She sighed. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.” She looked deep into his eyes. “You’l take good care of it, right?”
Jack put his hand over his heart. “Guard it with my life.”
“And you won’t tel anybody we found it with the body, right? ‘Cause they’l take it away.”
He held up three fingers. “Scout’s honor.”
“I’m serious, Jack.”
“So am I. You’l have it back tomorrow.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
“Okay, come upstairs. I need you to open it for me first.”
He fol owed her up to her room where he opened the cube and laid it on her desk. He watched her pul out a sheet of paper and trace the design on the
inside of the panels.
“Why are you doing that?”
“Just in case.”
“You’re acting like you might not get it back.”
“You think so?” she said without looking up.
When she was finished she snapped the cube back together, then wrapped it in a towel and put it in a shopping bag. She handed it to him.
“Don’t let it out of your sight.”
Jack shook his head as walked back downstairs. You’d think he was borrowing her first-born child.
7
After dinner, Jack took the bag of pistachios to his room but didn’t bother shel ing them right away. He needed to do something else first.
He put on Journey’s Escape—loud—and played a few runs of air bass to “Don’t Stop Believing.” Nodding his head in time, he placed the dried tepin
peppers in a cereal bowl and crushed them into flakes. Then, making sure no one was in sight, he crossed to the hal bathroom and added an ounce or
two of tap water.
Back in his room he mixed everything wel , then set it aside and started shel ing the pistachios. He’d done about ten when he heard a knock. Knowing it
wasn’t Tom—he never knocked—Jack placed the latest issue of Cerebusover the pepper bowl and left the pistachios on his desk.
“C’mon in.”
He turned down the music as Kate stepped through the door. Her gaze flicked to his desk where she spotted the pistachios.
She smiled. “Figure it’s safer to eat them in here, huh?”
“At least tonight. What’s up?”
Kate’s smile faded and she bit her lip. “I know I promised to find out for you, but I’m not sure I should tel you.”
“You mean about the murder ritual?” Jack felt his heart rate kick up. He’d been dying to hear this. “Go ahead. You can tel me.”
“It’s real y bizarre.”
Even better.
“Tel -me-tel -me-tel -me!”
“Okay. Wel … Jenny told me that it seems whoever kil ed the man cut off his forearms at the elbows and crudely sewed them into his armpits.”
“What?”
Kate nodded. “Truth, I swear.”
Jack tried to envision it but had trouble. “Oh man, that’s so weird.Was he …?”
“Alive when they did it?” Kate smiled as she gave him a gentle slap on the back of his head. “Mister Morbid … I knew you’d ask.”
“Wel ?”
“Was he alive when they cut off his forearms? No.”
That was a relief—in a way.
“But what does the arm thing mean?” He snapped his fingers as an idea hit. “Maybe it has something to do with stealing.”
“Traditional y thieves lose their right hand—and it’s not sewn into their armpit. I asked Jenny about it and she says the medical examiner’s going to
make some cal s, but he’s never heard of anything like it.”
“Maybe it had nothing to do with the diamond scam.” Jack lowered his voice into an imitation of Weezy’s ooh-spookytone: “Maybe it’s an ancient,
secret cult, living unseen in the Pinelands for thousands of years, kil ing and mutilating unwary victims who cross their path! Mwah-ha-ha-ha!”
She laughed and ruffled his brown hair. “Stop it. You read too many of the wrong books and watch too many crummy movies.”
The crummy part was sure true. He’d seen Jaws3-Dlast month and what a waste of money—crummy 3-D and crummier story.
Kate pointed to the pistachios. “May I have one?”
He cupped his palm around the pile and pushed it toward her. “Youcan have them al .”
And he meant it. Anything Kate wanted she could have, no questions asked.
She took just one, picking it up between a dainty thumb and forefinger. “This’l do.” She popped it into her mouth and stepped to the door. “You want this
closed?”
He nodded. “Definitely.”
“You’re not going to have nightmares tonight about being chased by short-armed men, are you?”
He laughed. “As if.”
On the other hand, that might be kind of cool—as long as it was only a dream.
As soon as the door closed he went to work shel ing another half dozen pistachios. When he was done he dropped the whole pile into the tepin bowl
and swirled the mixture around and over them. Satisfied they were al nicely coated, he picked them out one by one and lined them up on his windowsil to
dry.
When he was finished, without thinking, he licked his two wet fingertips and instantly his tongue and lips were on fire. Fire!Like he’d licked the sun.
