Secret Histories

“Keep tension on the wrench, Jack. Not too hard, but keep it steady.” After almost half an hour of coaching, with Mr. Rosen hovering over his shoulder,

Jack wondered if he’d ever learn this.

Good thing it was a weekday morning, because they tended to be pretty slow at

USED. Weekday afternoons were slightly busier, but things started

moving Friday afternoon and stayed pretty busy through the weekends. That

was when the “tourists”—real y just folks from Phil y and Trenton and

thereabouts—went out for a ride in the country.

As a result, the lesson wasn’t rushed or interrupted.

Since the curved-glass china cabinet was pretty much worthless if it couldn’t be

opened, Mr. Rosen had said it would be as good a place as any to

start.

Uh-uh. The lock seemed so smal .

He’d inserted the end of the thin little bar with the right angle at each end—cal

ed a tension wrench—into the bottom of the keyhole. Jack was supposed to keep pressure on it in the direction he wanted the lock’s cylinder to turn. Then

he’d inserted one of the slim little instruments that looked like a dentist’s probe into the opening and gently pul ed and pushed it forward and backward

inside—Mr. Rosen cal ed this “raking”—to move the pins and make them line up with the edge of the cylinder. Once they were al in line, the tension

wrench would be able to turn the cylinder and open the lock.

The tension wrench seemed to be the key—too much pressure on it and the pins

wouldn’t move; too little and they wouldn’t stay lined up.

It wasn’t hard work, but Jack could feel the sweat col ecting in his armpits. Mr. Rosen sighed and said, “We maybe should try a bigger lock. I thought this

might be better because it has fewer pins, but they’re smal and

sometimes harder to—”

“Hey!” Jack cried as the tension bar suddenly rotated.

A strange, indescribable elation surged through him as he heard the latch slide

back with a click. He grabbed the knob and pul ed open the door.

“I did it!”

Mr. Rosen clapped him on the shoulder. “Good for you, my boy. Once you get

that first success under your belt, the next wil be easier, and the one after that even easier.”

Jack stared down at the pick and tension wrench in his hands. He’d simply

unlocked a china cabinet, but he felt as if he’d opened the door to a world of infinite possibilities.

He glanced up and found Mr. Rosen staring at him.

“What?”

The old man shook his head. “I hope I haven’t created a problem.” Jack had a pretty good idea what he meant. He lowered his voice into Super

Friendsmode.

“I promise to never use my newfound power for evil.”

Mr. Rosen’s stare widened. “‘Newfound power’?”

Jack laughed. “I remember reading something like that in a comic book once.” “This isn’t a comic book. This is life. Do I have your word you wil not use what

you’ve learned here today for anything il egal?”

Jack held up three fingers. “Scout’s honor.”

“You’re a Boy Scout?” Mr. Rosen said with a frown. “I had no idea.” “Only kidding.” Jack laughed. “About the Boy Scout part, I mean. But I won’t do

anything il egal. I promise.”

And he meant it … at the time.

For the next hour or so, Jack worked on various locks around the store. Mr.

Rosen had keys to al of those, so it wouldn’t matter if Jack couldn’t pick them. As he worked he heard classical music waft from the front. Somehow Mr. Rosen

had found an FM station out of Phil y that played only classical. Jack

wished he had one of those new Walkmans so he could listen to his own music,

but his dad had refused to buy him one.

Turned out Mr. Rosen hadn’t been quite right: Each new lock did not become

easier than the last. But as each fel victim to Jack’s array of picks and

tension wrenches, he felt a growing sense of knowing what he was doing. He

learned to refine his raking technique and how to use the finer picks to nudge the more stubborn pins into line.

He felt a rush every time one clicked open.

He was sitting on an old ladderback chair near the front of the store, working on

a padlock, when an announcer interrupted Mr. Rosen’s music to say

something about someone’s “sudden col apse.” He dropped the lock when he

heard him mention the name “Vasquez.”

He leaped to his feet. “What was that?”

Mr. Rosen looked up from his newspaper. “One of the state legislators col apsed

at some ribbon-cutting ceremony today.” He stared at Jack. “You’re al right? Like a ghost you look.”

“I-I think I might have seen him last night.”

Mr. Bainbridge’s words echoed through his head: Theysaydeathscomein

threes.We’vehadSumter,andnowHaskins.Who’sgoingtobethe

third?

Wel , now he knew. He’d been worried that Mr. Brussard would be next, but it

hadn’t turned out that way.

What was happening? The most obvious explanation tied Jack’s innards into

knots.

According to Steve, Mr. Sumter had visited his father Monday night. Tuesday

morning he was dead.

On Tuesday night Mr. Haskins had visited Mr. B. Wednesday morning, Haskins

dropped dead.

Last night, Assemblyman Vasquez … and now he was dead.

Jack knew that at least two of the three men who’d visited Mr. Brussard had left

with a little red box. They’d been told it held something that would

protect them from the so-cal ed klazen.

Jack could come to only one conclusion. The klazen didn’t exist. He didn’t know

why or how, but he had an awful suspicion that whatever was in the boxes Steve’s father had given these men had kil ed them. And that would make Mr. Brussard a cold-blooded murderer.

“Steve’s father?” Weezy said, her voice hushed. “Ohmygod, I can’t believe it.” Jack shrugged. “Neither can I, but can you come up with any other explanation?” “Could be coincidence.”

Jack couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Whoa! The girl who finds

conspiracies everywhere says ‘coincidence’? Three visits, three days, three deaths?”

She shook her head. “But we’re not talking about some mysterious stranger. This

is Steve’s father.”

He’d needed someone to talk to, someone who’d understand, someone who wouldn’t laugh at him. Only one person had fit that bil , though he’d had to

wait until she returned from her weekly trip to Medford with her mother.

They’d biked into the Pines, taking the easy way by finding a semipaved road running through the Wharton State Forest preserve. This was one of the

more civilized parts of the Pine Barrens, with canoeing and fishing areas, and even the restored Batsto Vil age. This time of year it was ful of tourists.

They’d parked their bikes and claimed an isolated park bench just off the roadway.

“You’ve got to tel somebody.”

Jack nodded. “I know. But who? And tel them what? What can I say without everybody thinking I’m crazy?”

“How about that deputy?” Weezy said.

She wore her usual black jeans, black sneakers, and a too-large black T-shirt with ChooseDeathin red letters across the back. As they talked she

used a long stick to draw patterns in the sand at their feet.

“Tim Davis?” He thought about that and decided it wasn’t a good idea. “Nah. He’d just think I was kidding him.”

“Then it’s gotta be your dad. I don’t think your sister or brother—”

“Tom? Puh-lease!”

“Wel , whatever, I don’t think they’ve got the gravitas to make the right people listen.”

“‘Gravitas’?”

She smiled. “My new word. It means substance, seriousness. I’ve been waiting for days to use it.” She patted the back of his hand. “Thanks.”

Jack’s hand tingled where she’d touched it. He felt something stir inside. He liked the feeling and wished she hadn’t taken her hand away.

He laughed to ease his inner turmoil. “You’re amazing.”

She smiled back at him. “And you’re very perceptive.”

They shared brief, soft laughter over that, then Jack sighed.

“I guess that leaves my dad.”

She looked at him. “You can’t talk to your dad?”

“Yeah, I can talk. But he doesn’t take me seriously. I’m fourteen but in his head I can tel he stil thinks I’m six.”

“At least you can talk to him. My dad …” She shook her head. “He doesn’t get me.”

Jack nudged her. “What’s not to get? You’re just a typical teenage girl al done up in fril y dresses and shiny little black shoes.”

He’d been joking but his chest tightened when he saw her eyes puddle up.

“That’s what he’d like me to be. But I just can’t be a bowhead. It makes me sick.” She blinked and glanced at him. “No, I mean real y sick. If I had to knot

a paint-splatter shirt at my hip, or wear floral-pattern jeans and Peter Pan boots, I real y think I’d throw up.”

“Only kidding.”

“I know, but my dad’s not. He wants me to look like everybody else. And he lets me know it.”

Weezy’s father was a pipefitter. Like everyone else in town, it seemed, he’d been in Korea. But he hadn’t fought. He’d been in the construction crew

that built Camp Casey. More than once Jack had heard his father say that instead of going to col ege after the war, he should have enrol ed in a trade

school and become a pipefitter like Patrick Connel . If he had he’d be less stressed and making more money.

“He just doesn’t get me.” She glanced at Jack again. “Do you?”

Jack hesitated. He wasn’t about to lie to her, but knew he needed to put this just right.

“Truth?”

“Of course.”

He took a breath. “I don’t get you either.”

She gave him a sharp look. “Oh, great. Ettu,Brute?Just great!”

He held up a hand. “Let me finish. I don’t get you, but I don’t need to. I don’t get the black clothes or the downer music—it’s like you’ve joined some club

where I’l never be a member—but so what? We’ve known each other forever, Weez. You are who you are. You’re Weezy Connel , the smartest and also

the strangest person I know. Yeah, I don’t get you, but I wouldn’t have you any other way.”

She dropped the stick, hopped off the bench, and walked maybe a dozen feet away. She kept her back to him but he noticed her chest heaving, as if

she was sobbing, or maybe holding sobs back.

What’d I say? he thought.

He’d been trying to make her feel good but he guessed he’d screwed that up. Would he ever learn how to talk to a girl?

Watching her made him uncomfortable so he stared at the ground where she’d been doodling with the stick. He noticed with a start that they weren’t

random scratchings—they looked an awful lot like the pattern etched on the inside of the mystery cube. The longer he looked, the more convinced he

became. Had she memorized it? But then he remembered how Weezy had told him she had a photographic memory.

Suddenly two black-sneakered feet stepped into view. Jack looked up to find Weezy’s face only inches from his. She kissed him on the lips. Not a long

kiss. Barely a second. But her lips were soft and their touch sent a shock through him.

And then it was over. She straightened and looked down at him. She was smiling but her face was blotchy and her eyes red.

“You’re the best friend anyone could have. I don’t deserve you.”

She stepped over to where her Schwinn leaned against the side of the bench. She swung her leg over the banana seat and looked at him.

“Come on, Jack. Don’t sit there like a lump. We’ve got to get you back to civilization.”

But Jack did sit there, total y confused. He’d upset her, but then she’d kissed him. Weezy Connel had kissed him. Not that he hadn’t kissed a girl before

—sometimes hanging out turned into making out—but this was Weezy.

Of course, it hadn’t been a make-out kiss, but stil … she’d kissed him. And the feel of her lips lingered against his.

Unable to sort out the strange mix of feelings bubbling within, he pushed himself off the bench and grabbed his bike.

They took a different way home. Weezy, who seemed to have this entire end of the Pine Barrens laid out in her head, led him along deer trails and

firebreaks he’d never seen before.

Al along the way he watched her butt.

Wel , what else was there to look at? As far as size went, it wasn’t much. Hard to tel what her baggy clothes hid. She was thin, he knew that, but curvy

thin or straight-up-and-down thin he couldn’t say. Either way, he found he liked watching her from the rear as she pedaled along.

Her shortcut back to Johnson led through Old Man Foster’s land and now things were starting to look familiar. When they came to the clearing with the

spong where they’d found the leg-hold traps, she skidded to a stop, turned to give him a surprised look, and pointed.

There in the clearing stood a lady in a long black dress and a scarf around her neck. She carried a bundle of sticks in one arm and was moving from

trap to trap, springing them with the sticks. Her three-legged dog stood by, watching.

Mrs. Clevenger.

Without hesitating, Weezy hopped off her bike and walked into the clearing. She seemed to believe in just about every kind of weirdness, but maybe

she didn’t believe in witches—or maybe she didn’t believe Mrs. Clevenger was one. Jack wasn’t so sure about that, but he fol owed anyway. The dog

watched their approach but made no move toward them.

“Hi,” he heard Weezy say as she neared.

Mrs. Clevenger looked up. She didn’t seem surprised to see them. Jack had a strange feeling this old lady didn’t surprise easily.

“Hi, yourself, Weezy Connel .”

She took a stick from the bundle in her arm and jammed it into a nearby trap. It snapped shut, breaking off the end. She used the broken tip on a

neighboring trap. When this one snapped closed, it trapped the stick. She abandoned it and grabbed another.

“Looks like fun,” Weezy said. “Can I try?”

Mrs. Clevenger gave her a long look, then handed her a stick.

“I like you, young lady. But be careful where you step. Nasty things, these.”

Jack grabbed one of the already sprung traps and worked its anchor free from the ground. Then he tossed it into the spong where it splashed and sank.

“You threw them in there a few days ago,” Mrs. Clevenger said. It didn’t sound like a question—she seemed to know. “A good thing, but in the end, only

a temporary solution, as temporary as springing the traps. The trapper simply fishes them out and resets them. Al we accomplish by what we do here is a

respite for the animals and an inconvenience for the trapper.”

Jack said, “That’l have to do, I guess.”

Her eyes narrowed. “For now, yes. But someday he may do harm to creatures that must not be touched. Should that happen, he wil pay dearly.”

Her tone chil ed Jack. For some reason he found himself very glad he wasn’t that trapper.

“Oh, and we anger and frustrate him as wel ,” she added, “so don’t let him catch you at this.”

Weezy looked up. “What do you think he’d do?”

Her expression was grim. “A man who sets these traps for unsuspecting animals coming to the spong to ease their thirst? What wouldn’the do?”

Jack looked over at her dog who hadn’t moved from where it sat. He feared it might be a touchy subject but he had to ask.

“Did he …” He pointed to the dog. “Did a trap do that to him?”

Mrs. Clevenger looked at him and smiled. “No, he chose to have only three legs. Perhaps in sympathy for the animals hurt in the traps, perhaps for

another reason. He’s never said.”

Jack could only stare at her. What on Earth was she talking about? It made no sense.

“What’s his name?” Weezy said.

She turned toward Weezy, and as she did, Jack craned his neck to see if he could catch a glimpse of a scar beneath her scarf, but it was wrapped too

tightly.

“He’s had many names, and he has none. He simply is.”

More weirdness. Mrs. Clevenger seemed to like to speak in riddles. Weezy took a step toward the dog. “Can I pet him?”

“He would rather you didn’t. He prefers not to be touched.”

Jack looked around for a car or even another bike, but found none. “How’d you get here?” he said.

She smiled at him. “The usual way.”

Jack realized then that he might never get a straight answer from this old woman, so he bent to the task of ripping the traps from the ground and tossing

them into the spong.

After springing the last trap, Weezy joined him. Mrs. Clevenger and her dog watched until the last trap was in the drink.

Jack was panting a little from the effort, as was Weezy. A sweat sheened her face and arms.

“Good,” the old woman said. “I am proud of you both. But it’s time for you to go.”

“Why?”

“Because I hear the trapper coming.” Jack listened but heard only the incessant bug buzz of the Barrens.

“You sure?”

The old woman nodded. “Clear as day. He’l be very, very angry when he finds what we’ve done. So go now. Quickly.”

“Are you staying?” Weezy said.

She shook her head. “No. Though I don’t fear him, it’s best he doesn’t see me. I’l fol ow soon.” “It’s an awful long walk.”

“I’l return the way I arrived.” She made shooing motions with her knobby, veiny hands. “Now get. Get!”

They got.

They rode side by side along the firebreak trails, talking about Steve’s father and

Mrs. Clevenger and this and that until they connected with the end of

Quakerton Road in Old Town. They crossed the bridge, cut right onto North

Franklin, then stopped at Adams Drive. Here they’d part ways. Weezy lived on Adams and Jack up at the end of Franklin on Jefferson.

“I’ve got something for you,” she said in a low voice as she moved up close

beside him.

Another kiss?

“What?”

She reached into her bike basket and pul ed out two folded sheets of paper. She

looked around, then thrust them at Jack.

“Here. Put these in your pocket.”

He started to unfold them. “What—?”

“Look at them later! Just get them out of sight!”

Spurred by her urgent tone, he shoved them into a back pocket. “What’s going on?”

Weezy looked around again, then whispered, “I think someone was out in my

backyard last night.”

Jack felt a chil as he remembered his unlatched screen and the feeling that

someone had been in his room. But that had been Tom, right?

Right?

“You see anyone?”

“I saw a shadow that moved.”

“Could have been a deer.”

