The First Counsel Read Online Free PDF Page B

agreement in her voice.
    Cautiously walking together, we zigzag up the embankment, which is overflowing with trees. I look up and see nothing but jagged darkness—the treetops hide everything from the sky tothe parkway’s lamps. All I can do is tell myself that we’re alone. But I don’t believe it.
    “Shine it over here,” I tell Nora, who’s waving it in every direction. As the flashlight rips through the night, I realize we’re going to have to be more systematic about this. “Start with the base of each tree, then work your way upward,” I suggest.
    “What if he stuffed it high in a tree?”
    “You think Simon’s the tree-climbing type?” She has to agree with that one. “And let’s try to do this fast,” I add. “Whoever he left it for—even if they’re not here now, they’re going to be here any minute.” Nora turns the flashlight toward the base of the nearest tree and we’re once again encased in underwater silence. As we move up the hill, my breathing gets heavier. I’m trying to look out for the envelope, but I can’t stop checking over my shoulder. And while I don’t believe in mental telepathy or other paranormal phenomena, I do believe in the human animal’s uncanny and unexplainable ability to know when it’s being watched. Racing to the top of the embankment, it’s a feeling I can’t shake. We’re not alone.
    “What’s wrong with you?” Nora asks.
    “I just want to get out of here. We can come back tomorrow with the proper—” Suddenly, I see it. There it is. My eyes go wide and Nora follows my gaze. Ten feet in front of us, at the base of a tree with a Z carved into it, is a single manila envelope.
    “Son of a bitch,” she says, rushing forward. Her reaction is instantaneous. Pick it up and rip it open.
    “No!” I shout. “Don’t touch . . .” I’m too late. She’s got it open.
    Nora shines the flashlight down into the envelope. “I don’t believe it,” she says.
    “What? What’s in there?”
    She turns it upside down and the contents fall to the ground. One. Two. Three. Four stacks of cash. Hundred dollar bills.
    “Money?”
    “Lots of it.”
    I pick up a stack, remove the First of America billfold, and start counting. So does Nora. “How much?” I ask when she’s done.
    “Ten thousand.”
    “Me too,” I say. “Times two more stacks is forty thousand.” Noticing the crispness of the bills, I again flip through the stack. “All consecutively numbered.”
    We nervously look at each other. We’re sharing the same thought.
    “What should we do?” she finally asks. “Should we take it?”
    I’m about to answer when I see something move in the large bush on my right. Nora shines the flashlight. No one’s there. Yet I can’t shake the feeling that we’re being watched.
    I pull the envelope from Nora’s hands and stuff the four stacks of bills back inside.
    “What’re you doing?” she asks.
    “Throw me the flashlight.”
    “Tell me why—”
    “Now!” I shout. She gives in, tossing it to me. I shine the light on the envelope, looking to see if there’s any writing on it. It’s blank. There’s a throbbing pain kicking at the back of my neck. My forehead’s soaked. Feeling like I’m about to pass out, I quickly return the envelope to the base of the tree. The late summer heat isn’t the only thing that’s got me sweating.
    “You okay?” Nora asks, reading my expression.
    I don’t answer. Instead, I reach up and pull some leaves from the tree. Putting the flashlight aside, I fold the leaves and scrub them against the edges of the envelope.
    “Michael, you can’t wipe off fingerprints. It doesn’t work like that.”
    Ignoring her, I keep scrubbing.
    She kneels next to me and puts a hand on my shoulder. Her touch is strong, and even in the midst of it all, I have to admit it feels good. “You’re wasting your time,” she adds.
    Naturally, she’s right. I toss the envelope back toward the tree. Behind us, a twig snaps and we