by Emily Ecton
Mr. Smith had said he’d gotten the answers right—all of them. That he’d solved the clues correctly. But now, watching the water splash against the stone, Bondi knew better.
Buckingham Fountain was the wrong fountain. It wasn’t the solution to the clue. And Mr. Smith didn’t know the answer was wrong.
Liam was playing solitaire on Melissa’s floor when she came in.
“So?” Liam said, a red 8 poised over a black 9.
“So what?” Melissa dumped her book bag on the floor and flopped down onto her bed.
Liam made a face at her. “So what happened? You’re super late. Did you figure it out?”
Melissa mushed her face into her pillow. “Yes,” she said, her voice muffled. “Yes, I figured it out.”
“And?” Liam tugged on the hem of her jeans. “What happened? You have to tell—I had to spend the afternoon with stupid Arnie and his mom. They made cookies.” Liam pretended to barf in Melissa’s book bag. He hated Arnie’s mom’s cookies, but Gran said he had to eat at least one to be polite.
“Fine.” Melissa unmushed her face and sat up. “Yes, I figured it out. It’s the InterContinental Hotel building. That’s the solution to the third clue. The guy who played Tarzan used to swim inside at their super-fancy pool, and there’s a big carving on the side of the building. But it doesn’t matter. That other kid solved his clues first, so he won.”
Liam dropped the cards onto the floor. “Did they say that? It’s official?”
Melissa shrugged. “No. I don’t know. It’s weird. Dimitri still wants me to meet with the Smith guy tomorrow, but I don’t know why. I guess I’ll get the official bad news then.”
“Yeah, I guess.” Liam’s chin quivered as he picked up the cards and quietly put them back in the box. Then he looked up at Melissa and punched her lightly on the sneaker. “That really stinks, huh.”
Melissa tried to smile. She didn’t even want to think about all the plans she’d had if she won. She’d tried so hard not to get her hopes up, but it had seemed like she had a real chance this time. Now everything would just go back to the way it was before.
Melissa punched Liam lightly back. “Yeah, it really stinks.”
Bondi did his best to seem relaxed as Mr. Smith looked over the photos for the second time. He had finally decided to take just a standard shot of Buckingham Fountain, but it was so obviously the wrong fountain that Bondi winced every time Smith looked at it. Smith had to know. Right? This had to be a test.
But Mr. Smith just stacked the photos in a neat pile and smiled at Bondi. “Excellent work, Master Johnson. Excellent. These new photos will be perfectly acceptable.”
Bondi felt his tension evaporate. “So that means I win? I get the scholarship and everything?”
Mr. Smith kept smiling, but his eyes were hard. “Now, don’t get ahead of yourself. First I must make sure that everything was done according to our rules and you haven’t violated the contract in any way, shape, or form. Then and only then will I be in touch to discuss your standing in the competition. Until that point, I say a hearty thank-you. You’ve done good work, and good work is always a reward in itself, isn’t it?”
Bondi frowned. “Well, yes, but—”
“As I said, if you haven’t violated any clauses, terms, rules, et cetera, then you shouldn’t have anything to worry about, should you? You haven’t done anything to void our agreement, have you? You signed a legally binding document.”
Bondi shook his head. He didn’t think he had. Well, aside from that whole getting-the-answer-wrong thing.
Mr. Smith’s smile got wider. “Then you will be hearing from us quite soon. Or at some point. In the future.”
“Okay, great. So—”
Mr. Smith stood up. “Now Butler will show you out and relieve you of your competition materials. And thank you again for a job well done.”
“Competition materials?”
“Cell phones, manuals, other accoutrement. All items relating to the competition must be returned at this time. Butler?” Mr. Smith snapped his fingers, and Mr. Butler appeared from the shadows of the room. He opened the door and stood next to it, looming over Bondi.
Bondi hesitated. He didn’t want to stay, but he sure didn’t want to leave—not without getting a better idea of what was going on. This sure didn’t feel like winner treatment. But he had a feeling that if he didn’t go, Mr. Smith would be planting a foot on his butt and shoving him out.
