The Downward Spiral

by Ridley Pearson

  “After what you just did, James . . . Well, I’m indebted. We’re all indebted!”

  “I think I caused the problem as much as anything I did to help things,” James said honestly, though it came off as false modesty.

  Mr. Carlisle grinned, clasped his hands together, and again leaned forward. “Those moments . . . they define us to ourselves and to others. Whether you know it or not, you learned something about yourself today, James. Both of you did,” he said, looking at Lexie. “And people like me learned something about you as well. I knew your father, James. He put his money where his mouth was, where his heart was. He didn’t do it to be noticed, he did it to make a difference. Charter schools, outdoor education. I’m in city politics and I saw things firsthand. It’s a tough, sometimes brutal thing to try to have a real effect in a city like Boston. Some of us do it by getting elected or appointed. Some of us, like your father, by being rich and uncompromising. I didn’t always agree with his methods, but the man had passion, real passion to make a difference. Thank you for what you did out there today.”

  “We were wearing our vests. She’d have been fine.”

  “Again, thank you, James. Learn to take a compliment, boy.”

  “You’re welcome,” said James.

  “That’s better.”

  Another cup of tea, more small talk. All James could think about was Mr. Carlisle’s office downstairs.

  When the conversation died and not even Lexie could think how to restart it, Mr. Carlisle made his decision.

  “Good! What a pleasure. Collect your things, James. I’ll bring the car around.”

  James patted his pockets. “Oh, dang. I think I left my earplugs. Is it OK if I check in the guest room?”

  “Of course!” Mrs. Carlisle said.

  James stood, wondering what he’d say if Lexie tried to join him. She moved forward in her overstuffed chair, but her mother placed her hand on her knees, stopping her. Thank goodness for mothers, James thought.

  He hurried down the spiral staircase from the family room. On the way to the guest room, he passed the home office. He listened to ensure Lexie wasn’t following. Hurried into the office.

  “Carlisle keeps an appointment book in his study. The contents of that appointment book are not online in any manner,” Lowry had explained during the meeting in the house.

  James headed to the large, cluttered desk. Despite the glass wall looking out to the water, the lighting was dim, the overcast sky mimicking dusk. James divided his attention between the office door with a partial view of the spiral staircase and the contents of the desk. He pushed papers aside, trying to remember exactly how he’d found them so he could return them to their proper place.

  The appointment book appeared. Larger than he’d expected, it opened on a spiral binding, each side showing a full week.

  Door . . . desk . . . door . . . His attention shifted continually.

  James phone-photographed the current pages. Turned the page. Another photo. Two more weeks. Turned the page again. Another photo, another two weeks.

  Door . . .

  Lexie’s bare feet coming down the spiral stairs. He moved the papers back into place while stuffing his phone into his pocket.

  What to do? he wondered.

  Only then did he realize he hadn’t returned the appointment book to the current week. Instead, he’d buried it with the paperwork that had been covering it.

  He remembered Sherlock and me talking about things hiding in plain sight. As Lexie passed the office, rather than be caught, he called out.

  “Lex! In here!”

  She stopped. “Did you find them?”

  James couldn’t think.

  “Your earplugs.”

  “Oh! No, not yet. I got sidetracked. My phone’s being stupid and Mo—Moria—was going to forward this email . . . she wants me to stop at some bath store on the way home. That’s why I told your dad I could just take the train. You think I could check my email? I know that’s kind of random.”

  “Just have her text you.”

  James stood still. Duh! He didn’t hesitate. “I know, right? Moria does things her own way, that’s for sure.”

  “Well, sure . . . Hang on . . .” She sat down and logged into her father’s computer. James went through the unnecessary step of logging into his email.

  “Nope!” he said. “All good.”

  He stood to leave. Lexie turned.

  James looked down at the desk, trying to use his X-ray vision to see the appointment book. He needed a matter of seconds to set it straight.

  “You coming?” she said.

  “Yeah,” he said, feeling the desk like a noose around his neck as he left the office.

