“Not exactly.”
I almost drive past the old warehouse, but then I recognize
the strange design on the rusted side wall and slam on the
brakes. It’s the same design I saw on those red-stamped letters
from Cooper Enterprises. My insides are flipping around like
a fish out of water.
“This is it.” Hands shaking, I pull my car behind a large
pile of weathered crates and park. Charles eyes me quietly
for a moment and then folds his arms across his chest with
a grimace.
“All right. You gotta tell me what’s going. For cryin’ out loud,
Lon, you look like you’ve seen the Grim Reaper.”
He has no idea how accurate he is. “You could say that.”
His expression is serious. “Tell me.”
I take a slow breath. I know I can’t tell him everything, but I
suppose it would be nice to share this burden with at least one
other person.
“It’s hard to explain. I think my uncle might be mixing with
the wrong sort of people. And I think it could cause trouble.
Serious trouble. Danger, even.”
Charles scratches the back of his neck. “Jeepers.”
I nod grimly. “Come on. I want to investigate this place.”
“You sure it’s safe?” Charles asks, eyeing the ominouslooking warehouse.
“I don’t know.”
“Well, that’s reassuring, Lon. Thanks.”
I climb out of the car and he follows, sticking close behind me.
The warehouse to Cooper Enterprises isn’t empty. At the
far end of the building, workers are unloading a flatbed truck
stacked with wide barrels. The foreman leans against the wall,
smoking a cigar as he watches his men work. I grab Charles’s
sleeve, and we duck behind the warehouse.
“What are you thinking you’ll find here?” Charles asks as we
creep along in the shadows.
“I don’t know. I guess I just want to get a feel for the place.”
“I think we can safely write it off as dodgy.”
We reach the back of the warehouse. With my stomach
pressed to the wall, I peer around the corner. As shoddy as the
front of the building looked, the back is worse. Piles of junk sit
festering all over the crumbled asphalt. A large puddle of stagnant water reflects the silver clouds above, shivering slightly in the wind. And an old jalopy rots in a crown of yellow weeds.
Wait…
That jalopy. I recognize it. It was the one parked outside
Uncle Ned’s house in the middle of the night. The realization
grabs my throat, pinching off any breath.
“What is it?” Charles asks.
I press my finger to my lips to shush him. Only now do I see
that I’ve brought him into a very dangerous situation.
“We have to split,” I whisper. “Right now.”
The sharp tones of men’s voices cut through the air, freezing
Charles and me in place. Someone steps outside. A jolt of nerves
rushes through me. It’s the man I spoke with in the library. The
drunk one who told me about Cape Row in the first place. What
was his name?
Hank.
He looks so different now. It’s more than the crisp, white suit
or slicked hair. It’s the way he carries himself—ruthless and in
charge. Was his drunkard persona all an act? An act to deceive
Ned and me?
A muffled cry heralds the arrival of others. Two big, burly
types step out dragging a third man between them. This one’s
hands are bound behind his back. A burlap bag has been tied
around his neck, covering his head. Charles and I exchange a
look. Charles’s face is ghost white.
The burly men throw their captive to the ground in front of
them. His head hits the puddle of stagnant water with a dull
splash. He groans and rolls onto his back.
“Lon,” Charles whispers, his voice trembling. “This is bad.”
I shush him and turn back to the sight before us. A cold, deep
sense of dread settles over me. But I can’t look away.