Grimm (9 page)

Grandad nodded slowly, beginning to get what Rory was suggesting. Bonnie, however, was shaking her head. Rory was oblivious to both, caught up in his own world of ideas.

“I can see the advertising campaign now. “Do you dare to stay at Hotel Grimm? Don’t just look at it … try staying there! See the Grimms in their natural habitat in the ultimate test of survival!”

Rory was on a roll. He could feel relief flooding through him in great waves. It dawned on him that he had actually found a way to solve the impossible problem Granville Grimm had presented him with.

“This is what sets Hotel Grimm apart from anywhere else. The weird butler, the odd owner, the bizarre chef
and
the chance that you might not get out alive. That’s their Unique Selling Point!” He beamed in delight and punched the air. All of the gloom of the last few days had lifted from him.

In contrast, Bonnie folded her arms firmly and sat in silence watching Rory congratulate himself.

“Yah beauty! I’ve cracked it! There
is
an answer!” The normally
laid back Rory jumped up on a seat, his arms outstretched. “You are looking at not just the Zizz Boy, you are looking at the world’s newest superhero …
Marketing Man!
”

A noise interrupted Rory’s proclamation. It was a slow ironic handclap from Bonnie.

“Thank you, thank you,” said Rory not realizing immediately that Bonnie wasn’t sharing his enthusiasm.

“Come on! Get a bit more excited than that will you?” he said, now starting to feel a bit silly standing on a chair. “Don’t you realize how brilliant this is?”

Bonnie looked away and continued to say nothing, and it was Grandad who spoke first.

“I’m not so sure, son. You’ve got a point that these things are what set them apart, but that doesn’t make it right to highlight them.”

“Got a point?” snapped Rory. “You can’t possibly disagree. It’s so obvious that this has to be the answer. The place is really scary so why not turn that fact into its strong point? Can’t you just see it all now? “
Need excitement and challenge in your life? Want the weirdest weekend ever? Come and stay at Hotel Grimm. If you make it through one night you get the second free!”

“It’s not right,” said Bonnie quietly.

“Well maybe two nights and you get the third one free,” said Rory.

“I don’t mean that. The whole idea is just not right.”

“What do you mean “not right”? It is so right!”

“No Rory, it’s
not
right. You can’t just bring people in to gawp at Granville Grimm or anyone else like they’re some kind of freakshow. You’re the one that said he wasn’t nearly as scary as you had thought he was supposed to be.”

“I know, but with a bit of spin we can build that up a bit,” said Rory beginning to enthuse again. “I appreciate what you’re saying Bonnie … but you’re wrong on this one.”

“Well you are the marketing genius,” said Bonnie frostily.

“Do you know,” said Rory with new-found confidence, “If I have cracked this one, then I
am
a marketing genius.”

Bonnie had one more go at challenging him. “But can’t you see
what I’m trying to say? For starters it’s just rude. Your client is, shall we say, a bit out of the ordinary. Correct me if I’m wrong but your only plan is that people come and stay to see him for that reason. Then you would hope that they would tell their friends how odd he is so that they come too?”

“Umm … pretty much yeah,” said Rory unfazed by Bonnie’s question. “And your problem is …?”

“And in the mean time,” said Bonnie, “The fact that people have died is a bonus just to add a bit of spice to the proceedings for you, is it?”

“If that’s true, son, then you’re just operating at the same level as most people in this town.” Grandad looked at him with sadness as Bonnie folded her arms crossly.

“But their weirdness is what they have going for them!” said Rory.

“Is that the best that you can do?” said Bonnie not letting the issue lie. “Picking on the most obvious thing about someone and making fun of it? That’s just what goes on in the playground. I mean Gracie and Gordon Goodman would be proud of you. That’s the kind of thing they would have come up with.”

She was moving her wheelchair backwards and forwards as much as she was able in the tight confines of the room, agitated with the debate.

Rory looked bemused as Bonnie continued. It was her turn to rant. “I mean how would you like it, Rory? Come and stay at Hotel McKenna … marvel at the boy genius. A world expert at the age of eleven. How bizarre! See him in the flesh! We could put you on a pedestal in the hall so that people could ogle at you. How would you feel?”

