Book Scavenger (8 page)

“You're such an idiot,” she snapped.

“Tough break for you, then,” Matthew said with a shrug. “Same gene pool.”

Emily shuffled to the kitchen. It was a narrow room with a small table squeezed in at one end.

“Where's Mom?” she asked her dad, who sat at the table surrounded by sections of newspapers.

“Out taking pictures for the blog.”

“Already?” They'd been in San Francisco less than two days.

“The blog won't create content for itself, I suppose,” her dad murmured.

Emily searched for a juice glass among the various moving boxes and bags that still cluttered the counter and floor, lost in thought about
The Gold-Bug.
She'd made her way through the whole story last night. With every typo she found, she crossed out the incorrect letter and wrote the correct one above. On the last page her handwritten corrections spelled out the word
belief
. Even though she had teased James about his knack for spotting a puzzle anywhere, it kind of spooked her, as if the book itself were trying to talk to her. But that would be crazy.

“Hey, Dad? When you're copyediting, have you ever noticed the typos spelling out a word?” She found a juice glass and joined him at the table.

“Hmm?” Her dad unfolded the section he was reading and then refolded it in quarters so he could read a different part of the page.

Emily poured herself some juice. “You know how you cross out the incorrect letter and write the correct one above it? Have those corrected letters ever spelled out words?”

Not looking up he said, “They're already part of a word.”

“No. What if the typos themselves were part of a second word, too—made up of only the corrected letters that you wrote. That's never happened?”

“You mean the corrections spell out a word by chance?” Her dad looked at her, baffled. Then he gave a soft grunt, like he was amused by this idea. “That would be quite a feat. Unless you're talking about two-letter words like
be
, or maybe
the
, I don't think it could happen.” He gave it some more thought then shook his head firmly. “No, it would be impossible to do accidentally.”

Emily was about to tell him it wasn't impossible and in fact had happened many times over in the book she was reading when her dad said, “Thought you'd be interested in this.” He riffled through the stacks of paper and pulled out a folded-up section. “A profile on Garrison Griswold today, and a little about Book Scavenger.”

“Oh! Let me see!” Emily opened and closed her hand like a little kid wanting a toy.

Her dad stood from the table and handed the paper to Emily with a smile. “I love that you're so passionate about books and publishing. Speaking of, it's back to work for me.”

“It's Sunday,” Emily said.

“I need to make up for the time I took driving us out here so I can meet my deadline. No rest for the weary. But don't worry, we'll have a family adventure this afternoon.”

“You do know
adventure
means something unusual and exciting, right?” Emily asked her dad.
He crinkled his nose and tilted his head in response, looking bemused. “If sightseeing and exploring new places is our family norm, then maybe
adventure
isn't the right word choice.”

Her dad chuckled. “Interesting theory,” he said and left the kitchen.

Emily unfolded the newspaper. A photo of Garrison Griswold accompanied the article. He stood in front of the Bayside Press building in the same burgundy-and-silver-blue outfit James had described him wearing at the book carnival: top hat, suit, and walking stick all in Bayside Press colors. He was a very tall man—from the photo it looked like he'd have to duck to go through the front entrance if he had on his hat. He wore frameless glasses, had floppy silver hair, and a salt-and-pepper mustache that was like a miniature duster broom balanced under his nose.

Emily skimmed the article:

Griswold moved to the San Francisco Bay Area in 1952 at age twelve. At the age of eighteen, propelled by his admiration for the Beat Generation of writers, he moved out of his parents' house and into the city itself. Inspired by Lawrence Ferlinghetti's endeavors with the City Lights Booksellers and Publishers, Griswold began publishing an alternative weekly paper called the Bayside Weekly, which eventually developed into one of the most prominent publishing companies in San Francisco.

 

Also known for his spirit of fun, Griswold has been affectionately nicknamed the Willy Wonka of book publishing. In 2004 he launched a book trading game called Book Scavenger that has grown in popularity, amassing over 500,000 users in sixteen participating countries, with an average of 100,000 books to be found on any given day. In addition to Book Scavenger, he's hosted several smaller-scale games around the city and occasionally in farther-off locations.

Mr. Griswold had also moved to the Bay Area when he was twelve? Emily hadn't known that. She wanted to cut out Griswold's profile and photo, but she couldn't find any scissors. After rummaging through bags and boxes, and yanking open kitchen cabinets and drawers, she sighed to the ceiling separating her apartment from James's. She bet the Lees had a specific location for scissors. All normal kids who didn't live like gypsies probably did. She bent the paper over the corner of their laminate countertop to rip it, but accidentally tore off the corner of Griswold's photo.

She was about to flick the small piece into the trash bag hooked over a cabinet door but stopped when she saw the Bayside Press logo on the building. She'd ripped right through it—the circular crest with a seagull soaring over water in front of a bridge. The logo wasn't new to her, but now it was like seeing it for the first time.

Emily raced down the hallway to find her dad settling in front of the family computer.

“Dad,” she said, her voice breathless as if her run had been a mile long. “About my typo question—could someone do it intentionally? Publish a book with the typos in it on purpose?”

Her dad readjusted his glasses as he considered her question.

“They could,” he said slowly, “although I don't know why they would. Publishers pay me to keep typos out
of books. Why would they want to leave them in?”

Why
would
someone want to leave them in? Emily left her dad perplexed by her sudden interest in the editorial process and raced back to her room. She picked up
The Gold-Bug
from the top of her stack of books, the word
belief
echoing in her head as she flipped to the copyright page.

The emblem on the copyright page was nearly identical to the Bayside Press logo, but instead of a seagull there was a black bird.

“No way,” Emily whispered. This was Mr. Griswold's book. It had to be. He must have hidden it in the BART station before he was mugged. And there was only one reason Emily could think of that Mr. Griswold would purposely hide a book and not enter it on Book Scavenger.

