Code(94)

Kit went upstairs to make calls. I stayed at the table to stew.

Hurricane Katelyn was ruining my plans.

My gut said we had a narrow window to catch the Gamemaster. A forced evacuation would destroy our chance.

What chance? We have no leads, no evidence. Nothing.

“Arrgh!”

I cleared the table, then walked out to the front steps and sat.

The breeze was light, the sky gray. I smelled the brackish odor of the salt marsh just down the road. The honeysuckle crawling along the Stolowitskis’ trellis.

The Atlantic appeared unnaturally calm. But I knew that somewhere over the horizon, a maelstrom was barreling toward my little island home.

Morris sits at the mouth of Charleston Harbor. Beyond it lies nothing but open sea.

I examined the construction of our row of townhouses. Sun-baked brick walls. Wooden trim. Stone foundation. My lips whispered a quiet prayer for the old fort. It was about to get smacked.

Kit stuck his head out the door. “I’m heading down to Folly. Nelson Devers bought a load of plywood, but needs help hauling it back. Then we’re all going to pitch in boarding up the units.”

“I’ll be here.”

“If anyone from LIRI calls, give them my mobile number.”

“Will do.”

Kit left. I lingered on the stoop, stuck in a funk.

We’d foiled the attack at The Citadel, but that didn’t feel like enough. As things stood the Gamemaster would escape unpunished. The thought made me sick.

And I worried.

Everything about The Game pointed to obsession. The planning. The expense. All those crafty twists. The fanatical attention to detail.

It added up to a pair of inescapable conclusions: The Gamemaster had done this before. Perhaps many times. And if he’d done it before, he’d do it again.

My anger built. The lunatic could already be plotting his next game. Building deadly traps. Designing lavish clues.

How many geocaches had he buried? How many lives had he ruined?

He’d never stop.

Unless we shut him down.

I thought of the body in the crypt. The poor soul whose life had ended mere minutes before we found him. We’d never even learned his name.

The Gamemaster was a psychopath. A merciless, narcissistic predator. Maybe even a serial killer.

We couldn’t let him escape. Couldn’t let him hurt more people.

I’m not letting this go.

“You look ready to chew nails.” Shelton grinned at me from his own stoop.

“There’s a certain murderer I’d like to chat with.”

“Not me.” Shelton descended to the sidewalk. “I wanna bust the lunatic, not spend time with him. Who knows? Crazy might be catching.”

I joined Shelton and we ambled toward the docks.

“Heard your dad scored some primo storm supplies,” I said.

“Had to go three places. Katelyn’s another cat I’d prefer to avoid.” Shelton gestured toward the horizon. “It’s creepy. You can’t even tell she’s out there.”

“We need to lock down the bunker.”

“I know. Think everything will fit in the back room?”

I nodded. “If we seal both windows, plug the crawl, and nail the interior door shut, things should be okay. The real pain will be getting the solar array inside.”

“I hope you’re right. We don’t have the cash to replace everything if the equipment gets soaked.”

“The bunker’s way up the hill,” I said hopefully. “No surge can reach that high.”

“Careful what you say. We’ve tempted fate enough this week.”

At the dock we looked for Sewee, but the runabout wasn’t in her berth. We turned and started back up the hill.

“Have you seen Ben?” I asked.

“Not since last night. I think he’s still mad we went to Claybourne Manor after the ball.”

I shook my head in exasperation. “Did he think we could just go home, without explaining things? Jason and Chance were in that basement. They had a right to know.”

Shelton raised both palms. “No argument here.”

“If you see Ben first, tell him the bunker needs attention. We have to sneak out there sometime today and lock it down.”

“Sounds like a fun couple of days.” Shelton glanced around, then lowered his voice. “You got anything on the Gamemaster? I racked my brain, but can’t think of a single angle to pursue.”

“Working on it.” I wasn’t ready to admit the same. Not yet.

“You’ll think of something. You always do.” Shelton yawned. “I’m gonna take a nap before my Pops gets back and turns this block into Extreme Home Makeover: Hurricane Edition.”

“Adios.”

Coop blitzed me at the front door, upset that I’d gone strolling without him.

“Ya snooze ya lose, dog face.”





CHAPTER 50





I cursed and dropped my hammer.

“Owie owie owie!” Waving the thumb didn’t help, so I stuck it in my mouth.

“Construction is not your forte,” Hi said from the base of the ladder.

I shot him a look. “My nails are straighter than yours.”

“True. But I haven’t bashed my hand. You’re like a cartoon character.”