“Fancy seeing you two so soon. What’s going on?” James asked softly.
“Your sister?”
“Upstairs taking a bath, knowing her. Why?”
“Just crossing the t’s and dotting the i’s.”
Crudgeon cleared his throat. “You will remember we mentioned we might have an assignment for you.”
“Out on the boat this morning. Yeah, of course! Not an easy thing to forget,” James said.
“Events have moved more quickly than we anticipated,” Lowry said.
“We barely just got home,” James protested. “It’s not as if I’ve had time to go looking for Father’s journal. We just finished dinner!”
“No, no! We understand. It is something else entirely,” Crudgeon said.
“The city councilman. The at-large guy. No connection to a particular district.”
“You were paying attention. Very good,” said Lowry.
“That’s it exactly,” said Crudgeon.
“He’s a hassle to us,” James said.
“He’s become an annoyance to our little society,” said Headmaster Crudgeon.
From what James knew about the Scowerers, the group was anything but little. But he kept his mouth shut.
“So let us begin there,” Lowry said, sounding lawyerly. He glanced at Crudgeon, who spoke next.
“Boarding students return to campus Sunday night. We talked on the boat, among other things, about your transition into a leadership role, that the Scowerers have pledged fidelity to you and your family. You may find it odd that men and women far older than you will follow orders from a boy your age, but I assure you they will. Especially if you prove yourself worthy of such fidelity.”
“I understand,” James said. “And I’m eager to prove myself, as I said.”
“Good!” Lowry said. “Because there’s a job that needs doing. It provides you just such an opportunity.”
James bit his lip to keep from speaking, excitement getting the better of him.
Crudgeon cleared his throat again. He swallowed. It was gross. “I take it you are familiar with the sophomore Alexandria Carlisle?”
“Lexie the Loser? Yeah, sure. I know her. Why?”
“We want you to befriend her.” Lowry’s eyes narrowed.
“Wait! What?”
“We need you to gain entrance to the Carlisles’ home north of Boston, in Nahant.” Lowry allowed this to sink in. “We told you about her father, retired Rear Admiral Copperfield ‘Coop’ Carlisle, who keeps an appointment book in his study. The contents of that appointment book are not online in any manner. We need you to photograph the upcoming four weeks of his schedule. You must not be caught or give away your intentions. Can you do that for us, James?”
“Befriend her? Meaning?” James processed the rest of the message. “You want me to spy?” The idea of spying thrilled him. The thought of trying to make friends with Lexie Carlisle made him sick to the stomach. Never mind she was kind of pretty, he thought. She was a girl, a loner, and a nobody.
“You will hint at wanting to visit her home.”
“I will what, Headmaster? Are you kidding?”
“Alexandria takes breaks to Nahant every other week,” Crudgeon said. “You must get yourself invited to join her.”
“But that means we’d be . . . serious! That’s like boyfriend/girlfriend stuff! That’s not going to happen. Me and Lexie? You expect me to make Lexie the Loser my girlfriend?”
“We expect you to carry out the assignment. Don’t complicate things,” said Lowry. “This is not a request, James. Time is of the essence.”
“But you mustn’t rush things,” Crudgeon added sharply. “Not with a shy girl like Miss Carlisle. You can’t afford to scare her.”
“Shy? Lexie is friendless.”
“Not any longer, she isn’t,” the headmaster said, his lips curling. “Do we understand each other?”
“How’s that not supposed to not look staged? This is me! And her? Are you kidding?” James said. “She’ll never fall for it.”
“Girls rarely give boys second chances, James. If you should fail—and we trust you won’t—you’ll force our little group to adopt a more aggressive policy.”
“In other words,” James said, “I handle it perfectly or I ruin everything.”
“Something like that,” Headmaster Crudgeon said.
“Exactly that,” said Lowry. “Others have already failed to obtain the information. We need this, James.”
