Marta laughed. "No way! The old buzzard actually lives on Buzzard Boulevard-how perfect is that?"
"Number 777, " Nick said. "The very last house."
"Naturally."
The streetlights ended when the pavement ran out. As Nick and Marta continued down the dirt road, the night deepened. Nick took out his flashlight.
"Doesn't anybody besides her live out here?" Marta said nervously.
They walked past a couple of houses that were under construction, and another that was roofless and abandoned, probably a hurricane casualty. The woods hummed with crickets and cicadas, and rustled with other, heavier sounds that might have been rabbits or raccoons. Whenever Nick heard something, he aimed the light into the woods to see what it was, but the critters always stopped moving, remaining invisible among the pines and the scrub.
Nick assured Marta there was nothing to be afraid of, but he was jumpy, too. Usually he loved hiking through the outdoors, but it was a totally different experience in the black of night.
"Do me a favor, " Marta said. "Take off the Ace bandage."
"Why?"
"Because you're gonna need both arms to carry me back to the mall after I pass out."
"You are not going to pass out."
"No, I'll probably just drop dead from fright, " Marta said, "when a rabid bear comes chasing after us."
"Or a panther, " Nick joked, trying to lighten the mood.
"Shut up."
Every now and then they would glance back, watching for oncoming headlights, but Buzzard Boulevard was as quiet as a graveyard. Nick wondered if he'd be able to run as fast as normal with one arm bound clumsily behind him.
"How much farther?" Marta asked.
Nick didn't know. The distance seemed longer than it had appeared on the map. He picked up the pace, the white beam of the flashlight bobbing ahead of them. A layer of clouds hung overhead, blocking out the stars and the moon.
When a small animal scampered across the road ahead of them, Marta let out a yip and grabbed Nick. "This was a really terrible idea. Let's go back, " she said.
"Shhhh. We're here."
His flashlight illuminated a plain metal mailbox with three 7's on the side but no name.
"Where's the house?" Marta asked.
"This way. " Nick led her along an overgrown trail no wider than a car. He nearly stepped on a coachwhip snake that, fortunately, slithered into the shadows before Marta noticed it. At the end of the trail, he dropped to a crouch. Marta knelt behind him.
Mrs. Starch's house stood alone in the middle of a clearing. Nick counted three stories, although the old wooden structure appeared smaller than that, hunched and frail. A bare bulb flickered from the ceiling of the porch, but no lights shone in the windows. In the yard there was no sign of the teacher's blue Prius.
"Nobody home, " Marta said, clicking her teeth nervously.
"We'll see."
"Where are you going?"
"To spy, " Nick said. "That was the plan, right?"
Marta stayed close. They darted around the house to the back porch, which was unlit. After creeping up the steps, they searched fruitlessly for a window in which to peek. All the shades were drawn.
"Oh well. We tried, " Marta said, turning to leave.
"Get back here."
"Come on, Nick. I'm totally creeped."
"Something's not right."
"Thank you! Now can we please go?"
"What I mean is, look at this place. She hasn't been here for a while. " Nick shined the flashlight back and forth. "Check out all the spiders."
Marta cringed, but she got the point. Mrs. Starch was a notorious neat freak, yet her porch looked untouched by a broom or mop. Shimmering spiderwebs hung like tapestries in the corners of the ceiling, while the floor was littered with pine needles and moth casings and lizard poop.
Nick said, "She hasn't been home since the field trip. I'll bet you twenty bucks."
"Then who's picking up her mail? And driving her car?" Marta said.
"Exactly. That's the mystery."
"Smoke knows everything."
"He's next on our list. Meantime..."
Marta ducked and covered her head. "A bat just buzzed me, I swear to God!"
"Don't be such a wuss. " Nick jiggled the knob on the back door, which was locked.
"We should go. It's a long walk back, " Marta said, apprehensively eyeing the sky.
Nick scanned the porch until he spotted a large clay pot that contained a wilted palm. "Give me a hand, " he said, Pocketing the flashlight. "We're going to lift that thing."