She hadn’t finished. “So, what about me? What’s my Unique Selling Point then? What makes me different from other people?” Rory looked uncomfortable and stared at his feet.

“Get lost,” he said feeling thoroughly confused and wishing that the conversation would come to an end. Despite Bonnie’s strongly held opinions, Rory was still convinced that he had hit on a good idea.

Rory didn’t know if he was coming or going. He thought he had found a new friend and ally to help in his impossible challenge, but no sooner had he sat down to talk with her than he had lost her. He couldn’t really see why his ideas had created such a sore point, but the constructive time together at his Grandad’s that he had been looking forward to, had finished very frostily indeed. At least he felt reassured that he had come away from there with a plan about how to approach the meeting at Hotel Grimm on Saturday, even if Bonnie and his Grandad had a different opinion. Since then, he had received some support from one quarter at least. Harvey Finkleman had finally returned his e-mail.

Rory couldn’t think what kind of “curious family business” Finkleman could want to let him know about, but more importantly, the American’s analysis of the current situation was that Hotel Grimm might well fit the category of “unsellable.” It might just not be what people want. If that was true, then Rory faced being in the position of disappointing Granville Grimm, which was not where he wanted to be.

It was three days later that Rory saw Bonnie buzzing over to him at the end of the school day with a determined look on her face. He steeled himself for an onslaught.

“I need you to come with me,” she said. “There’s something you have to see.”

“What?” asked Rory, relieved that the conversation sounded more constructive than he could have predicted.

“I can’t really tell you. I just need you to look at something and tell me what you see,” said Bonnie turning away.

“Listen,” said Rory, wanting to bring up their previous conversation, but having to stride fast to keep up. Her chair was whizzing ahead of him at top speed. Bonnie stopped sharply and Rory piled into the back of her.

“Forget the other day,” she interrupted. “We have different opinions on that. This is something else that we need to think about.” She buzzed away shouting “Come on!” as she went.

Rory headed after her, without the slightest idea of where they were going. A few minutes later, they were outside the library and Bonnie had stopped at the mural of Aberfintry.

“I don’t understand,” said Rory stopping beside her. “What am I supposed to be looking at?”

“Have a closer look than if you were just passing by,” said Bonnie, looking hard at the mural herself. “Tell me what you see.”

Rory stared at the scene, not really sure what it was Bonnie was expecting him to pick out.

“I always come this way to school,” she said, “and I can tell you that something is changing each day, or rather during the night. Keep looking and see if you spot anything.”

Rory stood and looked long and hard at the mural. It was like one of those “spot the difference” puzzles as he tried to think what it usually looked like and what might be different now. The mural showed Aberfintry, a familiar enough scene with many local landmarks picked out in detail. Everything seemed in order to Rory and he was on the verge of giving up when he saw it. “What’s
that
doing there?” he said in amazement.

“Exactly!” said Bonnie.

“But that’s the
one
thing that wasn’t supposed to be in this painting!” said Rory shaking his head in disbelief.

Bonnie and Rory stood looking at the mural of the town. Aberfintry was there looking just as it should, but in the background, as if emerging through the mist on top of Scrab Hill, was the outline of Hotel Grimm. The reason that the mural had been created and the one thing that had been deliberately left out, was putting in an appearance all by itself.

“That gives me the creeps,” said Rory. “It’s like the place itself doesn’t like the fact that it’s been left out of the picture.” He shivered.

Bonnie shook her head firmly. “Snap out of it, Rory! You sound like the front page of
The Chronicle.
Paintings don’t just paint themselves. Whoever’s behind this is doing a really good job,” she continued. “Someone is adding to it ever so subtly each night. It’s very clever. They’re doing just enough so that people don’t notice.”

“You did,” said Rory.

“I have the distinct advantage of being at the right level,” said Bonnie manoeuvring her chair, “…and of being more observant
than most,” she added with a smile. “The thing is, if anyone else cottons on, especially if
The Chronicle
gets hold of the story then they’ll kick up a real stink if they think that somehow the hotel is forcing its way into the mural.”

