It was only five-thirty in the afternoon, but twilight had come and gone. That was one of the many downsides to the autumn time change as if the colder temps and stark brown trees weren’t enough. But it was good for stargazing and getting out the telescope because of the clearer seeing at night . . . unless the gray skies settled in, as they often did along the mid-Atlantic coast.
Drayco looked up toward a thankfully cloud-free sky to see a small meteor blazing a trail, flaring for a second or two before it was gone. Didn’t certain ancient civilizations think that was a bad omen?
Another side effect of autumn was that more shops closed up early, around six, but not the Great Games store. Drayco had considered calling up the new manager, Frederick Oak, to see if Johnny Burdell had returned but thought better of it. Sometimes, the element of surprise worked best.
Drayco also checked into Oak’s past and drawn a blank as far as any scandals were concerned. But the chance Oak and Burdell were partners in something shady together wasn’t nil.
The other reason to check out the puzzle store again was that Drayco had no luck in tracking Burdell down via other means. So much so, he was beginning to suspect this was another of Alistair’s “helping a man disappear” schemes. But maybe if he asked nearby store owners if they had recent dealings with Burdell, they could offer some insight.
Drayco started with a couple of businesses across the street from Burdell’s former store, but no joy there. The various staff all knew the guy, but everyone Drayco talked to said the same thing—Burdell was eccentric and hard to get to know. Whether it was him being standoffish or shy or anti-social, they weren’t sure. Maybe that was why they were shocked to hear he’d left the store and was going to sell since he was so passionate about it. And as far as they knew, Burdell’s store was doing well financially.
As he exited an antiques shop and looked over at Great Games, Drayco couldn’t help but think about Alistair’s puzzle. He still hadn’t figured out what the damn thing meant . . . that is to say, the “solved” version with the words for numbers and the Latin phrase.
Yet, hadn’t Alistair also said whatever doors he’d believed Drayco’s “solution” might open remained firmly shut? That seemed to imply the treasure Alistair sought was still out there somewhere. Whatever it was, someone felt it was worth killing for.
Drayco stopped on the sidewalk to look up at the sky, hoping for more meteors and not just another man-made satellite cluttering up the view. But movement closer to the ground caught his attention, and he turned to spy a man headed toward the puzzle store.
He couldn’t see the man’s face, but his build and walk seemed familiar even in the darkness. If Drayco wasn’t mistaken, the man was also wearing a puzzle-print jacket and matching cap. They looked identical to clothing hanging by the door with Burdell’s name on them that Drayco saw on his first visit to Great Games.
Relieved to have tracked Burdell down, Drayco darted across the road as fast as he dared without spooking the guy. But at that exact moment, he heard an unmistakable high-pitched whine—something he recognized from his FBI training when they’d practiced different driving techniques. It had the same purple-helix sound of a car engine in low gear picking up speed.
Burdell didn’t seem to notice, deep in thought. Throwing caution to the wind, Drayco ran toward him, shouting out a warning. He got close enough to almost grab Burdell’s coat. But the car just accelerated faster and struck Burdell so hard, his body flipped over the vehicle onto the street.
As the car whizzed past, it swerved toward Drayco and grazed him, knocking him over on his back. Lying there, trying to catch his breath, he realized he was seeing more stars—the kind you get from hitting your head.
The antiques store owner apparently saw what happened and rushed over to help Drayco stand up. Then they both scrambled toward Burdell. But it was immediately obvious from the unnatural angle of his neck and his unblinking stare it was too late for anyone to help the unfortunate man.
The store owner grabbed his stomach and soon threw up on the sidewalk. Drayco reached into a pocket to pull out a handkerchief. Handing it over to the retching store owner to wipe his mouth, he patted the fellow on the shoulder and made sure he was turned away from the street.
Drayco went over to Burdell and knelt down beside him to try to find a pulse, even though he knew it was useless. By then, a larger crowd had formed on the scene. Drayco made sure no one touched the body, even as he wanted nothing more than to go to the dead man and close those staring eyes.
Drayco’s own eyes were still blurry from the fall, but he rubbed them until he could see well enough to call 911 on his cellphone. As he waited for the authorities to arrive, he concentrated and tried to visualize the seconds before the hit-and-run and, playing it over again in his mind. Was there anything he could have done to prevent the tragedy?
Maybe his reflexes were a little too slow. Or perhaps he was too lost in thought over that damned puzzle to have been on high alert. He’d come close to having a grip on Burdell’s jacket, just a couple of inches beyond his grasp. Two inches that stood between Burdell and death.
The emotional pain was bad enough, but he was also aware of aches and throbbing in his left shoulder and left leg and probably some new bruises. He rubbed the back of his head, but no blood. And no signs of a concussion—no headache, confusion, dizziness.
Was this going to be another hit-and-run that would end up labeled as an accident by the police? Because Drayco was pretty damn sure it was intentional. Two hit-and-run cases in the same spot, two weeks apart. Statistically possible, but highly improbable.
Whoever that driver was had targeted Johnny Burdell and maybe Drayco himself. But why? A coded puzzle lay at the center of Drayco’s kidnapping, and a puzzle store was at the center of two mysterious deaths. If Alistair’s “treasure” was at the heart of all of it, then it was looking to be as cursed as King Tut’s gold.
In the distance, Drayco heard the sirens of approaching emergency vehicles. The night air felt suddenly colder, and he turned up the collar of his coat against the chill.
If the case hadn’t already been personal because of his kidnapping, it was definitely personal now. Come hell or high water, Drayco would get to the bottom of the tragedies. And maybe in so doing, he could somehow find closure for the late Johnny Burdell—lover of puzzles, cactus candy, and environmental causes.
What had Frederick Oak said? “Deep down, Johnny’s a good guy. The kind who wants to be better.”
Drayco glanced over at the paramedics who’d swarmed out of an ambulance and were bending over the body. An unexpected moment of intense grief hit him full force. Whether he could have saved this man or not, he’d have to leave that to kismet or the Akashic Records or whatever deity was running things in the universe.
Right then, he had a lot more police reports to fill out. And another long night ahead.