Setting the bag on Cooper’s desk, he steps toward the pane, then leans over and sniffs. “Marginally foul.” Shrugging, he shoots a conspiratorial glance at Cooper. “It’s way worse than the neat-freak gene. It’s an emo attack.” He winks at me, knowing his favorite insult is bound to trip my nerves.
Mission accomplished.
My lids narrow. “Don’t be an idiot.” I get up and slam the hamper shut.
Tilting his head, he smirks. “Look, I’m not the one spazzing over a few slug trails. Which, by the way you’ve seen a million times all over this plantation.” He tilts the frame upward, clicking the pane in place, then shuts the window and relocks the latch.
Slug trails? My pulse drops to a trot. Okay, maybe I overreacted. A little. I didn’t even consider the gooey little shell-less snails could have left behind that glistening, mucous-y film. Though I don’t ever remember seeing one suction itself to the second level of the Big House, much less three. But even if I did go a bit overboard, that goop really does reek.
“It’s still vile.” I shudder, keeping my breath shallow to avoid the dissipating but still lingering odor.
“I just hope Coop and I didn’t miss out on sailing for an equally nondisaster disaster.” Jack snatches the bag, unrolls the top, and pulls out the dagger we liberated from the museum. The same one I used to slice my palm and then Jack’s to bind our blood and break The Creep. The one we were supposed to hide somewhere in the museum to confuse the officials into thinking it was merely misplaced and not, in fact, stolen along with the mortar. “So what’s up? And why did I need to get this?” The silver blade shines in the steaming sunlight.
“Trust me, we’ve got a problem.” Sinking into the desk chair, I quickly fill them in on my interaction with Claude at Miss Delia’s, telling them everything Claude said and how he linked Miss Delia’s donation with the engraving on the knife’s wooden handle. And, to ice this particular bad-news cupcake, I add in the part about how I inadvertently implicated myself, at least in finding the treasure.
Midway through my story, Jack and Cooper slump on his bed. By the time I’m done, Cooper’s pinching the bridge of his nose and Jack’s shaking his head.
“Crap.” Jack looks as miserable as someone forced to walk the plank over a shark-infested lagoon. “We could be totally screwed.” He grips the knife’s handle.
Cooper nods. “Yeah, but what were we supposed to do? Between adding that ramp to Miss Delia’s porch and widening her doorways we didn’t have time to make another trip to the museum.”
“I suppose it’s too late to do it now,” Jack says.
I sigh. “Now that’s Claude’s on the case, the museum is off-limits.”
Cooper’s eyes light up with hopeful possibility. “This Claude guy said he could get Taneea a job there, right? Maybe we could ask her to stick it in some storeroom or something.”
Jack and I stare at him, our foreheads etched with identical creases. I love Cooper’s optimism, but he’s seriously overestimated her trustworthiness.
“Dude, you’d rely on someone who hitchhikes with strangers and got kicked out of school for something this important? Are you nuts?” Jack asks, conveying my sentiments exactly, albeit way more rudely.
Cooper’s shoulder sink. “No, I guess you’re right. Besides, if it showed up now, it would raise more suspicions than before.”
I nod. “Or seal our fate. Even though we wiped it down, there’s no telling what evidence we might leave behind. It was coated in Jack’s and my blood, not to mention our fingerprints. What if our DNA is still deep inside that engraving? You know they only need a tiny amount of that stuff to test.” I stare at Jack’s right hand, which is currently wrapped around the scrolled
Cooper rubs his chin. “You’re right. As much as I hoped to return it, we can’t.”
“But what do we do with it?” Jack asks. “We can’t keep it here or at the caretaker’s cottage. If someone finds it, they’re liable to think Dad or Beau stole it.”
I nod. “Definitely. We need to put it somewhere no one’s going to find it.” I search my mind for the perfect hiding place. An idea pops to mind. “Hey, what about putting it back in the tabby box down at the ruins?” It’s where we found it in the first place and where it had been locked up for at least a century.
Before they can answer, Missy’s voice travels up the grand staircase, then winds around the second-floor landing and carries down the hall, through the closed door. “Cooper! Where you at? I need you.”
Cooper stiffens. “Why can’t she leave me alone?”
“Because she’s on a mission to destroy your life,” Jack answers.
“Maybe if we’re quiet she’ll go away.” Judging from the defeated expression on Cooper’s face, he knows that’s not likely.
Jack snorts. “Right and maybe I’ll sprout wings and fly out that window.”
“I saw that horrible station wagon of yours out front,” Missy trills. “I know you’re here. Don’t make me come up there to get you.”
Grinding his teeth, Cooper takes the knife from Jack and slides into the paper bag. “The tabby ruins is the perfect hiding place. But we’ll need all day to dig out that box and bury it again so it’ll have to wait until tomorrow.” Sliding off the bed, he crosses the room to his bookcase and pulls a thick calculus textbook from the bottom shelf. “With my dad and Missy around, we can’t risk taking the knife downstairs now. It’ll have to keep here until we can hide it for good.” Opening the cover, he leafs past the first few pages to reveal a hollowed-out center.
Jack’s eyes gleam. “Awesome.”
I blink. “Wow.” Not that having a secret stash is a huge deal. Heck, Jack’s got plenty of them. But Cooper isn’t sneaky enough to need one.
Cooper shrugs. “Boarding school. It’s the only way to keep anything private from snooping roommates.”
“Or smuggle in contraband.” Jack waggles his brows.
“It’s where I keep my letters from you two. Well, from Emma. You never do more than sign a Christmas card.” He scowls at Jack.
Jack rolls his eyes. “Hey, I comment on your Tumblr posts.”
Cooper smirks. “Thanks, it’s a real comfort during the long, lonely nights.”
My heart warms at the thought of him reading my letters, and that they mean enough to hide from his friends.
“Cooper! I’m done waiting on you!” Missy’s stilettos clomp up the grand staircase.
“She’s coming!” I whisper.
Cooper slams the calculus text closed, shoves it back in its spot on the case, and then covers it with more heavy books.
We sprint to the door and open it just as she reaches the top of the steps.
Cooper smiles, looking as innocent as baby lamb. “Oh hi, Missy. We were just on our way downstairs.”
She crosses her arms. “Didn’t you hear me calling you? I’ve been hollering my head off.” Her hair is frazzled and her eyes crazed. Her lipstick is off-kilter again and her blush streaks across her cheeks in two wide, rose- colored blocks. She’s normally model-perfect, but now she looks like she put on her makeup in the dark.
He nods. “Yes, which is why we’re headed downstairs. Did you need something?”
“Why else would I bother chasing after you? And since your little friends are here, they might as well lend a hand, too.” She pivots, then stomps back down the stairs.
When we reach the bottom, she points toward the far end of the wing. The lacquered nail on her index finger is jagged and torn. “I, uh…moved some furniture in the solarium that you boys need to put back in place. And, Ella, find a broom. There’s a little broken glass on the floor.”
Biting my tongue, I pace to the utility closet off the butler’s pantry, then grab a sponge mop and dustpan because I can’t find a broom. Anger roils in my gut. Hasn’t she ever heard the word
My eyes pop. A