“Others?” James asked. A heaviness hung between them, tightening James’s throat. “Why are you both looking at me like that?”
“This leads to something of a more personal nature, the second point that needs discussion, James,” said Lowry, checking his watch for a second time. “Tommy, would you mind checking if Lois could bring us some ice water?”
“I can!” said James. But Lowry grabbed him by the wrist.
“No, that’s all right,” said Lowry.
“Back in a jiffy,” said Crudgeon. “Catch him up on where we stand.” He slipped out the pocket doors and slid them shut. Lowry loosed his grip.
James felt a bit turned around. The two men seemed to have rehearsed some of this, and James found himself lacking the script. “What’s going on?” James asked.
Lowry spoke softly. “There’s the very real possibility you or your sister may be targeted by an opposition organization.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Competitors to the Scowerers in Europe.”
“You told me we have investments there.”
“Indeed.”
“Competition’s a good thing, right?” James said.
“Can be. Not always.”
“Go on.”
“News of your father’s tragedy will have spread quickly in certain circles. Investment groups like ours. There will be an effort to fill a perceived power void, especially in distant territories where our immediate control is a bit out of reach.”
“Who are they?” James asked.
“They call themselves the Meirleach. Literal translation from the Gaelic is ‘thief.’ They are an Irish group, formed well over three hundred years ago. Well organized, well funded, ruthless, and powerful.” Lowry pulled out a handkerchief and mopped his brow. It was not warm in the house. Not at all warm.
“Investment groups?” James said.
“Your father was engaged over the past three years or more,” said the headmaster, “negotiating with the Meirleach over our Eastern Europe . . . investments.”
“Our turf. Our territory,” James said.
“Our investments,” Lowry repeated. The doors slid open. James caught something in Lowry’s eyes as he looked behind James at Crudgeon, who entered carrying a tray with three glasses of water. By the time James spun around there was nothing to see but a smile on the headmaster’s unwilling face.
“Our choice of words is so important,” Lowry said, reminding James he was a lawyer first and foremost. “Headmaster Crudgeon, why don’t you explain the situation at school?”
They all took a glass and a few sips.
“Of course! Our little group has placed a security detail on this house until Sunday. When you arrive to Baskerville you may see the occasional adult keeping an eye on you. Don’t draw attention to it, and play dumb if anyone asks. You don’t know who they are or what they’re doing on campus. I will announce that there are some inspectors and engineers having a look at the place. That will be all the students are told.”
“For my security or to make sure you know what I’m up to?”
“Are you up to something we should know about, James?” Lowry said. “Are you in need of a babysitter?”
James wondered if these men somehow knew about the efforts to find out who had killed Father. If they felt threatened by the effort. If they were lying to him about the purpose behind the surveillance.
James asked, “What are these Meirleach after?”
“James, these are ugly people who would not
think twice about using you or Moria to pressure us. It’s as simple as that. You don’t want that. We don’t want that. Your father wouldn’t want that.”
“Don’t speak for my father, please. You have no right. No one has any right.” James saw through his own anger to a flicker of truth, of realization: Lowry was deeply concerned about the Meirleach. He filed it away. “So they’re criminals,” James said. “Irish thieves. Why would they bother kidnapping me? What is it they want? What leverage are they trying to gain?”
“Your abduction would be used to force us to surrender certain investments,” Lowry said.
“The European turf you were talking about,” James said.
Crudgeon sucked air.
Lowry reminded James to consider his vocabulary. “We live in an age when you never know if you’re being recorded, or if someone’s listening. We must take every precaution.”
James apologized. “What you’re saying makes sense. It’s just a lot to take in.”
“Of course it is,” said Crudgeon. James couldn’t get over Lowry having called the man “Tommy.” Crudgeon didn’t have an informal bone in his body as far as James could tell.
“Moria’s going to spot these guys watching us. Have you thought of that? Moria notices everyone, everywhere. She’s freaky that way.”
