Always October Page 5

  I nodded. A little farther down the hall I stopped and said, “Junk Room B has the more recent stuff.” Shifting LD to my left shoulder, I touched the knob three times, then opened the door. Stepping aside, I said, “After you, madam.”

  “Dracula’s devious dentures!” Lily cried when she saw the array of books, paintings, gadgets, trunks, boxes, artwork, and general clutter. “This all belonged to your dad?”

  “Well, it’s not fair to blame him for all of it. As I said, I come from a long line of pack rats.”

  She stepped inside, gazing around in amazement. “A carton of whoopee cushions?”

  “Dad thought they were hilarious.”

  She pointed to the wall. “Helmets?”

  I took a deep breath, then said softly, “Dad was a major spelunker.”

  “That sounds dirty. Do I need to look it up on Urban Dictionary?”

  Despite how I was feeling, that got a smile out of me. “Well, it can be dirty, but not the way you mean. A spelunker is someone who explores caves. It was Dad’s hobby. He loved being underground.” I took another deep breath, then said softly, “He never came back from his last trip.”

  “Jake! I’m sorry. Did he …?”

  I closed my eyes. “No one knows what happened. He was exploring solo, which is a major no-no for spelunkers, but Dad was ornery that way. When he didn’t report in, they searched the cave he was supposed to be investigating. They couldn’t find any sign of him. But whether he found some hidden chamber and got stuck or copied his own dad and just took off on us …”

  My voice trailed away. After a long silence Lily said, “There are all kinds of stupid stories going around school about what happened. Why don’t you—”

  I cut her off. “I don’t care what they think! And I don’t want to talk about it. All right?”

  She nodded, looking frightened.

  LD began to fuss.

  “Give me the baby,” she said. “I’ll walk him in the hall while you look for the camera.”

  I passed over LD, glad for the chance to be alone for a few minutes.

  11

  (Lily)

  THE PUZZLE IN THE PICTURE

  I hurried into the hall … and straight back to the painting of Tia LaMontagne. I studied it until LD began to squirm. Then I started walking, jouncing him gently and crooning as I wondered what it was like for Jake to not know whether his father was dead or had simply taken off for a new life.

  I stopped in front of the picture of Tia LaMontagne again. Jacob definitely had some odd-looking relatives … but then, who doesn’t? The thing was, none of them looked as odd as Tia. I paced with LD but kept coming back to that one picture, staring at it and thinking about what Jacob’s father had said.

  An idea was forming in my mind.

  Just then Jacob came out of the room holding a box. “Found one!” he crowed.

  I continued to stare at the painting.

  “Did you hear me?” he asked, coming to stand beside me. “I found a camera!”

  I nodded, then said softly, “Jake, what if your grandfather was giving your dad a clue?”

  “Huh? What are you talking about?”

  I blushed a little, wondering if I was being foolish. “I just had an idea. Maybe it’s crazy, but I think we should try it.”

  “I repeat: What are you talking about?”

  “Your grandfather told your dad there was a long story behind that picture, and the key to the family mystery, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, what if he was being literal?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, let’s look behind the picture!”

  Jacob smacked himself on the forehead. “Good grief! Why didn’t I think of that? It might be crazy, but it’s the kind of thing my grandfather wrote about all the time. It’s definitely worth trying.”

  I examined the situation. The hallway was at least ten feet high and the portrait was a good three feet wide and four feet tall. The frame added another six inches on each side.

  “It’s going to take both of us to get it down,” I said.

  “No kidding,” said Jacob. “Wait here with LD. I’ll get a couple of chairs from the kitchen for us to stand on.”

  A few minutes later LD was sitting on the floor, and Jacob and I were lifting the picture off the wall.

  “Oh, crud!” Jacob muttered. “You were right, Lily, but it’s not going to do us any good!”

  I groaned. Two things marked out the area where we had removed the painting. The first was a rectangle, exactly the dimensions of the painting itself, where the wallpaper was bright and unfaded.

