“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 pulled 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 chill 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 all summer long. Shopping, Jack guessed.
“Copies? Why?”
“In case someone steals mine.”
Jack couldn’t help rolling 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 will 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’s a secret society.
Could the Lodge be involved? After all, Weezy had found the cube next to a dead member.
But why would whoever it was search his room? After all, 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 called 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. Especially not things like that.
“Okay, I’ll 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.
7
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. Finally he found an opening.
“Remember what Mister Bainbridge said about never two deaths without three?”
Dad swallowed. “And like I said—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’ll join in a heartbeat.”
“I’m sure you will.” Dad shook his head, then smiled. “I wonder what Ed Toliver will 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 wall. Most people swallowed their food, then spoke. Tom rarely spoke without his mouth full. 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 Holly 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 called 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-chomp-chomp. “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 all 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 all 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 shelling.
8
After dinner, Jack followed 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 called 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 killing 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 really happening, right here in Johnson, New Jersey.
“Call me a Hardy Boy, call me Nancy
Drew, but there’s something going on.”
Dad sighed. “Remember that discussion we had about jumping to conclusions? Remember the trouble post hoc, ergo propter hoc can get you in?”
Jack nodded. “Yeah.”
Dad had explained that the Latin phrase meant after this, therefore because of this, and how it led to wrong conclusions and superstition. His favorite example was, It rained after I danced around a fire, therefore dancing around a fire causes rain.
“Well, 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-hoc conclusion: The deaths began after you found the body, therefore finding the body is causing the deaths. Do you believe that?”
“Well, 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 hell of a coincidence.”
Yes! Dad was beginning to see the light.
“But,” Dad went on, “it’s also one hell of a leap to accuse Gordon Brussard of doing the killing. 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. All 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 will often sicken, and some have even died. Because they believe someone with magic is trying to kill them. Septimus Lodgers believe all 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 all the secret knowledge I would be privy to once I joined. So maybe if they believe a killer klazen is after them, they work themselves up into a heart attack. Don’t forget, they all 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’ll send those old magazines straight back to Mister Rosen.”
Well, 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.
9
After checking to make sure Tom was still 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 shelled 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 shelled 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 shelled 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’ll 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 mall. Yeah, he was the guy in Steve’s house last night.
“Well, I’ll be,” Kate said. She tapped a figure in the small crowd behind Vasquez. “Look who’s there: Bert Challis, 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:
I don’t know about you, but Bert Challis worries me.
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 shelled five more hot ones, all 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 shelled 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’ll taste great on the way to Philly.”
Jack lowered his voice and did his Willy 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 fall over.
But Jack wasn’t laughing. Served Tom right for being in his room last night.
At least he hoped it had been Tom.
10
Following 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? Really, really 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 million 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 killer. Maybe he’d really 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 a
nd 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 silly grin, “but Michele Lee is cooooool.”
She was pretty 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.”
“Pills? 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: Valium 5 mg #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 mellowwwwww.”
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 mellow.”
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 aaaaaall day.”
“I thought we were finally gonna get some work done on the computer.”
Steve looked up at him with bleary eyes. “Let’s do it.”
Jack: Secret Histories Page 14