Was I making a huge mistake?
CHAPTER 15
WE MET BY the gates after last bell.
Though reluctant, the boys offered no further argument. They knew it was pointless once I’d made up my mind. Leaving our jackets in lockers, we headed east down Broad Street.
The guys sulked through our quick stop at the bank.
At Meeting Street we turned left. Claybourne Manor was a few blocks ahead, in Charleston’s prestigious, hoity-toity quarter known as South of Broad. The neighborhood screamed of privilege, old money, and tradition. Ostentatious wealth. We couldn’t have been more out of place.
Hi whistled, pointed to his right. “Look at that palace. Four stories, maybe five.”
“These houses are insane.” Shelton’s head was swiveling nonstop. “My dad couldn’t afford a parking space down here.”
“He’s better off.” Ben’s scowl was firmly in place. “The less time spent around blue-blooded jerks, the better.”
Even among its elegant neighbors, Chance’s ancestral home stands out. A registered historical landmark, Claybourne Manor is the largest private residence in South Carolina. Modeled after a nineteenth-century Italian manse, the main building has forty rooms, twenty-four fireplaces, and sixty bathrooms, and occupies over two acres of prime downtown real estate. A home fit for royalty.
We halted outside a ten-foot, spike-topped wall split by an ornate iron gate. Twisting metalwork displayed the Claybourne family crest: a gray shield with three black foxes, encircled by black and red vines.
“My family needs a coat of arms,” Hi mused. “Something that conveys what it means to be a Stolowitski.”
Shelton chuckled. “What, like a stuffed-crust pizza?”
I held up a hand. “Everyone ready?”
No replies. At least they weren’t complaining again.
Taking silence as assent, I rapped on a stout metal door beside the gate. Seconds passed, then a bolt slid sideways, and the portal swung inward.
“Yes?” The guard was lean, mid-forties, with salt-and-pepper hair and the demeanor of an ex-cop. No name tag. He didn’t look happy to see us.
“Hello!” My brightest smile. “We’re here to see Chance.”
“Do you have an appointment?” Stern.
“No, but we’re classmates from Bolton Academy.” Time to ham it up. “We heard Chance is coming back to school, and wanted to give him a big Griffin welcome back!”
Hi snorted, then covered it with a fit of coughing. My grin stayed frozen in place.
“Master Claybourne isn’t taking visitors.” Boredom crept into the guard’s voice. “Leave a name if you’d like, but you can’t loiter on the street.”
“But the four of us go way back with Chance,” I said quickly. “Are you sure we can’t—”
“Quite sure. Make an appointment.”
Grrr. “Please tell Chance that Tory Brennan stopped by, along with Hi Stolowitski, Ben Blue, and Shelton Devers.”
I hesitated. Should I say more? “Let Chance know we’d like to speak with him when it’s convenient. We have something for him.”
“Thank you.” The door closed with a loud clank.
“You should’ve offered another Human Spirit Award,” Hi quipped. “Worked last time.”
“Shut it.” I hate being thwarted. My mind raced, but came up empty. There was nothing to be done—the ball was now in Chance’s court.
“Let’s bail.” Ben was already moving. “We should be working the Gamemaster’s clue, not wasting time—”
The door abruptly reopened. The guard craned out, spied me, and breathed an audible sigh of relief.
“Terribly sorry, Miss Brennan!” Hustling out onto the sidewalk. “Name’s Saltman. I’m a new hire, and haven’t memorized the logs. Of course you may come inside. I’ll let Master Claybourne know you’ve arrived.”
Saltman nervously rotated his cap in his hands. “We don’t need to mention this little mix-up, do we, miss? It was an honest mistake.”
I covered my surprise with an airy wave. “Not at all.”
But what was he talking about? I took a calculated risk. “I’m on the list?”
Saltman nodded like a bobblehead. “Oh, yes ma’am! The instructions are quite clear: no visitors except by appointment, but Miss Brennan is to be shown in at any time, day or night.” He smiled ingratiatingly. “You must be very special to young Master Chance.”
WTF?
Chance left instructions about me? Had assumed I’d come? Sometimes the world made no sense at all.
“Chance is home?” I asked, stalling for time.
