Mystery in the Mansion

by Lauren Magaziner

  “What long grass?” I say. “Otto is constantly mowing the lawn.”

  “There shouldn’t be any long grass,” Eliza says.

  “Well, there is,” Frank insists.

  Eliza jumps up and runs to the window. Then she turns around with a grin. “Frank is a genius!”

  “I know! Duhhhhhh.”

  And for once, I think that both Thompsons are totally crazy. “What in the world are you talking about?”

  “The lawn is half mowed, Carlos. Like someone stopped right in the middle of the job.”

  Ivy raises an eyebrow. Smythe frowns.

  “And I didn’t notice it before, but the bushes are trimmed unevenly. And your weed infestation is, well, still infested.”

  “So?” Ivy says.

  “When did Guinevere hire Otto?”

  “A month or two ago,” Smythe says. “Why?”

  “Because I don’t think your landscaper is a landscaper.”

  Could she be right? Could Otto somehow be tangled up in these death threats? After all, he is always asking us about the case.

  “The icing on the cake,” Eliza says, “is that we know for a fact that Patty and Maddock are in Patty’s house together. And you guys are here. But Otto is conveniently missing, and so is your mom. I have a hunch that they’re together.”

  “But where?” I say, looking out the window. I peer around the yard, and I almost kind of think Otto is going to pop up like he always does. But he doesn’t. The whole yard is silent and still . . . from the grass to the blue sky to the green shed on the edge of the LeCavalier property—

  “Wait a second!” I say, with a closer look at the green shed. A small green house. The greenhouse.

  “GREEN HOUSE!” I shout. “That first clue, remember?” I retrieve the very first clue to the treasure that I got from Guinevere LeCavalier:

  The red house is made of red bricks.

  The blue house is made of blue bricks.

  The white house is made of white bricks.

  The gray house is made of gray bricks.

  What is the green house made of?

  Eliza gasps and jumps up, and that’s how I know it just clicked for her too. “Carlos!” she says in awe, her voice a whisper.

  “What?” Frank says, tugging on my arm. “What does it mean?”

  “We thought that clue pointed us to something glass, because a greenhouse is made of glass. We didn’t even consider that there’s a tiny green house on Guinevere’s lawn! The clue points us right to it!”

  “Then it’s settled,” Eliza says. “We should go check out the toolshed.”

  * * *

  TO GO TO THE TOOLSHED, CLICK HERE.

  * * *

  I FINALLY CONVINCE Eliza that we should head straight to Patty’s house.

  Just kidding, I actually beg her to go to Patty’s house first.

  “Pleeeeeeeeaseeeee!” I say, grabbing her left arm.

  “Pleeeeeeeeeeaseeeee!” Frank says, grabbing her right arm.

  Eventually she sighs heavily and groans, “All right! All right!”

  Just like yesterday, we creep up to Patty’s Yorkie-shaped hedges, slink along the yellow stucco, and sneak into her open garage. It is overflowing with junk. There is so much needless stuff in Patty’s garage that she can’t even fit her car in there.

  We navigate through her mess, creak open her side door, and tiptoe into her house through the laundry room. I peek my head out and look down the hall—it looks like it leads to a kitchen.

  The only trouble is, we’ve never been in here before, and the layout is different from Guinevere’s house. I don’t want to get caught because we don’t know where to go.

  I’m about to whisper to Eliza and Frank to follow me to the kitchen when I hear Patty coming closer, her footsteps getting louder with each step.

  Oh no! We have to hide!

  * * *

  TO HIDE IN A LAUNDRY BASKET, CLICK HERE.

  TO GO BACK AND CHECK IN WITH GUINEVERE, CLICK HERE.

  * * *

  WE HAVE TO take action, and we have to be sneaky.

  “Frank,” I say, putting my hands on his shoulders, “it’s all up to you, buddy!” I point at the vent. “Are you ready to crawl?”

  “YEAH!” Frank shouts, and I put my hand over his mouth. “Mmmm!” he hums.

  “But Carlos!” Eliza says. “Isn’t this dangerous?”

  I don’t know, but what else are we going to do. “He’s our only hope.”

  I let go of Frank’s mouth, and he says, “I want to crawl! I love crawling!”