To start a game.

 

CHAPTER

10

EMILY HAD TO TALK
to James. She looked to the window where the sand pail dangled, but this was too urgent for that. She bundled
The Gold-Bug
with her notebook and the news clipping.

“I'll be right back!” she called to her dad as she thundered down the stairs.

She thrust the article at James when he opened his front door. The damp chill of morning fog had Emily hopping from one bare foot to another, and she realized in her haste she hadn't changed out of her pajamas, but she didn't care.

“You'll never believe this! You know the words you circled in
The Gold-Bug
?” Her words tumbled out in an excited rush. “I found another one last night. And then, when I was talking with my dad this morning, I saw this.”

James looked confused and possibly like he'd just woken up, although Steve's presence plus pajamas could have that effect. He leaned over to study the torn news clipping. “Mr. Griswold?”

“We found his next game!” Emily blurted out.

James's expression reminded Emily of the main character in
The Gold-Bug
, who thought his friend had gone insane.

“I guess you should come in,” James said, opening the door wider.

In James's room, Emily said, “Look at the logo on the wall behind Mr. Griswold and compare it to this.” She flipped
The Gold-Bug
to the copyright page.

James looked back and forth between the two emblems. “They're almost identical.”

“Exactly alike, except for the bird. This
book is Mr. Griswold's new game—I'm sure of it.”

James inspected the emblems even closer, mulling the idea over. “And the hidden words are part of a clue,” he said.

Emily nodded, her ponytail bobbing encouragingly. She flipped open her notebook and showed James the hidden words she'd found:
fort
,
wild
,
home
,
rat
,
open
, and
belief.

“Do you think it's a puzzle?” James asked. “A word scramble, maybe?
Open wild rat home
 …
Rat fort belief
…”

They bowed their heads over the list in concentration. James combed his fingers through Steve, deep in thought.

“I wonder why Poe?” James asked. “Why pick this story to start his game?”

“Maybe Poe is his favorite author?”

James nodded to the newspaper clipping still in Emily's hand. “What about that profile? Does it say anything about his favorite authors?”

Emily shook her head. “We could look online. Search both their names and see what comes up.”

They moved to James's computer, and he typed in “Griswold and Poe.”

Emily was surprised to see more than fifty thousand hits. “Well, I guess there's a connection.” The top one was titled “The Rivalry of Poe and Griswold.”

“They knew each other?” James asked. “I thought Poe was … dead. Like, a long time ago.”

“I did, too.” Emily clicked the link, and the two leaned toward the screen and began reading. “Oh, it's about a
Rufus
Griswold. Different first name.” According to the article, Rufus Griswold and Edgar Allan Poe were both East Coast writers in the mid-1800s who were familiar with each other but didn't get along. After Edgar Allan Poe died, Rufus Griswold published a mean-spirited obituary about Poe. It began,
Edgar Allan Poe is dead. He died in Baltimore the day before yesterday. This announcement will startle many, but few will be grieved by it.
And then, to the surprise of a lot of people, he became Poe's literary executor, which meant he had access to all of Poe's papers. He later published a biography about Poe that was full of lies and attacked his character.

“He must be related to Garrison Griswold, right?” James asked. “I mean, what are the chances their last name is just a coincidence?”

“They must be,” Emily said. “I don't understand what that means, though. Why hide a Poe book for his game when his ancestor hated the guy?”

“Maybe Mr. Griswold feels badly about it,” James suggested. “Maybe choosing Poe is his way of making amends.”

“That's possible.” Emily scrolled down the web page. “Or maybe he simply likes Poe and doesn't care what this Rufus guy felt about him. But I'm not sure how knowing any of this tells us how to play Mr. Griswold's game.” Emily studied the book on her lap, as if the beetle on the cover might start talking and give them the answer.

“Well…” James twisted his computer chair back and forth as he thought. “Maybe the question to ask is, Why
The Gold-Bug
? We read ‘The Tell-Tale Heart' last year at Halloween. I've never heard of
The Gold-Bug
before yesterday. So why not use the more popular story? Or any other story of his? There's got to be a reason why he chose this particular one.”

Emily flipped through
The Gold-Bug
again, sorting through what she knew about Mr. Griswold and his games, and the little she knew about Poe.

“This story is about a treasure hunt. A man finds a gold-bug and a piece of parchment, and then he discovers that when he heats the parchment a cipher appears. He cracks the cipher and it leads him and two friends to buried treasure. So … maybe Mr. Griswold is planning something like that.”

James's eyes widened. “And the hidden words are part of a message that leads to buried treasure. Do you think that's it?”

Emily's mouth crooked up in a half smile. “After he organized the life-sized Mastermind tournament at Crissy Field last winter, people kept asking Mr. Griswold what game he had planned next. He said he had something in the works, something major. A secret message that leads to buried treasure sounds pretty major to me.”

*   *   *

Emily returned to her apartment later that morning, still trying to wrap her head around her big discovery. She couldn't believe she'd found Mr. Griswold's next game. Ever since she joined Book Scavenger years ago and read all the stories shared on the forums about his San Francisco games, she'd hoped that somehow she'd get to participate in one in person. And now she had not only stumbled across his game, but it was also entirely possible she and James were the
only
people who knew about it so far.

As excited as she was that she'd found Mr. Griswold's game, and her hunch that it would be a treasure hunt like in
The Gold-Bug
story, she still didn't know what to do with the hidden words. Puzzling over everything she'd just learned, Emily walked into their kitchen to find her mom knee-deep in shopping bags and cardboard boxes.

“Do you know where I put that magic unpacking wand?” her mom asked. “I'd like to zap this stuff and have it put itself away. If the dishes could also sing and dance while they're at it, that'd be great.”