I drew a bracing breath. This could be the one that would sort everything out, that would make everything clear. Was I ready, really ready? Once I knew the truth, there would be no going back.
“Well?” Brooklyn demanded. “Are you going to open it or what?”
Slowly, I uncurled the clue:
Gorgon and Hydra share a cabin with no other monsters.
I’d spent so much time wrestling with the logic puzzle that I knew at once what this clue meant. Hydra was Ms. Gutierrez, so Director Verity was Gorgon.
Which made me Pegasus.
Which made Archimedes Sphinx.
Brooklyn leaned over my shoulder. “What does it mean? What does it mean?”
I opened my mouth to answer, but no sound managed to come out. I probably should have seen this coming. I was the causer of problems. But I was also the solver, so it made a crooked kind of sense. If anyone was going to give Archimedes our solution, it was going to be me.
“It means I’m gonna die,” I said.
CHAPTER 23
I clutched my sketchbook to my chest as I ascended Lookout Hill less than twenty minutes later, feeling naked and exposed in the middle of the road. The packed dirt amplified my footsteps, broadcasting my location to anyone in the general vicinity, but then, I no longer had a good reason to hide. If Archimedes hadn’t guessed that I was coming, he would figure it out soon enough.
Math nerds fanned out behind me like a peacock’s open tail, Munch and Marshane on one side, Graham and Federico on the other. They’d insisted on coming—to guarantee my safety or something ludicrous like that.
But this was a job for only one.
“Wait here,” I told them, gesturing toward a nearby bush. “I don’t see a reason to risk all of our lives.”
“And I don’t see a reason to risk your life,” Graham said. “Let’s just call the police.”
“We’d never convince Director Verity to let us borrow her satellite phone. Even if she isn’t Sphinx, she still thinks Angeline’s grandpa came to pick her up.” I sent the cabin a sideways glance. “If there’s even a chance they’re still alive, we have to take it while we have it. The police would have to get search warrants, and we can’t wait that long.”
Graham’s jaw trembled, but at least he held his tongue.
“I could come with you,” Munch blurted, then lowered his gaze. “If you want me to.”
For a second, I wavered. I’d already endangered Munch’s life more times than I cared to admit, so what was the problem with one more? It would have been nice to have a second, especially if I had to fight to get Angeline and Toby out. But if there was even a chance that they were already dead, I couldn’t endanger Munch’s life again. The only math nerd who’d be putting her life on the line was me.
I patted his shoulder. “I know you’ve got my back, but I can’t risk your neck again.”
Munch rolled his eyes. “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“Hey, I got that off a postcard! A specialized team of one-line writers slaved over that sentence for days.”
Munch’s toothy grin slowly melted into a frown. “Just don’t die, okay?”
Marshane waved that off. “But if you do die, can I have your sketchbook?”
I half laughed, half sobbed. I would have slugged him again, but Federico beat me to it. Marshane made a show of massaging his shoulder.
I couldn’t help but gulp. I would have traded my best paintbrush for another five minutes with these clowns, but that was exactly why I couldn’t wait. “Well, I guess this is it.”
Munch offered me his last Swiss Roll. “It’s not much of a last meal, but it’s the best that I can do.”
“Oh, no, that’s all right,” I said. “You’ll taste it much more than I will.” I forced myself to smile. “See you on the other side.”
I really hoped that wouldn’t turn out to be some kind of premonition.
The narrow road cut through the grass with the precision of a lawnmower, so nothing tickled my cheeks or tugged at my ankles. Still, my feet felt heavy as I made my way up to the porch. When a pine-scented breeze suddenly swept through the clearing, I actually stopped and spread my arms out. I hadn’t thought that I could sweat everywhere that I was sweating.
The porch groaned under my feet as I climbed the sloping steps and cautiously rang the bell, and I had a fleeting image of the floorboards giving out and dumping me into a pit. There was probably a dungeon down there, which meant that I was on the verge of meeting a real, live skeleton (or maybe just a real, dead skeleton). But then the image faded, and shuffling footsteps approached. As the front door creaked open, I couldn’t help but brace myself.