  They searched the floor of the guest room for swimming earplugs he knew weren’t there. While crawling around on his knees, James said, “So, Lexie, I’ve never had a girlfriend.”

  “Girlfriend?” Shock.

  “Well, you know?” He felt foolish.

  “No,” she said, “I don’t know.”

  “Ah . . . I’m an idiot.”

  “No, you’re not. That’s just . . . that’s a big word.”

  “We kissed. The chapel.” James sounded like a lawyer defending his case. He meant for something warmer.

  “I remember, believe me. That doesn’t mean . . . you know?”

  “You kiss a lot of guys?”

  “No! Gross! I do not! Not . . . no.”

  “Then . . .”

  “But, I don’t know. Boyfriend-girlfriend? I mean, I guess. I just hadn’t thought about it.”

  “You hadn’t thought about it? Seriously? Because . . .”

  “Because what?”

  “Because I think about it a lot. OK?”

  “You.”

  “Yeah,” James said.

  “And me.”

  “Well, yeah. I guess.”

  “You guess or you know? Because this is a big deal, James. To me it is. Too big a deal, given that my dad’s waiting for you.” She looked around frantically. “No earplugs.”

  “What?” James said, forgetting himself.

  “Your earplugs?”

  “Oh. My earplugs! Right! No problem.”

  “If I find them, I’ll bring them to school.”

  “OK. Sure. Thanks.”

  “Before you go,” she said shyly. Or maybe she was just acting. If so, he didn’t know what that meant, nor how to respond. “What were you going to say about you never having a girlfriend?”

  “I didn’t say ‘never.’”

  “Yes, you did. You said, ‘So, Lexie, I’ve never had a girlfriend.’”

  “I might have,” James said.

  “Oh, that’s exactly what you said. Believe me, we girls remember things like that.”

  “I was . . . I don’t know. I was going to say I don’t know exactly . . . you know?”

  “How to act?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What it means?”

  “Yeah.”

  “If we tell others?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well,” she said, touching his nose like a fairy princess working her wand. “I guess we’ll just have to find out.”

  CHAPTER 39

  I DIDN’T APPRECIATE BEING SHAKEN AWAKE. I preferred being whispered to from across the room. As a result, I slapped the hand that touched my shoulder.

  “Hey!” The voice of a boy. With a British accent. Sherlock!!

  IN MY ROOM!

  I pulled the bedding with me as I sat up, my mind lagging quite a bit behind my physical reaction.

  “What are you—”

  “Shh! James just sneaked out.”

  I blinked. Relaxed some, if telling the truth. Checked the clock. Just past midnight. “What?”

  “Just now. Thought I was asleep. I heard him changing in the hall. Followed him downstairs, not so he’d know it. He went out a dining room window.”

  “Not the balcony?”

  “What? No! Window!”

  I kne
w exactly what he was talking about. The only window in the house that wasn’t alarmed was in the dining room. Last Easter, beef gravy from the buffet had splashed onto the window magnet that connected to the house alarm. Our dog London had not only consumed the entire magnet, screws and all, but a piece of the window frame as well. Ralph had installed a wood brace to keep the window from opening.

  “Lexie? You think?”

  “No! All black. He dressed in all black. I know where he’s going! We have to go, right now.”

  “Go?”

  “Moria, if I’m right, he’s going to try to steal the necklace.”

  CHAPTER 40

  “WHY AREN’T WE GOING INSIDE?” I ASKED Sherlock, trying to keep my nerves under control. My teeth chattered so fast I sounded like a keyboard. My hands shook. I didn’t want Sherlock to see any of this. He’d insisted I dress warmly, but of course I’d dressed so I looked better.

  Idiot!

  The alley behind the fashion museum reeked thanks to the six Dumpsters, one of which hid us. We had a view both to the street behind and the museum’s alley door, which now was blocked open an inch.

  “Because I don’t like surprises. If he’s going to steal the necklace, then why not let him steal it for us?”

