Deprivation House

by Franklin W. Dixon

  “I hope dead ones count,” James said. He stomped to the nearest cabinet, crushing dozens of the bugs as he went. He pulled out a frying pan and got to work.

  I though a frying pan was too big. I figured James would lose a lot of the insects when he made the transfer from the pan to the jar. I wanted something smaller. I decided on a large coffee cup and a spatula.

  I positioned the cup under the nearest counter, then started sweeping with the spatula.

  “I need a new jar!” I heard Bobby T yell before my own jar was even half full.

  I picked up my speed. I knew I wasn’t here to win a million bucks. But I needed to look like I had a real chance of winning. I wanted to keep myself on the radar of whoever had made the death threats. That could give me and Joe a lot of info.

  Plus, I don’t really like to lose. Even dumb contests. So I kept my spatula moving. Pretty soon I needed a new jar too.

  It took a while, but eventually the crunching and squishing noises petered down. We had to start chasing after the scurrying little bugs that were left.

  “I think that might be it,” Hal finally said.

  “All I want to do is take a shower,” Olivia announced. “I don’t care if there’s Jell-O in there again.”

  Veronica opened the kitchen door. “It sounds as if you’re finished. Use the showers in the pool cabanas like you did last night. You’re all filthy. While you wash, we’ll be tallying up your totals.”

  I doubted very much that Veronica was getting anywhere near the jars of roaches. But when we all trooped back into the dining room, she had the results ready. “Congratulations, Bobby T. It seems you have a way with cockroaches,” Veronica announced. “You won by more than four hundred of them. Joe, you came in second. And Ripley third.”

  Bobby T got some “all right’s” and “way to go’s” and some applause. James and Olivia didn’t join in.

  “You’ll need to start thinking about what luxury is going to go,” Veronica told him. “You don’t have to let me know today, though.”

  “It’s not going to be the Internet. I’m sure about that,” Bobby T said.

  “How do you feel about junk food?” asked Mikey. “And if you’re not a fan, what can I do to make you change your mind?”

  “Just so you all know, I am accepting bribes,” Bobby T announced loudly.

  I don’t know if he got any actual cash, but Bobby T got a lot of suggestions about luxuries that it would be easy to do without. Everyone had an opinion.

  “I’m going to bed. That’s the only place where I’ll get some peace,” Bobby T finally said to everyone that night. Most of us were still hanging out in the great room.

  “The next one, I’m going to cream you,” James told Bobby T as he left.

  “Good night to you, too,” answered Bobby T over his shoulder.

  Ripley stood up a few minutes later. “I’m going to bed too. I’m wiped out.”

  “It’s exhausting living without staff, isn’t it, princess?” James asked.

  Ripley’s neck muscles tensed. Then she smiled. “Good night to you, too,” she said, using Bobby T’s line.

  I was pretty tired. But I wanted to hear whatever conversation came up. And Joe definitely wasn’t going to be any help in that department. He and Brynn were out on the balcony again. They’d only known each other a couple of days, but they were already really tight.

  At least I don’t have to listen to him whine about how girls always like me more, I thought.

  “Help!” Ripley shouted from somewhere down the hall. “Help! Bobby’s not breathing!”

  Hardy vs. Hardy

  Frank and I got to Ripley and Bobby first. Just in time to see Ripley plunge a needle into Bobby’s thigh.

  “Wait ten seconds before you take it out,” I coached her.

  Ripley nodded. “I had to do this to my little cousin once. She’s allergic to bee stings.”

  “I’ll call 911,” Frank said. “Let’s all back up and give Bobby some room,” he told the others. They’d all followed us into the bedroom.

  Bobby drew in a ragged breath. Ripley pulled out the needle. She checked the side of the EpiPen. “I can see the plunger. That means he got a dose of the epinephrine.”

  “I’m ’kay,” Bobby wheezed. “She got . . . in time.” He began massaging the injection site.

  “Don’t try to talk right now,” I told him.

  “He didn’t actually stop breathing,” Ripley explained. “I was heading to my room, and I heard this thump, and I ran in and he was on the floor by his bed, and I panicked. I thought he wasn’t breathing, but it was just hard for him.”

