Secret Histories yrj-1 Read online

  you’ve got to have some facts.”

  She looked at him and shook her head. “You just don’t get it, Jack. I don’t think you’l ever get it.”

  He was about to ask her just what she meant by that when he heard a car horn toot-toot.He looked around to see a new, light blue Mustang GLX

  convertible with the top down. They were stil in the professor’s driveway and the car had pul ed to the curb a few feet away. He instantly recognized the

  driver.

  Carson Toliver.

  Everybody knew Carson Toliver. Son of Edward Toliver, the rich, big-shot real estate developer who lived in the biggest house in town at the far end of

  the cul-de-sac. Local boy hero who’d enter his senior year as captain and quarterback of the Burlington Badgers, the high school footbal team. Probably

  wind up captain of the basketbal team too. He had the tanned skin, long blond hair, and good looks of a California surfer dude.

  And he was looking at Weezy.

  “You’re Weezy Connel , aren’t you.”

  Weezy nodded but said nothing. She looked like a deer in headlights.

  “Yeah, I’ve seen you around. Heard you found a body in the Pines.”

  She may have found a body but she hadn’t found her voice yet.

  “We both did,” Jack said.

  He looked at Jack for the first time. “And you are?”

  “Just Jack,” Weezy said, her voice sounding thick. “He’s a friend. Just a friend. He’s going to be starting as a freshman next month.”

  Carson had already lost interest in Jack and was refocused on Weezy.

  “So … this body. Was finding it gross or cool?”

  “A little bit of both, I guess.”

  “I’l bet it was. I’d offer you a ride but I see you’ve got your bike. Maybe we can get together sometime and talk about it.”

  “W-with me?” Weezy said.

  “Sure. I’d love to hear al about it.” He put the car in gear and waved. “Later, Weezy.”

  She waved, then stood with her jaw hanging open as she watched him go.

  “Close your mouth before you start catching flies.”

  She turned to him, mouth stil open. “Do you believe that? He spoke to me. He actual y stopped and spoke to me.”She closed her eyes and tilted her

  head back. “I can’t believeit!”

  “Am I missing something here?”

  “Carson Toliver wants to get together with me!” She was talking to the air. Jack could have been miles away.

  “So?”

  Final y she came back to Earth—or at least into shal ow orbit—and looked at Jack as if he’d just told her he was from the Crab Nebula.

  “‘So’? He’s a hunk!He’s more than a hunk, he’s thehunk! And he … he asked me out. Wel , kind of. How cool is that?”

  “Too cool for words,” Jack said, letting the sarcasm drip. “Let’s ride.”

  She didn’t seem to hear him. She was tugging on her ponytail. “Look at my hair! And how I’m dressed! Lame!And I’m on a bike! A bike!I must look like

  a total dweeb!”

  “Wel , it’s not as if you can drive yet. You’re only fourteen.”

  “I’l be fifteen next month!”

  “Stil …”

  “If I’d been walking he’d have given me a ride.”

  Jack had about al he could take. He started riding back toward 206. If Weezy wanted to come that was up to her, but he wasn’t going to stand there

  and listen to any more of her burbling babble.

  He didn’t know why he was feeling ticked off. Okay, maybe he did. To see Weezy go al gaga just because some guy stopped and said hel o … it

  shouldn’t bother him, but it did. That wasn’t his Weezy—or rather, not the Weezy Jack knew. His Weezy wasn’t like other girls. She was different. Special.

  Carson Toliver should be gaga because she’d spoken to him.

  “Hey, Jack!” he heard her cal behind him. “Wait up!”

  He was tempted to say, Don’tyoumean,‘justJack’?but didn’t want to let her know how that had bothered him, or that he’d even noticed. Talk about

  getting dropped like a hot potato.

  She’d probably wanted to let Carson know they weren’t going out or anything like that. And … wel … they weren’t. So why had it bothered him?

  He didn’t know.

  He slowed to let her catch up.

  “What’s the hurry?” she said.

  “Got an errand to run.”

  “Oh. Want me to come along?”

  “That’s okay.”

  No traffic in sight when they came to 206 so they buzzed straight across. “Is something wrong?” she said when they reached the other side. “No, why?”

  “You’re acting weird.”

  Yeah, he probably was. He needed a cover.

  “My brother’s been hassling me. I want to teach him a lesson and I need a special ingredient for that.”

  “And that’s the errand?”

  He nodded.

  She said, “Anything I can do to help?”

  He glanced at her. “This is gonna be pretty much a one-man show, but if I need

  a hand, I’l let you know.”

  She smiled. “If you need me, I’m there.”

