Chapter 9
I heard Seb banging around in the bathroom for a bit while he got ready, then he shouted at me again, “Hey, while you’re in
the shower, I’ll head outside and take a look at the Corvair. Is the key to the garage still behind the tin Texaco sign?”
“Surprised you remembered,” I called back, hoping my voice sounded normal.
“Mind like a bear trap.”
“Mind like a bear caught in a bear trap.”
“Just because some of us didn’t get into Ivy Leagues doesn’t mean we’re all dummies, you know. At the very least, I’m smarter
than my dog. Usually.”
“Speaking of,” I called out, sitting on the edge of my bed to dig inside my chest of drawers for a change of clothes. “Where
does Punkin stay when you’re at work, or whatever?”
“Different places. Sometimes at Mandy’s Dog Rescue.”
“Your dad won’t let her stay at the house?”
“I don’t stay at the house. My dad doesn’t know about her.” The bathroom door hinges squealed, and Seb stepped out into the hall,
pulling the T-shirt I gave him over his head while pausing in front of my bedroom door. When his face emerged from the cotton,
his gaze flicked over my fuzzy robe, but he didn’t make any comments.
I sidled my way around him to get to the bathroom. “I thought you said things were better between you.”
“They’re civil, which is better. But the only reason we’re not at each other’s throats is because . . .” He shook his head.
“I let him see what he wants to see, and I hide the stuff that pisses him off. If he knew I’d adopted Punkin, he’d say it
was a ‘waste of resources,’” Seb said, making air quotes. “Lucky me, he’s got his hands full these days. He’s . . . distracted.
I haven’t seen him in weeks.”
“Wow, okay.”
He wasn’t eager to elaborate so I changed the subject.
“Hey, what do you think the cipher means? Ideas?”
He shook his head. “Anything could be ‘under their noses.’ My first thought was the Wyrd Jack statue outside the harbor museum,
because I was trying to think of anything with a nose in town, and that’s our only statue.”
“But it says ‘under their noses,’ not ‘under my nose,’ or whatever. Plus, the statue was built in the 1950s, long after he wrote the ‘Prison Poem.’ His treasure had been
hidden for thirty years, and he was dead.”
“Point taken. What about you? Any ideas?”
“Not yet.” I hesitated. “Hey, what’s with Jaz going nuclear back at the cave? Is something going on with her that I don’t
know about?”
“Not sure. What don’t you know about?”
“If I knew, I wouldn’t be asking.”
But he already knew that. I could see humor behind his eyes, but I wished he’d be serious for once.
“Look, Patty told me Jaz has been struggling, but she wouldn’t say why.
Jaz has been acting a little weird around me .
. .” I didn’t want to admit that I’ve overheard their conversation this morning, so I left it and said, “Only thing I’ve noticed that’s different is that it feels like Jaz’s hatred of Lulu is a little personal.
She hasn’t told me anything, but clearly there’s something going on there. ”
He hesitated then gave in. “This year was kind of tough for Jaz. You’d have to ask her for specifics, but, for example, I
know she missed Benny while he was in Kalamazoo, and they made a lot of plans this summer that got wrecked when Lulu showed
up. But, you know, she missed you, too. A lot, actually. Patty’s right—Jaz has been struggling. I think . . .”
“What?”
“I don’t know. Maybe she needed . . . all of us?”
“The Wags?”
He nodded. “You should ask her. Talk to her. For real.”
It was strange for him to advise me to talk to my best friend. I wasn’t the one who left her behind when I chose juvenile delinquency over friendship. But I
wasn’t in the mood to bring that up again.
We stood together, silent and awkward, not quite looking at each other.
“I’m just going to . . .” I gestured behind me, toward the shower.
“Right, right. I’ll be out in the garage.” He took a step back but didn’t turn around. “Get as naked as you want to. I won’t
be peeking.”
“Oh, thank you,” I said with heavy sarcasm. “Thank you for allowing me to be naked in my own home, which I already do every
single day.”
“God, stop flirting with me!”
I slammed the bathroom door shut and melted against it as my nerves went wild. He was only being obnoxious for the laughs, and I just wasn’t used to being teased that way—definitely not back at Harvard. No one there knew how to push my buttons.
Classic Seb Jansen.
I did my best to erase it all from my thoughts while taking a shower and instead concentrated on the skeleton key cipher.