“Yeah, okay.” Bondi nodded coolly at Butler as he strolled into the boring outer office.
Mr. Butler followed, closing the door behind them. “If you’ll give me just a moment, I’ll escort you to the elevator, Mr. Johnson,” he said, opening a small door and disappearing inside.
“No, that’s oka—”
“You will wait, Mr. Johnson.”
“Okay, I will wait,” Bondi muttered. Like he wasn’t able to show himself to the elevator. Bondi glanced around the generic office. It gave him the creeps. There wasn’t anything personal about it at all. It felt wrong, like it was all fake. Just like the competition.
Mr. Butler came back out and put a hand on Bondi’s back, gently ushering him out of the bland office and down the hallway to the elevators.
He pushed the elevator call button and smiled down at Bondi. “As Mr. Smith said, well done, Mr. Johnson.” Mr. Butler’s voice was oily and low.
“Thanks,” Bondi said.
“So please accept this on behalf of my employer.”
Mr. Butler held out a small cream-colored envelope with Bondi’s name written in elaborate script on the front.
Bondi took it carefully. The envelope was made out of heavy paper, and it looked important, formal. Not big enough for a check, though.
The elevator door opened, and Bondi looked up. “So I’m supposed to give you back the phone and stuff?”
Mr. Butler smiled. “In due time. Perhaps you will be needing them for just a short while longer.”
Bondi shrugged and stepped into the elevator as the doors were closing. If Butler didn’t care about him keeping the phone, he wasn’t going to argue.
“So quick question,” Bondi said, holding the elevator door open. “Mr. Smith—did he write those clues himself? I wouldn’t blame him if he had help. Because they were pretty tough, let me tell you! Must be a pretty smart guy to have come up with those clues. How’d he come up with all that?”
Butler leaned into the elevator and smiled as he pushed the down button. “Good-bye, Mr. Johnson.”
Bondi shrugged, and stepped back into the elevator. Once the doors had closed, he opened the heavy envelope. It was an invitation.
Your attendance is requested
3 P.M., at the Taj Mahal.
“Oh, sheesh.” Bondi leaned against the elevator wall and groaned. Taj Mahal. Just when he thought things couldn’t get any weirder.
Bondi shoved the card into his pocket and kicked a panel of the elevator. A plan had started forming in the back of his mind, and he didn’t like it one bit. He didn’t even know if it would work, but it wasn’t like he had a lot of other ideas. By the time the elevator reached the lobby, he’d decided. He knew what he had to do.
Melissa’s grandmother was just settling down with the remote when the phone rang.
“Oh, snackle crackbuckets,” Gran said. “I just got comfy. Melissa, do you mind?”
Melissa swiveled on her heel and headed for the phone. “No problem.” She picked up the receiver. “Hello?”
“Um, is Melissa Burris there?” The voice on the other end of the line was muffled; the reception was terrible.
“This is Melissa. Who is this?”
“Melissa Burris who’s participating in a scholarship contest? With red hair?”
Melissa narrowed her eyes. She didn’t like the sound of that one bit. “Who is this?” Melissa hissed, glancing at her grandmother as she ducked into the kitchen.
“Hey, Melissa, long time no speak. So anyway, this is Bondi Johnson. From the competiti
on? Funny thing about that—”
“Yeah, I know who you are.” Melissa took a deep breath. “So congratulations, I guess.”
“What?”
Melissa gritted her teeth. She didn’t know why Bondi was calling to rub things in, but she was going to be a good sport if it killed her. Be the bigger person. She faked a smile so her voice would sound extra happy. “Congratulations, on winning and all. That’s really great. I mean, I was right behind you, figured out my clues tonight, but I guess the best man won.”
“Oh. Well, thanks. But that’s not why I—”
“So, look, I’ve got to go. Congrats again, and uh, good luck with everything. Bye.” Melissa hung up abruptly and then leaned against the wall. At least that was over and she wouldn’t have to be a good sport anymore. Well, after tomorrow, anyway. After she’d gone in and gotten the official bad news from Mr. Smith. Once she’d done that she could be a terrible sport and tiny, bitter person and spit nails if she wanted to. It sounded great to her.