“In his father’s study.” Saltman cringed as though slapped. “His study, I should say. If you’ll wait in the reception, I’ll have him summoned straight away.” Then his gaze shifted to my companions. “The directive only mentions you, Miss Brennan. I’m not sure—”
“Chance will want to see everyone.” I added steel to my voice. “Let’s not waste more time gabbing in the driveway.”
That was enough for Saltman. “Of course, right this way.”
We traveled a short, flower-lined walk to the front entrance. Saltman pulled wide the massive oak door to reveal a cozy vestibule. The manor’s signature room was just ahead—a fifty-foot grand entrance hall in ante-bellum style.
Memories flooded back. I pushed them away.
Keep your head straight. Chance is no one to trifle with.
Saltman led us to a smaller chamber on the right—a spacious wood-paneled parlor decorated with elaborate crown molding, painted friezes, a wooden mantel, and a giant crystal chandelier. In the center, six leather chairs surrounded a mahogany coffee table.
“Please have a seat.” Saltman pressed a false panel to reveal an intercom system. “Inform Master Claybourne he has four guests in the reception. Tory Brennan and … some others.”
When a liveried butler appeared, Saltman retreated the way he’d entered. After declining refreshments, we sat, waiting, taking in the rich appointments.
“I assume you’ve got a plan,” Shelton whispered. “We’re not just gonna toss this bag of loot at him, right?” He tapped a pocket containing two stacks of gold doubloons.
“We need to find out what he knows. If he suspects anything.”
“How?” Ben asked quietly.
“Just follow my lead.” Code for: I have no idea.
“Hey, check this weirdo out.” Hi was inspecting a bust on the mantel. “This face is ninety percent eyebrow. What do you wanna bet he owned slaves?”
Scowling to match the carving’s expression, Hi spoke in a gravelly voice. “In my day, we ate the poor people. We had a giant outdoor grill, and cooked up peasant steaks every Sunday.”
“That is General Clemmons Brutus Claybourne, you twit,” a voice said dryly. “He commanded two companies during the Revolution, before dying at Yorktown. You might show a little respect.”
Chance leaned in the doorway, one shoulder against its frame.
Whoa boy.
Chance was dusk made flesh. Dark skin, dark eyes, and dark humor. His thick black hair framed strong features and a Hollywood perfect chin. Tall, slender, and muscular without being bulky. In a word, he was gorgeous.
Last I’d seen Chance, he’d been tired and bedraggled, with purple crescents under his eyes and a nervous tic. Exhausted, haunted, and questioning his own sanity, soon thereafter he’d recommitted himself to a mental hospital.
That boy was gone.
“So. The gang’s all here.” Chance smiled as if enjoying a private joke. “Everyone have a nice end of summer?”
“Hello, Chance.” Now that we’d come to it, my tongue was tied. “I hope you’re doing well,” I finished lamely.
“Do you now?”
Chance strolled into the room and gripped the back of the nearest chair, his fluid stride hinting of past athletic glories. The smirk remained on his face.
“Hey there, Chancy.” Hi is impervious to awkward moments. This one was no exception. “Whe
n’d you get out of the nuthouse?”
I know I gasped. My eyes might’ve bugged.
Chance chuckled without humor. “Hiram, you never disappoint. Stop annoying Uncle Clemmons and join us.”
As Hi flopped into a leather seat, Chance studied the group. “Nice uniforms.”
“Heard you’ll be sporting one again,” Ben shot back. “Not enough credits, huh?”
Chance’s grin slipped for a millisecond. “Good afternoon to you too, Ben. Yes, I’ll be back for a few weeks. I missed a handful of exams last semester. But I’ll be done with Bolton soon enough.”
“You’re eighteen now, right?” Shelton arced a hand, taking in the room. “That make all this yours?”
“Yes. I came into my inheritance last month. And with Father … away … I’m now the Claybourne of Claybourne Manor.”
Chance winked at Hi. “That’s when they discharged me. Funny thing. Turns out, I do own that hospital. Ironic, isn’t it?”
Chance had no siblings, and his mother had died giving birth to him. His father was doing hard time. That made Chance perhaps the richest man in Charleston.
