Read Page 175

“Are you feeling all right, Jericho?” Evie asked a bit shyly. “Can I get you anything?”

“No, I’m… jake, thanks,” he said, trying out the word with a smile.Advertisement

Sam watched the two of them from the sidelines. Something had happened up in Brethren beyond their finding the pendant and escaping from the new faithful. And Sam didn’t like it.

“Gee whiz, I’m a nervous wreck,” Evie said. She flipped on the radio. The Paul Whiteman Orchestra was playing a special hour of hot jazz dedicated to “Old King Solomon.” The merry songs felt out of place given their purpose tonight.

“There’s something I don’t get,” Sam asked. “How come he didn’t make the tenth offering yet? You think he’s going to do the last two offerings together, tonight?”

Evie bit at her fingernail. It was odd. “I don’t know. All I know is that if we burn the pendant tonight and repeat the incantation, we get rid of John Hobbes forever.”

Will burst into the library carrying a bag of supplies. “I’ve got what we need here.”

He handed Evie a piece of chalk and Sam a can of salt. “Evie, draw a wide circle on the floor, and a pentagram inside it. Sam, you go around the perimeter of the room with the salt, please.”

There came a knock at the museum’s front door, very loud and very insistent.

“What now?” Evie said. “Don’t worry—I’ll tell them the museum is closed for the evening.”

She was stunned to find Detective Malloy at the front door. He was not full of his usual gallows humor. In fact, his expression could only be called grim. Evie felt her stomach drop. Flanked by several officers, he walked right past her on his way to the library. Will paled when he saw them.

-- Advertisement --

pqdm.comads300x250--

“There’s been another murder,” Malloy said. “Mary White Blodgett was found out at Coney, in the Tunnel of Love. Same markings as all the others. Her tongue had been cut out.”

“ ‘At the sight of the Beast, the widow offered lamentations until her tongue was stilled….’ ” Evie said softly.

“The Lamentation of the Widow. The tenth offering,” Sam said.

Will looked pale and sick.

“Mrs. Blodgett’s daughter said she’d been visited by you and a young lady two days ago. Said you were asking all sorts of odd questions about John Hobbes,” Malloy continued.

“It’s true,” Will said.

“You didn’t think to share that with me, Fitz?” The detective sounded hurt and angry.

“I didn’t think… It wasn’t relevant. I was playing a hunch.”

“I get paid to follow hunches,” Malloy said. “And I told you to stay away from the case. And if I ask you whether you have Ruta Badowski’s other shoe buckle in your museum, you would say what?”

“I would say that’s preposterous,” Will answered.

Malloy’s face was grim and a bit weary, as if he’d been told of the imminent death of a sick friend. “I’m asking you as a friend, Will.”

Will’s gaze was steely. “As I said, preposterous.”

Malloy nodded slowly. “I hope you’re right. Mind if we have a look around, Professor?”

Already, the police were swarming the museum, emptying drawers and opening cabinets. An officer nearly dropped a figurine and Will called out, “Could you be careful with those, please? Those are priceless artifacts.”

Another officer reached into Will’s desk drawer and pulled out Ruta Badowski’s shoe buckle. “It’s here. Just like the note said.”

“How did that…?” Will stood perfectly still for once, as if he’d been nailed in place. “Wait a moment—what note? What are you talking about?”

“Can you tell me how evidence from a murder victim got into your museum?” Malloy didn’t blink.

“I don’t know,” Will said softly. “I swear I don’t, Terrence.”

“And I suppose you don’t know how your cigarette lighter ended up at a murder scene, either?” Detective Malloy held up Will’s missing lighter.

Will’s hand went immediately to his empty breast pocket. “I-I lost it recently, and…”

“It was found at Mary White Blodgett’s house.”

“I took the shoe buckle,” Sam blurted out. “Found it out at the seaport and thought I could make a quick buck off it. There are creepy chumps who pay for that stuff.”

“Sam, don’t,” Evie warned. pqdm.com