Kathy Reichs - Code

“Everything cool?” Hi asked, eyeing Ben.

“Fine,” I said. “But we have to make a stop after school.”

Ben’s head whipped my way. “You can’t be serious.”

Shelton frowned. “Serious about what?”

“Claybourne Manor.” I ignored their protests. “It’s past time we settled our debt.”

“We’ll have to hit the bank first.” Hi sounded despondent. “Raid our deposit box.”

“It’s his share, guys. We’d never have done it without him. Plus, Chance saw way too much last summer. We need to feel him out. Find out how much he remembers.”

No one bothered to protest. We’d had this out before.

“Who knows,” I said hopefully, “maybe he can help ID the Gamemaster.”

Three incredulous faces.

“Not directly , of course. But we need a forensic examination of the cache. Chance has serious connections. He might help.”

To say the boys were unenthused is an understatement.

“Help screw us again?” Shelton snarked.

“Did you get hit in the head?” Hi asked.

“Dumb dumb dumb.” Ben wagged his head slowly.

“Whatever,” I snapped. “We’re going, so man up.”

The second bell sounded.

We trooped into class and found our desks. I dove into my calculus book, hoping to conceal my own uncertainty.

Last time, I’d barely escaped Claybourne Manor with my life.

Was I making a huge mistake?

CHAPTER 15

WE MET BY the gates after last bell.

Though reluctant, the boys offered no further argument. They knew it was pointless once I’d made up my mind. Leaving our jackets in lockers, we headed east down Broad Street.

The guys sulked through our quick stop at the bank.

At Meeting Street we turned left. Claybourne Manor was a few blocks ahead, in Charleston’s prestigious, hoity-toity quarter known as South of Broad. The neighborhood screamed of privilege, old money, and tradition. Ostentatious wealth. We couldn’t have been more out of place.

Hi whistled, pointed to his right. “Look at that palace. Four stories, maybe five.”

“These houses are insane.” Shelton’s head was swiveling nonstop. “My dad couldn’t afford a parking space down here.”

“He’s better off.” Ben’s scowl was firmly in place. “The less time spent around blue-blooded jerks, the better.”

Even among its elegant neighbors, Chance’s ancestral home stands out. A registered historical landmark, Claybourne Manor is the largest private residence in South Carolina. Modeled after a nineteenth-century Italian manse, the main building has forty rooms, twenty-four fireplaces, and sixty bathrooms, and occupies over two acres of prime downtown real estate. A home fit for royalty.

We halted outside a ten-foot, spike-topped wall split by an ornate iron gate. Twisting metalwork displayed the Claybourne family crest: a gray shield with three black foxes, encircled by black and red vines.

“My family needs a coat of arms,” Hi mused. “Something that conveys what it means to be a Stolowitski.”

Shelton chuckled. “What, like a stuffed-crust pizza?”

I held up a hand. “Everyone ready?”

No replies. At least they weren’t complaining again.

Taking silence as assent, I rapped on a stout metal door beside the gate. Seconds passed, then a bolt slid sideways, and the portal swung inward.

“Yes?” The guard was lean, mid-forties, with salt-and-pepper hair and the demeanor of an ex-cop. No name tag. He didn’t look happy to see us.

“Hello!” My brightest smile. “We’re here to see Chance.”

“Do you have an appointment?” Stern.

“No, but we’re classmates from Bolton Academy.” Time to ham it up . “We heard Chance is coming back to school, and wanted to give him a big Griffin welcome back!”

Hi snorted, then covered it with a fit of coughing. My grin stayed frozen in place.

“Master Claybourne isn’t taking visitors.” Boredom crept into the guard’s voice. “Leave a name if you’d like, but you can’t loiter on the street.”

“But the four of us go way back with Chance,” I said quickly. “Are you sure we can’t—”

“Quite sure. Make an appointment.”

Grrr . “Please tell Chance that Tory Brennan stopped by, along with Hi Stolowitski, Ben Blue, and Shelton Devers.”

I hesitated. Should I say more? “Let Chance know we’d like to speak with him when it’s convenient. We have something for him.”

“Thank you.” The door closed with a loud clank.

“You should’ve offered another Human Spirit Award,” Hi quipped. “Worked last time.”

“Shut it.” I hate being thwarted. My mind raced, but came up empty. There was nothing to be done—the ball was now in Chance’s court.

“Let’s bail.” Ben was already moving. “We should be working the Gamemaster’s clue, not wasting time—”

The door abruptly reopened. The guard craned out, spied me, and breathed an audible sigh of relief.

“Terribly sorry, Miss Brennan!” Hustling out onto the sidewalk. “Name’s Saltman. I’m a new hire, and haven’t memorized the logs. Of course you may come inside. I’ll let Master Claybourne know you’ve arrived.”

Saltman nervously rotated his cap in his hands. “We don’t need to mention this little mix-up, do we, miss? It was an honest mistake.”

I covered my surprise with an airy wave. “Not at all.”

But what was he talking about? I took a calculated risk. “I’m on the list?”

Saltman nodded like a bobblehead. “Oh, yes ma’am! The instructions are quite clear: no visitors except by appointment, but Miss Brennan is to be shown in at any time, day or night.” He smiled ingratiatingly. “You must be very special to young Master Chance.”

WTF?

Chance left instructions about me? Had assumed I’d come? Sometimes the world made no sense at all.

“Chance is home?” I asked, stalling for time.

“In his father’s study.” Saltman cringed as though slapped. “ His study, I should say. If you’ll wait in the reception, I’ll have him summoned straight away.” Then his gaze shifted to my companions. “The directive only mentions you, Miss Brennan. I’m not sure—”

“Chance will want to see everyone.” I added steel to my voice. “Let’s not waste more time gabbing in the driveway.”

That was enough for Saltman. “Of course, right this way.”

We traveled a short, flower-lined walk to the front entrance. Saltman pulled wide the massive oak door to reveal a cozy vestibule. The manor’s signature room was just ahead—a fifty-foot grand entrance hall in ante-bellum style.

Memories flooded back. I pushed them away.

Keep your head straight. Chance is no one to trifle with .

Saltman led us to a smaller chamber on the right—a spacious wood-paneled parlor decorated with elaborate crown molding, painted friezes, a wooden mantel, and a giant crystal chandelier. In the center, six leather chairs surrounded a mahogany coffee table.

“Please have a seat.” Saltman pressed a false panel to reveal an intercom system. “Inform Master Claybourne he has four guests in the reception. Tory Brennan and … some others.”

When a liveried butler appeared, Saltman retreated the way he’d entered. After declining refreshments, we sat, waiting, taking in the rich appointments.

“I assume you’ve got a plan,” Shelton whispered. “We’re not just gonna toss this bag of loot at him, right?” He tapped a pocket containing two stacks of gold doubloons.

“We need to find out what he knows. If he suspects anything.”

“How?” Ben asked quietly.

“Just follow my lead.” Code for: I have no idea.

“Hey, check this weirdo out.” Hi was inspecting a bust on the mantel. “This face is ninety percent eyebrow. What do you wanna bet he owned slaves?”