The Puzzler's Mansion (6 page)

NEXT, THEY WENT
into a large, open area off the entrance hall, with many soft couches. This was called the reading room, though there was only a single bookshelf built into the wall, with more doodads and flower vases than books. Winston wondered about that, until Richard said, “Most of the books are downstairs in the library, of course. I bring them up here when I want to get some serious reading done. I'm proud of my library, but this room is sunnier.”

So this house had a library. Not a room with a few bookshelves, but a
library.

“In fact, let's head downstairs,” said their host, leading them through the entrance area and down the hall. Winston followed, although not before glancing toward the kitchen, which looked large enough to be used as a helicopter landing pad. This place would never stop being incredible.

They came to a surprisingly long staircase, heading down. Richard navigated the stairs carefully, with both hands on the banister, though he chatted with them the whole time. At the bottom was a
hallway—a few doors led to various rooms, and then the passage opened up to what was clearly the library. Winston began walking toward it, but their host turned the other way, and Winston had to reverse course. At the other end of the hall was a closed door. Richard opened it to reveal a dark room with some sort of light flickering inside it.

“Oh,” said Richard. “Someone is using the theater.”

“The theater?” Jake said. “Like, a movie theater?” They all poked their heads inside, and sure enough, it was a genuine movie theater. The light bouncing off the screen was enough to illuminate two short rows of plush red seats.

“Chase, is that you in there?” Richard called out.

“Yes, is that okay?” The image on the screen froze, and Chase came to the door, squinting because of the light in the hallway.

Mr. Overton assured Chase that it was fine to use the theater, while Winston stared at this new guest. Chase was a rugged-looking middle-aged man in crisp blue jeans and a sporty shirt. Every black hair on his head was perfectly in place, though he also sported a three-day growth of stubble. He looked very, very familiar.

“Chase, you remember Arthur Penrose.”

“Of course,” said Chase, and the two men shook hands.

“And these are Arthur's friends.” Richard waved a finger at the boys as if trying to remember their names. “This is Winston, and Mal, and Jake.”

Chase smiled and stuck out his hand. “Chase Worthington. Nice to meetcha.” Winston's own hand went out on autopilot, while his mouth opened in surprise yet again. Chase smiled the smile of someone used to being recognized. Chase Worthington was an actor. He had his own television show . . . something about a lawyer helping
people for free. Winston had never seen it, but he knew this man was very famous.

“Is Zook in there with you?” Richard asked.

Winston thought, Zook? What's a Zook?

Chase shook his head. “Watch a movie with his
father
? Perish the thought. I think he's in the pool. I hope that's okay.”

“It's fine,” Richard assured him again, and from off in the distance they heard the doorbell ring. “Oh!” said their host, jumping slightly. “Another arrival.” He creaked his way up the stairs while Winston's head twisted back and forth, looking longingly at the theater he hadn't quite seen and the library he hadn't gotten to see at all.

Back in the entrance hall, Richard opened the door. Three new arrivals entered. First in was a very tall, broad-shouldered man wearing a three-piece suit, like he had just come from a board meeting. He was carrying about five bags at once. Behind him was a woman, heavily made up and with a carefully shaped helmet of hair on her head. Then came a girl a little older than Winston, wearing a simple but pretty blue-and-white dress. She dropped her surprisingly large suitcase, then crossed her arms like she had just lost an argument. She was certainly
not
looking around this magnificent palace with wonder in her eyes.

Richard greeted the man and his wife with a brief embrace, then shook the girl's hand. The girl was unsmiling and wouldn't look Mr. Overton in the eye. The wife then whispered something to Mr. Overton, who pointed down the hall. She danced off, obviously in need of a bathroom.

“That guy looks familiar,” Jake said quietly.

“I was thinking the same thing,” said Mal. “Another actor?”

Richard Overton asked if they had a good flight, and the man laughed. “We drove! We made it into a family road trip. Didn't we,
Amanda?” Amanda's face was a perfect neutral mask. Her father stared at her for a moment and then continued. “We stopped at forty EZ Burgers on the way. That's why we didn't fly. I wanted to drop in on my restaurants. Just a man and his wife and daughter stopping in for a meal. I wasn't recognized once, was I, honey?”

