“That’s Norman’s father,” said Zack. “And a Snertz who works at the hardware store.”
As if to prove Zack correct, titles appeared on the bottom of the screen: Herman Ickes, father. Stephen Snertz, coworker.
The camera zoomed out and a reporter lady jabbed a microphone under Mr. Ickes’s nose.
“This is terrible,” he said. “I don’t know what could have gotten into my son.”
“The real question,” said Zack, “is who got into his son.”
“Didn’t you recently fire your son?” asked the reporter. “Yes.”
“Didn’t you have his name painted over on your sign?”
Stephen Snertz grabbed for the microphone. “It wasn’t his name. It was the ‘and Son.’ Basically, Herman here was telling the world he no longer had a son, isn’t that right, Herm?”
Mr. Ickes didn’t answer. He dropped his head in shame.
So the reporter concentrated on Snertz.
“You worked with Norman. Do you think his father’s recent actions are what sent the younger Mr. Ickes over the edge?”
“Definitely. Of course, Norman was always nuttier than squirrel poop.”
“So you’re not surprised at this turn of events?”
“Nah. Except the horse. Who knew the nerd could ride?”
The reporter turned to face the camera, which zoomed out even further, taking in the hardware store and the other shops lining Main Street.
“There you have it, Chip,” said the reporter. “A father’s public humiliation of his only son sends him spiraling into a violent rampage that has terrorized a picture-perfect small town in this bucolic corner of Connecticut.”
While she talked, the camera panned right and took in more storefronts, the village green and town hall, the town clock tower … The clock tower!
With its hands rusted in place.
Where the time was always frozen at 9:52.
That was what his mother had told him right before she disappeared.
Nine-fifty-two!
She had broken the rules and told him exactly where he had to go.
“The town clock!” Zack said to Judy.
“What?”
“That’s where they hid the black heart stone!”
Azalea was seated in her usual spot near the rear of the bus, so she saw him first.
A guy dressed all in black and wearing one of those hats they wear in Colonial Williamsburg came charging down the cemetery hill on a horse.
“Um, Ms. Tiedeman?” she called up to the bus driver.
The guy on the horse was gaining on them. Azalea could see he was wearing a mask that made his head look like a burlap pumpkin, complete with the triangle eyes and nose and the sawtooth jack-o’-lantern grin.
“Ms. Tiedeman?” She shouted it this time.
The bus driver looked up at her rearview mirror.
“What’s the problem back there, Azalea?”
The horse rider raced past Azalea’s window. He was moving faster than the bus. She heard him scream, “Onward, Satan! Fly, Satan, fly!”
Great. Pumpkin Head’s horse was named Satan.
“I think this guy wants us to pull over.”
The bus driver leaned forward to check her side-view mirror.
“Stand and deliver!” the horse rider shouted as he drew parallel to the driver’s window.
“What?” said Ms. Tiedeman.
“Stand and deliver, I say!”
“Yeah? Well, I say, ‘Shut up and go away!’ ”
“Pull over to the side of the road, wench!”
“Sorry, pal. I have a schedule to keep.”
Azalea felt the rumbling bus accelerate.
“Everybody buckled up?” the bus driver shouted at the panoramic mirror, in which she could see all the kids. “Grab hold of a seat back and brace yourself!”
Then she pressed the pedal to the metal.
But the black stallion, with bubbly foam streaming out around its mouth bit, pumped it up a notch, too. The colonial jockey reached down into a saddlebag and pulled out a flaming lantern, which he hurled about twenty yards up the road.
It hit the asphalt and erupted into a gassy fireball.
“Hang on, kids!” Ms. Tiedeman pulled her steering wheel hard to the right and then immediately back to the left, sending the school bus careening through a cloud of smoke, but clear of the blaze.
Azalea turned around and saw that the bandit on horseback was behind the bus now, having just blown through the smoke cloud where the lantern grenade had exploded.
He spurred his horse hard, and in an instant, horse and rider were only a few feet away from the bus’s rear bumper.
Being a soldier’s daughter, Azalea leapt into action.
She raced to the back of the bus.
“Azalea?” shouted the bus driver. “Sit down! I’m pulling over.”
“Not yet. I’ll knock this dude on his butt.” She reached the rear emergency exit. The masked man was right outside and standing up in his saddle.
Excellent!
Azalea would kick open the door and whack him off his pony.
She reached for the handle.
Pumpkin Head leapt up, grabbed hold of a light or something.
And hauled himself onto the roof of the bus!
Zack and Judy were whisked home in a police car.
“I’ll go in and grab Zipper,” said Zack as Judy transferred Aunt Ginny’s carpetbag full of gear to her own sporty sedan. “We might need his nose to help us find where they hid the stone.”
“Great idea. And call Malik. Tell him we’ll swing by and pick him up.”
“Right.”
They needed Malik to take the black stone puzzle apart again, which was the only way to dislodge the miniature black heart in the center. If Judy, Aunt Hannah, and Aunt Sophie could exorcise the Ickleby demon out of Norman’s body and then crush the black core, Barnabas’s soul would go straight down to H-E-double-hockey-sticks.
Zack called Malik.
“Can you take apart that black heart again?”
“Oh, yes. The second time you work a puzzle always takes much less time.”
“Great. We’ll meet you out front in five.”
Next, Zack scooped up Zipper, who was taking his morning nap, and started to carry him out to the car.
“Time for your nose to wake up, boy. It’s got work to do!”
Zipper barked once, leapt out of Zack’s arms, and raced him out to Judy’s car.
“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?”