The Black Heart Crypt (27 page)

“Hop in!”
Zack shouted to Malik.

Malik slid into the backseat with Zipper.

“Where are we going?” he asked as they pulled out of the driveway.

“The clock tower,” said Zack. “Downtown. That’s where they hid the black heart stone.”

“Who?”

Zack didn’t have time to explain the whole dybbuk, soul-in-a-body-that-wasn’t-its-body deal. So he simplified things. “The bad guys.”

“I see. And how do we know the clock tower is where the bad guys stashed their loot?”

“My mother told me.”

“I did?” said Judy from behind the wheel.

“I meant my other mother.”

“Excuse me? Zack?” said Malik, raising his hand.

“Yeah?”

“I thought your birth mother was dead.”

“She is. But, well, she found a way to come back to life just so she could stop by the house and drop me a huge hint.”

“I see. Well, that was very thoughtful of her.”

“Yeah. I think being dead has made her a much better person.”

As the
bus eased to a stop, Azalea heard boot heels clomping along its riveted steel roof.

“You stupid bus driver,” whined Kurt Snertz, an eighth grader who was sitting near the front of the bus today, just so he could finger-flick a new kid’s ears. “Why’d you pull over?”

“Kurt?” said Azalea.

“What?”

“Be cool.”

“Make me.”

“You heard the lass,” croaked the masked man as he strode onto the bus, both pistols aimed at Snertz. “Sit still, lad.”

“Yes, sir,” Kurt said, gulping. Azalea thought he might burst into tears.

“Children,” said the masked man, “I hereby declare
you all to be my hostages!” His voice was hoarse and raspy. “May God have mercy on your souls!”

And then the bad guy’s eyes went buggy as he cocked his head sideways as if he was listening to something nobody else could hear.

Norman Ickes
was having a blast sharing his body with his evil ancestor Barnabas.

He’d punched people, gone horseback riding, killed a priest, and shot an old lady who’d been making fun of him.

Now he was in heaven. The smart-mouthed kid in the third row was Stephen Snertz’s nephew—the punk who had crazy-glued Norman’s fingers to the hardware store phone one Saturday when he came in to watch football with his uncle.

“Barnabas!”
his soul cried out.

“Silence,”
his dybbuk thought back.
“I am otherwise engaged.”

“That boy, the beefy one with the red hair.”

“What about him?”

“He is a Snertz.”

“So?”

“The Snertzes are the richest family in all of North Chester.”

“What about the Spratlings?”

“They’re all dead. Besides, the Snertzes are richer. Mark my word, that boy will fetch us a handsome ransom.”

“Where are his people, that I might make my demands known?”

“Go see his uncle. Stephen Snertz.”

“And where might Stephen Snertz tarry at this hour?”

“The hardware store on Main Street!”

“Coachwoman?” Norman heard Barnabas say to the bus driver. “Take me to the hardware store on Main Street, where I shall parley with the Snertz family for their heir’s ransom! Satan, follow the yellow carriage!”

Checkmate
, thought Norman.
We’re comin’ to get you, Stephen!

“What is
that school bus doing over near the hardware store?” asked Malik from the backseat. “Was there a field trip today?”

“I don’t think so,” said Zack, who thought a hardware store would be a pretty odd place to take a field trip.

“I don’t remember signing any permission slips,” added Judy.

She had parked her car right in front of the town clock tower, the tallest building in North Chester. Zack looked up at its face, five stories above the street.

Nine-fifty-two.

His dad used to joke that no matter what train he took to New York City in the morning, it was always the nine-fifty-two, because the town clock had been frozen in that position for as long as he could remember. Zack, of course, wished he had figured out his mother’s clue sooner.

Next he checked out the door at the base.

It looked to be unlocked, because a stiff breeze squeaked it open a crack.

“Oh, no,” said Judy, who was looking up the block to the town hall. “There’s a black horse standing next to the bus.”

“Unusual,” said Malik. “You certainly don’t see that every day.”

Now it was Zack’s turn to say, “Oh, no,” because he was the first one to see Jack the Lantern climb off the bus, a pistol poked into Azalea Torres’s back.

