The Puzzler's Mansion (5 page)

When they ran out of puzzles, Penrose asked about the boys' families. Both of Mal's parents were teachers, although neither worked in Glenville, which was fine with Mal. “Can you imagine having your dad as a teacher all year?” he asked. “Or even in the same school?” He shuddered theatrically. Jake, when it was his turn, told Penrose that his mother sold real estate and his father worked for a marketing company.

“And that's fun,” Jake said, “because he has Adventureland as a client. We got to take a behind-the-scenes tour a few weeks ago.”

“Oh, cool,” said Winston.

“Yeah, that was fun,” said Mal.

Winston said, “Wait . . . you got to go, too?”

There was a slight, uncomfortable pause. “Um, yes?” Mal said.

“Well, where was I?” Winston asked. He tried not to sound
wounded and didn't quite make it. He couldn't believe that Jake would invite Mal but leave him out.

“You were busy that day,” Jake said. “I asked you.”

Winston had no memory of this. “You asked me if I wanted to go on a private tour of an amusement park, and I said no?”

Jake thought about it. “No. I saw you in the hallway, and I asked what you were doing on Saturday. You said something about an online puzzle thing . . . ?”

Winston groaned and slumped over, broken in two by his own stupidity.

“So I didn't even tell you about it,” Jake concluded. “I figured you wouldn't be able to go.”

“Okay, okay,” said Winston, waving at Jake to stop talking. He shook his head and looked out the window. A couple of months back, he'd read about an all-day puzzle contest, to be held over a bunch of different Web sites. That was his kind of thing, of course, so he didn't think twice about signing up. When the day arrived, he was in front of his computer for the noon start time and stayed there for the rest of the day, eating pretzels and solving puzzles. He didn't come close to winning—most of the other contestants were college students and adults—but it was fun, even if Winston was a little bleary-eyed toward the end. Nonetheless, as Winston typed in his final answers and was informed that he'd come in 104th, he glanced out his window at the evening sky and realized he had spent the whole day at his computer. The thought had made him feel a little ill.

And now he'd learned that the puzzle event had cost him a fun time touring Adventureland with his friends, seeing how all the rides worked and who knew what else. It made him feel ill all over again.

“You all right?” Jake asked.

“I'm fine,” Winston said. But he wasn't sure he meant it.

They left the highway and traveled through a succession of small towns. A short while later, they turned into a neighborhood where the houses were large and important, each one nestled prettily atop its own sea of lawn. Some had gates blocking the driveway. The trees, all of them stately and majestic, still grasped their multicolored leaves, as if releasing them would disappoint their owners.

The driver made one last turn, onto a curving cobblestone driveway. Up ahead was Richard Overton's house, and yes, it was a mansion. The boys stared, hardly able to take it all in. It was only two stories tall, but it stretched out expansively in either direction from an ornate main entrance. Winston counted more than a dozen windows from left to right on the house's second floor and wasn't sure he had counted them all. The house—the
mansion
—was all brick, with old-fashioned columns here and there adding to the magnificence.

“Whoa,” said Winston.

Penrose nodded. “Impressive, isn't it?”

“This guy lives here by himself?” Jake asked.

“He does, yes,” Penrose said. “Although his assistant lives in his guesthouse.”

“He really lives here all alone?” Mal said. “I guess he can visit a different room every day of the year.” The house wasn't
that
big, but Winston knew what he meant.

The battered green taxi looked out of place in front of this castle with its manicured lawn and the sun reflecting a perfect gleam off the polished windows. Winston felt out of place himself.
Impressive
wasn't nearly strong enough a word. This was almost too much.
Would there be a single object in that house Winston could touch without fear of breaking it?

Getting out of the cab, none of them could stop looking up. “I can't believe he got all this by playing the piano,” Jake said.

“He plays really well,” Mal said.

“I guess he does!”

The cabdriver retrieved their bags from the trunk. Winston looked at his stained and ripped backpack and wanted to hide it in the bushes. He should have borrowed a more grown-up bag from his father.

Penrose paid the cabdriver, then looked at the boys, smiling a bit as he took in their discomfort. He put a gentle hand on Winston's back to guide him up the stone staircase to the front door. “It'll be fine, boys,” Penrose said. “This isn't the president of the United States we're visiting.”

Jake said, “I think the president has a smaller house.”

Penrose laughed. He pushed the doorbell, which chimed merrily.

The door opened a few moments later, and there was Richard Overton. Winston had thought they would be greeted by a servant or his assistant or something, but this was undoubtedly the man himself. He had unruly white hair, and a kind smile on his long, wrinkled face. There was a word to describe what this man brought with him to the front door, and after a moment Winston had it:
stature.
He gave off an aura of importance. Winston thought Richard Overton could wander anywhere in the country, even someplace where nobody had heard of him, and every head would turn while people said to each other,
Who is that? I think that's somebody famous!

Richard Overton's eyes sparkled, and he exclaimed, “Arthur!” The two men hugged briefly. “I was hoping you'd get here for dinner.”

“Of course,” said Penrose.

“And these are your boys,” said Mr. Overton.

“Well, not
my
boys,” said Penrose. “Guests who I think will appreciate your little games.” He waved his hand back and forth between the famous musician and the eighth-graders who had come to meet him. “Richard Overton, this is Winston Breen. Richard, don't be surprised if your game runs a little shorter than expected this year. Winston has one of the finest minds for puzzles I have ever encountered.”