I’d never really wondered what Archimedes looked like, but even if I had, I wouldn’t have come close to the truth. He looked more like a cowboy than a former professor, with faded jeans, a long-sleeved shirt, and a shiny belt buckle that easily could have doubled as a dinner plate. He was slightly hunched over, and his hair was as silver as his belt buckle, but I didn’t let looks deceive me. He was a killer, no doubt about it.
He just stood there breathing, and I just stood there waiting. If my whole life was flashing before my eyes, I was missing it somehow.
When I decided I’d rather die than keep waiting and wondering, I cleared my throat. “Archimedes?” I asked softly.
He cocked his head to the side. “I’ve answered to that name before.”
I shifted uncertainly. I hadn’t thought past introductions. I must have assumed he’d murder me, and yet here we were, staring back and forth at each other. Finally, I locked my knees and stated the obvious: “I solved Sphinx’s puzzle.”
If I’d had any doubts, they would have blown away like smoke as soon as those words had left my mouth. He didn’t try to pretend he didn’t know what I was talking about, just waved me into the house and retreated toward the back.
I took the hint and eased myself over the threshold. As soon as I stepped inside, the door started to close. I resisted the urge to run away screaming or, worse, glance behind me. No matter what else I did, I wouldn’t give the boys away.
Though Archimedes had faded to a barely visible smudge, I took a few extra seconds to survey my surroundings. The living room was just a living room with a lumpy plaid couch, and though there was a shotgun, it was mounted over the fireplace. An old, beat-up umbrella stand was guarding the window, so maybe that explained the shotgun Munch and Oliver had seen. There was no coffee table, just several stacks of old textbooks that had been pushed up next to each other to create a (mostly) level surface. I craned my neck to read the spines, but the lighting was too poor.
By the time I remembered to look for Archimedes, he’d disappeared. I crept after him, my muscles ready for action. Behind the living room was a kitchen that didn’t appear to get much use, and next to the kitchen was a dining room that seemed to get too much. The table was piled high with notebooks, three-ring binders, and what looked like the blueprints for our very own lodge.
Though I could hear Archimedes, it took me a moment to spot him. He was rooting around in a cupboard next to the refrigerator. Unfortunately, his belt buckle kept getting in the way.
“I know Charlotte keeps you kids practically stuffed to the gills”—he finally resurfaced with two cans of sliced peaches—“but I’m afraid we’re on prison rations around here.”
I tried to ignore his use of the word “prison.” “Who’s Charlotte?” I asked.
“Oh, that’s right,” he replied as he set the cans down on the counter. “I forgot she makes you kids call her Director Verity.”
“So you know her,” I said slowly. She’d already mentioned that he did, but it seemed like a good idea to keep him talking.
“Know her?” he replied as he produced a grimy can opener. “Why, I taught Charlotte Verity everything she knows.” He cranked open both cans, then raised one to his lips and expertly slurped out a peach. After wiping off his mouth, he offered me the other can. “I trust th
at you like peaches?”
I still wasn’t hungry, but I didn’t want to upset him. “Who doesn’t like peaches?” I asked. Munch must have been rubbing off on me.
Archimedes didn’t answer, just slid the can across the counter. I caught it at the last second, slopping a spoonful of peach juice over the side of the can. He didn’t seem to care.
“They’re only store-bought,” he went on as he took another slurp. After wiping off his mouth again, he smiled, revealing a row of crooked teeth. “I’ve been running low on supplies.”
There was the leer I’d been waiting for. We must have been getting closer to the murdering part. If I wanted to keep breathing, I needed him to keep talking.
“Do you only eat canned food?” I asked.
He nodded. “Except for Vienna sausage. I don’t eat those slimy little turds. Clearly, the Viennese have never had bratwurst before.”
I nearly choked on a bite of peach. If this dude hadn’t kidnapped and possibly killed Toby, we might have been best friends.
Archimedes set his can down. “Well, then, let’s have a look.”