“Yeah, could have been. I hope so. But just in case, when I was in Medford this

morning, I had my mother drop me off at the library so I could Xerox

copies of the symbols on the pyramid and the pattern inside the cube.” Weezy and her mother had been driving to Medford every Friday morning al

summer long. Shopping, Jack guessed.

“Copies? Why?”

“In case someone steals mine.”

Jack couldn’t help rol ing his eyes. “Weez …”

“It’s part of the Secret History of the World, Jack. We’re not supposed to have it.

Doesn’t it make sense that the people who want that history kept

secret wil try to get it back?”

Jack didn’t like the way this was going.

“But who are these ‘people’?”

She shrugged. “How should I know? They’re secret,remember?” Secret … the word brought back his father’s comment about the Septimus

Lodge: It’sasecretsociety.

Could the Lodge be involved? After al , Weezy had found the cube next to a

dead member.

But why would whoever it was search his room? After al , Weezy was the one

who kept it and—

His stomach clenched when he remembered that Mr. Brussard was a

member—no, more than just a member. He’d cal ed himself “Lodge lore master.” And Jack had showed him the cube. If the Lodge was involved, they’d assume

Jack had it. And when they found out he didn’t, they’d move on to the next person involved.

Weezy.

He shook it off. Crazy to think like this. Come on. This was lame-o Johnson, New

Jersey. Nothing of any interest went on here. Especial y not things like that.

“Okay, I’l hide them in a safe place.”

She smiled. “Thanks. An ounce of prevention … you know the rest.” Jack did. And he’d do what he’d promised, even if it meant getting involved in

one of her weird theories. If she’d rest easier knowing he had copies, that was reason enough.

He glanced at the sun. Almost noon. Enough time to get home, grab a shower, and rush over to USED.

Tonight was another of those rare evenings when everyone was home for dinner. Mom and Dad sat at the ends of the oblong dining room table, with Kate

and Jack on one side, and Tom by himself on the other. Mom had made her Friday night meat loaf. She always mixed an envelope of Lipton’s Onion Soup

into the meat and Jack loved it. Add local corn on the cob and creamed spinach and he had heaven on a plate.

As Jack ate he looked for a way to bring up the latest death. Final y he found an opening.

“Remember what Mister Bainbridge said about never two deaths without three?”

Dad swal owed. “And like Isaid—an old wives’ tale.”

“But the death of that Assemblyman Vasquez makes three, right?”

“I suppose so.” Dad shrugged. “Every so often old wives’ tales work out, that’s why they never go away.” He looked thoughtful. “And this time not just

three random people, but three Lodgers.”

Jack almost dropped his fork. He’d half guessed the connection, but hearing it confirmed at his own dinner table came as a shock.

“He was in the Lodge too?”

Dad nodded. “Saw him there when they were trying to get me to join. Guess they thought it would impress me. It didn’t.”

Tom spoke around a mouthful. “You should’ve joined while you had the chance, Dad. They ever ask me, I’l join in a heartbeat.”

“I’m sure you wil .” Dad shook his head, then smiled. “I wonder what Ed Toliver wil have to say about another Lodger’s death?”

Tom forked a big piece of meat loaf into his mouth before replying—a habit that drove Jack up the wal . Most people swal owed their food, then spoke.

Tom rarely spoke withouthis mouth ful . Made him sound like a tard.

“Not much, I’d guess. He’s learning the hard way that you don’t mess with the Septimus Lodge.”

Kate looked up. “Oh?”

More meat loaf, then, “Toliver received notice today that his state income tax is being audited. And if that wasn’t bad enough, his requests for variances

and permits on that Mount Hol y shopping center he’s been working on have been sent back. He’s got to resubmit.”

“What’s that got to do with the Lodge?” Jack said.

Tom picked up an ear of corn and began chewing on it left to right like a machine-gun typewriter. Chomp-chomp-chomp.

“Everything,” he said between finishing the first row and attacking the second. “He cal ed the lodge out.” Another row— chomp-chomp-chomp.“He

demanded an investigation.” Chomp-chomp-chomp.“He drew attention to them.” Chomp-chomp-chomp.“Lodge no like attention.” Chomp-chompchomp.“Lodge is connected.” Chomp-chomp-chomp.“Lodge lower the boom on Mister Edward Toliver.”

“They’ve got that kind of power?” Jack said.

Tom nodded. “Ohhhhh, yeah.”

Dad narrowed his eyes. “Where’d you get al this information?”

A huge forkful of creamed spinach went in, then, “The legal grapevine, Dad. Word gets around fast: Judges talk to their clerks, the clerks talk to lawyers

and law students they know. In no time it’s al over the place.”

Mom shook her head. “What kind of a country has this become where you can’t speak your mind?”

“The real world,” Tom said. “The way it’s always been. You push, you should expect a push back. The secret is to make sure you’re on the side with the

most muscle.”

“How about being on the side that’s right?” Kate said.

Tom grinned, showing a piece of spinach stuck to one of his front teeth.

“Wake up, Kate. Might makes right.”

As Jack watched Kate shake her head sadly and go back to eating, he decided it was time for a little public pistachio shel ing.

After dinner, Jack fol owed his father upstairs to his folks’ bedroom. “Dad, can I ask you something?”

“Of course—as long as it’s not about that box.”

“It’s not. It’s about Mister Brussard.”

His dad looked at him. “What about him?”

Jack told him about the meetings, the little red boxes, the warnings about the

klazen, the lies, and the three deaths.

Dad was staring at him. “You shouldn’t be snooping on people. This is what happens with half-heard conversations. It’s cal ed taking things out of

context.”

“But they’re dead, Dad. Three visits, three red boxes, three dead people.”

He couldn’t know if Mr. Sumter had been given a box, but he assumed so.

“And you suspect Gordie Brussard of kil ing them?”

“Don’t you think it looks that way?”

A smile played around his dad’s lips. “Since when did you become one of the Hardy Boys?”

Angry, Jack clenched his jaw. He’d known someone would think that. He’d even thought it himself. But this wasn’t a novel. This was real y happening,

right here in Johnson, New Jersey.

“Cal me a Hardy Boy, cal me Nancy Drew, but there’s something going on.”

Dad sighed. “Remember that discussion we had about jumping to conclusions? Remember the trouble posthoc,ergopropterhoccan get you in?”

Jack nodded. “Yeah.”

Dad had explained that the Latin phrase meant afterthis,thereforebecauseof this,and how it led to wrong conclusions and superstition. His favorite example was, ItrainedafterIdancedaroundafire,thereforedancingarounda firecausesrain.

“Wel , this is most likely a good example of that kind of thinking. Step back and look at it: What would Brussard’s motive be?”

Jack shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“Right. And I can’t think of one either. Those three dead men are his Lodge brothers. They’re a very tight group.”

“But he said the klazen would find the ones ‘responsible.’”

“Responsible for what?”

Jack shrugged. “Murdering that man I found? I mean, that’s when people started dying.”

“There you go again, Jack. That’s a post-hocconclusion: The deaths began after you found the body, therefore finding the body is causing the deaths.

Do you believe that?”

“Wel , it could be. The man was a Lodger that nobody even knew was dead until I found him, and then three Lodge members die in the week after his

body is identified. You think that’s just coincidence?”

Dad was silent a moment, then, “Odds are it is, but I have to admit it’s one hel of a coincidence.”

Yes! Dad was beginning to see the light.

“But,” Dad went on, “it’s also one hel of a leap to accuse Gordon Brussard of doing the kil ing. I’d almost prefer to blame this mysterious klazen.”

That shocked Jack. His dad was the least superstitious person on Earth.

“But no one’s ever heard of it. It doesn’t exist.”

“It doesn’t have to, Jack. Al it needs is for some people to believe it exists. Like voodoo. People who believe in voodoo and learn that it’s being used

against them wil often sicken, and some have even died. Because they believe someone with magic is trying to kil them. Septimus Lodgers believe al

sort of crazy crap—”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. They keep it to themselves. But when I was being courted they made veiled references to al the secret knowledge I would be privy to once

I joined. So maybe if they believe a kil er klazen is after them, they work themselves up into a heart attack. Don’t forget, they al died of cardiac arrest in

public places. Nothing came and tore their throats out.”

Jack wasn’t giving up. “But what’s in those little red boxes? What if it’s some sort of amulet with a spring-loaded poison needle?”

Dad laughed. “That’s it! No more. Any more pulp fiction talk like that and I’l send those old magazines straight back to Mister Rosen.”

Wel , okay, Jack thought as he took the stairs down, maybe an amulet with a poison needle was taking it too far, but something was going on. Had to

be.

After checking to make sure Tom was stil around, Jack retrieved his doctored pistachios from his room. Back in the kitchen, he made a show of pouring

a few dozen nuts onto the counter from the untreated bag. Keeping the spicy ones separate, he shel ed five of those first.

From the corner of his eye he saw Tom walk past the doorway, slowing as he looked into the kitchen.

Perfect.

He shel ed two of the regular nuts and ate them.

Kate finished loading the dishwasher and leaned against the counter.

“Mind if I snag a couple?” she said, pointing to the pile.

“Not those,” Jack whispered without moving his lips.

Her eyes widened. “You mean …?”

Nodding, he quickly shel ed a couple of regular nuts and slid them toward her. As Tom passed again, Jack pretended to take them from the pile and

hand them to her.

“Here you go,” he said in a louder voice.

Kate popped them into her mouth and smiled. “I was going to go read, but maybe I’l hang around awhile.”

She opened the paper and began to flip through it.

“Oh, look,” she said. “Here’s a picture of that assemblyman just minutes before he died. What a shame.”

Jack resisted snatching the paper from her. Instead he hurried around the counter and stared over her shoulder.

The grainy photo showed a grinning Assemblyman Vasquez holding a large pair of scissors poised to cut a wide ribbon outside a shopping mal . Yeah,

he was the guy in Steve’s house last night.

“Wel , I’l be,” Kate said. She tapped a figure in the smal crowd behind Vasquez. “Look who’s there: Bert Chal is, our trusty insurance man.”

Jack stifled a gasp as he recognized him. Hadn’t Mr. B said he was in L.A. at some convention? A strange comment came back to him:

Idon’tknowaboutyou,butBertChallisworriesme.

Worried him how?

Had he been there to warn Vasquez … or was he the problem?

Just then Jack spotted Tom peeking around the edge of the doorframe. He lowered his voice again.

“I think the show’s about to start.”

As Jack resumed his seat on the far side of the counter, Kate wandered back to the sink and pretended to be busy.

With Tom watching, Jack shel ed five more hot ones, al of which he added to the pile. That done, he made a show of opening one untreated nut and

popping it in his mouth. Then a second. Then he quickly shel ed the rest of the doctored nuts and added them to the pile.

Tom, apparently unable to hold out any longer, glided into the kitchen and slid the nuts off the counter into his palm.

“Gotcha!”

“Hey!” Jack cried. “Better not. Those are hot.”

“Not this time. I saw you and Kate eating them.”

“I’m warning you,” Jack said.

Kate chimed in. “Better think twice, Tom.”

“Oh, right,” he said with a laugh. “Like you don’t back up Miracle Boy every chance you get.”

Kate shrugged. “Your funeral.”

Tom waved and headed for the back door. “These’l taste great on the way to Phil y.”

Jack lowered his voice and did his Wil y Wonka thing again. “Stop. Don’t. Come back.”

But Tom didn’t—at least not right away. As the screen door slammed behind him, Kate grinned at Jack and began a countdown.

“Five … four …”

Jack joined her.

“Three … two …”

They heard a faint, “Oh,no!”from outside, then the screen crashed open and Tom rushed back in, holding his mouth. He ran for the refrigerator, yanked

open the door, and started guzzling milk from the carton. Kate was hysterical, so weak with laughter she was down on her knees, clutching the counter so

she wouldn’t fal over.

But Jack wasn’t laughing. Served Tom right for being in his room last night.

At least he hoped it had been Tom.

Fol owing the old saying about discretion being the better part of valor, Jack had skedaddled before Tom recovered from the pistachios. He didn’t want to

deal with him tonight.

Was it okay to dislike your brother? Real y, real y dislike? He thought of another old saying: You can choose your friends but you can’t choose your

family. They had that right. No way in a mil ion years would he have chosen Tom for a brother.

He reached Steve’s front door and knocked.

“Hi, Mrs. Brussard,” he said as she appeared. “Steve around?”

He was glad Steve’s mom had answered instead of his dad. Maybe he wasn’t a kil er. Maybe he’d real y been trying to protect his three Lodge brothers

from the mysterious and dreaded klazen. Maybe they’d died of natural causes or, as Dad thought, scared themselves to death. But Jack had trouble

buying that. And he feared that Mr. Brussard would take one look at him and realize that Jack suspected the truth.

Mrs. B smiled as she pushed open the door for him. She was short and pudgy with straight brown hair. Steve looked nothing like her.

“He’s down in the basement with that computer. I swear, if he devoted that much time to his homework during the school year he’d be a straight-A

student.”

Jack doubted that. Not with the condition Steve was too often in by the end of the night. But he said nothing about that as he headed for the basement

stairs, hoping he’d find Steve sober for a second night in a row.

No such luck. Steve was slumped on the couch watching that sappy Knots Landing.He looked looped.

“I never noticed before,” he slurred with a sil y grin, “but Michele Lee is cooooool.”

She waspretty good-looking, but …

“I thought you were locked out of the liquor cabinet.”

“I am.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

Steve raised an amber plastic vial and rattled its contents. “I was forced to improvise.”

“Pil s? Whose?”

“My mom’s.” He tossed Jack the bottle. “Check it out.”

Jack caught it and examined the label. Under Steve’s mother’s name it read: Valium5mg#30.

“What’s this stuff?”

Steve grinned again. “A tranquilizer. My mother’s had them around forever. Hardly ever uses them.”

“You’re taking a tranquilizer?Are you crazy?”

“Better believe it.” He crossed his eyes and stuck his tongue out the side of his mouth. “Completely nuts.”

Jack tossed the vial back. Steve tried to catch it but was too slow. It sailed right past his hand.

“Don’t you want one? They take the edge off everything and make you feel sooooooo mel owwwwww.”

Jack didn’t get it. Life was too cool to spend in a fog. He didn’t want to miss a thing.

“Maybe I prefer edgy to mel ow.”

Steve’s gaze drifted back to the TV. “Isn’t she beauuuutiful?”

“She’s old enough to be your mother!”

“I wish she was. I’d sit and look at her aaaaaal day.”

“I thought we were final y gonna get some work done on the computer.”

Steve looked up at him with bleary eyes. “Let’s do it.”

“Yeah. Like you could be trusted with a soldering iron right now.”

“Hey, I’m fine.” He held up a hand. “Look. Rock steady.”

It did look steady, but steadiness wasn’t al that mattered.

“Yeah, but touch your pointer to your nose.”

Jack demonstrated.

“Easy.” But when Steve tried he missed by half an inch. “Aw, who cares anyway? I ain’t soldering my nose.”

Jack was losing respect for Steve. He’d been a smart, funny kid until he’d returned from soccer camp. Since then he’d been sprinting down the road to

Loservil e. Maybe he couldn’t help it, maybe something had gone wrong in his brain. Nothing Jack could do about that.

Weezy’s words from this morning echoed back to him: Sowhatareyougoingto do,standbyandwatchhimgodownthetubes?

No, Miss Know-it-al , he thought, I’m not.

But right now, other than ratting him out, Jack didn’t see that he had much choice.

No, that wasn’t true. There were always choices. Steve could choose whether or not to take one of his mother’s pil s, and Jack could choose yesor no

as to getting him some help. He decided on yes. Easy to make a choice. The real problem was figuring out howto help without Steve feeling he’d been

ratted out by a friend.

Jack needed to give this some serious thought. He was sure he’d find a way.

As Steve’s eyelids started to drift closed, Jack shook his head.

Wel now, thiswas exciting. He’d be better off watching TV at home.

He headed for the stairs.

“Later, man.”

Steve mumbled something that sounded like, “Yeah.”

Upstairs, as he was passing the den, he spotted the black humidor. Mr. Brussard had been holding it when he’d said good-bye to Vasquez. Why? They

hadn’t been smoking.

Did he dare?

No. Too risky.

