Twelfth Sun

by Mae Clair

  Dr. Cross, you are one sick puppy. Get a grip.

  He returned his attention to the paper on the table.

  For the answer you seek

  look above your head.

  The key to unlock the door

  is in the hand of the dead.

  The more he studied the riddle the less he thought it had to do with Rook. Samuel Storm? Or maybe another member of the Twelfth Sun’s crew? The first mate had been Leonard Upperdon. Could his name somehow relate to above your head?

  His eyes tracked to the ceiling. Why had the clue been given with the cup of grape soda? Was there a connection between the two? Was he overlooking something obvious, or was Brody playing head games with him?

  “Uh, Mister?”

  Elijah glanced aside to find the delivery man he’d seen earlier standing at the corner of his table. The driver scuffed a hand across the back of his neck and hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “That blue Jeep outside yours? The one in the back?”

  He nodded.

  “Don’t know how to tell you this, but you got a bad flat. I used to work at a garage, and tires don’t go down like that.”

  “What do you mean?”

  The man looked uncomfortable. He shuffled his feet and shrugged. “Looks to me like somebody slashed your tire.”

  Chapter 12

  Elijah was sweating by the time he finished changing the spare. The temperature had climbed considerably, leaving his neck damp and his bangs clinging to his brow. He’d shed his outer shirt, tossing it onto the front seat, but his t-shirt was sticking to him and his glasses kept slipping down his nose. He tossed them after the shirt, straightening slowly in an effort to work a kink from his lower back.

  “That delivery man was right,” he said to Reagan, gathering the jack and his tools. “Someone wanted to make sure we were stuck here for a while.” He dropped them into the back of the Jeep, returning to heft the damaged tire into the open hatch.

  Reagan hovered behind him, a bottle of spring water in her hand. “But why would anyone want to–”

  “Slash my tire?” He ran his fingers over the tear in the hard rubber and sighed. “It’s not random vandalism. Not in broad daylight, so that means I was targeted deliberately. We parked far enough from the road that someone could have done this without being seen.” Shaking his head, he grabbed a rag from the toolbox in the rear of the Jeep and wiped his hands. “If we can’t solve the clue in time, the only people who are going to benefit are those still in the hunt for Rook’s journal. Face it, Reagan. It was probably Brody.”

  She frowned. “But why slice just one tire? If someone wanted us out of the hunt, wouldn’t they have sliced all four? At the very least, the spare too?”

  “Not necessarily. Someone could have scared them away before they had a chance. The delivery man was in and out of his truck the whole time. Odds are whoever did this saw him and took off before they could be noticed.” He glanced at his watch.

  Damn! They’d wasted almost an hour fiddling with the tire. It could have been worse if the culprit had slashed his spare as well. He pushed the hatch closed and slumped against the back.

  “We need to refocus and get on track with this clue. I don’t think it’s about Rook’s journal.”

  “Oh?” She passed him the water.

  He accepted it gratefully, taking a long pull before swiping the back of one hand across his forehead. How did she manage to look so poised, while he felt like he’d been dragged through a swamp? Then again, she hadn’t just changed a tire in 80-degree heat. He felt sticky and sweaty, and would have killed for a shower. Even one of those wash-off things at the beach. His jeans were black from kneeling on the dirty asphalt, and the holes in the knees had allowed small stones to bite into his skin. He scratched the back of his head, perspiration making him itch.

  “Um…” He found it hard concentrating. She looked so damn good, standing there with those ridiculously tight capris hugging her slim legs and hips like a second skin. A barely existent breeze stirred the long strands of her hair. It blazed penny-bright and copper in the warm caress of the sun. Elijah swallowed hard, warmer than before. “I, uh…” He cleared his throat, forcing his spiking hormones under control. Reluctantly, he shoved aside visions of her in the shower with him. “Let’s try something off the wall and hit the nearest cemetery.”

  “Cemetery?”

  Elijah took another swig from the water bottle, finishing it in one long gulp. He screwed the cap on, then sent it flying through the window into the rear of the Jeep. “Hand of the dead, remember?” He tugged open the driver’s door. “I’ll drive this time. I’m pissed enough to forget about my leg.”