  “He would have stopped if you hadn’t acted so fast,” I said. “You were awesome.”

  “Definitely puttin’ you in blog,” Bobby T gasped.

  “Shhh,” Ripley said.

  When the EMTs rushed into the room, I thought I recognized a couple of them from the night before. It was good to see them do their stuff on someone who was going to make it.

  “See you soon, Bobby,” I called as they rolled him out of the room on a gurney. Face uncovered.

  “That was intense.” Wilson dropped down on the floor. Olivia sat next to him and whispered something in his ear. Was he making progress in the girlfriend area? Or was something else going on? I’d have to bring it up with Frank.

  “So do you still think the threats are elementary-school stuff?” Mikey asked James.

  “What?” James raised his eyebrows.

  “What do you mean what?” Mikey replied. “Bobby T won the contest today. He was ahead yesterday before . . . you know. He was starting to look like a front-runner to win this thing. Then he almost stops breathing. You think that’s a coincidence?”

  “He has an allergy,” said Ripley. “That’s why he carries the EpiPen. Because there’s always the possibility something like this could happen.”

  Mitch appeared in the doorway. “Hey, I wanted to see if you’re all okay.”

  “Pretty much,” I answered.

  “Thanks for the fashion advice this morning,” Kit added. She clearly didn’t want to get too specific on-camera. Which was smart. Veronica would probably fire Mitch for giving us a heads-up on the roach competition.

  “Any time,” said Mitch. “There’s the stuff for ice cream sundaes downstairs.” He winked. “Junk food is still available—for now—and I figured you guys would be too wound up to sleep for a while.”

  “Want to go get some?” Brynn asked me.

  “I’ll be down there in a minute. I’m just going to hit the bathroom,” I told her.

  Frank and I both hung back until the room had emptied out. Then I went into the bathroom. Frank followed me.

  “I guess this is the only place to talk the situation through without possibly ending up on-camera,” I said.

  “Yeah. I guess it will seem kind of weird. If we were girls, it would make sense we were always hitting the bathroom together,” Frank pointed out.

  I shrugged. “No choice. So how much time would it take between ingesting something with peanuts in it and an allergic reaction?”

  “Bobby T seemed extremely sensitive,” Frank answered. “His skin and nail beds were bluish. And you heard him wheezing. He was in anaphylactic shock. I’d think a reaction that strong would have happened almost immediately after he swallowed the peanuts. Fragments of peanuts, more likely.”

  “But dinner was more than two hours ago,” I said. “And no one was eating in the great room. Veronica doesn’t like snacking in there.”

  “Right,” Frank agreed. “So what did he eat to cause the reaction?”

  “And where did he get it?” I added. “Could someone have slipped him something?”

  “You’re with Mikey? You think somebody tried to murder Bobby T?” Frank asked.

  I held out my arms in a got-me gesture. “I think we have to consider it, don’t you?”

  Frank nodded. “Let’s start searching, working our way out from where he fell,” he suggested.
“We’re thinking there wasn’t much time between eating and falling.”

  “It’s going to look pretty strange on the tapes if we start tossing the room,” I said.

  “Yeah.” Frank thought for a moment. “Maybe we can use our cover story. You grew up rich. I grew up not so rich. Maybe I’m not so happy about that. Maybe I don’t really like you so much.”

  “You not like me? Impossible,” I joked.

  Frank didn’t laugh. He has no sense of humor. “Maybe you think I’m jealous. Maybe you think I stole your fancy sunglasses or something.”

  “Then I start ripping the whole room apart,” I finished for him. Then I kicked the bathroom door all the way open and pushed Frank out. This was going to be fun.

  “I know you took them!” I shouted. “Where did you stash them?” I gave Frank another push, then dove toward Bobby T’s dresser and yanked open the top drawer.

  “That’s not even my dresser,” Frank told me, as I started throwing Bobby T’s stuff on the floor, moving from drawer to drawer, trying not to miss anything.

