Assumptions (13 page)

". . . would give him what he wants.”

“If it’s real,” said Will.

“Right. That.” Jordyn paced a few steps.
“Maybe the person who sent it could tell us more. It came wrapped,
didn’t it?" Will nodded. "Was there a return address?” asked
Jordyn.

"I didn't really look."

"So, where’s the wrapper?"

"It was an envelope. I threw it away."

"Then it's still at your place."

"Not exactly. I took out the trash."

Jordyn sighed.

"But the City doesn’t pick up garbage until
tomorrow,” Will added quickly.

"And that helps us?"

"We'll just have to go in after it. Meet me
after last period."

"That is not exactly how I envisioned my
afternoon, Emerson."

"C'mon, where's your sense of adventure?"

"I think it left when you said garbage.”

Jordyn flipped the book right side up,
pinched the clasp, and pulled. "It's stuck."

"That's funny.” Will took the book. “It
opened for me this morning. It's an old lock." He stashed the book
deep in his backpack. "It doesn't matter. I don't think this book
will be showing anyone how to build an ark. The pages are blank.
Anyway, it doesn't work."

"You tried to use it?"

" I . . ."

"For what?"

"I . . . if I could get her back . . ."

"Your mother?"

“I . . .” Words failed him.

Mrs. Hansen tapped on the courtyard window.
Jordyn waved her off. "She probably thinks you're dealing. We
better get inside."

They left the courtyard. Jordyn took Will by
the arm and led him to an out of the way corner in the corridor.
"Promise me you won't do anything with that thing until we know
more about it. I swear, Emerson, I won’t let you go until you
do."

Will raised his right hand. "I, William
Emerson, Jr., solemnly promise . . ."

“Not funny. Come on, we’re late,” said Jordyn
and she dragged him down the corridor.

Jordyn met Will after school and rode the
train home with him. The dumpster at the alley was wedged into a
narrow enclosure. It overflowed with garbage bags covered in
half-melted snow. Will stood on tiptoes, poking around the top.
"It'll be in this dumpster. It has to be near the top."

"And I thought I wouldn't find anyone
interesting in Chicago.”

"There. I see it. Against the back. That
clear bag." Will stretched as far as he could. He looked around the
alley for a crate or an empty paint can, anything to stand on. The
alley was surprisingly clean. He stretched again. "I can't reach
it."

Jordyn took off her coat and scarf. She
folded them neatly and set them on the driest spot she could find.
"Okay, Emerson. Give me a boost."

"You sure?"

"We need that envelope and I can't lift you.
Besides, this uniform could use a little character, don't you
think?"

Will boosted Jordyn up. "You smell nice," he
said.

"Not for long." Jordyn kicked her legs over
the edge of the dumpster and waded across. "Where is it?"

"There.” Will pointed to the other side. “At
the back, toward the middle."

"Got it." Jordyn ripped open the top of the
bag and pulled out the manila envelope. She frowned. "There's no
return address."

"It must have come by messenger."

Jordyn waded back to the front of the
dumpster and tossed the envelope to Will. "Get me out of here."

He lifted her out and picked up her coat and
scarf. "You’re soaked. Come on." They went up the back stairs. Will
unlocked the kitchen door and let her in. "Wait here."

Jordyn stayed just inside the door not
wanting to spread the smell of garbage any further than necessary.
Will returned with sweats and a plastic bag. "Put your uniform in
the bag. I think you can make this stuff fit. I'll look for some
safety pins or something. At least they won't kick you off the
el."

Will left the room and Jordyn changed into
his clothes. They hung off her body, but they smelled like fabric
softener and that was much better than the dumpster full of who
knew what. She put her uniform, sealed tight in the plastic bag, on
the back porch.

Will set the kettle to boil. "Tea?"

"Sure. I think I've developed a habit. I
never drank so much tea in my life."

"It'll be a minute. Sit down."

"Now what?"

"I still have the file. Maybe there's
something there. I’ll get it." Will dug it out of his backpack.

"You're walking around with that, too? I'm
beginning to think you might need some help," said Jordyn.

"You're probably right. The note inside
the

book . . ."

"The note? What else haven't you told me,
Emerson?"