“You’re right,” said Rory, thinking that even worse publicity might stretch the chances still further of anyone staying at Hotel Grimm. “I can see their headlines now… “Hotel’s Hand of Evil Creeps into the Heart of Our Community”. We should get to the bottom of this before
The Chronicle
starts putting its own spin on it.”

“Hey look it’s the Worm!”

Rory and Bonnie jerked around to find Max Fletcher and Marnie di Angelo passing a few yards away.

“Yeah, she’s got a new apprentice,” said Marnie. “She’s teaching Zizz Boy how to read.”

“Just don’t ask him what his choice of reading material is. He must be sick in the head.” Max tapped his head as the two walked on.

“Ignore them,” said Bonnie.

“It could have been worse,” said Rory. “At least it wasn’t the Goodmans.”

“They’re all the same,” said Bonnie. “Identical in fact. They all have only one brain cell each.” Rory smiled. “Anyway, forget about them. There’s some simple explanation to this. I know there is,” said Bonnie as Rory tried to look as closely as he could at the mural without drawing attention.

“It’s always a bit different by the time we go to school so there really is only one thing to do,” said Bonnie.

“What?” said Rory.

Bonnie looked at him. “Well it’s obvious. If something is happening at night then …”

“… we need to be there to see it,” said Rory, finishing the sentence for her.

“No, but nearly,” said Bonnie. “
You
need to be there to see it.”

“Me, why me?” asked Rory.

“Independent I may be, but it would pretty hard for me to sneak out of
my house at night without anyone spotting me,” said Bonnie. “But from what you’ve said, getting out of your place should be a breeze.”

“So what exactly will your contribution be to this, apart from having the bright idea in the first place?” said Rory, wishing that he had never opened his big mouth about his distracted parents.

“I’ll help you plan how to do it and then I’ll stay up and text you through the night.”

“Mmm,” said Rory looking at the dim outline of Hotel Grimm on the mural, trying to convince himself that the turrets and spires didn’t have a life of their own, and hadn’t changed in the few minutes that they had been standing there. He couldn’t quite work out just how he had managed to get himself signed up for this particular task.

Rory was still wondering the same thing eight hours later as he took up position at the foot of Lachlan Stagg’s statue. The Zizz campaign and all that it had resulted in, had forced him into situations that he would normally have tried to avoid. Yet here he was, about to spend a night outside, trying not to be seen by anyone and hoping to identify whoever or whatever was discreetly vandalizing the town’s pride and joy. This wasn’t really his scene at all. Still, Bonnie had been right about one thing. Getting out of his house had been extremely straightforward; a combination of vague, or otherwise engaged parents, a conveniently located ground-floor bedroom with a smoothly-opening window and some dark clothing … and here he was.

Admittedly, it wasn’t the best hiding place but he could peek round the corner and see the mural easily. The only problem that he had was the difficulty in moving freely as he had five layers of clothes on to ensure he kept warm through the night. The backpack at his feet had been carefully put together by Bonnie, complete with a blanket, snacks and an enormous torch, and he was under instructions to text her every thirty minutes with an update. After three of these updates, Rory had run out of things to put other than “a bit darker. no sign of anything.”

He slumped down and decided to feel cold and miserable for a bit and to curse his luck at having to spend the night outside. He was interrupted by a buzzing in his pocket as his phone vibrated. The message from Bonnie was “I bet uve nodded off. Pay attention.”

Rory had almost forgotten his reason for being there, when a routine casual glance made his jaw drop. A hunched figure was working away on the giant painting, but Rory hadn’t even seen or heard anyone arrive. Fleetingly, he thought of the option of sneaking home back to the comfort of his bed, but he knew that Bonnie would spot differences in the painting the next day and he would be found out. With shaky hands he pulled out his phone and texted, “Its started” as she had instructed. Since the hotel was only emerging a little at a time with a few carefully chosen details, Bonnie and Rory had concluded that whoever was responsible might not be there for very long.