"Okay, now you're officially insane."
"Hurry up. On the count of three..."
The pot budged only a few inches, but that was enough Nick pointed to a dusty circle on the wood planks, and there lay a key. He smiled.
"Way to go, Sherlock, " Marta said.
The key fit easily into the door, and the lock turned with a crisp click.
"You coming?" Nick asked. "Or would you rather stay out here with the bats and black widows?"
ELEVEN
Nick wasn't sure if sneaking into Mrs. Starch's house was the bravest thing he'd ever done, or the dumbest.
But he felt certain that the world's meanest biology teacher wasn't really absent from school because of a family crisis. Something else had happened, something serious, and Duane Scrod Jr. had to be involved.
"What if she's croaked?" Marta whispered as she closed the door behind them. "What if we find the body?"
The same awful thought had occurred to Nick, although he didn't say it aloud.
"Then the cops'll think we did it! We'll spend the rest of our lives in prison!" Marta said.
"Keep it down, okay?"
"This is the darkest place I've ever been. Give me your hand."
"I've only got one," Nick reminded her, "so you carry the flashlight."
It had been a long while since he'd held hands with a girl-fifth grade, Jessie Kronenberg. The following summer her family had moved to Atlanta, and Nick hadn't heard from her since.
"Where do you think the old witch keeps all her snakes?" Marta asked, squeezing his fingers.
"That's just another lame rumor."
"Maybe it's a true rumor. Maybe she whacked her husband, too. They say he disappeared, like, twenty years ago."
Nick and Marta hadn't moved three steps since coming through the door.
"I'm totally sketched out," she said.
"I know-you're crushing my knuckles."
Nick pulled free of her grasp and took back the flashlight. The moment he turned it on, he saw that at least one of the many crazy stories about Mrs. Starch was true. The house was filled with stuffed animals-and not the soft, huggable type that are found in toy stores.
Marta said, "We . .. are . . . outta here."
"Hold on."
"It's, like, a zoo for the dead!"
Nick, too, had never imagined such a scene-a herd of taxidermied creatures displayed in wild disorder, from wall to wall and from the floor to the rafters. There were birds, mammals, reptiles, and amphibians of many sizes, suspended in poses of coiling, leaping, lurking, snarling, soaring, and pouncing. The animals stared with blank glass eyes through Nick and Marta, into infinity.
"I told you she was a psycho," Marta whispered.
Nick played the beam of the flashlight across the lifeless menagerie. Every mount was identified by a handwritten tag.
"I think I know what she's done here," he said. "Besides losing her marbles?"
Nick approached a tawny spotted cat the size of a golden retriever. Beside it was a small mottled bird, perched sprightly on a stick of driftwood. Mounted overhead on the wall was a homely brown fish with armored ridges. Nick checked the tags on each of them.
"They're all endangered species," he told Marta. "That's a panther cub, that's a Cape Sable seaside sparrow, and that ugly thing up on the wall is a shortnose sturgeon. I know they're endangered because Mrs. Starch has a list in her class sylla
bus."
"You actually read her syllabus? Are you, what, king of the geeks?"
"She said it would be on the final."
"Whatever, Nick. We gotta get back to the mall before-"
"Look here." He fixed the light on a short-eared brown bunny. "A Lower Keys marsh rabbit. And there," he said, pointing to a stubby-legged lump the size of a hockey puck, "is a baby leatherback turtle. And this little guy is a-"
"Rat," Marta interrupted irritably. "A nasty, smelly rat."
"Wrong." Nick pronounced the name slowly from the name tag. "It's a Choc-taw-hatch-ee beach mouse."
"That was my next guess," she said dryly.
"Hey, here's one with a collar." Nick grinned as he read it aloud: " 'Chelsea Evered.' Must be somebody special."
Marta looked around uneasily. "This place is too freaky."
Nick approached a weather-beaten old steamer trunk The lid was so bulky and warped that he was unable to raise it one-handed.
"Help me out, " he said to Marta.
"No way! What if that's where she stuffed Mr. Starch's body?"
