The Puzzler's Mansion (15 page)

“POLISH,” said Penrose. “But no, it has to be eight letters, doesn't it?”

“POLISHED, then.” Mal pointed at the map. “POLISHED is right there.”

“Which paths do we still have to use?” asked Derek.

Winston made the appropriate marks on the paper. “But don't forget that a path can be used more than once.”

“Never mind. I see the final word,” said Jake. He traced it out. “STONES.”

They all exchanged looks. “Expensive polished stones?” Mal said. “That's the answer?”

“It's a clue to the answer,” said Penrose. “And the answer is six letters. So the answer must be . . .”

“Jewels,” Winston whispered.

WINSTON AND MAL
and Jake practically floated back to the house, delighted with themselves. They had done it! They had been the first to announce their answer to Richard, and soon they would get a prize! And from the sound of it, it would be the biggest prize so far. Jewels! What on earth was Richard about to give away? It was hard to imagine, though this did not stop Winston's mind from racing through a maze of possibilities. Mal guessed they would each get a ruby as large as a scoop of ice cream. “Here, Mom,” he said, holding out the imaginary gem. “I brought a present home for you.”

They gathered in the reading room, which was ablaze with the theater lighting of the mid-afternoon sun. Betty McGinley had cleaned and polished her brats, and they were back on the floor with toy cars and coloring books. Winston had to admit, they were cute kids when they were sitting still.

Winston looked out the window and saw the others walking across the lawn, chatting and enjoying the day. He was impatient to find out what they had won, which is why it looked like the other
guests were walking as slowly as possible. Winston sat back in the cushiony sofa and laughed with exasperation.

“I know,” Jake agreed. “Let's go already.” There was nothing to do but wait. Thinking about the garden they had come from, Winston found himself jotting down the names of different flowers in his notepad, wondering if he could turn them into a quick puzzle. The answer, as always, was yes.

Penrose and Derek walked in, and neither of them looked happy. They stood in the entrance hall, and the moment Richard came through the front door, they were on top of him. “Richard, can we
speak to you a moment?” Penrose asked as the other guests filed by. Looking nonplussed, Richard agreed to be led into the music room, and Derek shut the door behind them. The door was glass, and Winston could see them having a serious conversation.

Watching them, Jake said, “You know what they're talking about, right?”

“What? No. Do you?”

Jake nodded. “I'm pretty sure they think Richard's being too prize happy.”

“Prize happy?” Mal said. “What's wrong with that? I like prize happy!”

“Well, some people don't,” said Jake. “Like if at your next birthday, one of your relatives gave you a motorcycle. Your parents would be talking to that person pretty quick, right? Because it's too much.”

“Especially since I don't know how to drive,” said Mal. “You think they're trying to talk Richard out of giving away prizes?”

“Maybe,” said Jake.

“Oh, come on!” said Winston. “I guess I can see why they might be concerned, but another part of me—”

Mal, nodding, finished the thought: “Wants to win some jewels!” A comic, puzzled look crossed his face. “I don't think I've ever wanted jewels before. If my parents bought me a big honking diamond for Christmas, I'd be, like, what is this? Where's that video game I asked for?”

Jake and Winston laughed. That made total sense. Winston didn't want a bunch of jewels at all, did he? He just wanted to win
something.

The other guests were all settled in. Winston watched as Zook tried to escape upstairs, but his father summoned him back with a severe expression and a firm finger pointed at the chair next to him.
It seemed like Zook was officially on a short leash for the rest of the weekend, and possibly for the rest of his life. He was mollified only a little when Amanda made a point of sitting next to him. It was clear she had a crush, and Zook was enjoying it.

The murmur of conversation died away as Richard came into the room. He nodded to Norma, who stood up and left. Winston guessed she was going to get the jewels, whatever they would turn out to be. Penrose and Derek entered, too, and found seats. They looked a little less worried than before, so that was good.

Richard knocked on the arm of his chair to get everybody's attention. “I have been asked,” he said, “to explain why I am giving away such extravagant prizes this weekend. As most of you know, at past weekend games, there were no prizes at all. Now suddenly I am giving away all sorts of things. Perhaps a couple of you wonder if I am losing my mind.” He said this last with a sly smile.

Richard looked around at his guests. “It's very simple,” he continued. “I realized recently that the things I have gathered over the years will one day be given away or sold. So—I thought to myself—why shouldn't I start now? And why shouldn't I have a bit of fun while I am doing it? It is a
joy
for me to give Miss Deburgh my Elgar program—” He stopped abruptly, and his face darkened for a moment, the first indication that Richard was upset by what was going on here this weekend.

Everyone in the room tried not to look at Zook, whose face was stony. Amanda wore a similar expression. She must have decided that Zook wasn't the thief after all.

“Well, assuming it turns up, that is,” Richard corrected, his dark expression fading. “And my painting. I've enjoyed it for thirty years. That's long enough. I am happy to let my friend Derek enjoy it for a long time more.

“And now we have a third winner. Winners, actually—a sizable group joined forces to solve this last puzzle. Unfortunately, I have only the one item to give away, so I'm going to ask that group to nominate someone to receive the prize.” He looked over to Derek and Penrose expectantly.

Derek waved his hands in a gesture of surrender and said, “I've done very well for myself this weekend. The next prize is for somebody else.”