But like Seb, I couldn’t think of any obvious place in town that had to do with noses. The more I thought about it, the more
frustrated I became.
After dressing, I put our wet clothes in the washer. Then I rummaged around until I found a decades-old Ace bandage under
the bathroom sink—the metal fastener long gone and replaced by a safety pin—and wrapped it around my tender ankle. I hobbled
my way outside and entered the garage, where Seb was already shutting the hood of the Corvair.
“What’s the verdict?” I asked.
“Don’t see anything weird under the hood, so I’m going to assume it’s your O-rings and push rods.”
“Push rods? Are you making that up?”
He briefly flashed me his dimples while wiping his hands on a shop towel. “I’d need to get into the engine, and to do that,
I’d need to bring some tools—a jack, car stands—so I can get under to work. I can borrow those from the marina.”
“Seb.”
“No, I mean on the up-and-up. Mr. Neely’s cool. I’ll also need a few things from the auto shop, but it shouldn’t cost more
than fifty bucks, maybe? If you’ve got that.”
I nodded. “How long will it take?”
“A few hours. I’m off again day after tomorrow. I can get the supplies and swing by here in the morning. Maybe we can put
our heads together and figure out the new cipher then, too.”
“Yeah, that sounds really good.” I crossed my arms, looking at the car.
“How’s the ankle?”
I glanced down at the Ace bandage. “Stiff and sore. I took some Tylenol.”
He whistled. “Let’s not go nuts, okay?”
I stuck out my tongue at him, and after he chuckled, I cleared my throat. “So, um, hey. Thank you for helping with the car.
And also for diving into the hole back at the cave. You literally saved my life.”
He waved a hand dismissively. “You would’ve freed yourself.”
“No,” I whispered, shaking my head. “I don’t think I would have.”
Seb scrubbed the back of his neck. “Of course I jumped in. It was you.”
Seb’s gaze met mine, and we looked at each other for . . . far too long. Long enough for big emotions to rise from the battlefield
of my heart, which held tenderness for an old friend and an equal amount of hurt for how he treated me when he left the Wags.
And behind all that, another feeling blossomed. Something that I didn’t want to feel, because it had disappointed me my entire
life.
Hope.
Seb finally looked away and dug out his phone when it dinged. “I hate to run off, but this thing has been blowing up since
I came out to the garage. I gotta take care of something.”
“Your dad?”
He shook his head. “Sort of wish it was. Which is saying a lot.” Pocketing his phone, he gave me a tight smile.
No dimples. He was stressed. Was it Pretty Paul Vanderburg calling Seb back for another pseudo-macho bonfire fight?
Or something worse? Whatever it was, the rigid way Seb held his body made it clear that he was in no mood to discuss it with me.
“Anyway, I’ll come in the morning on Wednesday.
If you need a ride anywhere before then, give me a ring. ”
“I don’t have your number.”
“That’s right,” he said. “Here, swap. I’ll put mine in if you put in yours.”
It sounded like a joke, but he seemed distracted, so I didn’t comment. We exchanged phones and typed our numbers into our
contacts.
Then he strolled out of the garage, whistling loudly for his dog as he opened a gate in the fence. Punkin came running and
jumped in the Bronco along with him. “See you on Wednesday, Malone,” he called out from his open window before starting up
the engine.
I stepped onto the front drive to watch him leave. At the last moment, when he shifted the Bronco in reverse, and Punkin was
hanging out the passenger window, I called out, “Bring that dumb dog of yours again when you come back on Wednesday. She can
stay here if she doesn’t cause me any headaches. I mean, I don’t know about overnight, but if you need to bring her here while
you work, or whatever . . .”
He cocked his head to one side. “For real?”
“If you’re going to rescue a dog, do it properly—don’t take it back to the rescue, for the love of Pete.” I scrunched up my
face in the bright midday sunlight. “But she’s absolutely not allowed on my bed.”
“Perish the thought. I’ll give her a stern talking to,” he said, strapping on his seat belt. “She won’t put a single paw inside your room.”
“Deal. BYODF.”
He arched a brow.
“Bring your own dog food.”
Laughter floated from the driver’s window over the Bronco’s noisy engine. “Got it. You’re a real human being, you know that,
Paige?”
I’d heard that a lot when we were kids. His highest praise. It made me feel warm inside.
“We’ll see you Wednesday,” he shouted, pulling out of the driveway.
God help me, but I was already looking forward to it.