Murder House

by Franklin W. Dixon

  People appeared from all directions. The stairs. The kitchen. The dining room. The front door.

  “What happened?” Olivia cried.

  “I don’t know. All I know is she’s lost a lot of blood and she needs help—now!” I answered.

  “Veronica’s on her way down. I’m calling an ambulance. We’re tracking down the medic,” a PA wearing a headset told us. “Where exactly is Georgina?”

  “She’s in the orchard. Back in the northeast corner. Frank’s with her,” I answered.

  “Stabbed? As in stabbed?” asked James.

  “As in clawed with demon claws.” Ann clutched her charm, snapping more of the twigs.

  Veronica strode into the large entryway. “Where’s George?” she demanded.

  I looked around. I hadn’t even taken in the fact that he wasn’t with the others. Get in ATAC mode, I told myself. I locked down everything I was feeling about what I’d just seen. I needed to be on full alert. Cool and logical and ready for whatever went down.

  “I think he’s in the shower,” Hal said.

  “I want him out and down here,” Veronica ordered the PA, who began talking rapidly into her headset.

  Brynn sat down on the floor. She pulled her long robe tighter around her, like she was freezing.

  “I want to drop out,” Gail blurted. “I want to go home. I want to go home now.”

  “Fine.” Veronica nodded at the PA.

  “You should all go,” Gail told us, voice trembling. “It isn’t safe here. You all know it. If you stay, you’re all going to die! No amount of money is worth that.”

  “I’m not dying. I might kill somebody myself, but I’m not dying,” James declared. He hitched up the cut-off sweats he slept in.

  “I’m staying,” Ripley said. “I’ve gotten this far.”

  “I’m certainly not leaving.” Olivia crossed her arms over her chest.

  Hal shifted from foot to foot. “I disagree that we’re in danger. George is the one who—”

  “Noooo!” The howl carried all the way from the second floor to the entryway. Footsteps pounded toward us, and George appeared at the top of the stairs, two PAs behind him.

  He scrambled down the stairs. Barefoot. Shirtless. Dripping water. “Where is she? I want to see Georgina!” he shouted.

  “Georgina is or will shortly be on her way to the hospital,” Veronica told him. “And you will shortly be on your way to the police station.”

  “Is she okay? Is she going to be okay?” George demanded. He lunged toward Veronica, and the PAs grabbed him and jerked him back. “I want to go to the hospital with her. She’d want me to.”

  “I don’t think having her attempted killer at her bedside would help your sister in her fight for her life,” Veronica told him.

  “You think I did it?” It was like it had never occurred to him. Even though Veronica had already pretty much told him the cops were coming for him.

  “Ask Georgina. She’ll tell you. I’d never hurt her!” George ran his hands through his wet hair.

  “You tried to poison her yesterday, dude!” James exploded.

  “I wasn’t trying to kill her!” George shouted. “Just ask Georgina. Or let me talk to her.”

  “Georgina has lost a great deal of blood,” Veronica told him. “She’s in critical condition. She isn’t able to speak to anyone.”

  “Critical condition? Like she could die?” asked George, all the color draining out of his face.

  “You stabbed her. What do you think?” James shot back.

  George’s shoulders started to shake. It took me a second to realize he was crying. Sobbing. “I would never do anything to hurt Georgina,” he choked out.

  “You should have seen George’s face,” I told Frank late that night. It was the first time we’d gotten the chance to talk by ourselves. By the way, I had to sit on the edge of the tub this time. “He’d completely lost it. Crying so hard he could hardly even breathe. The police could barely get him out to the cruiser.”

  “Man.” Frank shook his head.

  “I’m not sure he did it,” I said.

  “I’m not either,” said Frank

  “Not just because of the crying . . . ,” I began.

  “Lots of guilty people cry,” Frank agreed. “But there are still all these pieces that don’t fit. I’d really like to know for sure whether the producers are behind the drawing, and the warning on the wall, and note and the bear, for one thing. It couldn’t be George. He didn’t have the opportunity to place the note on the cereal bowl.”