  Jack didn’t know why, but suddenly he felt a change. Like a weight had lifted

  from his shoulders.

  Weird.

  4

  Mr. Vito Canel i lived on a corner up the street from Jack and was known for having the best lawn in town. An older, retired, white-haired widower, he

  wouldn’t let anyone else touch his lawn. He cut it twice a week, watered it by hand every other day, and trimmed its edges so neatly it looked like he’d

  used scissors.

  Although his lawn was off-limits, he would hire Jack to shovel his walks and driveway in winter.

  His front yard was open but he kept his back fenced in to protect his vegetable gardens from rabbits and the Pinelands deer that wandered through

  town. Except for the paths between the beds, almost every square inch of his backyard was planted with tomatoes, zucchini, asparagus, and half a dozen

  varieties of peppers.

  Toward the end of summer—like now—he’d set up a table in the shade and sel the excess from his garden. Jack’s mom was a regular customer for his

  huge Jersey beefsteak tomatoes.

  But Jack wasn’t in the market for tomatoes.

  He leaned his bike against a tree and waved to where Mr. Canel i sat in the middle of his lawn pul ing crabgrass by hand.

  Jack inspected the peppers on the table. He saw green, red, and yel ow bel s, and pale green frying peppers. Not what he was looking for.

  “Do you have any hot peppers?” he said, walking up to the old man.

  Mr. Canel i looked up from under a broad-brimmed straw hat.

  “Of course,” he said in his Italian accent. “But I keep for myself. They much too hot for people around here.”

  “I’d like to buy the hottest you’ve got.”

  He shook his head. “You won’t be able to eat. I can eat habañeros like they candy, but my hottest—no-no-no. I use a tiny, tiny amount in soup or gravy.”

  “It’s not for me. This person wil eat them.”

  He gave Jack a long stare, then raised his hand. “Help me up and I show you what I got.”

  Jack helped pul him to his feet, then fol owed him into the backyard.

  “These are jalapeños,” he said, pointing at some dark green oblong peppers maybe two inches long. “They hot.” He moved on and pointed to a shorter

  orange pepper. “Even more hot habañeros.” And then he stopped at a bushy plant with little berry-size peppers. “And here the king. The smal est of the lot,

  but the most hot. A special breed of tepin I cross with habañero.”

  “Tay-peen?” Jack had never heard of it. But then, what did he know about peppers? “How much apiece?” />
  Mr. Canel i shook his head. “I don’t sel . Too hot.”

  “Please? Just a couple?”

  The old man stared at him, smiling. “You up to no good, eh?”

  Jack fought to keep his expression innocent. How did he know?

  “What do you mean?”

  “You know exactly what I mean. But you a good kid. I see you with the lawn mower, I watch you shovel snow. You work hard. I give you some.”

  “I can pay.”

  “I have dried one inside. You wait.”

  While Mr. Canel i went inside, Jack wandered through the garden, marveling at the size of the tomatoes and zucchinis. The old guy definitely had a

  green thumb.

  When he returned a few minutes later he handed Jack a smal white envelope.

  “You take.”

  Jack peeked inside and saw half a dozen little red peppers.

  “Hey, thanks.”

  “You be careful. You wash you hands after you touch. Never rub you eyes. If you burn you mouth, take milk. Or maybe butter. Water only make worse.”

  “Got it,” Jack said. “Thanks a mil ion.”

  He hopped on his bike and stifled himself until he was wel down the street. Then he did the mwah-ha-ha-halaugh the rest of the way home.

  5

  As Jack was biking to USED at midday, he heard someone cal his name. He looked around and saw a long-haired, bearded man waving to him from the

  front porch of the Bainbridge house.

  Weird Walt.

  “Hey, Jack! Got a minute?”

  Jack had a few. He swung the bike around and coasted into the driveway. Walt was rocking in the shade of the porch. He pointed a gloved hand at an empty rocker beside him.

  “C’mon up and set a spel .”

  “I gotta get to work.”

  “Just a coupla minutes.”

  Jack shrugged. “Okay.”

  He laid his bike down on the dry lawn that badly needed watering. Walt lived here with his sister and her husband. He took care of the yard, but wasn’t

  very good at it.

  As Jack hopped up the steps to the porch, Walt patted the seat of the rocker again.

  “Here. Sit.”

  He noticed his gloves were leather. His hands had to be majorly hot and sweaty in those. As Jack seated himself, Walt leaned close and stared, his

  gaze boring into him. It made Jack uncomfortable.

  “What?”

  “Just checking.”

  “Checking what?”

  “I thought you might be him, but you’re not.”

  “What made you think—?”

