Sacrifice (14 page)

“Worn-out piece of shit,” Bob said. “My front door takes twice as long.”

“Gloves,” Ken said.

Bob and Ken slipped on a pair of thin winter gloves. Jeff pulled a pair of gray wool mittens from his pack.

“You’re fucking kidding me,” Bob said.

“Screw you,” Jeff said. “The rest of the winter clothes were in the attic somewhere.”

Bob pushed the door open. The three tensed for the blare of the alarm.

Nothing.

In the darkness, the museum was all bulky black masses and inky shadows. Jeff flicked on a small flashlight and played it around the interior. He entered first and took a lookout position at one of the front windows. Bob followed Ken and his flashlight to the display case with the old history book in it.

Ken knelt at the rear of the display. He slid the door open and pulled the book from within. He double checked the title under the flashlight’s glare.

“Damn it,” Ken whispered. “I can’t take this book. I was in here asking for it today. Ms. Childress will see it missing in the morning and describe a redheaded teenager to the cops as a likely suspect. That narrows it down to about six kids at Whitman High.”

“Well we don’t have time to read the damn thing,” Bob said.

Ken took the book to the bookshelf behind the main desk. He ran the binding along the shelf until he found one about the same size and color. He pulled the doppelganger out. The title read
Fish Species of the North Shore.

Outside, the heavy magnet in the doorway drooped a fraction of an inch.

Ken placed
Fish Species of the North Shore
in the other book’s place in the display. Given the low volume of traffic in the place, it could be months before anyone noticed.

Outside, a Suffolk County police cruiser rolled down the street.

“Cops!” Jeff whispered.

Everyone froze. Ken snapped off his flashlight.

The cruiser slowed to a crawl outside the museum. Jeff ducked down so little more than his left eye appeared above the windowpane. The cruiser accelerated away.

“He’s gone,” Jeff said and breathed a sigh of relief.

The magnet on the doorjamb sagged a half inch more. A few tenuous threads of Silly Putty stretched to hold it on place.

Ken snapped on his flashlight and returned to the far bookcase. He scanned it twice. No Family Tree book. He remembered Ms. Childress putting it in her desk drawer. He yanked open the drawer and played his flashlight inside. Jackpot.

He pulled out the book and flipped it to the last page. He wasn’t going to be able to take this book. He looked for some paper to copy the list of names onto.

In the doorway, the last few strands of Silly Putty snapped. The magnet dropped and hit the ground with a thud.

The alarm’s shriek pierced the night.

Jeff leapt to his feet and sent some wall-mounted artifact flying.

“We’re fucked!” Bob yelled.

Ken threw open the book to the last written pages. He grabbed the corners and yanked the sheets free. He threw the book back into the desk drawer and dashed for the exit. Bob and Jeff were already through it.

The boys bolted through the woods behind the museum. Tree branches whipped against their faces in the dark. Ken and Jeff blindly followed Bob, mostly by the jangle of the ring of keys at his belt.

Blue strobe lights lit the parking lot behind them. The boys burst through the tree line where it ended behind the village green shops. The Duster was nosed into a corner by one of the Dumpsters. The three jumped in and Bob was off in a cloud of burnt oil.

“Shit,” Jeff said. “Do you think—“

“No,” Ken cut him off. “We are away and clear. The cops will search the museum before they start searching for us, and we are long gone.”

Bob looked over his shoulder at Jeff. “You didn’t leave anything in there, did you, Sparky?”

Jeff held up his backpack. “All in here.” He’d even grabbed the electromagnet on the way out the door.

“And you got the book,” Ken asked Bob.

“What book?”

Ken’s mouth dropped open. “The book I handed you from the display case.”

“You didn’t hand me a book.”

Ken swiveled to face Bob. Bob’s face flashed bright and dark as the car raced under the streetlights. “Hell yeah I did. Right before I—“

Bob slipped the book from under his shirt and slammed it against Ken’s chest. “I’ve got the book. Mellow out.”

Ken exhaled in relief. “You know, you can be a real dick.”

Ms. Childress responded to the call from the police since she had locked up that night. Even at two a.m., the woman had to represent her position, impeccable in navy pants and a light blue silk blouse.

Every light in the museum was on, and the room was better lit than any visitor had ever seen it. One Suffolk County cop stood watch by the door.

“Sorry to call you out at this hour,” he said. “But if you could tell us what’s missing, we’ll put out a list to pawn shops and dealers in the morning.”

She walked the aisles and inventoried the items from memory. All the easily fenced valuables were there: coins, money, Victorian pocket watches, jewelry. The firearms on display had the breeches welded, but whatever idiot broke in wouldn’t have known that. At any rate, they were all there. She gave each display case a quick glance. All were closed with no empty spaces. She studied the shelves behind her desk. Her eyes widened in panic as she saw the space where the family tree book had been. Then she remembered putting it in her desk. She yanked the desk drawer open.

The book was still inside. But it was upside down. She bit her lower lip and rolled the drawer shut.

“It doesn’t look like anything is missing, Officer.”

“The alarm probably scared them off,” the cop offered.

“Your quick response didn’t hurt,” Ms. Childress added. “I’ll lock everything back up when I go.”

As soon as the cop closed the door behind him, Ms. Childress pulled the book from the drawer. She fanned through it. She stopped at the two ragged edges left by the missing pages.

“Damn it.”

She went to the shelf of high school yearbooks behind her. She slipped out the crisp new edition for 1980. She flipped through the senior pictures as she dialed the phone at the desk.

“Hello?” answered a sleepy voice at the other end.

“It’s Martha,” she announced. She stopped turning pages at the “S” section, and her finger circled the picture of Ken Scott. “We have a problem.”