  “We know,” Eliza and I say.

  “If I see a dust bunny, can I eat it?” Frank says.

  “No,” Eliza says.

  “Yes,” I say.

  “Be safe, Frank,” Eliza says. “If you see Otto, run and hide! If you see anyone else, get their help immediately! Come back for Carlos and me. Here, take the emergency money from Mom.”

  Frank nods. “Got it!”

  Then Frank and I hop onto Mr. LeCavalier’s creaky desk, and I lift him up as high as I can. Frank opens the vent and sticks his upper body into it. With one last push from me, Frank wiggles himself all the way in.

  And then he’s gone!

  Eliza and I are silent as we wait, and it feels like hours. With each minute that passes, the more I have the sinking realization that he must have run into Otto—or some other sort of trouble.

  And right when I’m sure Frank was caught by Otto, the door to the bookshelf opens, and Frank is standing there with powder all over his face and a doughnut in hand.

  “Frank,” I say. “Did you get help? Where’s Otto? Where did you go?”

  “To Go Nuts for Doughnuts,” Frank says. “I used the emergency money for DOUGHNUT FOOD.”

  “Doughnuts aren’t an emergency!” Eliza scolds.

  “Yes they are. It’s always an emergency when I’m not eating a doughnut! Duhhhh.”

  “But what happened to Otto? Did you let him escape?”

  Frank shrugs and takes another bite of doughnut. “Oooooops!” he says, spitting chewed-up pieces everywhere. “I forgot. Sorry.”

  CASE CLOSED.

  “LET’S SEARCH THE toolshed!” I say.

  We don’t need Smythe to take us there—we know exactly where it is. We head to the rickety shed in the backyard, with its peeling green paint and its rotting wood. The shed looks more fragile than a Popsicle-stick house, but I bet Mr. LeCavalier hid something useful in here. It’s so creepy that it seems like the perfect place to find some clues.

  With one hand on the door, I pause for a second. I thought I saw a shadow under the door. Could it be a person? Or an animal that’s using the shed for shelter?

  “Hello? Is anyone in here?”

  I open the door slowly.

  THUNK.

  Darkness.

  The next thing I know, I wake up in a hospital room, while Eliza fills me in on what I missed: I got hit in the face with a shovel. Eliza and Frank ran for help for me, but by the time they got back, the person who had whacked me in the face was gone. They didn’t see who it was. Worst of all, Guinevere LeCavalier’s treasure was stolen. The culprit left one final note in the mailbox, bragging about getting away with the treasure chest.

  This failure feels like a smack in the face.

  CASE CLOSED.

  WHEN I GET home from my first day of detective work, I collapse on the couch. My feet are aching and my socks are worn through—there are two new holes at the bottom. Which stinks because I don’t have that many pairs. Somehow socks always mysteriously disappear whenever Mom and I go to the laundromat.

  I sit on the couch, rubbing my feet for a while, and when they’re finally starting to feel better, I hobble over to my mom’s room.

  She’s fast asleep, so I leave some cold medicine, a spoon, and a tall glass of water by her bedside table. Then I go to my room and flop onto my bed. I should brush my teeth, but I’m just so tired from the long day and my painful walk home—and so I cu
rl up in my covers and fall asleep in record time.

  * * *

  Day Two

  * * *

  THE NEXT MORNING, I wake up in a puddle of sweat. And not just from the lack of air-conditioning.

  One day gone, and we’re no closer to solving the case. I’m nervous. What if we don’t figure it out? What if I ruin my mom’s agency?

  No. I can’t think about that. Failure is not an option.

  I shuffle to the bathroom and take the coldest shower of my life. After I get dressed, I check on Mom again. I bring her a new box of tissues, soup I warmed up in the microwave, and a washcloth drenched in cold water to bring down her fever. That’s always what she does for me.

  “Hummy, I still feel abful.” She sneezes loudly, then coughs up a storm.

  “You look a little better today, Mom,” I say. But that’s a lie. She looks green and clammy. But maybe if she starts thinking healthy thoughts, she’ll get over the flu faster.

  “Don’t cob in, Carwos! I don’t wah you to get sick!”

