House Arrest

by Franklin W. Dixon

  “Okay, we’ve already been watching Mikey,” I said when Frank and I huddled again to compare notes. “But I’m thinking we should get serious about Gail as a suspect.”

  “Do you think she’s strong enough to push over that woodpile?” Frank mused.

  SUSPECT PROFILE

  Name: Gail Digby

  Hometown: St. Louis, Missouri

  Physical description: 5’9”, 145 165., sandy hair, brown eyes.

  Occupation: High school student

  Background: Oldest of three kids raised by single mother. Grew up in severe poverty.

  Suspicious behavior: New round of pranks started at the same time she entered the mansion. No alibi for woodpile incident.

  Suspected of: Trying to scare off the “unworthy” competition.

  Possible motive: Winning the million could change her life. Doesn’t think anyone else deserves the prize.

  I shrugged. “Maybe. She’s almost as tall as Ripley, and probably outweighs her.”

  “And all it would take is one good shove in the right spot. Probably any guy in the house would be strong enough, even Hal. Plus at least a few of the girls—not just Gail and Ripley, but also Olivia and maybe Ann.”

  It took me a moment to remember that Ann = Silent Girl. “Right,” I said. “So basically anyone but Mary or Brynn.”

  Was I nuts, or did he actually wince when I said Brynn’s name? If so, he shook it off fast.

  “I wish I’d been paying more attention to that sound I heard,” he said.

  I nodded. “You said it sounded like a laugh.”

  “A little girl’s laugh,” Frank confirmed.

  “Creepy.” I thought about that story Veronica had told us. The one about that director killing his wife in front of their little girl.

  But Frank’s mind was going in another direction. “Where was Ripley when it happened?” he asked. “You talked to her, right?”

  “Yeah. She was in the kitchen with Hal. Why?”

  He shrugged. “She was the one who sent me out there, remember?”

  “True. But she was just passing the word on from Mary. Well, actually from Veronica, but you know what I mean.” Call me slow, but it wasn’t until I said it that I realized what he was driving at. “Oh! Do you think we should talk to Mary?”

  “Couldn’t hurt.”

  We found her washing dishes in the kitchen. When we asked her exactly what she’d told Ripley earlier, she looked confused. “What do you mean?” she said. “Veronica didn’t give me any message. I haven’t seen her all day.”

  “So you didn’t tell Ripley to find someone to bring in more wood?” I asked.

  She shook her head. “Why? Was I supposed to?”

  “No, never mind.” I looked at Frank. Now things were getting interesting. I wasn’t about to cross Mikey or Gail or anyone else off the suspect list. Not yet.

  But I was definitely going to be keeping an even closer eye on Ripley Lansing.

  • • •

  After dinner I hung out with Ripley for a while, listening to her talk about all the places she wanted to go shopping when she got out of the mansion. Frank was nowhere in sight. I hoped he was making more progress on the case than I was. I tried several times to change the subject to what was going on in the house. No dice. The girl loves talking about shopping.

  Finally I couldn’t take it anymore. I told Ripley I had to go. I’m not sure she even noticed when I left.

  While looking for Frank, I came across Bobby T. He was in one of the parlors, staring intently at his laptop. His face was pale.

  “Something wrong?” I asked. I suddenly realized that Frank and I hadn’t talked much about Bobby T lately. For a while during the Mitch drama, we’d suspected Bobby of trying to drum up interesting episodes for his blog. Could he be behind the latest pranks? He liked to portray himself as an edgy kind of guy. And he certainly had the techie know-how to pull off some of the threats and stuff. But would he go so far as to hurt people?

  He stared up at me, his eyes wide. “I was just checking the comments on my last blog entry,” he said. “Take a look.”

  I leaned closer. He pointed to a particular message with a trembling finger.

  Nice blog, Bobby, it read. Maybe your friends and family can read from it at your funeral.

  “Whoa,” I said. “Intense. When did that come in?”

  “Not sure.” Bobby still looked scared. “All the ID stuff has been scrubbed. I tried to trace the ISP, but no go.”

  I remembered something. The last two times threats had been sent by computer, everyone in the house had been on the “to” list.