  The second, smack in the center of that rectangle, was the round metal door of a wall safe. On the front of it was a dial, like the dial on a combination padlock. I wanted to scream. I thought I had been so brilliant working out the puzzle, and all it got us was this.

  “I’m sorry,” I said glumly.

  “Don’t be silly,” said Jake. “You figured out more than I ever did. Let’s set the painting down. We might as well give the thing a try. I read a book once—sheesh, I think it was one of my grandfather’s—where a safe like this was so old that the dial just clicked into place.”

  He spun the dial. It did no good. He twisted it back and forth. Nothing. He let me take a turn. I tried pressing my ear to the safe, hoping to hear some clue-giving click. Nothing.

  Jake sighed. That made sense. What was there to say?

  Working together, we got the picture back on the wall, which was even harder than taking it down. By the time we were done, LD was fussing for his dinner and I had to head for home.

  I didn’t sleep well that night. I kept thinking about the portrait of Tia LaMontagne. Something about it was tickling at the part of my brain that loves puzzles.

  It took me a week to figure it out. Or, at least, to think I had figured it out. I still needed to actually test my idea.

  “When is your mom teaching again?” I asked Jake that afternoon.

  “Friday.”

  “Can I come over then?”

  “I suppose so. Why?”

  “I want to visit the baby!”

  I didn’t tell him the real reason—that I thought I had figured out how to open the safe. I didn’t want to build up his expectations if I had it wrong. As it was, my own expectations were driving me crazy. I was afraid my brain might explode before Friday got there.

  Somehow I managed to live through the week. That evening I again hid in the bushes at the end of Jake’s drive, waiting for his mother to leave. She didn’t pull out until quarter of six, and by then I was in a frenzy thinking she wasn’t going to go after all.

  Once she did finally leave, I sprinted for the house. Jacob was waiting with the door open and LD over his shoulder.

  “I figured you’d be here,” he said with a smirk.

  “What happened?”

  He shrugged. “LD was fussing. Mom nearly flipped out, because she hates to be late for class. I think she was making him worse because she was so stressed herself. I finally convinced her to just go. The baby calmed down as soon as she left.”

  “Can I hold him?”

  “Sure,” he said, passing the warm little bundle to me.

  I was surprised. “He’s bigger than he was just last week!”

  “Yeah, he’s growing awfully fast. It’s another thing that makes me nervous about him.”

  I noticed that even though Jacob claimed the baby made him nervous, he was looking at the little guy with obvious affection.

  “Come on, get inside. I don’t want you standing here if Mom realizes she forgot something and suddenly comes back!”

  With a sigh, I followed him in. Little Dumpling was gooing and shaking his rattle. When we were in the kitchen, I said, “Can we look at the painting of Tia again?”

  “I suppose so. Why?”

  I smiled. “I had another idea.”

  He looked at me suspiciously but led the way up the stairs. Once we were i
n front of the picture, I said, “My grandfather has a book of art from the Middle Ages—”

  “Your grandfather has an art book?”

  “There’s a lot more to my grandfather than you think,” I snapped. “Now listen. I used to spend a lot of time with that book. It had all kinds of stuff about how to, well, read a painting. Artists used to pack a lot of symbols and secret messages into their work.”

  “What has that got to do with this?” he asked.

  “Who painted it?” I replied.

  “Tia. It’s a self-portrait.”

  “I was hoping you’d say that. Jake, I think she’s telling us the combination to the safe!”

  He looked at me as if I’d lost my mind. “What the heck are you talking about?”

  “Just follow me. Some of the details in this picture are pretty odd, right?”

  “You’re not kidding!”

  “Odd enough to make me think they must have meaning. Look at her right hand. What’s it doing?”

  “Pointing to that weird clock-faced moon.”

  “What time does it show?”

  “Five minutes to midnight.”

  I smiled. “Say it a different way.”

