The Puzzler's Mansion (7 page)

On Winston's other side was a woman beautiful enough to be on magazine covers. Indeed, with her rich blond hair and her shiny red dress, she might have come here directly from a photo shoot. Winston tried not to stare, but his head kept turning that way on its own, like a compass needle to magnetic north. She introduced herself to him, with a dazzling smile, as Kimberly Schmidt. Winston, positive he must be turning red, nodded a hello and shook her soft hand and perhaps even croaked out his own name.

He looked around and saw Jake sitting next to Richard Overton, near the head of the table. Richard at this moment stood up and clinked his glass with his fork until the hum of conversation died
down. Behind him at the kids' table, even Ryan and Ian stopped yelling at each other for a few moments.

Richard thanked everybody for coming, old friends and new friends alike, and promised he would not make a long speech that would cause all this delicious food to grow cold.

“Especially since there were no appetizers and everyone is starving,” interrupted Norma with a grumble.

“No one is starving,” Richard said patiently.

“I could have sworn Vera told me she'd bought them,” Norma said. “I'll be having words with her, you can be sure of that. There were supposed to be stuffed mushrooms and lamb meatballs. Right before she left, I asked her—”

“Anyway!” Richard said, earning a scowl from Norma. From the way the two of them acted, Winston might have guessed that Norma was the boss of Richard instead of the other way around.

Their host continued. “I just wanted to welcome you all, and I hope you have a wonderful weekend full of puzzles and games and friendship. Now let's eat.”

The meal was fantastic, one of the best of Winston's life. Between forkfuls of salad, Richard Overton demanded updates on everybody's life, and Winston listened to the stories with astonished ears.

Over there, large as life, was Lawrence Rossdale, the boyish and pink-cheeked weatherman from the daytime talk show
Good Morning!
Winston never watched it, but you'd have to live in a cave not to know the man. Rossdale—“Call me Larry! I'm only Lawrence on television!”—had turned his relentless cheerfulness at the weather map into a career endorsing dozens of products in various TV commercials. Even now, Winston half expected him to hold up a bottle of steak sauce and start talking about it.

Instead he told the group how he had just sold a line of books
to a publisher—“weather-related mysteries,” he called them. “The first one is going to be called
Storm Front,
and then
Heat Wave.
You see?” Larry looked happily around, and everyone nodded with approval.

Derek Bibb, Winston's neighbor at the table, talked about the play he was getting ready to launch on Broadway. Broadway! Even Winston knew to be impressed at that. So Derek Bibb was a theater director. That explained Mal's reaction. Winston hadn't realized Mal followed theater so closely.

Derek talked about his play the way Winston's English teacher went on about certain books, discussing the plot, the characters, the theme, and heaven knows what else. He actually stood up at the table like he'd been hired to give a lecture. His audience was all smiles to start, but one by one, those smiles faded—Derek seemed ready to talk about this play all night. Richard finally had to interrupt him so they could continue their way around the table. Derek blinked like a man coming out of a hypnotic trance, and then gave a surprised little laugh. “I lose my mind a little when I'm on a new production,” he said. “My apologies.” He waved a hand, indicating he was finished, and sat back down.

“Nothing wrong with being excited about a project,” Richard said.

“But we don't want to be sitting here all night, either,” Gerard added, to some amiable laughter.

Winston's other neighbor, Kimberly Schmidt, was neither an actress nor a model—she was a musician. In fact, that was her cello standing upright in the music room. She told everyone that the following week she would be flying to Australia to play at the Sydney Opera House, which earned some oohs and aahs.

The TV actor Chase Worthington talked about whether or not his show would be picked up for another season. “It could go either way.
But I'm glad for this hiatus, so I can spend some more time with my son.” He smiled a toothy, professional actor's smile at Zook, who didn't look up from his meal.

It turned out that Betty McGinley was a radio deejay, and she had a lovely, melodic voice when she wasn't screaming at her kids. She told a funny story about hosting an awards banquet. Apparently a very famous person had fallen off the stage and into a three-tiered cake.

When it was Gerard Deburgh's turn to speak, he briefly mentioned opening another five EZ Burgers and then turned the spotlight on his family. “Candice here,” he said, gesturing to his wife, “has opened up a lovely antiques shop just a few miles from where we live. She has quite an eye for art and antiques.” Candice nodded, smiling, in full agreement with her husband. “And as for Amanda,” Gerard continued, “she is only going to be the next Richard Overton. Count on it.”

Amanda was looking down at her plate, studying her food with great interest.

“Oh, you play piano?” asked Kimberly Schmidt.

“Yes,” Amanda said quietly.

“You'll have to play for us at some point this weekend,” said Larry Rossdale.

“Of course she will!” said her father, beaming.

Amanda looked up and attempted a smile, but mostly she looked like she wanted to crawl under the table. Winston wondered if maybe her father was overstating things a little. He guessed that Amanda was probably pretty good, but was she really the next Richard Overton? That was a lot to live up to.

Richard, sensing that Amanda had had enough attention, turned to Penrose. “Any travels to report, Arthur?”

Winston had wondered what Penrose would say to match these
incredible stories. It turned out that twice a year, Penrose took trips to different places throughout the world. Winston had no idea that when the
CLOSED
sign appeared on Penrose's shop, it meant Penrose had flown off to Ecuador, or China, or Madagascar.