Amanda sighed. “No,” she said. “Not once.”

The boys' eyes widened, and Winston glanced up at Mr. Penrose, who nodded in answer to the unasked question: this was Gerard Deburgh, the man who owned the entire chain of EZ Burger restaurants. Incredible. Was there anybody Richard Overton didn't know? Winston wouldn't be surprised if the next guy to walk in was the king of Portugal. Assuming Portugal had a king.

“This last leg was a solid five hours, and we had to floor it a little to make decent time. That's why Candice there had to run off.” He laughed again, then said, “And to keep Amanda from going crazy, I promised her some of Vera's homemade sorbet. Is that all right?”

Richard said, “Vera's not here, I'm afraid.”

Gerard looked alarmed. “Is she okay?”

“She's fine. I sent her away. I sent all the help away for the weekend.”

“What?” Gerard was astounded. “What are we going to eat?”

“Vera's done plenty of shopping. We have all the food we'll need. We just have to cook it.”

Gerard looked dubious, but tried on a smile and said, “Well, you're the host. I'm sure it's going to be a great weekend. Right, Amanda? And look! Kids your age.”

Amanda, looking at the three boys, said her longest string of words thus far: “They're not my age. They're younger.”

There was a brief, poisonous silence before Mal responded. “That's true,” he said. “I'm only five years old.”

Gerard laughed, ignoring the chill that had developed between his daughter and the boys. “Arthur,” he said to Mr. Penrose, “it's good to see you again. Are these your grandchildren?”

“No,” said Penrose. “Just friends.” He placed a hand on each of their shoulders in turn: “This is Winston, Mal, and Jake.”

“Nice to meet you all!” said Gerard, with a forced merriment. He glanced over to Amanda, waiting for her to join the fun. Winston thought he'd be waiting a long time.

Jake said, “We should have asked for some bread crumbs to leave behind us, so we can find our way back to the kitchen.”

“Probably any bread crumbs you drop are cleaned up immediately,” Winston said.

Mal laughed. “Oh, you know this guy has one of those robot vacuum cleaners. Drop something on the floor, and—
voom!
—this thing on wheels shoots out to get it. Drop something else on the floor, and the robot picks
you
up and drags you outside.”

They'd been given the run of the house while the adults cooked dinner. Gerard Deburgh tried to get Amanda to go along with them—“Go! Explore the house with your new friends!”—but Amanda said with wooden politeness, “No, thanks,” and walked away. This was fine with Winston.

Jake wanted to get a better look at the movie theater, and Winston wanted to see the library, so they started off downstairs. As they neared the theater, they heard the raucous sound of kids screeching at each other. Jake peeked in and was surprised to find all the lights on. There was no movie playing. Instead, two young boys were having an endless chase around the rows of seats, screaming nonstop while they ran.

“Oh, I'm sorry,” said a voice. A woman stood up, looking worried. “Did you want to watch a movie?”

“No, no, that's okay,” said Jake.

“Because I can take my kids outside—Ryan! Ian!” she suddenly exploded. “Be quiet! Mommy's talking!” Ryan and Ian paused to look at her, and then continued running and screaming as if nothing had happened.

Their mother shrugged and shook her head:
What can you possibly do?
“Anyway,” she said, “I'm Betty McGinley. Nice to meet you.”

Winston, Mal, and Jake introduced themselves, and they tried to have a conversation, but it was impossible—her kids were like a pair of broken car alarms. They got out of there as fast as they could.

“Holy smoke,” Mal said when they had shut the theater door, which muted but did not eliminate the screaming from inside. “I'm sure looking forward to hanging out with
them
all weekend.”

Jake said as they walked down the hallway, “Richard Overton invited them, but now he's gotta be saying, I should have set an age limit.”

Winston agreed. “No one under ten years old.”

Mal added, “Or over a hundred decibels!”