Chapter Thirty-One

Marc had a stack of books under his arm as he headed out for school the next morning. He’d been reviewing both bio and calc last night, the two weightiest texts. If there were a path to ending school without taking finals, he’d pay to walk it.

Ken’s car at the end of Marc’s driveway came as a pleasant surprise. Ken reached over and rolled the window down.

“How about a ride?” Ken said.

“Hell, yeah!” He tossed his books through the window into the back seat and got in. “My house is way out of your way. What brings you here?”

Ken drove away. “I’ve got something to show you.”

He stopped the car around a bend in the street, well away from Marc’s house or any curious eyes at the corner bus stop. He slipped the car into park and faced Marc. His eyes were bloodshot, his face a little pale.

“You know, you look like crap,” Marc said.

“It was a late night,” Ken began. He told Marc the story of the Great Museum Robbery.

“I haven’t had time to check the history book yet,” Ken said. “I barely had time for a Pop Tart this morning. But I’ve got those pages I pulled from the town family tree.”

“Cool.”

Ken brought the pages out from under his seat. He flattened them on the center console and pointed to a name halfway down the page.

“Did you know your family was descended from the founders?” Ken asked.

Marc gave the paper a bemused stare. He shook his head.

As far as Marc knew, his mother and father met in college at Cortland State. His maternal grandparents lived in Owego. Marc’s father got a job in New York City and they moved to Sagebrook as a convenient place to live. His mother never mentioned a family history in the area.

On the page, Marc and his brothers’ names were at the end of a line that traced back through Marc’s grandmother off the left side of the page.

“Nice joke,” he laughed. “You and Dave cook this up? Like Paul’s prank letter for his physical? I almost bought that you three broke into the museum and outran the cops. Almost. But this paper is too much. Get real.”

Ken rolled his eyes in exasperation. He checked his watch, and it showed 7:14. He snapped on the car radio and punched up WTAL, the AM news station for eastern Long Island. The announcer reported that the weather would be sunny, high in the low 70s. Marc started to speak but Ken raised a finger to silence him.

“And in our top local stories on the quarter hour: Suffolk County Police foiled an attempted burglary at the Sagebrook Historical Museum last night, and we’ll have comments from one of the museum directors after the break.”

Marc looked back at the torn pages with more earnest concentration. “I don’t know anything about this. But I’ll sure find out.” He pointed to one of the names with a red star. “What’s with the stars?”

“No clue, but you and your brothers didn’t get one.”

Marc wondered if that was good or bad. He guessed the latter.

Ken started to fold the papers shut but Marc stopped him.

“I’ll take those,” he said. “You research the stolen book, I’ll check out these names.”

“Divide and conquer,” Ken said.

“All for none…” Marc started.

“…and none for all,” Ken finished.

Ken headed his car toward school. Marc pondered the revelation about his family’s secret history. He’d have to check the pages again, but he had a sinking feeling he remembered a few of the names. He’d seen them in the library. In the
Sagebrook Standard
’s obituaries.

Chapter Thirty-Two

Katy waited for Jeff outside Spanish class as fourth period ended. She stood on her toes with excitement and had that big smile that Jeff fell in love with years ago.

Her best friend Olivia was at her side, annoyingly perky as always. She was just a shade over five feet tall but easily twice Katy’s weight. Jeff always thought of the phrase “opposites attract” when they were together.

Katy gave him a hug that bordered on assault. He grabbed his Mets hat as it flew off his head. “I picked up my gown yesterday! Oh my God! It is so beautiful.”

“Totally,” Olivia added. “I’m doing her hair and she’ll be a knockout.”

“You have your tux?” Katy asked.

“I pick it up Thursday,” Jeff said.

Katy’s smile faded. “Waiting until the last minute?”

“That’s the earliest I can get it,” Jeff said. “I’m renting it, not buying it.”

Katy did not appear mollified.

“I double checked that the flowers will be ready for a Friday pickup,” Jeff said. “I fixed the leak in the Pinto’s radiator and it will be all ready for the trip south.” There was going to be a huge senior caravan to Jones Beach when the prom ended. Senior Sunrise on the Atlantic was a Whitman tradition. A variety of other individual traditions were usually observed on the darkened beach ahead of time. Jeff flashed a big grin. “It will be the perfect night.”

A renewed smile found its way to Katy’s lips. She hugged him again.

Over her shoulder Jeff saw Olivia from the corner of his eye. She had a sad look of longing. She was able to do Katy’s hair because she wasn’t going to the prom. Jeff had tried to convince one of the Half Dozen to take her platonically, but he’d have had more luck hawking seaweed sandwiches. Olivia backed away and headed for her next class.

“Why do you look so beat?” Katy said.

There was no way Jeff was sharing about last night’s caper. Katy already had enough against the Half Dozen.

“Studying hard last night.”

Katy gave a look of disbelief. “Well, my parents want us to have dinner before the prom at the Venetian.”

“Really?” Jeff had planned for something a bit more romantic before the prom and a bit less…supervised. “Since when have your parents thought I was okay?”

“Since last month when you fixed the circulation fan in the walk-in cooler before everything spoiled,” Katy said. “The way to a Traina parent’s heart is through the Venetian.”

“I don’t know…”

She wrapped her arms around his waist and stared up at him with those soft, brown, irresistible eyes.

“I’m borderline on being allowed out all night on prom night,” she said. “Dinner with my parents might convince them you aren’t just out to deflower their daughter.”

Jeff blushed. They had not had sex, though they had come close. Katy had not wanted to risk pregnancy.

“They ought to know it’s not like that,” Jeff said.

Katy stood on her toes and whispered in his ear. “Maybe on prom night it will be.” She pulled away with a wicked smile that made Jeff’s pulse race.