Murder House

by Franklin W. Dixon

  “Hey, I see a pair of stilts. Over in the empty pool. We can use them to reach at least some of the higher windows. I’ve totally got the bucket and whatever else is up there,” I told Olivia. “Or you can keep climbing and I’ll go for the stilts.”

  It would look totally suspicious if she thought we should stick together now. Another team could get the stilts—and a big advantage. I knew she wanted our team to lose. But she didn’t know I knew, and she didn’t want me to know. Got it?

  “I’ll go,” Olivia said. And she started climbing down. A lot more slowly than she’d gone up. I liked the new sabotage method. Slowness. No pain involved for Mr. Joe.

  I scrambled up the next couple of branches. They trembled under my feet, but without any assistance from Olivia, they stayed steady enough to stand on. I grabbed the pail and did a sponge check. None. Knew she was lying.

  As I started down the tree, I did a check of the area below me. Olivia hadn’t made it to the stilts, but George was already bouncing on the trampoline, trying to get high enough to reach the second-floor windows. James was using a big palm frond to scrape gook off one of the bottom windows on the first floor. For two guys who hated each other, they were a decent team.

  George came down on the tramp, and I noticed it sagging. Sagging way more than it should have with just one person on it. “George!” I shouted as loudly as I could. “Get off the trampoline. There’s something wrong.”

  He didn’t hear me.

  I moved from branch to branch faster. I took time for another fast look at George. Couldn’t he feel that something was wrong with the trampoline? I leaped the last five feet down and hit the ground at a run.

  “George!” I yelled. “Get off of that!”

  “We’ve got him worried!” James called up to George.

  George grinned, did a one and three-quarter somersault, landed on his back, then let the bounce take him to his feet. The bottom of the trampoline had almost touched the ground on the last bounce.

  “Show-off!” Georgina yelled.

  George grinned wider and started to do the move again. A somersault. A three-quarter. But when he landed on his back, he didn’t bounce. The trampoline didn’t hold his weight, and he fell straight to the ground.

  And lay still.

  Another One Down

  Ann grabbed her charm in both hands. So hard I could hear some of the twigs it was made of snapping. “It’s the demon curse!” she cried.

  “Come on, Ann. It was an accident,” I told her. Honestly, I wasn’t sure about the accident part. But I was sure a demon wasn’t involved.

  I rushed over to where James was lying. Ripley was crouched beside him, most of the rest of the group gathered in a loose circle around them. Georgina had her fingers pressed to her lips as she stared down at her brother. His face was pale, his eyes only half open.

  “George, can you hear me?” Ripley asked.

  “Yeah,” George croaked out.

  “Don’t try to sit up,” she ordered. “Can you move your fingers and toes?”

  She’d clearly had some training. She was launching into the check for a spinal injury.

  I watched George closely. He was able to move his toes and fingers as soon as Ripley asked him to. Good.

  Then a not-so-good thought struck me. Ripley had been the first one to come to the rescue. The same way she had when Bobby T had his allergic reaction and when the dog attacked Joe. Was she just trying to make herself look like a hero on the show? If she got some good PR, her parents would keep supplying her with cash and clothes and, I don’t know, whatever girls want.

  Ripley didn’t plan the allergic reaction or the dog attack, I reminded myself. Mitch had been behind both of those. But if Ripley felt like she needed even more good PR, would she create the situations that would let her get it?

  I ran my eyes over the trampoline. The thing looked brand-new. Which made sense. Deprivation House should spring for new equipment, even though they were trying to make us live with as little as possible. It was a safety issue.

  So why hadn’t the trampoline held George’s weight? A ten-foot tramp like that one should easily handle someone his weight. I had another not-so-good thought. A thought I’d been having too often lately: sabotage.

  SUSPECT PROFILE

  Name: Ripley Lansing

  Hometown: Malibu, California

  Physical description: 5’10”, 140 lbs., straight brown hair, blue eyes.

