The Multiplying Mysteries of Mount Ten

by Krista Van Dolzer

  I sank back against the wall, ready to admit defeat. The more I questioned Director Verity’s story, the more it seemed to check out.

  I let my gaze wander as I fiddled with the ankle sock. In murder mysteries, like in life, it was all about perspective. Brooklyn’s bunk was undisturbed, and my bed looked no different than it had this morning. Then I noticed that the closet door was slightly ajar.

  I wouldn’t have even known it was a closet if I hadn’t caught a glimpse of hangers. There were only two or three, like we weren’t expected to unpack. But as I scrambled to my feet, I could tell that something was in the closet. And as soon as I opened the door, I knew exactly what it was: Angeline’s pink duffel.

  Pinned to the shoulder strap was another typewritten clue.

  CHAPTER 11

  Centaur, Griffin, Unicorn, and Manticore share a cabin.

  As far as clues went, it was harmless. Still, I couldn’t decide whether to scream or celebrate. If Angeline had really left, she would have taken her stuff with her.

  And if there weren’t a killer, he wouldn’t have left his calling card.

  I stuffed the clue into my pocket, but I left the rest alone. I didn’t want to tamper with forensic evidence.

  For the rest of the day, that scrap of paper weighed me down. It was always there, taunting and tormenting me, a small but serious reminder of how I’d failed Angeline. As soon as I could reasonably call it “before dinner,” I snuck up to the girls’ bathroom.

  I was halfway out the window when a low voice hissed, “Hey, Esther!”

  I immediately ducked for cover and was racking my brains for an explanation when I realized that the voice had actually come from below me—and that it belonged to Munch. He was hanging out the window of the lodge’s first-floor bathroom.

  “It was my idea,” he said as he wriggled out the window. “Don’t you think it was a good one?”

  It was a good idea, but that was beside the point. If he kept yapping like a purse dog, we were going to get caught. I pressed a finger to my lips.

  “Oh, they won’t hear us,” he replied, giving the wall a solid whack. “These logs are super-thick.”

  Shut up! I wanted to shout, but since that would only make it worse, I pressed my lips into a line. Munch waited patiently beneath the ledge while I lowered myself down, then offered me some Fruit Roll-Ups. I accepted eagerly. Fruit Roll-Ups were my favorite bribe.

  After climbing through the window, I licked off my sticky fingers and surveyed the math nerds as a whole. “I’m sure you know by now that Angeline’s gone missing, but what you might not know is that I got a cryptic note”—I paused to let that sink in—“which means that there’s a chance, a good chance, that Angeline’s in trouble.”

  Oliver snorted to himself. When I glared in his direction, he clapped a hand over his mouth, but the damage was already done. If he thought I was insane, he should have mustered up the courage to admit it to my face.

  I was about to challenge him when Munch frowned and shook his head. “I heard she got kicked out,” he said.

  Marshane tipped his head at me. “Brooklyn didn’t get kicked out after she nearly decked her.”

  “And if she got kicked out, why’d she leave her stuff?” I asked, pulling the latest clue out of my pocket. Oliver would have to wait. “And why’d I find this clue pinned to her duffel’s shoulder strap?”

  No one could answer that.

  Graham tilted his head to the side. “Could she still be in the lodge? I mean, it is pretty huge.”

  “We’ve already scoured every inch and can’t find her anywhere.”

  “Could she be down by the lake?”

  “Or the amphitheater?” Munch asked.

  We hadn’t checked the lake (and I hadn’t even heard of the amphitheater), but they were missing the big picture.

  “Why would she go out?” I asked. “And even if she did, why wouldn’t she come back?”

  Once again, they had no answer. An unsettling silence descended on the storage room, like an itch you couldn’t reach. But I was right. I knew I was. Just because they couldn’t see it didn’t mean it wasn’t true.

  “What about the cabin?” Munch replied as he produced some more Fruit Roll-Ups.

  “What cabin?” I demanded.

  He shoved them into his mouth. “Oh, you know, the creepy cabin at the top of Lookout Hill.” He swallowed the whole thing in one wad. “I heard it belonged to Archimedes.”