  “Can I check my e-mail?” I asked, reaching for the laptop.

  Soon my in-box popped up on-screen. Sure enough, there was a new message from an unfamiliar sender. I clicked to open it.

  You and your brother may have lived most of your lives apart, the message read. But if you stay in this house, you’ll die together.

  Planks a Million

  “Attention, please!” Veronica strode into the kitchen the next morning. Today her suit and shoes were dark brown. Her lipstick was still bright red. “I hope you all had a relaxing day yesterday. Because it’s time for your next competition.”

  My heart sank. I’d hoped Joe and I might have a chance to talk after breakfast. The previous evening, he’d filled me in on the nastygrams he and Bobby had received. When I checked, one just like Joe’s was waiting in my in-box. Everyone we’d asked so far had gotten similar messages.

  But it seemed we would have to wait to investigate further. At least until after this challenge. Sometimes the most frustrating thing about being undercover is having to stay undercover. If you know what I mean.

  Still, maybe part of me was a teensy bit relieved. I was feeling guilty because while Joe was checking e-mails with Bobby T, I’d been hanging out with Brynn. I was really starting to understand why Joe had wanted to spend every spare moment with her that first week. She was amazing in a way I couldn’t quite describe. I really wasn’t sure what to think about the way she made me feel. So I’d basically decided not to think about it at all.

  The others were buzzing about Veronica’s announcement. The host just smiled smugly for a moment, seeming to enjoy the suspense. Then she held up a hand for quiet.

  “This one is called the Prissy Primpers Challenge,” she announced.

  James snorted with laughter. “Hear that, girls? You might actually be able to beat me in a contest with a name like that.” He flexed his biceps. “Don’t count on it, though.”

  “Don’t laugh, James,” Brynn teased. “Our challenge might be that we have to apply makeup to all the boys in the house.”

  “I hope so,” said Hal. “That would actually be a nice change of pace from all the gross and scary challenges we’ve had so far.”

  Veronica looked amused. That wasn’t a good sign.

  “This one won’t be scary, but I think you’ll find it plenty gross,” she said. “Follow me to the backyard, please.”

  When we got outside, we saw that the swimming pool had been filled with something—it looked like thick, multicolored goo. It smelled weird too, though I couldn’t quite identify the scent. This time Veronica didn’t keep us in suspense for long.

  “The pool is full of a mix of every grooming product known to teenkind,” she announced, stepping over to the edge of the pool. “Shampoo. Toothpaste. Hair gel. Pimple cream. Cologne of varying quality. Hair removal cream. Makeup. And the list goes on.” She smirked. “Sounds tasty, no?”

  “Sounds disgusting,” Gail said. Veronica didn’t bother to respond to that. “You will be divided randomly into teams of four. One member of each team will have to balance on these.”

  She waved one red-manicured hand. Several PAs appeared on cue, each carrying a long, narrow wooden plank. They walked over and laid them out across the pool.

  “Good thing that Sylvia chick doesn’t have to do this part,” Brynn whispered to me. “Those boards probably weigh
more than she does.” She shivered.

  “Besides, I’m just glad she’s not here. She makes me nervous.”

  I chuckled. On my other side, Joe shot me a suspicious look.

  “Meanwhile,” Veronica went on, “the other team members must scoop up the stuff in these.” She stepped over to a box and pulled out several small fabric cases. For a second I wasn’t sure what they were supposed to be.

  “Are those makeup bags?” asked Olivia.

  “Uh-huh,” Ripley said. “They look like rip-offs of one my mom’s company put out as a promotion.

  I have, like, three of them at home.”

  “Then perhaps you’ll be good at this, Ms. Lansing,” Veronica said. “As I was saying, you’ll all need to scoop up as much of the substance as you can, using only your hands and these bags—no using your shoes or your shirts.” She smirked. “And ladies, I certainly wouldn’t recommend soaking it up with your hair. Not if you want to keep it, anyway.” She strode toward a row of barrels a few yards away. “You’ll want to fill your team’s color-coded barrel as quickly as you can. Whichever team has the most in its barrel at the end wins.”

  “Sounds easy enough,” said James, cracking his knuckles. “Let’s do it!”