"Quit whining."
Together they prized open the antique chest, which, to Marta's relief, was empty.
She crinkled her nose. "Smells like my grandpa's attic."
A car door slammed outside. Nick instantly clicked off the flashlight.
"Get down!" he said, tugging Marta to the floor.
The glow from the car's headlights lit the edges of the window shades. Nick and Marta heard someone clomping up the steps, making no effort to be stealthy. The next noise was the rattle of the doorknob.
"We're so busted, " Marta groaned.
Nick motioned toward the open trunk. "After you."
"Nope. Not happening."
"Get in!"
They clambered inside and pulled the top shut. The only sound was the thump of footsteps on the pine floor, and the footsteps were not dainty. It could have been Mrs. Starch, who wasn't a dainty woman, or it could have been Smoke.
Or possibly some other sizeable person. "I can't breathe, " Marta said wretchedly.
"Yes, you can."
"Turn on the flashlight, Nick, or I'm gonna scream."
"Don't tell me you're claustrophobic."
"Big-time."
Nick said, "Oh, that's great. " He, too, had a fear of confined spaces. The flashlight wouldn't come on until he jiggled the batteries.
"Is that better?" he asked.
Marta was as pale as wax and drenched with sweat. She looked terrible;
The steamer trunk was barely wide enough for the two of them to wedge side by side, sitting with their knees against their chins. For Nick, the cramped fit was as painful as it was unnerving. His taped-up arm was pinned at an unnatural angle against his shoulder blade-he felt like a hawk with a broken wing.
Still, he was more concerned about Marta. "It's all my fault. I'm really sorry, " he whispered.
She shut her eyes and took a deep, labored breath. "You'll really be sorry if I hurl all over both of us."
The person who'd entered the house was moving around, opening cabinets and cupboards. Gradually the sounds of the footsteps came closer, making the planks shudder beneath the trunk.
Nick wished he'd listened to Marta when she had told him to remove the Ace bandage-it would have been helpful to have two good hands available, if needed. He was furious at himself for taking such a foolish risk by entering
Mrs. Starch's house. The last thing his mom needed right now was a phone call from the police or, worse, the hospital. And how would she break the bad news to his father?
As the footfalls got heavier, Marta's eyes popped open. "Can he see that light inside this thing?"
"I doubt it, " Nick said. The sides of the old chest appeared solid and seamless.
"Better turn it off, just in case."
"You won't spaz out?"
"Nope."
Nick killed the flashlight. He could sense Marta trembling at his side. In the smothering blackness, he reached out and found one of her hands. She squeezed back fiercely. By now they could hear the cadence of human breathing outside the steamer trunk-whoever was in the house, man or woman, was standing only a few feet away.
Time seemed to stop dead. Nick felt trapped in his own skin, helpless and on the brink of panic. Taking care of Marta was the only thing that kept him steady; she was in worse shape than he was.
His escape strategy was simple because he was short on options. If they were discovered inside the trunk, Nick planned to spring straight upward, shrieking like a lunatic jack-in-the-box. The idea was to scare the pee out of the person in the room, in the hope that he (or she) would either run away or have a stroke, at which point Nick and Marta could bolt safely out the back door.
Nick figured that the shock tactic had a fifty-fifty chance of working on Mrs. Starch, who wouldn't be expecting nocturnal intruders. He wasn't so sure about Smoke; it was hard to picture the kid being afraid of anything, except possibly a SWAT team.
Marta's hand went limp and clammy. Nick gave it a little pinch, but she didn't respond. In the pitch-darkness of the steamer chest, he groped frantically for her face to make sure she was still breathing.
"Watch it!" she burst out. "Your stupid thumb went up my nose. "
"Not so loud."
But it was too late. There was a heavy thud, and the trunk moved.
"Come out of there!" a male voice commanded.
Nick and Marta were too frightened to respond. They felt another hard jolt-the guy was kicking the sides of the wooden chest.
So much for the element of surprise, Nick thought. Marta poked him sharply, as if to say: Do something!