  “He’s not a thief!”

  “He’s not alone.”

  “What?” I said.

  “Consider all the evidence, Moria. Trust the evidence.”

  “Dumpsters?”

  “The hot chocolate.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Return, if you will, to your unfortunate situation in the bathtub.”

  I was glad it was too dark for him to see me blush. This boy had pulled me out of the tub. My embarrassment added to my sense of cold.

  “I’d rather not,” I said.

  “Are we to think someone meant you harm? We’d be fools if we did. No. You received the hot chocolate from Ralph, who would never harm a hair on your body.” Another chill on my part. “So, let’s back up. If someone drugged the hot chocolate, we have three suspects: Mr. Lowry, doubtful as he remained in the library that evening; Headmaster Crudgeon, a possibility since James said the man left the library for a few minutes; and our dear Lois, again unlikely.”

  “I’m fascinated, really. But could you speed this up a bit and maybe find someplace warm?”

  “The hot chocolate had to be meant for either Lois or Ralph, as neither guest had ordered some. You may recall we heard later that Lois had asked Ralph to check the car for her purse.”

  “So?”

  “This is me, Moria. Please. When I entered the house, being the curious and observant fellow I am, I saw in the reflection off a mirror in that office a piece of a lady’s purse tucked under a jumper—”

  “A what?”

  “A sweater—a horrible word if there was one.” He closed his eyes. “Navy blue, possibly cashmere jumper, black leather strap handle on the purse with gold hardware.”

  I gasped aloud. It was Lois’s purse and sweater!

  “Ergo: she had not misplaced her purse.” Sherlock drew a breath. “Let us consider then that the hot chocolate was intended for Lois. If so, why is she sending Ralph on a wild-goose chase for her purse? Makes no sense. If, on the other hand, the choco was intended for Ralph . . . think about it. Takes a sip. Trundles off in search of the purse. Falls weary somewhere along the way.”

  “But why?” I asked, not daring to contradict his logic.

  “The only possible reason: information. I suggest the dose rendered you unconscious only because it was intended for a bigger person. It had the same effect on Bath as you.” I didn’t appreciate being compared to our dog. “But Ralph . . . They only wanted him slowed. They wanted him pliable. They are looking for something. Answers.”

  “They?”

  “The Scowerers, of course. Do you think the visit by Crudgeon and Lowry was coincidental? Moria! It was to keep James, maybe you and James, occupied while all this went down.”

  “But Ralph and Lois were—are—loyal!”

  “Yes, and possibly to a fault. Think about it. If James told either Lowry or Crudgeon anything about what the three of us were up to and they suspected Ralph, during his years of service, may have learned about certain aspects of your father’s business, including secret hiding places, then Ralph needed to be questioned before a couple kids messed everything up! Look, this Irish gang is after something. I think it is your father’s journal, and quite possibly the discovery of how to decrypt the Bible. The Scowerers want to protect it. The Meirleach want to possess it. Interrogating Ralph, even though one of their own, would only make sense.”

  “You have a devious mind, you know that?”

  “Tell me I’m not right!”

  Oh, how I wanted to! How I wanted to catch him in the wrong, this conceited, opinionated boy. But I also had something of a crush on him, and had no desire to make an enemy.

  “James betrayed us?” I was crushed over that as well, but a different kind of crush.

  “I’m afraid so. It’s possible that James informed Lowry of the necklace, that Lowry has provided some Scowerers to help him steal it.”

  “But why include James?”

  “Honestly? I believe it’s for experience. James is being rewarded with excitement and offered a chance to do something he hasn’t done before.”

  “I want my brother back!”

  “Yes. I imagine so.”

  “What’s your plan?” I asked.

  He mulled that over. “First and foremost, I am not a criminal. You are not a criminal. If caught, I would be sent back to England. You would be expelled and sent home. On the other hand, taking what is rightfully yours from your brother is hardly stealing. Especially if he’s just stolen it himself.”