  Veronica held up one very red finger in warning. “Not so fast, Mr. Sittenfeld,” she said. “There’s one more twist. If any of the people on the planks fall in, that person’s team must stop collecting goo immediately.” Her eyes twinkled with glee. “Plus, the person who falls in isn’t allowed to shower or change clothes for the rest of the day.”

  “Oh, man,” Bobby T muttered, reaching up and tugging on his blue hair. He was probably imagining it falling off in chunks—or at least coated with zit cream.

  “Also, if any of the plank people choose to walk off voluntarily, their team will be out of the running entirely.” Veronica smiled again. “Oh, but in the meantime, the plank standers are allowed to throw goo at the others to try to get them off. So can the rest of the team members. The only thing you can’t do is touch the planks themselves.” She chuckled evilly. “After all, that wouldn’t be fair.”

  Next she announced the randomly chosen teams. First was the Red Team. That one included me, James, Olivia, and Brynn. The Blue Team consisted of Joe, Mikey, Mary, and Gail. And finally, there was the Green Team—Bobby T, Ripley, Hal, and Ann/Silent Girl.

  “You should be on the plank,” James said as soon as the teams were announced, pointing to Olivia. “You look like you have good balance. And the rest of us will probably be faster with the bags.”

  “Hold on,” Veronica said loudly. “Did I forget to mention that? I will decide which team members must stand on the planks.”

  It figured. After all, “life isn’t fair” was pretty much the motto of this show.

  Veronica chose Brynn for plank duty from our team. Brynn didn’t look too happy about that. She glanced at the goo and grimaced.

  Ripley looked even less happy when Veronica picked her for the Green Team. And the entire Blue Team groaned when the host named Mikey to hit the plank for them.

  “Stand on the plank?” Mikey joked weakly. “I feel like I’m going to be walking the plank!”

  James grinned. “Hope those planks are stronger than they look,” he said. “Otherwise you’re going to be smelling minty fresh, fat boy.”

  Veronica gave us a moment to huddle and strategize. “Listen, I have a plan,” Olivia hissed at the rest of our team. She glanced suspiciously at the other two teams, obviously worried that they were going to eavesdrop on her brilliant idea.

  “I have an idea, too,” said James. “We kick butt and win. How’s that for an idea?”

  Olivia rolled her eyes. “No, listen,” she urged. “I think we should start off throwing that slop at the other teams’ plank people. If we can knock them both out early, we’ll be able to win for sure!”

  Brynn looked dubious. I knew how she felt. It didn’t seem like much of a strategy.

  But James grinned. “Knock fatso and Little Miss Rich Girl into that junk? I’m in. Let’s do it!”

  Then it was time for the plank people to take their positions. I felt even less confident about my team’s game plan when I saw how precarious poor Brynn looked out there perched on the narrow plank. What if we missed and knocked her in by mistake?

  But I didn’t say anything. It was too late, anyway. The buzzer sounded, and the game was on.

  The other teams started scooping and running. Olivia and James raced to the edge of the pool and started pelting the plank people with goo.

  “Hey!” Mikey yelped as James hit him in the chest with his first handful. “Quit it!”

  “Check it out!” Bobby T shouted, already returning from dumping his first bagful into a barrel. “They’re going after Ripley! Two can play that game!”

  He scooped up some goo and let it fly. Brynn let out a squeal of protest and tried to duck. But she wasn’t fast enough.

  SPLAT! The goo hit her square in the face. She bobbled, but didn’t fall.

  “Whoa, careful!” I cried, annoyed with Bobby. To retaliate, I grabbed some goo. It felt squishy and cold in my hand. I winged it at Bobby.

  “Yo!” Bobby cried jumping aside just in time. “You’re only supposed to throw it at the plank people!”

  James laughed. “Hey, nobody said anything about that!” he crowed, slinging a handful of slop at Gail as she returned to the edge of the pool. He actually seemed to be enjoying this.

  The whole pool area was a mess already. People from the other two teams were slipping and sliding in the ooze as they raced back and forth to their barrels.

  “This isn’t working!” Olivia cried, finally seeing the light. “Start filling the barrels!”

