She nodded. “I thought he was going to …”
“Yeah. So did I. But he was trying to save me.”
… tryingtosaveme…
Jack couldn’t wrap his mind around that. He’d suspected Steve’s father of being a murderer. But maybe he’d had it al wrong. Maybe Mr. B had been
genuinely trying to protect those men, and whatever he’d been trying simply hadn’t worked.
That meant someone else—or somethingelse—was kil ing them.
The klazen? Or Bert Chal is?
Or maybe they weren’t being kil ed at al . Maybe it was simply a huge coincidence that al three Lodgers died of cardiac arrest within days of each
other. Or, like Dad had said, voodoo.
Jack shook his head. He knew coincidences happened, but this was too much. Those men had been kil ed. But how? And by whom or what?
Could there real y be such a thing as a klazen?
Bert Chal is was a better bet.
Weezy nodded toward the lake. “You going back in there?”
“No way.” Despite the warmth of the late-morning sun, Jack stil felt chil ed. “Besides, whatever it is, I’l never find it in al that muck.”
“So this was al for nothing?”
He looked at her. “No, not ‘al for nothing.’ I learned something about Steve’s father.”
She lowered her voice further. “What? That he’s not some mustache-twirling serial kil er?”
“Wel , what else am I supposed to think?”
“Lots of things.”
Should have known, Jack thought. If there’s another, darker way of looking at something, Weezy’s going to find it.
“Like what?”
“Like maybe he couldn’t drown you because he knew people were watching.”
“Then why would he swim out at al ?”
“How about to drag you away from the spot where he’d thrown the whatever?”
Jack hadn’t considered that, but he saw a problem with it.
“If that was true, wouldn’t he be hanging around to make sure I don’t go back in?”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “Maybe.”
“Can’t we just give the guy the benefit of the doubt?”
“Sure we can: He saw you fal in, thought you were drowning, and swam out to save you.”
“That’s good enough for me.”
“But that doesn’t mean he didn’t have something to do with the deaths of those three Lodgers. Maybe he’s got a list—and maybe they’re on it but you
aren’t. Plus you’re Steve’s friend. That means he does the right thing for you and for anyone not on his list. But if you’re on his list, better watch your back.”
“But wouldn’t a guy who could plan and do the murders of three men just stand there and watch me drown?”
Weezy shook her head. “Hardly anybody’s al bad, Jack. Just as hardly anybody’s al good.”
Jack thought of Mom and Kate and couldn’t imagine anything bad about them. But he didn’t mention that to Weezy. Who knew what she’d dream up?
Whatever it might be, he didn’t want to hear it.
He shivered. “I’m heading home to change.”
“What about the canoe?”
He looked at it, half pul ed up on the bank. He’d forgotten al about it.
“Guess I’l have to paddle it back.”
Weezy smiled. “Best you stay away from the water for a while. I’l help you carry it.”
Not a bad idea.
It turned out to be pretty light so they each carried it on a shoulder.
“This is turning out to be one bad day,” she said. “Maybe the worst Saturday ever.”
Jack knew what she meant.
“Yeah, we get nabbed in the Pines, the cube gets stolen, the pyramid disappears—”
“You mean ‘stolen.’”
“Yeah, you’re probably right. And to top it off, I take a cold-water swim and come up with nothing.”
“Top it off? The day is stil young, Jack. It’s not even noon yet.”
Swel .
12
They were riding their bikes back toward their homes when Tim pul ed his patrol car up beside them. He was grinning.
“Heard about your dunking.”
Man, news traveled fast in this town. Jack bet his folks already knew.
“Yeah, wel …”
“You look like a drowned rat.”
Jack needed a change of subject. “Did you find out anything about the state troopers I told you about?”
Tim’s grin vanished. “Yeah. And no. I cal ed the sheriff and he cal ed the state, and the state said they didn’t know what he was talking about. When the
sheriff pressed them he was told he’d be a lot better off if he minded his own business.”
Jack looked at Weezy and she looked back.
“I saw that,” Tim said. “What do you two know?”
Weezy gave her head a tiny shake— don’t—but Jack felt he could trust Tim. So he gave him a brief, edited version about the copters, the cops, the
suits, and the backhoe digging up the mound. He left out the parts about being locked in the cruiser and the spong traps episode, also the theft of the
cube and the pyramid. No use laying too much on him at once.
“They choppered in a backhoe?”Tim said. “This sounds major.” Weezy final y spoke up. “Yeah. So major no one’s talking.”
“And it looks like no one wil . The sheriff told me it was none of our business and to drop it. And I’m supposed to pass the same on to you: Just forget
what you saw. No good’s going to come from yakking about it.”
“Consider it passed on,” Jack said.
“So whoever they are,” Weezy added, her voice thick, “they get to do whatever they want, whenever they want. Is that the way it’s supposed to work?”
He knew she was thinking about the pyramid.
Tim didn’t reply, so Jack said, “Is that what you’re going to do—mind your own business?”
Tim had never struck him as the type to rol over.
“For the record, yes. But this is my beat, Jack. So the way I see it, whatever goes on here ismy business. And since you live here, it’s your business
too. Don’t go snooping around, don’t go sneaking into the Pines at night, don’t pul any Hardy Boys stuff—”
Weezy snickered and Jack wondered if there was some sort of conspiracy to smack him with the Hardy Boys at every opportunity.
“What’s so funny?” Tim said.
Jack waved a hand. “Nothing.”
Tim pul ed out a pen and pad and started scribbling. “Yeah, wel , okay, but listen to me: You see something like that again, or anythingout of the
ordinary, you cal me—and only me.” He handed Jack the slip of paper. “That’s my home phone. It has an answering machine that I check al the time. You
need me, cal and simply say, ‘This is Jack.’ That’s al . Nothing more. I repeat: Say nothing more. I’l find you.” He nodded to Weezy. “You see anything, tel
Jack so he can tel me.”
This sounded like spy stuff, like intrigue, like he’d stepped into Weezy’s world. It made his stomach tingle.
“Okay.” Jack folded the paper but thought better of shoving it into a wet pocket. “You expecting anything to happen?”
Tim shook his head. “Nah. What’s done is done and that’s probably it. But it never hurts to have a couple of extra pairs of eyes on the lookout. And
speaking of looking, I think I’l take a ride out to the mound and see what they’ve done.”
“Can we come along?” Weezy said.
Tim shook his head. “Sorry. Better if you don’t.” He put the car in gear. “Take it easy, you two. And keep those eyes open.”
They watched as he drove away, heading toward the Barrens.
“Think we can trust him?” Weezy said.
“Yeah. Tim’s a good guy.”
Jack just hoped he did
n’t get himself in trouble by sticking his nose in the wrong place.
As they started riding again, Jack saw a car pul to a stop at the end of South Franklin. He wouldn’t have paid it much mind except that the driver
seemed so short. His head was so low he could barely see over the dashboard.
Then he recognized the man and realized he wasn’t short—he was crouched low behind the wheel.
Bert Chal is.
He glanced Jack’s way. Their eyes met for a second, then he turned away. His hand shot up to the side of his face, hiding his profile as he gunned the
car and raced down Quakerton Road toward the highway.
What was that al about?
His furtiveness made Jack uneasy. South Franklin led to Harding Street, where the Brussards lived. Was he watching the place?
This was getting scary.
13
The lock-picking set felt like a fire in Jack’s pocket as he stepped through the front door. Business at USED had been unusual y slow for a Saturday,
al owing Jack extra time to practice on the locks around the store.
The big sale of the day had been the curved-glass China cabinet. Once it could be opened, people became more interested in it. Some lady on an
antiquing junket from Princeton walked in, took one look at it, and wrote out a fat check.
A glow of pride had fol owed Jack home—he’d been responsible for that sale.
On the way out of the store he’d borrowed the lock picks without tel ing Mr. Rosen. Was that stealing? He didn’t think so, especial y since he didn’t
intend to keep the set—just use it and return it.
As he stepped in the back door his mom said, “Dinner’s going to be early tonight, dear. Your father and I are going to a movie.”
Yes! He could work on the lock box without worrying about getting caught.
“Oh?” he said casual y. “Going to see ReturnoftheJediagain?”
She made a face. “Not likely. This time it’s my choice, and I choose Risky Business.”
Every few weeks his folks would head up to Mount Hol y to catch a movie. They took turns choosing. Though Dad complained about the way the
spaceships maneuvered and hearing explosions in space—none of which bothered Jack in the least—he liked the StarWarsmovies. Mom liked
romantic comedies. For the sake of togetherness, each suffered through the other’s choices.
“Tom’s going out, and Kate’s in Stratford. You’l be okay with nobody here?”
Jack gave her a reassuring smile. He lovedhaving the house to himself.
“I’l be here with me.”
Just then Tom appeared in the doorway to the living room.
“How’s it going, Miracle Boy?”
Tom saying hel o? Jack was immediately on guard.
“Fine. How about you?”
Tom nodded. “Life is good, but it could always get better.”
Something was up.
Jack turned to Mom. “I’m gonna wash up.”
As he headed down the hal to the bathroom he could feel Tom’s eyes on his back. Up ahead he could see his bedroom door ajar—maybe two or three
inches.
Ah-ha!
He washed his hands and threw water on his face, then stepped back into the hal . Tom stood down by the kitchen, talking to Mom but positioned so he
had a clear view of Jack’s door.
Something definitely up.
He returned to the kitchen and headed for the backyard.
“Where you going?” Tom said.
“Garage. Wanna come?”
“Nah. I’l wait here.”
But instead of the garage, Jack ran around to his bedroom window at the rear of the house. He peeked through the screen and immediately spotted the
bucket balanced atop the partial y open door.
The bucket-over-the-door trick. Oh, Tom, you clever, clever guy. So original.
After half a minute of studying the setup, Jack knew just what to do.
But first he had to know if he could get into the room unseen. He tugged on the outside of the screen—had he latched it last night? He grinned when the
bottom popped out. No, he’d had too much on his mind to worry about latching screens.
He trotted to the garage and pawed through his dad’s toolbox until he found a couple of eye hooks. Then he pul ed out his penknife and cut twenty feet
or so of nylon fishing line from one of Dad’s never-used rods. Goodies in hand, he scuttled back to his bedroom window to crawl inside.
Quietly as possible, he moved his desk chair over to the door and stepped up on it. He screwed one eye hook into the ceiling directly above the bucket.
He threaded the end of the fishing line through the eye and tied it to the bucket handle.
Next he moved the chair to the right, to the corner by his closet, where he placed a second eye hook about six feet up the wal . He threaded the line
through that, then looped it around the closet doorknob. He adjusted the tension on the line just enough to lift the bottom edge of the bucket a smidgen off
the top of the door, then knotted it into place.
Moved the chair back, slipped out the window, then returned to the kitchen.
Mom was setting plates on the table. “Cal your father. We’re almost ready.”
“Okay. Just gotta stop in my room first.”
With that, Tom stepped back into the kitchen and again positioned himself where he could see Jack’s door.
As Jack passed him he couldn’t resist: “Wanna share some pistachios later?” “Very funny, Miracle Boy. Your time is coming. Sooner than you think.”
Hoping he’d done everything right, Jack held his breath as he pushed open the door to his room, preparing to be doused if he’d screwed up.
But no … he stayed dry.
Immediately he pul ed out his penknife and positioned himself by the closet door to wait. He didn’t think it would take long.
It didn’t.
Seconds later Tom arrived, wearing a perplexed expression. As he stepped through the door he looked up at the bucket.
“What the—?”
His eyes widened when he saw the eye hooks and the fishing line, but too late. Jack had cut the line and the bucket tipped and emptied on Tom’s face.
He cried out in shock and rage as he was drenched with cold water.
Jack thought it was one of the most beautiful sights he’d ever seen.
The commotion brought Mom running.
“What happened? What’s—?” She stopped and stared at her soaked son, then at the puddle on the floor. “What is going on here?” She looked past
Tom at Jack. “Jackie! What were you thinking?”
“I did notput a bucket over my own door, Mom.”
She turned to Tom. “Wel , since I doubt very much it was your father, and since Kate isn’t home, that leaves you. When are you going to grow up,
Thomas? You’re in law school, for heaven’s sake!”
“He started it with the doctored pistachios,” he said, wiping his dripping face with a wet sleeve.
“No,” she said. “Youstarted it when you stole his pistachios. Now, I want the two of you to shake hands and end this. Right now. You heard me: shake.”
Tom stuck out a hand. “Peace, brother?”
Jack knew what Tom had in mind: He was going to trap Jack’s fingers in a deathgrip and squeeze with everything he had. This wouldn’t be the first time
—not by a long shot. When Jack was younger Tom would squeeze and try to get him to say, “Tom is God.” Jack never would—even though the crushing
agony almost brought him to tears, he never said it.
Tom was stil bigger and stronger, but Jack had learned a trick.
“Peace, brother,” he said, forcing his hand as deep into Tom’s as it would go.
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