to it. He hadn’t found a lock like this in USED but he was sure he could open it.
Half an hour later he was pretty sure he couldn’t. At least not at his level of experience. He needed more practice.
Frustration gnawed at him as he folded up the pick kit, returned the box to its original place, and headed back downstairs. The secrets within had
become secondary. The lock … the lock had become his Everest and he was determined to climb it.
After hiding the pick set under the T-shirts in one of his drawers, he wandered through the house. He could read or watch TV, but neither appealed to
him at the moment. He could see if he could get past the smart bombs in
were visiting their grandmother in Baltimore.
That left Steve and the Heathkit.
“Steve’s downstairs working on the computer,” Mrs. Brussard said as she let him in.
Jack hoped so, but had his doubts.
“Is Mister Brussard around?”
She shook her head. “No. He’s over at the Lodge. Why?”
“I just wanted to tel him something about the black box I showed him the other night.”
Jack had wanted to see if he would have any reaction when he told him the cube and the pyramid were missing.
“He shouldn’t be too late.”
Jack nodded and headed for the basement. As he passed the den he slowed, looking for the humidor. He spotted it—inside the locked liquor cabinet.
Swel .
Downstairs he found Steve dozing on the couch.
Jack shook his shoulder. “Hey.”
Steve’s lids fluttered open to reveal glassy eyes. “Hey, man.”
Aw, no. He was at it again.
“More pil s?”
He grinned as he pointed to a Pepsi can and rattled the vial of pil s in his shirt pocket. “Double barreled: Valium with a bourbon chaser.”
“But how’d you get hold of the bourbon? I thought your father had it al locked up.”
His grin broadened. “He does. Or at least he thinks he does.” He pointed to a smal key lying on the end table. “But he doesn’t have the only key. I had a
copy made at Spurlin’s this afternoon.”
“Swel . So I guess you’re going to spend the night on the couch.”
Steve burped in reply, closed his eyes again.
Jack resisted the urge to kick him. Instead he stepped over to the end table and stared down at the key to the Brussard liquor cabinet … and to the
humidor.
Should I?
He decided he should. He hadn’t been able to learn what was in his father’s lock box, but maybe he’d be able to pierce the secret of the little red boxes
in the humidor.
He snagged the key and hurried upstairs. If Mrs. B was around he’d just go to the fridge for a Pepsi. If not …
She was nowhere in sight, so Jack hurried to the den and the liquor cabinet. His hand was shaking a little— what would happen if Mr. Brussard returned
now?—so it took him a second try to put the key in the lock. As the door swung open he grabbed the humidor and lifted the lid.
One box remained. He pul ed it out, then returned the humidor to its shelf. He turned the little red box over in his hands, examining it. It reminded him of
a hatbox, only this was barely two inches tal and wide, and had seven sides. It was covered with some sort of fine shiny fabric, like silk.
Jack was about to lift the lid when he heard voices in the front yard. Two men … and they sounded like they were arguing. One of the voices was Mr.
Brussard’s. Coming closer.