  * * * *

  Reagan sat on a bench beneath a shade tree, watching Elijah walk among the headstones. The nearest cemetery was situated thirty miles inland. With stop-and-go traffic, it had taken them an hour to reach it, another hour and a half to investigate the graves. The day was quickly slipping from their grasp as the time swept past 1:00 PM. Pellar had said the items relating to the clues would be found at Sothern’s estate or in town, but hadn’t said the means to find them would be there.

  She’d already made a circuit of the small area, carefully studying each stone, hoping for something. Anything. The writing on many was faded, blasted to near nothingness by eroding wind and the passage of time. There were only a few graves here, probably no more than a forty or fifty, with two larger cemeteries in the surrounding vicinity.

  She wasn’t sure what she was looking for, but kept alert for anything that would click with the riddle or Rook. Eventually, needing a break, she’d perched on the edge of the bench. With a tired sigh, she rubbed her temple and let her gaze skitter between the graves.

  So many lives, each with a story and unique past. Her heart rose to her throat as Elijah crouched down to examine a particularly old headstone. Was Sothern forcing them to examine their own mortality?

  The key to unlock the door is in the hand of the dead.

  Sothern had fixated on grief and remorse with the last riddle. Was he now fixating on the passage of one life into the next? And what about the first riddle–to a blue-eyed child–how did that tie with the other two, for surely they were all connected?

  Her eyes lingered on Elijah. He was facing toward her, crouched in front of a headstone, his gaze lowered as he studied the faded writing. The breeze picked up, whispering through the grass, blowing curling hair across his brow. When he glanced up, she caught the vibrant flash of his eyes, so startling and electric blue, it took her breath away.

  To a blue-eyed child.

  The thought slammed into her with a suddenness that left her winded. She lurched from the bench, propelled by a sense of impossibility. All this time, all these riddles…the grape soda. Was it really Brody or someone else?

  “Reagan?” Elijah grew aware of her intent stare. He left the grave, walking quickly to her side where he gripped her hand. “What’s wrong?”

  “I…” She blinked. No. It wasn’t possible clue number one referred to Elijah. A lot of people had blue eyes. But not everyone likes grape soda. And clue number two? Remorse, regret. Where did that fit in?

  She shook her head. He’d laugh it off, tell her she was nuts. And she probably was. Grasping at straws, her mother would say. Too many clues and too few days left. Her imagination was getting the best of her.

  She laughed, conjuring a shaky sound from her throat. “Nothing. Just worrying about the time, I guess.” She looked at her watch. 1:37. “Do you think we should try the other cemeteries, or keep looking here?”

  He released her hand with an exasperated sigh, buying her story. He raked his fingers through his hair, dragging it back from those incredible blue eyes. Eyes as clear and crisp as a shaded pool in a tropical rainforest. “There’s nothing here. Let’s try the other two.” Despite a wan smile, doubt flickered in his gaze. “Don’t worry. We’ve got time.”

  By five o’clock they had been through all three cemeteries without luck. T
ired, frustrated and hungry, they drove back to Serenity Harbor in silence. For the first time since the quest began, Reagan faced the possibility they wouldn’t have an answer by the 8:00 PM deadline. She bit her lip, silently worrying over her uncle’s disappointment. How could she fail the man who’d done so much for her? Who’d been a surrogate father through many years of her life?

  “Damn it!” She didn’t realize she’d spoken aloud until she caught Elijah’s sharp glance. He’d lowered the top on the Jeep hours ago, and the ensuing rush of wind sent his long hair whipping around his face. She had secured her own in a neat ponytail and now gave it an unconscious tug. “Sorry,” she said. “I just–”

  “I know, but there’s still time. Listen, Reagan, I’ve been thinking…” He wet his lips, gearing up for what she guessed was a far-fetched possibility. She knew he’d been mentally picking at the clue since they’d left the last cemetery, probably berating himself for not already having arrived at a solution. The downside of being brilliant was the unquestionable faith other people placed in him. She’d done the same. Almost from the start, she’d thought having Elijah as a partner would make her a shoo-in to win the treasure hunt. It was unfair, not only to him, but her as well. She’d matched him clue for clue, applying her own intellect where his had failed. So far they’d made an exceptional team, each filling in gaps for the other.

