Jeff Strand - Graverobbers Wanted - No Experience Necessary

"Are yougonna cover that thing with mud, just in case?" Roger asked.

"No, I'm not going to...okay,I'll cover it up to make you feel better." With my foot, I moved a huge glob of mud over the top of the jack-in-the-box. Then, worrying that some kids might come playing aroundhere, I pulled the box out of the mud and heaved it as far into the lake as I could. Nothing blew up and no dead fish rose to the surface, so I figured everything was cool.

I opened the envelope and removed the folded piece of paper inside. Roger apparently decided there was nothing to fear from it and walked over to join me.

On the paper, in the same blood-red letters was written: "If you want to see Jennifer again, be at theEverlifeCemetery at midnight."

"Oh,nowthat's interesting," said Roger.

"That's impossible," I protested. "I heard—"

I stopped. I'donlyheard her die. It certainly wouldn't be difficult to fake a death that I never got to see.

But why?Why would somebody kidnap Roger, threaten to use him as a hostage but let him go, then fake Jennifer's death, only to use her as a hostage...or something like that?

This whole situation was becoming slightly quaint.

WE WERE both completely baffled, and so I made the decision for Roger to engage in some real detective work.Meaning that I told him to hide in the woods around the graveyard to see if he could learn the identity of the killer. For some odd reason he was not all that keen on this idea, but using my expert skills at encouraging others to obey my will ("Quit your whining and just do it, for God's sake!"), I managed to convince him. I dropped him off at his apartment with instructions to buy some more bullets for Michael's gun, drive to the cemetery, hide well, and not try to apprehend the killer himself. Not that he ever would.

I drove home to spend some quality minutes with my family before heading out again. Nobody was there, but I saw the light blinking on the answering machine. This pleased me, because Helen had insisted that the new message I'd recorded would cause people to decide they didn't really want us to return their call:

"Hi, you've reached the residence of Andrew, Helen, Theresa, and Kyle Mayhem. Because we've lost a number of close friends lately in telephone-related accidents, we're unable to bring ourselves to answer your call at this time. But if you leave your name and number at the tone, we'll get back to you as soon as therapy cures the problem."

I pressed the button, listened to the message, and immediately got back in my car and drove to the hospital.

Chapter 9

I'M NOT right very often, but my constant warning of "If you kids don't pick those toys up off the stairs, somebody's going to trip and break their neck!" turned out to be almost true, except that Helen broke her right leg instead.

She was not in a particularly good mood by the time I got there. She was also not all that coherent due to the gobs of medication they'd given her, but I was able to ascertain from her ranting that Kyle's Eye-in-an-Egg had been the culprit.

"I told you not to buy it for him," she snarled. "Didn't I tell you not to buy it for him? Didn't I? We were right there in the store and I said not to buy it, and you went ahead and bought it anyway, you son of a bitch!"

"Yeah, but you said it was stupid, not a health risk," I said, lacking the intelligence not to argue with a drugged-up, pissed-off, pain-filled woman.

"I don't care. I've always hated that Eye-in-an-Egg, and now because of it, I get to spend the next few days in the hospital! Like I don't spend enough time here anyway! I don'tseeyou doing all these hours of overtime! Did you get me flowers?"

"Not yet, but I will right away."

"Forget it. I'm going to sleep. Go away."

"I'll make sure that the Eye gets destroyed."

"See that you do."

I left the room and collected my children from our surly-looking neighbor. They were both pretty shaken-up, but I assured them that Mommy was going to be all right and cheered them up by promising them rides on her wheelchair. I made some phone calls, trying to find a place for the kids to stay the night, but nobody was available. I'd try again later.

By the time we ate a fast food dinner and got home, it was nearly seven. I wanted to go check on Roger, but I didn't want to risk blowing his cover, or listen to him gripe. Since I really didn't have much time before I wanted to be atBalder's Dash, I decided to simply lie on the couch and try to think things through.

Theresa and Kyle popped in the animatedvideoZany the ChipperChipmunk . This video always brought out deep feelings of guilt because I wanted so badly to see Zany die. It didn't have to be a gruesome death, just a painful one.

I tried to put the various pieces of the puzzle together, but because I suck as a detective I fell asleep instead. I woke up as Zany was teaching kids the importance of flossing. My leg was being used as the weaponry fort for Kyle's CaptainHocker action figure (with Super-Spitting Action!).

"Grab some stuff to keep you occupied," I said. "Daddy's going to play cards."

BALDER'S DASH was meant to be a hangout for college students, but most college students thought it was pretty lame and went elsewhere. As we walked in the door, a movie was playing on a wide-screen TV where some greenish-gray alien was trying to devour some mega-breasted actress while at the same time making sure to jostle her around for maximum bounce. I didn't want my children to witness any more jiggle than absolutely necessary, so we hurried into the back room.

Several people were in there, sitting around a table with about six billion cards spread out in cryptic patterns. Both Carl and Farley were present, and Farley waved as he saw us enter.

"Hey, did you come for your own throat treatment?"

"No, actually I came to learn the game," I said. There was a small couch not being used, so I gave Theresa and Kyle each a kiss and bribed them with Skittles to sit on it and play nicely.

"You came to learn the game?" asked Farley. "I hope you realize this isn'tYahtzee . You're not going to pick up the rules for the first five or six weeks."

"That's fine," I said, pulling up a free chair next to Farley. "By the way, I apologize if I'm just barging in. You guys don't mind if I watch, do you?"

"No, no, we need all the players we can get," Farley assured me. Carl gave me a polite nod, but for the most part kept his eyes glued to the table, obviously planning out some intricate strategy. Introductions were made all around, and then they resumed their game.

I watched carefully for about fifteen minutes without saying anything. This was another case where being Sherlock Holmes might have come in handy, because maybe he would have had some faint comprehension of the rules to this game. One guy, Harold, was sort of the narrator, telling the other players where they were and what demonic beasts were trying to kill them or transform them into minions of evil. That part I got. But whatever they were doing with those cards sounded like complete gibberish.

I was lost.Baffled.Out of my element in society.

Carl set a card down, making the pattern of cards even more hopelessly complex than it already was. "I'll use my Boots of Divine Intervention with an additional three karma points and an additional two stealth points to cross the threshold." He bit his lip nervously as he waited for Harold to roll one of about twenty multi-colored, multi-sided dice. This guy took the gamewaaaaaay too seriously.

"Fourteen," Harold announced. "What's your Hero rating?"

"Twenty-nine."

"You didn't make it. You fall into the lava storm and lose..." Harold rolled another die, "...seven points from your Health rating."

Carl whitened. "I'll have to use my Cloak of Reconstruction to keep from falling into the Sleep of the Damned!"