  Occupation: High school student/heiress

  Background: Only daughter of rock star dad and cosmetics company CEO/owner mom. One older brother, one younger. The wild kid of the three.

  Suspicious behavior: Often the first one to reach an injured person, winds up being the “hero.”

  Suspected of: Sabotaging contestants so she can save them.

  Possible motive: Needs to improve her bad-girl public image or she’ll be financially cut off until she’s thirty.

  But had Ripley had time for sabotage? Had she managed to find out ahead of time what the challenge was going to be—or at least that the trampoline was going to be involved—and loosen the springs or distress the canvas in some key places?

  Or could she have found the trampoline first, done some fast damage, and left it for someone else to find and hurt themselves so she could come to the rescue?

  “Ripley, out of the way, please. Let the medic take over,” Veronica called as she strode toward us.

  “I’ve got it,” Ripley answered.

  “Yes, I’m sure a high school girl who spends more time at movie premieres and concerts has the equivalent of a medical degree,” Veronica shot back. “Move, please.”

  Ripley stood up and backed away.

  “Is he going to be okay?” Georgina asked.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Ann muttered. “It’s the curse. Bad things are going to keep happening until we’re all dead.” She stroked the charm.

  Is it impolite to say that I liked her a lot more when she wasn’t talking? At least she wasn’t one of the rich kids. I didn’t have to try and make it look like I was sabotaging her to keep Olivia and Gail off my back. Even if I did something really mild, it could send Ann over the edge. She was so freaked already.

  The medic carefully checked George out. “He looks good,” she told Veronica. “Maybe a little aspirin. Some ice for any sore spots.”

  “So I can stand up?” George asked. He didn’t wait for an answer. Just shoved himself to his feet with a grimace.

  “That’s all for today, everyone,” Veronica announced. “This competition is canceled.”

  “Unfair,” James told her. “George and I were clearly going to win.”

  There were all kinds of “untrue’s” from pretty much everyone in response.

  “The competition had just gotten started,” Olivia protested. “Just because you were slightly ahead—”

  “Slightly! Did you say slightly?” James interrupted.

  “Why can’t we—” Gail began.

  “This is not up for debate,” Veronica told us. “The competition is over. We will have a new competition tomorrow.”

  “Can’t we just start right where we were tomorrow? With a new trampoline?” George asked. “I’ll be fine.”

  “Everything is not all about you, George,” said Veronica. “Although after reading your father’s letter, I’m not surprised you think it is. The element of surprise was key to this competition. We can’t regain that. There will be a new competition tomorrow. I have nothing more to say.” She turned and walked inside the mansion.

  As soon as she was gone, George faced off with James. “This wasn’t enough for you?” he asked, touching the bruise on his jaw.

  “What are you talking about?” James demanded.

  “There is no way that trampoline wasn’t messed with,” said George. He started to crouch down to inspect it, but his sister got there first.

  “Definitely messed with,” Georgina announced. “The canvas is cut away from the springs. About every
other one.” She walked over to her brother and stood close to him. “You know what? I’m starting to think there are people here who aren’t happy they got handed some new competition this late in the show. First I get a bike with death brakes. Then you get the killer trampoline.”

  Good theory. Except how could anyone know that George was going to end up on the trampoline? I didn’t say anything. It seemed like one of those situations where listening was the best strategy.

  “I’m satisfied with the spanking I gave you last night,” James told George. “If you think I care more about handing down a little more punishment to some rich kid than winning a million dollars, you’re insane. I would never betray a teammate. Never.”

  You know what? I believed him. James is competitive to the nth degree. I couldn’t see him doing anything to hurt his chances of winning, no matter how much he hated somebody.

  “He couldn’t have known that George would end up with the trampoline, anyway,” Hal put in. “And James couldn’t have sabotaged it once George had brought it over to the mansion to start on the windows. George would have seen him.”

  “Thank you, Hal,” said James.

