The Puzzler's Mansion (27 page)

“I guess we have our thief,” mused Penrose.

“I suppose we do!” said Richard, shaking his head.

“Although I can't say I understand it,” said Penrose. “Why would he steal the Elgar program? The cash, I can understand. And even the diamond cuff links. But why would a gardener be interested in an old music program signed by Edward Elgar?”

The question seemed to catch Richard by surprise. It hit him like
a baseball pitcher's wild pitch. He looked at Penrose with bright, startled eyes.

“I was wondering the same thing,” said Kimberly from her sofa. “He sure went out of his way to get ahold of that thing. Is he a big music lover? It doesn't make a lot of sense.”

Richard Overton looked like he wanted to shrink back into his chair. He looked ill and suddenly very old. Winston and his friends caught one another's eye. Something was going on here.

Penrose caught it, too. “Richard? Do you know why he wanted it?”

Richard Overton gripped the arms of his chair and hoisted himself to his feet. Winston thought he was going to march out of the room, and maybe that was what Richard intended, but instead he stood there, silent. After a moment, he said quietly, “This is not what I wanted this weekend to be about.”

“What do you mean?” Kimberly asked. She looked afraid.

Richard said, “I let the staff have the weekend off because I wanted this to be for friends and their families. I should have invited family members to
all
my weekend parties, not just this last one.”

“Last one?” Kimberly said in a small voice.

Richard took a deep breath and decided to sit back down in his chair. He gave a little remorseful smile. “When I told the staff they wouldn't be needed this weekend, I also wanted to warn them. It was the polite thing to do.”

“Warn them about what?” Kimberly asked. She already knew, though. Winston heard it in her voice.

Penrose knew, too. “You told them they might not have a job here much longer.”

Richard nodded. “That's right.”

“Oh, no,” Kimberly said.

Winston felt a hollowed-out feeling in his stomach. He looked at his friends, and they looked similarly astounded. All three of them became statues, not daring to move. Winston remembered when his parents informed him that his grandfather—his mother's father—was very sick and might not live much longer. It was information he could not digest, a puzzle with no solution. It was like being told about a crime that would soon occur and having no way to stop it. Katie had cried at the news, but Winston hadn't. He'd been more baffled than sad. Now he was baffled again—baffled and shocked and appalled.

Penrose asked, “How long do you have?”

Richard gave a little laugh and shrugged. “Who really knows? A year, maybe. Honestly, there are some days I feel fine.” He laughed again. “These past few days, you wouldn't have even guessed I was sick, would you?”

“No,” Kimberly said, sounding much like Winston felt.

“So,” Richard said, “I imagine our runaway gardener thought certain items in the house would be worth more money after I was gone. That's why he took the Elgar program.”

The silence in the room grew heavy, but only for a minute. Mal, looking out the window shouted, “They're here! They're back!”

It was true. Gerard pulled back into the driveway . . . and he had a new passenger in his car.

If Freddie had gotten lucky, he could have arrived at the bus stop just in time to get away. But he hadn't been lucky. Gerard told them later he had thought he would have to chase that bus all the way down Route 30 . . . but as they passed the very first stop, Zook had yelled to stop the car. There was a small restaurant on that corner,
and the three of them had run inside. Freddie had been in there, watching through the window. He had recognized Zook immediately, of course, but he was cornered and knew it. He didn't even try to run. When Chase told him to stand up and come along, Freddie did, sighing, like someone had done him a great wrong.

Winston found himself feeling bad for this guy. Freddie stared at the floor as he was ushered into the house and brought into the reading room. He couldn't look at Richard Overton. He was placed on a sofa, where he sat, boneless and defeated. This was not somebody with a Plan B. It was over, he was caught, and now there was nothing to do but wait and see what would happen next.

Norma went to call the police again. Larry sat next to Freddie and began to ask him questions, like the professional television host he was. Soon Freddie had spilled his whole strange story.