"Nothing. That's it. You would have seen it
if the clasp had opened. Anyway, the note had the initials
TS
." Will leafed through the file. "Here. TS. Timothy
Stillman, the caretaker of the museum." He handed the newspaper
clipping to Jordyn. "Maybe he can tell us what's going on. How many
Timothy Stillman's can there be in Provident, Illinois?"

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE:
CEILI

Will sat on the steps in front of Eastview,
thankful for a Friday. The last of the fall leaves collected at the
bottom in papery curls, undampened by the previous day’s snow. A
banner announcing the annual formal hung above the school
doors.

Jordyn came around the corner. “Emerson! What
are you doing here? First bell doesn’t ring for another five
minutes.” She shot him a sideways smile. “Did you get your
invitation?”

“For what?”

Jordyn pointed up the stairs. “For that."

“Oh, that," said Will.

"My dad’s buying a table.”

"Haven’t seen anything,” said Will.

“It doesn’t matter. You’re sitting with us.
It’s at the Field this year. You’ll need a tux. I’m sure my dad’s
tailor can set you up.”

“Thanks. But I already have one. A tuxedo,
not a tailor.” Will stood, not bothering to brush off the back of
his pants.

Jordyn stepped back and looked at him, his
uniform blazer faded and his trousers frayed at the heel. “No
way.”

“Yes way. My father drags, well, he used to
drag me to university fundraisers. The pants are probably too short
now. Maybe your father’s guy can do the alterations.”

“Emerson, I am truly shocked.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. It just doesn’t seem like your
thing.”

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me,
Quig.”

“Such as?” Jordyn prodded.

“You still coming over before the Ceili
tonight?”

“You’re changing the subject.”

Will smirked.

She squinted at him then conceded. “Yeah,
I’ll be there at five.”

“Good. I found a phone number for
Stillman.”

"You think it's our guy?"

"We'll see. Do you think we need to dress up
for tonight?"

"I'm not. But Deirdre will be there, so you
can."

"It's not what you think,” said Will.

"Whatever you say, Emerson." The first bell
rang. Will held the door and they went inside.

When Will got home, the mail carrier was
still stuffing the boxes. "Just one today." She handed him an
oversized ivory envelope, the Eastview crest letterpressed on the
flap at the back. Will took it inside and opened it at the kitchen
table.

Eastview College Preparatory Academy

Presents

The Annual Black and White Ball

Scholarship Benefit

Saturday, December 20th

7pm to Midnight

The Field Museum

Dinner and Dancing

Formal Attire

Will left the invitation on the table and
went to shower. He dressed in jeans and his nicest sweater.

Jordyn arrived precisely at five. Will buzzed
her in.

He led her down the hall to the study. "We
can call from here."

Jordyn took off her coat and draped it over
the back of one of the armchairs. She wore a snug black t-shirt
with a small rhinestone circle at her breastbone.

Will looked her over. "You sure you won't be
cold?"

"I told you, Emerson, jeans and a t-shirt.
I'll be fine. I’ll take a cab home." She picked up the phone.
"Where's the number?"

"I don't know if we should do this," said
Will.

"Do you want to know if this thing is real,
or not?"

"Of course I do. But then what?"

"I don't know. Give it back to the insurance
company. It's probably nothing, anyway. Just an old book with a
nice rock. Are we doing this or not?"

Will nodded. Jordyn took the paper, found a
pen, and dialed.

A woman answered, “Twila’s. This is Sadie.
How may I help you?”

“Sorry. I must have dialed the wrong number.
I’m looking for a Mr. Timothy Stillman.”

“Mr. Stillman isn’t here. Might I ask why
you’re calling?”

“My name is J-Julie Smith. I’m a reporter for
the
Chicago Tribune
. Just following up on a story our paper
did a few months ago. The one about Mr. Stillman and the
museum.”

“Oh, yes. I remember that,” said Sadie.

“Yes, well, we’d like to interview Mr.
Stillman to find out more about his experience since then. We think
it would have real human interest appeal.”

Will crossed his arms and stood back to watch
Jordyn’s performance.

“Would you happen to know how I could reach
Mr. Stillman?” Jordyn continued.