  “Not taking sides,” Hal muttered, eyes on the ground. “Just being logical.”

  His logic matched mine.

  “So somebody sabotaged the trampoline without caring who would end up being the victim,” Olivia said. The girl was all about strategy. She was good at putting herself in the mind of the perp. Because she was the perp? And trying to work some fake-out on the rest of us by bringing it up?

  “It’s the demon!” Ann burst out.

  “The cuts are pretty neat,” Ripley observed. “They don’t look like they were made with huge, hideous claws.”

  “You people have to stop mocking! Is somebody going to have to die before you stop?” Ann cried. She dashed into the house.

  “Maybe freak girl snapped and did it herself,” James said.

  “She’s not a freak,” Brynn told him.

  James raised one eyebrow. “What would you call her?”

  Brynn hesitated, then shrugged. “What I’m saying is, everybody’s afraid of something.”

  “You know what I’m afraid of?” Ripley asked. We all looked at her, waiting. “I’m afraid of what’s going to happen at tomorrow’s competition.”

  “Good afternoon, and welcome to the replacement competition,” Veronica said to us the next day. She’d had us all gather in the dinning room.

  “What’s with the chef’s hat?” James called.

  Veronica adjusted the tall white hat she was wearing. It was an odd match with her pale blue suit and spike heels. Even I’ve absorbed enough about fashion to know that.

  “If you had better manners, you’d already know,” Veronica told him. “I was about to explain, before you interrupted, that today’s competition involves cooking skills.”

  “Are we still having teams?” Olivia asked.

  Veronica let out a small sigh. “Yes. Perhaps you and James should ask some of your other housemates to review what they learned in charm school. I’m sure some of them were sent,” she answered.

  “Same teams as last time?” George wanted to know.

  “Even if it seems that they learned nothing,” Veronica added. “Yes, same teams. No more interruptions, please. Or I will simply cancel today’s competition as well and choose the next deprivation myself.”

  The room went silent.

  Veronica smiled. “Today you will be making pies. And, as a special treat, you will be able to eat the pie you make. I know many of you have missed your desserts.”

  Nobody spoke. I think everybody was still afraid Veronica would take over choosing the deprivation. She chose a lot of them anyway. We didn’t only get stuff taken away after a competition. But with a competition, there was a chance you’d win and get to pick something to lose that you didn’t care about too much.

  “You’ll find everything you need—or at least everything you may use—out on the back lawn,” Veronica concluded. “Go!”

  We went, racing through the house and out the back doors onto the sloping lawn. There were six tables with pie-making ingredients laid out on them.

  “Is there strawberry? I would kill for a strawberry pie!” Ripley exclaimed. “Not really, you guys! You know what I mean.”

  I didn’t care about flavor. I just wanted to get started. I dashed to the closest empty table. Apple. “This okay?” I asked Ann.

  “I don’t care.” She’d added a second charm. Her face was pale, and there were dark smudges around her eyes.

  “George, you know I love peach. Come on! Chose another table,” I heard Georgina cry.

  “Fine, fine. I’m not getting between you and your stomach,” her brother answered. “Then I would end up dead.”

  “Why is everyone joking about it?” Ann’s voice cracked as she asked the question.

  “Because they’re scared too,” I told her. “It’s a different way of dealing. You want to find the recipe for apple pie in there?” I nodded toward the cookbook. Then I realized there were no measuring cups, no mixing bowls, nothing to stir with, no baking pans.

  “What are we—? Are we supposed to use our hands or what?” Olivia called out.

  “Finally, an intelligent question.” Veronica had followed us out to the lawn at a slower pace. “I’m sure you’re all familiar with the green movement. Around the corner, in the formal garden, you’ll find a variety of materials that, if recycled creatively, should provide you everything you need.”

  “Can we use the ovens in the house?” asked Georgina. I hadn’t even thought about ovens.