But he hurried into the den anyway. Quickly he lifted the top and found an oddly shaped little red container about the size of a jewelry box for a ring; it

had six—no, seven sides.

What was in them? What was the “it” that had to be “used” at dawn with your back to the sun?

He had to know.

As he was reaching for it he heard footsteps hurrying down the stairs. Too heavy for Mrs. B—had to be Steve’s dad. With panic tightening his chest,

Jack snatched his hand out of the humidor, replaced the lid, and leaped behind a high-backed upholstered chair.

Immediately he realized what a stupid move he’d made. If Mr. B came in and spotted him, what could he say? That he and Steve were playing hide and

seek?

Yeah, right. That would fly—like a penguin.

Looking around he spotted Mr. Brussard’s stack of stereo electronics. He jumped up and stepped over to it. With his hands behind his back, he stood

before it and pretended to be studying al the neat-looking equipment.

He heard Mr. B come in behind him and stop.

“Jack?”

He turned. “Oh, hi, Mister Brussard. Just looking at your disc player here. I’d love to get my father to buy one, but he’s not al that into music.”

“Real y liked the sound, did you?” His smile looked forced, like he had something else on his mind

“Awesome.”

He picked up the humidor and looked inside.

“Wel , I’d play some for you now, but I’ve got a little work to do. Why don’t you get cracking on that computer. I’m real y looking forward to seeing it in

action.”

“I’ve got to get home.” Jack started for the hal . “We’ve stil got a ways to go.”

“Uh-huh.” He seemed to be only half listening.

“See ya,” he said and headed for the door.

When he reached the hal way he looked back and saw Mr. B pul a key ring from his pocket and lock the humidor in the liquor cabinet.

What was in that little box that needed to be locked up?

He suspects something, Jack thought as trotted toward home.

He’d have to be careful.

He was a block away when he realized he’d just missed a perfect opportunity to

expose Steve’s problem. He could have said something to his father,

something like, Idon’tthinkSteve’sfeelingsohot.That would have sent Mr. B

down to check on him. Or at least he thought so. He knew his own dad would be downstairs in a flash. But the terror of almost getting caught had

blanked his mind.

Which meant the Steve problem remained. Jack had done nothing to solve it. He’d think of something. And soon.

Night was fal ing by the time he reached his house. He noticed that Tom’s car

was gone, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t left a little surprise for Jack. He waved to his parents as they watched FalconCrest.Family drama was not

Dad’s favorite by a long shot, but Mom loved it—Jack had even heard her humming the theme music now and again.

“That was a quick trip,” Dad said.

“Yeah, wel , Steve wasn’t in the mood.”

He laughed. “You guys better get cranking. Once you start high school you’re not

going to have much spare time.”

It occurred to Jack that tonight might have been a good time to try his new

lock-picking skil s on Dad’s lockbox, but things had turned hectic at USED and he’d forgotten to bring home the picks. Maybe tomorrow. Anyway, he wasn’t

in a lock-picking mood.

Like last night, he checked his bedroom door for booby traps. Finding none, he

stepped inside, turned on the light, and looked around. Unlike last night, he had no sense that the room had changed. Everything seemed just as he’d left

it.

Then he remembered the Xeroxes of the tracings Weezy had given him for

safekeeping. He’d stuck them in the top drawer of his desk before running off to USED this afternoon. He’d been running late and hadn’t hidden them as

he’d promised.

He quick-stepped to his desk and yanked open the drawer. Relief—stil there.

Then he wondered why he was relieved. Why would they be anywhere but where he’d left them?

But he’d promised to hide them, and his top drawer wasn’t exactly hidden. Had

to find a safer spot.

Safer …

Listen to me, he thought. I’m starting to think like Weezy.

As he began looking around for a hiding place, he noticed his open window. He

checked the screen—stil latched as he’d left it last night. Wel , of

course it would be. Who besides Tom would have any reason to want to sneak

into his room.

Stil …

He turned out the bedroom light, then pul ed out the bottom drawer of his

dresser and dropped the papers into the space beneath. Then he replaced the drawer. Not the safest hiding place in the world, but the best he could come up

with on such short notice.

As he stepped toward the light switch by the door he remembered Weezy’s

remark about seeing someone in her backyard last night. Not terribly

surprising, coming from Weezy. But what if …?

He started tiptoeing toward the window, then stopped.

Why am I tiptoeing?

He walked the rest of the way, then crouched until the sil was at chin level. The moonlit cornfield looked just the same as last night. Nothing moving. But he

realized anyone standing in the corn rows would be as good as

invisible and stil have a clear view of his room. That had never occurred to him

before, and it gave him a crawly feeling in his gut.

Thanks a lot, Weez.

He shook off the feeling. Sil y. Nobody out there.

Stil , he pul ed the shade, then undressed in the dark. He crawled under the

covers before turning on his bedside lamp. He wanted to let the Spider take him away from al these spooky feelings. The Spider’s world was safe in that if

things got too weird, Jack could always close the cover.

But real life had no covers. What did you do when life got too weird?

“Jack! Jack, wake up!”

Jack opened his eyes in the dark. An insistent tapping accompanied the frantic,

harshly whispered words.

“Come on,Jack! Wake up!”

Where was he? He felt the pil ow under his head, the sheet pul ed up to his

shoulders …

Bed.

“Jack, please!”

He jackknifed to a sitting position. The voice … coming from the window. He

looked and his heart jumped when he saw a head silhouetted in the

moonlight.

“Who?”

“It’s me—Weezy. You’ve got to—”

“Weez? What are you doing out there?”

“Helicopters, Jack! Over the Pines. They were carrying some kind of equipment.” “So?”

“They’re right over our mound!”

A second head appeared at the window.

“C’mon, Jack.” Eddie’s voice. “We’re gonna go take a look.”

Jack glanced at his clock radio: 1:10 in the morning.

“Are you guys nuts?”

“Yeah,” Eddie said. “Nutsacious. And so are you. That’s why we’re here.” Weezy said, “We’ve got our bikes. So get dressed. Wear dark clothes. Let’s go!” “Do you know how dark it is in there?”

“We’ve got flashlights. Bring another. Come on. We’ve got to see what they’re

doing to our mound.”

Jack thought for a second. He didn’t know how Weezy knew they were over the mound, but he did know his folks would kil him if they found out he’d

sneaked off into the Barrens at night.

But what were helicopters doing over their mound in the middle of the night? What couldn’t wait until morning?

He jumped out of bed.

Wel , why not? Not like he was going to be able to get back to sleep now anyway.

“Be right there.”

As usual, Weezy led the way. She kept her flashlight beam trained ahead as she rode, but Jack figured she knew the trail so wel she probably could have

found her way by the moonlight.

He stayed close behind, holding his own light in reserve, in case Weezy’s ran out. Eddie brought up the rear.

“Look,” Weezy cal ed back, flashing her beam along the sand. “Tire tracks. And recent too.”

Jack saw what she meant. Some of the deeper sand stirred up by the tires was stil dark and damp. The cars or pickups or whatever they were had to

have come through within the hour.

At first the Barrens had been dark and silent, the overhanging pine branches blotting out al but a few rays of moonlight. But neither lasted.

The silence was the first to go.

They were passing the trapper’s spong, and Jack was wondering if he’d reset the traps, when he began to hear a faint, low-pitched thrumming noise

that grew steadily louder as they rode. This graduated to the unmistakable whup-whup-whupof helicopters.

And then Jack began to catch flashes of bright light through the upper branches. He couldn’t imagine where they could be coming from until he realized

the copters were using their searchlights to light up the ground.

Without warning, Weezy veered to the side and hopped off her bike. She was leaning it against a tree when Jack pul ed up beside her.

“Why’re we stopping?” he said, raising his voice over the racket.

Weezy motioned her brother to get off his bike. “We should walk from here.”

“Bikes are faster,” Eddie said.

“And more easily noticed. We don’t want to be seen.”

Eddie laughed. “Why not?”

“Because then we’l be chased home.”

Jack could make out Eddie’s face in the light through the branches. He looked insulted.

“No way! It’s a free country. We can watch if we want.”

Weezy rol ed her eyes. “They don’t want anyonewatching.”

“That’s stupidacious. And besides, how do you know?”

Jack thought the answer was pretty obvious, but he let Weezy tel her brother. She stepped closer and got in his face.

“Can you think of any other reason why they’d go to al this trouble at night when it would be so much easier during the day?” When Eddie didn’t answer,

Weezy looked at Jack, then back at Eddie. “So, can we al start walking?”

“Let’s go,” Jack said. “We’re wasting time.”

He took the lead now. With the lights ahead as a beacon, they no longer needed flashlights or Weezy’s keen sense of direction. He kept to the side of

the firebreak until he noticed a deer trail angling toward al the activity. He took it.

This path was much narrower … branches scraped against him as he passed. He was glad he’d worn ful -length jeans instead of cutoffs, but wished

he’d picked out a rugby shirt instead of this T.

As the three of them neared the site, the noise of the copters grew even louder. Ahead and above they looked invisible—black fuselages against a

black sky—with their searchlights seeming to come out of nowhere.

But another sound gradual y joined the mix—the throaty, up-and-down roar of diesel engines.

Construction equipment.

As they closed in on the mound area, Jack lowered to a crouch, then turned and motioned Weezy and Eddie to do the same. When he reached a break

in the trees he came to a sudden stop. Weezy bumped him from behind. He heard her gasp as she saw what he saw.

Just a hundred feet away, the burned-out area of the mound was ablaze with light, il uminating the dozen or so men walking back and forth among the

charred pine trunks. And among those trunks, a backhoe furiously dug up the sand.

He felt Weezy grip both his shoulders and squeeze—hard.

“Our mound!” she said softly, leaning over him, so close he could feel her breath on his ear. “They’re tearing up our mound!”

Not our mound anymore, Jack thought. Pretty soon it wouldn’t even bea mound.

He watched the backhoe systematical y tearing up the ground, its yel ow arm swinging up and down, ramming its bucket into the mound, pul ing out a

yard of sand, then dumping it to the side before backing up for another go. If a tree had grown too close, the backhoe’s tractor simply pushed it aside or

knocked it down.

Weezy said, “That must have been what the helicopter was carrying when I saw it.”

Men fol owed in its wake of destruction, some with rakes, some with hoes, some with baskets. Some wore police uniforms with black leather belts that

circled the waist and crossed the chest, others wore dark suits and narrow-brimmed hats. They’d poke through the turned-up sand and every so often one

would stoop to pick up something. Mostly they tossed whatever they found aside, but every so often one would cal the others over. They’d al cluster

around and look at his find for a few seconds, then place it in one of the baskets and go back to work.

“They can’t do this!” Weezy said. “They’re going to ruin everything!”

She stepped around Jack and started toward the mound. He grabbed her arm and pul ed her back.

“Are you nuts? You can’t stop them.”

“I can try. They’re ruining everything! They’re—”

“Hey!” said a gruff voice behind them. “What are you doing here?”

Eddie squealed. Jack jumped and turned to find a flashlight beam in his eyes, the glare blotting out whoever was holding it.

“Did you hear me?” the voice said, louder. “What the hel are you kids doing here?”

“We-we-we saw the copters,” Eddie said. He sounded scared, his we-can-watch-if-we-want attitude of a few minutes ago vanished.

“Damn!” the man said. After a pause, he pointed to three state police cruisers parked on the fire trail. Jack had been so intent on the backhoe, he

hadn’t seen them. “Al right, get over there.” The man gave Eddie a shove in the direction. “March.”

Eddie stumbled away, his path angling away from the mound. With the light out of his eyes, Jack could see that the man wore a NJ State Trooper

uniform. It looked loose on him, as if he’d lost weight. After a few heartbeats’ hesitation, Weezy started to fol ow. Jack fel in line between her and the

trooper.

A state cop … al he could think of was how this would end: The trooper knocking on his front door in the middle of the night, his father answering, the

trooper explaining where they’d found his son, Dad yanking him inside, grounding him for life, maybe longer.

Oh, this was bad … very bad.

As they reached the nearest police cruiser, a man in a dark suit came over.

“What the hel ’s going on?” he shouted over the sound of the copters.

The trooper jerked his thumb at them. “Saw the choppers. Told you we should have made a southern approach. How many more peepers we gonna

have to deal with before the night’s over?”

The suit stepped closer and played a flashlight over them. The beam lingered on Weezy.

“They’re just kids—dumb piney kids.”

Jack heard a sneer in his tone and felt a flash of anger. He wasn’t a piney and he wasn’t dumb.

“Not pineys,” he said. “We’re from Johnson.”

The suit waved his hands in the air. “Ooh, now there’sa metropolis.”

“We happen to be on private land,” Weezy said. “We know Mister Foster and he lets us come here whenever we want.”

Jack glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. They’d never once seen Old Man Foster.

“Yeah?” the suit said. “Wel , if we could find him we could check that out, but he’s a hard man to track down.”

“I’m sure he wouldn’t like you digging up his land.”

The trooper said, “Doesn’t matter what he likes. This is a crime scene and we’ve got warrants. It’s al nice and legal.”

“Then why are you doing it at night?” Jack said.

Weezy chimed in, “Because you’re not looking for evidence, are you. You’re looking for something else.”

“Enough of this crap,” the suit said, sounding annoyed and surprised. He turned to the trooper. “Lock them in your unit until we’re done.”

Jack’s gut tightened. Locked up?

“We wanna go ho-home,” Eddie said.

“You wil ,” the suit told him. “But not til we’re finished here.”

The trooper opened a rear door and pointed to the backseat.

“In. Now.”

Jack thought of bolting—not back down the fire trail, because he didn’t know how fast the trooper was, and he might not be able to outrun him on a

straight course. But he was sure he could duck into the brush just ten feet away and disappear among the trees before the guy knew what happened. With

his dark clothes and the sound of the helicopters and the backhoe drowning out any noise he made, he could circle around to the bikes and hightail it out

of here.

Get home. Sneak back in the window. Slip under the covers. Pretend nothing had happened. And avoid being grounded for life.

Yeah … he could do it.

But it meant running out on Weezy and Eddie. Sure, the distraction he provided might give them a chance to bolt too, but he couldn’t count on it. If he

escaped alone, he’d never be able to look them in the eye again. Never be able to look himself in the eye either. Didn’t want to look in the mirror and see

a guy who deserted friends.

Better to be grounded for life.

Eddie was first to go in. He resisted, whining a little, but a shove from the trooper got him moving, sliding to the far side. Weezy went next, settling in the

middle. Jack was last.

“You kids wanted to see what’s going on. Wel , now you’ve got box seats.”

Jack leaned against Weezy so the door wouldn’t bang him when the trooper closed it.

It sounded like a prison cel door slamming shut.

As soon as the trooper turned his back, Jack tried the handle—it moved but didn’t open the door. Across the car Eddie wiggled his.

“It doesn’t work!”

“That’s the way police cars are built,” Jack said. “To keep crooks from jumping out. There’s an emergency door release up front”—he tapped on the

thick plastic barrier that confined them to the rear compartment—”but we’l never reach it.”

Weezy was staring at him. “How do you know so—?” Then she nodded. “Oh, I get it. Your deputy friend.”

“Right. He locked me in the back of his cruiser once—just to let me know how it feels. But he also showed me a switch on the door that can undo it.”

“Wel then undo it!” Eddie said.

“You can’t reach it when the door’s closed.”

“What if they’re not cops?” Weezy said in a wondering tone.

Jack looked at her. “Of course they’re cops.”

“What if they’re just pretending to be? Those guys in suits sure don’t look like state cops. What if they’re some secret government agency—?”

Jack waved his hands. “Don’t start with that stuff, Weez. Things are bad enough already. We don’t need a conspiracy too. We’ve got uniformed

troopers driving state trooper cruisers. Let’s leave it at that, okay.”

“I’m serious, Jack. You ever see a trooper with such a bad-fitting shirt? And if a government agency is high enough up, don’t you think it can come in and

commandeer a few cruisers for a night?”

A far-out story, Jack thought, but not impossible. That guy in the suit … he had an air about him that gave Jack the creeps.

“Yeah, but—”

“Let’s just hope they’re real y going to let us go.”

Jack felt his chest tighten. “What are you talkingabout?”

“Yeah, Weez,” Eddie said. “Cut it out, wil you. You’re scaring me. You’re always scaring me.”