Nick shifted his weight to his heels and prepared to launch himself against the balky lid. At that moment the trunk went over backwards and the top flew open, spilling him and Marta in a tangled, terrified heap.
Standing over them was the man who had overturned the chest.
"Get up, " he snapped.
Nick rose first and helped Marta to her feet. He noticed that they'd landed on the mount of an endangered wood stork, snapping its long spindly legs so that it was now the same height as a duck.
The stranger carried a flashlight of his own, which he aimed harshly in their eyes. "This must be your first burglary, " he said, "because you stink at it."
"We didn't come to steal anything. That's the truth, " Nick blurted.
He couldn't see the face behind the flashlight, but the voice didn't sound like Duane Scrod Jr.'s.
"Let's go for a ride, " the man said.
"No, wait!" cried Marta. "We're looking for our teacher, that's all."
"Move it."
They exited through the back door, the stranger prodding them from behind. Outside, there was enough starlight to see that the man was shirtless and wore scuffed trousers and muddy hiking boots. A black ski cap covered his hair, forehead, and ears. He stood about the same height as Smoke, although he was leaner and more muscle-bound.
Nick didn't even consider trying to get away, because Marta was still so wobbly that she couldn't possibly have outrun the stranger.
Mrs. Starch's blue Prius was parked next to the house.
"Hop in the backseat, " the man told them.
Marta froze on the spot. "No way."
"Just let us go, " Nick pleaded. "We won't tell the police. "
The man chuckled dryly. "I'm the one who oughta be calling the cops. Now you two can either get in the car or be thrown in the car, it's your choice."
Reluctantly, Nick and Marta got in. The stranger whipped Prius around and drove down the trail to Buzzard Boulevard. He didn't bother switching on the headlights.
"What'd you do with Mrs. Starch?" Nick heard himself ask.
The man eyed him in the rearview mirror. "The question is, what'm I gonna do with you?"
Marta reached over and slugged Nick's leg.
"My name's Twilly, " the man said, a sure sign-or so Marta believed-that he intended to murder th
em and dump their bodies in a drainage canal. Otherwise why would he so casually identify himself and risk being turned in to the authorities?
"I'm Nick Waters, " said Nick. "My friend's name is Marta."
"What happened to your arm, son?"
Nick was pretty sure that the man named Twilly wouldn't believe the truth-that Nick was training to be a lefty-and, in any case, Nick didn't feel like getting into a detailed discussion of his father's war injury.
"Lacrosse, " he said. "I sprained it at lacrosse practice."
"Mmmm, " said the man.
Marta interjected, "Seriously. I was there when it happened. "
"Whatever you say."
"Where are you taking us?" Nick asked.
"Depends."
"My mom's meeting us back at the mall, " Marta said. "If we're not there, she'll go nuts. I swear to God, she'll call the White House!"
The stranger named Twilly said, "I wish I'd had a mom like that. "
Nick decided that because he was the one who'd gotten them into this awful mess, it was his duty to get them out. And since he couldn't very well overpower the guy and hijack the car, the next best option was to talk some sense into him.
"Mister, you don't want to go to jail for kidnapping."
"No, and I don't intend to, " the man said evenly.
"Honest, if you'd just let us go, we won't nark you out-"
"So, Mrs. Starch is your teacher?"
Marta spoke up. "We're in her biology class."
"And you adore her so much that you busted into her home just to make sure she's all right? That's your story?" The man named Twilly was smiling behind the wheel.
"Not exactly, " Nick said. "We didn't break in. There was a key on the porch."
"Ah."
"What were you doing there?" Nick asked, not expecting to receive a straight answer.
"Looking for some powdered cocoa, " the man replied, flicking on the headlights, "and a book. Ever heard of a writer named Edward Abbey?"
Nick and Marta admitted they hadn't.
"No surprise, " the stranger said. "I'm sure they don't each his stuff in that uptight private school of yours. Ed was sort of a bomb thrower, only the bombs were ideals and principles. He liked the earth more than he liked most humans."