  I crinkled my forehead. Ghosts didn’t need cabins. “But isn’t he, like, dead?”

  “Maybe,” Munch admitted. “But there is a cabin up there, and I’ve seen it for myself.”

  I shone the flashlight in his eyes. “You’re not just playing us, are you?”

  “Why would I play you?” he replied. “Oliver and I got up here early, before it really started raining, so we decided to explore.”

  “Munch decided to explore,” Oliver added for good measure. “He forced me to come along.”

  My salivary glands froze up. “Could you find your way up there again?”

  “Could Isaac Newton take derivatives?”

  I decided to take that as a yes.

  CHAPTER 12

  We called it Operation Newton so it wouldn’t sound suspicious if one of the counselors overheard. Munch didn’t want to go until it was fully dark, so we agreed to fake lights-out, then sneak back out around 10:30, once the counselors had made their rounds. I was supposed to meet them by the storage room’s window, and then they were supposed to show me how to get to Archimedes’s cabin.

  I would have preferred a daytime op—it was going to be too dark to look for bloodstains—but it was probably better this way. So far, we’d managed to avoid detection, but if three of us went missing in the middle of a workshop, the director would have noticed.

  While Brooklyn got ready for bed, I pretended to get ready, too. I brushed my teeth for five whole minutes while she meticulously flossed and gargled, then tailed her back to Cabin Epsilon and changed into my pajamas. She didn’t say one word to me, and I didn’t say one word to her, but as we climbed into bed, I couldn’t help but peep, “Good night.”

  She didn’t bother to respond, just harrumphed and rolled over. That was probably just as well. If I started to act weird, Brooklyn might start to suspect.

  I waited for her breathing to even out, then for Mr. Pearson’s footsteps to drag up and down the hall. They might have been Mr. Sharp’s or Ms. Gutierrez’s, but I thought the shuffling gait fit him. He reminded me of a zombie.

  Once the footsteps came and went, I counted to three hundred and eight, then slowly folded back my blanket, slid my feet into my shoes, and tiptoed over to the door. The knob stuck when I tried to turn it, so I had to turn it harder, and the door actually squealed. I snuck a peek over my shoulder, but Brooklyn was still snoozing peacefully. She hadn’t moved a muscle. Allowing myself a tiny sigh, I eased the door open a crack and padded out into the hall.

  I wasted no time in reaching the main floor. The mess hall’s lights were off, but the embers smoldering in the fireplace produced just enough light that I could cross the dining room without running into anything. A narrow strip of light was shining under Director Verity’s door, so I was extra careful as I tiptoed past her office. Apparently, lights-out didn’t apply to the director.

  The common room was cold and dark, as was the wider corridor. When I got to the bathroom, I knocked on the door once, then twice, then three times—the secret password we’d worked out so we wouldn’t accidentally walk in on someone using the bathroom—then opened it when no one answered. The air in the bathroom was at least ten degrees cooler than the air in the corridor, but that was probably because someone had left the window open.

  We would have to have a talk about covering our tracks.

  I shimmied out the window and dropped into another flower bed. Munch and Oliver were already waiting for me, though they were hunched under the window that led to the storage room.

 
“What are you doing?” I whispered.

  “Trying to read this clue,” Munch said as he stepped out of the way. “Someone tacked it to the windowsill.”

  Anxiety churned in my stomach. I tore it off its nail and tromped around the nearest corner. After looking left, then right, I cupped my hands around my flashlight and read the clue through my fingers:

  Phoenix wears glasses.

  I crinkled my nose. “How’d he know we’d use the windows?”

  “They were open,” Munch replied.

  I glanced up at Lookout Hill. “Or maybe he knows we’re getting close.”

  I waited for Oliver to snort, but this time, he almost shivered. His self-preservation instinct must have been (finally) kicking in.

  “We’d better get going,” Munch replied as he handed me the clue. “Marshane convinced our other roommate that we’re just raiding the kitchen, but we still can’t take too long.”