“I’m not trying to scare anyone.” Her calm tone was scary in itself. “But it’s pretty obvious they’re not looking for evidence. So what arethey looking for?

Something they don’t want anyone to know about if they find it?”

“Fine,” Jack said. “But that doesn’t mean they’re going to keep us prisoners.”

“We areprisoners, Jack. I’m thinking that real state troopers would have sent us home. We didn’t commit a crime, so why are we locked up in a cop

car?”

Good question, Jack thought. He felt his mouth going dry. Suddenly being grounded didn’t seem so bad.

“Maybe—” He had to clear his throat. “Maybe they don’t want us going home and talking about it and bringing a bunch of people back before they’re

through.”

“Let’s hope so,” she said. “I’m just worried they might not want anyone ever talking about this.”

Eddie started working his handle again. “It’s getting stuffy in here.” He sounded panicky.

Weezy leaned toward Jack and lowered her voice. “He doesn’t like enclosed places. It’s cal ed—”

“Claustrophobia—I know. I may not know ‘gravitas,’ but I know that.”

“I didn’t say you didn’t.”

They fel into silence; the only sound was Eddie’s continuous rattling of his door handle. Jack’s mind raced. They had to get out of this car. But how?

Possibilities popped into his head but he tossed them out one after another as unworkable. And then …

He grabbed Weezy’s arm as a plan leaped ful -blown into his head.

“Wait! Eddie, can you fake getting sick—I mean, puke-type sick?”

“If I’m cooped up in here much longer I won’t haveto fake it.”

“Great. Look sick.”

Jack began rapping on his window. The trooper stood a few feet away with his back to them, arms folded across his chest, watching the excavation. He

didn’t turn. He might have been ignoring them, but most likely couldn’t hear them over the racket.

Jack began pounding on the glass with his fists.

Weezy said, “Jack, you’re going to break it.”

“I wish.”

No way he could break auto glass with his bare hands—which were starting to hurt from the impacts.

Final y the trooper turned. His expression turned from bored to annoyed when he saw Jack pounding. After a few seconds of hesitation he walked over

and yanked open the door—not al the way, just a foot or so.

“What the hel do you think you’re doing?”

Jack jerked a thumb over his shoulder at Eddie. “He’s getting sick! He’s gonna puke!”

Right on cue, Eddie retched.

“Oh, no, he’s not!” the trooper said, eyes widening. “Not in any car I’m driving!”

As Jack watched him slam the door and hurry around the rear to Eddie’s side, a question nibbled at his brain. Wouldn’t a real trooper have said “my

car”?

When he reached Eddie’s door he pul ed it open and yanked him out.

“If you’re gonna puke,” he said, pointing Eddie away from the car, “you do it out here.” He turned and jabbed a finger and Jack and Weezy. “Don’t get

any ideas.”

As soon as he turned away, Jack crawled over Weezy.

She gasped. “What are you—?”

“Shhh!”

He stretched out across her lap, reaching for the edge of the half-open door, then hesitated. The trooper was behind Eddie, holding a fistful of the back

of his T-shirt to make sure he didn’t try to run. But if he happened to reach back and slam it closed with Jack’s hand there, it could be bye-bye fingers.

Let’sjusthopethey’rereallygoingtoletusgo…

Do it!

He stretched his arm to the limit, ran his fingers along the rear of the door edge until he found the little toggle switch. He pushed it up—no go. But a

downward push clicked it into a new position—the unlocked position, he hoped.

He straightened up and looked out the rear window. He could see Eddie bent over, retching, putting on a great show.

“C’mon, kid. Get it over with.”

Eddie glanced up over the trunk and Jack gave him a thumbs-up. Eddie straightened and wiped his face with his shirt.

“I feel better now.”

“You’d better be sure,” the trooper said. “You mess up that car, there’l be hel to pay.”

“No, real y. I’m okay. I just don’t like being cooped up.”

“Wel , get used to it. You’re gonna be there awhile.”

He guided Eddie back into the rear seat and slammed the door, then walked back around the car. He checked the door on Jack’s side to make sure it

was latched, then wandered away toward the excavation.

Eddie pul ed on his door handle. The door unlatched.

“Hey! It opens!”

“Keep it closed!” Jack said.

“Why? I thought—”

Jack pointed to the light in the ceiling above their heads. “That goes on when the door’s open. We’ve got to make this fast and time it just right.”

He checked out the trooper. He was maybe a hundred feet away, talking to the guy in the suit. Both had their backs turned.

Now or never.

“Okay. When I give the word, Eddie opens the door, we al dive out, stay low, and run into the bushes. We’l circle around to the bikes and get our butts

back home. Everyone okay with that?”

Weezy was staring out the window. “I wish I knew if they were finding anything.”

Jack waved a hand in front of her face. “You’re kidding, right?”

“No. I real y want to know.” She looked at him. “But I real y want out of this car too. So let’s go home.”

That was a relief. For a minute there he’d been afraid she’d want to stay.

“Okay. Get ready, Eddie. I’l tel you when.”

Jack fixed his gaze on the trooper and the suit … waiting … waiting …

And then pine lights appeared, half a dozen of them, swirling above and around the helicopters. Jack had seen a couple once. No one knew what they

were—bal lightning, some people said—but every so often they appeared, varying from basebal to basketbal size, skimming along the treetops.

What had drawn them here? The light? The noise?

Everyone around the excavation stopped what they were doing to point and look up, and then Jack realized his time had come.

“Now!”

Eddie opened the door and tumbled out, Weezy close behind him. Jack brought up the rear and swung the door closed—enough to turn out the light but

not enough to latch it. With al the racket from the helicopters he probably could have slammed it with no risk of anyone hearing, but didn’t want to risk it.

So he leaned his shoulder against it until he felt the latch catch.

He turned and saw Eddie in a low crouch, disappearing into the brush a few feet away. But Weezy stood tal , gazing in awe at the pine lights.

“Look, Jack! I’ve seen one or a pair at a time, but six—never six!”

“Worry about them later. Let’s go!”

He grabbed her arm and pul ed her into the brush.

Fifty feet or so into the woods the excavation site disappeared behind them and it was safe to walk upright.

“Did you see them?” Weezy said. “Six pine—”

She broke off, whirled, and put a hand over Jack’s mouth. Eddie’s too.

“Don’t move,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Jack froze. What? Had she seen or heard something?

And then Jack saw it—a dark shape slinking among the pines. If it was a man, it didn’t move like one. A breeze carried its sour odor their way and the

smel made Jack break out in a sweat. Al his instincts screamed Run!but he held his position. The shape slunk toward the excavation area. About a

dozen feet short of the fire trail it stopped and crouched among the brush and trees, watching.

Who or what it was, Jack couldn’t tel , and didn’t want to know.

The excavation seemed to be attracting a lot of attention from things that came out only at night.

Weezy removed her hands and signaled them to fol ow her. She moved slowly and quietly away from the watcher and the excavation. The farther they

got, the faster she moved. Cutting quickly through the brush and weaving among the trees on a curving course that seemed to be taking them away from

the fire trail and their bikes. But Jack said nothing. He didn’t see much choice but to trust her sense of direction.

He was lost.

Just when he thought they’d never find their way out, when he was convinced they’d wind up like those hunters who entered the Barrens and never

returned, they stepped out of the trees onto a fire trail.

But which fire trail?

Jack’s heart leaped as he watched Weezy hurry across to where three bikes leaned against the trees.

Yes!

He dashed after her.

“What was that thing in the woods?”

“I don’t know. A big piney maybe.”

“Th-that was the Jersey Devil!” Eddie said. “I just know it!”

Weezy, who bought into every other weird thing, had never bought into the JD.

She looked at Jack as they pul ed their bikes back onto the trail. “I don’t believe you got us out of that car.”

“I don’t believe you led us right back to the bikes. We make a pretty good team.”

She laughed and punched him on the shoulder. “You kidding? We make a great team.”

The way she said it sparked a flood of warmth inside him, but it didn’t last. Nerves doused it. They had to get out of here.

No one needed to speak again. They al knew what to do, and where they were going.

Once they were moving toward Johnson, with the sound of the copters fading behind them, Jack’s heart began to ease its pounding.

He glanced over his shoulder. No sign of headlights.

They’d made it.

Wel , not completely. Not yet, anyway.

They’d be home free if the trooper remained where they’d left him. If he just stayed put, watching those pine lights, he wouldn’t know they were gone. He

could look al he wanted, but from that distance he couldn’t see into the dark interior of his cruiser. As far as he knew, they couldn’t open the doors, so he’d

assume the “dumb piney kids” were right where he’d left them.

Another over-the-shoulder look—stil no headlights.

Jack wished he could have hung around to see the look on that suit’s face when he found out they were gone.

Where’s your sneer now?

They were passing the trapper’s spong. Great. Halfway home. He took another look behind and—

He almost lost control of the bike when he saw a pair of headlights bouncing down the trail, coming their way.

He looked around. Even though a car could go only so fast without bottoming out on these undulating trails, it could stil beat a bike. No way they could

outrun it.

“Hey!” he shouted to the others. “They’re after us!”

He heard a frightened whine from Eddie and Weezy cry, “Faster!”

“No! Pul off the trail and hide the bikes!”

“They’l catch us for sure!” Eddie wailed.

“Maybe, maybe not. I don’t think they’ve seen us yet. But they wil if we stay on the trail.”

Weezy angled into a stand of pines at the far edge of the spong clearing. Jack and Eddie fol owed, hauling their bikes into the brush and laying them

flat.

“Tires toward the trail,” Jack said.

Eddie obeyed but asked, “Why?”

“Because tires are black.”

“Oh, no,” Weezy said. “I’ve got reflectors on my spokes.”

“Do they pop off?”

“They’re screwed on.”

Not good.

“Okay,” Jack said, “we’ve got to get away from the bikes.” He pointed to another copse of pines at the other end of the clearing. “There!”

Eddie’s gaze was fixed on the approaching headlights. “But that’s going toward them!”

Weezy pushed her brother from behind. “Exactly. The last direction they’l expect us to go.”

Keeping low, they dashed for the copse and crouched among the trunks, panting, waiting. Jack’s bladder was sending urgent signals that it wanted to

empty. He did his best to ignore it.

He saw the wavering glow from the headlights grow brighter as the cruiser bounced closer. Final y it pul ed into view.

“Move along,” he whispered, wishing he knew how to use the Force. “Move along. Nothing of interest here.”

If the cruiser passed the hidden bikes without seeing them, it would keep going, and Weezy, Eddie, and Jack could fol ow it at a distance, keeping it

wel ahead of them.

The cruiser bounced closer to the bikes … came even with them …

“Keep moving,” Jack whispered. “Keep moving—”

The brake lights came on. The car stopped. Went into reverse. Backed up paral el to the stand of trees.

“Oh-no, oh-no, oh-no,” Eddie whimpered.

“Hush!” Weezy said, then looked at Jack. “Had to be those reflectors on my spokes—sorry.”

He was about to tel her it couldn’t be helped when a spotlight beamed from the cruiser onto the bikes. The car backed up farther, the light shining into

the spong clearing, then arcing toward their copse.

“Down!” Jack said.

They flattened themselves on the ground just before the beam swept over them. The beam swung back again, then remained fixed on their spot.

“Don’t even breathe!” Weezy whispered.

As Jack lay frozen he felt something moving on his left forearm. His first impulse was to snatch it away, but that might give away their location. Slowly he

angled his head until he could see. The reflected glow from the spotlight revealed a good-sized snake, big around as a plump hot dog, slithering over his

arm. Fighting the instinctive urge to throw it off, he held his breath and stayed stil . He couldn’t see the head, but its body was mostly black with a white

center stripe and yel ow-orange stripes along the flanks.

It’s okay, he told himself. Just a garter snake … a harmless garter snake.

He’d caught and played with dozens when he was younger. This was a big one, but just as harmless as the little ones.

That didn’t keep him from breaking out in a cold sweat.

It kept moving and soon was gone, wriggling toward the spong.

The search beam moved away just then, giving Jack two reasons for a relieved release of the breath he’d been holding. But he stayed put until he

heard voices.

Raising his head he saw the trooper and the suit standing by the cruiser’s open driver door as they beamed the searchlight back and forth across the

clearing. He wished he could make out what they were saying.

Leaving the light trained on the spong, they stepped into the stand of trees where the bikes were hidden. They pul ed out Weezy’s and Eddie’s and

wheeled them around to the rear of the cruiser.

“My bike!” Eddie whispered.

The trunk popped open, and then it became clear: They were taking the bikes.

“What are we gonna do?” Eddie said. “We can’t let them—”

Weezy nudged him. “We’re going to stay here until they’re gone, then we’re going to have to walk home.”

“That’l take forever. And that’s my racer!”

“Better than what might happen if they catch us,” she said.

Jack didn’t know about that, but he felt a surge of anger as he watched them throw Weezy’s bike into the trunk. Then Eddie’s. His would be next. How

was he going to explain the loss of his BMX?

He glanced into the clearing. He could just make out the rim of the spong in the wash of light from the search beam.

And that gave him an idea.

“Rocks!” he whispered as he raked his fingers through the sand around him. “I need a couple of rocks!”

“Come on, Jack,” Weezy said. “You don’t real y think throwing rocks at them wil —”

“Not at them! Find me a couple of good-size rocks.”

Jack’s fingers found the edge of a piece of sandstone. He pul ed it out.

“Here’s one,” Eddie said and handed him another fist-size piece.

The crumbly, rust-colored rock was al over the Barrens.

Jack looked again and saw the suit wheeling his bike toward the trunk.

Dirty, rotten, sneering—

He crawled to the edge of the copse, rose to his knees, and hurled one of the rocks toward the spong. It missed, landing near the edge instead. But it

made a loud enough clink!to stop the trooper and the suit in their tracks.

“You hear that?” he heard the suit say.

He let Jack’s bike fal and leaped to the spotlight, sweeping its beam back and forth across the clearing. Jack waited for it to pass the spong, then

tossed his second rock.

This one sailed over the rim and landed with a loud splash.

“There!” the trooper cried, pointing. “Must be some sort of a pond. That’s where they’re hiding.”

Leaving the light trained on the spong, the two of them ran toward it. “It worked!” Weezy cried, grabbing the back of Eddie’s shirt. “Let’s go!” “Wait,” Jack said.

“Wait?Are you—?”

“Remember what Mrs. Clevenger said this afternoon about that trapper coming back?”

“Yeah. So?”

“Wel , if she was right …”

“Ohmygod!” Weezy clapped a hand over her mouth. “You don’t think—?”

A cry from the trooper cut her off. He staggered, yel ed again, then fel , grabbing at his ankle.

Jack pumped a fist. “Yes!”

“What happened?” the suit said, starting toward him.

Then he too cried out and dropped to the ground—where he shouted again. He rose to his knees, struggling to remove the steel trap that had closed

around his elbow.

He looked so comical, Jack had to bite his tongue to keep from laughing out loud. He wanted to stand up and shout, Howaboutanothersneerforthe

dumbpineykids?but thought better of it.

He turned to Weezy. “Nowwe can go.”

A steady stream of curses floated from the clearing as Jack led the others to the rear of the cruiser where he helped Eddie and Weezy pul their bikes

from the trunk. Then he ran around to the side and retrieved his own.

“Ready to go?”

Eddie looked ready to jump out of his skin. “Oh, man, are they ever gonna be mad!”

“What for?” Jack said. “We didn’t set those traps. It was their idea to go wandering in there in the dark.”

“Stil ,” Weezy said, “we’re going to have to cut through the trees, otherwise they’l just catch up to us again.”

Jack shook his head. “No, they won’t.”

“Yeah, Jack, they wil .”

He leaned inside the cruiser and plucked the keys from the ignition, then held them up and jangled them.

“Not without these, they won’t. Let’s rol .”

Weezy didn’t move, just stood there staring at him with her wide dark eyes.

“What?” he said.

“You’re scary, you know that? Real y scary.” She jerked her thumb toward the spong. “What kind of mind thinks up something like that?”

Jack had no idea where the idea had come from. Suddenly it had just popped into his head.

“Weez, sometimes I scare myself.”

The sound of the lawn mower awoke him.

Jack opened one eye and looked at his clock. The blurred numbers slowly came into focus … 9:02. He groaned and rol ed over.