  She glanced at her watch. 5:48. She couldn’t let it end with him thinking he’d let her down.

  “Elijah, even if we don’t win,” she said quickly, “I want you know how much I appreciate everything you’ve done. And…” She stumbled over the words. “I…none of this has anything to do with how I feel about you.”

  He cast a sideways glance at her, mild suspicion giving way to a brilliant smile. “Don’t get me sidetracked thinking about sex.”

  “I was not talking about sex,” she snapped, only then realizing he was teasing. She groaned and dropped her face into her hands before resurfacing for air. “I’m sorry. It’s been a long day and my nerves are shot.”

  “Apology contingent on a kiss later. With some prolonged foreplay to pump up my ego.”

  “Elijah.”

  “Okay, okay. Will you listen to what I have to say now?” He was still grinning, so she relaxed. He switched lanes, stepping on the gas pedal to pass a slow moving RV. “I screwed up with the cemetery reference. The last line of Sothern’s riddle–the key to unlock the door is in the hand of the dead–is what convinced me we should look in a cemetery.”

  She nodded, considering it a valid conclusion. “I agree.”

  “But the clue is hand of the dead, not hands, which would be more generic. Death, graves, past lives. Take your pick.”

  “You’re losing me.”

  He swerved again, picking up speed, this time passing a Dodge hauling twin jet-skis. She tensed as he darted between vehicles, passing in the no-passing lane. Within seconds, he shot back to the left, accelerating. “I think Sothern is going for a specific, physical hand.”

  Reagan blinked, distracted from the non-existent race he seemed set on running. “Excuse me? Are you saying we should be checking funeral parlors?” She shuddered. Not even Sothern would be so eccentric as to do something that reprehensible.

  Elijah shook his head, and adjusted his sunglasses. From the side, she caught a glint of blue as his eyes swung back to the road. “You’re forgetting the first half of the riddle–your journey begins at the parental hut. Whatever we were supposed to find, we were supposed to find it there. It wasn’t simply a matter of strolling in and getting the next clue. When I think about it, it’s obvious. For the answer you seek, look above your head. I’m just pissed it didn’t hit me sooner.”

  Reagan frowned. “You mean one of those posters on the ceiling?” She tried to remember the brief glimpses she’d had each time they’d visited the Soda Shack. A conglomeration of colors advertising restaurants, specialty stores, marinas, amusements and rides, fudge shops, theaters, hotels…the list was endless. How could they possibly pull something from that hodgepodge?

  “You have to trust me on this,” Elijah said, as though growing aware of her doubts. “We don’t have much time left and, even if I’m right, there’s still the final part of the clue to solve.”

  “But what am I trusting you about?”

  He grimaced. “Just trust me okay? If I try to explain, it will only sound lame.” He stepped on the gas again and the Jeep streaked forward.

  She gripped the dash at the sharp acceleration, and tried not to look at the speedometer. “Okay, I trust you. But do me a favor.”

  He sent her a quizzical glance. “What?”

  “Wherever we’re going, get us there in one piece.”

  * * * *

  Reagan found herself back in the boardwalk parking lot. Elijah jerked the Wrangler into park, then vaulted from the vehicle, wincing when his injured leg struck the ground. Spurred by his urgency, she rounded the back, catching his hand even as he pulled her forward. He ran, limping as he went, threading through crowds of tourists who had thronged to the boardwalk for an evening filled with junk food, rides and amusements. It was after six o’clock and most of the boardwalk vendors had opened their booths or shops despite the early season.

  The smell of peanut oil, caramel popcorn and cotton candy mixed with salty sea air. Twinkling lights danced above arcades, announcing ‘Family Fun’ in flashing strobes of yellow, blue and green. Whistles shrilled, bells clanged, and hawkers called for passers-by to try their hand at games of chance.

