The Book of Lies - Brad Meltzer [61]
“Hoooo—you’re dreaming big dreams now,” Johnsel says, laughing.
“That doesn’t answer my question,” she teases, smart enough to keep it nice. “Maybe there’s something still up there.”
Again, Johnsel laughs. “It’s been over sixty years—plus all the people that picked through it before we got here. Trust me, there ain’t nothin’—”
“When was the last time you were up there?” Serena interrupts.
Johnsel cocks his head, confused. “When we first moved in. Why would I wanna go again?”
“Wait. Hold on,” I say. “You haven’t been up there since you first moved in? When was that?”
“Not that long. We came in . . .” He thinks for a moment. “1972.”
If I had water in my mouth, I’d do the full spit shot.
“Okay,” my dad says. “We need a ladder.”
43
First time flying?” a young woman with a pencil-point chin asked from her seat next to him.
Ellis stared downward at the floor of the airplane, his fingers wedged above his closed tray table. But he didn’t answer.
“Sir, you okay?”
Again, Ellis stared at the floor. He was at the window; she was on the aisle.
“You need to throw up?” the woman asked, rifling through the seat pocket. “There’s a bag right—”
“Y’hear that?” Ellis asked.
The woman looked at him, confused. “You’re really gonna throw up, aren’t you?”
“You don’t hear that sound? Like a high-pitched whimper. Y’know, like a dog?”
At that, the woman raised an eyebrow and lowered her sharp chin. Ellis was still staring at the floor of the plane. “Ohh . . . you have a puppy down there, don’t you?” she asked, motioning downward as if she were pointing through the floor to the cargo hold.
“There it is again!” Ellis insisted.
“Sweetie, I got a mopey cocker spaniel at home. Every time I take her on the plane, I swear I hear her crying for me. And then someone’s kind enough to tell me I’m just being nuts.”
For the first time, Ellis turned toward the woman. And grinned. “I’m just being nuts, aren’t I?”
“Totally understandable,” she said, tapping him on the shoulder. “You’re sweet for worrying, though. You really love your pup, huh?”
“She means a great deal to me,” Ellis said. With a deep breath, he stared out the open window at the tiny lights that dotted the landscape.
“We’re beginning our descent into Cleveland,” the pilot announced overhead.
“By the way, for your pup,” the woman next to Ellis began. “Have you tried giving her a sedative? That always calms mine before a big flight.”
“No, I need her alert,” Ellis explained as he reached for his leather diary. “She’s about to have a very busy night.”
44
I think it’s glued shut,” Serena calls down from the top of the ladder.
“Hit it again,” my dad says.
“Not too hard,” Johnsel adds.
“Let me just help you,” I say.
That’s all she needs. Ramming her palm up toward the ceiling, she slams the square piece of wood that covers the entrance to the attic. It looks thin, like balsa wood. From the thud and the pain on her face, it’s not.
“There you go. It moved,” my father says.
“It didn’t move,” she shoots back.
“I think it did,” I say. “Now use the flashlight to hit it.”
She looks again, knowing I’m right. To be honest, I should be the one up there, but the hole’s so small—she’s got the best chance of squeezing through.
“It’s good we brought her along, huh?” my dad whispers, but I don’t answer.
Serena winds up again with the flashlight Johnsel gave her and grips the ladder for support. On three—one . . . two . . .
The base of the flashlight plows into the wood. There’s a loud pop, then a rip as the square piece flips upward like a reverse trapdoor. The only reward is a lungful of dust and a light shower of pebbles and chunks of plaster that rain over all of us. According to Johnsel, the house was built in 1911. Tastes like it.
Waving the dust away, Serena stares up at the square black hole of the attic. It’s teeny. Barely bigger than a phone book.
“Careful,” I call out.
She steps up on the top rung of the ladder, raises her arms, and boosts herself easily into the darkness.
“Hoooo—that was anticlimactic,” Johnsel blurts.
Wasting no time, I leap toward