by Ben Guterson
Once she was alone in her room, Elizabeth made a new entry in her notebook—“My Top Ten Days at Winterhouse”—which meant she would need to keep track of each day very carefully to decide which of the twenty-one deserved a spot on the list. And then she started working on her clues. She decided she would hide a napkin-wrapped cookie in the library on a bookcase with volumes on Chinese history (If books about Shanghai have you in their grip, hunt around here for a tasty chocolate-chip was the clue she wrote); she resolved to place the program from the Shackleton lecture behind the bust of Nestor Falls on the landing of the stairs just off the lobby (A note about Ernest—his journey was cursed—is something you’ll find “on the mind” of Winterhouse’s first); and she planned to put a quarter under the cushion of a chair in a corner of the Tower (George Washington would love to see the clouds billow, from this best of all views—if he could get out from under this pillow). She was feeling very pleased with the clues she was putting together, when she realized midnight was nearing—the hour, roughly, when she’d seen Norbridge in the library on the previous two nights.
Elizabeth got up from her desk, pulled a chair over to the door, and stood on it to look through the peephole. For fifteen minutes she watched, seeing no one pass by, and she was about to give up and go to bed when a shadow darkened the maroon carpet in the corridor. Her breathing halted. Norbridge, in his wool jacket and bow tie, with a flashlight in his hand, stopped before her door.
Remaining motionless, Elizabeth pressed her eye against the button of glass as she waited to see what he was going to do.
CHAPTER 18
A SCAVENGER HUNT
HINT
MINT
MIND
FIND
Norbridge faced the door to Room 213 and stroked his beard. Elizabeth thought he might knock, but he simply stood studying the door as if trying to make up his mind about something. He moved closer, leaning in; and although at that point it was impossible for Elizabeth to see what he was doing, she was certain he had pressed his ear against the door and was listening for any sound within. She didn’t allow herself to take a breath, and she half wondered—through her alarm and uncertainty—if her heart was beating so loudly he could hear it. And then, with a small creak from the floor in the hallway, Norbridge backed away, shook his head, and strode out of sight.
Three nights in a row, Elizabeth said to herself as she stepped off the chair. And although she was tempted to leave her room and see what Norbridge was up to in the library, she told herself that what she’d seen was all the proof she needed that, if Norbridge wasn’t a book thief trying to locate books he’d stashed in his library, something else very strange was definitely going on.
* * *
The next morning at breakfast, Elizabeth told Freddy that she’d seen Norbridge heading to the library once again, but they agreed to focus on their scavenger hunt and put everything else—the library, Norbridge, Marcus Q. Hiems and his wife, the code in Nestor’s painting—out of their thoughts, at least for the rest of the day.
“I plan to concentrate on stumping you on this scavenger hunt,” Freddy announced, before they parted to finalize their clues.
“You’re the one who will be wandering around Winterhouse until Christmas,” Elizabeth said.
Freddy gave her a snake-eyed look. “Be back here in one hour for the exchange of clues!” he said, and they both raced off to put everything in order.
When they met under the family-tree painting at exactly ten o’clock, they handed each other Clue #1 and shook hands. Elizabeth had her empty backpack on her back, because she figured she would need something in which to stash the items she found over the next hour or two.
“May the best scavenger-hunt-clue solver win,” Freddy said.
“Duck logo,” Elizabeth said. “I mean—good luck.”
As Elizabeth rushed out of the corridor and into the lobby, she unfolded the note Freddy had given her: I’m red and it’s read—yes, I carry a map. Norbridge needs me to help him—check under the cap.
Elizabeth stopped. What in the world can that mean? she thought, and she began to think maybe Freddy really would stump her with his clues. “‘Norbridge needs me to help him,’” she said aloud. “Hmm?” She looked up, glanced around, saw the hotel guests scurrying through the lobby and saw the clerks behind the desk smiling as they greeted people just arriving. The bellhops stood attentively … and then it struck her: the bellhops! Jackson! It had to be—he dressed in red and was the one Norbridge trusted the most.
Elizabeth dashed over to Sampson, who was standing by the front door, and asked him if he knew where Jackson was.
“I think he’s in Grace Hall making sure the chairs are all arranged,” he said, and Elizabeth raced off to find him.
“Jackson!” she called out when she burst through the doors of Grace Hall.
He looked up. “Miss Somers,” he said. “Good morning to you.”
She stopped, stood before him, and tried to catch her breath. “Good morning to you, too,” she said.
He stood looking at her, and it seemed to Elizabeth that he was trying not to smile.
“May I help you?” he said.
“Have you talked to Freddy recently?”
Jackson looked up. “Freddy, Freddy,” he said. “Let me think…”
“Come on, Jackson!” Elizabeth said, certain now she was on to something. “You know what I’m talking about.” She glanced at the note again. Check under the cap, she read to herself.
“The cap!” she said to Jackson. “Your cap!”
Jackson leaned forward to allow Elizabeth to remove the bright red pillbox hat strung on his head. “Please, miss,” he said. “Can you adjust my hat?”