“Six weeks from now, I'm heading back to Paris,” said Penrose. “Haven't been there in forty years.” That led to a whole conversation about the things he should see and do there, and the restaurants he should eat in and avoid. Mal and Jake and Winston kept trading disbelieving, wondering smiles. Usually on a Friday evening, if they could get together at all, the three of them would sit around playing board games or watching a movie. This was a whole other kind of experience.

“And what about our younger guests?” Richard Overton said, looking around. “What do you have to say for yourselves?” He turned to his left. “Jake, is it? What are your interests?”

Jake looked surprised to find himself in the spotlight. He must have assumed—as Winston had—that only the grown-ups would be speaking, bragging about their accomplishments. Jake glanced around, and Winston knew what he was thinking: what can I say that could compare with these people?

“Well, I like sports,” he said. “I'm swimming now. In the spring I'll be back on the baseball team.”

“What position?” Richard Overton asked.

“Third base.”

“The hot corner!” Larry Rossdale said, waving his fork in Jake's direction. “Well done! No team worth its salt puts anybody at third who isn't a real athlete.”

Jake smiled, pleased.

Their host turned next to Zook Worthington, who stared off at an imaginary point on the far wall, like he was trying to pretend
he wasn't here. Winston didn't think he would even respond, but Zook shrugged and said, “I'm just doing stuff,” he said. “You know. Whatever.”

A disappointed silence greeted this. Zook looked around briefly to see his father frowning and rubbing his forehead. Zook ducked his head and went back to his food.

Richard, seeing he wasn't going to get anything else from Zook, continued his way around the table. “Amanda we have already heard from—our future maestro. How about you, young man? Remind me of your name, please.”

“Mal,” said Mal. “And I want to be an actor. You know, someday. Not now. Although I'm in my school play now.” Winston had never seen Mal this nervous. He kept looking and then trying not to look at Derek Bibb, who was smiling with encouragement. “Anyway, that's what I'm doing,” Mal concluded, his face bright red.

“What play are you in?” Derek Bibb asked.

“What play?” Mal repeated. He blinked. His mind had gone as blank as an empty road. “Uh,” he said. “Oh!
Arsenic and Old Lace.
”

Derek Bibb gave a satisfied nod. “A classic indeed.”

“Yes. Yes. A classic,” Mal agreed, and turned to look at Richard Overton as if to say, I would like to be done talking now.

Richard took the hint. Winston knew he was next, and he was right. “How about you, Winston?” Richard looked around the table and said, “Arthur tells me Winston knows everything there is to know about puzzles.”

“Is that right?” asked Larry Rossdale. “You've certainly come to the right place this weekend.”

“No fair outshining the grown-ups, though,” said Kimberly Schmidt, waving a kidding finger at him. Winston responded with a grin that he hoped wasn't too foolish.

“What do you intend to do with it?” asked Gerard Deburgh.

Winston blinked at him. “Do with what?”

“Do with the puzzles . . . not much money in that, is there?”

“The boy is twelve,” said Mr. Penrose, a bit scornfully. “It's a hobby and a passion. He doesn't have to worry about whether or not it will support his life.”

Gerard shrugged, not as if he agreed but as if it would be impolite to argue at the dinner table.

“So give us a puzzle, then,” said Derek Bibb, wiping his lips with his cloth napkin.

“If you have anything prepared,” said Richard.

Penrose chuckled. “He's always prepared,” he said. “And if he's not, he'll create something on the spot. I've seen it. Many times.”

All eyes were on Winston now, which was a little intimidating, but the fact was, he
did
have a puzzle idea. On the sideboard behind him was a little cylinder filled with toothpicks. He reached for it and spread some toothpicks out on the table.

“This is sort of a classic puzzle,” Winston said. “Can you move three toothpicks and make three squares of the same size, and have no toothpicks left over?”

(Answer,
page 244
.)

AFTER DINNER THE ADULTS
sat around talking, and the kids were allowed to do as they pleased, so Winston and his friends went outside. They weren't out for very long—the sun had just about set, and they soon felt like a trio of cat burglars creeping across the lawn. Still, what they saw was impressive. A winding brick path connected the main house to the guesthouse where Norma lived. It was smaller but no less fancy. Off to the side but between the two houses was an elaborate garden, and near that was a shed almost as large as Winston's garage. Mal wanted to peek inside, but Jake pointed out that the doors were padlocked shut.

On the side of the house, they encountered a long patio floored with bricks of varying pale colors. There was furniture back here, and what was probably a grill, but each object had been covered with a tarp. Mal found a switch and flicked it, and a row of small spotlights illuminated the whole area.

“I can't get over this place,” Winston said, looking around. From this point, he couldn't even see to the end of the property, and there
was certainly no sign of neighbors. “How many concerts do you think he had to perform to buy this house?”

“Maybe one,” said Mal, “and they paid him a billion dollars.”

Jake called to them. “Hey! Look at this.”

He was looking at the ground at a particular bunch of bricks, all of them engraved with numbers. Winston wasn't sure what it meant until Jake pointed to a small metal sign, which informed them this was . . . a maze! Built right into the patio!