  I started checking the floor around Bobby’s bed. Frank began loading everything back in the dresser, getting a second look.

  Nothing on the floor. I flung the covers off Bobby T’s bed and shook them out.

  “Idiot, that’s not my bed,” Frank shouted.

  “I’m not an idiot. I go to the best prep school in Connecticut,” I yelled back. I hoped I looked furious enough to be out of my head as I patted down Bobby’s pillows.

  “Well, I go to public school, but I definitely know an idiot when I see one. And I’m looking at one,” Frank snapped. “I didn’t take your sunglasses. But if it’ll make you happy, I’ll buy you a new pair.”

  “With what? Those Diesels are almost three hundred bucks,” I told him. I widened my search.

  Frank snorted. “You’re kidding me. You really are an idiot.”

  “Hey, look who adopted me and who adopted you,” I shot back. “I think my family’s a little more high quality.”

  We managed to keep the argument going until we’d searched the entire room. Me hurling things around. Frank putting them back in place. Finally Frank shoved me back into the bathroom.

  “I got nothing,” he said.

  “Me either.” I turned on the cold water and took a drink. Trashing a room is thirsty work. I knocked a couple of toothbrushes into the sink as I lifted my head.

  “You don’t need to destroy the bathroom, too,” Frank told me.

  “Actually, it’s close enough to the bedroom,” I answered. “If Bobby T swallowed something in here, he could have gone into shock and fallen by his bed.” I put the toothbrushes back in place.

  “Toothbrushes,” said Frank.

  “Yeah, that’s what they are. Toothbrushes. You did learn something in public school.” I gave him a congratulatory pat on the shoulder.

  Frank shrugged my hand off. “Pretty much every-one brushes their teeth at night.”

  I got it. “So if the toothpaste was somehow contaminated with peanuts . . .”

  “It wouldn’t take much. Even a little peanut oil would be enough,” Frank said.

  “How would the perp know which tube was Bobby T’s? Do you think someone’s been watching him that carefully?” I asked.

  “Why not just infect all the tubes? It wouldn’t hurt anyone else,” Frank answered. “It would only take a dab of oil. You could put it in with an eyedropper. Or dunk a little twist of Kleenex in the oil, then touch it to the paste.”

  “Pretty genius,” I said. Frank frowned. “Evil genius,” I corrected myself.

  “Let’s test the theory,” Frank suggested. He took a small plastic bottle out of his jacket pocket and shook a short, narrow test strip into his palm. He touched the strip to one of the tubes of toothpaste, and we watched as it turned a murky green with a lavender center.

  I pulled out my cell, took a picture of the strip, and zapped it off to Vijay with a text that said, GOT PEANUT OIL?

  Vijay’s fast. He interpreted the colors of the strip in less than a minute. CONFIRMATIVE, he texted back.

  I looked at Frank. “So it’s confirmative we had an attempted murder tonight.”

  Way Too Many Suspects

  I stared up at the ceiling. It felt like I was looking at the sky. The scale of the rooms in the villa was massive.

  It wasn’t the sound of Hal’s snores that was keeping me awake. Or even the occasional stink bomb Bobby T emitted, now that he was back home from the hospital safe and sound.

  No. The problem was that my mind had gone all hamster on a wheel. Joe and I had confirmed that someone had put peanut oil in Bobby T’s toothpaste tonight. Everybody knew about Bobby T’s peanut allergy. He’d told all us contestants that eating anything with peanuts could kill him. And Veronica said all the crew and staff knew about the allergy too.

  That meant everyone in the house was a suspect. But who had a motive to want Bobby dead?

  All the contestants—except me and Joe—had reason to want him out of the way. Like Mikey said, so far Bobby was the front-runner. He’d won the first competition. And he’d been on the way to winning the one that had been . . . interrupted. That made him a threat.

  I ran through the contestants. Ripley. Kit. Mikey. Brynn. Mary. James. Olivia. Wilson. Rosemary. Hal. And Silent Girl.

  The one who leaped out at me was James. He was so crazy competitive. But any of the others could be as competitive as he was—and want to win as badly. James might just be the only one who couldn’t keep his mouth shut about it.