He was using her as a shield!

“Who’s that guy in the mask manhandling Azalea?” asked Malik.

“Your friend,” said Zack. “Norman Ickes.”

“Where is
Squire Stephen Snertz?” Azalea heard the masked man snarl at the crowd outside the hardware store.

In the mob were a bunch of TV reporters with microphones and cameras. They swung around to aim their gear at the shaved-head goon who had harassed Norman Ickes on Halloween night—the dude who had pulled the plug on all the pumpkins.

In the distance, Azalea could hear the wail of police sirens.

“What is going on?” the masked man whispered tensely. “What is making that high-pitched squeal? Why are all these townsfolk idling about? I am Jack the Lantern. I lurk in the shadows, where none can find me.…”

“Sorry, sir,” said Azalea. “Somebody must’ve alerted the authorities.”

“The king’s soldiers are coming?”

“Uh, no. The police.”

The masked man pulled her closer to his chest.

Great
. To shoot him, the cops would have to try to miss her.

“Where is Stephen Snertz?” the guy who called himself Jack shouted again. This time, he brandished a new weapon: a very modern, very lethal-looking pistol.

Azalea was eager to hurry things along.

“That’s him. The bald dude with the chin goatee.”

Stephen Snertz brought his hand up to his chin, trying to hide his facial hair.

“Sir Snertz,” said the kidnapper, “know that I hold your scion as my hostage!”

“M-m-my w-w-what?” said Snertz, who was trembling pretty bad and looked like he might wet himself.

“He means your nephew,” said Azalea. “Kurt? He’s on the bus.”

Stephen Snertz sort of squirmed and snorted some snot up his schnozz before he said, “So?”

“We two must come to terms,” said the man in the mask.

“About w-w-what?”

“Young Kurt’s ransom!”

“R-r-ransom? What are you talking about, Norman?”

“My name is Jack the Lantern!”

Snertz put a hand on his hip and tried to look tough.

“Really? I thought it was Crazy Izzy Ickleby.”

“That was yesterday. This is today.”

“Man,” Snertz chortled, “you are nuttier than all the pecan pies in Georgia!”

Azalea heard a pistol hammer cock back right next to her ear.

“Hey! Th-th-that’s my pistol!” said Snertz.

“Indeed it is!” said the masked man. Then he started mumbling to himself. “No, Norman. Not yet.” He cleared his throat and loudly addressed Snertz again: “If, sir, you do not meet my demands and present me with twenty pounds of solid gold bullion within the hour, I shall be forced to sell young Master Snertz to certain ship captains I know of in these parts.”

Azalea raised an eyebrow. Pumpkin Head was definitely living in the past. There hadn’t been any ship captains living in North Chester since the nineteenth century.

“Drop your weapons!” cried a brusque voice through a bullhorn.

Azalea looked left. Sheriff Hargrove and six of his deputies had their guns up and aimed at Pumpkin Head, which meant they were also, more or less, aimed at her.

“Is the
door locked?” asked Judy, studying the base of the clock tower.

“No,” said Zack. “Somebody busted it open.”

“Probably Norman,” said Malik. “He’s the top lock picker in our puzzle club.”

“Hurry, guys,” said Judy. “Find the stone. Toss it in Aunt Ginny’s bag with the rest of the junk.”

Zack grabbed the carpetbag from Malik in the backseat.

“I’ll see what’s going on with the school bus. When you find the black heart, use the signal mirror. Flash it at me from down here in the doorway,” said Judy.

“We will,” said Zack, yanking up his door handle.

“I’ll call Hannah and Sophie; they have Aunt Ginny’s cell phone.”

“But wait—they don’t have a car.”

“They can take a taxi.”

Zack nodded. He had seen some waiting in the hospital parking lot.

“Okay. Go. And, Malik?” Judy said.

“Yes, ma’am?”

“Set a new world record tearing it apart, okay?”

“Will do, Mrs. Jennings!”

“Come on!” said Zack.

He, Malik, and Zipper headed into the clock tower while Judy jogged across the street and up the block to the bus.