  “Step right up. Two tries for a dollar. Come on, young sir. Don’t you want to win a prize for your lovely lady?”

  Reagan clung to Elijah, anchored by the feel of his hand securely around hers as he threaded through the crowd. The ocean swelled to their right, crashing against the beach, the soft sound of waves mixing with the high, tinny music of the merry-go-round. He stopped suddenly and she bumped into his shoulder, startled by the heat coming from his body. The sun had soaked into his shirt all day, warming the tight weave until it positively radiated warmth. She glanced around, noting the high arc of the Ferris wheel, a small pizza vendor, the exaggerated gothic rooflines of a haunted house, and the side entrance of the Wax Museum. Someone stood nearby selling raffle tickets for a fishing boat. Two for $9.00, the sign read.

  “Elijah, why are we here?”

  “This way.” He tugged her forward, but stopped after a few feet, hesitating with the haunted house on his left and the wax museum on his right. Looking at the haunted house with its creepy gothic rooflines, Reagan suddenly understood. In the hand of the dead. A smile crept over her face.

  “In here.” Elijah pulled her in the opposite direction, straight into the entrance of the wax museum. She almost stumbled as she crossed the threshold.

  “Two please.” He dug into his pocket, passing money to the bored teenaged attendant, who didn’t look all that much younger than him. Snatching up the tickets, he steered her into the lobby where a refreshment stand offered sodas and snacks.

  “Are you sure we’re in the right place?” Reagan asked, realizing what he was up to. “Shouldn’t we be across the boardwalk at the haunted house?”

  “I didn’t see a poster for the haunted house at the Soda Shack. Besides, look there.” He pointed to the refreshment counter.

  She studied the boxes of popcorn and candy, before her eyes lit on the soda stand and the poster behind it, announcing the feature flavor of the week. Grape.

  “This is it!” She couldn’t stop the excitement in her voice. Now all they had to do was find an exhibit representing someone who was deceased. The problem was, almost every exhibit in the museum probably featured someone who was no longer living. She felt her anxiety grow as she and Elijah walked through shadowy rooms featuring life-like representations of Jack the Ripper, Count Dracula, Lizzy Borden, Genghis Khan and Marie Antoinette. Elijah seemed to know what he was looking for and didn’t pause at any of them, leading her deliberately ahead.

&n
bsp; When they had been through most of the museum, Reagan began to despair. It was 6:40 PM. In another hour and twenty minutes they’d be disqualified from the hunt. She was about to complain to Elijah when he drew up short. They were standing in a small room housing an exhibit called Beyond the Grave. Ghouls, zombies, skeletons, and mummies appeared to rise from a moonlit cemetery, some standing behind headstones, others rising from half-opened caskets.

  With a quick glance over his shoulder to make sure they were alone, Elijah released her hand and stepped over the rope separating them from the exhibit. He crouched next to a skeleton propped by a headstone, his back blocking Reagan’s view.

  “Did you find anything?” she asked in a rush.

  He turned with a triumphant smile, brandishing an ornately scrolled skeleton key. Immediately the connection of skeleton dead and skeleton key clicked in Reagan’s head. She might have exclaimed how clever it was if she wasn’t on pins and needles.

  Elijah stepped back over the rope, unrolling a small slip of paper. “This was with it.” He’d left his glasses in the Jeep, but managed to read the riddle aloud by holding the paper at length.

  Unlock the door,

  step into the past.

  Some memories are worth keeping,

  others never last.

  Reagan glanced at her watch. 6:44. Inwardly, she groaned. They were never going to make it. Desperately, she looked around the room. She spied a door recessed into an alcove at the same time Elijah moved toward it. It was small, a little over five feet high, composed of dark wood with a curved top. A heavy black metal lock gave it a slightly medieval appearance. Set behind the ghoulish exhibit, it was barely visible in the staged lighting.

  Conscious they were still alone, Reagan stepped over the rope and threaded her way through the nightmarish wax figures. She heard the skeleton key turn in the lock as she drew abreast of Elijah. He pushed the door inward and she was immediately struck by a heavy, musty odor. A narrow wooden staircase disappeared into shadowy darkness above.