“A look at what?” I asked. Did he want to inspect my teeth before he actually killed me?
He motioned toward my sketchbook. “Didn’t you say that you’d solved it?”
“Oh, right,” I said, blushing. It was like I’d forgotten why I’d come in the first place. I found a relatively clean spot on the counter to lean my sketchbook against, then fumbled through the pages. But my hands were shaking so badly that I couldn’t get a decent grip.
Archimedes squinted at me. “What’s the matter, kid? You’re not gonna faint, are you?”
I opened my mouth to answer, but no sound came out.
He massaged the back of his neck. “Please don’t tell me you lied. I would have shared my peaches even if you hadn’t solved it.”
“No, that’s not it,” I replied, grabbing hold of the counter to steady myself. “I guess I’m just wondering what will happen next. Are you gonna kill me straight out, or will you torture me first? And if I say, ‘No, don’t kill me, I’ve got a lot to live for,’ will that make any difference?”
Archimedes shook his head. “Let’s take this one step at a time.” He motioned toward the chair behind me. “Why don’t you have a seat?”
I couldn’t tell if this was an order or a casual suggestion, but I sat down, anyway. When my hands started to shake, I squeezed my sketchbook tighter. I might have been dueling with the devil, but I wasn’t about to let him see my fear.
“I guess we should start with the easy ones,” I said as I flipped open my sketchbook. “Graham is Minotaur, Marshane is Manticore, and Ravi is Griffin. Also, Mr. Sharp and Mr. Pearson are Cyclops and Chimera, and Ms. Gutierrez and Director Verity are Hydra and Gorgon. I know these answers don’t match up with every detail from your note—the last time I checked, Ravi’s head was definitely not stuck in the clouds—but maybe you wanted to force me to use each and every clue?”
He half nodded, half shrugged.
I decided to keep going. “That leaves Federico as Satyr, Whistler as Siren, Oliver as Centaur, Keith as Phoenix, Munch as Unicorn, and Brooklyn as Harpy. That makes me”—I gulped—“Pegasus.” Then I set my sketchbook down and looked him straight in the eyes. If I was about to meet my doom, I wanted to see it coming. “And that makes you Sphinx.”
I tensed myself for his attack, but he just finished off his peaches and let out a healthy burp.
“Fifty percent,” was all he said.
“What do you mean, ‘fifty percent’?”
“Out of Sphinx and Pegasus,” he said. “I don’t remember who the other monsters were, but they weren’t important, anyway. Now, that might be an F when you’re twelve or thirteen, but it’s a solid C at the postsecondary level.” He added his empty can to the heap of trash in the corner. “Excellent job.”
“Wait a second,” I replied, planting both hands on the table. “Are you saying I got it wrong?”
“On the contrary,” he said, “I’m saying you got it right. Most of it, anyway.”
Hope leaped in my chest. “So I’m not Pegasus?” I asked.
“Oh, no, you’re Pegasus,” he said as he whipped out a pocket knife, a sleek-looking black thing. I braced myself again for his attack, but instead of unsheathing the blade, he used one of the attachments to dig the gunk out from under his nails. “I’m just not Sphinx.”
My eyes bulged. “You’re not?”
“No,” a familiar voice said, “I am.”
CHAPTER 24
I whirled around, knocking the blueprints off the table. They floated to the floor as Angeline emerged out of the shadows. Her hands were on her hips, and she was grinning gleefully.
“I knew you’d do it!” she said. “I knew it would be you!”
I leaped out of my seat. “What are you doing here?” I asked. “I thought you were freaking dead.”
She’d been coming toward me with outstretched arms, but this announcement made her stop. “Why did you think I was dead?”
“Because you vanished,” I replied. “I got that creepy note, and then you were nowhere to be found.”
Angeline blinked. “Well, I had to disappear,” she said. “How could I have planted clues if I’d been tied down by workshops?”
“Then why didn’t you take your stuff—and why did you come back to get it?” I backed up against the wall. I’d never believed in ghosts, but then, I’d never believed in math camps, either. “Angeline, I thought you were dead.”
