The medical bag was still on the table, exactly where they had left it, seemingly untouched.
“Dr. Darby paid for those scalpels with British money,” Tad said softly, his eyes fixing on the satchel. “Remember?”
Kent looked over at him. “So what are you saying? Those scalpels actually belonged to Jack the Ripper?”
Tad hesitated, then shook his head. “Nobody even really knows who Jack the Ripper was.”
“Maybe Darby found out,” Kent said. “Maybe that’s why he paid so much for them.”
Eric was barely listening. The bag, still closed, seemed to be drawing him to it. The fingers of his right hand were trembling, and as he stared at the bag, he could once again feel the cold metal of its contents in his hand. “I’ve got to see them,” he whispered. “I’ve got see if there’s blood on them.” Finally, he managed to look away from the bag and turned to Kent and Tad. “And if there is, we’re bricking this room up again, and we’re never coming anywhere near it afterward.” His eyes moved from Kent Newell to Tad Sparks, then back to Kent. “Deal?”
Kent and Tad exchanged a glance, then Kent spoke for both of them. “Deal.”
Eric bent over the old medical bag.
“Go ahead,” Kent whispered. “Open it.”
Eric swallowed hard, trying to rid himself of the lump that seemed to fill his throat. The room suddenly seemed too small, too close, and despite the light from the lanterns, the indistinct voices were back, humming in his ears.
“Open the bag,” Tad urged. Eric’s gaze flicked toward him, and in the split second in which their gazes connected, Tad saw something in Eric’s eyes that made him take a step back.
Eric reached for the worn leather valise, his hands clammy, his fingers still trembling.
He drew it across the table until it was directly in front of him.
“Thirty-four thousand pounds,” Tad said quietly. “That’s a lot of money.”
Eric took a deep breath, snapped open the catch, lifted the leather strap, and opened the hinged mouth of the bag until it yawned wide.
Kent lifted a lantern and all three boys peered inside.
The scalpels gleamed, their blades glittering in the light.
No blood.
They were clean and shiny.
As clean and shiny as if they were brand new.
Eric leaned against the table, his eyes closed, listening, trying to concentrate.
He could almost make out what the voices were trying to say to him.
Almost, but not quite.
“We’ve got to know all of it,” he whispered. “We’ve got to find out what Dr. Darby was doing in here.”
Chapter 15
MARCI’S CHIN QUIVERED as she set a worn catnip mouse on top of the shoe-box casket and sprinkled a handful of soil on top of it, then slipped her hand into her mother’s as Eric shoveled more dirt into Tippy’s grave.
“We couldn’t find anything to make a headstone with,” Merrill said as the little grave quickly filled, “so we’re scattering rose petals.”
“I’m going to make a cross later,” Marci said.
Eric nodded, and Marci picked up the basket of fresh rose petals she had spent the last hour gathering and carefully dropped them on top of the freshly turned earth, upending the basket to shake the last ones out. “Good- bye, Tippy,” she whispered, and once more clung to her mother’s hand.
“Good-bye, Tippy,” Eric and Merrill echoed as Merrill stroked her daughter’s hair.
“See?” Merrill went on, as Eric started toward the carriage house, the shovel held against his shoulder like a rifle. “Now Tippy will always smell the roses.” She gave Marci one more squeeze, then raised her voice enough for Eric to hear. “Fresh chocolate chip cookies in the kitchen.” As he waved an acknowledgment, she gently turned Marci away from the grave and started back toward the house.
A SHIVER RAN THROUGH Eric as he came to the door to the storeroom.
He paused.
Maybe he should let Kent and Tad go to the library by themselves, while he spent the afternoon in the secret room, quietly exploring the contents of the boxes and trying to decipher the cryptic entries in the journal.
He reached for the doorknob, his fingers already tingling in anticipation of touching the hard brass.
On the edges of his consciousness he could hear a whispering sound, almost like voices. Though the words — if they really were words — were unintelligible, they seemed to be pleading with him.
Pulling him closer.
His fingers closed on the doorknob.
The shovel slipped from Eric’s grasp, and when it crashed to the concrete hallway, startled him back to reality.
He checked his watch. It was only three-thirty.
At least he hadn’t lost track of time, and Tad had said the library stayed open until nine in the summer. Turning away from the door to the storeroom, he hurried to the tool room and replaced the shovel.
Back at the house, he found his mother and sister having cookies and milk at the kitchen table. He washed his hands, then went over and picked up a cookie from the plate in the center of the table. “I’m going over to Kent’s,” he said, snagging two more cookies, hesitating, then taking a fourth. “For Kent,” he added, though no one had challenged his taking all but three of the cookies left on the plate.
“Oh, honey,” Merrill said, putting a hand on his arm. “Couldn’t you just stay here with us?”
Eric turned back. “Why?”
Merrill’s brow creased with worry. “Because of all that’s happened. I just thought it would be nice if you were here with Marci and me.”
“But Kent and Tad and I were going to the library.”
Merrill stared at her son. “The library?” she repeated. “I don’t believe it — Tad Sparks, maybe. But Kent? The library? During summer vacation?” She eyed Eric. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” he replied quickly casting around in his mind for something his mother might buy. “Kent said a lot of girls hang out there,” he finally said, though Kent had never said anything of the sort.
His mother seemed to accept it, but said, “I still think you should stay home today.”
Suddenly he understood, and met his mother’s gaze squarely. “You’re just afraid something else is going to happen. And because you’re afraid, I get punished.”
Her gaze dropped away from his. “I’m asking you nicely to please stay home.”
Eric slid into one of the kitchen chairs. “And I’m asking you to please let me go hang out with my friends. If Dad were here, I’d get to go.” He could see his mother wavering. “Let’s call and ask him.”
Merrill hesitated, then reached for the cordless phone and dialed. She’d hoped Eric would have agreed to stay home, and then maybe her fears over being in the big house at night wouldn’t escalate into another series of horrible, interminable sleepless hours. She felt tears building up, but didn’t want to cry in front of the kids.
And she sure didn’t want to cry on the telephone to Dan, who answered on the first ring.
“Dan Brewster.”
“Hi, honey.”
Eric bit into a cookie while Marci sat with her hands in her lap, a sad look on her face.
Merrill recounted Tippy’s funeral and Eric’s request to go out. “I just don’t think I can do it, Dan. I can’t be alone up here all summer while you’re in the city.” In spite of her efforts, her voice started trembling. “I’m thinking