That same clock had read 3:22 when he’d crawled back in the window last night. No, not last night—earlier this morning. And then he’d lain here, wide

awake, too wired for sleep, too worried there’d come a knock on the door and the trooper and the suit would be standing there with their bloody, bangedup ankles and elbows and messed-up clothes, looking to haul him away.

He didn’t know when he’d final y drifted off. He did know he needed more sleep, but that wasn’t going to happen with the lawn mower roaring back and

forth outside his window.

Official y it was his job to mow their lawn. Dad paid him to do it once a week, and usual y he did it on Wednesdays. But with everything going on, he’d

missed this week. He guessed Dad had decided to cut it. He did that every so often when he felt the need for a little exercise. But why today of al days?

Wait!

He bolted upright in bed. Had last night real y happened? Or had it al been a dream? Could have been. More like a nightmare. Sure was bizarre

enough.

He should have kept the cop’s car keys. Then he’d have proof. Instead he’d left them hanging from a branch over the fire trail. Or at least he thought he

had.

He looked out the window on a sunny summer morning with his father pushing the lawn mower around the backyard. So normal, so everyday. Like

something out of that old Monkees song “Pleasant Val ey Sunday.” And yet just a few hours ago, and just a couple of miles away in the Pine Barrens,

strange men had been digging up the earth in search of … what?

Or had they? He couldn’t be sure. How could something that had felt so real then seem so unreal now?

He noticed a smal , dark-brown lump on his left forearm. A closer look showed it had little legs.

A tick.

It hadn’t buried its head too deeply yet, so he flipped it on its back and pul ed it out. He studied it as it crawled across his palm. A simple brown wood

tick, not the tiny deer tick everybody was being warned about. Get bitten by one of those and you could catch some new infection cal ed Lyme disease,

whatever that was. What’d it do? Turn you green?

Watching the tick he realized that here was proof of sorts that he’d been in the Barrens last night—the place was lousy with ticks. But he could just as

easily have picked it up during the day.

He took it between his thumb and forefinger, ready to crush it.

“You have attacked me,” he intoned, holding it up at eye level. “You have bitten me. For that you must die.”

And then he realized it hadn’t hurt him—hadn’t even had a chance to suck his blood. Just a tick being a tick.

He stepped to the window, opened the screen, and flicked it out onto the lawn. Then he checked the rest of himself for more but couldn’t find any.

Since he didn’t see any more sleep in his immediate future, he decided to get dressed. He’d just put on his jeans when his mother knocked on his door

and stuck her head in. She looked concerned.

His gut tightened. Don’t tel me there’s a trooper at the front door! Pleasedon’t!

“Jackie?”

“Jack,Mom.”

“Weezy’s here to see you.” She frowned. “She looks upset. I asked her to come in but she said she’d wait for you in the front yard.”

Weezy! She could tel him if last night had been real or not.

“Great. Thanks.”

As he squeezed by her she put a hand on his shoulder.

“She couldn’t be in any … trouble, could she?”

Jack froze. Did Mom know? But how could she? It was—

When he saw how uncomfortable she looked he realized what she was talking about. He didn’t know whether to laugh or get mad.

“Weez? Are you kidding? No way! How can you even think—?”

“Wel …” She looked even more uncomfortable. “You two do spend an awful lot of time together … disappearing for hours …”

Now he laughed. “We’re just friends, Mom.”

“Famous last words.” She looked stern now. “Don’t you go jumping into anything you’re not ready for. Remember to use your head.”

“Okay, okay,” he said on his way to the front door. “Message received and understood.”

Why’d she have to think that? Weezy got upset a lot—a lot.It certainly didn’t mean she was pregnant.

And certainly not by me, of al people.

He found her in the front yard, leaning her back against the big oak. At first sight of her he couldn’t help thinking of him and Weezy … together. He never

thought of her like that. They’d known each other forever. They’d hung out in her bedroom lots of times and he’d never thought about …

But he remembered her kiss. Nice …

JackandWeezysittinginatree…

When she saw him she ran over. For an awful second he thought she was going to throw herself into his arms. Not that that would be so bad someplace

else, but not here. Because sure as Tuesday fol owed Monday, Mom was watching. That’d be al she’d need.

But she stopped short and grabbed his arm and began pul ing him toward the sidewalk.

Jack saw what his mom had meant about looking upset. Her eyes—no liner this morning—were bloodshot and her face was blotchy, as if she’d been

crying.

“It’s gone, Jack!”

“What?”

“The cube! It’s gone! So are those tracings I made. And the photos too. Everything is gone!”

They stopped at the sidewalk where she’d left her bike.

“What do you mean, ‘gone’? Maybe Eddie’s got them.”

“He swears he doesn’t and I believe him. Besides, I had them hidden and Eddie can barely find his own shoes. He’d never find the cube.”

“Your folks?”

She shook her head. “No. They were sound asleep when we sneaked out last night, and just as asleep when we sneaked back in. I know the cube was

in my room when I left—I had it out, trying to open it, before I heard the helicopters.”

“And you put it away before you left?”

“Absolutely.”

Her face scrunched up as tears fil ed her eyes. She looked like she was going to break down and start bawling. Jack raised an arm to put around her

shoulders, but a glance at his house revealed his mom watching from a living room window, so he settled for a hand on her arm.

He could sense how much she was hurting. That cube and pyramid meant so much to her—as if she’d been looking for something like them al her life.

But he didn’t know what to say to make her feel better. Was there anything anyone couldsay?

“Weez …”

She took a deep, shuddering breath, then seemed to pul herself together. She looked back toward the Barrens.

“Somebody took it, Jack. Someone sneaked into my room last night while we were out and stole it.”

“But you’re on the second floor.”

“I know.” She crossed her arms across her chest. “It gives me the creeps. But how did they know?”

“Maybe because they couldn’t find it in my room.”

Her head snapped around. “Yourroom?”

“When I came back from Steve’s Thursday night, I sensed some stuff in my room had been moved. I thought it was Tom, looking for a way to get even

for the pistachios. But now … I wonder.”

“But only a few people knew we had it. Mister Rosen is the first one we showed it to.”

“Yeah, but he wouldn’t tel anybody. I mean, he hasn’t got anyone totel .”

Weezy’s eyes narrowed. “What makes you so sure? I mean, what do we know about him —reallyknow about him? He comes to Johnson from who knows where, opens a store that sel s junk, doesn’t even live in town, and—” “His trailer is just up the highway. You know that.”

“Right, with dozens of antennas on the roof and the biggest satel ite dish I’ve ever seen. I mean, that thing belongs at Lakehurst.”

“He can’t get cable out there so he pul s in the signals with the dish.”

“How do we know al that stuff’s just for receiving? Maybe some of it transmits. Who’s he communicating with?”

Jack saw Weezy’s new suspicions as good news and bad news. The good was she seemed to have pul ed back from the meltdown point and returned

to her old off-the-wal -conspiracy-theory self. The bad was she was talking down Mr. Rosen, and he didn’t like that.

“He’s a good guy, Weez, and he’s not communicating with aliens.”

“Who said anything about aliens? He could be—”

“He’s not doing anything but watching TV. Trust me. But I’m not so sure about Steve’s old man.”

“Mister Brussard?”

“Yeah. Add it up: I showed him the box and mentioned that we’d found it. Since he saw me with it, wouldn’t it be natural to assume we were keeping it at

my place? And if he wanted it, wouldn’t my room be the first place he’d look?”

“But since he didn’t find it in your room,” Weezy said in a soft voice, “mine would be the next best choice.” She shook her head. “But wait—I can’t see

him climbing up on my roof to get to my room.”

“Maybe he used the back door. Isn’t that what you used going in and out? And you said no one heard you.”

Jack realized whoever had been in her room could have used the front door as wel . He wondered if maybe it wasn’t such a good thing that most folks

in Johnson never locked their doors at night, or even when they went away for a weekend. On hot nights they’d leave al the doors and windows open to let

the air through.

“Yeah, but—”

“Wouldn’t even have to be him. Could have been someone else from the Lodge.”

“The Lodge?”

“Yeah. The Lodge. Every time I turn around lately it’s

the-Lodge-the-Lodge-the-Lodge. Mister Sumter and the other two dead guys were Lodge

members, and the body we found right next to the cube was another. Mister Brussard’s a Lodger— andhe can open the cube. So as far as I can see, the

Lodge is definitely involved.”

“Oh, wow.” Her eyes were wide. “Do you think whoever kil ed that man buried the cube with him? Maybe both were supposed to stay buried, but we

found them.” She looked at Jack with even wider eyes. “We could have had a kil er in our bedrooms!”

Jack had been thinking the same thing, but hadn’t wanted to mention it. The thought of any stranger in his room gave him a major case of the wil ies. But a kil er …

He kept up a calm front for Weezy.

“Wel , whoever it was, they didn’t come to harm us, just take back what was theirs.”

Weezy grabbed his arm and squeezed. “The Xeroxes! Do you have them?”

He nodded. “Safely hidden away.”

“You’re sure?” Her eyes bored into his. “When was the last time you saw them?” “Um, last night.”

Her grip tightened. “Last night! Then the copies could be gone too! Go check.” “Weez …”

She was squeezing hard now. “Please, Jack. I’ve got to know. I mean, what if

that whole operation we saw last night was just a ruse to get us out of our rooms?”

Jack shook his head. She was getting way far out now.

“I can’t see them going to al that expense and taking al that time just to get hold

of our little cube.”

“Maybe, maybe not. But you heard that cop say they could have come by

another route, from the south, but no, they flew right over Johnson. Why would they do that, hmmm?”

“Just coincidence.”

“And weren’t we wondering why they locked us in the car instead of shooing us

home?” She was on a rol now. “Maybe they wanted to give their

operatives back here enough time to get the job done.”

“‘Operatives’? Weez, do you hear yourself?”

Her tone turned angry. “Yeah, I hear myself. Now you hear this: The cube is

gone,Jack. And since I didn’t lose it or misplace it, that means someone took it.”

“Okay, okay. But that doesn’t mean the helicopters and the excavating had

anything to do with the cube disappearing. Someone may have been

watching your house, spotted you leaving, saw his chance, and took it.” “Just check for me, Jack. Please?”

He didn’t feel like going back into the house, but had to admit that whoever had

stolen from Weezy’s room while they were out could just as easily

—more easily, since he was on the ground floor—have stolen from his. Plus he found it hard to refuse that pleading look in her eyes.

“Okay. Be right back.”

“If they’re there, don’t bring them with you. Don’t let anyone know you have

them.”

Wondering at the bizarre turns of events since he’d dug into that mound, Jack

hurried inside. He passed Mom on his way through the living room. She was giving him a funny look.

“Is anything wrong?”

“Weezy lost something—that little cube I showed you the other night. She thinks

someone stole it. That’s why she’s upset.”

“She should report it to Tim.”

On his way out of the living room, he said, “She’l probably do that.” But as he

headed down the hal , he thought, Then again, she probably won’t.

If Jack were betting on it, he’d go with not.Tim worked for the county sheriff’s

department, which routinely traded information with the state police. And the state police often wound up working with the federal government—the

“feds,” as they said on TV. And the feds worked with the CIA, which was part of a network of global organizations.

In Weezy’s world they al had secret agendas. Not that she didn’t trust them to

do their jobs; she did—as long as those jobs didn’t interfere with their

secret agendas. And number one on their list of agendas was guarding the

secret history of the world, which included the secret history of America, which in turn involved the secret history of the Pine Barrens.

No, Weezy would expect no help from the authorities.

Jack had always laughed off her theories as wacky. After the events of this past

week he was finding that a lot harder to do.

Once in his room, he closed the door, then lowered the shades, thinking, I don’t

believe I’m doing this.

Then he pul ed out the bottom drawer of his bureau and checked the space

below. Two sheets of paper lay there. He pul ed them out and checked them in the dim light.

Yep. Weezy’s copies, safe and sound.

He replaced them, slipped the drawer back into place, raised his shades, then

returned to the sidewalk.

“Right where I left them,” he said as he reached Weezy. “Want me to make

copies for you?”

“No-no-no!” she said. “Someone might have copiers staked out. Just leave them

right where they are.”

They stood in silence, looking around. Jack was beginning to wonder if whatever

Weezy had was catching.

“Wel ,” he said final y, “at least they didn’t get the pyramid too.” She slapped her forehead. “Ohmygod! I’ve been so crazy about the box I forgot

about the pyramid. We’ve got to get it back!”

“So it can be stolen too? At least we know it’s safe down at the Smithsonian.” “Don’t be so sure. I want it back. I’l have my mother rent a safety deposit box

and keep it there.”

Jack smiled and nudged her. “What about the international banking conspiracy?

Won’t they be able to get into the box?”

She frowned. “I never thought of that.”

“Weez, I’m kidding.”

“I’m not.”

Jack shook his head, then closed his eyes and pressed his fingers against his

temples.

“I see a visit to Professor Nakamura in the near future.”

Weez gave his arm a gentle slap. “Not ‘near’—immediate. Get your bike.”

A Japanese woman Jack assumed was Mrs. Nakamura answered the door.

“Ohayogozaimasu,” Weezy said, al sweetness and light as she made a quick little bow from the waist. “Would you please tel the professor that Jack and Louise wish to speak to him about the pyramid? He wil understand.” The woman smiled and bowed back. “Dozoyoroshiku.Wait here. I’l tel him.”

“Arigato.”

Jack made a conscious effort to close his dropped jaw as he stared at Weezy. She noticed. “What?”

“Since when do you know Japanese?”

“Since forever. I’m fluent in it.”

“No, real y.”

She smiled. “Okay, after we met the professor I started thinking about it, so I

picked up a Japanese phrase book at the library.”

“What did you say to her?”

“‘Good morning’ and ‘Thank you.’”

“And what did she say?”

She frowned. “Not sure. It came out so fast. But I think she said, ‘Pleased to

meet you.’”

The woman was back at the door, but no longer smiling.

“The professor is out at the moment. In fact, he is away for the weekend. He wil

get in touch with you next week.

Gomennasai.”

She looked guilty as she closed the door.

“Sayonara,” Weezy said in a low voice, then turned to Jack, her features constricted with disappointment and concern. “Do you believe that?”

“Not for a minute.”

Anger flashed through him. Nobody blew Weezy off and closed the door in her

face when he was around. Suddenly he knew what to do.

He hopped off the front steps and started walking around the side of the house. “Where are you going?”

He didn’t turn. “To see the professor.”

Jack led her around to the backyard. Immediately he was drawn to the stone

garden, but he pul ed his attention away and focused on the windows into the study. There, hunched over his desk with his back to them, sat Professor

Nakamura. Jack stepped up and rapped on the window.

The professor jumped as if he’d heard a gunshot. He spun in his chair and froze

when he saw Jack. They locked gazes for a few seconds, Jack giving

him his best glare, then the professor took a deep breath and nodded. He gave

Jack the stay-theresignal as he rose and left his study.

A few seconds later the rear door opened and he motioned them inside. “Oh, dear,” he said as they filed past him. “I was hoping for a little more time

before speaking to you.”

“Why is that?” Weezy said. “Did they find something?”

“Let us not talk here.”

The professor led them to the study where the three of them took up seats

around the desk.

“What did they learn?” Weezy said. “Did they date it?”

The professor kept his eyes down. “Not yet.”

“Then what?”

He sighed. “I had hoped this problem would be resolved before speaking to

you.”

“Problem? What problem?”

With a sinking feeling, Jack sensed what was coming.

The professor looked up but stil did not make eye contact. “The artifact has been

… misplaced.”

“What?”In a flash Weezy was on her feet and leaning over the desk. “What are

you talking about?”

“The Smithsonian … it appears to have mislaid the artifact.”

Weezy looked at Jack with a stricken expression. “Oh, no! It’s happening there

too. They’re everywhere!”

Jack needed more information before he climbed onto Weezy’s wagon. “How does something like this happen?”

The professor shrugged. “It wil be found.”

“No, it won’t!” Weezy said, her voice rising. “We’l never see it again!” “Young lady, I am sorry for this, but I am quite confident that by Monday, or by

Tuesday latest, they wil locate it. That is why I told my wife to say I am not here. I felt if I could put off speaking to you until then, al this unhappiness would

be avoided.”

“How did you find out it was gone?” Jack said.

