VIKING
An imprint of Penguin Random House LLC, New York
First published in the United States of America by Viking, an imprint of Penguin Random House LLC, 2020
Text copyright © 2020 by Fleur Bradley
Illustrations copyright © 2020 by Xavier Bonet Plaza
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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA IS AVAILABLE.
Ebook ISBN 9780593202920
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For my parents, for raising me surrounded by books
CONTENTS
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Map
Introduction
Part I: Liars, Liars
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Part II: Motive
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Part III: The Missing Puzzle Piece
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Part IV: Midnight at the Barclay Hotel
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Three Months Later
Acknowledgments
About the Author
About the Illustrator
THE INVITATIONS WENT out on Tuesday afternoon, because statistically speaking, that’s the best time to offer someone a weekend getaway. Or that’s what Mr. Barclay’s advisors told him (he had a lot of those). These advisors took very expensive and extensive polling and did research (actually, it was mostly asking random people at the mall). The letters were printed on fancy, thick parchment, the kind of paper that adults use for Very Special Occasions like weddings, or birthday parties with lots of guests and bouncy castles and bands.
But this invitation was not for a party. It was for a weekend at the historic Barclay Hotel. Some said it was haunted, but there was no actual proof. Mr. Barclay owned the hotel, and he had a plan.
He wanted these invitations to be sent out on Tuesday. Five invitations only. No more, no less.
They were delivered by a courier—which was even more expensive than those advisors and the research. This was so that Mr. Barclay could make the whole thing seem important and official. He didn’t want anyone to think that this was some sort of scheme! Even though it was. His advisors told him that it’s one thing to get a letter in the regular old mail, in the box, mixed in with the grocery store flyer and the electric bill. It’s quite another to get a letter with a real embossed seal to close the envelope, delivered by a courier, where you have to sign for it. So mysterious.
Five envelopes, with five invitations. Mr. Barclay guessed that there would be some stragglers—there always were. But the five main guests had been chosen carefully. A cowboy, a librarian, a CEO (that stands for chief executive officer—which is a big deal), an actress, and a detective all got their invitations that Tuesday.
Dear [insert esteemed guest’s name here],
Congratulations! You are a winner. “What did I win?” you might ask. An all-expenses-paid weekend getaway to the historic Barclay Hotel, from Friday, April 3, through Sunday, April 5.
From the moment you arrive, you will find yourself enchanted by the newly renovated dining hall, where you will feast on a five-course meal included in your prize winnings.
Enjoy the (also newly renovated!) indoor pool, hot tub, bowling alley, and extensive multilevel library if you fancy an afternoon read by the fireplace. All meals and entertainment (expect surprises!) are included in your stay. Did we mention it’s all expenses paid?
We will see you promptly at five o’clock Friday evening to start your glorious getaway!
RSVP by Thursday to Gregory Clark, butler of the Barclay Hotel.
DISCLAIMER: The pool and hot tub may or may not be open. The Barclay Hotel is not responsible for any encounter you may have with vermin, errant staff, wonky elevators, leaky ceilings, ghosts, or unstable antiques. Cellular phone service is not available at the Barclay Hotel. Do not use the white room towels for pool attendance; bring your own pool towel. Five-course meal may actually be a one-course meal. There is no room service available at the Barclay Hotel.
Not everyone read the fine print—not when there was a free vacation at stake. Some guests read it later, but by then it was too late.
No, each and every one of the five people invited felt very special when they received the letter, even if not all of them were all that excited to go. Congratulations! You are a winner, the letter said.
Everyone likes to be a winner. Mr. Barclay counted on it.
JJ WASN’T SUPPOSED to read the letter, but he did anyway. He couldn’t resist the thick paper and the chance to break the seal on the back of the envelope. It all looked so important. You really couldn’t blame him. His mom had already forgotten about the letter and left it unopened on the kitchen counter. She rarely had time for anything these days.
JJ, on the other hand, had nothing but time.
He had just gotten out of school, and Tuesday was his most hated day of the week. He was always forced to go to Book Club and Battle of the Books, which was like the grand master of misery for those who are not into books. JJ didn’t like reading very much (that’s an understatement—he despised it, everything about it, from the quietness to the dancing letters and the book reports afterward).
What JJ really loved was ghost hunting. He got excited at the thought of collecting evidence of haunting activity with his infrared camera, voice recorder, and electromagnetic field (that’s EMF for short) detector. The camera would catch temperature fluctuations, since ghosts show up as cold spots. The voice recorder could catch a ghost’s voice (this was harder, JJ thought), and the EMF detector would reveal a ghost’s electrical current—the detector would spike. Ghost hunting can be exciting
or monumentally boring, depending on how the ghosts are feeling that day.
