Jack’s stomach did a flip. “They kil people?”
Weezy shrugged. “Who knows what they do? They’re rumored to have al sorts of rituals. I’ve tried to read up on the order but there’s almost no hard
facts. Lots of theories, but it’s so secretive no one seems to know much for sure. One thing that’s certain is the Ancient Septimus Order is real y and truly
“The masons? You mean bricklayers?”
Weezy rol ed her eyes. “No, another secret society. The order has lodges al over the world and they cal the shots in many places. Like New Jersey, for
instance. It’s said nothing gets done in this state unless the Lodge approves. Everybody chalks it up to corruption, but it’s the Lodge.”
Jack had to laugh. “C’mon, Weez! We’re talking about Johnson, New Jersey, here. The butt end of nowhere. If this order is oh-so-powerful, don’t you
think it’d set up in Trenton or Newark? I mean, anywhere but Johnson.”
Weezy gave him that tolerant smile she used when she was about to tel someone what she thought everyone should already know.
“The Lodge wasn’t built in Johnson … Johnson—or Quakerton, as it was cal ed back then—was built around the Lodge.”
“What are you talking about?”
“The Lodge was here first. Some say it was here even before Columbus came to the Americas, but no one can prove that.”
“How can that be? Look at the building. It can’t be that old.”
Another eye rol . “Ever hear of rebuilding and remodeling? Anyway, some accounts—and I can’t say how reliable they are—say that members had
settled themselves around the Lodge in what they cal ed Quakerton—what
“How is that possible?”
“Wel , it’s pretty wel accepted that the Norse and even Irish had settlements in North America in the eleventh century. Who’s to say who else was
around? But here’s what’s real y interesting: If the Lodge’s settlement was already here when the Pilgrims arrived in 1620, how could they have cal ed it
Quakerton when the first Quakers didn’t even exist until 1647?”
Jack said, “I don’t know about you, but that sounds like pretty good proof that somebody”—his turn to give a look—”has her dates screwed up.”
“Maybe it meant something else. Maybe their idea of a Quaker wasn’t our idea of a Quaker.”
Jack found that unsettling, but couldn’t say why.
“And another thing—” She stopped and pointed. “Look!”
They’d reached the light at the highway, and Jack saw what had caught her attention. The flashing lights of a pair of cop cars and an ambulance were
spinning like mad at Sumter’s used cars across 206.
He looked at Weezy, she at him, and they both nodded.
Jack led the way across the highway and into the car lot where they stopped behind two deputies. Both were watching a guy and a woman from the
volunteer first-aid squad work on an unconscious man who lay spread-eagled on the pavement. They’d torn open his shirt and slipped some kind of
plastic board under his back. The first-aid guy was on his knees, thumping on the man’s chest while the woman held a face mask over his nose and
mouth and squeezed a footbal -shaped bag to pump air into his lungs.
Jack wondered who it could be. He noticed one of the deputies was Tim but didn’t dare ask him. He’d shoo them away for sure.
The first-aid guy was bathed in sweat. He stopped thumping and listened to the chest while pressing two fingers against the man’s throat. Then he
leaned back and looked at his watch.
“Twenty minutes of CPR and nothing. He’s a goner.” Another look at his watch. “I’m pronouncing him at nine-forty-seven.”
The deputies pul ed out pads and pens and made notes as the woman first-aider removed the mask. The dead man’s face was white, his mouth hung
open, and his glassy eyes stared at nothing.
Jack and Weezy gasped in unison when they recognized Mr. Sumter. Tim must have heard, because he turned and saw them.