“Winston should get it,” Jake said quietly. Next to him, Mal nodded.

Penrose said, “It's true. He's the one who figured out what was going on. It was his idea to make the map.”

Richard looked at him. “Winston? Do you agree?”

Not entirely sure what he was agreeing to, Winston said, “Yes. I guess so.”

“Excellent. Norma?”

Norma stepped forward holding a very small box. Winston had to press his lips together to fight back a laugh: Norma's role for the moment was similar to a model on a game show, the ones who stand around in pretty outfits, gesturing at shiny prizes. With her never-smiling expression and her hair pulled back into a severe bun, Norma would be the perfect game-show model in a country where a cruel dictator had banned fun.

Richard accepted the box and peeked inside. “Many years ago,” he said, “I played a series of concerts in Russia. I was given a gift by the first lady. Winston Breen, I am delighted to pass this gift on to you.” He held out his hand, the box resting in his palm.

Feeling something close to terror, Winston stood up, walked the three steps to Richard's chair, and accepted the little box. He felt the eyes of the room on him, and sensed the amused smiles of the
adults. “Thank you,” he remembered to say. He opened the box and peeked inside.

He had no idea what he was looking at. They were a pair of small discs, bulging with something that might have been diamonds—in fact, they probably
were
diamonds. Each disc was backed by some sort of clip. Winston could not imagine what a person was supposed to do with these things. His confusion must have been splashed across his face, because there was good-natured laughter at his expression.

“Earrings?” Winston guessed, knowing deep down that they couldn't be earrings. Why would the first lady of Russia give a grown man
earrings
?

Richard smiled, then laughed, then patted Winston on the shoulder with warm appreciation. “Cuff links! I believe I have given you your first set of cuff links.”

This cleared up nothing.

Richard explained while Winston stood there, nodding his head and trying to look like this kind of thing happened to him every day. Cuff links were worn with certain dress shirts. Usually buttons kept the cuffs closed around your wrists, but some fancy shirts, the kind you'd wear with a tuxedo, required cuff links instead. It sounded bewildering and sort of dumb, but then Winston thought the tuxedo was the silliest outfit ever invented. His father wore one to a party some time ago, and when he emerged from his bedroom looking like an emperor penguin, Winston and Katie had been knocked over with giggles.

But the cuff links grew heavier in Winston's hand the longer Richard talked about them. Yes, they were diamonds. Not gigantic diamonds—not among the most valuable objects on earth—but diamonds nonetheless. What was more, the cuff links were antiques,
passed along from some old aristocrat into the possession of the Russian first lady, and from her to Richard Overton . . . and now, finally, into the hands of a twelve-year-old boy from Glenville. It boggled the mind how things worked sometimes.

Richard congratulated him, and Winston heard the other guests applauding. Winston said thank you again, but his mind held only one thought: What was he supposed to do with these things? Forget the fact that he owned no shirt that required cuff links. When he got home, he could pop them into a drawer, and there they would stay, probably forever. What was he supposed to do with them
now
? His ratty backpack was under the sofa where he slept at night, and that was here in this room—the same room where Betty McGinley's money had been stolen. He couldn't shove these valuable things into one of the pockets, slide it back under the sofa, and hope the thief didn't go looking for them. But he also didn't want to keep them in his pocket the whole time.

Norma announced that there would be more free time. The next puzzle would be revealed after dinner.

The guests dispersed. A few people—Kimberly Schmidt among them—stopped to admire the cuff links and to compliment Winston on winning them. As Kimberly left, Winston saw Mal and Jake were snickering, so he guessed he was still turning red in her presence. She was probably used to it.

He had an idea and ran to catch up with Norma. He hadn't spoken to her one-on-one this whole weekend, and he thought she might be so sick of kids that she would bite his head off. But maybe she could help him.

She was walking through the dining room, where Gerard and Candice Deburgh were once again settling into a card game, this time with Kimberly and Derek. This group sure liked cards. As
Winston approached Norma, he realized he wasn't sure what to call her. Their host had insisted on Richard rather than Mr. Overton, but it felt awfully strange addressing Norma by her first name. And he didn't know her last name. So as he ran up to her, Winston settled on that time-tested, all-purpose substitute, “Uhh . . .”

Norma somehow understood he was calling her and turned to look at him, surprised.

Winston explained his odd predicament. “Can you keep these for me until the end of the weekend? I don't want to put them in my bag.”

To Winston's surprise, she softened, even smiled. “I can see why. I'll put them back in the upstairs hall display,” she said. “Be sure to remind me to give them back to you before you leave.” She patted him on the shoulder.

He thanked her and ran off. Mal and Jake were gone from the reading room. Where had they gone so quickly? He walked around the hall and back into the kitchen. Off the kitchen was a whole other series of rooms—a hallway led to a small lounge with its own piano, the little brother of the grand in the main music room. Then came an exercise room, and past that, the pool.

The pool room was sort of like a greenhouse for humans—the large glass enclosure let in the sunlight and kept out the cold fall air. Assorted lounge chairs and small tables were strewn about, and in one of the chairs sat Larry Rossdale with his laptop. He didn't seem to be using it. He was frowning and staring at the sky through the greenhouse ceiling.