Secret Circles yrj-2 Read online

  Saturday in a while, and with so many kids on bikes around here, you"d have to be

  looking for a specific kid to be able to spot him.”

  His gaze ranged back and forth, pausing on each of them.

  “You two were just in there. Think hard: Did one of you see even a hint of a little

  kid on a bike?”

  Weezy shook her head as Jack said, “I know Cody. If I"d seen him, I"d "ve

  grabbed him.”

  Still, he felt bad now for not following him home.

  Tim banged a fist on the fender of his car. “Damn! It was a long shot, but still …” “That doesn"t mean he"s not in there,” Jack added. “He wouldn"t have gotten as

  far in as we were. You know how those firebreaks fork left and right all the time, even close in. He could be just a quarter mile from here but totally lost.”

  “And unless you know your way,” Weezy added, “or know enough to follow your

  tire tracks back, you can get lost in no time.”

  Jack had a sinking feeling. “And stay lost.”

  He thought about the day ahead of him. He was supposed to put in a few hours at USED, but he was pretty sure Mr. Rosen would let him off if he asked—especially if it

  concerned a missing child.

  He turned to Tim. “We"ll go back in and ride around to see if we can find him.” Tim shook his head. “I"d get my head handed to me for putting even more kids

  at risk of getting lost.”

  Weezy looked offended. “We wouldn"t get lost.”

  Tim nodded. “I know that, and you know that, but the sheriff wouldn"t see it that way. Besides, he doesn"t want any more bikes in there tracking up the trails.” Jack thought that was stupid. They"d be able to spot Cody"s bike tracks before

  anyone else. And they wouldn"t get lost. Weezy could ride a new path and remember

  everything about it, then add it to the map she kept in her head. Day or night, she

  knew exactly where she was in the Pines.

  Jack was less sure about himself. Certain trails he knew by heart, but he"d never

  be as at home in there as Weezy. The trails forked no matter which direction you were moving. You might try memorizing your turns on your trip in, but everything looked

  different on the way back. Choose one wrong fork and you could wind up in unfamiliar territory, miles from where you planned to be.

  Retracing your own tracks was the best way, and promised to be pretty easy

  today—all the recent rains had smoothed out the sandy surfaces of the trails, leaving them blank, like new sheets of paper waiting for someone to write on them. Perfect for finding Cody"s tracks.

  Jack was opening his mouth to protest when a flash of light flickered to the west.

  He saw the underbellies of storm clouds darkening the overcast. Thunder rumbled a

  few seconds later.

  Tim gave his fender an annoyed slap. “Just what we need. Another storm.

  Perfect timing. Damn!” He turned to Jack. “All right, you guys, head home before it gets here.”

  Shoving his smarter instincts aside, Jack said, “Let us ride in for a quick look

  before the storm wipes out all the tracks.”

  Tim shook his head. “No way. And you know better than that, Jack. The Barrens

  are the last place you want to be in a thunderstorm.”

  “But maybe we can pick up his trail. Once the rain comes through, it"ll be gone.” “I know that, and I appreciate the offer, believe me. But I"ve got my orders, and

  even if I didn"t, I"d never forgive myself if I let you kids go in there and something happened. We"ll take the cars in and cover as much ground as we can. But as for you

  two …” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “Home. Now. Git.”

  They got.

  Guilt followed Jack all the way home. He should have made sure Cody had got

  back to his house. If only he"d seen him all the way home and told his folks that he"d been out in the street. But he"d watched him turn onto Jefferson, and hadn"t wanted to get him in trouble. All he could think about was that little kid out in the Pines, lost and alone. He could imagine how scared he had to be. And then to be caught in a

  thunderstorm …

  Poor kid.

  9

  That evening, Jack and Weezy were biking north on Route 206 under a clear sky.

  The storm had broken hard and mean just minutes after he"d reached his house. Mr. Rosen had called from USED to tell him not to bother coming in—the storm would keep away any potential customers. So he"d spent the afternoon with his father and his frantic mother.

