The Puzzler's Mansion (20 page)

Richard continued. “Winston and I were just talking about how he's thinking about giving up puzzles. I was about to advise him on this when you came in. And my advice is, Winston, that you absolutely should not do that. Do you know why?”

Winston shook his head.

Richard leaned in. His expression grew very serious. He raised a finger and pointed it at Winston's chest. “Because,” he said, “we owe it to ourselves to try to be great at something.”

He let that pronouncement settle over them for a moment and
then continued. “And you can only become great at something that you love more than anything. Because becoming great at something takes work. There are many musicians out there who can play a few nice tunes on the piano, and there are many people out there who enjoy a puzzle or two now and then. But becoming
great . . .
that is a whole other thing.”

Amanda had figured out her problem. She blurted out, “But a great piano player can play concerts! Make albums!”

“Make money, you mean,” Richard said.

“Well . . . yeah,” Amanda agreed.

“Would you play the piano if you couldn't make a dime from it?” Richard asked. “Would you play even if you didn't receive a single ounce of fame?”

Amanda looked shocked at the idea of it. It was clear she had never thought about this possibility.

Richard said, “I didn't know I was going to be famous when I started playing the piano. I was only a child. I knew I loved music, and I wanted to be great at it. I've met a lot of people over the years who are brilliant at a variety of things. Drawing portraits. Tap dancing. Sleight of hand. Not all of them are rich, and hardly any of them are well known, but every one of them is happy. Well, mostly happy. They have all become masters at something they love to do. That is all I can wish for both of you: that you find something to fill your life that makes you happy.”

He looked at Winston. “For you, it's puzzles?”

Winston nodded slowly. Of course it was. He could never give it up. Had he really thought otherwise? Even for a moment?

Richard looked at Amanda. “And for you it's piano?”

There was a brief moment where Winston wasn't sure what her
answer would be, but then Amanda also nodded, though it was a slight, almost invisible gesture.

Richard smiled and clapped his hands together, a surprisingly loud sound in the dim and quiet music room. “Then bravo to you both. You don't even know how lucky you are. Some people look their whole lives for something that fulfills them, and here you've both found it so young. I'm more pleased for you than I can say.”

Winston said, “But . . .” He wasn't sure what his objection was, but there was still something unsettled about all of this.

Richard knew what Winston wanted to say: “But what about your trouble in school? What about missing out on doing things with your friends?”

Surprisingly, it was Amanda who said, “Yes. Doing things with my friends. I never get to see them.”

Winston nodded in agreement.

Richard nodded as well. “It's the paradox of the world. Mastering a talent can take all your time. You have to focus. You have to close out the world and concentrate only on the skill you are developing. I imagine, Amanda, that you hear that from your parents from time to time.”

“My dad,” Amanda said. “Every day.”

“Well,” said Richard, “far be it from me to contradict your father, who is a good man.” He smiled conspiratorially. “But I'm going to anyway. The people who tell you to close out the world are wrong. Whatever your passion is—even if you're great at it—
it can't be the only thing you do
. You can't just lock yourself in a room and study chess your entire life. If you do, you'll be great at that one thing . . . and bad at everything else.” His expression grew reflective. “Getting that balance is not easy, as you have discovered, Winston. But you
have to find it. Make sure you keep your friends. And make sure you keep your head. I learned these things the hard way, over many years.”

“You lost your head?” Winston asked.

Richard smiled sadly and said, “I did. I thought if I was good at piano—
great
at piano—that was all that mattered. Because I knew how to play beautiful music, I thought I was allowed to be rude and selfish and callous. . . . I hurt quite a few people over the years.” He looked out the dark windows, where the storm was still churning. “There's an award that classical musicians give each other. That honor eventually fell to me, and I almost didn't accept it, even though I'd worked my entire life toward that moment. By that time, I had realized that making pretty music wasn't everything . . . and I was ashamed of who I was. I didn't feel like I deserved that award or any other. Some good friends persuaded me to accept it nonetheless, and I am glad they did. My acceptance speech was an apology for my bad behavior. It was a very important moment for me.”

Winston and Amanda were quiet. They had accidentally tapped into a well of memories. Winston had a lot of questions—what on earth had Richard done over the years that was so bad?—but he knew better than to ask them. They stood there in silence for a few moments, and maybe it would have been longer. But that was when somebody upstairs began to scream.

IT WAS CANDICE DEBURGH.
Amanda knew it first—it was her mother, after all—and she was up the curved stairway in a flash. Winston was right behind her. Richard couldn't run up the stairs anymore, but he did his best. The worried expression on his face said,
Oh, no. What now?

Candice was in the hallway, her hands on either side of her face, as if she were watching a scary movie and was preparing to cover her eyes. Her husband was by her side clutching her shoulder. He was standing in his boxer shorts and a thin T-shirt and nothing else.

Other doors opened, and people filed out into the hall, panicked and disheveled, in various stages of undress. Slowest to emerge was Penrose, who wasn't about to run out in sleepwear or unzipped pants, as others had. He had taken the time to throw on some clothes. His feet were in thin slippers.

“Somebody was here!” Candice was saying.

“Who?” asked Gerard. “What does that mean? Candice, calm down!” He looked like he needed some calming down himself.

Mal and Jake crept up the stairs. Winston and his friends glanced at one another, wide-eyed, as Candice took a moment to pull herself together.

