Game (Jasper Dent #2)(84)

In a tone of frosty neutrality, she responded, “I would say that you definitely have the most up-to-date version of the White Supremacist Jackass app on your phone. Good for you.”

A long, sustained burst of tinny, artificial laughter. “I like you so much, Connie. I really do. You give me hope for the future.”

“Glad to help. Now why don’t you tell me exactly where you are and who you are?”

“Heh. That wouldn’t be any fun. We’re playing a game, Connie. You agreed to the rules.”

“I don’t even know what the rules are.”

“Well… basically, the rules to this game are whatever I decide they are. This isn’t like the game being played in Brooklyn. This is our game, Connie. A game for you and me. Something special, just for us.”

“I’m touched and honored,” Connie said sardonically. “When do I get to make my next move?”

“Oh, soon. Very soon. But it’ll be a little tougher on you, Connie, because you broke the rules.”

“I told you, I didn’t call the—”

“There must be a penalty for people who cheat,” the voice went on, “for people who don’t abide by the rules, wouldn’t you agree?”

The droning, toneless roboticism of the voice was beginning to grate, sawing through her brain and generating a massive headache in its wake. “Stop playing around and tell me who you are,” she said. “As if I didn’t already know.” A bluff. Maybe it would…

“Oh, I’ll tell you. In my own way. In my own time. The first clue is in that lockbox.” The voice paused for a moment. “I’m going to give you five minutes, Connie. Five minutes to find the clue and then I’ll call you back. If you don’t have the clue, you’ll never hear from me again.

“Well… until the night I come for you, that is.”

“Wait!” Connie shouted. “Wait! Five minutes? That’s not fair. I can’t—”

“Not fair?” The voice’s aggravation and anger broke through the Auto-Tuning. “Fair? You broke the rules, Conscience Hall! And now you suffer the consequences! Five minutes, beginning… now.”

Click.

Oh. Crap.

Connie rooted through the box. Baby pictures of Jazz with his parents… the birth certificate… was that the clue? That it was Billy? Or maybe the clue was that little crow toy… which could still be Billy, really. She shivered, remembering the creepy Crow King fairy tale.

Or maybe it was something else. Something related. What was the word crow in Latin? In Spanish? In French? She had taken classes in all three languages and struggled to remember, then thought, What if it’s not a crow? What if it’s a raven? And what if the clue is in Russian or German? What if the damn toy isn’t the clue in the first place?

Her clock had advanced a minute. You’re kidding me. Her heart thudded so hard in her chest that she would not have been surprised if she could have seen it throbbing through her shirt.

Less than four minutes left. The desire to speed through the contents of the box was great, but she forced herself to scrutinize each item. Same three people in each photo:

Jazz. No. Not him. Duh.

Mom. Dead. Not her. Double-duh.

Billy. Obvious choice. Too obvious, in fact, now that she thought about it. Billy’s escape from Wammaket had been planned and coordinated and abetted by someone on the outside. So her mystery Auto-Tuned voice would be someone helping Billy. Someone on his side of the game board. Hat-Dog?

Now who’s cheating, jerk wad?

Staring at the photos… Maybe someone was in a background….

Or maybe it’s the person who took the pictures….

That was most likely Jazz’s grandmother. Even though the racial nonsense her caller had spewed would have been right at home in Gramma Dent’s mouth, Connie couldn’t imagine her having the sense or stability to make that call.

So what was the clue? None of the photos were illuminating. She switched over to the toy. Just a chunk of plastic.

It’s hollow.

Is there something inside it?

Can I get it open?

Need a knife.

Kitchen.

Time?

Damn it. Who knows what this lunatic is going to do in… ugh… two minutes if you don’t have the special clue?

Or was the clue the crow itself? Raven. Whichever. Maybe that’s all she had to do when the phone rang, was say, “Crow!”

Too easy. She couldn’t believe it was that easy. Or maybe the voice just wanted her to think it was too easy….

Once you let them into your head…

“Don’t go chasing…”

Nothing else left. Nothing except the envelopes. She wasted a futile thirty seconds peering into them, looking for something stuck or written there.

Was the arrangement of the items in the lockbox important? No, that was crazy—the contents would have moved when it was unearthed. You couldn’t rely on any particular order once it was buried.

Less than a minute to go.

She stared at the lockbox, now not even seeing it, not even looking for anything because it was pointless, the seconds counting down, and she would never get it and just as her phone rang, she saw it.

She saw it.

Oh, thank God. Thank God she left the lid open.