Soon enough everyone would forget the rumors about her, as the students of Baskerville Academy were so good at doing. I didn’t forget about her. Natalie and I formed a stronger relationship than ever. Jamala tried hard to crack whatever bonded Natalie and me, and I felt horrible when it didn’t work out. I liked Jamala so much, but now I shared something with Natalie, and we both knew it. Sharing makes for stronger friendship.
James turned even more sullen and dark. He didn’t speak to me or anyone else that I could see. Over the following weekend we spent paying our respects to our lost Ralph, I don’t think we ever had a meaningful conversation.
We were strangers. James had gone cold. Ralph’s crash had clearly upset him to the point that I got the feeling he felt responsible. Maybe he had called Ralph that night. Maybe Ralph wouldn’t have been on the road without James. It didn’t matter, because James wouldn’t speak of it.
Something else struck me: James had aged. It was like he’d gone from fourteen to eighteen or twenty overnight. He focused on his homework and basketball, and nothing else. He no longer worked to appear cool or hang out with the tough guys. He traveled solo.
By spring break nothing had changed. I was frustrated. James was independent. He signed up for a school ski trip out west.
I signed up for the school trip to London. It was supposed to be for fourth form only, but someone made an exception for me. I was playing the sympathy card wherever I could.
James and I headed in opposite directions.
I put great significance in that.
CHAPTER 71
I WAS TRAILING BEHIND THE GROUP OF SOPHOMORES in the National Portrait Gallery as I had been since the start of the London spring break trip. I didn’t know any of them. I found the jet lag annoying, the lack of company a relief, and the city of London as wonderful as any place I’d ever visited.
“Edward William Lane,” said a boy’s low voice over my shoulder. A voice I recognized. A voice that filled me with the flush of excitement.
Two exhibit halls later I found the chance to hang back and let our group of nine go ahead without me.
I had to ask two security guards before locating exhibit hall 15 and a statue of a sitting man wearing a turban. It was a sculpture by Edward William Lane. The only piece by the artist in the museum.
“It’s good to see you.”
I turned to that voice, but the person wasn’t Sherlock, wasn’t whom I’d expected. Before me was a puffy-faced college-aged kid with a scruffy moustache, stringy shoulder-length hair, and horrible teeth.
“Do I know you?” I asked, trying to be polite. “Did a friend send you to fetch me?”
The smile gave him away. It was Sherlock, but in such a good disguise I still didn’t quite believe it. “Is that really you?”
“That’s a question that can only be answered in the affirmative by whomever is asked.”
That was when I absolutely knew it was Sherlock. I threw my arms around him and hugged him like my favorite teddy bear. I could feel his arms not hug me back, and realized I shocked him with such a display of affection. I let go and stepped back.
“Good to see you, too,” he said.
I wasn’t about to apologize.
“First, your father,” he said.
“How close are we?”
“Hot as Hades,” he said, playing my game of warm and warmer. “We need Lehman’s full translation. It points to a man named Hildebrandt.” He told me all he and James had discussed—a power struggle within the Directory. One of the most famous men in law enforcement now helping to govern a major crime syndicate. It spun my head.
“Knowing and proving,” Sherlock said. “Bringing to justice. These must be taken in order. Lowry isn’t a bad guy. I think we saw all that wrong. Crudgeon, too, for that matter. All the late-night meetings you and James saw—I’m guessing those two were trying to advise, not threaten your father. Ralph was forever in your father’s service, your family’s service. I don’t doubt Lois’s loyalty to your father, but because of her willingness to sedate Ralph, I don’t think we can fully trust her. There’s a fine line between love and obedience. Lois may be able to love you and James while being obedient to her employers. That may prove difficult for us.” Sherlock looked around. “Did you clear out the secret room?”
“Most of it. Not everything. Lois barely lets me out of her sight. I’ve put some in the basement. Some in the upstairs library.”
“And James?” Sherlock asked.
“He sulks. He broods.”
“Doesn’t surprise me. He carries a great burden.”
“Is that a rubber nose?”
“It is! Fantastic, isn’t it?”
“And the ears? What little I can see of them.”
“Right.”
“I miss you.” Why would I say such a thing? How could my tongue betray me like that?
“Oh.”
“Well, don’t get all mushy.”
“No, I won’t. No time for that.” He grunted a Sherlockian grunt. I missed those as well.
“Why can’t we just go to Colander?”
“Could do,” Sherlock said. “But if I’m right about Hildebrandt—”
“—and when are you not?” I said, brimming with joy.
Sherlock snarled, his beak of a nose pointing down like a hawk’s. “He’s more powerful than Colander or anyone like him. The strategy might work; it might backfire.”
“That’s not good enough.”
“We must bring Colander proof. Nothing circumstantial—hard-core proof. Even then, it may not be enough. We may have to take matters into our own hands.”