“My col eague at the Smithsonian cal ed me yesterday, asking the whereabouts

of the object I told him I was sending. I had sent it for morning delivery; he should have received it.”

“Did the delivery company get it there?”

The professor nodded. “I cal ed Federal Express and they said they had a

signature from the receiving clerk. My col eague cal ed the clerk who said he signed for a number of packages. He put them on a cart for delivery, but the

package never reached my col eague.”

“And it never wil !” Weezy cried. She slammed her hands on his desk hard

enough to make the pens jump. “I never, evershould have let it out of my sight!”

With that she turned and stomped out of the study.

Shock flattened the professor’s features. “Why is that one so upset? Does she

not believe me? Does she think I stole it?”

Jack didn’t know what Weezy believed at that moment, but he said, “I don’t

think so. She thinks she’l never see it again. Do you real y think we’l get it back?”

“Of course. The Smithsonian wil find it, I promise you. It has simply been

misplaced.”

Jack wasn’t buying. He didn’t know who ran the Smithsonian, but since it was on

the mal by the Capitol, he was pretty sure it was the government. The man in the suit in the Barrens last night—he worked for the government. Jack

didn’t know what branch, or whether state or federal, but the way he gave orders to the state trooper made Jack pretty sure he was with some high-up

agency.

High up enough to send one of its people into the Smithsonian to steal a

package between the mailroom and the professor’s “col eague”?

Absolutely.

“You have our phone numbers, right?”

The professor patted his desktop. “Yes-yes. Right in here.”

“Good. Please cal me first if you hear anything, okay? Good news or bad news, cal me first?”

“If you wish, of course. But I am sure it wil be good news.”

Jack was just as sure of the opposite.

He found Weezy out on the sidewalk, getting on her bike. She had an angry expression and tears in her eyes.

“This is al your fault, Jack. I just wanted to keep it, but no, you had to talk me into letting other people look at it.”

“Me?” He had trouble hiding his shock. “We both agreed we wanted to find out what it was, and the only way to do that was to show it to people who

might know.”

She shook her head. “No. It’s al your fault. I hate you, Jack! HATE YOU!”

Hateme? Jack felt as if he’d been slapped in the face. How could she hate him? He hadn’t lost the pyramid.

As she started pedaling her bike back toward 206, Carson Toliver pul ed his convertible in by the curb.

“Hey, Weezy,” he cal ed.

Without looking at him she yel ed, “Shut up and leave me alone!” as she passed.

He blinked in surprise and looked at Jack. “What’s up with her?”

“She’s having a bad day.”

He smiled. “Oh. I get it. I know al about that from my sister.”

Jack started pedaling away. “Yeah,” he said around the lump in his throat.

Let Toliver think what he wanted. Jack wasn’t going to try to explain.

He found Weezy on the other side of 206. She’d stopped and was waiting for him.

“I’m sorry,” she said, head down, staring at the ground. “That was a stupid thing to say. I didn’t mean it.”

Jack felt the lump in his throat start to shrink, but he kept cool. Couldn’t let on how she’d gotten to him.

“So you don’t real y hate me?”

She looked up at him. “I could never hate you. I’m just mad at the world right now and I needed someone to blame and you were closest. I never should

have said that.”

Jack hid his relief. “Forget it. I knew you didn’t mean it.”

Not true. Crossing the highway he’d been trying to imagine life in this tiny town without Weezy to talk to and hang out with.

“Besides,” he added, “it was part mine too.”

“Yeah, but you don’t seem upset.”

He shrugged. “What’s the point? Getting upset isn’t going to help us get it back.”

“You’re too logical. Maybe that’s what made me lose it.” She shook her head. “There must be somethingwe can do.”

“You mean, like go to Washington and help them search?”

“Of course not. It’s gone from the Smithsonian. They’l never find it there. It’s probably back in the cube, waiting to be used for whatever it’s used for, or

buried again.”

The cube and the pyramid … hundreds of miles apart, yet both stolen, and both thefts within hours of each other. It smacked of an organization with a

long reach, which fel right into line with Weezy’s conspiracy theories.

“If they are back together,” Jack said, “I’l bet they’re right here in town.”

Her eyes widened. “Where?”

“In the Lodge.”

“Why?”

“Because the Lodge is involved.”

Jack remembered what his brother had said about messing with the Lodge, how they had influence in high places. Tom wasn’t an ideal source, but he

seemed to know the score on the Lodge.

He added, “Maybe they’re doing it themselves, or maybe they’re just pul ing the strings, but they’re involved. Gotta be.”

Weezy was nodding. “You’re right. The Septimus Order has lodges al over the country—al over the world.” Her eyes narrowed. “You told Mister

Brussard that the pyramid had gone to U of P?”

“Yeah. Wednesday night when I showed it to Steve.”

“The Lodge must have someone inside. They might have tried to steal the pyramid there but found out it had been shipped to the Smithsonian. So they

had one of their people in Washington grab it from the mailroom. Then, after it’s stolen, someone starts digging up the mound, and while that’s going on,

someone steals the cube and everything related to it.”

“Not everything,” Jack reminded her.

“Right.” She smiled without humor. “I remember that look you gave me when I handed you the copies. You thought I was crazy.”

“Crazy, no. But definitely …” He searched for the word. “Eccentric.”

Another smile, this one warmer. “Eccentric I accept.” She sighed. “But just say al that’s true, what can we do about it?”

“Haven’t a clue. No way we can get into the Lodge for a look. The place is like a fortress.”

And even if he could find a way in, Jack doubted he had the nerve to make use of it. He had a feeling he might never get out.

“Helpless!” Weezy spoke through clenched teeth. “I hatebeing helpless!”

So did Jack, but he figured every obstacle had a way around it. You just had to find it. No such thing as an insurmountable object, just people who gave

up too soon.

Just then, a sheriff’s patrol car turned off the highway and cruised into town. Jack recognized Tim behind the wheel.

“Hey, Weez, want to report a theft?”

“No way. He could be a Lodger for al we know. And even if he’s not, you can bet someone above him is. Don’t waste your breath. Besides, we weren’t

supposed to have something from a crime scene in the first place.”

She had a point. But Jack wanted to ask Tim something, so he flagged him down.

“Hey, Tim,” he said as the car stopped.

“Hey, Jack. What’s up?”

“Lot of commotion in the Barrens last night.”

Tim frowned. “First I’ve heard about it.”

“Yeah. Couple of helicopters with searchlights hanging over the trees. I could be wrong, but it looked like they were concentrating on that place where

we found that body.”

“Helicopters? Probably from Lakehurst.”

“Didn’t look like it. These were black.” He motioned to Weezy who was hanging back by her bike. “Weezy saw them too, didn’t you, Weez?”

She nodded but said nothing and moved no closer.

“And then,” he added, “I saw some cop cars driving into the Pines—three state police cruisers.”

That last part wasn’t exactly true. The troopers had probably entered the Barrens without going through Johnson, but Jack hadseen them in there.

Tim’s frowned deepened. “Staties? The sheriff never mentioned any activity out here.”

Jack faked a relieved sigh. “Wel , then, I guess everything’s okay. But you know how it is. People see al that commotion and they start worrying about

some sort of escaped convict hiding out in the Pines.”

Tim shook his head. “No worry there. No escapees running around. But I’m going to look into this. The state’s supposed to coordinate with the sheriff

when they run an operation in the county.”

“Yeah, okay, whatever,” Jack said, trying to look uninterested. “Just wondering.”

As Tim cruised away Jack saw him pick up the hand-piece of his police radio and start talking.

Exactly what he’d hoped he’d do.

When he reached Weezy, she said, “I don’t know if that was such a good idea. What if he starts asking the wrong people and they want to know where

he got his information? When they hear it’s two kids, a boy and a girl, they may come looking.”

He shrugged. “I woke up worrying about that, but now I don’t think it’s a problem. If they want to keep that operation a secret, the last thing they’l do is

come into town and cause a scene. We’re just ‘dumb piney kids,’ remember? So who’s going to listen to us anyway, right?”

“I suppose.” She hunched her shoulders as if feeling a chil . “I just wonder where we’d be right now if we hadn’t got away.”

“I suppose.” She hunched her shoulders as if feeling a chil . “I just wonder where we’d be right now if we hadn’t got away.”

Jack decided not to wonder. That kind of thinking did nothing but crowd the brain with useless thoughts that went nowhere and accomplished nothing.

He preferred to think about their next step and what it could be. Then he remembered something he’d seen Thursday night.

He turned to Weezy. “How do you feel about going for a swim?”

They rode to Quaker Lake. Along the way Jack told Weezy about seeing Mr.

Brussard throw something in on Thursday night.

She smiled. “Which Hardy Boy do you think you are—Joe or Frank?” This Hardy Boy thing was getting annoying.

“Why does everybody have to say that?”

“Everybody?”

“Okay, just two—you and my father. But when you consider I’ve only told two

people about what I overheard, two out of two makes a hundred percent.” “Wel , what do you expect? Sneaking around, eavesdropping from bathrooms,

spying on a suspected murderer through a window”—her grin

broadened—”looking for clues.If that’s not a Hardy Boy wannabe, I don’t know

what is.”

She giggled. Weezy never giggled. A nice sound. But she was getting on his

nerves.

“Okay. Fine. Swel —”

“See! You even say ‘swel ’! Nobody says swel anymore—except maybe a Hardy

Boy.”

Maybe he’d been reading too many of those old pulp magazines, but he didn’t

think so.

“Lots of people say ‘swel .’”

She laughed. “Next you’l be cal ing Steve your ‘chum’!”

Jack felt a sudden heaviness. “Yeah … Steve.”

Her grin faded. “Have you done anything about him?”

“Not yet. There’s been a lotgoing on.”

“No argument there. Way too much going on.”

They arrived at the lake and angled their bikes toward the boat area. Not a dock

by any stretch. More like a patch of sandy soil where Mark Mul iner left four old canoes for rent. The charge was three dol ars an hour, and renters left

their payment in the coffee can sitting on the bank next to the NoSwimming sign.

Mark lived up in Sooy’s Boot but left canoes with the same setup here and there

in various smal Pine towns. He’d stop by every evening in his truck

and empty the can.

Jack had heard there’d been some sort of trouble last fal when two guys from

Trenton sneaked into town, loaded the canoes into a pickup, and took off. One of the bad things about a town as smal as Johnson was that everybody

knew everybody else’s business. But the good thing was that people tended to watch out for each other.

Some insomniac on Quakerton Road had been sitting by a window that night and

saw an unfamiliar truck go by loaded with canoes. She cal ed

someone who cal ed Mark. Soon Matthew, Mark, Luke, John, Peter, and Paul Mul

iner—their mother was real y into the New Testament, apparently—piled into a truck of their own. The story went that they intercepted the thieves on

Carranza Road near Tabernacle. What happened after that nobody knew, or nobody was saying, but next morning the canoes were back at their usual spot.

Never a mention of the fate of the Trenton guys, and nobody asked. Piney justice tended to be swift, severe, and silent.

Weezy shielded her eyes as she stared at the canoers already on the lake.

“When you talked about swimming, I assumed you meant here.”

“Uh-huh.”

“You’re going to go diving for whatever Steve’s father threw in.” “Uh-huh.”

“You’l never find it.”

“Don’t be so sure. I have a pretty good idea where it landed. The water’s clear

and not very deep. I think it’s worth a shot.”

“You’re not the type to go looking for trouble. Wouldn’t it be better to do this at

night?”

“But then I wouldn’t be able to see.”

“Oh, right.” She pointed to the blocklike Lodge squatting on the far corner of the

opposite bank. “Yeah, you’l be able to see, but so wil they. If they’re

watching, they’l cal the fuzz.”

The Lodge owned the pond. They let people boat on it, even fish in it—someone

had stocked it with smal -mouth bass—but absolutely no swimming.

Jack had never understood why. But then, the Lodge never explained what it

did. It didn’t have to.

“I think I have a way around that. But I need your help.”

“If it involves swimming, forget it. I’m not going in that lake.”

“Don’t worry. I’l be the only one getting wet. I’m going to paddle one of these

canoes to the other side of the bridge. You’re going to fol ow along the bank. When I get to the right spot, I’m going to become a show-off.” “That’s it?”

“You’l see.”

He pul ed three dol ars from his wal et and dropped it in the coffee can, then

handed Weezy his wal et.

“Here. Keep this dry for me.”

Then he kicked off his Vans. He was glad he was wearing cutoffs, so he didn’t

have to rol up his jeans. He dragged the canoe into the water, hopped in, and began to paddle.

Weezy pedaled along the bank, looking confused. “What am I supposed to do?” “Easy!” he shouted. “Just look beautiful!”

Even from here he could see her blush. Immediately he wondered if he should

have said it. She might take it the wrong way. A guy could say one thing and a girl would hear something else.

Weezy wasn’t beautiful by most standards. Unless she changed dramatical y over

the next couple of years, she probably wasn’t going to have a gaggle

of guys fol owing her down the street. But she wasn’t bad-looking. She easily

could be cute or even attractive if she gave it half a try. He didn’t mean she should become a bowhead or anything like that, not that she ever would. But

Weezy considered herself a plain Jane, maybe even something of a bowwow—she’d never told him so but he could sense it—and so she never made

that try. Or maybe she just didn’t care. Maybe she was going to wait until she came across a Cure fan looking for a girl who reminded him of Robert Smith. “Easier said than done,” she replied in a barely audible voice.

“Nah! Just think beautiful!”

Ouch. That was bad—super hokey. He wished he hadn’t brought this up. But if

nothing else, it made him look like he was out here just having fun.

He guided the canoe under the bridge and into the south half of the dumbbel

-shaped lake. His was the only canoe on this end. To his right on the west bank he saw the big oak near where Mr. Brussard had stood when he threw

whatever he’d thrown. Jack guesstimated it had landed about thirty feet out. He backpaddled the canoe to stop it at the spot. Then he checked for Weezy on

the shore. She’d leaned her bike against the big oak and stood

watching him with her hands on her hips. She wore a Now-what?expression. Okay, Jack thought. Time to take the plunge.

Careful y he rose to his feet. The canoe began rocking with the shift in weight.

When he’d gained his balance he waved to her.

“Hey, Weezy! Look! No hands!”

“And no brains!” she replied.

Can’t argue with that, he thought. Or am I just crazy?

Maybe he was. This was certainly a crazy stunt. Weezy was right about his

chances of finding whatever it was. Slim to none, even if he knew what he was looking for, and he didn’t.

But he had to give it a try.

He pretended to lose his balance, windmil ing his arms, which increased the

canoe’s rocking until—

“Whoa!”

Taking a deep breath, he fel /dove off the canoe into the water. The

temperature was a shock. He’d known it was fed by a cold spring, but not

this

cold.

Fighting the urge to start swimming for the warm shore, he stroked toward the bottom for a look.

The water wasn’t crystal clear but enough light filtered through to reveal the muddy bottom. He stayed a few feet above it, stroking gently so as not to stir

up the muck. He saw some beer cans, dead tree branches, a sneaker, and some unidentifiable lumps al coated with green-brown ick. They looked like

they’d been here a long time. Something down here for only a few days should stick out like Weezy at an Air Supply concert.

He kept stroking. He’d always been able to hold his breath for a long time. Knowing it was only a short distance to the surface, he pushed it to the max

before kicking back toward air.

Nothing … he’d found nothing. On his next dive he’d search a little farther out from shore.

A shadow passed over him. He looked up and saw someone else in the water, swimming along the surface.

Who? Too big for Weezy.

As his head broke the surface he felt an arm go around his neck.

“Gotcha!” said a voice close behind him.

Jack panicked when he recognized it: Steve’s father!

He heard a high-pitched scream from somewhere as he began struggling to get free.

“Don’t fight me, Jack. I’m stronger than you.”

Jack knew that, but didn’t stop his struggles. The kil er was going to drown him to make sure he never found what he’d thrown in here.

“Be calm, Jack,” said the voice, close to his ear. “Relax. I’ve got you. You’re safe.”

Safe?

He must mean his secret wil be safe.

Jack took a deep breath, preparing for when Mr. Brussard forced him under. He could almost hear him later:

Itriedmybesttosavehimbutjust

couldn’t.