He jumped up and dashed across the hal to the bathroom for water, but remembered Mr. Canel i’s words just in time: Wateronlymakeworse.
His mouth was kil ing him, making his eyes tear. What had the old guy said to use instead? Ifyouburnyoumouth,takemilk.Ormaybebutter.
Jack dashed for the kitchen, yanked open the refrigerator. On the door he spotted an open stick of Land O’Lakes butter. He gouged a piece off the end
and shoved it into his mouth, running it al over the burning area. Slowly, the heat eased—didn’t leave entirely but at least became bearable.
He hurried back to his room and stared at the drying pistachios. He’d touched just a drop—less than a drop—to his tongue and look what happened. If
Tom ate that whole pile …
Jack didn’t want to think about how that would feel. Might be toomuch payback, even for Tom.
But on the other hand, Jack wasn’t handing them to his brother. Tom would have to steal them to taste them.
The decision would be Tom’s, the outcome entirely up to him.
8
Steve couldn’t open the cube either.
They’d been sitting at the Brussards’ kitchen table where Jack had demonstrated
the technique at least a dozen times.
He wondered if Steve had already been drinking. His fingers seemed kind of clumsy.
“Hey, Dad!” Steve cal ed. “Come check this out!”
Mr. Brussard strol ed in from the living room where Jack could hear some sort of
classical music playing.
“What’s—?” He froze in the doorway like he’d been hit with a paralyzer ray. His
eyes were locked on the cube. “Where did you get that?”
Remembering Weezy’s warning, Jack told a vague story of the two of them
digging it up in the Barrens a while back.
He concluded with, “I’m not even sure I could find my way back there.” Not true, of course, but his promise to Weezy overrode Mr. Brussard’s nosiness. “Get this, Dad. It’s impossible to open—at least for me.”
Mr. Brussard frowned. “What makes you think it opens?”
“Jack showed me how but I can’t do it.”
Mr. Brussard stared at Jack. “You can open it?”
Jack wondered why he looked so surprised. “Yeah. Kind of weird that I’m the
only one.”
“Yes … yes, it is.”
Jack picked it up. “You ever seen anything like it before?”
He shook his head. “No. It’s very strange looking, isn’t it.”
; Jack wasn’t sure, but he had a feeling Steve’s father wasn’t being total y honest. “Yeah, I guess.”
“Open it for me,” Mr. Brussard said. “Let me see you do it.”
Jack showed where he placed his thumbnails, then popped it open. Mr.
Brussard’s eyes popped too.
“But it’s empty!”
Obviously. But he was acting as if he’d expected to see something. Jack told him about the pyramid. No point in keeping that a secret. Mr. Rosen
and Professor Nakamura already knew about it, along with a bunch of
people at U of P, no doubt. So why not?
When Jack finished, Mr. Brussard looked like he had an upset stomach. “It’s at U
of P? For dating?”
“Yeah. Can’t wait for the results.”
“Neither can I,” he said in a flat tone. “Be sure to tel me.”
“Hey, Dad,” Steve said, clicking the cube back together and handing it to him.
“See if you can open it.”
Jack showed him, placing the man’s thumbnails in the seam as he’d done for
everyone else who’d tried.
“Now … pul them apart.”
Mr. B did just that—
And the box popped open.
“You did it!” Steve cried.
Mr. B didn’t seem surprised, but Jack certainly was. He didn’t know if he felt
relieved or disappointed that he was no longer the only one. He’d belonged to an exclusive club, with a membership of one. Now …
“Cool!” Steve said, snapping it back together again. “Let me give it another
shot.” Just then the doorbel rang. When Mr. B opened it, Jack saw a worried looking
man who seemed vaguely familiar. They shook hands in a funny sort of way, then Jack heard the newcomer say, “Gordon, we’ve gotto talk. Sumter—” Mr. Brussard shushed him. “Wait here.” He returned to he kitchen and said,
“Okay, boys. Got some business to discuss. Why don’t you two get back to work on the computer?”
“Okay,” Steve said. “We’re almost done.”
His father pointed to the cube. “You can leave that here.”
Jack remembered Weezy’s warning: Don’tletitoutofyoursight.But he didn’t
have to say anything. Steve did it for him.
“Uh-uh,” he said, stil fiddling with it. “I’m gonna get this yet.”
Jack took another look at the nervous man and suddenly knew why he was
familiar: Every few years he plastered his face al over the county during the freeholder elections. The freeholders ran the county, and Winston Haskins was
one of them.