  “Right,” I said. “Which means if it’s not the producers, the person who almost killed Georgina is still in the house.”

  “Let’s go through the list again. Who’ve we got?” Frank asked.

  Before we could start reviewing the suspects, someone screamed.

  Frank was on his feet instantly. “That sounded like Brynn!”

  “Maybe a nightmare,” I said as we dashed toward her room. “She was having one the other night.”

  It wasn’t a nightmare. I knew that the instant I saw Brynn’s face.

  Four deep claw marks cut across her right cheek. Dripping blood.

  Killer Pool

  “Who did it?” I burst out.

  Brynn shook her head. “I don’t know. I was asleep. Then I felt this ripping across my cheek.”

  “You didn’t see anything?” Joe asked. “Or maybe hear or even smell something?”

  Brynn lightly touched the scratches, then winced. “Nothing. I just . . . nothing.”

  “I didn’t see anything either,” said Olivia. She was the only roommate Brynn had left, with Georgina in the hospital.

  I couldn’t stop staring at Brynn’s face. How had this happened? How had I let it happen? Joe and I were here to keep the other contestants safe. Now Georgina was in the hospital and somebody had gone after Brynn.

  It shouldn’t have mattered that it was Brynn. I should have felt the same way if it was anyone who was supposed to be under my protection. I should have felt that way if it was James curled up on his bed, trembling, with bloody scratches on his face.

  Anyway, just standing there, looking at her, feeling completely useless, was making me insane. I wanted to do something. Take some kind of action.

  I hurried into the bathroom and wet a washcloth with warm water, then rushed back to Brynn’s side. I used the cloth to wipe the blood off her cheek.

  “Aww, so sweet,” James said. Yeah, James was there. By the time I returned with the cloth, everybody in the group was there. No one could have slept through that terrible scream of Brynn’s.

  “The demon. It’s getting stronger,” said Ann, eyes dark and solemn. For once, she wasn’t shouting. And it made her words seem less crazy and more frightening.

  “Do you think there could actually be a demon?” Ripley asked. “Or maybe the house is haunted by Katrina Decter. She died here. Just two rooms over. Maybe we should ask Veronica to have somebody come in and, I don’t know, do a psychic scrub-down of the place.”

  “Like an exorcism?” Hal asked.

  “Yeah,” Ripley answered. “That might help, right, Ann?”

  “What do you think?” asked James. With no sarcasm. It seemed like pretty much everybody was willing to at least consider Ann’s demon theory now.

  I noticed Brynn’s hands had blood on them too. I took one of them in mine, then used the washcloth to clean her fingers. For a second, I was hit by the fact that I was pretty much holding hands with a girl—a girl I liked—in front of a roomful of people. And I wasn’t blushing or anything.

  Maybe fear overrides embarrassment. And I was afraid, I admit it. Not of demons or ghosts. But just of the possibility that Brynn—or one of the others—could die. And that I might not be smart enough or fast enough to stop it.

  “Exorcisms don’t always work,” Ann told the group. “This demon is strong. You finally all see that.”

  This wasn’t good. Things were bad enough at Deprivation House without the
whole group getting as demon crazy as Ann. “You know what I see?” I asked loudly. Nobody asked, “What?” but I told them anyway. “I see blood under Brynn’s fingernails.” I held her hand up so everyone could see. “I’m sure there’s tissue under there too.”

  “You must have really fought back hard,” Hal said. He was good at making connections. I could see him with ATAC. Unless he was the one who’d been trying to kill people. ATAC has a problem with hiring murderers.

  “That’s my point,” I explained. “Brynn probably left her attacker with a couple of claw marks of her own. That’s where the blood and tissue under her nails came from. It’s ordinary blood and tissue from another human. Not some supernatural creature.”

  “You don’t know what forms demons can take,” Ann told me. “You don’t have any reason to think it couldn’t look like an ordinary human.”

  “I saw one of the old movies Nina’s father directed once. The demons did all look like ordinary humans. Well, really hot ordinary humans,” said Ripley.