“So you bought your way free?” Ben scoffed.
“Nonsense. I’m cured.” Chance’s gaze found me. “I worked a few things out during my second stint. Reordered my mind. Got back onto firm ground. Plus, it was past time I assumed my position as head of the Claybourne empire.”
“What about the criminal charges?” I hadn’t forgotten. “They just let you walk?”
“The district attorney thought I’d suffered enough.” Chance circled the chair and sat. “I agreed.”
“That’s crap!” I exploded. “You attacked us. Held us at gunpoint!”
“I wasn’t in my right mind,” Chance replied, all shocked innocence. “Ask my lawyers if you don’t believe me.”
His smugness infuriated me. “The court bought that crap?”
“It’s nice having friends in high places.” Chance flashed me his trademark wink. “Sympathetic ears.”
I bit back a scathing reply. Though Chance hadn’t been directly involved in the murder of Katherine Heaton, he’d done more than enough to deserve punishment. But arguing about it was pointless. He’d wriggled off the hook.
Chance seemed to be enjoying our visit. The old swagger was back, along with his former mock-stern levity.
But he’s not exactly the same.
The drollness was there, but sharper now, more caustic, with a cynical, biting quality. Chance’s eyes still twinkled, but without their former warmth.
He seemed harder. More jaded. We needed to be careful.
“Give him the bag and let’s go.” Ben shifted uncomfortably in his opulent chair. “I’m tired of this fake buddy-buddy garbage.”
“Bag?” For the first time, Chance looked uncertain. “What bag?”
I signaled Shelton, who handed me the pouch. Unlacing its straps, I removed a handful of gold coins.
“You must know we found Anne Bonny’s treasure. This is your share.”
Chance looked momentarily stunned. “My share?”
I nodded. “We wouldn’t have done it without your help. It’s only fair.”
“Fair.” Chance’s jaw tightened. “Fair,” he repeated, dark eyes darkening. “And you’d never be unfair to me, would you, Tory?”
My heart threw in a few extra beats. “What do you mean? I’m giving you the coins right now.” I held out the pouch.
Chance made no move to take it. He studied me, expression unreadable.
Abruptly, Chance stood. “Keep your trinkets. I’m a multimillionaire. I don’t need a cut of your pathetic haul.”
I shook my head. “Chance, this is yours. We owe you.”
The wry smile returned. “Yes, you do. But I’d prefer different currency.”
Chance crossed back to the doorway and turned. “If you’ll excuse me, I have to prepare for tomorrow. A few weeks of high school, then I’m done with childish silliness forever.”
“You won’t take the coins?” I pressed.
“No. After all, I wasn’t there to find them, was I?”
I didn’t know what to think. Chance agreed we owed him, but refused a share of the spoils. Why?
“Instead of haggling over trifles, we will talk.” Again Chance’s eyes locked on to mine. “About many things. I have questions that need answering.”
Butterflies fluttered in my gut.
Did Chance know I’d manipulated him? That I’d lied to protect our secrets? What things had he “worked out” in the hospital?
Suddenly, I didn’t want to ask Chance about the Gamemaster, the fragmented cache, or anything else. I had a sinking feeling he was going to make my life much more difficult.
“Fine.” I rose. The others did too. “I guess we’ll see you at school tomorrow.”
“Let me show you out.”
Chance walked us to the door. We scurried out into the sunshine and headed for the gate.
“Wait.”
I turned.
“I’ve changed my mind.” Chance strode to my side. “I’d like one coin, please.”
“Just one?” I scooped a doubloon and handed it over. “Why?”
“Gold reminds me of you, Tory.” Ice-cold smile. “This coin will bring a twinkle to my eye.”
Chance thumb-flipped the doubloon, caught it cleanly, then disappeared inside without a backward glance.
CHAPTER 16
“WHAT NOW?” SHELTON asked.
I had no answer. Chance’s last words echoed in my head. “We keep these coins for ourselves,” Hi crowed. “That’s what now.” We’d nearly reached the city marina. Ben texted his father, who was waiting to ferry us back to Morris Island. But I wasn’t ready to call it a day.
