Dead Man's Switch by Sigmund Brouwer Read Free Book Online Page A

mail icon at the bottom of the iPhone. The mail opened and showed zero emails in the inbox.
    â€œWait for it...” King said, watching the spinning gray tics that showed the mail program was searching for emails. “Wait for it...”
    The signal strength bars at the top of the iPhone showed excellent coverage. ATT.
    The phone gave a pleasant sound. Email received and downloaded.
    With Johnson watching, King tapped on the email.
    It opened. And...
    ...nothing.
    â€œHuh?” Johnson said.
    â€œHuh is right,” King said. “It’s a blank message. And look at the header. The From and To.”
    The headers matched. From: [email protected]. To: [email protected].
    â€œBlake sending something to Blake?” Johnson said.
    King didn’t answer. He was thinking.
    â€œNo,” Johnson said. “It could be a message from Blake. He told us he wasn’t going to send you anything anymore in case it could betraced from his account. So he set up a different account. Used numbers instead of a name.”
    â€œBut why send a blank message?” King tapped his front tooth. Maybe all of this was a sick joke. After all, Mack really couldn’t be behind anything crazy and insane and bad happening at night.
    â€œI got it,” Johnson said. “Invisible ink.”
    â€œSure,” King answered. “Like on the back of the phone. You’re saying we just use the magic flashlight, and it will show up on here?”
    â€œYeah. Er, no. You can’t use a marker on an email. I need to stop getting so excited and use my brain before I talk.”
    King was tapping his tooth again.
    â€œActually,” King said. “You may be right. Blake once played a trick on me. I think he did it again. Come on. We need to go back to your house and make sure the coast is clear.”

CHAPTER 12
    â€œDoily?” King snorted. A wide circular hand-knitted flower sat beneath the computer monitor. “A doily?”
    They were back at Johnson’s house. In a nook just off the kitchen, a computer workstation had been built into a corner. On the wall behind it was a bulletin board with coupons pinned on one side and family photos on the other.
    The nook smelled of fresh lemon. Artificial fresh lemon. Johnson’s mom was a freak about using furniture polish. Dust was instantly eliminated from the Johnson home. It made King sad, worrying about whether Ella would ever return to their own house. To wind the cuckoo clocks. To stand at the stove, stirring macaroni as the water boiled, fresh clay stuck to the cuticles of her nails from her time at the spinning wheel.
    â€œThink of it as an ornamental mat,” Johnson sighed. “Meant to protect the desktop.” He sighed again. “And if it matters, the name comes from Doiley, a draper in London who popularized them in the 1600s.”
    â€œAnd you know this how?” King forced away his sadness.
    â€œYou know it’s called a doily. Most kids wouldn’t.”
    â€œBut this draper stuff...”
    â€œI told my mom that whatever she had knitted to put under the monitor probably wouldn’t be a hot accessory at the Apple store. That’s when she forced me to Google it with her and learn the history. I think she was trying to teach me not to mock her sense of fashion. It worked.”
    â€œDoily,” King said again. “We’re using a monitor on a doily to bust a set of mysteries from a computer geek.”
    â€œThat’s perfect,” Johnson said. “After all, who would think to go to this computer?”
    â€œOnly if my theory is right,” King answered.
    Johnson looked around, obviously nervous about getting caught. “Let’s be fast, okay? I don’t know how long we have until Mom gets back. She’s not in good shape, and when she goes for a run, it’s never that far.”
    â€œI locked the door as we came in,” King said.
    Johnson groaned. “And if