  She"d heard about Cody Bockman and hadn"t been able to sit still. She kept wanting to get an umbrella and go out searching for him in the storm. It never reached the point where Dad physically had to restrain her, but it had gotten close.

  Jack felt the same way. Maybe worse. Should have seen Cody home. The kid must have kept on riding right past his house to who knew where.

  The storm blew off to the east about five o"clock. As soon as the rain stopped, Mom dragged his father into the car to drive around, looking.

  Jack had gone over to Eddie and Weezy"s and they"d biked toward the Pines for their own search. But a deputy had waved them off, saying they didn"t want fresh bike tracks messing up the trails.

  Jack told him they weren"t going to find anything old after the way it had rained, but his arguments fell on deaf ears.

  As they"d ridden back through Old Town, Weezy suggested they go watch the circus set up.

  Eddie begged off—not interested. Jack knew he didn"t want to make the trip up 206.

  “I think I saw the pyramid,” Jack said as they neared the field where the circus set up every year.

  Weezy nearly fell off her bike as she gave him a wide-eyed stare.

  “You what? W-w-when? How?”

  “Today, when we were talking to Mister Drexler.”

  “And you didn"t tell me?”

  “I haven"t had a chance. And hearing about Cody pretty much blew it out of my head until now.”

  “Oh, yeah. I can see that.” She brightened. “But the pyramid—you think it"s ours?”

  He realized she was changing what he said.

  “I said I thought I"d seen something that might be it. Not even sure it was a pyramid, just looked like—”

  “But it could have been.”

  “Yeah, but—”

  She skidded to a halt. Jack stopped a few feet ahead of her.

  “We"re going back.”

  He stared at her. “And do what?”

  “Find a way into the Lodge and get my pyramid back. I found it and—” “We found it.”

  “Okay, we found it. It"s our pyramid. And if our pyramid is in there, we are going to get it back.”

  He wished he"d never mentioned it.

  “I can"t believe I"m saying this to you of all people, but you"re not thinking, Weez. Think: steel door, barred windows … even if we got in we"d be risking more trouble than it"s worth.”

  “Not to me.”

  “It"s worth ending up in jail?”

  “It"s proof.”

  “Proof of what?”

  “That I"m not crazy.”

  “Nobody thinks you"re crazy.”

  Deep hurt peeked through her eyes. “Yeah, they do.”

  Jack realized with a pang that she was talking about her folks, probably Eddie too.

  “Well, if that"s true, you"ll only prove them right by getting caught trying to break into the Lodge.” That seemed to sink in, so he pressed it. “Look, let"s give it some time, put it on a back burner. Maybe we can come up with something that won"t land us in the backseat of Tim"s patrol car.”

  She looked away, then sighed. “Okay. For now. But promise me you"ll find a way in, because if you think I"m going to drop this, you"re wrong.”

  Jack had no illusions on that count.

  10

  A little farther north the
y came upon a scene of furious activity. The circus had chosen a spot halfway between the highway and the tree line that flowed into the Barrens. Seedy-looking roustabouts were rushing around, unloading trucks, assembling amusement rides, and raising tents. The show"s one elephant trumpeted now and again as it hauled stuff through the mud; shouts and chatter and the clang of sledgehammers on spikes filled the air.

  Jack guessed the storm had put them behind schedule. The field was quickly becoming a mud pie.

  “They call these little circuses „mud shows,"” Weezy said. “Now I can see why.”

  “More like a mud bath. People better wear boots tomorrow.”

  Weezy laughed. “Yeah. Waders.”

  They stood in silence awhile, staring at the anthill activity.

  Finally Weezy said, “I was thinking about what the deputy said—about Cody and the circus. He called them „shady types." You think they might have anything to do with him disappearing?”

  “You mean kidnapping?”

  She shrugged. “I don"t know. These mud shows usually hire their roustabouts from homeless shelters and skid-row hotels. Lots of them are alcoholics and druggies.”

  Jack looked at her. “And you know this how?” When Weezy gave him a duh look, Jack said,

  “Never mind. Silly question.”