The week before the invitation came, JJ and his friend Tristan had caught signs of a (possible) haunting in the attic. JJ lived in an old house that made squeaky noises and had lots of dark, mysterious corners. But JJ had reason to believe that those little orbs he and Tristan caught on camera were not dust. The EMF detector spiked, and there was some garbled noise on the voice recorder—sure indicators that a ghost was present. You never knew what evidence you might find. It was why JJ loved ghost hunting.
And now there was this envelope, on a regular (most hated) Book Club Tuesday. Unfortunately, JJ’s dad was an English professor at the local college, and he loved all things books, which was why his dad had volunteered to run the Book Club and Battle of the Books at Aspen Springs Middle School. It made the whole situation with JJ hating books a little sticky.
JJ could hear his mom on the phone in the other room. Just troubleshoot it, guys, just troubleshoot it. It was her favorite phrase. JJ’s mom was very good at her job as CEO—a little too good, if you asked JJ. He wished she would take a break from her phone every once in a while.
JJ scratched his mop of curly red hair as he read the invitation.
Jackie Jacobson was written in cursive letters across the front of the envelope. It looked like the writer had used one of those old-fashioned ink pens. JJ couldn’t resist. He looked at the letter, read it twice (except for that tiny print—you needed a magnifying glass to read that). And smiled to himself.
This was his moment.
Around the same time that JJ found the envelope addressed to his mother, he’d been hatching a plan to convince his parents to let him visit the spookiest places in Aspen Springs, Colorado. The Barclay Hotel was at the top of the list of most haunted places within a twenty-mile radius of his house. The trouble was it had been closed for years. No one was allowed in. Not even professional ghost hunting crews.
Even JJ’s favorite online show, Ghost Catchers, had tried and failed. This guy named Hatch (even his name was cool) would go to haunted locations and investigate. Hatch had been to Alcatraz, the Winchester Mystery House, and a whole bunch of other creepy places. But never to the Barclay Hotel. The show had tried to get access (they even just showed up once), but the owner, Mr. Barclay, always declined.
And here was an invitation, a fancy one at that, to give JJ access to the place for a whole entire weekend. He could ghost hunt while he was there!
Maybe he’d even send his video footage and other evidence (there had to be lots!) to Hatch, and then JJ would definitely be invited on the show. And then maybe his parents wouldn’t think ghost hunting was “silly fake science” (his mom’s words) anymore.
Access to the Barclay Hotel—for a whole weekend, no less. An opportunity like this one comes along rarely. Once in a lifetime, one might say.
“Are you ready for Book Club, JJ?”
“Did you see this?” he asked his dad, waving the invitation.
His dad squinted (he really needed glasses but was avoiding a trip to the eye doctor). “An invitation?”
“Mom won a trip to the Barclay Hotel.”
JJ’s dad smiled. “How fun.”
“I want to go to the Barclay Hotel,” JJ blurted out, knowing that with parents, it was better to tell them what you actually wanted sometimes. Except when it came to Book Club. “And you know Mom owes me one.”
JJ had been saving this IOU for a few months now, waiting for the best opportunity. See, JJ’s mom was always so busy running her restaurant franchise (PB&JJ—because everything’s better with peanut butter!) that sometimes she missed important stuff, like parent-teacher conferences, award ceremonies, and science fairs.
Not that JJ was an award-y kind of kid. But there had been an art exhibit back in December that his mom was supposed to come see. And she’d missed it, because she had a PB&JJ emergency in Kansas. JJ’s mom apologized—a lot—and gave JJ a big IOU.
He decided it was time to cash it in.
“BUT I DON’T have time for this,” JJ’s mom said once she got off the phone. They were all in the kitchen: JJ’s dad was putting on his shoes, and JJ held the envelope while his mom was reading the invitation.
Again.
She sighed and let her fingers run over the heavyweight white paper. She flipped the letter over, even though it was blank. Maybe she thought there was a way out written on the back.
“But you owe me,” JJ reminded her. “You said anything I want, anytime, no questions asked.” This kind of IOU was only given out on those rare occasions when parents truly messed up.
His mom said, “I heard Mr. Barclay is allergic to peanut butter.”
“So?” JJ asked.
“He won’t like PB&Js,” his mom said. It was a weak argument, everyone knew that.
JJ tried to think of something to persuade his mom.