But instead of pul ing him down, the arm slipped from his neck to across his chest. And then he felt himself being pul ed along the surface. He craned

his neck and saw that Mr. Brussard was using a cross-chest carry to move him toward shore. Jack had learned this one in his lifesaver course last

summer.

He thinks he’s saving me.

“I’m okay, Mr. Brussard. I can swim.”

He stopped stroking. “You can?”

He released him and Jack treaded water as he turned to face him.

“Yeah. I … I just fel off the boat.”

“But you didn’t come up. I thought …” He laughed. “You mean I got soaked for nothing?”

“Wel , I wouldn’t say for nothing.”

“Poor choice of words. Let’s get to shore. It’s cold in here.”

“You go ahead. I’ve got to get the boat.”

“I’l help you.”

Together they stroked out to the canoe. Then, each grabbing a side, they swam it ashore.

As they stood panting on the bank, Mr. B said, “Wel , I’ve got to say I didn’t have this in mind when I walked over to the Lodge this morning.”

Jack felt like a fool. “I’m sorry.”

He shrugged. “It livened up an otherwise dul Saturday.” He pushed back his wet hair. “I don’t know about you, but I’m heading home for some dry

clothes. Boy, that water’s cold.” He clapped Jack on the shoulder. “Next time you’re in a canoe, don’t act like a jerk, okay?”

As he walked off, Jack said, “Thanks, Mr. B.”

He stopped and turned. “Thanks? You said you could swim.”

“I can. But you didn’t know that. Thanks for trying to save me.”

He smiled. “Hey, Steve needs you. If something happened to you, he’d never finish that computer.”

As he stood and watched Mr. Brussard walk away, Weezy ran over.

“Do you believethat?” she said.

Jack shook his head. “He tried to save my life.”

“Some cold-blooded murderer he is,” she whispered.

Jack turned to her. “I don’t get it. What happened?”

“I was watching where you’d ‘fal en’ in when I heard a splash on the other side.” She pointed toward the Lodge. “I saw a pair of shoes on the bank there

and someone swimming like mad toward you. I didn’t know who he was until he grabbed you.”

“I heard a scream. Was that you?”

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 .

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 didn’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.

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.

Tom squeezed but it didn’t hurt, because he was squeezing Jack’s hand, not his fingers. He squeezed harder, the effort showing on his face, but stil no

pain for Jack.

“Mom said, ‘shake hands,’ Tom, not go steady.”

Glaring, Tom released him.

“That’s my boys,” Mom said as she headed back toward the kitchen. “Tom, you mop up your mess.”

“I’m not through with you, numbnuts,” he said in a low voice.

Jack held his gaze, then slipped past him into the hal .

“Better get mopping or you’l miss dinner.”

Tom had gone out to who cared where. Kate and another student she met were fixing up the apartment in Stratford they’d be using during the coming year

at medical school. His folks were off to the movies.

He had the place to himself.

Ah, freedom.

He hurried upstairs to his folks’ bedroom closet and retrieved the lock box from the top shelf. He set it on the double bed and laid out the pick set next

to it. He hadn’t found a lock like this in USED but he was sure he could open it.

Half an hour later he was pretty sure he couldn’t. At least not at his level of experience. He needed more practice.

Frustration gnawed at him as he folded up the pick kit, returned the box to its original place, and headed back downstairs. The secrets within had

become secondary. The lock … the lock had become his Everest and he was determined to climb it.

After hiding the pick set under the T-shirts in one of his drawers, he wandered through the house. He could read or watch TV, but neither appealed to

him at the moment. He could see if he could get past the smart bombs in Missile Command,but he wasn’t in a video game mood. Weezy and Eddie

were visiting their grandmother in Baltimore.

That left Steve and the Heathkit.

“Steve’s downstairs working on the computer,” Mrs. Brussard said as she let him in.

Jack hoped so, but had his doubts.

“Is Mister Brussard around?”

She shook her head. “No. He’s over at the Lodge. Why?”

“I just wanted to tel him something about the black box I showed him the other night.”

Jack had wanted to see if he would have any reaction when he told him the cube and the pyramid were missing.

“He shouldn’t be too late.”

Jack nodded and headed for the basement. As he passed the den he slowed, looking for the humidor. He spotted it—inside the locked liquor cabinet.

Swel .

Downstairs he found Steve dozing on the couch.

Jack shook his shoulder. “Hey.”

Steve’s lids fluttered open to reveal glassy eyes. “Hey, man.”

Aw, no. He was at it again.

“More pil s?”

He grinned as he pointed to a Pepsi can and rattled the vial of pil s in his shirt pocket. “Double barreled: Valium with a bourbon chaser.”

“But how’d you get hold of the bourbon? I thought your father had it al locked up.”

His grin broadened. “He does. Or at least he thinks he does.” He pointed to a smal key lying on the end table. “But he doesn’t have the only key. I had a

copy made at Spurlin’s this afternoon.”

“Swel . So I guess you’re going to spend the night on the couch.”

Steve burped in reply, closed his eyes again.

Jack resisted the urge to kick him. Instead he stepped over to the end table and stared down at the key to the Brussard liquor cabinet … and to the

humidor.

Should I?

He decided he should. He hadn’t been able to learn what was in his father’s lock box, but maybe he’d be able to pierce the secret of the little red boxes

in the humidor.

He snagged the key and hurried upstairs. If Mrs. B was around he’d just go to the fridge for a Pepsi. If not …

She was nowhere in sight, so Jack hurried to the den and the liquor cabinet. His hand was shaking a little—what would happen if Mr. Brussard returned

now?—so it took him a second try to put the key in the lock. As the door swung open he grabbed the humidor and lifted the lid.

One box remained. He pul ed it out, then returned the humidor to its shelf. He turned the little red box over in his hands, examining it. It reminded him of

a hatbox, only this was barely two inches tal and wide, and had seven sides. It was covered with some sort of fine shiny fabric, like silk.

Jack was about to lift the lid when he heard voices in the front yard. Two men … and they sounded like they were arguing. One of the voices was Mr.

Brussard’s. Coming closer.

A jolt of panic coursed through Jack. He didn’t have time to put the box back in the humidor. Didn’t even have time to relock the cabinet. He pushed the

door closed and ran in a crouch. He’d just rounded the corner into the stairwel when the door opened.

He stood there panting like he’d just sprinted a three-minute mile.

Too close.

He heard Mr. Brussard saying, “You’ve just got to stay calm, Bert. Everything wil be—”

“Calm? How can I stay calm after al that’s happened? I go to the West Coast for a week and come back to find everything gone to hel !”

But he hadn’t been on the West Coast, Jack knew. Why was he lying?

“After two years,” he added, “with my nerves final y calming down, this happens!”

Two years … Anton Boruff had been murdered two years ago … “The important thing is to realize that this wil al blow over.”

“Wil it? I’ve heard that the Council is sending someone to take charge of our Lodge.”

As they moved into the den their voices faded and Jack didn’t have the nerve to try the bathroom trick again. So he tiptoed downstairs and checked

Steve. Stil out.

He looked down at the little box in his sweaty palm. How was he going to get it back in the humidor before Mr. Brussard realized it was gone?

But before he worried about that, he had to see what it held. He lifted the lid gingerly, cautiously, half afraid something would jump out at him. But

instead of some exotic insect or mysterious amulet, he found a smal , round, white object.

A pil .

He picked it up and inspected it but could find no markings to give him a hint of what it contained. But he had a suspicion it might not be good for

anyone’s health. Steve’s father had given three of these to three men, and al were dead the fol owing day.

Questions swirled.

Could it be some kind of poison, something untraceable that only the Lodge knew about?

He should take it to the police and tel them his suspicions, convince them to analyze it. That seemed the most logical and direct course, but would they

believe him? Or would they react like Weezy and think of him as a Hardy Boy wannabe?

But what if he was wrong? What if it was something harmless, supposed to ward off the klazen but didn’t. He’d have hurt the reputation of an innocent

man, a man who’d jumped into the lake to save him because he thought he was drowning.

Jack couldn’t help feeling in Mr. B’s debt. After al , what was Chal is’s role in al this?

But he couldn’t ignore what he’d seen and heard. If Steve’s father was guilty, Jack had to find a way to let him hang himself.

He looked at Steve, then looked at the pil lying in its box, and had an idea.

But he’d have to set the stage careful y to make this work.

“Listen, Bert, I’ve found a way to protect us from the klazen.”

Jack stood outside the den, listening. He’d been about to walk in but had

stopped just around the corner.

“I don’t need protection from some mythical threat, I need—”

“Vasquez, Haskins, and Sumter might disagree as to how mythical it is. If I could

have got to them in time they’d stil be alive.”

A lie. He’d given them each a pil .

That clinched it for Jack.

He’s guilty, he thought. But I’m the only one who knows.

In the next few minutes he hoped to change that.

“You know what?” Chal is said. “I almost wish I were with them. This is eating

me alive. We shouldn’t have taken matters into our own hands like that. We—”

Mr. Brussard cut him off, saying, “What’s done is done. We’ve got to deal with

now. Let me show you what I’ve got. I—hey. This is supposed to be

locked.”

Uh-oh. Time to make his move. Jack quickly stepped into the den. Mr. Brussard

was squatting by the liquor cabinet; Chal is, a thin, twitchy man, stood nearby.

“Mister Brussard?”

He looked around to stare at him. “Jack! How long have you been standing

there?”

Jack dodged the question by saying, “I think there’s something wrong with

Steve.”

Mr. B straightened and stepped closer, his expression concerned. “What do you

mean?”

“I can’t wake him up.”

In a flash, he was pushing past Jack. He almost knocked over Mrs. B as she

stepped from the stairs into the hal way.

“Gordon, what’s wrong?”

“Steve! Downstairs!”

She blanched. “What—?”

But her husband was already to the basement steps. As he pounded down she

hurried after him. Chal is fol owed, though not as hurriedly.

Jack stayed behind and picked up the phone. He dialed 911 and reported an

unconscious person at the Brussard address. Then he headed

downstairs.

When Jack arrived, Steve’s folks were shaking him, yel ing at him to wake up.

His eyes fluttered open and gave them a dazed look.

“Wha? Wha?”

His father spotted the Pepsi can next to the couch and sniffed it. His face turned

red.

“You’re drunk!” he cried and grabbed the front of Steve’s shirt. “You’ve been

pilfering from my—!”

Something rattled in Steve’s breast pocket. Mr. Brussard pul ed out the pil vial

and stared at it.

“It’s your Valium!” he said, turning to his wife. “He’s—!”

And then he froze. Jack fol owed his gaze to the little red box on the cushion

next to Steve.

“What’s—?”

He snatched it up and yanked off the top. His red face turned ashen when he

looked inside.

“Oh, no!” He turned to Steve and shook him. “Did you take this?” Steve gave him another glassy stare. “No. It’s right there.”

“I mean the pil , damn it! Did you take the pil that was in here?” Steve shrugged and slurred, “Dunno … maybe … coulda.”

Mr. Brussard tossed the box aside and started lifting Steve under the arms. “We’ve got to get him to the hospital!”

Just then someone knocked on the wal of the stairwel and cal ed down. “Hel o? Is there a problem here?” A sheriff’s deputy came down the stairs. Not

Tim, but Jack had seen him at the car lot when the first aid was trying to revive Mr. Sumter.

He’d been counting on a deputy’s arrival—the cops always responded to a 911. “I heard the first-aid cal and came over to see if I could help.” “First-aid cal ?” Mr. Brussard looked around. “Who—? Never mind. My son took

pil s and liquor! He needs to get his stomach pumped!”

“The ambulance is on its way.” The deputy leaned closer to Steve. “He’s stil

conscious. Maybe he won’t need that.”

“He wil ! He’l die!”

The deputy wasn’t looking where Jack wanted him to, so he picked up the little

red box and pretended to examine it. When the deputy saw it he

reached toward Jack.

“May I?”

As Jack handed it over, Mr. Brussard said, “Never mind that! We’ve got to get

him to the hospital!”

But the deputy wasn’t listening. He was staring at the box, turning it over in his

hands.

“I’ve seen one of these before. Mister Sumter had it on him when he died. And

I’ve heard the same box was found on Vasquez and Haskins.” He looked up at Mr. Brussard. “What was in this?”

“Nothing. Look, we need to—”

“Nothing?” Chal is said. “Nothing?I just heard you ask your boy if he took the

pil that was inside.” His jaw dropped. “And when he said yes you went crazy. You just said he’l die.” He pointed to Mr. Brussard. “It’s you! You poisoned

them! Sumter, Vasquez, and Haskins—you kil ed them!”

Mr. Brussard looked stunned. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“It’s true! It’s al clear! You poisoned them with whatever pil was in that box! And

I was next! ‘I’ve found a way to protect us from the klazen.’ Isn’t that what you said? But what I need is protection from you!”

Mrs. B looked horrified. “Gordon, what is this man talking about?” The deputy frowned at Chal is. “Why would he want to kil you?” “Because five can keep a secret only when four are dead, isn’t that right,

Gordon.”

“I’m not fol owing,” the deputy said.

“We kil ed Anton Boruff—the body found in the Pines!”

“Bert!” Mr. Brussard shouted.

“There. I’ve said it. It’s haunted me for two years. Now maybe I’l be able to

sleep at night!” He turned to the deputy and his words spewed at machine

gun speed. “He swindled us—fake diamonds. We confronted him. Things got rough. He fel , hit his head. It wasn’t supposed to happen. We didn’t mean

to—”

“‘We’?” the deputy said. “Who do you mean?”

“Me, Sumter, Vasquez, Haskins, and Gordon here.”

Just then a heavy guy with a first-aid emblem on his shirt thundered down the stairs.

“We tried the bel but no one answered. I heard voices—” He looked at the swaying Steve. “Is this the unconscious person you reported?”

“I didn’t report anyone,” Mr. Brussard said, “but as long as you’re here, he needs immediate hospitalization.”

Jack figured this had gone on long enough. He snatched the pil from where he’d left it on the floor behind the couch, and held it up.

“Is this the pil ?”

Mr. Brussard’s eyes widened. “Give it to me,” he said, reaching for it.

But the deputy grabbed his arm.

“I’l take that.”

Jack gave it to him. He looked at it, put it in the little red box, and shoved the box into a pocket. Then he stepped back and rested one hand on his pistol

as he pul ed his two-way from his belt.

“This is Driscol ,” he said. “I’ve got a situation at one twenty-seven Harding in Johnson. Requesting backup.”

Jack felt a rush of … what? A strange, tingling fire flared in his chest as he realized he’d done it. He’d tricked Mr. Brussard into incriminating himself. He

wanted to whoop and yel and do the Snoopy dance around the room.

But he couldn’t. Now was not the time. Not with Steve and his mother staring in shock and fear and disbelief at the man they cal ed father and husband.

Maybe there’d never be a good time for the Snoopy dance.

Free-form guilt dul ed the edge of his elation. He looked around and found Mr. Brussard glaring at him.

“You cal ed them, didn’t you.”

Jack couldn’t look at Steve, but he stared Mr. Brussard in the eye.

“I was worried about Steve.”

And that was the truth.

“Trouble just fol ows you around, doesn’t it.”

Jack turned at the sound of the voice and saw Tim leaning out the window of his

patrol car.

“What do you mean?”

Tim smiled. “You know exactly what I mean. My buddy Driscol says you were

right in the thick of things last night. Even found the pil .”

“Yeah, wel , just hanging with Steve.”

Tim nodded toward the Brussard house down the street. “Returning to the scene

of the crime?”

The whole town was buzzing with the news of the Brussard arrest and the Chal is confession. Jack had wandered over, wondering if he should stop in

and see how Steve was handling it. He knew he shouldn’t feel guilty about exposing a murderer, but he couldn’t help it.

He’d chickened out on the visit, at least on his first pass, afraid Steve would take one look at him and somehow know Jack had got his dad arrested.

As he’d passed he noticed that the garbage can near the end of the driveway was ful of empty liquor bottles. Mrs. Brussard was cleaning house—a first

step toward helping Steve, but Jack had a feeling he’d need more.

“Brussard posted bail,” Tim said.

“He’s out?How?”

“Not much on him beyond what Chal is said. But we’re analyzing that pil , and if it turns out to be some funky poison, we’l have a whole different bal

game.”

Now Jack was doubly glad he hadn’t stopped in. The way Steve’s dad had looked at him last night made it clear he suspected something.