“I’m going to Loggerhead,” I said.
“Why?” Shelton frowned. “Something at LIRI?”
“We need to examine the second cache,” I replied, “but don’t have the equipment. Kit will lend me a lab if I make up a reasonable excuse.”
I wasn’t as sure as I sounded, but had no other ideas. Plus, investigating the scorched cache might take my mind off Chance.
Shelton spoiled the effort.
“We gonna talk about what Chance said?” he asked quietly. “That last crack about gold, and twinkling eyes … It hit a little too close to home.”
I couldn’t agree more. Chance’s parting shot seemed like a challenge. A taunt. Or worse: a warning of things to come.
How much did he know? Suspect? What did he remember?
We descended to the waterfront. Tom Blue waited on the dock, Hugo’s motor already purring.
“Let’s work one problem at a time,” I said. “LIRI. The cache fragments.”
“Not me,” Ben said firmly. “I have a ton of homework, and can’t follow a whim all the way to Loggerhead. Waste of time.”
Thanks.
“How are we supposed to get there without Sewee?” Hi asked. “Swim?”
“My dad heads to LIRI right after Morris. Ride out with him, then take the evening shuttle back.”
“I’m out too,” Shelton said. “Mom’s been on my case about cleaning my room lately. I’ve gotta knock that out before dinner.”
I raised a hopeful brow at Hi. “Pretty please? We all know you’re king of the lab.”
Hi rubbed his chin, as if in deep thought. “Why do I feel like I’m being played?” Then he shrugged. “Sure. Why not? But I get to run the machines.”
“Deal.”
Hi and I walked through the glass doors of Building One.
“Oh great,” I muttered. Security Chief Hudson was manning the desk.
Deep creases appeared on Hudson’s forehead. He rose, carefully straightening his immaculate powder-blue uniform.
“State your business.”
“To see my father.” A beat. “That’s usually going to be my business, FYI.”
Hudson didn’t smile. “Is Director Howard expecting you?”
Annoyed with this routine,
I gambled. “More than expecting. We’re late.”
Hudson’s gaze slid to Hi. “Both of you?”
“Both,” Hi said quickly. “He’s our dodgeball coach, and we’re working out some new defensive maneuvers.”
Hudson’s eyes narrowed. “Dodgeball?”
“District champs.” Hi pounded his chest. “I’m a gunner. The key is to reach the balls first, and then throw with a little touch of spin, so that—”
“Should I log in?” Grabbing for the clipboard.
Hi couldn’t resist, but he was dancing on thin ice. The last thing I needed was for Robocop to call upstairs.
Hudson gave us a hard look, perhaps concerned we were al Qaeda operatives in disguise. “Sign. No stops.”
Minutes later we entered the fourth-floor director’s suite. The Dragon was absent, no doubt sucking down a Marlboro behind a shed somewhere. I beelined to Kit’s door and knocked.
“Come.”
Kit sat behind a carved wooden desk, phone pressed to one ear. Surprised at our appearance, he waved for us to sit while he finished the call.
“But I don’t want to cut the grant, Pete.” Kit rubbed his eyes. “The institute has always cosponsored the aquarium’s dolphin expert. I see no reason to change that.” Pause. “Yes, I understand it costs money. What I’m telling you is that LIRI is going to spend it.”
Kit covered the receiver. “One sec, guys. This bozo never stops talking.”
The office hadn’t changed much from Karsten’s era. A coat rack occupied the corner, stuck between two overstuffed bookshelves. Behind the desk, a large bay window overlooked the Atlantic. A credenza and pair of wooden filing cabinets sat beneath.
Kit’s main contribution had been a framed collection of antique veterinary diagrams on the walls. I had to admit, they looked pretty cool.
The desk was clear except for a laptop and two pictures. One was of Kit and me eating lunch on our roof deck. The other showed Kit and Whitney splitting an ice cream sundae.
“Holy crap.” Hi nodded to the second photo. “Your dad’s a huge dork, huh?”
I shrugged. “The evidence is fairly damning.”
Kit hung up with a loud sigh. “These suits only think about money. Budgeting. Revenues versus costs. Don’t they understand we’re a non-profit? That the animals come first?”