  “Mom, I’ll be fine,” I say. I put the cold washcloth on her forehead, and she groans with relief. Then I drag her fan over from the other side of the room so that it’s blowing right on her face. I’d nominate myself for son of the year if I wasn’t sneaking around behind her back.

  My stomach twists a little.

  “Just rest up, Mom,” I say. “Don’t worry. Everything’s going to be okay.”

  “Did you call Cowe?”

  “Who?”

  “My pardner!”

  “Oh—oh, yeah. I called Cole,” I say. And then I realize she must be really, really sick, because Mom can always spot a lie three sentences before I tell it. “You can just relax, Mom. Rest.”

  She chokes again on a round of hacking coughs. “Ugh. Carwos, go outside and pway wif Ewiza, okay? Stay out of twouble!”

  My heart skips a beat. I hate lying to Mom, but she’ll thank me when Eliza, Frank, and I save the agency. She needs this case. She needs us! She just doesn’t know it yet.

  “Feel better,” I say, and I close the door.

  I call Eliza, and within ten minutes, she and Frank arrive at my house. Eliza shows me her backpack full of stuff—she’s much more prepared today. She has a notebook, a pen, snacks, and water bottles for all of us.

  “Ready for duty,” she whispers, just in case. I doubt Mom overhears—her whole ears-nose-throat system is very messed up right now—but like all parents, she has super-amplified hearing.

  From my house, we walk to Guinevere’s home. We spend the time discussing what we know so far:

  Ivy, Maddock, and Smythe definitely know about the treasure.

  Maddock and Smythe have access to the house and could easily deliver the threats.

  Smythe is crazy sensitive to questions, and Maddock doesn’t want to talk to us at all.

  Ivy is supposed to arrive this morning.

  Otto claims to know nothing but seems to have been pushing us to go home.

  Some lady in the P. Schnozzleton house was watching us from across the street.

  Lead suspect? WHO KNOWS?

  We still have plenty of questions that need to be answered. Who is P. Schnozzleton, and why is someone from that house spying out the window? What might Otto be hiding? Why is Smythe so angry? Where is the treasure? And most importantly: who needs the treasure, and why would someone want to threaten Guinevere LeCavalier?

  We had a good start yesterday, but we need to do better today. For Mom.

  When we arrive at the house, Smythe answers the door and glares at us.

  “Whooooo is it?” Guinevere calls from somewhere inside the house. She comes rushing to the door. “Ah! Detectives! Come in, come in!”

  She ushers us inside. We march in—but not before Frank sticks out his tongue at Smythe.

  “Can I ask you a question?” I ask as soon as we’re away from the front door.

  Guinevere pauses by the stairwell and turns to face us. The reflection from her diamond necklaces is so blinding that I wish I had sunglasses with me. “A follow-up question? But of course! Ask away!”

  “How did you come to hire Otto?” I ask.

  “I found his flyer in my mailbox, and he charged twice as much as the other landscapers in town. That’s how I knew he was quality. Just like how my lawyer, Maddock, charges twice as much as other lawyers. The more something costs, the more it’s worth. Never pay half price for something that’s worth twice as much, is what I always say!”

  Does she even realize how lucky she is, not to worry about money? Guinevere is practically throwing it away. Hopefully she can throw some of it at my mom and me.

  “And how did Smythe come to work for you?” asks Eliza.

  “Smythe . . . ah, yes. He was my great-aunt’s cousin’s son’s neighbor’s nephew. He started his employment here when he was just a boy.”

  I look around to make sure Smythe isn’t nearby, but I don’t see him anywhere. “And was he . . . happy?” I ask. “Back then?”

  Guinevere laughs, and the whole hall echoes with it. “Yes, of course! He loved my husband, Winston. And he positively adores Ivy.”

  “And when did he, uh, stop being so happy?”

  Guinevere frowns. “I don’t know . . . but now that Ivy’s back, I hope to see him as happy as a clam that just ate a mountain of jelly beans!”

  “Is she here? Already?”

  “My daughter’s in the living room. Perhaps you’d like to question her?”

  “Absolutely!” Eliza says.

  “No,” says Frank, and Eliza hushes him.

