The Vanishing Game (21 page)

“I don't understand.” For the first time Noah was more focused on his friend than on the house. “Am I in trouble because my house caught on fire?”

“Come with me.”

We followed him up the driveway and past my car, which had a damaged hood. The heat had caused the tan paint to bubble and the windshield to crack. My poor little car! I'd worked so hard to earn enough money to buy that Civic, and I took good care of it. Now it looked awful. What would Brent and Marilyn say, since they'd been nice enough to put me on their insurance? Would this cause our rates to go up, even though I hadn't been responsible for the damage? I dreaded driving back to Troy and showing them.

Skirting the large emergency vehicle, we ducked under the half-open garage door and went inside. Several policemen worked in one corner. Coming closer, Noah and I peered down at the object of their focus, and I gasped. All worries about my car went right out of my head.

One of the forensic officers began snapping pictures of a singed but recognizable corpse. It was Georgie.

The minutes crept by as I sat on a hard bench at the police headquarters while Noah was in a room being questioned. Detective Iverson had asked me for identification, and luckily I still had my high school photo ID card in my wallet. I'd been able to go by my foster family name of Haberton in our small town of Troy, and though the police ran a computer search nothing showed up. However, if they learned my real name, Jocelyn Harte, then they might find a whole file on me under the local foster care system. Worst of all, I'd gotten in big trouble my last night at Seale House. Jack and I had left Watertown the next day, but after five years, was I still listed as a runaway?

Seeing Georgie's body had been horrid and forced me to relive what happened in the alley. I figured at least Noah must finally believe me about Georgie getting shot, though there was little satisfaction in that. Detective Iverson was grilling Noah in another room. What if he slipped up and
told the police I'd seen the shooting? How would I be able to explain everything that happened? Cold dread filled me. I rubbed my arms and winced at the spot that was still sore from the bite.

The door finally opened and Noah came out with Don Iverson. Neither said anything. I walked with them until we were in the main lobby, where the detective glanced at me, then turned a long stare on Noah. I studied him too. Just then he seemed so young to me, a guy who always acted mature for his age but inside was still a kid who'd been through a lot.

“This is far from over, Noah,” Don said. “You're not to leave the area, understand?”

“Yes.” He was trying to look calm but it was an act and it showed. I felt even sorrier for him.

“You'll call me if anything else happens.” It was an order.

“Sure.”

“Wait here, then. I'll have an officer drive you back to your car.”

“Thanks.”

After one last look at us, Iverson left. I exhaled with relief. “What happened?”

Noah glanced at me and kept his voice low. “He questioned me, okay?”

“What did you say?”

“Hell, Jocelyn, what do you think? I lied to cover your butt. If they knew you were with Georgie when he died, they'd run your prints. Which are probably still in the
computer from when you were in foster care. Then you'd be screwed, right?”

I didn't say anything, feeling a little numb. An officer came to get us. Noah and I sat in the back of the patrol car. We rode in silence, looking at the long afternoon shadows predicting sunset. Noah's withdrawal made me feel dejected, and the closer we got to his place the more I dreaded seeing his ruined duplex again. I wanted to say something that would help him feel better, but with the cop listening in, it was too awkward. Instead, I reached out with hesitant fingers, sliding my hand into his. He didn't look at me, but after a second or two his fingers closed around mine.

The officer dropped us off and drove away, as Noah and I stood in front of his place. The street was empty, except for a distant garbage truck banging its way up the street. We walked through the open garage and I averted my gaze from where Georgie's body had been. Noah reached the door leading into the house and opened it, the smell of char stinging our noses. I started to offer more words of sympathy but he stopped me. “Stay here.”

I didn't argue but waited in the garage, feeling exhausted, thirsty, and depressed. He wasn't inside long. After he came out, I trailed him back to the road where he'd parked his Jeep hours ago. “There's nothing left?”

“Nothing worth trying to save.”

I stopped on the sidewalk, watching him kneel down and check the underside of his car. Next he looked inside, soon surfacing with a small black transmitter from beneath the dashboard.

