Tonight was another of those rare evenings when everyone was home for dinner. Mom and Dad sat at the ends of the oblong dining room table, with Kate
and Jack on one side, and Tom by himself on the other. Mom had made her Friday night meat loaf. She always mixed an envelope of Lipton’s Onion Soup
into the meat and Jack loved it. Add local corn on the cob and creamed spinach and he had heaven on a plate.
As Jack ate he looked for a way to bring up the latest death. Final y he found an opening.
“Remember what Mister Bainbridge said about never two deaths without three?”
Dad swal owed. “And like
“But the death of that Assemblyman Vasquez makes three, right?”
“I suppose so.” Dad shrugged. “Every so often old wives’ tales work out, that’s why they never go away.” He looked thoughtful. “And this time not just
three random people, but three Lodgers.”
Jack almost dropped his fork. He’d half guessed the connection, but hearing it confirmed at his own dinner table came as a shock.
“He was in the Lodge too?”
Dad nodded. “Saw him there when they were trying to get me to join. Guess they thought it would impress me. It didn’t.”
Tom spoke around a mouthful. “You should’ve joined while you had the chance, Dad. They ever ask me, I’l join in a heartbeat.”
“I’m sure you wil .” Dad shook his head, then smiled. “I wonder what Ed Toliver wil have to say about another Lodger’s death?”
Tom forked a big piece of meat loaf into his mouth before replying—a habit that drove Jack up the wal . Most people swal owed their food, then spoke.
Tom rarely spoke
“Not much, I’d guess. He’s learning the hard way that you don’t mess with the Septimus Lodge.”
Kate looked up. “Oh?”
More meat loaf, then, “Toliver received notice today that his state income tax is being audited. And if that wasn’t bad enough, his requests for variances
and permits on that Mount Hol y shopping center he’s been working on have been sent back. He’s got to resubmit.”
“What’s that got to do with the Lodge?” Jack said.
Tom picked up an ear of corn and began chewing on it left to right like a machine-gun typewriter.
“Everything,” he said between finishing the first row and attacking the second. “He cal ed the lodge out.” Another row—
demanded an investigation.”
“They’ve got that kind of power?” Jack said.
Tom nodded. “Ohhhhh, yeah.”
Dad narrowed his eyes. “Where’d you get al this information?”
A huge forkful of creamed spinach went in, then, “The legal grapevine, Dad. Word gets around fast: Judges talk to their clerks, the clerks talk to lawyers
and law students they know. In no time it’s al over the place.”
Mom shook her head. “What kind of a country has this become where you can’t speak your mind?”
“The real world,” Tom said. “The way it’s always been. You push, you should expect a push back. The secret is to make sure you’re on the side with the
most muscle.”
“How about being on the side that’s right?” Kate said.
Tom grinned, showing a piece of spinach stuck to one of his front teeth.
“Wake up, Kate. Might makes right.”
As Jack watched Kate shake her head sadly and go back to eating, he decided it was time for a little public pistachio shel ing.
After dinner, Jack fol owed his father upstairs to his folks’ bedroom. “Dad, can I ask you something?”
“Of course—as long as it’s not about that box.”
