Game (Jasper Dent #2)(63)

Connie reached for Howie again. This time he didn’t flinch and she briefly massaged the back of his neck, wary of his fragility. “You’re a good friend,” she said.

Howie snorted. “I know. Why do people keep telling me that?”

To that, she had nothing to say.

Howie parked with the headlights glaring at the bare, burned earth and the hole that had once been Jazz’s basement.

“What do you expect to find here?”

“I don’t know.” She got out of the car. In every direction, there were trees and hedges. To the east and west, she could just barely make out houses. Billy Dent’s neighbors.

They planted all that stuff to block off that lot after he went to jail, Connie remembered Jazz saying. Like they could erase what he’d done if they didn’t have to look at where he’d lived.

Howie joined her by the foundation of the house. A few broken, burned cinder blocks littered the hole. In the glow of the headlights, they could see empty beer and soda bottles, as well as snack-chip bags and what looked like used condoms.

“People come out here for privacy, I guess,” Howie said. “Figure no one else would, right?” He inhaled deeply. “Still smells kinda burny. Even three years later.”

Connie squatted down near the edge. Howie suddenly grabbed at her, but she brushed him away. “I’m okay. I’m not gonna fall.”

“I’m more worried about the ground giving way.”

“It’s pretty frozen.” Her breath painted the air misty white. “Don’t worry.”

“Yeah, right.” Howie shivered and hugged himself. “Picked the wrong place to say that. I don’t believe in ghosts or demons, but if they existed anywhere, it would be here.”

Connie grinned. “I’ll protect you, big guy.”

“Much appreciated. What’d the next text say?”

“Next text and last text.” She showed it to Howie.

cherry. sunrise. jasper. down





CHAPTER 30


“What the hell does that mean?” Howie’s earlier fear had been replaced with exasperation. He bit down on his lower lip—lightly—but even so, Connie saw a bruise begin there. He turned in circles, taking in the surroundings. “It was crazy to come here without telling anyone. I hate puzzles. And codes. And mysteries. And riddles. And—”

“It’s not tough,” Connie told him. She scanned her surroundings as best she could in the dark, with only the headlights to pierce the night. “I bet there’s a cherry tree around here. We go to it.”

“And then wait until sunrise? No way. I gotta get some beauty sleep.”

Ignoring Howie, Connie peered through the middle-of-the-night murk of the Dent property, searching out a cherry tree. With her luck, she realized, there would be more than one.

Wait a sec, she thought. Wait. What—

“What does a cherry tree even look like?” Howie whined, voicing her inner thought.

A look of sheepish guilt/stupidity passed between them and then they both went for their cell phones.

Connie’s Google-fu was better and faster than Howie’s. “Here,” she said, holding up a photo on her phone. “A cherry tree.” She scowled. “But it talks about the leaves and…” She gestured around the winter landscape, the frost-rimed ground, the trees with their naked branches.

“No worries,” Howie said, grinning. “I remember. Over there.” He pointed to a large, many-limbed tree not far from the hole in the ground that had once been the Dent house. “That’s it. Right there. I remember what it looked like back then. It used to be in the backyard. Y’know, when there was a house here to be in back of.”

Together they made their way to the cherry tree. Howie stared up into its branches, lost in thought and memory. “We wanted to build a fort up there,” he said, his voice quiet, as though he were murmuring in church. “We were like eleven, I guess. Right up there.” He pointed with a shaky hand. “And I remember his dad was all for it. He said…” Howie suddenly turned away, savagely. “Damn! I can’t believe… I can’t believe I was such—”

“Howie.” She put her hands on his shoulders, a bit firmly, trusting the padding in his winter coat to keep him from bruising. “Howie, it’s okay. You were just a kid. You couldn’t have known.”

“That bastard.” Howie bit through the word like bitter citrus peel. Connie had never heard him so distraught. “You know what he said? He gave that big crap-eating grin of his and he said, ‘Ain’t a bad idea, Jasper. A boy should have a private place all his own. Just him and his secrets.’ ”

Connie thought she could feel the memory, reliving it through the shudder of Howie’s shoulders.

“I thought that sounded so cool,” Howie said. “Goddamn… I thought Billy was the coolest dad in the world. What was wrong with me? Everything normal and good in Jazz’s life, Billy made it evil and disgusting.” He shook off her hands, spinning around, looking not at Connie but up into the tree instead. “We lost interest because, hell, we were eleven. But I bet Billy was picturing Jazz dragging cats and stray dogs up there and cutting them open.” He snorted. “Maybe even me. Figured I’d go missing one day and no one would know what happened, but Billy would know. That was Billy’s dream, right? His fantasy? For Jazz to turn into him?”