“Friend of yours, Melissa?” Gran called from the other room.
“Sort of,” Melissa said, tucking her hair behind her ears and putting on a happy face before heading back in. If someone you never want to see again counts as a friend.
“Well, come sit down now. The show’s about to start! Tonight it’s ‘Enoch Ambrose: The Later Years.’”
“Can’t wait,” Melissa said. It was all Enoch Ambrose all the time in her house. She wasn’t sure why he was rating multiple nights on prime time, but whatever. At least she wouldn’t have to talk or be chipper for the hour it was on.
Bondi glared at the phone. It hadn’t been easy tracking down Melissa’s phone number, and convincing Inez to leave him alone while he made the call to his “dad” had been even trickier. He hadn’t expected Melissa to be thrilled to hear from him, but he figured she’d at least let him get two words in edgewise. Talk about a sore loser.
Bondi slipped the phone back into his pocket and headed out of the building. Inez was leaning against the car, flicking her lighter on and off and looking bored.
“Kid, you didn’t even say—Did he give you your prize?” Inez asked, flipping her lighter into the air and then pocketing it in one smooth motion.
“Not exactly.” Bondi dumped his messenger bag in the back of the car.
“Well, Butler called and said that I’m still your driver for the next week or so, so that’s a bonus, right? You’re probably raring to hit the town?”
“No, I just want to go home. But yeah, it’s a bonus,” Bondi said, slipping his hand into his jacket pocket. The invitation was still there. He didn’t mention it to Inez, though. It wasn’t like she could give him a ride to the Taj Mahal, after all. Or tell him when he was supposed to go there.
And as cool as Inez was, he wasn’t about to tell her any more secrets. Not until he knew where she fit into this whole thing. And how much she wasn’t telling him.
Melissa put her feet up on the coffee table just as “Enoch Ambrose: The Later Years” came back on.
“So how old is he supposed to be now?” Melissa scanned the coffee table for snackies, but there weren’t any.
Gran frowned. “Well, you missed ‘Enoch Ambrose: A Golden Time,’ and ‘Enoch Ambrose: Businessman Extraordinaire.’ That one featured his feud with Colonel McCormick of the Tribune. So I think he’s probably in his sixties in this one? Or maybe older? Who cares? He looks good at any age!”
Melissa nodded and tried not to cringe when Gran squealed as Enoch Ambrose appeared on the screen.
What Melissa needed was popcorn. Popcorn would get her through this. She had to have something to munch on if she was going to pretend to enjoy this boring history stuff.
“Popcorn, Gran?” Melissa said, pushing the afghan off her knees.
“Ooh, yes, please. Look! There he is at the lake house! So dashing.” Gran sighed.
Melissa made approving noises and headed into the kitchen. She wished that Bondi kid hadn’t called. She’d been feeling pretty okay with things up until then. Sure, she was nervous about her meeting, but it wasn’t that bad. Now she just felt twisted and weird inside.
The popcorn didn’t look too bad when she had finished microwaving it—only half of the kernels were burned, and she hadn’t set off the smoke detector or anything. She dumped the bag into a big plastic bowl and carried it into the living room.
“Here you go! Nice, fresh, hot pop—” Melissa stopped abruptly and stared at the TV.
Enoch Ambrose was sitting at a picnic table and smoking a cigar. A pinch-faced woman was next to him, and a sour-looking man was fanning himself with a hat.
Melissa pointed at the screen. “Who…who is that?”
“Why, that’s Enoch, hon.” Gran stared at her in concern. “Who else? And those are his children, Linus and Sybil. Don’t worry, you haven’t missed too much. You can catch up.”
Melissa didn’t even notice as her grandmother took the popcorn bowl out of her hand. She just gaped at the screen.
“Sit, honey?” Gran patted the couch next to her.
Melissa shook her head and wandered back into the kitchen. “I have to make a call,” she said as she disappeared into the other room.
