“He was high,” he finally says. “They both were.”
I turn to face him.
He stands in the entryway, still holding onto the Bible like he forgot to put it down. “Simon Vandenberg had to have been on drugs. Just like the trapped teens in your podcast.”
But I’m not listening to his objection.
I’m too distracted by the behemoth book in his hand.
“Why would Simon hide that under his floorboard?”
Jude looks down as though only now realizing what he’s holding. A Bible, which isn’t something a teenager would typically hide. Not like cigarettes and alcohol, anyway. Slowly, Jude opens the cover and his eyes widen.
I can see why from my spot next to the sideboard.
Two spaces have been hollowed out where the pages should be. I come closer to make out their shape. One is circular. The other, a narrow, oblong cavity with a rounded, clover-like shape at one end, a small rectangle at the other.
Jude traces the shape. “It looks like it could fit one of those old-fashioned skeleton keys.”
We exchange a look, and I can tell the first thought that pops into my head pops into his. The locked tome from Evermore Books. But if this carved-out cavity did hold a key, it seems like it would be too big for that lock. Jude runs his thumb around the circular cavity. The pages are carved in concentric circles like a curved object fit inside. Something with a small notch at the top.
“The compass from Enoch’s trunk,” he says.
This time I follow him—not to the third floor, but to his bedroom. I watch as he opens the drawer of his bedside table and removes the gold pocket compass.
It fits perfectly inside the Bible.
27
TIME OF DEATH
Jude sits at his desk, searching on his MacBook for a photo lab that can develop thirty-year-old film. Behind him, I pace in the gloomy sunlight spilling through his arched windows.
The only photo lab in Foggy Hollow is at CVS, and they stopped developing film on site years ago. We’d have to mail the camera to a central lab with a turnaround time of seven to ten days. I can’t wait seven to ten days. I’m dying to know what’s on these picturesright now.
My phone dings.
Hey … r u almost here with the glitter bins?
My stomach drops.
The text is from Harper, who’s at the fairgrounds. I’m supposed to be there, too. With the glitter bins. I promised Mrs. Calloway I’d grab them from the high school. Instead, I’m here—wrapped up in something from which I can’t possibly disentangle. I shoot her a quick apologetic reply as Jude leans back in his chair.
“The closest one’s in Greensboro,” he says.
“North Carolina?”
“It would be a four-hour drive one way.” He taps his desk. “If we left now, we’d get there by two. One hour to develop the photos. Home by seven. It’s not awful.”
I want to say yes.
More than I’ve ever wanted to say yes before.
But I have a prior commitment.
“I can’t be gone all day. I promised Mrs. Calloway I’d help with the floats.”
Jude looks disappointed.
