F. Wilson: Secret Histories

As they stood panting on the bank, Mr. B said, “Wel , I’ve got to say I didn’t have this in mind when I walked over to the Lodge this morning.”

Jack felt like a fool. “I’m sorry.”

He shrugged. “It livened up an otherwise dul Saturday.” He pushed back his wet hair. “I don’t know about you, but I’m heading home for some dry

clothes. Boy, that water’s cold.” He clapped Jack on the shoulder. “Next time you’re in a canoe, don’t act like a jerk, okay?”

As he walked off, Jack said, “Thanks, Mr. B.”

He stopped and turned. “Thanks? You said you could swim.”

“I can. But you didn’t know that. Thanks for trying to save me.”

He smiled. “Hey, Steve needs you. If something happened to you, he’d never finish that computer.”

As he stood and watched Mr. Brussard walk away, Weezy ran over.

“Do you believe that?” she said.

Jack shook his head. “He tried to save my life.”

“Some cold-blooded murderer he is,” she whispered.

Jack turned to her. “I don’t get it. What happened?”

“I was watching where you’d ‘fal en’ in when I heard a splash on the other side.” She pointed toward the Lodge. “I saw a pair of shoes on the bank there

and someone swimming like mad toward you. I didn’t know who he was until he grabbed you.”

“I heard a scream. Was that you?”

She nodded. “I thought he was going to …”

“Yeah. So did I. But he was trying to save me.”

… tryingtosaveme …

Jack couldn’t wrap his mind around that. He’d suspected Steve’s father of being a murderer. But maybe he’d had it al wrong. Maybe Mr. B had been

genuinely trying to protect those men, and whatever he’d been trying simply hadn’t worked.

That meant someone else—or something else—was kil ing them.

The klazen? Or Bert Chal is?

Or maybe they weren’t being kil ed at al . Maybe it was simply a huge coincidence that al three Lodgers died of cardiac arrest within days of each

other. Or, like Dad had said, voodoo.

Jack shook his head. He knew coincidences happened, but this was too much. Those men had been kil ed. But how? And by whom or what?

Could there real y be such a thing as a klazen?

Bert Chal is was a better bet.

Weezy nodded toward the lake. “You going back in there?”

“No way.” Despite the warmth of the late-morning sun, Jack stil felt chil ed. “Besides, whatever it is, I’l never find it in al that muck.”

“So this was al for nothing?”

He looked at her. “No, not ‘al for nothing.’ I learned something about Steve’s father.”

She lowered her voice further. “What? That he’s not some mustache-twirling serial kil er?”

“Wel , what else am I supposed to think?”

“Lots of things.”

Should have known, Jack thought. If there’s another, darker way of looking at something, Weezy’s going to find it.

“Like what?”

“Like maybe he couldn’t drown you because he knew people were watching.”

“Then why would he swim out at al ?”

“How about to drag you away from the spot where he’d thrown the whatever?”

Jack hadn’t considered that, but he saw a problem with it.

“If that was true, wouldn’t he be hanging around to make sure I don’t go back in?”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “Maybe.”

“Can’t we just give the guy the benefit of the doubt?”

“Sure we can: He saw you fal in, thought you were drowning, and swam out to save you.”

“That’s good enough for me.”

“But that doesn’t mean he didn’t have something to do with the deaths of those three Lodgers. Maybe he’s got a list—and maybe they’re on it but you

aren’t. Plus you’re Steve’s friend. That means he does the right thing for you and for anyone not on his list. But if you’re on his list, better watch your back.”

“But wouldn’t a guy who could plan and do the murders of three men just stand there and watch me drown?”

Weezy shook her head. “Hardly anybody’s al bad, Jack. Just as hardly anybody’s al good.”

Jack thought of Mom and Kate and couldn’t imagine anything bad about them. But he didn’t mention that to Weezy. Who knew what she’d dream up?

Whatever it might be, he didn’t want to hear it.

He shivered. “I’m heading home to change.”

“What about the canoe?”

He looked at it, half pul ed up on the bank. He’d forgotten al about it.

“Guess I’l have to paddle it back.”

Weezy smiled. “Best you stay away from the water for a while. I’l help you carry it.”

Not a bad idea.

It turned out to be pretty light so they each carried it on a shoulder.

“This is turning out to be one bad day,” she said. “Maybe the worst Saturday ever.”

Jack knew what she meant.

“Yeah, we get nabbed in the Pines, the cube gets stolen, the pyramid disappears—”

“You mean ‘stolen.’”

“Yeah, you’re probably right. And to top it off, I take a cold-water swim and come up with nothing.”

“Top it off? The day is stil young, Jack. It’s not even noon yet.”

Swel .

They were riding their bikes back toward their homes when Tim pul ed his patrol car up beside them. He was grinning.

“Heard about your dunking.”

Man, news traveled fast in this town. Jack bet his folks already knew.

“Yeah, wel …”

“You look like a drowned rat.”

Jack needed a change of subject. “Did you find out anything about the state troopers I told you about?”

Tim’s grin vanished. “Yeah. And no. I cal ed the sheriff and he cal ed the state, and the state said they didn’t know what he was talking about. When the

sheriff pressed them he was told he’d be a lot better off if he minded his own business.”

Jack looked at Weezy and she looked back.

“I saw that,” Tim said. “What do you two know?”

Weezy gave her head a tiny shake— don’t —but Jack felt he could trust Tim. So he gave him a brief, edited version about the copters, the cops, the

suits, and the backhoe digging up the mound. He left out the parts about being locked in the cruiser and the spong traps episode, also the theft of the

cube and the pyramid. No use laying too much on him at once.

“They choppered in a backhoe?” Tim said. “This sounds major.” Weezy final y spoke up. “Yeah. So major no one’s talking.”

“And it looks like no one wil . The sheriff told me it was none of our business and to drop it. And I’m supposed to pass the same on to you: Just forget

what you saw. No good’s going to come from yakking about it.”

“Consider it passed on,” Jack said.

“So whoever they are,” Weezy added, her voice thick, “they get to do whatever they want, whenever they want. Is that the way it’s supposed to work?”

He knew she was thinking about the pyramid.

Tim didn’t reply, so Jack said, “Is that what you’re going to do—mind your own business?”

Tim had never struck him as the type to rol over.

“For the record, yes. But this is my beat, Jack. So the way I see it, whatever goes on here is my business. And since you live here, it’s your business

too. Don’t go snooping around, don’t go sneaking into the Pines at night, don’t pul any Hardy Boys stuff—”

Weezy snickered and Jack wondered if there was some sort of conspiracy to smack him with the Hardy Boys at every opportunity.

“What’s so funny?” Tim said.

Jack waved a hand. “Nothing.”

Tim pul ed out a pen and pad and started scribbling. “Yeah, wel , okay, but listen to me: You see something like that again, or anything out of the