  “Don’t worry. I’l know him when I meet him.”

  With that Walt scooted his rocker a foot farther away, as if afraid to stay too close.

  Wel , he wasn’t cal ed Weird Walt for nothing.

  Jack leaned back and started rocking. Not a bad way to spend a summer afternoon.

  “What’s up, Mister Erskine?”

  He laughed. “They cal ed my father ‘Mister Erskine.’ Cal me Walt. I wanna thang you for comin’ to my aid yesterday.”

  Jack gave him a closer look. Barely lunchtime and already he had red eyes and slurred words. Jack felt a mixture of sorrow and distaste. And worry …

  Steve Brussard could end up like this if he didn’t get a grip.

  “I didn’t do anything,” Jack said. “Mrs. Clevenger did al the work.”

  “Yeah, but you were there and you were on my side. Would’ve been just as easy for you and Weezy to join the crowd against me. But you two aren’t

  herd members.”

  “Yeah, wel …”

  “Don’t minimize it, Jack. Look, I know what people think of me. I know I’m the town weirdo and the town drunk—I know I’m ‘Weird Walt.’ I’m a lot of

  things, Jack, but I ain’t stupid.”

  “I … I never thought you were.” Where was this going?

  “An’ I’m not crazy. I know I act crazy, but I have very good reasons for what I do. Like these gloves.” He held up his hands. “I wear them so’s I don’t touch

  anyone.”

  “Yeah. Okay.” This was getting weird.

  “An’ I don’t drink ‘cause I want to, I drink ‘cause I have to. I drink to survive.” Jack couldn’t help saying, “I don’t understand.”

  “You wouldn’t. You couldn’t. Nobody can. Not even my buddies in ‘Nam.” “Is it something that happened in the war?”

  Walt stared at him with a strange look in his eyes. Jack tried to identify it. The only word he could come up with was … lost.

  “Yeah.”

  “What?”

  “I don’t talk about it. I used to, but I don’t anymore. It landed me in a mental hospital once. I don’t want to go back again.”

  “My dad was in the Korean War. He won’t talk about that either.”

  Walt looked away. “Lotta people like that. War changes you. Sometimes it’s something you did, sometimes it’s something that was done to you. Either

  way, you don’t come back the same.”

  Jack was thinking his dad seemed pretty normal—except for never talking about it. Jack would have loved to hear some war stories.

  He thought of something he needed to know.

  “You know, um, Walt. If you were a soldier and al , why’d you let a couple of punks like Teddy and his friend push you around?”

  He shrugged. “I’m nonviolent.”

  “But—”

  “When I got drafted I said I wouldn’t fight but I’d be a medic.”

  “So you spent the war fixing people up instead of shooting them down?”

  “I don’t know about the fixing-up part. Mostly I just shot ‘em up with morphine so they could stand the pain and maybe stop screaming until dust-off.”

  “Dust-off?”

  “That was what we cal ed a medevac mission—when a chopper would come in and carry off the wounded.” He shook his head. “The things I saw … the

  things I saw …” His voice became choked. “Maybe I shouldn’t have been a medic. If I’d been just a grunt back in sixty-eight, my life would be different now.

  But it got ruined.”

  Al this was making Jack a little uncomfortable. He wished he’d worn a watch so he could look at it.

  “Um, I gotta run.”

  Walt swal owed and smiled. “I know you do. Thanks for stoppin’ and listenin’ to me ramble. I just needed to talk to you. You did the right thing yesterday

  and I wanted you to know that you didn’t do it for some useless, drunken lump of human protoplasm. That the guy you see on the outside is not the same

  as the guy on the inside. Did I get that across?”

  “Yeah, Walt,” he said, going down the porch steps. “Yeah, you did.”

  He smiled through his beard. “Good. Because I owe you one, man. And don’t you forget it. Because I won’t.”

  Jack hoped he’d never need to col ect.

  6

  After putting in his hours at USED, Jack stopped at the Connel house on the way home. He and Eddie were battling for high score in DonkeyKong.

  Weezy came in just as Jack was handing the joystick back to Eddie.

  “Hey, Weez. I need to borrow the cube tonight.”

  She stopped in midstride and frowned. “Why?”

  “Want to show Steve. He’s handy with gadgets. I want to see if he can open it. I can’t be the onlyone.”

  “Gee … I don’t know.”

  Jack felt a flash of irritation. “Don’t know what? You think I’m going to lose it or something?”

  “No, I mean I don’t know if it’s a good idea to let it get around too much that we have it.”

  “If that pyramid is as special as you think it is, I’l bet word of it is al around U of P by now.”