  He looked puzzled for a moment, then said, “Eleven fifty-five?”

  “Good. Now look at her left hand. What do you see?”

  “She’s extending three fingers.”

  I grinned. “See? I knew you were smart.”

  “Stop being a wise guy and tell me what you’re thinking!”

  “Okay, let’s merge what the two hands are telling us. Right hand, eleven. Left hand, three. Right hand, fifty-five. Right eleven, left three, right fifty-five. That kind of number sound familiar?”

  His eyes widened. “It’s a combination! Lily, that’s brilliant!”

  “I don’t know that I’m right!” I cautioned. “It’s just an idea.”

  “Well, it’s more than I’ve had. Stay here while I get those chairs!”

  When Jake returned, I put LD on the floor. He sat there, shaking his rattle and watching as we wrestled the picture off the wall again. It was easier now that we’d already done it once.

  When the painting was down and safely propped against a wall, we mounted the chairs again.

  “You want to try, or shall I?” I whispered.

  “Your idea,” said Jake. “You get to try.”

  I thought that was very gallant of him. Fingers trembling, I spun the dial a few times to clear the lock, then turned it right to 11, left until I went past 11 and stopped on 3, then right to 55.

  We heard a small click.

  “Bingo!” said Jacob as I pulled open the door.

  Inside were two things: a wooden box and a small brown envelope. The box was dark and highly polished. The envelope was oddly lumpy. Jake lifted them out of the safe; then we climbed off the chairs and sat down.

  “Box first,” I said. I realized my voice was shaking with excitement.

  Jake nodded and opened it. Inside, nestled on a bed of midnight-black velvet, was a silver disk about three inches across. A series of twenty or thirty symbols, none of them familiar to me, had been engraved around the outer edge. Within that ring were four circles, each about the size of a penny. They had been marked with black enamel (or something) so that one circle was solid black, two were half black and half silver, and one was only a thin outline, so that the circle’s interior showed all silver. They were equally spaced, with the black and the silver circles opposite each other. The two half-black circles—also opposite each other—had their silver sides pointing outward, toward the edge of the disk.

  Mounted at the very center of the disk was a black arrow, something like the hand of a watch. Jacob put a finger against it. The arrow moved easily, clicking into place each time it pointed at one of the symbols.

  “What is this thing?” I asked.

  “Don’t have a clue,” he replied. “It’s cool, though.”

  He slipped it into his shirt pocket—it just barely fit—and we turned our attention to the envelope.

  “Your turn,” Jake said, handing it to me.

  Working slowly, I started to loosen the flap on the back.

  “Why are you taking so long?” asked Jake impatiently.

  “We might need to reseal it. I’ve had a lot of practice doing this with mail from social workers and teachers.”

  When I finally had the flap loose, I said, “Hold out your hand.”

  Jake did as I asked, and I turned the envelope over.

  An old-fashioned key fell into his waiting fingers. It had a long barrel and a flat head, making the shape a little like a hangman’s ax. The “blade” had notches cut out to match whatever lock it went to.

  I felt a chill ripple down my spine.

  “The key to the family mystery?” I whispered.

  “I don’t know about that,” replied Jake softly. “But I’m pretty sure it’s the key to the top floor of the tower.”

  “What’s up there?”

  “My grandfather’s office.”

  “You don’t mean it’s been locked ever since …”

  “Pretty much. Dad told me that Gramma Doolittle used to go up there the first year after Arthur disappeared. Then one day she locked the door and never went up again. He said he thought she threw the key away. I wonder if he was wrong.” He smiled at me. “Shall we give it a try?”

  12

  (Jacob)

  THE TRUE KEY

  “Wowza!” Lily exclaimed when we entered the guest room, which takes up the second floor of the tower. “This is beautiful!”

  “Thanks,” I said, accepting the compliment on Mom’s behalf. She keeps the room in perfect condition, as if overnight company might drop by at any time. Lace curtains cover the window. The four-poster bed is topped by a beautiful handmade quilt she swapped a large weaving for. The inner wall is dominated by a huge painting.