  I fell into step behind him, leaving Oliver to fall into step behind me. He hadn’t wanted to come with us, but I’d more or less insisted. If Munch got lost or turned around, we would need Oliver’s opinion.

  Though the circumstances could have been less serious, it felt good to be outside again, stretching my legs, breathing fresh air. We’d been cooped up in that lodge for what felt like a century.

  As the trees inched closer, a narrow road appeared, but Munch didn’t bother to take it, just ducked beneath the nearest trees. It was darker under here, and the ground was less even, but we didn’t dare to use the flashlight. Creepy cabins in the woods always belonged to serial killers, and the last thing we wanted to do was alert him to our presence.

  When the ground became uneven, I knew that we’d reached the hill. I felt more than saw it rise, and with every step I took, my legs got heavier. We were on some sort of path, but it was littered with debris—twigs, deer droppings, you name it. By the time the trees started to thin, my shins were officially on fire. When I tripped over a tree root, I had to grab a nearby bush, and when my toe caught on a rock, I nearly bowled Munch over.

  “How much—farther?” I asked between noisy gasps for breath.

  Oliver shushed me, but Munch pointed at a shaft of moonlight.

  “There,” he said so softly his voice might have been a breeze.

  Ignoring the burning in my shins, I stumbled past the last few bushes, then instantly jolted to a stop. The shaft of moonlight he’d been pointing at was a break in the trees. It flooded a small clearing, highlighting the ramshackle cabin.

  Compared to the lodge, it was a shack. The walls made me think of giant Lincoln Logs that had survived six kids, and the roof was losing its fight with gravity (if it had ever been winning in the first place). Though what looked like a single lightbulb burned behind the picture window, the place looked barely inhabitable. If a serial killer didn’t live here, I didn’t know who would.

  Munch crouched down beside me. “We tried to scope it out, but we could see this gnarly silhouette when we were up here a few days ago. It looked like a shotgun.”

  I craned my neck. “A shotgun?” Only crazies owned shotguns.

  He motioned toward the picture window. “We could see the outline through the drapes.”

  I forced myself not to shiver. “Come on,” I said through gritted teeth. “We’ve got to get closer.”

  Oliver shrank back against the trees. “Are you kidding?” he replied. “What if someone catches us?”

  “Who’s gonna catch us?” I replied. “You think this whole thing is a joke.”

  He sent me a dirty look. He was cornered, and he knew it. At least he had the dignity to let our silly squabble go.

  “All right, then, who’s coming with me?”

  Oliver lowered his gaze. I arched an eyebrow at him, but otherwise, I didn’t react. If they were going to be wusses, they were going to be wusses. I wasn’t going to force them. I was about to continue on alone when Munch finally raised his hand.

  “I am,” he replied.

  His voice might have cracked, but at least he’d volunteered. I had to give him props for that.

  “We don’t have time to run surveillance, so we’re gonna have to take this slow.” I surveyed the cabin one more time. “For now, let’s stick to the perimeter, then pull back and regroup. But if you find an entrance to a basement, definitely let me know.”

  Munch licked off his fingers. “Get in, find a basement, and get out.”

  “And don’t get caught,” I said.

  “I think I can handle that.”

  I glanced at Oliver. “Unless you want to hike back by yourself, you might as well act as our lookout. And try not to pee your pants if Archimedes shows his face.”

  He stuck both hands on his hips. “I have never peed my pants.”

  I seriously doubted that. “Good for you,” was all I said.

  After checking and rechecking our supplies (which basically amounted to flicking my flashlight on and off), Munch and I set out. The clearing wasn’t clear of grass, so at least we had some cover. It scratched my cheeks and clawed at my socks as we half scuttled, half galloped around one of the edges. I would have loved to draw it—the fibrous texture would have involved crosshatching, my favorite—but creeping through it was a drag. I stuck out an arm when we reached the narrow road, then checked both ways and raced across it, dragging Munch along behind me. When we reached the other side, I pulled him down into a crouch, but as far as I could tell, we hadn’t been spotted. The drapes hadn’t even twitched.