“Is that right, is that right?” said Richard Overton. He looked at Winston with a curious smile.

Penrose continued, “And these are Winston's friends, with some very sharp minds in their own right. This is Mal, and this is Jake.”

“Nice to meet you!” their host said. “Come in, come in.” They moved into a large entrance hall. Winston looked around, bowled over by the sight of it all. A chandelier dangled overhead like a million floating diamonds, and to the right a long, extravagant staircase curved around to the second floor. “Just leave your bags here for now,” said Richard Overton. “We'll figure out where to put you a little bit later.”

From some faraway room, there was a sudden wail: “RYAN HIT ME!” followed by “I DID NOT!” and then the sound of crying. Winston and his friends glanced at one another. Little kids. Winston had hoped all the kids this weekend would be around his own age, but evidently that was not to be.

Richard Overton opted to ignore the screaming. “Norma's in charge of figuring out where everyone will sleep,” he said, “and she's a little busy at the moment. I'm not making life easy for her. I gave the staff the weekend off.”

Penrose looked surprised. “What? Everybody?”

“I'm sure we can see to ourselves for a few days,” said Mr. Overton. “We'll cook food together and clean up together. It'll be the way my old family gatherings used to be.”

“Norma is staff, of course,” said Penrose. He said to the boys, “She's his assistant. Has been for, what, twenty-five years?”

“About that,” agreed Richard Overton. “I think at the twenty-year mark, you're no longer staff, but a family member yourself. Anyway, I'm lost without her—you know that.” Indeed, he looked around vaguely for this Norma person to come help these new guests get settled in, but she was nowhere to be seen. “Well, why don't we start with a tour for your young friends?”

Mr. Overton led them through the house—room after gorgeous room. It was like the fanciest hotel Winston could imagine. Every object was perfectly in place and gleamed as if dusted and polished at the top of every hour. There were paintings in the hallways—not prints bought in a store, but real canvases with real oil paint. Winston stared at them like he'd never seen a painting before.

One painting in particular caught Winston's eye. It was abstract—a wild hodgepodge of lines and circles and squares. What made it more interesting was the six other smaller paintings hanging below, done in the same style. Winston's finely honed senses detected a puzzle.

“Ah,” said Richard Overton when he saw Winston had been snagged by the paintings. “Do you know Sutton Hammill's work? He makes very playful art. This lovely painting is also a game. Can you find each of the smaller paintings somewhere in the larger one?”

(Answer,
page 243
.)

*   *   *

After they had stared at the painting awhile, Richard Overton continued the tour, leading them past the fancy staircase and through a pair of glass doors. “The music room, of course.” Of course was right. Here was a grand piano the size of a small car, sleek and black and shining. Its top was tilted up, exposing a multitude of hammers and strings.

“Whoa,” said Winston when he saw it.

“Really,” Jake agreed.

Richard was pleased with their reaction. “I like it when children see the grand piano for the first time,” he said to Penrose. “Adults always nod and say ‘how lovely,' like they see instruments like this every day. Only children are wise enough to say ‘whoa.' Thirty years I've had this piano, and I still say ‘whoa' every time I come in here.”

“You do?” Mal asked.

Richard smiled. “Well, I say it very quietly.”

There were other musical instruments here, too, in a long display case, and in the corner was a cello case, like a soldier permanently saluting. There were two rows of a dozen chairs each, set up in a semicircle. Behind the chairs, a huge wall of windows gave a view to the yard outside.

“We had a little charity event here a couple of nights ago,” said Mr. Overton. “We still need to put away the chairs.” It was a slight relief to Winston that not everything in this house was in perfect order. Chairs still standing two days after they were needed! Someone get in here and clean up this gigantic mess! Winston suppressed a laugh.

Richard Overton led them through the room to a closed door. He started to open it when a sharp female voice yelled, “No guests in here! Get out!”

Winston jumped back, and even Richard jerked in surprise. He
quickly shut the door. “That's right,” he said. “We're not allowed in there yet. Sorry.”

The door opened up again, and a woman emerged, looking aggravated. She made sure to close the door behind her. “Really, Richard, do you want to ruin everything before it's even begun?”

“You're quite right,” Richard said, bowing slightly in deference. “I'd forgotten. Norma, you remember Arthur Penrose . . . ?”

Ah, so this was Norma. She wasn't looking at her boss. She was looking at Winston and Mal and Jake, a frown still etched into her face. She was an older woman with short hair sculpted into place with a series of barrettes, and she peered at the three of them through severe black eyeglass frames.

“More children, then,” she said.

“Yes, Norma, I did tell you—”

“I know, I know,” she said, waving a hand. “At least these boys are older than the little monsters running around back there.”

Richard said to Penrose, “Betty's husband is traveling, and she couldn't find a babysitter. She's always enjoyed my games. I insisted she bring her boys.” Back to Norma, he said, “It will be fine. They are no more exuberant than I was at that age.”

Norma grunted. “Just keep those children out of here. In fact, keep everyone away.” And with that, the woman withdrew into the room. She glared at the boys as she closed the door, as if she suspected them of trying to peek in. Mr. Overton led them away without another word of explanation. The three boys glanced at one another, somewhere between amused and horrified. Richard Overton had kept that chain saw of a woman around for twenty-five years?

The three of them glanced back at the now-closed door. Winston knew they were all thinking the same thing: what is she doing in there?