F. Wilson - Secret Histories

twice,shameonme.

Yeah, he thought. Shame on me for leaving those out there. But that didn’t mean Tom wasn’t due a little payback.

He was calm now, calm enough to remember another old saying: Revengeisa dishbestservedcold.

Cold … he’d have to think on this.

Relax, Tom. Enjoy the moment. Rest easy that you’re home free. But your time is coming. Soon you’re going to regret messing with me.

Kate rushed into the room then, with Mom and Dad close behind.

“Jack, they’ve identified the body you found!”

He held his breath.

Dad said, “Anyone we know?”

Mom’s hands folded under her chin. “It’s not that Kurek girl, is it?”

“No. Dental records identified him as Anton Boruff, a jeweler from Mount Hol y who disappeared two years ago. It’l be in the papers tomorrow.” She

lowered her voice. “But what won’t be in the papers is that the police have suspected him of being a fugitive.”

“Real y?” Jack said. This was getting better and better. “From the law?”

Kate nodded. “Seemed he’d been ripping people off, sel ing fake diamonds as investment grade. The police thought he’d absconded with the money,

but I guess one of his victims got to him before he made his getaway.”

“At least he’s not a local,” Mom said. “I mean, it’s a shame he’s dead, of course, rest his soul. Just that I was afraid it was someone we knew. The

thought of having a kil er among us …” She shuddered. “But if he’s from Mount Hol y—”

“Wel ,” Kate said, “he must have been in and out of here a lot because he was some sort of pooh-bah in the Lodge.”

“Oh, dear,” Mom said. “I’ve never liked those people. They’re so sneaky. I wish they’d find someplace else to meet.”

Everybody cal ed it simply “the Lodge” but Jack had heard it was a branch of something cal ed the Ancient Septimus Fraternal Order. The Lodge

building had been in Old Town forever. The Order was secretive about its activities and purposes and membership. One thing everybody knew: It was

very selective about who it accepted. Every once in a while a newcomer to town would try to join, only to learn that membership was by invitation only

—you had to be asked. Nobody knew what the qualifications were. Rumor had it the membership included some of the state’s most influential and

powerful people.

“How do they know he was with the Lodge?” Jack said.

“Because he had some unrotted skin left on his back and the Septimus Lodge’s seal had been branded into it.”

Mom gasped, Dad winced.

Everyone knew that seal: an intricate starlike design that made you a little dizzy if you looked too close. A huge model of it hung above the Lodge’s front

door.

Smiling, Kate raised a hand before Jack could speak.

“I know how your mind works, Jack, and the answer is no: He wasn’t tortured with the brand or anything like that. The medical examiner said it was

many years old. Probably some sort of rite they go through.”

Jack hesitated to ask his next question. He didn’t want to seem too morbid, but he had to know.

Final y he cleared his throat and said, “What about the ritual?”

Kate shook her head. “I asked Tim about that and he says they’re holding the details back for now.” She smiled. “But don’t worry. I’l find out. Jenny

Styles from Cherry Hil —you’ve met her, Mom. She’s a year ahead of me at med school, but guess where she’s externing.”

Jack and his mother shrugged.

“The ME’s office. She’s been assisting with the autopsies. I know I’l be able to get it out of her. She loves to talk.”

“Cool.” Jack could always depend on Kate. “I wonder if they stuffed his mouth with the fake diamonds.”

Mom said, “Jack!”

“Wel , the Mafia stuffs a dead bird in a stoolie’s mouth, so I just thought—”

“That’s not exactly a ritual,” Kate said.

A ritual … Jack figured the possibilities would haunt his dreams tonight.

“Any other news?”

She laughed. “Isn’t that enough? Don’t worry, I’m on the case.” She lowered her voice to a mock announcer’s tone, like Walter Cronkite’s. “News

bul etins wil be reported as soon as they’re received.”

“Great.”

He scooped up the unshel ed pistachios and dropped them back into the bag. Tom’s theft had stolen his appetite for them.

“I’m heading over to Steve’s.”

Steve had been cal ing al day, saying Jack had to come over tonight because his father had something to show him.

Dad said, “How’s that computer coming along?”

“Okay, I guess. The instructions aren’t very clear.”

“Wel , my hat’s off to you for trying. I know what I went through with that Apple One.”

Jack wondered if they’d ever get finished, what with Steve Brussard getting half smashed every night.

8

“So you saw only the head?” Mr. Brussard said.

He and Jack and Steve sat around the kitchen table—the boys drinking Pepsi,

Steve’s father sipping some sort of mixed drink. He’d started quizzing

Jack the instant he arrived.

Steve’s expression was avid. “Was it gross?”

“Majorly.”

Steve was a reduced Xerox copy of his father—same round face, same hazel

eyes, same thick, curly reddish hair that clung to the scalp like a bad

toupee.

“So that was it?” Mr. Brussard said, leaning closer. “You didn’t see the rest of the

body?”

“No, and maybe I’m glad I didn’t. I mean, what with it being a ritual murder and

al .”

Steve slammed his palm on the table. “What? No way! You’re putting me on!” His father had his eyes squeezed shut and was rubbing them with a thumb and

forefinger. “What sort of ritual?”

Me and my big mouth, Jack thought.

He’d forgotten that no one was supposed to know about that. At least not yet. “I don’t know. They’re … they’re keeping that secret.”

“Have they identified him yet?”

With a start Jack wondered how Mr. Brussard knew it was a him, and then

realized he’d been thinking of the corpse as a “him” as wel .

“Maybe it’s Marcie Kurek,” Steve said.

Marcie again. Wel , no surprise. For a while last year her disappearance had

been al anyone talked about.

Jack figured he could tel them the identity since it would be in tomorrow’s

papers. But he couldn’t remember the man’s name.

“A jeweler from Mount Hol y.”

“Anton Boruff,” Mr. B said in a low voice.

Steve’s eyes were wide. “Dad, you knew him?”

His father said, “Heard of him. It was in al the papers a few years ago. Vanished

without a trace. Some people thought he’d left his wife and run off with another woman, but …” He shrugged.

Jack couldn’t mention the diamonds, and anyway he was tired of talking about

the body. Looking for a way off it, he remembered Steve’s cal s.

“Steve said you had something you wanted to show me, Mister Brussard.” The man looked confused for a couple of seconds. “What? Oh, right. But it’s not

something to see. More like hear. We’l have to go into the living room.” They rose and fol owed him until he turned and pointed to the middle of the

family den floor.

“Al right, boys, sit yourselves down right there—that’s what we cal the sweet

spot.” Jack had no idea what was going on, but complied. Sipping from their Pepsis, he

and Steve situated themselves cross-legged on the shag carpet

while Mr. Brussard fiddled with a bunch of electronic components racked on a