“When I said he wasn’t here, I meant to say
he left town some time ago. He went back to Chicago. That’s where
he was from. Dotty had him come do an appraisal of all her museum
stuff so she could update her insurance. Been a while since she had
all of it accounted for. Anyhow, that was before she, you know,
before she died.” Sadie's voice wavered.

“I read about that. I'm very sorry for your
loss."

"Oh, listen to me. I still get so upset.
Dotty was very dear to us all."

"I'm sure she was.”

“And Mr. Stillman, bless his heart. He stayed
to clean everything up after the storm. Make it proper.”

“Yes, and we'd really like to tell the story.
It’s very important that we get in touch with Mr. Stillman. Without
him our hands are tied.”

“Well, I normally wouldn’t give out anyone’s
phone number, but since you’re with the paper I think that would be
okay. Are you ready?”

“Yes, thank you. Go ahead.” Jordyn wrote the
number. “Thank you very much, Sadie. You’ve been very helpful.”

“Don’t mention it. Mr. Stillman deserves to
tell his story. He tried so hard to protect Dotty’s. Everything
went up for auction not too long ago. Dotty didn’t have any heirs.
The whole place was sold to some museum up in Canada. Shame, isn’t
it?”

“Yes. Yes, it is. Thanks again.” Jordyn
disconnected.

Will applauded. "Brilliant!"

Jordyn bowed. "Why, thank you. Unfortunately,
we still only have a phone number. She said he was only there to do
the appraisal. He left after he was done. I guess he lives in the
city." Jordyn re-cradled the phone and put her coat on.
"Ready?"

By the time they got to Molly's, the place
was already bustling. On stage, a band played an energetic Irish
reel. The fiddle player stomped out the beat, raking his bow across
the fiddle with such ferocity it seemed as if it would turn to
sawdust in his hands. Small girls with huge mops of curly hair
congregated nearby, their dresses decorated with knots and birds
and lions in violet and emerald and canary. Their hard shoes
clacked on the wood floor as they stomped out the beat waiting for
their turn under the lights. Spectators in front of the stage
chatted loudly with the strangers all around them as if they’d know
each other forever.

White candles in every shape and size lit the
room, casting a golden light that flickered brightly off the newly
polished silver. Sprigs of holly decorated the tabletops. Christmas
was around the corner.

Servers rushed past, their trays heavy with
stews and big glasses of foamy stout, expertly balanced. They
called everyone by name. Will smiled at Jordyn.

Deirdre pushed toward the door. "Will!
Jordyn!" Oisin followed her. “You remember Oisin?”

Jordyn nodded. Will shook his hand. Deirdre
took their coats.

"So, what, exactly, happens at a ceili?" Will
asked.

The fiddle wailed on. "Rowan plays like the
devil, don't you think?" said Deirdre. "Come on." She hung their
coats on pegs in the hall and led them deep into Molly's, back to
the room with the ochre chairs which were now lined up against the
walls. The table overflowed with crusty loaves of bread, boiled
potatoes, roasted birds, and puddings in shapes fancy and
plain.

"First, you eat," said Deirdre. So they
filled their plates and found a table. They ate and talked and
laughed and went back for more.

Will pushed his plate away. "I'm stuffed."
Jordyn looked at him sideways. "What? It happens. Sometimes," he
said.

A middle-aged man with a white apron at his
waist cleared the table. "Thanks, Brendan," Deirdre called behind
him. "The ceili dances won't be starting yet. The dart room is
empty. Want to play?"

"I've never played," said Jordyn.

"I'll teach you," said Oisin. "We'll play as
a team, against Will and Deirdre."

Deirdre hopped out of her seat. "Okay, then.
Let's go."

"We'll play three-oh-one. No double-in," said
Oisin. They walked to the back of Molly's.

Jordyn looked at Will. "Any idea what he's
talking about?” she asked. Will shrugged.

"It's simple," said Oisin. "We start at
three-hundred-one points and count down. The spaces on the
dartboard are marked. You just need to add."

“And know how to throw darts,” said Will.

“Don’t worry. It’s easy enough,” said
Deirdre.

They entered the room. Oisin gathered the
darts. He handed three to Jordyn. "Stand at the line.” The black
mark on the floor consisted of tape adhesive and dirt. "Now, aim
for the center."