The Seal of Solomon (Alfred Kropp #2)(46)

“Agnes’s?” She looked over his shoulder at the dark house across the street.

“That’s right. Says he’s selling magazine subscriptions.”

“Well, I don’t know about that. But Agnes is out of town.”

“He didn’t try to sell you a subscription?”

“No. I’ve never seen this boy before.”

He turned to me. “Thought you said you stopped by this house.”

I shrugged, rolled my eyes, and tried to curl my upper lip like a hoodlum. A prep school hoodlum, judging from my clothes. I didn’t say anything. I was a lot of things, but actor wasn’t one of them.

“That’s what I thought,” Op Nine said. “Okay, let’s call your folks.” He nodded to the lady with the saucer-eyed kids hovering behind her. “Sorry to bother you. Have a good evening.” He took me by the elbow and walked me down the drive.

He stopped at the road, as if he had just thought of something. He turned back toward the house. She was still standing in the doorway, watching us, a faceless silhouette.

“Agnes is out of town, you said?”

“For two weeks. Her son sent her on a cruise.”

“He’s house-sitting, then?”

“No. I think he went with her. Early Christmas present.”

He nodded. “Maybe I’ll just take a look around over there.

Just to make sure everything is okay.”

He turned me back around and marched me across the street to the car.

“She’s watching, Alfred. Get in the back.”

He opened the back door and I slid inside. He got behind the wheel and closed his door.

“What now?” I asked. “She isn’t here.”

“Perhaps. Perhaps not. This is a subtle game, Alfred. No doubt he has anticipated this move and also anticipated we would understand his anticipation, and therefore would not pursue him here, thus there would be no need to move his mother.”

I thought about it. Then I said, “Huh?”

“Like Poe’s purloined letter, he hides the object in plain sight.”

“Like whose what?” I looked out the window. The neighbor had closed the door, but I thought I saw a shadow in the window next to it.

“Mike took her on a cruise,” I said.

“Unlikely.”

“Why are we just sitting here?”

“I’m interrogating you.”

He pulled a thin black object from his pocket and held it toward me. I thought it was a pen.

“You want me to write something?”

“It is a communication device,” he answered. “Press the red button to speak, release to listen.”

“Oh. Walkie-talkies, I get it.” I had seen one of these before. Ashley had it in the woods outside Knoxville. I took it from him. “In case we get separated.”

“We will be separated,” he said. “You’re staying here.”

“I am?”

“The neighbor is watching,” he said. He reached into his pocket again. This time he offered me the modified flare gun, the mini-3XD loaded with anti-demon ordnance.

“They’re here?” My heart fluttered with budding panic. I thought of the strange whispering I heard high above the clouds.

He shrugged. I said, “I don’t want that thing. I’ll probably just shoot off my foot.”

“It may buy you a few moments. If anything happens, hit the blue button on top of the communicator.”

“What happens when I hit the blue button?”

“It will send a signal to me that you’re in trouble.”

“Like a panic button?”

“Yes. Like a panic button.” He dropped the mini-3XD in my lap and put his hand on the door handle.

“It’s a poor design, if you ask me,” I said, looking at the communicator. “Red to talk and blue to panic. Panic buttons should be red.”

“I will speak with R and D about it.” He gave me one of his rare smiles, and I had a sudden, nearly overwhelming urge to snatch the demon gun from my lap and blow his head off with it. It was so vivid, I shivered and shoved away the image of his head exploding. The shove caused a shock wave of pain behind my eyes.

“Don’t worry, Alfred,” he said. “Just a quick look around.

He had to remove her quickly and he may have gotten sloppy. No more than fifteen minutes, I should think.”

He got out of the car, slammed the door, and I was alone. I watched him walk up the drive to the dark house. He stood on the front stoop for a minute. I couldn’t really see what he was doing; a hedge blocked my view. I looked to my left and noticed he forgot to lock the doors. I leaned over the front seat to hit the automatic lock button, and when I sat back, Op Nine was gone.

I guessed he used some high-tech gizmo to get in the house. I didn’t have a watch on, so I would have to rely on my own interior clock, which had never been that great. I was always late for class, for example. The bell would ring and I would think, Okay, I got five minutes. Then after only two minutes of Kropp-time, the tardy bell would ring.

A light rain began to fall again, rain mixed with little pellets that I figured was snow but maybe I had some Volkswagen-sized hail coming my way. I looked at the Christmas lights on the lawns, distorted by the wet glass of the car window, blurry-edged and dreamlike, and I remembered my “catch Santa” phase when I was a kid in Ohio. I was nine and determined to get a look at the jolly ol’ elf with my own eyes. I drank four cans of Coke in an hour, and I really had no idea that caffeine was a laxative as well as a stimulant. I spent half the night on the john, doubled over in pain, afraid to call Mom for help, because I’d have to reveal my scheme.