As she took it off, a street map of Madrid fluttered to the ground, along with a note with the words “Clue #2” written on it.
“First item!” Elizabeth said. “A map of Spain!”
“I suppose I forgot,” Jackson said, “that young Mr. Knox came to me twenty minutes ago and asked me to put all this on my head.” He smiled to her. “On your way, though. I have work to do.”
“Thank you!” she said. She scooped up the map and stuffed it into her backpack. As she raced out of Grace Hall, she unfolded the note, which read Gtepi yc ioeielap qmav. The keyword is my name backwards.
Elizabeth ran to her room and got out A Guide for Children to use the alphabet grid. She tried “Freddy” backwards for the keyword, and when that didn’t work she tried “Frederick” backwards and then “Knox” backwards and then just plain old “Fred” backwards. Nothing unlocked the code, and she began to feel discouraged.
Maybe he made a mistake using the Vigenère Cipher, she thought. His name backwards obviously doesn’t work. She studied the clue, read it over and over again. And then she realized something: “My name” backwards! It’s the letters in the words “my name” turned around!
She used the letters “emanym” as the keyword, and the four words of the code seemed to burst into view: Check my workshop door.
Elizabeth raced to the Walnut WonderLog workshop on the third floor and found a bag hanging on the door handle. Inside were five pieces of Flurschen and Clue #3.
He’s pretty good, Elizabeth thought. And now I have a map and some candy. I just wonder how far along he is.
She unfolded the note and read the following: It’s the only single word Asia Dorm can make. If you find this place, put your hand in the lake.
What? Elizabeth thought. He wants me to go outside to the lake? She studied the lines with consternation, focusing on the two words that stuck out like a sore thumb: “Asia Dorm.” If those two words are actually part of an anagram, she thought, and if there’s only one possible word the two of them can rearrange themselves into … Her thoughts began to swirl, and suddenly the word “dioramas” popped into her mind.
“The dioramas near the portrait gallery!” she said aloud, and she dashed off to the room where six dioramas—an elaborate model of Winterhouse, a medi
eval castle, the ruins at Machu Picchu, the Parthenon, Central Park, and the city of Pompeii (PRE-OBLITERATION, a sign clarified)—each sat atop pedestals and invited admiration of their minute and detailed layouts. Elizabeth had stopped to glance at them for only a moment the day before, and now she was in a rush to find the third item and the next clue, but she was amazed at the artistry on display in each diorama.
She ran her eyes over the six of them and noticed something sitting on the re-created Lake Luna next to the huge model of Winterhouse. It was a rubber ball—nearly the size of a jawbreaker that would barely fit in your mouth—and underneath it a note labeled Clue #4.
“He’s good,” Elizabeth said aloud. “I have to admit—he’s very good.”
It went on like this all morning, Elizabeth solving one clue after the next—and even taking a few minutes to fit one piece into the puzzle for the two men in the lobby—until, an hour and a half later, she discovered Clue #10 (If you want an origami bird who’s nice and fat, you’ll have to make sure to rescue him from Donald’s cat) and figured it must be prodding her to check in the portrait gallery. She remembered seeing a portrait of Donald Falls, painted over sixty years before, with a gray tabby behind him. She made her way along the corridors to the gallery and was just about to enter through the door that was half open, when she heard voices within and stopped.
“Everything will unfold in time,” someone—a woman—said.
Elizabeth moved closer to the door and peered in. There, standing before the wall to one side and in profile to her, was Marcus Q. Hiems and, beside him, his wife.
“We know what must be done,” Marcus said. They both seemed to be talking to one of the paintings, though from where Elizabeth stood, it was impossible for her to see which one. She remained still, watching and waiting.
“So close,” the woman said. “I can feel it. We are so close. Now that we have found the girl.” She turned to Marcus. “It took us some time, but we found her.”
Marcus reached for her hand. “Yes, and everything follows from that,” he said, and then he looked to the unseen painting again. “We will not let you down,” he said, as though speaking to the painting itself.
The two of them began walking toward the door where Elizabeth stood. Just as she was about to rush away, she saw Marcus’s gaze fix on one of the portraits along the wall. Elizabeth squinted—an origami bird made of black paper appeared to be taped to the frame of the painting Marcus was studying. Without warning, he darted out a hand, snatched the small figure from the picture frame, and dropped it to the floor. He lifted his foot above it and then crushed it hard, rubbing three times for good measure as if getting rid of a dangerous spider.
“Vile little decorations,” he said to his wife, his voice filled with disgust, and they continued walking toward Elizabeth.
The feeling came over her. She wanted to flee, but she felt fixed in place and could only stare as Marcus Q. Hiems and his wife drew nearer. With a few more steps, they would surely see her through the opening in the doorway.
CHAPTER 19
IN THE DARK CORRIDOR
DARE
DIRE
WIRE
WIFE
A painting, one of three of Ravenna Falls that Elizabeth had admired two days before, slid down the wall just behind Marcus Q. Hiems and his wife and struck the varnished floor with a crash that echoed loudly in the vast room. The woman called out in surprise, the couple wheeled around, and in that moment Elizabeth dashed away unseen.
