The Ninth Step Read Online Free Page A

the day’s tension.
    He had been collecting them since he was a boy. They ranged from objects of antiquity to sleek modern pieces. His favorites were the Japanese puzzle boxes. Edgar’s grandfather had brought one of the trick boxes back from World War II. It was a cheap thing, about half the size of a brick. A touristy trinket decorated with an image of a Japanese boat languishing on a lake with Mount Fuji in the background. The painted decoration was crackled and chipped, and one of the slats was missing from one end. His grandfather had given it to Edgar’s father, and Edgar’s father had in turn given it to him when Edgar was about twelve. Which sounded more entrenched with meaning than it really was. Nonetheless, Edgar had loved the box. Seemingly a solid block of wood, it was actually a trick box that took six separate moves to open. Putting pressure on just the right part of the box caused a concealed slat to slide. If all the slats were moved in the exact right combination, a hidden compartment would be revealed.
    Edgar loved the tactile sensation of them. He loved exerting pressure over the seemingly solid surface only to discover a panel that moved forward. Which led to the discovery of another piece that slid precisely to the side. The next one would need to be moved down. And so on until the puzzle was solvedand the secret compartment revealed. His grandfather’s box had a hidden compartment as well as a secret drawer that held a 1945 Mercury dime.
    Through his teen years, Edgar sought out more such boxes at flea markets and garage sales. As an adult, Edgar had added to the collection and branched out to more modern puzzle boxes as well. He had a solid black cube. A silver orb etched with hieroglyphics—crafted by a magician and touted to be the most difficult puzzle ever created. But mostly, it was the traditional Japanese ones that he craved. With the advent of the Internet, he’d learned that these boxes were still being made, and that the craftsmen who made them were regarded as artists and held places of honor in Japanese society. Edgar owned one that required seventy-eight moves. With eBay, his harmless hobby had blossomed into a bit of an obsession, but a mostly manageable one.
    “I hope you’re taking that off because you want to put on a better-looking one.” Edgar looked at his wife. Judy Woolrich was a tiny thing, and Edgar found the sight of her pleasing even after fifteen years of marriage. She was dressed in a brown skirt and a white silk blouse. The smell of freshly applied perfume stung Edgar’s nostrils. It was Joy, purchased in Paris on their tenth wedding anniversary and generally reserved for special occasions.
    “Not tonight. I’m tired. Aren’t you tired?”
    “I most certainly am not tired. And you promised.”
    “I know, but there’s an auction ending tonight and I want to bid on it.”
    “You’re kidding, right? Another auction?”
    “This one is special.”
    “They’re all special.”
    “True, but this one, look, just look.”
    Edgar pulled up a browser page on the desktop computer at his little home office desk. The desk was just a small thing set up in a cubby in the living room. A place to pay the bills.
    “Just look.”
    In most regards, it was the typical war-era export with Mount Fuji, a lake, and a boat. The sides were a checkerboard marquetry inlay. Quite interestingly, the interior held five separate removable boxes. But what made this truly different, what made it
exceptional
, was that each interior box held an array of tiny treasures, charms, and toys. A tiny dog, a tiny book, a tiny pair of scissors. A complete fifty-two-card deck of miniature playing cards. A Japanese lantern form carved of bone (the lid of which unscrewed to reveal a hidden compartment!). A carved bone geisha figure (that likewise had a hidden compartment that held a miniature pair of bone dice). All handmade. And more. Just so much more. Teakettles, pocketknives. A compass. None of