“Did Gerard put that there so he could follow us?”

“Who else?”

He walked over to a neighbor's trash can, tossing the transmitter in a cardboard box full of junk. We stood on the sidewalk and watched the garbage truck amble toward us until it stopped and picked up the trash. As the truck drove away, Noah climbed in the Jeep and turned over the engine. I continued to stand there, looking at him through the passenger window. He pushed the button and it rolled down. “Are you getting in or not?”

“Do you want me to?”

“No. I want to go off by myself and give Gerard a reason to get rid of me for good.”

“Oh.” I opened the door and climbed in. He drove away from his place, not looking back. I picked up the brown envelope that I had hidden between the seat and the gear console.

“I was afraid they were going to arrest you,” I confessed.

“Don still believes in me. He said that even if I'd killed that kid, the last thing I'd do is leave the body in my garage. Let alone start my own house on fire. What he wants to know, and what I didn't tell him, is who tried to frame me.”

“Maybe you should have. Someone needs to stop Gerard.”

Noah shook his head. “There will be time for that once we get what Jack wants us to find. But if the cops get involved, I'm afraid it'll all unravel. We'll never figure out what's going on.”

Soon we reentered the Watertown city limits, passing
familiar buildings. The sun began to set, turning the clouds a fiery ocher.

“Where are we going?” I asked.

“Back to Seale House. We need to find the rod that'll work with the scytale clue.”

“I don't want to go there, Noah.”

“We haven't got a choice. There has to be some sort of dowel that's the right size to wrap the paper around. The only place I can think it would be hidden is at Seale House.”

We drove along in silence, watching the sky change from bloody to muddy, a reflection of our moods. Opening the envelope, I drew out the red strip of paper and unfolded it. I stared at the mystifying letters printed on either side. Jack had always planned out every detail and supplied us with whatever was needed to solve his clues. This was so unlike him.

We turned onto Keyes Avenue. Noah pulled up in front of Seale House and shut off the engine. He pointed to the red paper. “Better bring that with us, so we can try it out on whatever we find.”

I studied Seale House, backlit as it was against the discolored sky. Its pillars and brickwork caught the hues of sunset and cloaked the porch in shadows. “This can't be right. It doesn't make sense that Jack would set it up this way.”

Noah sighed. “Try to get your nerves under control, will you?”

A tiny idea blossomed in the back of my mind. I unsnapped my seat belt, knelt on the seat, and reached into the back.

“What are you doing?”

“I think I know what Jack wants us to use as the rod.” I grabbed the metal box from the floor. Turning around, I plopped down and flipped open the lid. I picked up one of the black chopsticks and looked at him with a triumphant smile.

“Don't tell me we've had the rod all this time?”

“Of course we have! Jack wouldn't have done it any other way.”

I wrapped the red paper around the end of the chopstick, letting each layer overlap a quarter of an inch so that the correct letters matched up. We slowly rotated it, reading the words that slanted diagonally around the stick:

Unwinding the paper, I flipped it over and rewrapped it around the chopstick to read the other part of the clue:

We looked at each other. This was the most surprised I'd been. “Jack wants us to see Hazel?”

“That can't be. What are those numbers on the bottom?”

I rotated the scytale farther and we read: TWO SIX NINE

“We're probably going to need them to find Hazel, just like we needed the name of the Lautrec Gallery to find Dixon.”

Noah shook his head. “It seems to me there's a huge difference between meeting up with Dixon again and going to look for Hazel. Jack's sense of humor is getting old.”

“I can't imagine him wanting us to see her again either. But he must have a reason.”

“Yeah. Like he's gone off the deep end.”

“Don't say that.”

“This is crazy, Jocelyn! It's not fun anymore, if it ever was, and I'm tired. I've lost everything.” He swore softly, and I could hear the hurt in his voice.

“Jack didn't mean for that to happen. I know it! You're his best friend, Noah.”