Rory watched closely. Although absorbed in what they were doing, the painter jerked around every few seconds as if checking that he wasn’t being watched. Crouched behind the statue, Rory remained undetected even when the phone vibrated in his hand. The little screen lit up in the darkness. Bonnie’s text simply said “Its time.” Rory hit reply with the message “Here goes.” He shivered as he put the phone in his pocket not really feeling ready for a confrontation.

Holding his breath and moving round the corner of the statue with as much stealth and as little sound as he could, Rory stood in position. The painter continued to work away, unaware of what was about to happen. Rory’s finger hovered over the switch on Bonnie’s enormous torch for a moment then, knowing there was no way back, Rory winced and switched it on. The beam shone straight at the mural and the figure at the wall flinched and froze in the bright light, completely motionless at first, as if he thought he might remain invisible by not moving. Then, Rory thought he saw the person tense, ready to make a run for it. He steeled himself, preparing to give chase if need be, but the moment passed. The painter seemed to think otherwise, the shoulders relaxed, and he
turned into the light, shielding his eyes from the glare.

“Who are you?” challenged Rory in as commanding a voice as he could muster.

There was no reply.

“I like what you’ve painted,” said Rory. “It’s very clever. I just wanted to see who’d done it.”

“So now you can see me,” said a young male voice. “Can you switch that light off? I can’t see a thing.”

“Sorry,” said Rory clicking the torch off. As he peered into the darkness he made out a tall thin lad in his mid-teens rubbing his eyes. As the hands moved from his face, Rory saw a sharp nose and angular cheekbones. He looked as though he had grown faster than his body could keep up with.

“I’m Rory McKenna. Who are you?” said Rory edging forwards.

“I know who you are,” said the boy, seemingly quite relaxed as he bent to gather some of his painting materials together.

“How come?” said Rory, baffled that the mystery painter was more informed than he was.

“You’ve been in my house,” said the boy.

“When was I at your house? Who are you?” asked a bemused Rory.

There was a long pause as the boy weighed up the situation. A slow smile drifted onto his face, as if amused by Rory’s confusion. “I’m Grimson Grimm.”

Rory’s mind raced. A boy called Grimm? How could he have missed the fact that there was another living Grimm?

“You didn’t know about me, did you?” said Grimson Grimm looking up from his backpack. “Well you should know that there is more to the Grimm family than what you read.”

“So why have you been doing this?” asked Rory pointing at the mural.

Grimson paused, surveying his work. “It seemed a bit … incomplete. I thought I’d finish it off. So what about you?” continued the boy. “Have you done anything yet?”

Rory looked confused once more. “I mean … how are you
getting on with what my Dad asked you to do?” Grimson stood with arms folded as if planning to go nowhere until he was answered.

It was Rory’s turn for a long pause.
What was he supposed to say to that? How was he supposed to describe his progress in rebranding Hotel Grimm?
Suddenly a few things fell into place.

“You were watching when Grog showed me round, weren’t you?”

“Sure was. You seemed to have trouble keeping up with him,” replied Grimson with a smirk.

“Those paintings in the corridor are yours too, aren’t they? The ‘GG’ on the door isn’t for Granville Grimm, it’s for you, isn’t it?”

“So you
are
quite sharp then. I wasn’t sure if the Zizz Boy would be all he was cracked up to be.”

The hairs on the back of Rory’s neck shot up as he felt the world of Zizz Cola come all too sharply into focus. He was saved by the phone buzzing in his pocket and remembered that Bonnie still had no idea about the identity of the painter.

As he answered, Rory was reminded just how determined a character Bonnie O’Donnell was. Not content with Rory’s explanation of who he had just discovered, she demanded to speak to Grimson himself. He in turn looked bemused. Rory was quietly amused and tried not to stare at the one-sided scene of Grimson being interrogated over the phone, having to explain how often he had been coming to paint, how long he had spent on each session and whether anyone up at the hotel knew about what he had been doing. Grimson was finally saved by Rory’s phone bleeping to signal that the battery was running low.