“We’ll never get the proof without you,” I said, another example of speaking before thinking.
“Nice of you to say.”
“I didn’t mean it!” I stepped back from him. His disguise was so good it disturbed me.
Sherlock said, “I’ve saved the best for last.”
“Would I expect anything less?” I said. “Mother.”
“I’m impressed!”
“You should be!”
“We need your father’s credit card records. We need to look on the third Thursday of every month.”
“Why?”
“His journal. Something murky there. Lehman’s full translation may help.”
Young voices came from the closest gallery. My group.
We both heard them. Sherlock froze for a moment.
“Third Thursday,” I said. “Father taught an evening course every Thursday.”
Sherlock looked at me oddly. I hated that know-it-all in him. I loved it too—or liked it a lot.
“Check the university’s course book. There’s no such class.”
“What?”
“I believe we’ll find a clue as to your father’s activities in his credit card statements. But I shouldn’t ask Lois for help with that.”
“A difference between love and obedience.”
“You do listen!” he said. “The monthly records will likely be in his desk or hers. Someone paid them.”
“Noted.” I waited for the explanation I could feel coming.
“It’s like this,” Sherlock said. “If your mother left you, she left you. I don’t think there’s much we can do about that. But what if that isn’t the case? What if she was removed before any harm could come to her? And I don’t mean killed! Heavens no! Could your father have handled that alone? Perhaps.” He answered himself before allowing me to. “But more likely, he might need a woman’s help.”
“Lois.” I felt as if I had no air left in my lungs, like I was holding my breath underwater and my time had run out. “Obedience over love.”
“Or vice versa,” Sherlock said. “For once, I think it might have been just the opposite. Love for your mother. Devotion to your father. Look, I don’t want to get your hopes up,” Sherlock said.
“A little late for that!” I gasped.
He smiled. “Find his credit card statements. We will both need new emails. Email th
em to me. I can take it from there.”
“I do miss you!”
“I’m glad.”
“But I find you repulsive.”
“Get in line,” he said.
I wrapped my arms around him.
Sherlock hugged me back.
“You’ll help me find her.” I wasn’t asking.
“It may not be good news, Moria. You must understand that.”
“An answer, some kind of answer, good or bad . . .” I didn’t finish my thought. Not immediately. “It’ll save James. Sherlock! It’ll be just the thing for James to get over losing Ralph!”
“Maybe,” Sherlock said. “Though I wouldn’t count on it.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“James is different now, Moria. He’s lost the two most important men in his life. He’ll never be the same, not ever.” He sounded as if he was speaking from experience. Why had I never bothered to ask about Sherlock’s life before Baskerville?
“We will bring this man Hildebrandt to justice,” I said. “We will find out once and for all what happened to Mother. ‘Time heals all wounds,’ right?”
Sherlock nodded. We both heard kids approaching. When I looked back Sherlock had taken off, giving me only his back.
But then he turned. The boy I didn’t recognize looked at me with sympathetic eyes and I shuddered. He was trying to tell me something about James.
Something I didn’t want to hear.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Special thanks to David Linker and Lindsey Karl at HarperCollins; Dan Conaway and Amy Berkower at Writers House; Nancy Zastrow, Brett Ellen Keeler, Storey Pearson, and Miranda McVey in my office. Marcelle, my dear wife, who stepped up and took the reins, keeping me organized; Laurel and David Walters, tireless early readers. My three years of boarding at Pomfret School provided the setting.
AUTHOR NOTE
Downward Spiral was outlined and written in its entirety while beta-testing mori, inc.’s collaborative writing and editing platform with the generous help and assistance of Aaron Brady, Lisa Rutherford, Brooke Muschott, and Jennifer Pooley.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
AUTHOR PHOTO BY SARAH CROWDER
RIDLEY PEARSON is the bestselling author of over fifty novels, including Peter and the Starcatchers (cowritten with Dave Barry) and the Kingdom Keepers series. He has also written two dozen crime novels, including: Probable Cause, Beyond Recognition, Killer Weekend, The Risk Agent, and The Red Room. To learn more about him, visit www.ridleypearson.com. Ridley is available for limited video streaming classroom visits, speaking engagements, and writer workshops. For more information please contact: [email protected].
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BOOKS BY RIDLEY PEARSON
Lock and Key: The Initiation
Kingdom Keepers series
Steel Trapp series
Cowritten with Dave Barry:
Peter and the Starcatchers series
Never Land series
Science Fair
CREDITS
COVER ILLUSTRATION BY BRIAN THOMPSON
COVER DESIGN BY JOE MERKEL
COPYRIGHT
LOCK AND KEY: THE DOWNWARD SPIRAL. Copyright © 2017 by HarperCollins Publishers. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
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