  Weezy had read it somewhere, which meant it was carved on her brain. She never seemed to forget anything she read.

  At least she wasn"t talking about the pyramid.

  Jack watched the workers. Were they really the lowlifes Weezy had read about? Even if so, would they kidnap a kid? What for?

  Jack didn"t want to think about that.

  “Hey, you two,” said a phlegmy voice to their right.

  Jack saw a skinny guy walking their way. He wore a blue T-shirt with multiple salt-caked sweat rings, ripped jeans, and mud-crusted sneakers. A hand-rolled cigarette dangled from his lips.

  Lank, greasy hair, an unshaven face, tattoos, an earring, and a lot of missing teeth completed the picture.

  Weezy took a quick step back as the guy stopped before them. “We"re just watching.”

  “I can see that. How"d you like to do more"n watch? I"m talkin" work. I"m the canvas boss.

  We"re shorthanded and short on time. Give you free passes to the tent show if you help out.”

  “No thanks,” Weezy said without a second"s hesitation.

  “I didn"t mean you.” He focused on Jack. “How about you? Want some passes?”

  Jack hesitated, but not because the free passes were tempting—they weren"t. He was thinking about Cody. A circus, full of seedy types like this guy, rolls into town Friday night and the very next morning Cody goes missing.

  Coincidence? Could be. Most likely was. Just like Mr. Collingswood"s appearance. But there was always the possibility …

  If Jack hired on, it would afford him a chance to look around the circus, see things in an unguarded state, before everything was set up and ready for the public eye.

  No. Crazy. That was dumb boy-detective stuff. Like the guilty party—if one existed—would let Cody be seen. Besides, if the sheriff"s department hadn"t checked out the circus folk already, they soon would.

  But it wouldn"t hurt to mention Cody to this guy and see how he reacted.

  “Nah,” Jack said, knocking back his bike"s kickstand, “I"ve got to get back and help search for a missing kid.”

  The guy stiffened. “Missing kid? What missing kid?”

  “A five-year-old boy disappeared this morning.”

  He threw his cigarette down and ground it viciously into the wet ground.

  “Not again!”

  This wasn"t the reaction Jack had expected.

  “Again?”

  “Some kid took a powder at one of our stops in Michigan during the summer.

  What a mess

  that was.”

  “Did they find him?”

  “Don"t know. Didn"t know nothin" about that kid.” He glared at Jack. “And I don"t

  know nothin" about this one. Don"t know nothin" about nothin", okay? None of us do. But sure as hell you townies will think we do, just like the rubes in Michigan. Never fails. Somethin"

  goes wrong in a town while we"re around, and we automatically get the blame.” He put his hands on his hips and stared around. “A missing kid! As if this Jonah"s-luck weather ain"t trouble enough, now this. Damn!

  He stormed away without a backward glance.

  “Well-well-well,” Weezy said. “That sure set him off.”

  Jack thought he"d looked anything but guilty. But the fact that another kid had

  disappeared along their route was disturbing. Maybe that guy didn"t know anything about it himself, but he couldn"t very well know everything his hirelings did in their spare time.

  One of the circus folk could be some sort of perv. Jack shuddered at the thought of Cody in the clutches of a child molester.

  Suddenly he wanted to be home.

  “Let"s get out of here.”

  11

  Weezy peeled off at Adams Street and Jack continued on alone to Jefferson and home

  where he found a strange car parked in the driveway. He stowed his bike in the garage and went in through the back door.

  Inside he found the kitchen table set for dinner but no one there. He heard voices from the front of the house and headed that way. In the living room he found three adults and a child: his folks, plus Mr. Vivino and his daughter Sally.

  “Hey, Jack,” Mr. Vivino said, rising and holding out his hand. He was heavyset with a round face and longish brown hair. “Long time no see.”

  Jack gave his hand a firm shake, just as he"d been taught to do. His father had told him wimpy men gave wimpy handshakes.

  “Hi, Mister Vivino.” He turned to the five-year-old girl. “Hey, Sally. How"s it going?”