She leaned against the countertop, pressing her forehead against the wall. That photo showed Enoch Ambrose and his children, Linus and Sybil. Melissa had never officially met any of the Ambrose family. But she’d seen Linus Ambrose more than once. She’d even spoken to him.
Only she’d called him Mr. Smith.
Melissa’s Clues:
Go to the site of Lorado Taft’s Death in 1909.
Freeze! Look to the building where Tarzan swam to find your “Contribution.”
Go to 1910 for ice cream, then stick around to watch the newborns.
Wilf’s Clues:
Jeremiah 6:23 plus Psalm 46:9
Madame Tussaud and Mrs. O’Leary would be proud of their little blue friend.
???
Bondi’s Invitation:
Your attendance is requested
3 P.M., at the Taj Mahal.
Wilf slammed the apartment door with a boom and headed downstairs, swinging himself along using the railings. He had to hustle to catch the bus, even though that was the last thing he wanted to ride. It was surprising how quickly you could get used to having someone drive you everywhere. Especially when the bus on your route smelled like a combination of gas, rotten tuna fish, and sweat.
Wilf kicked the building’s front door open and jumped down the entrance steps, almost slamming into some guy standing in the middle of the sidewalk.
“Sorry,” he muttered. But really, what kind of guy just stands in the middle of the sidewalk?
“What, forget me already?”
Wilf looked up and broke into a surprised grin. “Frank?”
Frank shrugged. “Funny thing, looks like they want you to keep going with those clues, anyway.”
“Even though that Bondi kid won?”
“Even though.” Frank reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded-up piece of paper. “So we’re going to have to get moving if we want to finish up before I’m reassigned. So what’s next?” He scanned the page. “Seadog boat trip?”
Wilf grinned. “You said it, Skipper.”
Melissa waved good-bye to Dimitri and hurried into the school, trying to act normal. But once she was through the door, she pressed herself against the wall and peeked out of the window, watching until Dimitri drove away.
“You okay, Burris?” Troy Cantrell was staring at her like she’d grown two heads.
“You didn’t see a thing, got it, Cantrell?” Melissa glared at him.
Troy went white. “Got it. Didn’t see a thing.”
Melissa slipped back out of the front doors, nervously checking behind her every few seconds as she made her way down the street. She didn’t relax until she was safely inside the coffee shop down the block.
Bondi was sitting at one of the tables, just like he said he’d be when she�
��d called him back the night before. He was eating a chocolate doughnut and drinking what looked like some kind of tea. At least he’d been smart enough to get a table in the corner, away from the window.
Melissa dumped her book bag on one of the empty chairs and flopped down. “You realize if we’re spotted we’ll both be disqualified. It’s in the rules. Rule number two, I believe.”
Bondi nodded. “I don’t think it even matters. Something is seriously wrong with this whole competition.”
Melissa snorted. “Tell me about it. You saw the documentary, too?”
Bondi frowned. “Documentary? I was talking about the clues and Mr. Smith.”
Melissa snorted again. “Mr. Smith? Right. Mr. Ambrose, you mean.”
“Whoa, Nelly, slow down. What documentary? Who’s Mr. Ambrose?” After Melissa had agreed to meet with him, Bondi had planned how he would break the news about Mr. Smith and the clues. He’d worked out exactly what he would say and how it would go. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.
Melissa nodded. “You didn’t see it? It was on last night. ‘Enoch Ambrose: The Later Years.’ They showed a picture of him with his kids. And guess what? Mr. Smith is really Linus Ambrose, that millionaire guy’s son.”
Bondi whistled. Of all the things he’d expected her to say, it wasn’t that. “Man, that’s messed up.” He frowned and inspected his doughnut. “That’s really messed up. But you know, it makes total sense. I knew that guy was one hundred percent shady!”
Melissa eyed Bondi’s doughnut, too. “Shady and creepy. But wait, if you didn’t know he was Linus Ambrose, what are you talking about? What’s wrong with the competition?”
Bondi put his elbows on the table and leaned forward. “It’s big.”