  Kit’s name popped too. She had a big reason for wanting the money. It would change her life. A million bucks would change anyone’s life, but for a lot of people it would mean a lot of cool stuff. For Kit it meant being able to stay in L.A. and keep trying to be an actress—which seemed like the only thing she cared about.

  Joe said Wilson came on the show to get a girlfriend. Sending Bobby T into anaphylactic shock wouldn’t help with that. But could a girlfriend really be the real reason he was here? There had to be easier ways. Not that I know from experience or anything.

  I really didn’t get how Ripley would be willing to kill for a million dollars. It seemed like she could buy anything she wanted to right now. She’d definitely shown up with more suitcases than anyone else.

  Hal was clearly deeply obsessed with his planet project. Once he got past the planning stages, it would take some serious money to produce the game he wanted to create around L-62. After spending so much time working on the project, the money to make it happen had to be really important to him.

  I realized I had no idea what Olivia, Mary, Mikey, Brynn, Rosemary, and Silent Girl wanted to do with the money. Which meant I didn’t understand what possible motive any of them might have for trying to kill Bobby T. Man, I didn’t even know Silent Girl’s name. Joe and I had—

  A hand wrapped around my ankle.

  I jerked upright—and saw Olivia standing over me. “Frank, I need to talk to you,” she whispered. “Meet me in the library.” She scurried out of the room.

  I got out of bed and pulled on a pair of jeans. I was already wearing a T-shirt. I left the bedroom as quietly as possible.

  What could Olivia want with me? I wondered as I headed to the library. I didn’t think I’d even had a real one-on-one conversation with her.

  “Uh, hi,” I said as I stepped into the book-lined room.

  Olivia waved me into the chair next to hers. “Don’t worry about the cameras. This is one of the times they’re off.”

  “How do you know?” I asked. Veronica had told us the union would only allow us to be filmed a limited amount of hours a day, but that she wasn’t going to tell us which hours those would be.

  “I have my ways,” Olivia answered, all mysterious.

  I just looked at her. Sometimes that’s a good way to get people to say more.

  “Okay, I got Mitch to tell me,” Olivia admitted. “He’s pretty cool. He told me this was the little girl’s bed
room before it got turned into the library. You know, the little girl who saw her father kill her mother. He knows everything about the house.”

  “So what did you want to talk to me about. Without cameras,” I said.

  Usually I have this blushing problem around girls. But right now, Olivia didn’t feel like a girl to me. She felt like a suspect. Joe calls this feeling his Spidey sense. I call it instinct. Instinct combined with experience.

  “It seems like we’ve got two groups of people here. People who actually need money. And people who don’t,” Olivia said. “Like you—what would you do with the money if you won?”

  “College,” I answered automatically. “Help my parents pay off the house.” I go over my cover story a lot so I can answer things right away like that.

  Olivia nodded, like she’d guessed something right. “And what about your brother?”

  I hesitated. “I don’t know. I don’t really know him. We kind of just met.”

  “Yeah. You were adopted by different families. Seeing him with his Diesel shades and his two-hundred-dollar jeans has to be hard,” Olivia said. She reached out and touched my hand.

  I still kept getting the suspect vibe from her.

  “Kind of,” I answered, because I figured it was what Frank Dooley would say.

  “Joe doesn’t need the money. Ripley certainly doesn’t—she’s just here for PR anyway. James would probably blow it all in six months. And, let’s face it, Kit should go back wherever she came from. She’s a lousy actress. Have you seen her mugging for the camera? It’s embarrassing.”

  I wanted to ask her what she meant about Ripley being here for PR. That seemed important to the case. But I didn’t think Frank Dooley would go there right away.

  “That guy Bobby T doesn’t need cash, that’s for sure,” I said. “He got some big bucks when they optioned his blog.”

  “Yeah, and I was reading on Purple Girl’s website that he’s already blown it all,” Olivia told me. “A guy like that, who can blow a million five—which is what he got—doesn’t deserve a second chance. He’s not getting the Deprivation House money if I can help it.”