A jolt of pain shoots down my arm, zapping my hand. I don't know what it means except Cooper isn't supposed to touch that stuff.

"Don't!" I yank his wrist away.

But it's too late. The gel coats his middle and index fingers. My heart jumps into overdrive, galloping in my chest.

"What's the matter?" His eyes stretch as wide as half-dollars.

The skin on my hand radiates heat. "You can't touch it."

"Why?" He laughs, tapping his tacky fingers against his thumb. The glycerin-like substance is wet and stretchy. "It's sap or something. Gross, but nothing dangerous. Really. See?" He pushes his fingers toward my face. The scent stings my eyes.

Tugging my T-shirt over my nose, I take a giant step back and trip onto Cooper's bed. "Get it away from me! I mean it." My voice is laden with desperation.

Jack sweeps open the door to Cooper's bedroom, a rolled paper bag in his hand. "Do you know your stepmonster's going crazy again downstairs?" When he notices me cringing on the bed, he laughs. "What's going on in here?" He's way too amused by my obvious discomfort.

"Emma's afraid of the slime on my window. Seems your sister has inherited your dad's neat-freak gene." He walks to his hamper, flips open the lid, and wipes his hand on a towel at the top of the pile. "As for Missy, there's a reason this was closed." Hooking his toe around the edge of the door, he pushes it shut again.

My mind is still stuck on the neat-freak quip. Is he serious? Hasn't he noticed the charcoal pastels caked under my fingernails, or the oil paint that occasionally frosts my hair? I'm nothing like my disinfectant-obsessed father. Still hypersensitive about being a guest in the caretaker's cottage, Dad takes spotless to a whole new level.

I right myself on the mattress. "It's not that. I just don't want that nasty stuff on me. I don't know how you can stand the stink."

Jack sniffs the air. "What stink?"

"You too?" I inhale through my cotton shirt, dragging the fresh scent of fabric softener up my nose. It's almost enough to eradicate the stench now wafting from the still-open clothes hamper.

Setting the bag on Cooper's desk, he steps toward the pane, then leans over and sniffs. "Marginally foul." Shrugging, he shoots a conspiratorial glance at Cooper. "It's way worse than the neat-freak gene. It's an emo attack." He winks at me, knowing his favorite insult is bound to trip my nerves.

Mission accomplished.

My lids narrow. "Don't be an idiot." I get up and slam the hamper shut.

Tilting his head, he smirks. "Look, I'm not the one spazzing over a few slug trails. Which, by the way you've seen a million times all over this plantation." He tilts the frame upward, clicking the pane in place, then shuts the window and relocks the latch.

Slug trails? My pulse drops to a trot. Okay, maybe I overreacted. A little. I didn't even consider the gooey little sh.e.l.l-less snails could have left behind that glistening, mucous-y film. Though I don't ever remember seeing one suction itself to the second level of the Big House, much less three. But even if I did go a bit overboard, that goop really does reek.

"It's still vile." I shudder, keeping my breath shallow to avoid the dissipating but still lingering odor.

"I just hope Coop and I didn't miss out on sailing for an equally nondisaster disaster." Jack s.n.a.t.c.hes the bag, unrolls the top, and pulls out the dagger we liberated from the museum. The same one I used to slice my palm and then Jack's to bind our blood and break The Creep. The one we were supposed to hide somewhere in the museum to confuse the officials into thinking it was merely misplaced and not, in fact, stolen along with the mortar. "So what's up? And why did I need to get this?" The silver blade shines in the steaming sunlight.

"Trust me, we've got a problem." Sinking into the desk chair, I quickly fill them in on my interaction with Claude at Miss Delia's, telling them everything Claude said and how he linked Miss Delia's donation with the engraving on the knife's wooden handle. And, to ice this particular bad-news cupcake, I add in the part about how I inadvertently implicated myself, at least in finding the treasure.

Midway through my story, Jack and Cooper slump on his bed. By the time I'm done, Cooper's pinching the bridge of his nose and Jack's shaking his head.

"c.r.a.p." Jack looks as miserable as someone forced to walk the plank over a shark-infested lagoon. "We could be totally screwed." He grips the knife's handle.

Cooper nods. "Yeah, but what were we supposed to do? Between adding that ramp to Miss Delia's porch and widening her doorways we didn't have time to make another trip to the museum."

"I suppose it's too late to do it now," Jack says.

I sigh. "Now that's Claude's on the case, the museum is off-limits."

Cooper's eyes light up with hopeful possibility. "This Claude guy said he could get Taneea a job there, right? Maybe we could ask her to stick it in some storeroom or something."

Jack and I stare at him, our foreheads etched with identical creases. I love Cooper's optimism, but he's seriously overestimated her trustworthiness.

"Dude, you'd rely on someone who hitchhikes with strangers and got kicked out of school for something this important? Are you nuts?" Jack asks, conveying my sentiments exactly, albeit way more rudely.

Cooper's shoulder sink. "No, I guess you're right. Besides, if it showed up now, it would raise more suspicions than before."