She said, “I came out to use the”—she gestured toward the bathroom—“the facilities, and I walked past this thing.” She pointed to a large display case in the hallway, with windowed double doors on the front. There was another identical piece down the hallway, on the other side of the stairs. “I didn't turn on the hall light. And right here, right by this case, someone was hiding! When he saw that I saw him, he pushed past me and ran down the stairs! He knocked me down!”

“Who was it?” Larry Rossdale said with urgency.

“I don't know! I didn't see. It was just a shadow!”

“That Zook kid,” said Gerard. He looked furious. “Where is he? I'm gonna break that kid's arm.”

A toilet flushed, and they all turned around. Nobody had noticed that the bathroom door was closed. Now they heard whoever was in there washing up at the sink. The water turned off and the door opened. Chase Worthington came out, looking a little green.

“Chase!” said Kimberly Schmidt.

“What's going on?” he said.

“Didn't you hear Candice screaming?” Derek Bibb asked. “She woke the dead, I'm sure.”

“I heard it,” Chase said. “But some things can't be rushed.”

Gerard stepped toward him, his face twisted with anger. “Where's your son?”

Kimberly said, “He's downstairs, isn't he?”

Chase shook his head and walked back to his bedroom, saying, “I wanted him up here with me.” He opened the door and flipped on the light. “Zook, what are you doing? Get out here.”

Zook emerged sleepily from the bedroom, and Chase gave him a light shove to get him moving a little faster. Zook went from sleepy to annoyed in a heartbeat.

His father said, “What were you doing in there?”

“What was I doing in my bed?” Zook asked. “At four in the morning? I was sleeping!”

“Didn't you hear the commotion out here?”

“Yeah, I heard it,” Zook said. “So?”

Maybe Chase believed he couldn't be more exasperated with his son, but this turned out to not be true. His jaw fluttered open and closed for a moment before he said, “If you heard all the noise, why didn't you come out?”

Zook shrugged. “What's it have to do with me?”

Gerard advanced on Zook and shook him. “What's this have to do with you?” he barked. “What's this have to do with you? You knocked down my wife!”

“I did what? Get your hands off me!” Zook shook himself free. “I didn't do anything like that. You people!”

Derek was the first to regain his calm. He patted Gerard on his shoulder. “Actually, Gerard, didn't Candice say whoever pushed her then ran down the staircase?”

A slight dash of puzzlement mixed into Gerard's furious expression. He took a step back from Zook, and looked at his wife. His wife looked puzzled, too. She said, “Well . . . well . . . I
thought
he ran down the stairs. . . . It all happened so quickly. And the lights weren't on.”

“Is anybody sleeping downstairs?” Larry asked.

“Not on the lowest level, I don't think,” said Richard. “The boys—Winston and his friends—are in the reading room. But Winston and Amanda and I were in the music room just now, having a little chat.”

“What about you two?” Gerard said. He was staring at Mal and Jake. His anger was now out of focus—he needed someone new to glare at.

Mal and Jake wore a similar look of shocked surprise. Whatever they thought they might find when they ran up here, it was
not
someone accusing them of assault.

Penrose made his first, quiet contribution to this weird meeting. “Gerard, I'll vouch for these boys.”

“Vouch nothing,” Gerard snapped back. “Answer the question. What were you two doing before all this started?”

“We were sleeping,” Mal said.

“We heard the noise and ran up here,” Jake added.

“They didn't do anything,” said Winston. “When I got up, they were both fast asleep.”

“And then you did what?” Gerard said. “Went into the music room? How do you know your friends didn't wake up while you were in there? Wake up and sneak upstairs?”

Penrose gave Richard a significant look, and Richard nodded with sympathy. “Gerard,” said Richard, trying to use a gentle voice.

“Richard,” said Gerard, imitating his host's mild tone. “How many of these incidents are you willing to put up with this weekend?” He returned his glare to the three boys. “Maybe we had the wrong idea the entire time. Weren't these kids in the reading room when Betty's money vanished? Maybe they've been the thieves all along!”

Jake met Gerard's angry look with one of his own and said, “We didn't steal anything.”

Larry said with distant thoughtfulness, “Even if they stole Betty's money—and I'm not saying they did—I don't see how they could have also stolen the Elgar program. Not when Zook was sleeping in that room.”

“Wait a second,” said Kimberly. “Was anything stolen? Just now? Candice was knocked down, but was anything stolen?”

That stopped everything.

In the silence, Richard stepped over to the display case. He opened up one of its doors, frowning.

“Is it usually locked?” Larry asked.

“Yes,” said Richard. He stepped back, gazing at the contents. “I can't tell if anything is missing. We don't open these things very often—” He stopped abruptly, as if realizing something.

“What is it?” said Derek.

Richard sighed and shook his head. All this chaos was finally getting to him, but he looked more sad than angry about it. He said in a thin voice, “Norma put something in here this afternoon. Now it's gone.”

“She did?” Larry asked. “What?”

Winston realized it before Richard answered.

Richard said, “The cuff links. The cuff links I gave to Winston. They're gone.”

“I thought we'd at least get to watch the sun rise,” said Kimberly. “But I don't think we're getting much sun today.”

They were all gathered in the reading room. Kimberly was looking out the front windows into the inky darkness. The thunder-and-lightning part of the weather had faded, but it was pouring down rain. It was almost as grim outside as it was here in the house.

They had spent the last hour discussing this latest crime, going over the same ground again and again. Larry had slipped back into his role as an amateur detective. When Candice was attacked, there was nobody in the basement, but five people were on the first floor: Richard, Amanda, and the three boys. If the thief really had run down
the stairs after knocking over Candice, then it was reasonable to assume the thief had to be one of these people.