  “I didn’t know he directed horror movies. Maybe that’s where he came up with the idea to tell Nina her mom was possessed by a demon in the first place,” Joe suggested.

  “Or maybe it’s because it was true!” Ann shot back. “How much more proof do you want?” She flung her hand out at Brynn. “Look at her.”

  “But like Frank said, we have to consider that whoever attacked Brynn left ordinary blood behind,” Hal commented.

  I glanced around the room. All our suspects were there, with the exception of Veronica. If one of them had attacked Brynn, they would be showing some marks too. The thing was, heat was one of our deprivations, and it got cold at night. That meant we all slept with a lot of clothes on. Everyone was wearing long pajama pants or sweats or long johns, with sweaters or sweatshirts or something else with sleeves on top. A few people—Olivia, Ann, and Hal—were even wearing gloves.

  Anybody could have some wounds from Brynn’s nails. Which one of them did? I had no way of knowing.

  “Are you looking at me for some reason?” Joe demanded, glaring at James.

  “What’s your damage?” James asked.

  “I saw you look at me when my brother over there was talking about how Brynn must have left some marks on her attacker.” Joe took a step closer to James. “You think I did it?”

  “I think you’d do anything to win. And you know a lot about how sabotage is done. I noticed that when we teamed up,” I said to Joe. I thought I knew where he was going with this. And I liked it.

  “Of course you’d side with him,” Joe yelled at me. “You’re completely prejudiced against rich people. Something bad happens, and you assume it’s one of us.”

  “What? You think rich people are special?” Olivia demanded. “You think nobody rich would ever cheat? Or hurt somebody?”

  “I know you need money a lot more than I do, Olivia,” Joe shot back. “You too, James. If somebody’s trying to take Brynn out of the running, I think it’s a lot more likely that it’s one of you.”

  “I don’t need to take anybody out of the running,” shouted James.

  “Yeah? Brynn won the dirt bike race,” Joe told him.

  James yanked off his sweatshirt. He pulled his sweatpants up above his knees. Then he turned in a slow circle, arms stretched wide. “Anybody see any blood?” he demanded. “Anybody see any scratches from Brynn’s fingernails?”

  Joe had done it. He’d goaded James into showing the skin I needed to see to eliminate him. He didn’t have any wounds. He couldn’t have been the person who attacked Brynn.

  “Your turn,” James told Joe.

  “Fine.” Joe pulled off his sweatshirt and shoved his pajama pants up.

  “It’s not him,” said Hal.

  “Well, it’s not me,” I answered. I did my own strip show.

  “I want to see everybody,” James declared. Hal sighed and started unbuttoning his pajama top.

  “I’m not showing you anything,” Ripley said.

  “The girls will go into the bathroom and check each other,” Olivia stated. She looked over at Ripley. “Unless there’s some reason you don’t want to clear yourself.”

  “Fine.” Ripley headed for the bathroom, followed by Olivia and Ann. I trusted them to come back with an accurate report. One good thing about all the suspicion and tension and rich-poor garbage in the group: With all the girls in the bathroom, they’d never be able to agree on some kind of cover-up.

  “I’m voting for the crazy chick,” James said after Hal had proved he had no scratches or blood on him.

  “What about Ripley?” Hal asked. “Maybe she wanted another chance to give first aid. Maybe she’s been hurting everyone for PR.”

  “I could see Ripley doing it too,” James agreed. “And Olivia would probably eat her own foot to win.”

  “How would that possibly help?” Hal replied.

  James ignored him. “What about you?” he asked me. “Who do you want in the Killer Pool?”

  I glanced over at Brynn. She had her arms wrapped tight around her knees. Like she was afraid somebody was going to assault her again. “Let’s just wait and see, okay?” I answered James. Brynn didn’t need to listen to us turning what happened to her into a game.

  I turned toward the door. Was the case going to be closed when the girls came back in? I could actually come up with a scenario where Ripley or Olivia attacked Brynn. They both had motives. Ripley, the good PR she’d get for coming to Brynn’s aid. Olivia might have decided to take out some of the non-alliance competition.