  It didn’t take us long to reach the edge of the grass. The cabin huddled in a ring of dirt, a clearing within a clearing. I stuck out my arm again, but it was probably overkill. The cabin might as well have been a tomb. Maybe Archimedes had skipped town without turning off his lights.

  I paused for one more second, then motioned toward a corner on the far side of the house. We couldn’t assume he wasn’t there unless we wanted to get caught. Munch must have agreed, because he made a break for it before I had to tell him twice. As soon as he reached the corner, I skedaddled after him.

  Munch and I made a good team. While I peered into every window, he inspected the foundation, searching for an entrance to a basement, but we both struck out. These windows had drapes, too, and the foundation wasn’t even cracked.

  Then another light turned on.

  Munch and I exchanged a wide-eyed look—it was coming through the window just behind us—then dashed around the next corner and collapsed against the wall. I kept waiting for an old man to cuss us out in Greek, but the night air barely stirred. If the stars hadn’t been twinkling and the crickets hadn’t been chirping, I might have been able to convince myself that time was standing still.

  I’d just noticed the mud that was seeping through my jeans when Munch jostled my arm and pointed at something to our right. On the far side of the cabin, a shed hid in the shadows.

  Bingo.

  We exchanged another wide-eyed look, then made a beeline for the shed. My pulse was pounding in my ears as I reached for the door handle—then discovered it was locked. And the padlock looked much sturdier than the one I’d bought for gym.

  For the second time that day, I couldn’t decide whether to scream or celebrate. On the one hand, it was locked, so we wouldn’t be able to get in, but on the other, it was locked, which meant it was probably hiding something. Also, ghosts didn’t lock doors, which meant that our mass murderer was of the flesh-and-blood variety. We’d have to find a pair of bolt cutters and come back another night. But when I signaled Munch to head back the way we’d come, he shook his head ferociously.

  “I can pick the lock,” he whispered.

  “You can?” I whispered back.

  He pointed a thumb at his chest. “Son of a locksmith,” he said proudly.

  I hunkered down beside the shed and wrapped my arms around my knees to keep my whole body from shaking. Was this really, truly it? Had Angeline been here all this time? Were we about to rescue her?

  Munch was still p
icking the lock when something that sounded like a tiger—or a bunch of tigers—swarmed the hill. Munch and I shrank back against the shed, but before we could identify where the threat was coming from, a beam from a high-powered flashlight hit us right between the eyes.

  “What in the name of Descartes are you doing?” an unexpected voice demanded.

  CHAPTER 13

  The director sighed. “For heaven’s sake, Esther, it’s the middle of the night!”

  I raised a hand to shield my eyes, but I still couldn’t see her face around the halo of the flashlight. At least I had the good sense not to answer her question. There was nothing I could say that wouldn’t make me sound insane.

  The flashlight swung over to Munch. “I’m surprised to see you here.”

  Munch’s shoulders slumped, though I couldn’t decide if he felt worse about getting caught or about being underestimated.

  Director Verity aimed the flashlight back at me. “Well?” she asked indignantly. “What do you have to say for yourselves?”

  I raised both hands to shield my eyes. “Could you turn that flashlight off? That thing’s brighter than the sun.”

  Director Verity snorted like an angry rhinoceros, but at least she lowered her weapon. “Once we’ve safely vacated Dr. Rickman’s property, you will explain yourselves.”

  With that, she whipped around and marched past Oliver (who’d been hovering behind her). She didn’t wait for us to follow, but then, she didn’t need to. Now that we’d been discovered, where were we going to go?

  The camp’s cherry-red truck was waiting at the clearing’s edge. We climbed into the cab and nervously buckled our seat belts. The director didn’t say a word as we jounced back down the road, just left us to our awful thoughts. I couldn’t help but wonder what was going to happen to us—and, even worse, to Angeline.

  When we trudged into the common room, Brooklyn leaped to her feet. She’d been doing a worksheet (for fun), but at the sight of us, she grinned. She must have been lying in her bunk, pretending not to be awake, when I snuck out earlier. I should have known it was a trick.