  “Okay,” she said, barely making eye contact.

  And no smile. Sally used to have one of the biggest, brightest, sweetest smiles. Where had it gone?

  Jack thought he knew: It left with her brother.

  Weezy was pretty much Jack"s best friend now, and Kate had been his best friend growing up.

  But from age eight or nine until twelve, Jack and Tony Vivino had been near inseparable.

  Then Tony died.

  It started with a broken leg from just hopping over a tree trunk. No way that little jump should have broken his leg. Something was wrong.

  Very wrong. He had some sort of bone cancer that had already spread through his system. They cut off his leg, filled him with drugs that made his hair fall out, and then he died anyway. Jack had cried like a baby. He went to the funeral and hadn"t been back to the Vivinos" since. Hadn"t seen any of them until last month when Mrs. Vivino and Sally, who"d started kindergarten this year, began showing up at the school bus stop.

  He remembered the old days when he"d tickle her just to see that smile. Jack had recovered from Tony"s death. It didn"t look like Sally had.

  “Mister Vivino"s running for freeholder,” Mom said with a smile of her own.

  People told Jack he had the same hair and eyes as his mother. She used to be thin but had added pounds the past few years. Dad didn"t seem to mind but she was always complaining about it.

  Her smile looked forced and Jack could guess why: no word on Cody Bockman.

  “That"s great,” Jack said to Mr. Vivino. “Can I ask a dumb question?”

  He grinned. “The only dumb question is the one that doesn"t get asked.”

  “Okay. What"s a freeholder do?”

  Mr. Vivino laughed. “They run the county. Mister Haskins"s unfortunate death left a gap I"m ready to fill.”

  The mention of Mr. Haskins changed the mood in the room and triggered uneasy memories.

  He"d been one of the Lodge members who"d died so mysteriously last month. No one could say for sure whether he"d been murdered, but it was suspected. Stuff like that just didn"t happen around here.

  Mr. Vivino cleared his throat. �
�His term was about to expire this year so I"m running to take his place. I"m here to ask your folks for their support.”

  “And you"ve got it, Al,” Jack"s father said, rising from his chair and extending his hand.

  No surprise there. His father and Mr. Vivino—his first name was Aldo but everyone called him A1—were both members of the local Veterans of Foreign Wars post. Dad"s war had been in Korea. Tony"s father was a Vietnam vet like Walt. They"d both come back in one piece—at least physically—but Mr. Vivino worked for an engineering firm in Cherry Hill while Walt … well, Walt spent his time being Weird Walt.

  Jack"s dad was trim, with blue eyes and thinning hair. He held his steel-rimmed reading glasses in his free hand. Jack realized the rising, the handshake, and the promise of support were a subtle heave-ho. Dad was probably hungry.

  “Mine too,” Mom said.

  Jack could tell she wanted to get dinner on the table.

  Thankfully Mr. Vivino picked up on it.

  “Tom and Jane, I appreciate that.” He shook Mom"s hand. “I"d be honored if you"d allow me to put a sign up on your lawn.”

  “Sure,” Dad said. “Be our guest.”

  Jack could almost hear him thinking, Anything. Justgo

  Mr. Vivino shook Jack"s hand again, then led Sally out by the hand. “Bye, Sally.”

  Sally looked up and gave him a little wave as she followed her father out. Still no smile.

  Jack wished he knew a way to change that. He wished something else …

  “I wish I could vote,” he said as he followed his folks to the kitchen.

  “So you could vote for Al?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Why?”

  “"Cause he"s Tony"s father.”

  Or should that be was Tony"s father? he wondered.

  He guessed he"d always be Tony"s father.

  “I guess that"s as good a reason as any to vote for a freeholder. There"s five of them, so any bad apple that happens to land in that barrel can"t do much damage.”

  That brought Jack up short.

  “You think he"s a bad apple?”

  Dad laughed. “Not at all. No, I"m just saying the freeholder system tends to keep things running smoothly. I think Al will be a good addition.”