“Yeah? Well, a best friend doesn't take you on a trip down memory lane when your past was hell. When I finally see him face-to-face, I'm just as likely to slug him as hug him.”

I felt wretched. The sun had sunk beneath the horizon and twilight was growing deep around us. Seale House looked even more threatening in the lengthening shadows. “At least we don't have to go in there now.”

He looked away and rested his wrist on the steering wheel. I studied the outline of his profile, drawn to him more than any guy I'd ever met, even when he was angry. He wasn't as handsome as a few of the boys I'd dated, but there was something in his features and the curve of his mouth that pulled me in like a magnet.

I forced myself to stop drooling over him, not wanting him to look at me and see how I felt. “So, what do you want to do now?”

Noah never had a chance to answer. A shot rang out, cracking the back windshield.

With a cry I ducked down as Noah turned over the starter so hard it made a grinding noise. The engine roared and he stepped on the accelerator. The Jeep leaped away.

In the thirty minutes following the shooting, I saw areas of Watertown I'd been completely unfamiliar with. Noah, however, seemed to know nearly every road and alley. We traveled a twisting path, sometimes driving fast, sometimes slow, even parking for a while behind a grocery store where we could see if someone was following us. In time it grew dark and thick clouds masked the face of the moon.

“Paul Gerard has to be the man who killed Georgie,” I finally said.

“I agree.”

“But why did he save me from Georgie's knife when he's so against me?”

“Hmm. Well, maybe it's because if you die, there goes his only chance to track down your brother.”

“Oh.”

“He must've stuffed Georgie's body in his trunk and
afterward dumped it in my garage. Then he set off the bomb.”

“I'm sure you're right. What I can't figure out, though, is how he found us again. You got rid of that tracking device.”

“Because I was careless. I drove back to our old neighborhood and was focused on the scytale.”

“I should never have come to you for help. I'm sorry, Noah.”

“Stop apologizing, will you? Besides, we can't be totally sure it was Gerard who shot at us just now. Seale House is a gathering place for Georgie's friends, and I'm wondering if it was one of them. Did you notice any of those kids carrying a gun?”

“All I've seen so far is a switchblade, a chain, and slingshots. You'd think if they had a gun they'd have shown it off before now. Of course that doesn't mean they couldn't have gotten one. In a way, it'd be a relief to think it was one of them. Then Gerard wouldn't seem so all powerful.”

“He's not all powerful.” Noah was trying to reassure me, but his voice wasn't convincing.

Gerard had managed to get inside Noah's locked house, and then he had stood there watching me while I slept. I could still feel his choking grasp and the heat from his hand that left the burn on my throat. A shiver ran through me. I reached for my jacket in the backseat and pulled it on. “Noah, I need to use the bathroom and get a drink of water.”

“Me too, and it's time for dinner.”

We stopped at a fast food drive-through. “It's not safe to go inside?”

He shook his head. “The lights are too bright and it's like a fishbowl. Don't worry. I've got a place where we can hang out.” He handed me one of the drinks.

Ten minutes later we were in an older neighborhood off Leray Street. The area was lined with oversize trees. Noah pulled up in front of a small town house that had a
FOR SALE
sign on the lawn. He got out and went to a keypad, punching in numbers that made the garage door slide up. Driving inside, we parked next to an older Toyota. He turned off the engine, then grabbed a flashlight from under the seat.

“Where are we?”

“A place I agreed to keep an eye on until it sells. Stay here for a minute.” He got out and pushed a button to close the garage door. I watched him disappear inside the house.

I slumped down in the seat. Princess Leia would be so ashamed of me. Although I'd been willing to take on the make-believe role of a complaining Chewbacca during our childhood charades, I'd always secretly dreamed of grabbing a gun, kissing the guy, and shooting Stormtroopers just the way she had in the DVD we'd replayed dozens of times. But at the moment I was so drained and stressed, and in such need of a bathroom break, that I didn't much care if he went off and did the male let-me-check-it-out thing.