  Lily instantly went for the painting.

  “Fantabulastic,” she said, in a hushed voice.

  The picture is strange, by most people’s standards, so it was no surprise Lily liked it. It shows a huge mansion at night, the towers lit from behind by a full moon. A light shines from one window. A dragon is coiled around one of the towers.

  “It was painted by Tia,” I said.

  “I wonder if it has any secret messages,” replied Lily.

  “Not that anyone has ever hinted at,” I said. “Dad told me about the picture in the hall—I just never figured it out. Come on, let’s try this key.”

  I had moved to the door that opened on the stairs to the next level. When Lily joined me, I passed her the baby, then inserted the key in the lock.

  It turned easily.

  The door swung open without a sound.

  The stairwell was dark, but not so dark you couldn’t see a scattering of cobwebs. I started up the steps.

  “Wait a minute, Jake,” said Lily. “There’s something weird here.”

  “Huh? What are you talking about?”

  “I’m not sure. Something doesn’t look right to me. Wait, I’ve got it! Look at the cobwebs.”

  “So? I’ll get something to take them down if you want, but there aren’t that many …”

  My voice trailed off.

  “Exactly,” said Lily softly. “There aren’t that many. I don’t know how many cobwebs are likely to build up over a quarter of a century, but I bet it’s more than we’re seeing right now. Someone has been coming up here.”

  “But not recently,” I said, “or there wouldn’t be any at all.”

  “Like, maybe not for two years or so?” asked Lily gently.

  I looked at the stairwell again. Had my father worked out the puzzle in Tia’s picture and found his way up here?

  “Let’s keep going,” said Lily.

  I nodded and led the way.

  “It’s glorious!” gasped Lily when we entered the tower’s top room.

  I had to admit she was right. The curved walls had big windows that featured a
great view of the cemetery. Between them stood bookshelves crammed with my grandfather’s books as well as a massive collection of supernatural and horror fiction from other writers and at least two hundred books on myth, legend, and folklore.

  The centerpiece of the room was an enormous desk.

  “I’ve heard about this,” I said, going to stand behind the desk. “After Arthur’s career took off, he had it handmade especially for this room.”

  Ten feet long, the desk faced the windows and was curved to match the curve of the walls. On top of it sat a primitive computer. I guess Arthur had abandoned his typewriter a year or two before he abandoned his family.

  A light coating of dust covered the desk’s surface. Running a finger through it, Lily said, “If this is twenty-five years’ worth of dust, then I’m Dracula’s daughter.”

  The desk had seven drawers—a center drawer, right in front of where you would sit, and three drawers on either side of the kneehole.

  “Shall we?” I asked.

  “How can we not?” Lily replied with a grin.

  We started with the center drawer. It contained nothing except the usual writer’s tools—pens, pencils, erasers, paper clips, a box of staples, and so on.

  The drawers on the right side were all empty, as were the top two drawers on the left. But when I opened the bottom drawer on that side, Lily murmured, “Pay dirt!”

  Carefully I lifted out the items we had discovered: two notebooks and a sheaf of papers.

  “Maps!” cried Lily, grabbing the papers. “I bet your grandfather drew these to help him keep things straight as he wrote more stories about Always October. He should have published them in one of the books. That would have been cooler than Frankenstein’s pink pajamas!”

  She looked at them more closely, then scowled.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked.

  “The place names are all in some kind of code.” She set them aside. “Let’s look at the notebooks!”

  The first one was facedown. I turned it over and felt a chill run along my spine. Written on the front in my father’s clear, distinct handwriting were the words Always October. But when I opened it, I felt the same frustration that Lily had in looking at the maps. It was written in code! I flipped through it, hoping to find something I could read, and toward the end, I did. It wasn’t part of the notebook itself, rather a handwritten note that had been slipped between two of the pages. The words struck my heart like a hammer: