator will have to be appointed to oversee the fortune.”
“Me,” said Jessica.
Tweedledee’s voice grew sharp. “Mr. Van Brunt intends to be the conservator.”
Jessica touched her heart. “I�
��m Jason’s next of kin.”
“Mr. Van Brunt and Mr. Crane were partners in a philanthropic venture. Continuity of the Crane Foundation must be considered.”
“Besides,” Hadewych rolled his eyes, “you’d rob the estate blind.”
Jessica laughed—a low, evil chuckle. “You’re just afraid I’ll audit the books. I’m going to. Count on it. And if there’s a dime missing I’ll see you in jail.”
Hadewych smirked. “Hell hath no fury.”
“Don’t push me.”
He turned to his lawyer. “Jason’s conservator should have a more stable personality, don’t you think?”
Jessica pressed her lips together. She reached across the table, slowly, and flicked Hadewych’s water glass over, flooding his lap. Hadewych shot to his feet. A dark puddle ran down the front of his pants. He felt humiliated in some primal, playground way. Hadewych wet himself! Hadewych wet himself!
She smiled up at him. “Oops.”
The lawyers glanced at each other, embarrassed. As one, they took handfuls of scrap paper and began to blot.
“May we have the room, please?” said Hadewych.
Tweedledee looked up. “I’m not so sure that’s—”
“Give us the room,” said Jessica.
The lawyers rose and hurried out. The big wooden doors snapped shut behind them with a decisive thump, like the closing of a coffin lid. The spreading pool of water found the edge of the conference table. A rivulet hit the floor. Hadewych and Jessica stared at each other, unmoving, as the rivulet became a drip, then ceased altogether.
“You never could wait for anything,” said Hadewych, lightly.
“I only want what’s mine. Seven years? Come on. Step aside. It’s only a matter of time before his body turns up.”
Hadewych paced, bow-legged like a cowboy, trying to dry himself. “I remember when Zef was due to be born. You couldn’t wait to get him out of you. You were so eager to be a mother.”
“What will it take, Hadewych?”
“Where’s my son?”
She raised a palm. “I’m only here to talk about the Legacy.”
“I’m his father.”
“He doesn’t want to see you.”
“He can say that to my face.”
“I’m saying it. After the things you’ve done… I don’t see how you could expect anything else.”
Hadewych rounded the table with sudden fierceness. “I want to see my son!”
Jessica stood. “Stay on your own side, Dutch.” She circled, keeping the table between them.
Hadewych enjoyed her look of fresh fear. He lit a hand, reminding her of his power, and used the heat to dry his crotch. “This is what’s going to happen. On November first I will lose my guardianship, true, but I will be named conservator. I promise you that. This town owes me. I have friends here. So you are going to wait seven years before you see a dime. Seven long years.”
“I have friends too.”
“You mean Paul? Paul better keep his nose out of this. Or else.”
“Or else what?”
“Or else…” He raised the flame. “I’ll walk down Beekman Avenue with my hands on fire and curse the whole town.”
Jessica looked dumbstruck for a moment. “You can’t be serious.”
“Well, you can test me. Go ahead. What do I have to lose? You can wait seven years. Or… I will offer you a deal. Here and now.”
“What deal?”
Hadewych snuffed his hand and inspected the front of his slacks. He scowled. They were dry, but he’d replaced his “accident” with an equally embarrassing scorch. He took a seat again and looked at her shrewdly. “Any losses suffered by Jason’s estate during my tenure will be overlooked.”
“How much have you stolen?” She raised an eyebrow. “A million?”
Hadewych glanced at the ceiling.
“More?”
He grinned. “Really, Jessica. Your suspicions are outlandish.”
“What’s the damage? I’m not recording this conversation.”
“The Legacy is perfectly intact. It’s exactly the same amount as when I took over.”
“Which is?”
“A hundred and five million.”
She sank into her chair. “A hundred and five?”
“Yes. A hundred and five. Same as always.”
“A year ago it was a hundred and twelve.”
“Really? That’s not what my records indicate.”
“I see. And is that all you want?”
He put his feet up. “No. You will open a fund for Zef, in his name, so that he never has to beg you for money. Then I will expect to purchase the other half of the Gory Brook house from you outright.”
She crossed her arms. “Take it for free. I hate that house. What else do you want?”
“Grandchildren.”
“How am I supposed to give you grandchildren?”
He couldn’t meet her eye. “Zef has… a problem. He told me…”
“He’s gay. I know.”
“I don’t like it.”
“Tough. It’s who he is. And probably why he inherited my Gift and not yours. So what? What do you want?”
Hadewych took a photo from his jacket pocket: Zef and Kate at homecoming. “I want you to fix him.”
“What?”
“Use your Gift.” Hadewych touched his temple. “Use your Gift and fix Zef for me.”
Her eyes went wide. “Good God.”
“I can’t let the Van Brunt line end. You could turn him straight.”
“Maybe, but… I would never do that.”
“That’s my price. You’ll fix Zef, then set up the account for him. I’ll give him all the money I have. To start a life. And then I’ll walk away. Free and clear.”
“You won’t challenge my conservatorship?”
“I’ll do better than that. I’ll arrange it so that you inherit—immediately.”
“How?”
He studied her face. “I’ll give you the one thing you need.”
“What?”
Hadewych pocketed the photo. He tore a dry corner from one of the wet legal documents. He produced a pen, wrote two words, and handed it to her.
She read the writing and gasped. “You have it?”
“Do we have a deal?”
“Where are you keeping it?”
“Do we have a deal?”
Jessica looked at the paper again and chuckled. “I owe you an apology, Hadewych. I thought you had no ambition. That’s why I left you. You were too satisfied with janitorial work. But… this. It’s very clever.” She rose, collecting her purse. “And it might have worked. I do want that money. I need it. And I am impatient. But you forgot one thing.”
“What?”
“I hate your guts.” She approached. “So as much as I’d like to have that money now, it’s worth waiting seven years. Just to see you suffer.” She slipped the paper back into his hand. “Sorry, but I’ll take my chances in court. After all, I’m the next of kin. I think I’ll be conservator. And when I am, you’re going to jail.” She turned away. “But don’t worry. We’ll come visit you. Every Father’s Day. Me, Zef… and Zef’s boyfriend.”
“Take the deal, Jessica.”
“Blow it out your dike, Dutch.” She waved goodbye over her shoulder and left.
Hadewych stared at the door and scowled. He’d counted on her poverty and greed. Who supported her? Who paid her lawyer? Paul, of course. And as long as Paul footed her bills she wouldn’t be desperate enough to make a deal. Damn it.
So… what now? He had seven weeks before November first, when Jason turned eighteen and disaster fell. Should he give up? Take another stab at killing her before the deadline? Try to drive a wedge between her and Paul? No. Usher was too powerful. Hadewych couldn’t challenge him openly. He frowned, replaying the conversation. He shouldn’t have threatened to curse the town. He’d gone too far. He spun his chair in a circle, watching the room turn. Wheels within wheels within wheels. The engines w
ere turning. Yes, he’d gone too far, but he couldn’t reverse course any more. His foot was firmly on the accelerator.
He opened his fist and lit the paper with his Gift. The two tiny words he’d written twisted and went up in smoke:
JASON’S CORPSE
CHAPTER TWELVE
“The Turning of the Fool”
A wave broke against the docks of the Washington Irving Boat Club, filling the air with a rainbow spray of droplets. Joey wiped his face. He’d stood here for a long time, thinking, gazing at the Tappan Zee Bridge. He’d wanted to say his goodbyes up at the Tarrytown Lighthouse, but some contractor had built a fence around it, with barbed wire at top. A sign read: “NO TRESPASSING. Coming Soon: The Hudson River Museum of Maritime History.”
So he’d settled for the boat club. He could still see the bridge. He could still say goodbye.
“Zef’s right, Jase. I’ve got to let you go,” Joey whispered, gazing at the waters of the Hudson. “I’ll keep fighting, but… I’ve got to face up to it. It’s been two months. You’re never coming back, are you?” Another wave broke at his feet. “I’m… glad we were friends.”
He replayed the day he met Jason in the cemetery. Their Indiana Jones adventure beneath the Van Brunt tomb. Their night of running from the Horseman on Halloween, of freaking out inside the old receiving vault. A good tag team. Best friends. He reached into his backpack and took out the book Jason had given him last Christmas. Psychic Abilities for Dummies. It had been a good laugh. He held it to his chest and raised a palm in salute.
“Love you, Spidey.”
He stood there for many minutes, his face collecting water. But then he composed himself, turned around, and put the book away. He walked up the pier, eyes downcast. He needed to get home and dress for his date. His first date with Zef. Wild. He wished he could tell Jason how scared and excited he felt. But… maybe Jason knew, wherever he was.
On his way back to the car, Joey read the names on the boats out of idle curiosity. The Calamity Jane and the Sweet Sue, the Barbara, the Betty Boop, the Princess Leia with a tiny painting of the Star Wars heroine lounging in her metal bikini. Only one boat was named for a man: the Rip Van Winkle, docked at the end of Pier Four. The name caught his attention. It was an ugly boat. Algae. Rust. Searchlight dangling haphazardly on its front. An old man doddered on the deck.
SLEEPY HOLLOW: General of the Dead (Jason Crane Book 3) Page 12