  As for Ann . . . I didn’t have a motive that made sense for her. But she’d been almost hysterical for days. What was going on with her? She’d been so quiet in the beginning that Joe and I hadn’t been able to get very much information out of her.

  I heard footsteps in the hall. Was this it? Were we about to have absolute proof of the attacker’s identity?

  The door swung open. Olivia was the first one through. “We’re all clean,” she announced.

  “I’m getting Veronica down here,” I said.

  “Oooh. He’s calling the principal,” James called.

  Actually, I was calling the only suspect who hadn’t been checked for wounds.

  “Why drag her into it?” asked Olivia. “What if she decides to shut the show down?”

  “Maybe she should,” I answered. I didn’t care if that happened—as long as Joe and I found the perp first. I didn’t want anyone leaving the house until we had the case locked.

  I hurried out to the intercom in the hall—and saw Veronica striding toward me. Clearly, she’d been alerted by a PA—or had been watching the camera footage live.

  “Did you get who attacked Brynn on film?” I asked.

  “We didn’t start the cameras until the scream alerted us that something of interest was happening,” Veronica replied.

  Of interest. She had to be made of ice.

  If she was the one who had attacked Brynn, it was very convenient that there was nothing on film. That was one advantage Veronica had that none of the other suspects did. She knew when the cameras were live. She controlled them.

  Veronica walked past me and into Brynn’s room. I rushed after her. She was as perfectly dressed and groomed as always, even this late at night. Her short lavender skirt showed a lot of her legs, but her suit jacket could be hiding the scratches Brynn had given her assailant. How were Joe and I supposed to get it off her?

  An idea slammed into my head. I didn’t know if it would work, but it was worth a try. I turned around and slipped back out of the room as the rest of the group pounded Veronica with questions.

  When I got downstairs to the kitchen, I went straight to the fridge and studied the contents. Grape juice, I decided. I poured a glass, filling it almost to the rim, then I returned to Brynn’s room.

  “I thought maybe you’d want something to drink,” I told Brynn.

  “Isn’t he sweet?” James asked.

  I started toward Brynn, making sure t
hat I took a path that led me past Veronica. Then I “tripped.” A second later, grape juice was splattered all over her.

  Veronica let out a little shriek. “That’s going to stain,” Joe told her. “Give it to me and I’ll run it to one of the PAs. They can do . . . whatever you’re supposed to do to deal with grape juice.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him. “You think you’re very clever, don’t you?” She turned to me. “Both of you.”

  What was that supposed to mean? Did Veronica know our secret? Had she somehow managed to find out that we were ATAC?

  “I know you were checking one another for wounds,” she continued. “Clearly you think I might be the one who assaulted Brynn. Which is ridiculous.” She slid off her jacket. The T-shirt—it probably has another name because it had lace on it—underneath showed her arms and shoulders and throat. No scratches.

  “Happy?” she asked, still looking at me.

  I nodded.

  “I’ll be charging you for the dry cleaning,” she said. “Now, is there anything else?”

  “What are you going to do about the demon?” Ann burst out.

  “What are you going to do about what happened to Brynn?” cried Ripley. “Look what somebody did to her.”

  “Deprivation House is clearly bringing out the worst in one of you. At least one,” Veronica answered. “It certainly affected George, and, of course, we can’t allow the kind of behavior he exhibited.” She gave a small shrug. “But a scratch isn’t the same as a knife in the back. Any of you are welcome to leave now. Otherwise, I suggest you all start sleeping with your eyes open.” She left the room without a backward glance.

  “Hard-core,” Joe muttered.

  “I’m not going to be able to sleep at all,” Brynn said. “I’m going to go to the great room and stare at the place where the TV used to be.”

  “I’ll go with you,” I immediately offered.

  “I’m going to see what’s in the kitchen. Maybe there’s some celery or something,” said Joe. “We haven’t been deprived of vegetables yet, right?”

  The three of us headed out of the room. “You guys want anything? See, I can be polite to the poor,” Joe added to Brynn. I could tell he was setting up an opportunity for us to talk.