I nod. "Or seal our fate. Even though we wiped it down, there's no telling what evidence we might leave behind. It was coated in Jack's and my blood, not to mention our fingerprints. What if our DNA is still deep inside that engraving? You know they only need a tiny amount of that stuff to test." I stare at Jack's right hand, which is currently wrapped around the scrolled BBR, the initials of b.l.o.o.d.y Bill Ransom, the Dagger's captain.

Cooper rubs his chin. "You're right. As much as I hoped to return it, we can't."

"But what do we do with it?" Jack asks. "We can't keep it here or at the caretaker's cottage. If someone finds it, they're liable to think Dad or Beau stole it."

I nod. "Definitely. We need to put it somewhere no one's going to find it." I search my mind for the perfect hiding place. An idea pops to mind. "Hey, what about putting it back in the tabby box down at the ruins?" It's where we found it in the first place and where it had been locked up for at least a century.

Before they can answer, Missy's voice travels up the grand staircase, then winds around the second-floor landing and carries down the hall, through the closed door. "Cooper! Where you at? I need you."

Cooper stiffens. "Why can't she leave me alone?"

"Because she's on a mission to destroy your life," Jack answers.

"Maybe if we're quiet she'll go away." Judging from the defeated expression on Cooper's face, he knows that's not likely.

Jack snorts. "Right and maybe I'll sprout wings and fly out that window."

"I saw that horrible station wagon of yours out front," Missy trills. "I know you're here. Don't make me come up there to get you."

Grinding his teeth, Cooper takes the knife from Jack and slides into the paper bag. "The tabby ruins is the perfect hiding place. But we'll need all day to dig out that box and bury it again so it'll have to wait until tomorrow." Sliding off the bed, he crosses the room to his bookcase and pulls a thick calculus textbook from the bottom shelf. "With my dad and Missy around, we can't risk taking the knife downstairs now. It'll have to keep here until we can hide it for good." Opening the cover, he leafs past the first few pages to reveal a hollowed-out center.

Jack's eyes gleam. "Awesome."

I blink. "Wow." Not that having a secret stash is a huge deal. Heck, Jack's got plenty of them. But Cooper isn't sneaky enough to need one.

Cooper shrugs. "Boarding school. It's the only way to keep anything private from snooping roommates."

"Or smuggle in contraband." Jack waggles his brows.

"It's where I keep my letters from you two. Well, from Emma. You never do more than sign a Christmas card." He scowls at Jack.

Jack rolls his eyes. "Hey, I comment on your Tumblr posts."

Cooper smirks. "Thanks, it's a real comfort during the long, lonely nights."

My heart warms at the thought of him reading my letters, and that they mean enough to hide from his friends.

"Cooper! I'm done waiting on you!" Missy's stilettos clomp up the grand staircase.

"She's coming!" I whisper.

Cooper slams the calculus text closed, shoves it back in its spot on the case, and then covers it with more heavy books.

We sprint to the door and open it just as she reaches the top of the steps.

Cooper smiles, looking as innocent as baby lamb. "Oh hi, Missy. We were just on our way downstairs."

She crosses her arms. "Didn't you hear me calling you? I've been hollering my head off." Her hair is frazzled and her eyes crazed. Her lipstick is off-kilter again and her blush streaks across her cheeks in two wide, rose-colored blocks. She's normally model-perfect, but now she looks like she put on her makeup in the dark.

He nods. "Yes, which is why we're headed downstairs. Did you need something?"

"Why else would I bother chasing after you? And since your little friends are here, they might as well lend a hand, too." She pivots, then stomps back down the stairs.

When we reach the bottom, she points toward the far end of the wing. The lacquered nail on her index finger is jagged and torn. "I, uh...moved some furniture in the solarium that you boys need to put back in place. And, Ella, find a broom. There's a little broken gla.s.s on the floor."

Biting my tongue, I pace to the utility closet off the butler's pantry, then grab a sponge mop and dustpan because I can't find a broom. Anger roils in my gut. Hasn't she ever heard the word please? Or how about thank you? Since when did I become her personal maid? Doesn't she torture her biweekly cleaning-service ladies enough? I don't know what Beau pays them to drive down from Charleston and put up with her c.r.a.p, but it must be a mint. Slamming the door, I tromp down the hall and join the guys in the solarium.

My eyes pop. A little gla.s.s? Forget the mop, this destruction is going to require a dump truck. She's not only managed to break the entire twenty-five piece margarita set that used to sit on the baker's rack, but the chandelier that used to hang in the middle of the room is splayed on the floor, every one of its bulbs and dripping crystals smashed to bits on the flagstone. Cooper and Jack stand motionless, equally paralyzed by the wreckage before them. Missy didn't just "move" some furniture. She overturned every piece in the room, including the bar, which was filled with tumblers, snifters, and other gla.s.s vessels that likely lie broken beneath it, awaiting cleaning up.

"Dang," Jack finally utters.

"Welcome to my world," Cooper deadpans.

I run my fingers through my long hair, pulling it off my forehead. "This is insane. She can't expect us to clean this up."

Missy's stilettos click behind us. "What are y'all waiting for? Get going." She smacks her gum.

