Code

CHAPTER 28

THE RETURN TRIP began in silence.

Ben seemed flustered by his retching episode. He clutched the steering wheel in a two-handed death grip, driving faster than usual. Shelton just crawled in back to sleep.

I was happy we’d accomplished our goal, but still worried about The Game. Everything hinged on our solving the next puzzle. The pressure was starting to get to me.

Maybe Marchant would kick something loose. Fingers crossed.

Then Hi cleared his throat. “Time runs out at midnight. Any ideas?”

“We have to ID the figurine,” I said. “It’s our only clue.”

Hi and I discussed a few ideas, planned a strategy for that afternoon. Shelton snored. Ben said nothing, eyes glued to the road.

He’s embarrassed. Or worried he’ll boot in Kit’s ride.

Forty minutes later we arrived home on Morris. Ben pulled into my garage, tossed me the keys, and headed for his unit.

“Ben?” I called after. “Can you help this afternoon? We’re almost out of time.”

“Give me an hour.” Then he hurried off.

“He’s gonna spew.” Shelton burped, grimaced. “Think I’ll join him.”

“But you’re coming back too, right?”

Shelton raised a thumb. “Twenty minutes. Maybe thirty.”

I turned to see Hi slinking away as well. “Food. Or else I’m done for. I’ll come over when Shelton does.”

And just like that, I was alone.

I entered through the garage and ascended the back stairs. Coop was waiting at the top.

“Hey, boy.”

Coop’s backward glance was my only warning.

“Tory?” Whitney was lurking within.

I took a deep, calming breath, then stepped into the living room.

Whitney was perched on the couch. “I’m so sorry about yesterday.”

“It’s okay,” I said automatically, unsure of how I really felt but anxious to avoid the conversation. “Let’s just forget it.”

“I never meant to upset you.” Placing one delicate hand to her chest. “Truly! Your father and I should never have sprung such news.”

“Everything’s fine.” I decided there was no point being angry. “I overreacted.”

“No.” Whitney shook her head firmly. “This is your house, too.”

“Look, if you and Kit want to live together—” my palms rose, pushed outward aimlessly, “—it’s not my place to stand in your way.”

Whitney was saying more, but I didn’t hear. I’d noticed something … off.

I looked around. “Where’s your stuff?”

The vase, picture, and other foreign articles were missing. I spun. The Blue Dog painting was no longer in the hallway.

“I took my things home. You were one hundred percent correct. It was presumptuous to move them in without your approval.”

“No. Wait. I mean …”

A war raged inside me. On the one hand, this retreat was exactly what I’d wanted. Part of me felt like shouting “damn right!” and heading upstairs.

But Whitney was clearly trying to make good. Had gone to a lot of trouble.

For the first time I could recall, she actually seemed to get it.

But I really, really didn’t want her living here.

Blargh.

Dilemma.

Be petulant, selfish, and happy? Or be generous … and miserable.

Then something grabbed my attention. I forgot all about the Whitney problem.

An object sat where Whitney’s vase had been.

Small. Weathered. Metal.

The Gamemaster’s figurine.

I bounded to the shelf. “Where’d you get this?”

“The statuette? I saw it on your desk, and thought Saint Benedict would look nice down here.” Whitney’s eyes widened. “Oh, dear. I’ve done it again, haven’t I?”

My pulse quickened. “Say again?”

“Darling, I’m so sorry!” Whitney’s face dropped to her hands. “I thought you’d like something of yours in place of my vase. I’m just terrible, aren’t I?” She sounded on the verge of tears.

“Whitney, I’m not mad.” I pointed at the figurine. “You said this is who?”

“Saint Benedict, of course.” Whitney drew a fingertip under each watery eye. “I was raised Catholic, as you surely know. When I was a girl, his image hung in our family library. He’s the patron of students.”

I couldn’t believe it. Hours of fruitless searches, and Whitney freaking Dubois just hands me the answer. Odds that long don’t exist.

My mind raced. We had twelve hours to find the next cache.

I needed the boys ASAP.

“I prefer keeping this in my room.” I snatched the figurine and bolted for the stairs. “But I do appreciate the thought.”

“Forgive me.” Whitney stood as I passed her. “I’ll never touch your things again.”

Impulsively, I turned and hugged her. “Not a problem.”

Then I raced up the steps, leaving the stunned Barbie in my wake.

“Got it!” Hi kissed his laptop screen. “Come to Daddy.”

I raised a brow. “Got what?” We’d been searching for thirty seconds.

We sat at my dining room table, waiting for Shelton and Ben. Whitney must’ve left soon after I’d gone upstairs.

I’d sent the boys a demanding text. So far, only Hi had surfaced.

“There’s a Saint Benedict Catholic Church.” He spun his computer for me to see. “In Mount Pleasant. How ya like them apples?”

“That’s great.” Could it be that easy?

I glanced at the black-and-white cloth that had covered the statue.

“What about the wrapping?” I tossed the fabric to Hi.

“Could be nothing.” He turned it in his hands. “Did you notice this, though?”

“Notice what?”

Hi held the swatch by a corner, revealing a tiny piece of embroidery on its back.

“You’ve got to be kidding.” I was getting sloppy. And at the wrong time.

I snatched the square back from Hi. The small and neat stitching formed a half circle with four squiggly lines rising from it.

“Looks like a sunrise,” I said. “What could that mean?”

“Who knows? The fabric could just be protective packaging.”

“Maybe.” But something bothered me. “Don’t you think this was too easy?”

Hi was already headed for my kitchen. “Too easy how?”

“Compared to the other tasks.” I hugged my knees to my chest. “The other clues were hard. Intricate. They involved codes, puzzles, things like that.”

Hi returned with a box of Wheat Thins. “Maybe we got lucky this time.”

Perhaps. Probably.

No.

I didn’t buy it.

“So far, the Gamemaster hasn’t included anything in a clue that wasn’t relevant.” I tapped the fabric. “There’s a shape here. And why is it black and white? This cloth has to factor somehow.”

Hi sighed. “So you need my brilliance again.”

“I do.”

“Fine.” Dropping the Wheat Thins on the table. “These are ‘reduced fat’ anyway. Blech.”

We ran search after search. Shelton arrived and added his thoughts to the mix. Thirty minutes later we still had nothing.

“We’re going in circles,” Hi complained. “And where the heck is Ben?”

“AWOL.” Shelton glanced at the clock. “He looked terrible this morning. I bet he lay down and passed out.”

“Let’s start over.” I cleared the history and typed. “Saint Benedict. Charleston.”

Familiar results. Every hit involved the Mount Pleasant church.

Was I overthinking this? I could be wasting precious time.

Trust your instincts. Keep looking.

“What if we remove that church from the results?” Shelton suggested.

“Do it.” I yielded the keyboard.

Shelton’s fingers danced as he adjusted search functions.

“Hell-o. What’s this?”

I hunched over his shoulder. The screen contained a pleasant image of a country road lined with giant oaks. In the corner was a soft logo, white on black.

Mepkin Abbey.

“A monastery.” Hi was leaning in close beside me. He did not smell tremendous.

“Monks?” Shelton snorted. “Seriously? In South Carolina?”

The website was organized and professional. A link at top read: “Who We Are.”

“Click that.”

Shelton did. The next page contained a mission statement and group portrait.

“These guys pray all day,” Hi said. “And they don’t talk.”

Shelton chuckled. “You’d never make it.”

“Weird.” Hi was scanning text. “They also sell produce, tend gardens, and operate a modern library. And the grounds are open to visitors every day.”

“Mepkin Abbey is a Trappist monastery,” Shelton read aloud. “These guys follow something called the Rule of Saint Benedict. That’s news to me, but it fits our search.”

I ignored their banter, eyes glued to the photo. “Nice robes, don’t you think?”

“Ah-ha!” Hi crowed.

Shelton nodded. “Nice catch, Tor.”

The picture showed twenty monks in two rows, standing in a beautiful flower garden. All were smiling. The average age appeared to be north of sixty.

But that wasn’t what had me grinning.

The men wore identical robes.

Identical black-and-white robes.

I kissed my index finger and pressed it to the screen.

“Gotcha.”