At that moment, a sound that must have been a
thousand
decibels came blasting out of one of the other rooms—a chord from an electric guitar. The volume lowered immediately, as if someone had put on music without realizing how loud the stereo was set. The boys opened a door and peeked into what turned out to be an entertainment room. There were a couple of comfortable sofas aimed at a small television and a truly amazing amount of stereo equipment,
with speakers almost as tall as Winston himself. A waist-high bookcase ran the length of the room, filled with CDs and record albums. The top of these shelves was littered with awards and plaques and statuettes.

Standing at the stereo was a boy, fifteen or sixteen years old, with a mess of long wavy hair, in a T-shirt and ripped jeans. He was tall—Winston's mother would have called him “gangly”—with a long face like an upside-down triangle. He looked up, frowning, as the boys came in.

He turned off the stereo and said bluntly, “I have this room.”

Winston was taken aback. “We're just looking around.”

“Look around somewhere else.” He continued to examine the stereo.

The three boys looked at one another, shrugged, and backed out of the room. Winston was gladder than ever that Mal and Jake were here. Imagine being stuck for the weekend with cold-as-ice Amanda, those bratty brothers, and now this morose thug of a teenager.

“That must be Zook,” Jake said as they exited the room.

Mal said, “He's probably angry about his name.”

They glanced into a bathroom and two offices along the hall. On what must have been Richard Overton's desk, Winston noticed a small stack of puzzle magazines. He smiled; it was like friends had followed him here. Maybe he would ask to borrow one later if things got boring.

A second later he rolled his eyes, annoyed with himself for even having that thought. Was that how he wanted to spend his time here? Curled up in a room with the same puzzle magazine he could work on at home? Seriously, what was wrong with him?

As they approached the library, Winston could see that it was amazing—a magnificent cavern of books, with dark wood flooring
and shelves from floor to ceiling, going on forever. There were even a couple of those rolling ladders to help you get stuff from high places. Winston couldn't wait to get in there and explore.

But, once again, no. As they neared the library, a voice called from upstairs. “Kids? Are you down there? We need a couple more hands up here! Come on up and help set the table!” The three boys froze and looked at one another. Well, heck.

“Hello?” came that voice again. “Anybody down there?”

“We're coming!” yelled Jake, and the three boys, a bit frustrated, headed back to the stairs.

“Wait a sec,” said Mal as they passed the stereo room. He knocked and opened the door without waiting for a reply. Zook looked up sharply. “They want us upstairs,” Mal said. “We gotta help with dinner.” He shut the door again as Zook glowered.

As they walked up the stairs, Mal said, “We're
all
supposed to help with dinner, right?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Jake and Winston agreed.

Dinner was spectacular. The table looked like something out of a story with lots of kings and princesses. Food was laid out from end to end—a platter of juicy chicken cutlets, a thinly sliced steak, baskets of biscuits, bowls of vegetables and grains and side dishes, only some of which Winston recognized. The plates and glasses and silverware had the same expensive shine as everything else in the house, and five elegant candles burned at various points along the table.

Winston had feared he would be stuck at a kids' table, but that had been reserved only for Ryan and Ian, whose hands and faces were already a mess. Everyone else was seated at the large dining room table. There were fifteen of them, which was a little crowded
even for a table this long, but they made do without elbowing one another too much.

Winston assumed he'd be sitting next to his friends, or perhaps Penrose, but Richard Overton had other ideas. He'd pointed them to various seats as they walked in, sometimes changing his mind and forcing someone who was already seated to stand up and move somewhere else. By the time he was done, nobody was sitting next to anybody they had arrived with.

Winston was seated next to a short man, neat and polished in a brown suit and bow tie, with curly, graying hair. He had a darker complexion—South American, maybe—but spoke with a slight English accent. He introduced himself as Derek Bibb, and across the table, Mal looked thunderstruck.

“Derek Bibb?” Mal asked. “Did you say you're Derek Bibb?”

“Yes. Hello. Call me Derek.”

Whoever Derek Bibb was, his presence seemed to have short-circuited Mal's brain. He gawked at Winston's neighbor, jaw slightly unhinged. Derek Bibb smiled as if this was not the first time he had experienced this.