I supposed it was possible, but I was going to look for dirt under Hatchet’s fingernails next time I ran into him.
“Look toward the top of the hill,” Diesel said.
It was Wulf, standing alone as usual, dressed in black slacks and a black leather jacket. He was unsmiling, watching the scene at the grave site. He didn’t look like he’d been digging. He seemed lost in thought, not looking our way, although I was sure he knew we were there.
Diesel leaned close to me. “Monroe’s buried one headstone over from Peder. I can read part of the inscription from here. I don’t want to tip our hand to Wulf, so casually walk over as if you wanted a closer look at the crime scene, touch the headstone, and see if there’s anything unusual about it.”
I followed Diesel’s instructions and moved closer to the excavation, resting my hand on Monroe’s headstone while I stood on tiptoe to better see over the people. I dropped my gaze and studied the stone. It was engraved with his name and the dates of his birth and death. Nothing more. No secret message. No weird vibrations. I returned to Diesel.
“Nothing,” I said.
We walked back to the car and left the cemetery.
“Sometimes I get the feeling Wulf is more of an observer than a participant in this search,” I said to Diesel.
“Wulf is like a cat, stalking his prey. He watches, he creeps closer, and he pounces.”
“I bet he was a sneaky little kid.”
“He was strange. Quiet. Competitive. Brilliant.”
“How about you? What were you like as a kid?”
“I was a total screwup.”
“But you’re not a screwup now.”
“Honey, I’m one step away from a bounty hunter. I believe in the value of my job, but not everyone is impressed. I’m sure my parents wish I was in banking like the rest of my relatives.”
“Are your parents special?”
“My mother is normal. My dad has unique abilities.”
“And Wulf?”
“His mother is my father’s sister, and she’s the high priestess of the family. Very powerful. Not all her abilities have been recorded. I suspect some of them are dark.”
“Does she give you a migraine?”
“No, but she makes me uncomfortable.”
I checked Carl, still sleeping in the backseat. “I hope he’s not dead.”
Diesel looked at him in the rearview mirror. “Too many cupcakes.”
“Do you think Wulf is the one who dug up Tichy?”
“No. I think someone followed Hatchet, pried information out of him, and then came back at night and went after Tichy.”
“Going on the assumption that something was buried with him. Like the bell with Duane.”
“Yes, but the more I think about it, the more I’m convinced the clue was referring to Monroe and his association with what is now the Science Museum.”
“Maybe we should visit the original museum.”
“I checked on it. The building was on the corner of Berkeley and Boylston. It’s been sold and renovated, and everything’s been moved to the new location.”
“The Science Museum! Are we going to the Science Museum? I’ve never been there. It’s got an IMAX, and a planetarium, and a machine that makes your hair stand on end. Glo was there last month on a date. She said it was awesome.”
“You get turned on by science?”
“I got second prize in the science fair when I was in third grade. I made a volcano.”
A half hour later, Diesel pulled in to the museum parking garage. He found a space next to the elevator, and Carl sat up.
“Eeep?”
“We’re at the Science Museum,” Diesel said to Carl. “You can’t go in. They don’t allow monkeys. You have to wait here.”
Carl gave him the finger.
Diesel and I got out, Diesel locked the SUV, and we crossed the short distance to the elevator. We got into the elevator and Carl scampered in after us.
“I thought you locked the car,” I said to Diesel.
“I did. He knows how to open the door.”
“Okay, how about if you put him in your backpack.”
Diesel jogged back to the SUV, got his backpack, and stuffed Carl in.
“You have to be quiet until we get into the museum,” I told Carl.
Carl nodded his head and made the sign of a zipper across his mouth.
“Are we sure he’s a monkey?” I asked Diesel.
“What else would he be?”
“I don’t know, but he’s not normal.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The Boston Museum of Science isn’t huge in comparison to the Louvre, for example. It doesn’t take all day to see it. We covered the first floor and didn’t find anything with clue potential. We were about to go downstairs, and Carl started squirming in the backpack.
“He’s probably hot in there,” I said to Diesel. “Maybe we could take him out and disguise him as a kid. We’re next to the gift shop. I could buy him a shirt.”
“It’s going to take a lot more than a shirt,” Diesel said. “He’s hairy and bowlegged, and he has a tail.”
“Work with me,” I said. “Think positive. Not every kid is Opie Taylor.”
I slipped into the gift shop and found a toddler-size shirt with a dinosaur on it, overalls to match, and baby Uggs. I took Carl into the baby-changing room, got him dressed, and held him up to the mirror so he could see himself.
“Eep,” Carl said, pointing to the green dinosaur on his chest.
“Dinosaur,” I told him.
He looked at his feet in the Uggs.
“Shoes,” I said. “You have to wear shoes in the museum.”
I set him down. “You can walk, but you have to hold my hand.”
“Eep.”
I took him out and showed him to Diesel. “What do you think?”
“I need a drink.”
“I think he’s cute.”
“I bet you dressed your cat when you were little.”
“Everyone dresses their cat.”
We went to the lower level and looked at the dinosaur exhibit. There were several people milling around. One of them was Hatchet, in full Renaissance regalia. He was slowly moving through the room, touching everything, searching for hidden energy.
“Find anything?” I asked him.
He gave a gasp of surprise at seeing Diesel and me, and he looked down at Carl. “What brings thee to this place with your . . .”
“Monkey,” Diesel said, filling in the blank. “And he’s not from my side of the family.”
Hatchet was wearing a large Band-Aid on his neck, a green tunic, brown tights, his hives were gone, and his scabbard was empty.
“Where’s your sword?” I asked him.
“I was requested to check it upon entry. I fear my life as a minion in this century is complicated.”
Carl tugged at my hand. He wanted to keep moving. He had his eye on Triceratops.
“Did you dig up Peder Tichy?” I asked Hatchet.
“I did not. There was no need.”
“Someone thought there was a need.”
“A beast without our unique talent.”
“Beast is a strong word,” I said.
“’Tis a beast. I know this as a certainty. And this beast doth destroy with pleasure.”
“Eeeeep,” Carl said, stomping his feet in his Uggs, pointing to the dinosaur.
“Hey!” I said to Carl. “Chill. I’m having a conversation.”
“Does the beast have a name?” I asked Hatchet.
“It does. My master has warned thee.”
“Anarchy,” Diesel guessed.
“I know nothing more than that,” Hatchet said. “Only that it is fearful.”
Hatchet moved on, continuing to leave his fingerprints on every surface.
“Do you think there really is a beast named Anarchy?” I asked Diesel.
“Do I think there’s a fire-breathing dragon named Anarchy? No. Do I think there’s a danger
ous lunatic out there calling himself Anarchy? Good possibility.” Diesel took Carl over to Triceratops. “Personally, I think calling yourself Anarchy is overly dramatic.”
“This from a guy named Diesel.”
“I didn’t choose the name.”
“What name would you choose?”
“Gus.”
“Because it’s short?”
“Because it’s normal, and expectations would be normal. And that would give me an advantage,” Diesel said. “Since I’m not entirely normal.”
“Do you think Hatchet got the burn on his neck from Anarchy?”
“It’s possible. He got it from someone, and it wasn’t Wulf.”
“Here’s a thought. The handprint on Hatchet’s neck was small. So maybe it was a woman’s hand. Anarchy could be a woman. And if I wanted to stretch it farther, I might wonder if Reedy’s mystery date, Ann, is Anarchy.”
“I had the same thought,” Diesel said. “And she could have killed Reedy. I never got a good look at the handprint.”
“Most women aren’t that vicious or that strong,” I said.
“This wouldn’t be an ordinary woman.”
“It could be your aunt!”
“Wulf’s mother?” Diesel gave a bark of laughter. “I can’t see her worshipping anarchy. She’s like Wulf. She likes to keep things tidy and under her control.”
A docent was standing by a colorful, huge, two-story contraption that had balls rolling along tracks, banging into bells, dropping into whirligigs, being carried up on tiny escalators, and released for a clattering, dinging, bonging journey down. It was all held in place by a sturdy metal frame, and it was electrically powered. The sign said it was an Audiokinetic Sculpture.
The docent was back on his heels, looking bored. People were watching the sculpture, but no one was talking to him. I left Carl with Diesel and crossed the room.
“I love this machine with the balls and the bells,” I said to the docent. “Is it new? This is my first time to the museum.”
“Its official name is Archimedean Excogitation,” he said. “It was designed and constructed by George Rhoads and placed here in 1987.”
“I was hoping there might be something here from the original museum on Berkeley and Boylston.”
“There’s a small kinetic sculpture on a pedestal to the back of this room. It’s one of the few remaining exhibits from the old building.”
I turned to look at it and saw that Hatchet had made his way around the room to the sculpture and was standing with his nose pressed to the glass, clearly trying to find a way to get into the display case.
“Oh, for Pete’s sake,” the docent said. “Sir!” he called out to Hatchet. “Stand back from the display, please.”
Hatchet took a step back and skulked off to another exhibit.
“We get some real weirdos here,” the docent said. “What do you think he’s supposed to be in that costume?”
“A medieval minion,” I said.
“That’s a first for me. I guess it takes all kinds.”
“He seemed really interested in the little sculpture.”
“That’s why they had to put that exhibit behind glass. You have to set it in motion by hand, and people kept wanting to make it work.”
“Have you ever seen it work?”
“Yes. It’s not that interesting. The ball swings and hits different bells as it loses momentum. That’s the whole deal. And one of the bells is broken. It doesn’t make any noise. Just sort of a clunk.”
“Still, it’s interesting because it was part of the original museum.”
“That’s very true. There’s a little plaque on it. Most people don’t even see it because it’s inside the case.”
I went to the display and looked inside at the plaque. Motion Machine by Monroe Tichy, 1890. I touched the case with my fingertip and felt a small vibration and some heat. I was sure Hatchet had felt it as well.
Diesel and Carl joined me and looked at Monroe’s machine.
“I can feel a vibration,” I said to Diesel, “and the docent said there’s a bell that doesn’t ring. That could relate to the first part of the riddle that says silence speaks louder than words.”
“And it’s sealed up in a glass case, in a museum,” Diesel said. “Why isn’t anything ever easy?”
“Maybe the message will be revealed to us if we set the ball in motion,” I said to Diesel. “Can you get it to move? You know, think it to move or something?”
“That’s not in my skill set. I can’t make a cow fly, either.”
We stared at the display some more. The Motion Machine looked like something you might find in Sharper Image. One of those desktop gizmo presents for people who have everything.
“Unlocking things is in your skill set,” I said. “Can you open the case?”
“Yep. It has a little lock on the bottom where it’s attached to the pedestal. It’s similar to the kind of lock you find on jewelry cases in department stores. Problem is, what happens when I get it unlocked?”
“I guess you steal it.”
“Do you have a plan for that, too?”
“Carl and I will create a diversion, you put the Motion Machine in your backpack and walk out with it.”
“And what happens if I get caught?”
“I’ll swear I never saw you before in my life.”
“I guess it could work,” Diesel said.
“And if not, you can let yourself out of prison.”
“That’s cold,” Diesel said.
I smiled at him. “If you don’t get caught, I’ll be nice to you tonight.”
His eyebrows rose ever so slightly.
“How nice?” he asked.
“Very nice.”
“Will you come to bed naked?”
“No, but I’ll make you cookies.”
He grinned back at me. “No deal. If I pull this off, you have to come to bed naked.”
“That might encourage me to make sure you get caught.”
He shook his head. “You can’t do that. We have responsibilities.”
“Wouldn’t it be frustrating for me to come to bed naked?”
“I can deal.”
Yeah, I thought, but what about me? I could barely deal with all my clothes on.
“We’ll see,” I told him. “Try not to get caught.”
Diesel put his hand to the bottom of the case and moved his fingers across the little silver lock. “Done. Your turn.”
I looked down at Carl. “You need to create havoc in here,” I said. “We don’t want anyone looking at Diesel. And when I whistle, I want you to get out of the building and go to the car in the parking lot.”
“Chee,” Carl said. And he gave me a thumbs-up.
There were about twenty people in the area, plus the docent. Carl scampered across the room, snatched a woman’s purse, and ran off with it.
“My purse!” the woman shrieked. “The hairy kid took my purse.”
Everyone turned to the woman and then to Carl. Carl held the purse over his head and chattered. “Chee, chee, chee!”
“That’s not a kid. It’s a monkey!” someone said. “Grab him.”
The docent was on his phone, asking for security, and everyone in the room ran after Carl. Mothers, fathers, kids, and an old lady in a motorized scooter chased Carl.
Carl climbed Excogitation, got to the top, and dumped the contents of the purse. Metal balls were running on their tracks, ringing bells, swirling in baskets . . . and tissues, lipsticks, spare change, and assorted female junk rained down.
I’d been the one to set Carl loose, but I was as transfixed as everyone else, watching him swing from the thirty-foot sculpture like a monkey in the wild.
I looked over at Monroe’s Motion Machine and saw that it was gone, along with Diesel. The glass display case appeared perfectly intact but empty, and I thought it might take a while for anyone to notice the sculpture was missing. I speed-walked to the elevator and whistled for Carl. He leaped from Excogi
tation to the spiral staircase, scurried around two guards, dodged Hatchet, and catapulted himself into the elevator just as the doors began closing. Hatchet was close behind him, face red and snarly.
“It’s gone,” Hatchet said. “The case is empty. I discovered it first, and you stole it, and I want it.”
He reached out to grab me, instinct took over, and I kicked him in his medieval nuts, knocking him back a couple feet. He let out a woof of air, doubled over, and the elevator doors closed shut.
“Eek,” Carl said.
“He’s a bad man,” I explained to Carl.
We departed the elevator at garage level and hustled to the SUV. Diesel was waiting with the motor running. We got in, and Diesel drove out of the garage.
“That was easy,” Diesel said.
Easy for him, maybe. Not so easy for me. My heart rate was still at stroke level, and I had so much adrenaline in my system I was vibrating.
“Did you see Carl?” I said. “He was amazing. It was like Cirque de Soleil at the Science Museum. We could get him a job as a Romanian acrobat.”
Carl found a cupcake crumb in his chest fur, picked it out, and ate it.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Diesel parked and we all trooped into my house and went to the kitchen. Cat 7143 and Carl sat back on their haunches on the kitchen counter, and I stood near while Diesel took the Motion Machine out of his backpack and set it on my work island.
“I had to partially disassemble it to get it into my backpack,” Diesel said, “but it was simple. Monroe designed this to be taken apart and put back together.”
It was a simple contraption composed of four wooden dowels stuck into a rectangular mahogany base. There was a crosspiece between two dowels at one end, and another crosspiece between the two dowels at the other end. A dowel ran lengthwise between the two cross dowels, and a silver ball and four silver bells hung from piano wire attached to the long dowel. The idea was to set the ball in motion so that it rang the first bell, the first bell rang the second bell, the second bell rang the third bell, and the third bell rang the last bell.
We examined every piece of the machine while Diesel reassembled it, but we couldn’t find a message.