Tim went on. “Chal is, on the other hand, didn’t want bail. Said he felt safer behind bars.”

Safe from the klazen? Or his Lodge brother?

“He give any reason for the way they—?”

“Cut him up?” Tim shook his head. “Not much. Told us Boruff was kil ed in a ‘sacred rite’ used for those who betray Lodge brothers, then clammed up.

Said it was a Lodge matter and nobody else’s business.”

Cutting off the arms at the elbows and sewing them into the armpits … what kind of sacred rite was that?

“Seen any more state troopers running around?” Tim said.

Jack used the title of another book on his summer reading list. “Al quiet on the western front.”

Tim nodded. “It issort of the western front, isn’t it—the western front of the Pine Barrens.”

Mention of the Barrens reminded Jack of something.

“You went to the mound yesterday. How’s it look?”

Tim shook his head. “I saw it when we dug up the body. Gotta tel you, you wouldn’t recognize the place now. Al torn up.” Another head shake. “Shame.

One of the pointy heads we had doing the crime scene work-up said he was sure the mound was pre-Columbian.”

Jack had heard the term before. “Before Columbus? Wow.”

“Yeah. Wow. He said definitely pre-Columbian, maybe even prehistoric.”

“Oh, man. Weezy wil want to go back.”

Jack did too, but knew Weezy would want to even more.

“Nothing left to see. Trust me.” Tim poked his arm. “But even so, you two stay away from there for now … until things settle down. I asked one of the

medevac pilots I know to snap a photo or two on one of his many runs to AC.”

“Why?”

Tim looked away, through the windshield. “Not sure. Something about that place …”

A burst of static from his two-way interrupted with a report of an accident near Shamong.

“Gotta go. Remember what I said: Stay out of the Pines for now.”

As Jack watched Tim go, he figured he could manage that for another day or two, but there’d be no stopping Weezy once she heard “prehistoric.”

Good thing she was in Baltimore for the weekend and wouldn’t be back til tonight. Because he wasn’t sure he could keep the news from her.

Jack sat in the dark on a thick limb of the tree across the street from Steve’s house, watching.

It had turned out to be a quiet Sunday, quieter than usual after the rain started around midday. Kate was stil at her apartment in Stratford. Tom was

packing to move back to his place in Jersey City. Sure signs that summer was drawing to a close. Not much shaking at USED either, so Jack did his

cleanups and polishing, and practiced his lock picking when he had a chance.

After dinner, he’d watched a KnightRiderrerun, fol owed by the ABCSunday NightMovie,then hit the sack. But sleep eluded him. He kept thinking

about Steve, and how his friend’s family was messed up now because of him.

No, he kept tel ing himself. Steve’s father had been the one to mess up that family.

Final y he’d pul ed on a shirt and jeans and slipped out his window.

He wasn’t sure what had drawn him here. Guilt? Or maybe worry that Mr. Brussard might slip off into the night?

The rain had stopped earlier but the tree bark and leaves were stil wet; a thick mist hung in the air, glowing in the widely scattered streetlights. The

house lay dark and quiet. No sign of anyone moving about. Jack final y asked himself what he was accomplishing here. And when he couldn’t come up

with a good answer, he decided it was time to go.

But just as he was readying to swing down from the limb, he saw a thin dark streak flowing through the mist along Harding Street. He couldn’t cal it

black, couldn’t cal it solid. More like something colorless or invisible, displacing the mist. Tapered at both ends, maybe ten feet long and no more than

two feet wide, it moved lazily, undulating on the breeze—

And then Jack realized with a start that there was no breeze.

Despite the warmth of the night, chil gooseflesh rippled over his skin. He shrank back against the tree trunk and watched as the streak angled toward

the Brussard house. For some reason he wanted to shout out a warning, but his vocal cords were clenched tight. And a warning against what? Smoke? A

hole in the mist?

Whatever it was, it nosed against the left side of Steve’s house and then splashed out along the siding like water from a faucet hitting a sink. As it

spread it thinned and broke up into tiny dark wisps that swirled and faded to nothing.

Weird, Jack thought. Real y weird. But it was gone now. Time to get back.

He swung down from the branch and began walking home. As he passed the house he glanced back and saw the streak seeping out the opposite

side. He stopped, his Vans glued to the pavement, watching as it reformed into the elongated shape he’d first seen. It began to drift again …

Toward him.

And then a light came on in the house and he heard a woman scream.

Part of him wanted to run up to Steve’s door and see if he could help, but he had a feeling whatever had happened in there was beyond his help or

anybody else’s.

Mr. Brussard had just met the klazen. Jack was sure of it.

And now it was heading for him.

No … angling northwest … across his intended path.

So Jack did an about-face and began walking the other way, taking the long way home. When he looked back he saw the streak stil headed in the

other direction.

Safe … or was he? Somehow he didn’t feel safe.

He broke into a run and didn’t slow until he’d reached his yard. He stopped and looked around, praying he wouldn’t see a dark streak filtering through

the misty cornrows of the neighboring field and heading his way.

Nothing. It must stil be heading northwest.

Wait … the county jail was northwest of Johnson … and Mr. Chal is had stayed there … because it was safer …

He wished Weezy were here. She’d be so into this. But Jack …

He crawled through the window, closed and locked it behind him, leaped into bed, and pul ed the covers over his head.

He hated things he couldn’t explain.

“Did you hear?” Kate said, rushing into the kitchen.

Jack was just finishing the Taylor ham and egg sandwich he’d had for lunch. Mom turned from the sink. “Hear what, dear?”

“Gordon Brussard dropped dead last night.”

Mom dropped the plate she’d been fitting into the dishwasher. It didn’t break. “No!”

“Yes! And so did that man Chal is, the one who confessed to kil ing the man Jack

found. Within an hour of each other. Can you believe it?”

“No,” Mom said. “I can’t.”

Jack could. But even though he’d half expected it, he couldn’t help but feel

shock. Had he real y been on Harding Street last night? Or had he dreamed it? How could he e sure?

Kate said, “It’s true!”

“Where’d you hear al this?”

“Down at Burdett’s. I was on empty and Jeff fil ed me in while he was fil ing me

up.”

That sort of clinched the deaths. Jeff Colton, the pump jockey at Burdett’s Esso station, talked to everyone who stopped in and pumped them for

gossip. He knew everything there was to know in this end of Burlington County.

Jack said, “What are the chances of that happening? I mean, two people arrested for the same crime dropping dead at almost the same time?”

Kate shook her head. “Astronomical, I’d think. Then again …” Her voice trailed off.

“Then again what?”

“Getting arrested has got to be unbelievably stressful, whether you’re innocent or guilty. I can’t imagine that would be good for your heart. And if you had

any heart disease …” She shrugged. “I guess it’s possible. If this were Magnum, P.I.,I’d be guessing they were both poisoned or something, but in real

life …” Another shrug. “Just a bizarre coincidence.”

Uh-uh, Jack thought. Maybe no coincidence. Maybe a klazen.

But no way was he mentioning that. Talk about opening a can of worms.

“Poor Steve,” he said, and meant it. The thought of losing his own father … he couldn’t imagine what Steve was feeling.

He couldimagine Steve’s mom using her Valium today, and Steve probably wishing he had some— needingsome.

Jack realized then that he needed something too: fresh air. He had the day off and didn’t want to spend it thinking about things he couldn’t explain.

Besides, Eddie had cal ed to announce that his grandmother had bought him the new StarWars:DeathStarBattlevideo game.

“I’m going out,” he said, carrying his empty plate to the dishwasher.

“Where?” Mom said.

“Weez and Eddie’s, I guess.”

Mom gave him a don’t-forget-what-I-told-you look.

Man …

Jack heard cursing as they approached the spong.

He’d hung out with Weezy and Eddie for a while, the two guys taking turns at

DeathStarBattle

—it looked super on the 5200—and Weezy watching

morosely, saying little. She was stil bummed out about losing the cube and the pyramid. Somewhere along the line Jack let slip the possibility that the

mound was pre-Columbian, maybe even prehistoric.

Wel , that was al Weezy had to hear. Before he knew it she was up and out and headed for her bike. Jack tried to stop her, tel ing her what Tim had

said, but Weezy was deaf to al that. Since he couldn’t let her ride off into the Pines alone, he went with her. Even Eddie tagged along, saying something

about it being “fossilacious.” Apparently he’d equated prehistoric with dinosaurs.

On the plus side, the road trip pul ed Weezy out of her funk. She was her old self again, chattering away about her secret-history stuff as she led them

down the fire trail.

The cursing grew louder, and as they reached the spong area they saw a skinny man wearing an Agway gimme cap, bib-front overal s, duck boots, and

probably nothing else. He looked like he was dancing around the open area, but he was kicking at the traps, many with sticks jutting from them, and

cursing a blue streak.

The three of them stopped to stare. This had to be the trapper, and it looked like Mrs. Clevenger had been doing her thing again.

He stopped when he saw them.

“Whatchoo lookin’ at?”

When they didn’t reply, he started toward them. He needed a shave and most likely a bath, and his eyes looked wild with rage.

“You been doin’ this? You the ones been messin’ up muh traps?”

“We just got here, mister,” Jack said, thinking this couldn’t be Old Man Foster because he wasn’t old. Forty, tops. “Are you Mister Foster?”

“Zeb Foster? No, I ain’t him.”

“Then what are you doing trapping on his land?” Weezy said.

He stepped closer. “Look, I don’t need no little girl asking me no fresh-mouthed questions. Get outa here!”

Weezy stood her ground. “Wel , if you’re not Mister Foster, who are you?”

“I’m his son, dammit! Now git!” He pointed a dirty finger at them. “And you better not be the ones springin’ muh traps, ‘cause if you are, I’l skin you like a

coon—only you’l stil be alive when I do it. Now git!”

“Okay, okay,” Eddie said, moving faster than usual.

“One creepitacious guy,” he said when they’d moved out of earshot.

Weezy made a face. “Like I believe he’s Old Man Foster’s son.”

“Maybe he isn’t,” Jack said. “But I do believe he meant what he said about skinning us alive.”

“This is criminal!” Weezy cried as she walked among the ruins of the mound. “An absolute sin!”

Jack agreed. The mound or mounds—he couldn’t be sure exactly what had been here before—had snaked among the burned trunks. Now trenches ran

in al directions amid knocked-down and half-downed trees.

She kicked at the sand. “They’ve destroyed everything!”

“See any fossils?” Eddie said.

“Why am I not surprised to find you here?” a familiar voice cal ed.

Jack turned and saw Tim standing by his patrol car at the edge of the burned area.

Jack, Weezy, and Eddie looked at one another, then ambled over to where he waited.

Tim shook his head as he looked at Jack. “Didn’t I tel you to stay away from here?”

Jack could have said he’d come along only to keep Weezy company, but that wasn’t exactly true and he wasn’t about to lay it on her. No one had forced

him to come along.

So he simply shrugged.

But Weezy said, “It was my idea, Officer.”

Tim smiled. “Deputy.”

Weezy did her whateverface and said, “Isn’t there something you can do about this? Someone you can arrest or we can sue for desecrating this site?”

“Desecrating?” Tim frowned. “It’s not like it was a church or anything.”

“Could have been at one time. It might have contained secrets hidden for … forever.”

“Secrets?”

Oh, no, Jack thought. Don’t get her started on secrets. He searched for a way to change the subject.

“Did your friend ever get that photo from his helicopter?”

Tim nodded. “As a matter of fact, he did.” He reached through the open window of his patrol car and pul ed out a half dozen eight-by-ten photos. “Took a

bunch of them from different angles on two different runs.” He handed them to Jack. “Take a look.”

Jack studied the top photo, then handed it off to Weezy. He did the same with al six. The last was taken from almost directly overhead. It best showed

the devastation caused by the backhoe because the angle of the sun shadowed the trench. Jack studied this one the longest. Something about it tickled

his brain, but he couldn’t put his finger on it.

When he handed it to Weezy he heard her gasp.

“See something?” Tim asked.

Weezy stared a moment longer, then shook her head. “No. Just a shadow.” She looked up at Tim. “Can I have one of these? Please-please-please?”

He laughed. “Sure.”

She held up the overhead shot she’d been looking at. “This one.”

“It’s yours. Now, I want the three of you back on your bikes and heading for home.”

He stood there and watched them do just that. He paced them awhile, fol owing behind, then bop-tooted and rol ed away, leaving them on their own.

As soon as he was out of sight, Weezy stopped and pul ed the photo from her basket.

“Jack! Did you see this?”

He stopped beside her and looked over her shoulder. Again that tickling feeling that he was missing something.

“Yeah. But obviously you see something I don’t.”

“Watch.”

The tip of her finger traced the trench that had replaced the mound. Jack stiffened as he recognized the figure.

“That’s … that’s on the seal”—what had Dad cal ed it?—”the sigil of …”

She was nodding. “Yeah. The Lodge.”

Secret histories …

As he’d done last night, Jack sat in the dark, staring at a building. Only instead of

on Harding Street, he was down near the bank of Quaker Lake. And

not in a tree, but sitting with his back against the big oak. And it wasn’t Steve’s

house he was staring at, but the Lodge that squatted across the water, a light on in one of its high, narrow windows.

Secrets … secrets everywhere.

Maybe Weezy was right. Maybe there was a Secret History of the World. The

Pine Barrens probably held a lot of it—like the pine lights and that shape in the woods—but he’d bet the Lodge was wel up there in what it knew and hid.

Like how old it was, and how long it had existed on that spot—not the building itself, but the Ancient Septimus Fraternal Order … how long had it been

here? If that mound was pre-Columbian, and had been built by the

Lodge, it meant the Lodge had been here a long, long time. And if the mound

was prehistoric …

That didn’t even bear thinking.

Secrets …

Did the troopers and suits who’d dug up the mound find anything? If so, they

weren’t tel ing.

But Weezy knew of other mounds. Maybe it was time for the two of them to

start some digging of their own. Maybe they’d find another cube with a pyramid inside. He doubted it, but never say never.

He stil had the copies of the pyramid’s symbols. What secret did they hold? And even Weezy … she had a secret or two as wel . Jack sensed it, but hadn’t a

clue as to what. Maybe it had something to do with al those Friday

morning trips to Medford.

Secrets …

The town itself had a secret history. How had Old Town come to be named

Quakerton before any Quakers existed?

Even his own family had a secret history. Why wouldn’t Dad talk about the war?

What had happened there to make him clam up whenever it was

mentioned? And what did he keep locked in that box?

Jack realized that he too had a secret: exposing Steve’s father. He couldn’t tel

anyone about it. Yeah, some people would cal him a hero, but sure as the sun rose every morning, Steve would eventual y find out. And Steve would

hate him. Soon everyone in town would be looking at him strangely, and holding their tongues when he was about.

Because everybody had secrets.

Jack simply wanted to come and go as he pleased, with no one taking any

special notice of him. Just another face in the crowd.

Just … Jack.

Movement across the lake caught his eye. He watched a gray limousine—looked

like a Bentley—pul up before the Lodge and stop in the pool of light

around its entrance. A uniformed driver hopped out and opened the rear door. A

very tal man in a white suit unfolded himself from the passenger

compartment. He had black, slicked-back hair but Jack couldn’t make out his

face at this distance.

The man sauntered to the front steps of the Lodge, but instead of going inside,

he stopped and turned in Jack’s direction. He seemed to be staring

directly at Jack. But how could that be? Jack was sitting in deep shadow. No way

the man could see him.

Yet he kept staring, and it made Jack uncomfortable. Final y he turned and

disappeared inside. The chauffeur fol owed him in, lugging two large

suitcases.

Was he moving in? Into the Lodge itself? Jack had never heard of anyone actual

y living there.

Mr. Chal is’s words came back to him: …theCouncilissendingsomeonetotake

chargeofourLodge…

Was that him? If so, he was one creepy guy. And why had he seemed to be

staring at him?

Jack wanted to keep his distance from that place. The arrests of Mr. Brussard

and Chal is, and Chal is’s confession about how they’d kil ed Boruff

according to “sacred rites,” had embarrassed the Lodge. Better they didn’t know

he’d been instrumental in that.

And stil … he had a feeling he wasn’t through with the Lodge.

As for what he’d seen outside Steve’s house last night … better not talk about