It turned out—to Norma's astonishment—that Freddie had been living in the guesthouse for the last couple of weeks, down in the basement, where Norma rarely ventured. He would sneak in there via the secret passage after Norma had gone to bed and shower in the morning after Norma had left for the main house. Then he would creep down the secret passage, climb out into the garden, and go straight to work.

Why on earth had Freddie done this? Freddie looked morosely at his hands as he told them. He had given up his apartment—he was behind on the rent anyway—and had moved in with his girlfriend. But then she dumped him and told him to get out. Freddie had nowhere else to go, so he slept one night in the guesthouse basement. And then one night became two nights . . . and before you knew it . . .

“All right,” said Larry, waving his hand. “I get it.”

When Richard had dismissed his staff for the weekend, Freddie had panicked—where was he supposed to go? Could he continue to stay in the guesthouse when there might be actual guests around? As it turned out, no. Betty McGinley wound up down there with her kids. So Freddie had retreated, miserably, to the toolshed. At least he had found an air mattress in his exploration of Norma's house.

“And then you started stealing things,” Derek said.

Freddie looked at the floor. “Yeah. I needed money.”

“So you took the cash out of my wallet?” Betty asked.

Freddie nodded, unable to look up.

Larry said, “But how did you get up here, to the reading room, to steal the money out of her pocketbook? Someone would have seen you!”

Winston knew the answer to that one. “He didn't steal the money here. He stole it while her pocketbook was back at the guesthouse. He came out of the secret passage, saw the pocketbook, took the money, and went back to his toolshed. Betty just didn't notice until she was here.”

Again, Freddie nodded.

“And the Elgar program?” Gerard asked. “Why on earth would you have wanted that?”

“I didn't!” Freddie said. “I wanted one of the Grammy awards. I thought it might be worth something . . . you know, later.” He looked up for the first time, caught Richard's eye, and looked back down. Then Freddie continued, “But when I came out through the closet, there was somebody sleeping in that room. I just grabbed something, anything, and left. I'm sorry. I don't know what's wrong with me.”

“Did Richard not pay you enough?” Norma said. She looked like
she might unhinge her lower jaw like a viper and swallow this doofus gardener in one savage gulp.

“I don't know,” Freddie said. “I've never been much good with money.” He sighed. After a moment, he looked up at Richard, who throughout this whole story had not said a word or asked a single question. “I was a good gardener, though, wasn't I?”

Richard allowed himself a small smile. “You were an excellent gardener.” He shook his head sadly. “You're just bad at everything else.”

The Elgar program was in Freddie's bag, and the cash he had stolen was in his wallet. Still missing, however, were the cuff links.

“Where are they?” Gerard barked at the gardener.

“Cuff links?” Freddie asked. “I didn't steal any cuff links!” He was wide-eyed and afraid.

“You stole them, and you assaulted my wife to do it!” Gerard looked ready to punch Freddie in the face.

Freddie did not want to be punched. He put up his hands like someone showing he is unarmed, and said, “I didn't! I didn't!”

Derek cleared his throat, interrupting the interrogation. “I have to say, I've been wondering about this. How did this gardener get from the entertainment room in the basement all the way up to the second level of the house? And then after he knocked down Ms. Deburgh, he ran back down the stairs without anyone noticing?” He looked at Freddie, sizing him up. “This is not someone I see running downstairs quietly and gracefully, especially in the middle of the night after committing a crime.”

“
Someone
knocked me over,” said Candice, sounding defensive. “Someone stole those cuff links!” She looked at Derek with a peeved expression.

“Someone stole the cuff links,” Derek agreed. “But I don't think whoever did it ran down the stairs. Didn't Richard say he was sitting in the music room? And Winston and Amanda, too. That's practically right at the bottom of the staircase. Wouldn't one of them have heard someone running down the stairs, all in a panic?”

Winston looked up. “Hey, yeah,” he said. “The music room door wasn't even closed all the way. We definitely would have heard somebody. I heard Richard
walking
down the stairs, and I think he was trying to be quiet.”

“See?” said Freddie, anxious to clear himself. “It wasn't me.”