“If she says anything, just remind her of my explanation at assembly. Play dumb, is my advice.” Crudgeon returned his partially drunk glass to the tray.
“Mo knows I’m not dumb.”
“We all have our moments,” said Crudgeon, a wry smile playing across his face.
Lowry drained his glass, the ice clinking. James wondered if his contained something stronger.
“What’s that sound?” James asked. “You hear that? Is that running water?”
A moment later there was the clap of a nearby door shutting—Father’s office!—and thunderous footsteps up the stairs. Too light for Ralph. Too fast for Lois.
CHAPTER 8
I AWOKE TO SEE SHERLOCK TOWERING OVER ME as he drove his hands below my rib cage in an effort to expel water. Though I was covered in a towel, the location of someone’s hands—especially a boy’s hands—in that particular area of my body caused me to sit up sharply. Sitting up sharply caused me to vomit. All over Sherlock.
He smiled.
“That’a girl!” he said. I coughed, threw up some more water, and felt him banging on my back. He seemed to be enjoying this.
“I heard water coming down the wall. It came under the bookcase. I just knew . . .” he said. Lois arrived, out of breath and red in the face. “You?” she shouted, presumably at Sherlock. “Moria?”
“She was passed out . . . in the tub.”
“And you—?”
“Yes,” Sherlock answered. “I scooped her out, but with my eyes closed, I assure you. And I put a towel over her before opening them! I am not a cretin!”
“Oh, good golly,” Lois said, trying not to cuss. “She could’a drowned! You . . . saved . . . her.” Then her face bunched. “What are you doing here, young man?”
“Saving her?” Sherlock said, sounding thoroughly guilty.
I coughed horribly, this time intentionally, trying to return the favor by saving Sherlock from Lois’s interrogation. Lois pulled Sherlock away, telling him she’d “take it from here,” and in the process knocked the hot chocolate off the sink and onto the floor, breaking the mug and sending pottery shards everywhere.
As if that weren’t enough, our dog Bath charged into the bathroom, knocking down Sherlock as Lois had nearly tripped over me trying to catch the falling mug. Bath began licking the floor. Sherlock began mopping my vomit off his shirt. I began coughing, again. And Lois began crying.
James entered in a huff, testing the Guinness Book of World Records limit for how many people could fit into a bathroom.
Things got crazier before they improved, but it wasn’t long before James was sitting next to me on my bed. I was wearing a nightgown I didn’t even know I owned. His hand was touching my neck, his thumb stroking my cheek.
I could see he’d been crying. I loved him for it.
Brothers can be tricky.
I was exhausted. All I wanted was sleep and I said so. James gave me a long, ardent hug and I returned it. He whispered something I wouldn’t ever forget.
“Glad you’re OK, Mo.”
He brought a tear to my eye, an added ache to my chest. I kissed him lightly on the cheek, and chuckled to myself as I saw him rub it off as he moved into the hallway.
CHAPTER 9
“COME ON, MO! YOU’VE GOT TO SEE THIS!” James dragged me by the wrist and out of bed.
“I’m sleeping! I almost died!”
“Shut up! You’re fine! Here.” He handed me my warmest robe.
My brother led me down the hall a short distance to his room. I was still coming awake, still upset he’d dragged me off with him.
“Sherlock sleeping on your floor?” I said, upon our arrival. Lock was sleeping soundly though not snoring, his long frame awkward beneath a pair of blankets, his stocking feet sticking out off the air mattress.
“Not him! Who cares about him? Bath! Look at Bath.”
Our family dog was sprawled on the bare floor, legs out straight, his ear cocked funny on his head as if he’d been listening intently before falling asleep.
“The hot chocolate!” I gasped. “He’s sick! We’ve got to get him to—”
“Wrong!” James pronounced. “It takes an ounce of chocolate per pound of dog. I looked it up. He would have to have eaten four pounds of chocolate to make him seriously sick. It’s not the hot chocolate. I think he likes me all of a sudden.”