"Missy!" Beau bellows, his voice rough and gravelly. He clambers out of the library, heaving his body forward on unsteady legs and his overburdened cane. He's just as wobbly as he was the night on the veranda, perhaps more so.

"Uh-oh," Jack whispers under his breath.

Cooper shoves an elbow in his side. "Shh."

Missy freezes. "Don't trouble yourself, baby. Go on back to your business pages. Want me to get you another scotch? How about a cigar?" Her voice trembles.

Grunting, he ignores her as he plods toward us, his gelatinous body undulating with each step. He's in such obvious distress, half of me wants to run and help him, but the other half fears he'll trip and crush me.

Just before he reaches the solarium, Missy shuffles forward on her high heels and clutches his arm. "You need your rest, sugar. Come, let me take you back to the library."

"Don't touch me." Nearly out of breath, he yanks from her grasp. His eyes are bloodshot and sunken in their sockets. The familiar scent of rotten bologna hovers, mixed with a healthy serving of scotch. "I work all day to keep this roof over your head and you can't see fit to give me a moment's peace." With each syllable, he thrusts his gray tongue forward and maneuvers his mouth as if deliberately forming every word. His chest gurgles as he sucks for air through thin blue lips. Then his eyes meet mine. "Ah, Emma, it's wonderful to see you, as always." His tongue hangs slack as his gaze drops and he appears to take me in. Lurching forward, he heads toward me.

Missy scampers after him. "Sweetness, wait-"

But it's too late, he's at the door to the solarium. And he's seen the carnage.

For a second, his skin flushes crimson before returning to its normal pale gray. "Now what have you done?"

Missy swallows hard. "It's all for you, baby." Her voice is high and reedy.

"For me?" Beau's breath quickens. He's breathing so hard, he's likely to keel over. Or inflate like a puffer fish.

Cooper tugs Jack's shirt and motions for him to back up into the hall. Then he slips his hand around mine and leans close to my ear as he guides me quietly away from Beau and Missy. "This is about to get ugly. We're out of here."

Amid their escalating argument, Cooper, Jack, and I pick up our pace down the hall, and then sprint through the foyer and out the front door.

"Where to?" Jack bounds down the front steps.

Cooper tightens his grip on my hand. "Anywhere but here."

Chapter Eight.

"Oh man." Cooper stands at the doorway to his bedroom, his face drained of its color.

Last night Cooper slept over at the caretaker's cottage, unable to force himself to face either his father or the destruction in the solarium. He texted both Beau and Missy to say he wouldn't be coming home but got no response. We figured they were too busy arguing to care about where Cooper spent the night and decided it would be best to return this morning after the dust settled, retrieve the dagger, and bury it at tabby ruins. Evidently, we were wrong.

Jack and I stand beside Cooper in stunned silence, taking in the wreckage in his bedroom. The only sound comes from the second hand on his old-school alarm clock as it ticks around the dial. It must be nearby under the rubble.

Finally, Jack breaks the quiet. "Missy," he growls, his fists clenched.

"But why?" She's torn through the rooms on the first floor, but they're the public areas where her guests hung out during the Fourth of July party. It sort of made sense to look for the Beaumont ruby downstairs. But Cooper's room? She's got no reason to believe the necklace was stashed in here. Yet his bed has been stripped and toppled to the floor, his desk and dresser upended, drawers dumped out, and his clothes and other belongings strewn around. Most importantly, the bookcase has been overturned, its contents tossed and scattered around the room.

"The knife!" Cooper snaps out of his stupor and rushes toward the mound of items that litters his floor. Jack and I join him, rummaging through the clothes, sheets, printer paper, and books. Finally he finds the calculus textbook, nestled beneath his bed frame, its cover closed.

My pulse throbs against my temple as I murmur a silent prayer that the dagger is still hidden inside, gloriously protected from Missy's indiscriminate tossing. But as soon as he cracks it open, those hopes are dashed. The compartment is empty.

Looking around the room, Cooper mutters, "It's got to be here." His voice is gripped with panic and sounds as if he's trying to convince himself it's the truth. "Maybe it fell out of the book and she never saw it." Frenzied, he digs through the piles.

Jack sinks against the flipped over mattress. "Dude, I don't think so. She's got it and G.o.d only knows what she's done with it." He chuckles but it's a hollow, futile laugh that lacks a trace of happiness. "I guess it's sort of fair. We did take her necklace. Now she's got our knife."

Cooper shakes his head. "No. She can't have it. She doesn't understand what it means, or what it could do to us." He pushes his belongings around as if that will somehow make it magically appear.

Stretching toward him, I grasp his shoulder. "Cooper, stop. It's no use."

Defeated, he looks at me, his royal-blue eyes wounded. "Why did she do this? And why last night of all nights? I never should have left."

My mouth opens but no words come. Because there is no answer, at least one that makes sense. So instead, I lamely rub his back, hoping it'll do some good.

A moment later, the air-conditioning unit kicks on, humming as cool air blows from the ceiling vent. The alarm clock's second hand keeps on ticking, the sound almost magnified in the leaden silence. Suddenly I'm aware of just how quiet it is. It's not normal for the house to be so still. Especially lately.

My earlobes p.r.i.c.k with heat.