  “So we let him break the law for us. Isn’t that cowardly?”

  “Not devious?”

  “You’re tangling up my words. That’s not fair.”

  “I am, and it is,” he said.

  “It’s freezing.”

  “Here.” He put his arm around me and pulled me into him. My eyes shut for a moment while I wondered about his motives in doing so. Of the many things I could picture Sherlock doing, comforting others was not one of them. He was far from warm and cuddly. Skin and bones, and cold at that. But I enjoyed being held. “Patience,” he said in a whisper. I felt as if I could doze off and fall asleep.

  I must have done just that. Sherlock squeezed my shoulder. I awoke to the sound of running. I was already starting to think like Sherlock: more than one; fewer than five. I had my answer as they passed us: four.

  They hurried through the door as silently as a light breeze.

  “Who? What?” I whispered.

  “Dash it all!” Sherlock said, his voice a knot of frustration. “Irish! You can smell them for kilometers! I’m afraid, dear girl, we must call in reinforcements. This is for Superintendent Colander now.”

  “What?” I tugged on his sleeve to stop his hand from going for his phone. “No! James can’t get arrested.”

  “You’d rather he be hurt? Those men didn’t go in there to have a chat or a spot of tea, you know. James and his fellows are outflanked.”

  Fellows? “Not if we outflank the outflankers,” I said.

  “Reckless, irresponsible, and ultimately dangerous for all concerned.”

  “Are you afraid?”

  “Nice try, Moria.” He broke loose of my hold and withdrew his phone. He dialed.

  While his attention was on the phone, I stood and rushed past him for the door, entering an emergency exit staircase. Concrete, a metal handrail. Sterile, unflattering lighting on each landing. A narrow hallway connecting the backs of several of the exhibit halls. I eased open the first I encountered: wedding dresses, eighteenth century. The next, knives! Three men—all holding knives in gloved hands.

  Meirleach! Irishmen. Sherlock was right.

  James was himself in the company of three men. One held a nunchaku—two length
s of wood connected by chain; the second, a knife of his own; and the third, a bola, three small balls connected by string. This man started the balls whipping over his head like helicopter blades.

  “Continue,” the thickest and shortest of the Meirleach said, his back to me. He was speaking to one of James’s men, who held a strange saw and was in the process of cutting into the glass case that held the cross necklace.

  “I don’t think so,” the Scowerer said. They just had to be Scowerers.

  “You finish it, or we’ll finish it for you.”

  I saw two other Meirleach blocking the doorway from the exhibit hall into the hallway.

  The short man said, “Boy, you’re going to tell me how to use this trinket, and if I suspect you’re lying, it won’t be pretty.”

  We had a major problem: James didn’t know what purpose the necklace served.

  I witnessed a silent exchange between the man with the saw and James. He indicated a small wire attached to the box.

  James offered him a faint nod.

  The man carefully broke the wire and grinned slightly. He seemed immensely pleased with himself.

  I nearly squealed as Sherlock pulled me away from the door and into shadow.

  “I heard a car skid just now, with my own ears,” he whispered, his hand cupped to my ear. “Thing is, a fraction of a second later, I heard it through the phone connection with the superintendent.” I said nothing, having no idea what he was talking about. “You see?” I did not. “Colander’s phone heard what I heard! He’s close by! Can’t be more than a block or two.”

  “But—”

  “The Meirleach. He must have tailed the Meirleach.”

  James interrupted from the other room. “You know,” he said, “we can’t just let you take it.”

  “You’re just a lad! Let the men speak. Is there to be blood here tonight, mates?”

  “He speaks for us,” a deep voice said.

  “I don’t know what the necklace is for,” James confessed. “I just know it’s important.”

  “Too bad for you, lad,” said the Meirleach. “Seems you’ll be coming with us.”

  “I wouldn’t count on that,” another voice said.

  “Our fight doesn’t involve you boys. We have a treaty, your kin and ours. It’s the necklace and lad we want, nothing more. No blood to be shed.”