His dad spoke up. “The invitation says that there’s a hot tub. You love those, Jackie.” He winked at JJ. Despite all the bookishness, his dad could be pretty cool sometimes. Now JJ was feeling bad that he’d been ghost hunting around the house when he told his dad he was reading . . .
“I do love those,” his mom said. Most adults are suckers for hot tubs. It’s like going swimming without making an effort.
Jackie read the invitation again, but only briefly glanced over the fine print. If she’d read carefully, she might have noticed that she’d be cut off from the world. No cell phone service.
Plus, Jackie had a secret, one her family didn’t know about—not even her husband. And we all know what it feels like to keep a secret that big.
This invitation could be a way to honor that IOU and keep her secret, Jackie figured. So she said, “Okay.”
JJ smiled.
He would regret coming to the Barclay Hotel, especially Saturday evening, when everything went all wrong. When his own secret was out—the one he’d been hiding from his parents for a while now.
But right then, JJ was so excited, he high-fived his mom. He didn’t even mind going to Book Club—he might even try to read a few pages. That’s how excited JJ was to go to the Barclay Hotel.
MEANWHILE, WAY OUTSIDE of town inside a big barn out on a hundred-acre ranch, a cowboy named Buck Jones was saddling up a horse named Lemon Drop. She had been his best friend ever since she broke out of the pasture next door, which housed a mustang rescue. The horse tried to steal a lemon drop right from his hand! After that, Buck adopted her, and the rest was history.
Cowboy Buck loved being one with the land. It was all he wanted: to be outside in Colorado, herding his cattle and riding Lemon Drop.
Buck rode Lemon Drop to meet the courier, and to sign for his invitation, the one on the fancy paper. Now Buck turned it over in his hands and considered accepting it. He’d been to the Barclay estate just a few days ago to talk to Mr. Barclay. But the conversation quickly turned sour (much like a lemon drop, but without the joy). Buck adjusted the straps on the saddle while he thought about whether he should go or not.
After what happened the other day, he wasn’t exactly on good terms with Mr. Barclay. Buck had called the man a few names—from afar, but still. They were sparring, that was the truth.
Not that Buck Jones was on particularly good terms with the truth, not by a long shot. He was a liar, he knew that. He lied every day, about owning the ranch—
Well, it was better just not to think too long on this nasty business. His last visit to Mr. Barclay in particular.
The thing was, Buck had a dream for the ranch: a horseback-riding stable and candy store. People could come ride horses and then pick out candy as they passed the displays. His horse Lemon Drop gave him the idea, and Buck thought it was brilliant. Buck would call it the Lemon Drop Shop. Horses and candy—who wouldn’t love to come visit?
But making a dream like that come true was difficult, to say the
least. The ranch needed tending to every day: the fences needed repairs; the stables were showing their age. And the cattle needed herding. Ranching was hard work. And the thought of opening a candy store on top of that? Forget about it!
Buck hadn’t been on vacation for years. A little break from the ranch could be nice. This five-course meal sounded delicious, and Buck (despite being a rugged cowboy) really liked a refined meal from time to time. But if he accepted the invite, would he be able to keep his secret?
Of course he would, Buck told himself. He was a cowboy, and they kept secrets like nobody’s business. They knew when to be silent, and when to ride away from trouble (preferably on their favorite horse).
Buck got in the saddle, popped a lemon drop in his mouth, and adjusted his cowboy hat. It was decided: he was going to the Barclay Hotel that weekend.
Would he regret it later? Well, you can guess the answer to that . . .
* * *
IN THE TOWN of Aspen Springs, teen and children’s librarian Ms. Chelsea Griffin was in her home library, sitting in her oversize chair, having a cup of afternoon tea with lots (and lots) of honey in it. Ms. Chelsea needed a little comfort, after the excitement of the previous week.
On her coffee table, there was her teapot and the letter, folded next to the envelope with the broken seal. Ms. Chelsea had read the letter twice, but much like everyone else, she hadn’t read the fine print. She’d set the letter down, picked it up again, and studied the (clearly bona fide) seal on the envelope.
She’d hoped she’d won something big when the letter came—by courier, requiring her signature. Ms. Chelsea played the lottery and just about every contest you could find. At the young age of twenty-four, she had to be careful with her money. Being a teen (and children’s—she was a multitasker) librarian didn’t pay as much as she’d hoped.
When Ms. Chelsea got the fancy letter, she thought it might be prize money. Almost daily, Ms. Chelsea diligently filled out entry forms at those festivals in town, in her magazines, and online. But so far, she’d only won a bowling ball at the county fair last year. And she didn’t like bowling, not even with the bumpers on the sides.
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