“Well, that’s bizarre,” I said.
“Right?”
“Probably Sherlock, not you,” I said, trying to come up with a reason Bath would finally—after five years—voluntarily sleep in my brother’s room. He would scratch, cry, and bark to get out of sleeping with James.
“Can’t be,” James said. As one resistant to anything having to do with Sherlock Holmes, James clearly refused even the notion that Sherlock might be responsible for accomplishing something James never had.
“Maybe Lock smells funny or something like that,” I suggested.
“He smells awful. And his feet. Oh, man, his feet!”
“So maybe Bath likes that.”
“No,” James said, “I don’t think so.”
“So now you’re the Dog Whisperer? James Moriarty, master canine trainer?”
“Just because you’re good with horses doesn’t make you an expert, you know?” He said this defensively, though it made no sense to me. I let it go, not wanting to argue with my brother at 1:00 a.m.
“You haven’t done your due diligence,” James said.
“Ew! That’s disgusting.”
“It’s a business thing, Mo, not a bathroom thing.”
“Well, it sounds dirty.”
“It means your research, your homework, your fact-finding. Thoroughness.”
“Dog. Asleep. On floor,” I said, sarcastic to the bone. “Dog who hates my brother.”
“Does not!”
“Dog who has never slept in my brother’s room. How’s that for thorough?”
“Not enough,” he said.
“I nearly drowned tonight, Jamie. I’m tired. Embarrassed. I have a wicked headache. And I’m basically totally confused by a million things, starting with the gun in Father’s desk. Pardon me if I don’t care about Bath sleeping on your floor!”
Sherlock snorted, stirred, and returned to his heavy breathing.
“Keep your voice down!” James said. “Go ahead, try to wake him.”
“But he looks so peaceful.”
“Not jerk-face. Bath, you idiot!”
“Oh, shut up!”
“Try to wake up Bath. You can’t!”
That proved enough of a tease to cause me to try. He was right. Shake him. Pat him. Pull him by the collar a couple inches. Bath was spark out.
“No!” said James. “Not yet, at least.”
“Chocolate,” said Sherlock, jolting James and me. I was sure he was talking in his sleep. “Hot chocolate. Lois. The dog.” Sherlock held the blankets as he sat up. The air mattress shifted and he nearly lost his balance. “Lois bumped the mug when she was trying to get me off you,” he said to me. “Not that I was on you. I was over you. I—”
“We get the point!” James said. “So?”
“Lois bumps the mug. Mug shatters. Dog licks up the hot chocolate. Dog falls asleep minutes later, right where he now lays.”
Somewhere far in the distance a siren wailed. From the other side of James’s bed, the radiator clanked as it did throughout the winter months. I could hear James and Bath breathing. Either Sherlock farted or the air mattress squeaked. The silence was broken.
“Where’d you get the hot chocolate?” James asked me hoarsely, his voice scratchy and dry.
“Ralph brought it. Left it outside the door. Knocked to tell me it was there. He does that all the time in the winter.”
“Ralph.” James could barely be heard.
“But Lois would have made it, right?” I was speaking rhetorically. Ralph couldn’t boil a pot of water without directions.
“Lois,” James said. “And Crudgeon left the library at one point to get us all water.”
“We have a saboteur in our ranks,” said Sherlock.
I looked to my brother. “You’re saying one of those three was trying to kill me?” I felt a kind of cold the robe couldn’t help.
“There must be another explanation.” James gasped.
CHAPTER 10
“STALKER ALERT,” I WARNED LOIS. THE DAY after my “unfortunate incident,” as I shall forever call it, we were passing a tea store, one of Father’s favorites, when I happened to turn my head and happened to see the two men in the reflection off the glass. I meant it as a joke. Seeing Lois’s reaction—stiffening shoulders, a catch to her stride, a straightening of the spine—I felt bad. “Just kidding.”
The Downward Spiral Page 3