  “Finally,” I muttered. I scooped up some goo and ran toward the red barrel. Olivia was right behind me, though James was still back by the pool tossing goo at Ripley.

  I reached the barrel first. It was big—as tall as my shoulders—and broad. I grabbed the edge and tipped my bag over it.

  Then I did a double take. Oh no, not again…

  “Hey!” I shouted, tossing my bag aside. “There’s a body in here!”

  Barreling Onward

  SPLASH! Mikey lost his balance and fell into the pool of goo. That distracted everyone so much that nobody but me seemed to hear Frank’s shout.

  Everyone was laughing and pointing, including the other members of the Blue Team. I pushed past them all, racing to Frank’s barrel. He already had it partly tipped on its side.

  “What’s going on?” A PA bustled over to us, looking annoyed. “What are you doing?”

  “There’s someone in there,” Frank insisted. “A woman. We have to see if she’s breathing.”

  “Nonsense.” Veronica strode over, frowning. “What’s this all about? I—” At that moment she looked inside the barrel and gasped. “Oh my God!” Spinning around, she made a slashing motion across her throat. “Cut! Cut the cameras!” she yelled.

  I’m not sure anyone heard her. Mikey was just hauling himself out of the pool. Goo dripped from every inch of him. James was literally rolling on the ground with laughter.

  Meanwhile, I was helping Frank tip the barrel the rest of the way over. Now I could see inside. The motionless figure of a woman was curled at the bottom.

  “Isn’t that the PA?” I said. “What was her name again?”

  “Sylvia.” Frank looked around urgently. “Hey! We need a medic over here!”

  I crawled partway in. The barrel was deep, but I managed to grab her arm. It felt very cold, but I still checked carefully for a pulse.

  “Stop the game!” I shouted, backing out quickly. “She’s dead!”

  That finally got everyone’s attention. Soon the cameras were off and the place was swarming with producers, crew members, medics, and eventually police officers. We all stood around, staring, until Veronica came to her senses and chased us back into the house.

  Frank and I stuck around out there as long as we co
uld. But we couldn’t risk blowing our cover. We had to go inside with the others.

  Inside, everyone was freaking out to various degrees. Brynn, Mary, Ann, and Olivia were sobbing. Bobby T looked awfully close to tears too. Gail, Mikey, Ripley, and James looked grim, and Hal just seemed confused. Maybe there’s no such thing as murder on L-62.

  “Dude, this is wacked,” James announced to no one in particular as he paced around the great room.

  “Oh my God, oh my God,” mumbled Brynn. “I don’t think I can take any more of this!”

  “You might not have to,” Ripley pointed out. “This could be it for Deprivation House.”

  Mikey nodded. He was sitting on the stone hearth of the fireplace, toweling the goo out of his hair. “With another death, the producers will probably just cancel the whole show.”

  “Maybe that’s not such a bad thing.” Bobby T’s face was ashen. “I mean, I’m starting to wonder if maybe this house is cursed. You know, from that murder…”

  Mary shuddered. “Don’t talk about that,” she begged. “It’s too much! This is all too much!”

  I had to agree with her there. “What do you think?” I murmured to Frank.

  He shrugged. “We just have to wait and see what they tell us.”

  So that’s what we did. Finally, after a seemingly endless wait of about an hour, Veronica came in. “I’m sure you’re wondering what happened out there.” She looked and sounded as composed as ever, though maybe not quite her usual twisted, coldhearted self. “First of all, I can tell you that this is not a repeat of the, er, previous situation. Sylvia was not murdered. She died of an aneurysm.”

  Frank and I exchanged a glance. An aneurysm? In a way it made perfect sense. Thinking back, the PA had been complaining about severe headaches all week. I was pretty sure that was a symptom. Still, it seemed like the world’s craziest coincidence that she should happen to croak in the middle of one of our challenges.

  “Really?” Frank spoke up. “I thought I saw a bump on her forehead.”

  Go Frank—I hadn’t even noticed that. But Veronica nodded.

  “She does have a lump,” she said. “The medics figure she hit her head when she passed out and fell. The coroner should be able to confirm that.”