“So I was wrong,” said Candice with a sniff. “Whoever it was didn't go down the stairs at all. Maybe it was Zook, and he went back into his father's room.”

“I think we owe Zook a number of apologies,” Chase said sternly. “Not more accusations.” He put a hand on his son's shoulder, and Zook looked grateful.

“Well, then . . .” Candice looked around at everybody, frowning deeply. “Well, then, I just don't know.”

Derek shook his head. “It doesn't make a lot of sense. It wasn't this gardener, it wasn't anybody on the first floor, and it wasn't anybody on the second floor. It was nobody.”

“It had to be
somebody,
” Gerard said. He couldn't believe he still had nobody to be angry at.

“Oh, no,” Winston said. The words were out of his mouth before he knew he'd said them. The puzzle-solving part of his brain had just made a terrible suggestion. All eyes turned to him. “Um,” he said. He really did not want to say out loud what he'd just realized.

“What?” Gerard said. “Spit it out.”

“The cuff links,” Winston said. “They were antiques, right?”

“Didn't you say that, Richard?” Derek asked. And then the light went on in Derek's brain, too. He looked at Winston and said, “So you think . . .”

“Oh, no,” said Kimberly. She had caught on, too.

Confusion and fury were doing battle on Gerard's frowning face. “What is going on here?” he said. “Someone just say it!”

Derek said it. “Gerard. What kind of store did your wife just open?”

“An antiques st—” He stopped abruptly and stared at his wife. He looked like somebody had slapped him.

The room was quiet for many moments. Candice stood there, furious, looking around, feeling the whole room turn against her. She was pressing her lips together so tightly that her mouth had nearly vanished.

“Mom!” Amanda yelled. “You didn't!”

Candice flailed an arm at Winston and barked, “This boy didn't need them! He didn't even want them!” She made a disgusted huffing sound and plopped herself on a sofa. “Fine. They're in my handbag.”

“You blamed my son,” said Chase with wonder. “You said he knocked you down!”

“I
told
you,” said Zook. “I didn't steal anything.”

“I made too much noise getting the lock on the case open,” Candice said. “I thought someone had heard. So I . . .” She gestured lightly in the air. She didn't want to say “so I made up an entire phony crime,” but everyone knew what she meant.

“Gerard,” said Richard in his calmest voice. “I don't know if I will have another weekend party. But if I do . . . I think you should leave your wife at home.”

*   *   *

The police returned, but nobody was arrested. Richard refused to allow it, to everyone's surprise and Norma's loud dismay. Freddie was escorted off the premises and driven away, into whatever woeful future awaited him. Sighing, Freddie said that he would probably wind up back at his parents' house. His father would not be happy to see him—he thought he was a complete screwup.

“His father's right,” Mal muttered.

The Deburghs decided, too, that it was time to leave. While Gerard carried bag after bag out the door—no one felt particularly obliged to help him—Amanda said her good-byes. She was a lot friendlier now than she had been at the beginning of the weekend.

“I'm sorry about my mom,” she said to Winston.

“It's all right,” Winston said. The cuff links were back in his pocket.

“She just thinks she should have whatever she wants,” Amanda said, embarrassed. Off at the front door, her father called her name in a let's-go-already tone of voice. “Anyway,” she said. “Good luck with your puzzles.”

“Good luck with your music.”

Amanda frowned a little at that for some reason and started to walk away. Then, changing her mind, she walked briskly back and asked for Winston's notepad. She wrote down her e-mail address for him. Surprised, he wrote down his own, and handed it to her. Mal and Jake watched this exchange with puzzled interest. Amanda's father called her again, and she yelled, “All right already!” Then she was gone.

“What was that?” Mal asked.

“Dunno,” Winston said, looking at the paper Amanda had handed him.

Slowly, the house returned to normal. Lunch was thrown together from the various leftovers in the fridge. Winston would soon be awarded Richard's Laurel Tree award, and Winston knew if he was going to prevent that, he had to do something quick. He looked around for Richard, but their host had vanished. Winston hoped he hadn't gone upstairs to lie down.