  Guinevere leads us through an archway made of marble and opens a set of double doors, leading to a room with lots of green velvet couches, gold walls, embroidered tapestries, three bookshelves, and a fireplace (which isn’t on, obviously, since it’s the middle of a blazing-hot summer).

  A woman looks up from the couch, and . . . Oh. My. Goodness. She looks exactly like Guinevere LeCavalier, only thirty years younger.

  “TWINSIES!” Frank yells. “You’re like twins . . . except you’re old.” He points to Guinevere LeCavalier.

  I wince. Frank, what are you doing? Never insult the client!

  I watch Guinevere’s face carefully. She looks shocked at first, her mouth making a perfect O. But then she recovers with a tiny laugh. “My Ivy does look exactly like me, doesn’t she?”

  Ivy scowls, folding her arms across her chest. “I think I’m more like my father—inside and out,” she mumbles.

  “Ah, the woes of motherhood!” Guinevere says, her voice overly cheery. She sheepishly plays with the jewelry around her neck before looking at Eliza and me. “You try to teach your children proper manners and—ahem . . .” She clears her throat and glares at Ivy. “Appropriateness in front of guests, but they never listen!”

  “Speaking of children, is it just you and Ivy?” Eliza asks. “You and Mr. LeCavalier didn’t have any other kids, did you?”

  “No, we didn’t. But my husband . . . well, my husband did have another child from a previous marriage. I’ve never met the boy. He wrote a few letters to the house, back when he was a teenager. He wanted to talk to his father, but I stopped that nonsense right away—that boy wasn’t part of this family. It was ages ago, though. When my husband separated from his first wife.”

  I look at Ivy, and she’s watching her mom, wide-eyed and stunned. Then I glance at Eliza, and she is staring at Guinevere like she’s a cockroach. I agree.

  How could this woman, with the nice round face and the jelly-bean tea, force Mr. LeCavalier to stop talking to his own son? That’s terrible! That’s inhuman!

  “That’s . . . that’s awful,” I finally say.

  “Isn’t it just?” Guinevere LeCavalier says, and I think she missed my point.

  Suddenly Frank gets up on the arm of the sofa, his dirty sneakers treading all over Guinevere’s nice couch. “I HAVE A QUESTION!” Frank shouts. “What was his name? The son!”

  My jaw drops. That actually wasn�
��t a terrible question!

  “Preston,” Guinevere says coldly. “Now, is there anything else you need from me before you interview my daughter?”

  Eliza looks at me urgently, her gray eyes flashing, and somehow I can just tell that she wants me to ask more about Preston LeCavalier. But my gut is telling me that pushing Guinevere on this topic is a bad idea. Guinevere doesn’t seem to want to talk about him, and I don’t want to make her mad.

  * * *

  TO ASK GUINEVERE MORE ABOUT PRESTON, CLICK HERE.

  TO DISMISS GUINEVERE FROM THE ROOM AND TALK TO IVY, CLICK HERE.

  * * *

  “HOW DO YOU know about the treasure?” I say, putting my ear against the crack at the bottom of the door.

  “How could I not? My father used to talk about it all the time.”

  “Your father?” Eliza repeats.

  Otto sighs. “My real name is Preston LeCavalier. I’m Mr. LeCavalier’s son from his first marriage.”

  He pauses to let that sink in . . . and it’s sinking in like a bulldozer to the face. In our very first conversation with Guinevere, she’d mentioned that Mr. LeCavalier’s first family had sent her threats before. If only she—or we—had realized that history was repeating itself now!

  Otto clears his throat. “My father used to mention the hidden treasure all the time to me . . . before he tossed my mother and me out of the house like a pair of moldy socks.”

  “Black socks, they never get dirty! The more that you wear them, the blacker they get! Sometimes I think I should wash them, but something inside me keeps saying not yet, not yet, not yet, not yet!” Frank sings.

  Eliza elbows him. “Shhhhhh!”

  “I never knew how to get beneath the house,” Otto continues, “but thanks to you kids, I think I’ve figured it out.”

  “Us? What did we do?”

  “You kept everyone thoroughly distracted. Now that everyone’s outside watching Patty get arrested, I have the whole house to myself. I’d love to stay and chat, but . . . money calls.”