She frowned. “I wanted you to take it seriously, but maybe not that seriously …”
Archimedes cleared his throat.
“What do you think?” she asked, flinching.
He aimed his can opener at her. “I think it’s time to come clean.”
She flopped down into the chair that I’d just launched myself out of. “Oh, all right,” she said.
I didn’t sit back down, just eyed Angeline warily. If she really was Sphinx, then was she going to kill me? I could probably take her in a fair fight, but Archimedes was a wild card. That belt buckle looked like it could do some serious damage.
I was about to cut my losses and just make a break for it when I remembered Toby. Angeline might have turned up (and as the killer, no less), but he could still be out there somewhere, rotting in her secret lair. I didn’t have a chance to ask her if she knew where Toby was before she launched into a monologue.
“Everything started,” she said grandly, “with Mom’s First Stupid Problem. Only a few kids even try it, but Mom keeps putting it out there.”
At least that caught my attention. “Wait a second,” I replied. “Director Verity is your mom?”
Angeline nodded. “And Archimedes is my grandpa, but that’s beside the point.”
The wheels in my head started churning. “So she wasn’t lying,” I mumbled. Angeline had gone home with her grandpa, even if that home wasn’t very far.
“Who, my mom?” Angeline asked. “Yeah, she’s honest to a fault—which is why we didn’t include her in this little game of ours.”
I ran my hands through my snarled hair. “Your little game,” I mumbled. “This whole thing was just a game.”
For the first time in several days, I let myself sit back, relax, and think about my life before. Before I’d wound up at a math camp. Before I’d found that creepy note. Before I’d been tricked into thinking that some crazy killer was picking us off one by one. It was like I’d been dipped in plaster and set on a shelf to harden, but now the truth had set me free.
The whole thing was just a game.
Angeline wasn’t dead.
Toby had never been kidnapped.
“But his voicemail,” I peeped. “He said that I couldn’t call home.”
“Whose voicemail?” Angeline asked.
“Toby’s voicemail!” I replied. “He disappeared the day after you did. They said he went into town, but then he never came back. Then his truck disappeared, and then he
left me this voicemail that made it sound like he’d been captured.”
She held her hand out. “Give it to me.”
“Why do you want it?” I replied.
“So I can fix the stupid thing!”
I hesitated for a moment, then, finally, gave my phone to her. She tapped a bunch of buttons, pressed the phone against her ear, and listened carefully. Then, after taking out the battery and snapping it back in, she returned the phone to me.
“You should password-protect your in-box, but the voicemail’s less garbled now.”
Tentatively, I raised it to my ear. “Esther, I got your message. Your mom drove up to get me, and then we came back for the truck. You don’t need to worry about Westinghouse’s Resting Place. Concentrate on those classes, and don’t call home again. You need to enjoy yourself.”
I felt my cheeks get hot, but before I could come up with a suitable response, Angeline said, “See? Everything’s fine.”
At least that got my goat. “Everything’s fine?” I fired back. “Was everything fine when Munch almost fell off a balcony? And was everything fine when I thought your grandpa was gonna shoot me in the back?”
Angeline flinched again. “I’m sorry. I really am. I guess I didn’t think you guys would take everything so seriously.”
But that wasn’t good enough. “Why’d you do it?” I demanded.
“I already told you!” she replied. “You solved the First Problem in less than twenty-four hours! Do you have any idea how rare that is? When I told Archimedes how you solved it, he thought we should figure out what else your brain could do.”
The aforementioned Archimedes, who’d been stirring spoonfuls of creamed corn into a can of stewed tomatoes, looked up from his colorful concoction. “Leave me out of this,” he grumbled. “It was your idea, not mine.”
“Maybe,” she admitted. “But you were the one who got me started on logic puzzles in the first place.” She set her sights on me. “I’ve been totally obsessed ever since Archimedes lent me his copy of The Game of Logic. It’s written by the guy who wrote Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, but it’s way more interesting.”
The Multiplying Mysteries of Mount Ten Page 16