  “No,” Veronica answered. Just no. With one of her Veronica smiles.

  “Guess we’ll have to build a fire,” I told Ann. “I can deal with that. I was a Boy Scout.” And a current ATAC agent with wilderness survival training. “But first we should grab supplies before all the good stuff is gone.” I followed the group running for the garden.

  “It looks like they moved a whole garbage dump over here,” Brynn commented, staring at the mound of . . . who even knew what. Whatever it was didn’t stink, so at least it was clean garbage.

  Olivia started climbing straight up the heap. “I’ll find stuff. You stand guard over the pile we make,” she called to Joe. “We can definitely use this!” She picked up a glass goldfish bowl and hurled it at Joe. If it had hit him in the head . . . But he caught it.

  I realized I was just standing there, keeping an eye on little brother. He could take care of himself. And Frank Dooley wouldn’t be worrying about Joe Carr. Frank Dooley would be worrying about winning.

  So I began circling the pile. I didn’t think climbing on it was the best strategy. I figured it would be best to spot useful stuff from the ground. I did an Ann check. She had an iron poker in one hand. Okay, might be good for stirring if we were desperate. Could help with the fire. She was all right. I hadn’t been sure she was going to be able to keep it together, for the competition or anything else. But she seemed all right.

  I gathered up a couple of Frisbees and some foil. Combining them might make pie pans. They’d be better as pizza pans, but hey. I grabbed a plastic doll head that looked like it would hold just about eight ounces. So there was our measuring cup. I took a wooden bird, a wooden bat, and a wooden chair. That would be more than enough for fuel.

  “I’m making a trip back to the table,” Ann said. “I’ve got as much as I can carry.”

  “Looks like you found a bowl-like object.” She had a plastic football helmet under one arm. “Want to take my measuring cup and start mixing? I want to find a couple more things, then I think we’re good.”

  “Sure,” Ann answered. I tossed her the doll head, and she actually almost smiled. I turned my attention back to the garbage heap.

  “I call that ceiling fan,” shouted James.

  “You can’t call. There’s no calling!” Ripley shouted back. She was closer to the fan and grabbed it.

  “Okay, keep
it. I call that wagon wheel.” Ripley got there first too. She staggered under the wheel’s weight as she hauled it out from under a Styrofoam reindeer.

  James laughed as she started rolling it back toward the tables.

  “You didn’t want that, did you?” George asked.

  “Nope,” James answered. “Didn’t want the fan, either.”

  “My partner,” said George admiringly. They slapped a high five.

  “See, I am a good guy to—”

  He was interrupted by a shrill scream of agony.

  Targeted

  A girl screamed again. The sound sent a bolt of electricity through my body. I half scrambled, half slid down the pile of junk and raced toward the tables. That was the direction the scream had come from.

  I rounded the corner of the mansion, Frank and a couple of the others right behind me. Immediately, I saw Georgina sitting on the ground with both hands pressed over her mouth. She rocked back and forth in pain.

  “Milk!” Ripley yelled from her spot at Georgina’s side. “Somebody go get her some milk! She’s been poisoned. We need to dilute it.”

  “I’ll get it.” Brynn started for the house at a run.

  “Wait,” cried Gail. “Different kinds of poisons need different treatments. We could end up hurting her. Just wait. The medic is going to be here in a second.”

  “What happened?” I cried, skidding to a stop in front of them.

  “The demon!” Ann shouted. She stood at her own table, not taking a step closer to the rest of us. “The demon did this.”

  “Georgina ate a piece of peach from her table and it burned her tongue,” Ripley answered. “Show them.”

  Georgina lowered her hands. She let out a whine as she opened her mouth. Think of the worst burn you’ve ever gotten from eating pizza when you’re too hungry to let it cool enough. One of those hot, oily cheese burns that takes off a layer of skin. Then triple that.

  Even standing several feet away from her, I could see that Georgina’s tongue looked like raw meat. Oozy and puffy.