Ten minutes later, when she was sure the Hiemses were gone, she returned to the portrait gallery and, after cleaning up the mess of Ravenna’s broken frame as best she could, put the scuffed and flattened origami bird in her pack. She was about to leave to meet Freddy when she stopped to study the wall of portraits. She wanted to figure out just where the Hiemses were standing when they had spoken their strange words. And it seemed to her, as she re-created the scene, that they had been right in front of the paintings of Norbridge and his twin sister, Gracella.
What were they doing talking to these paintings? Elizabeth thought. And what did they mean when they said they “found the girl”? It all left her with an uneasy feeling.
She began to leave—but then she examined the painting of Nestor Falls again. He was seated in front of an enormous bookcase, filled with so many books that they dominated the picture at least as much as Nestor and his wife; the book with the coded message sat on his lap. It all seemed so strange to her. From her backpack she took out her little notebook and A Guide for Children, which she’d brought with her after deciphering Freddy’s second clue. She made a few attempts at discovering the keyword by trying, first, “Nestor,” and then “Lavina,” his wife’s name. Neither worked. Next she tried the names of their children, which she found in an adjacent portrait: “Edgar,” “Nathaniel,” and “Ravenna.” Again, no luck. She studied the painting, examined Nestor and his wife. There was a secret here to solve, but she couldn’t figure out how to get at it.
As she closed the book, she noticed—on the page at the front where she’d seen the shiny letter “T” the day before—the letters “TH” in the exact same glittery, silver print.
That’s strange, Elizabeth thought. There wasn’t an “H” there yesterday. There’s no way I could have missed that.
She shifted the book back and forth, examined the page from different angles to see if the letters moved in or out of view or if the “H” disappeared; but the “TH” remained in the center of the page, clear and bold. It hardly seemed possible, but she felt she must have somehow only seen one of the two letters the day before. I don’t get it, she thought. She frowned at the book as she returned it to her backpack; and then—flustered—she left the dim hall to find Freddy. It was time to see what kind of success he’d had with the scavenger hunt.
* * *
Over lunch they compared notes, showed what they’d found, and praised each other’s clues and hiding places. Freddy laid the items Elizabeth had hidden for him on the table: beyond the cookies, a quarter, and the brochure from the lecture, there was also a pack of Juicy Fruit gum, a clean silk handkerchief (Elizabeth had found it in her wardrobe), one of the paperbacks she’d brought with her (along with a note: Please return), a commemorative spoon from the 1974 World’s Fair that Mrs. Trumble had given her, and a few more odds and ends. Elizabeth showed Freddy the stash of items she’d found: Aside from the map, the Flurschen, and the rubber ball, there was also a bottle of soap bubbles, a set of hex wrenches, two “I’ll Tell You a Joke” coupons, a paper bag with satsuma oranges in it, and, along with a few more things, the squashed origami bird.
“What did you do to the bird?” Freddy said, and Elizabeth explained the strange scene she’d seen with Marcus Q. Hiems and his wife.
“They were standing in front of the paintings of Norbridge and Gracella, and talking to them?” he said.
“Yeah.” Elizabeth said. “And saying that something was about to happen and there was a girl they’d found.” The more she thought about it, the more it seemed the couple had been looking at Gracella’s picture.
“Okay, well, get this. When I was in the library, Norbridge was in some sort of argument with them!”
“Did you hear what they were talking about?”
“I kind of got close enough without making it too obvious, but all I heard was something about Marcus asking if he could buy some of the library books.”
“Buy them? Why would he ask that?”
“No idea. But Norbridge was telling him absolutely not, and they got pretty mad at each other as they talked. Nothing about stealing books, though. That’s all I heard before I took off.”
“Something’s going on,” Elizabeth said. “Marcus and his wife brought a big crate to their room and they don’t want anyone in there. They’re also looking for something in the library and Marcus told us Norbridge steals books. And then Norbridge is going to the library late every night to check on something.”
Freddy drummed
his fingers on his laptop, which sat on the table beside his plate. “I admit it all sounds pretty weird.”
“We should keep our eyes on Marcus and his wife. I swear, this is like this book I once read called Swallows and Amazons, where the kids start to figure out—”
“You read a lot of books,” Freddy said. He pointed to his temple and narrowed his eyes.
“Come on! I’m not making any of it up. You even saw Norbridge arguing with them today, and I saw them actually trying to converse with a painting! Plus, what about Norbridge’s trips to the library at night? Something is definitely and no doubt absolutely going on!”
“Let’s not worry about the Hiems guy and his wife for now. Let’s just figure they are playing some sort of creepy game or something.”
Elizabeth curled her lips. “We can let them go—for now,” she said. “But if I see Norbridge heading to the library again tonight, it will be time for you and me to put ‘Operation Sherlock’ into place.”
Freddy rolled his eyes. “I don’t know what you mean by that, but you really do read too many books, you know.”
“Okay?” Elizabeth said. “We’ll start looking into things?”
Freddy sighed. “Okay,” he said. “Agreed. But I don’t know what I’m getting myself into.”