The funny handshake, Steve’s remark about how his father was so involved in
the Lodge … did this have anything to do with the Lodge? Or the corpse? The freeholder had mentioned Mr. Sumter.
Jack burned with curiosity. He didn’t know what was going on, but things were
connecting in the strangest ways, and Steve’s dad seemed to be in the middle of it al .
He even could open the cube.
9
When they reached the basement, Steve put down the cube and produced two little bottles from his pocket.
“Look what I found.” He grinned as he waggled them in the air. “Airline bottles. My dad’s got a drawer ful of them.”
Jack took a closer look. Booze. The labels said one was Jack Daniel’s and the other Dewar’s Scotch.
Swel .
“Which one you want?”
Jack shook his head. “Maybe later. Hey, your father know Mister Sumter, the guy who died?”
“Sure. Didn’t everybody? Matter of fact, he was here last night, right after you left.”
“Here? What for?”
Steve shrugged and Jack realized he probably hadn’t been very alert at the time.
He could contain his curiosity no longer.
“Hey, I gotta go tap a kidney. Be right back.”
“Hurry up.” He twisted off the cap on the Jack Daniel’s and started pouring it into a Pepsi. “You’l miss al the fun.”
Jack padded up the basement stairs and paused at the top. The kitchen looked empty so he stepped out and peeked down the hal . He heard voices
coming from the den. The guest bathroom lay halfway between the kitchen and the den. Holding his breath, he made it to the bathroom and closed the
door behind him without latching it. Leaving the light off, he stood with his ear to the opening and listened.
Mr. Haskins was talking.
“Damn it, Gordon, it wasn’t supposed to be like this. This wasn’t supposed to happen.”
“Wel , it is and it did. So we deal with it.”
Jack wished he’d arrived sooner. Then he might know what “it” was.
Mr. Haskins sighed. “Poor Sumter. Why now? What lousy timing.”
“Timing had nothing to do with it,” Mr. Brussard said. “He was brought down.”
“Brought down by whom? No … the High Council can’t know.”
“They don’t have to. I’m certain they’ve sent out a klazen.”
A klazen? Jack thought as he heard Mr. Haskins gasp. What’s that?
“That’s a myth,” the freeholder said. “An old wives’ tale. There’s no such thing.”
“You’re so sure? I’m the Lodge lore master, remember, and I’m tel ing you a klazen can sniff out those responsible. And when it finds them … wel ,
Sumter was healthy as a horse but now where is he?”
Responsible? For what?
“B-but he had a heart attack.”
“Did he? Maybe his heart simply stopped. That’s not a heart attack, but it’s the way a klazen works.”
“Oh, God!” Haskins moaned. “What do we do?”
“The Compendiumoffers protection.”
“The Compendium?But that’s a myth too.”
Mr. B sounded ticked off. “This is getting tiring, Winston. We have partial transcripts in the vault.”
“What do they say?”
“To use this. Not now … tomorrow at dawn, face your back to the sun, and use it.”
“‘Back to the sun’? Oh, come on!”
Jack could imagine Mr. Brussard shrugging. “It’s up to you, Winston. I did it. I’m protected. If you want to risk going without it, be my guest. I’ve
discharged my responsibility. What happens now is on your own head.”
“Al right, al right. God, I’m scared. This had better work.”
“It wil . A klazen can run for only a week. At the end of that time, it wil vanish and the Council wil assume it’s done what needed to be done. We’l be
home free.”
“Five more days … if we can just last …”
“The key to doing that rests in your palm.”
“What about Chal is?”
“Out in L.A.—some insurance brokers’ convention, his wife said. But who knows? I don’t know about you, but Bert Chal is worries me.”
Bert Chal is? Jack thought. The insurance guy?
He had his office up in Marlton but insured most of the houses and people in Johnson. Jack remembered him coming to the house last year with a life
insurance policy for Dad to sign.
Mr. Haskins nodded. “I know what you mean. He’s a loose cannon. No tel ing what he’l do.”
“Wel , if you see Bert or hear from him, tel him to get in touch wil me immediately. His life wil depend on it. Same with Vasquez.”
“Yes. Sure. Of course.”
Jack heard footsteps enter the hal way and felt a flicker of panic. What if they caught him in here? If he’d put the light on it would look like he’d simply
been using the bathroom. But standing here with the light off … how would he explain that?
He didn’t see much choice but to stay hidden and hope neither of them needed a bathroom break.
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