Deprivation House (16 page)

“I'll just take her upstairs and get her settled. I'm putting her in Kit's spot.” Veronica walked Gail out of the room and shut the door behind them.

In about thirty seconds everyone was talking. I couldn't even keep the comments separate: “It's not fair to bring in someone new.” “Veronica obviously wants her to win.” “Veronica will make her win.” “That speech made me want to hurl.”

Things definitely didn't seem like they were going to start being peaceful at Deprivation House.

That night I woke up to the sound of a shrill scream. “This place,” I muttered as I leaped out of bed and raced to the closest bathroom, where the screech had come from.

James was the only one inside. “That was you making that sound?”

“Yeah.” He didn't even look embarrassed. “I was going to take a bath. I actually stepped into the bathtub to reach some soap, and I stepped on it.” He jerked his chin toward the large, deep tub.

What fresh insanity is this going to be?
I thought.

I moved closer and peered down.

“What's the deal?” asked Frank, rushing in.

“We have a new threat,” I told him. Looks like our case wasn't closed after all. Good thing we hadn't left yet!

He joined me at the edge of the tub.

A blackbird lay at the bottom. Dead. Dead for a while, judging by the white maggots squirming in and out of its body.

“And I'm guessing that's not written in strawberry Jell-O,” Frank said.

“I'm gonna have to agree,” I added.

We both looked at the dripping red words smeared across the white porcelain: IT'S NOT OVER.

 

The mystery continues in Book Two of the Murder House Trilogy,
House Arrest
. Here's a sneak peak!

I glanced at the others in the kitchen doorway, realizing that Ripley wasn't among them. Neither was Mikey, like I said. Along with James, Bobby T, Brynn, and Olivia Gavener, I saw nerdy Hal Sheen, quiet homeschooler Mary Moore, and new-to-the-show Gail Digby.

That meant one other person was missing besides Ripley and Mikey. I couldn't think who it was at first. My brain was still half asleep.

I was still thinking when there was a loud shriek from elsewhere in the house.

Frank and I exchanged a look. “That sounded like it came from one of the girls' bedrooms,” he said.

I nodded. “Let's go.”

We raced back down the hall. I was in the lead as we burst into the room.

Ripley was standing there in front of the dresser. She was staring into the mirror, a look of horror on her face.

I could see why. Scribbled on her forehead in bloodred letters was the word MURDER

Are you okay?” Joe rushed to Ripley's side.

“What happened?” I added. The others had followed us into the girls' bedroom. When they saw Ripley, there were a bunch of gasps and little cries of surprise.

“Whoa!” Bobby T had seemed a little quiet in the aftermath of Mouse Quest. Quiet for him, at least. Usually he talks nonstop. It's no wonder he started blogging—that way he can get it all out and nobody has to listen unless they want to. “Hold still, everyone,” he added, sounding more like his usual self. “I gotta get my camera. This is so going on my blog!”

Ripley didn't seem to hear him. She was still staring at herself in the mirror. Her ice blue eyes were wide and anxious.

“Oh my God,” Brynn moaned. When I glanced at her, she was clinging to the doorway. Her knuckles were white. “I thought we were done with this kind of thing when they caught Mitch.”

Joe and I had thought that too. At least for a little while. We'd discovered that one of the production assistants was trying to scare us out of the house because he'd hidden the loot from an old bank robbery there.

“No way,” James put in. “Mitch didn't leave that maggoty dead bird in the shower last night. He was long gone by then.”

Yeah. No way had that bird flown in and died on its own. Case closed? Not quite. Joe and I might have caught one bad guy. But it seemed there was still another one in the house.

“Are you all right, Ripley?” I realized she still hadn't said anything. “Are you hurt?”

“Who did this?” Olivia demanded. “Ripley, did you write that on yourself? Because I have to tell you, it's not much of a joke.”

Ripley rounded on her. “Don't be stupid,” she snapped. “Do you really think I'd ruin my favorite Serge Lutens lipstick for some stupid joke? Grow up!”

Then she seemed to catch herself. She took several deep breaths.

“Sorry, Olivia,” she said in a more normal tone. “I—I guess I'm just freaked out.”

“Whatever.” Olivia rolled her eyes. You don't have to be an undercover agent to see that Olivia isn't a Ripley fan.

Just then Bobby T returned. He started snapping pictures with his digital camera. I saw Ripley's jaw tighten for a second. But she didn't say anything. She just turned away and grabbed a tissue.

“Wait!” Bobby protested as she wiped at the sticky
red letters. “Let me get a few more angles!”

She didn't respond. Just kept rubbing until all that was left was a sort of maroonish blur.

That was a big step for her. I don't pay much attention to celebrity gossip myself—

JOE

Joe here. I just have to say: understatement of the year. Dude, you didn't even know who Ripley Lansing
was
before we got this mission!

FRANK

Okay, Joe. Enough. My point was, apparently Ripley is infamous for having meltdowns whenever the paparazzi get in her face. For her,
Deprivation House
wasn't about the money. She had plenty of that already. No, her appearance on the show was meant to be damage control for her out-of-control reputation. Sort of a kinder, gentler Ripley. Otherwise her parents were going to cut her off until she was thirty.

Just then another girl arrived in the doorway. She was yawning.

“What's going on?” she asked.

That was practically headline news. The late arrival's real name was Ann Sommerfeld. But everyone in the house called her Silent Girl. I guess it was her
strategy for the game or something. I'd only heard her speak maybe twice in over a week. But I guess curiosity had gotten the best of her now.

Bobby T and Olivia started to explain. But Brynn cut them off.

“This is nuts!” she cried. “Why does this stuff keep happening? I'm starting to think this isn't worth it, million-dollar prize or not!”

Gail Digby nodded. “Girl, I am so with you.” Her voice was shaking. “No cable, no AC—that stuff I'm used to. But this is just crazy!”

Nobody answered for a minute. What could we say? She had a point.