The Name of the Game Was Murder

by Joan Lowery Nixon

  “It means that while doing background research and interviews, in an attempt to supplement my notes and refresh my memory, I stumbled upon a well-hidden secret in the past life of each one of you.”

  “Ridiculous!” Senator Maggio snapped.

  “Oh, is it?” Augustus asked, and his eyes gleamed. “If these secrets are made known, they’ll be damaging enough to ruin your reputations, aside from other complications that might result.”

  “This is absurd,” Alex interjected, but Augustus dismissed him with a wave of his hand and went on.

  “Each of you committed one very stupid mistake in your past, yet the mistakes were never made public. Was this because you were actually smart enough to cover them, or because you were incredibly lucky?”

  “Augustus, I protest!” Aunt Thea said. “You’re embarrassing our guests, and—”

  “Sit down, Thea,” Augustus ordered, and she did.

  “You are all highly successful in your careers,” he continued, “and normally that takes a certain amount of intelligence. So what is the truth? Are you stupid, or are you not? I’m going to find out. During the weekend we’re going to play a game, and you’ll be given clues to solve. The clues will lead to a significant treasure—a treasure that in itself will be self-explanatory.

  “If you can solve the clues, then you’ll prove to me that your stupid mistakes can remain secret, and I’ll remove every trace of your stories from my manuscript. For those who can’t solve the clues, the world will soon learn the shocking facts from your past.”

  “This manuscript you’re threatening us with—have you written it or are you simply threatening to write it?” Alex demanded.

  “Oh, I’ve completed it,” Augustus answered. “It’s ready for its final revision before I send it to my agent, who will proceed to read it immediately and send it on to my publisher. In its current form, your mistakes are detailed.”

  “Where is this manuscript?” Buck asked. He scowled from under his heavy eyebrows, and his anger was so strong that for a moment I was afraid.

  But Augustus wasn’t. He leaned back and smiled. “Violence won’t accomplish what you want, my dear Mr. Thompson. Clear and sharp thinking will.”

  Buck hunched over in his chair and grumbled, “I don’t know what you’ve got in mind, but you won’t get away with it, Augustus.”

  Suddenly Senator Maggio shoved back his chair and got to his feet. Tiny lines at the corners of his eyes twitched, and his lips were so tightly pressed together, they were pale. “I’m leaving,” he said. “Your weekend game is simply an exercise in self-aggrandizement, Augustus, and I want no part of it. Will you please make arrangements for your launch to take me to the mainland?”

  “I’m leaving too!” Julia announced, and jumped to her feet.

  Everyone got up except Augustus, and even though we were all looking down at him, he still seemed to be the most powerful figure in the room. I think it was because he never stopped smiling that wicked smile, even when he was talking.

  “The launch was taken to the mainland and docked there for greater safety during the storm,” he said. “I hadn’t counted on any of you being foolish enough to refuse to play the game.”

  “There’s a smaller boat,” Buck said. “Is that gone too?”

  “No,” Augustus said, “but you’d have to be quite desperate and somewhat mad to take a boat like that in choppy seas.”

  The senator must have faced tough opponents before, because he remained calm. “Then I’ll remain in my room until the launch is able to return,” he said.

  He began to turn away from the table, Julia tentatively following him, but Augustus warned, “Just remember, if you leave this room you’ll lose your opportunity to have your damaging secret removed from the manuscript. I prefer that you all return to your seats so the game may begin.”

  “I don’t have any damaging secrets,” Julia murmured, but she slipped back into her chair.

  After a brief moment of hesitation the others followed her lead, even Senator Maggio. Me? I was one of the first to be seated. I didn’t want to miss a thing.

  Mrs. Engstrom brought in a tray of tiny macaroons and bonbons and quietly poured demitasse cups of coffee, passing them to the guests, who were all so intent on Augustus, they ignored her.

  Aunt Thea, who sat at the far end of the table, seemed paler than usual and close to tears. Most of the guests looked down at their hands or away at the windows, not wanting to meet another pair of eyes, but Alex shrugged, as if he were only going along with the gag as a good sport, and asked Augustus, “You said the clues would lead to some kind of treasure. Exactly what is this treasure we’ll be looking for?”

  “You’ll know it when you find it, and you’ll find it through the clues,” Augustus said, and his grin became broader.

  “Aren’t you going to help us?” Laura whispered.

  “Of course,” he answered. He reached into a deep pocket in his velvet jacket and brought out six sealed envelopes on which names had been printed in bright blue ink. He read out the names, then passed the envelopes down each side of the table to the correct recipient. Even Aunt Thea got one.

  “You might call this a warm-up to the game,” he said. “Inside each envelope you’ll find a personal clue. You can test your skills by seeing what you can learn from what you’ve been given.”

  Julia didn’t hesitate. She ripped open one end of the envelope and tugged out the contents. “This is a clue?” she asked. “It’s nothing but part of an airline schedule, New York to Buffalo.”

  “And I’ve been given a train schedule,” Senator Maggio complained.

  Alex held up an enlarged section of what seemed to be a detailed map and said with a touch of sarcasm, “Maybe Augustus is suggesting the three of us plan a trip together.”

  “In Vietnam?” I murmured. I’d been able to read a few of the names on the map.

  Alex did a double-take, stared at the map a second, then folded it and dropped it into his shirt pocket. He didn’t answer my question. He wouldn’t even meet my eyes.

  “Study your clues,” Augustus said, and hunched over, chuckling to himself like some evil gnome.

  Shamelessly, I looked over the shoulders on each side of me. Laura was holding a list of football games and scores, while Buck stared at a list of names and telephone numbers. One was circled: Peeples, Willie.

  Laura said. “You made a mistake, Augustus. These football scores must be for Buck. They don’t mean anything to me.”

  But Julia suddenly gasped as she stared at her clue, and the senator, his face darkening, angrily folded his paper into a hard, tight square, and stuffed it into his pocket.

  Thea suddenly spoke up. “Augustus, I don’t want to be a part of this game.”

  He nodded toward her, giving a kind of bow, but he said, “Oh, yes you do, Thea.”

  “How could you?” she whispered. Tears came to her eyes, and her fingers trembled as she folded what looked like a travel brochure—I could read the word Acapulco—and tucked it back into the envelope.

  “None of this makes sense to me,” Laura said.

  I reached for her clue. “Would you like me to help you?” I asked. “I’m really good at clues and codes and stuff like that. When we were younger a friend and I spent years making up crazy codes to solve.”

  I realized that I had the attention of all of them, but Laura didn’t seem to notice and said, “Oh, thank you, Sam. If you can figure this out, I’ll be eternally grateful.”

  “Figure it out yourself, Laura!” Augustus snapped. “That’s the point of this experiment—to see if you’re smart enough to save your own skins!”

  “I’m sorry,” I mumbled. “I was just trying to help.”

  “You want a clue?” he went on. “All right, Samantha, I’ll give you a clue. In fact, yours may make more sense than all the rest of them.” He pulled a scrap of paper out of his pocket and bent over it, hiding it as if he were taking a test, wiggling the fingers on his left hand, wh
ile with his right hand he wrote. When he’d finished writing, he folded it over and gave it to Laura, who passed it to me.

  When I smoothed the paper out flat I saw a series of numbers and recognized a simple letter–number code that Darlene and I used way back in fourth grade: One stands for A, two for B, and so on.

  7–5–20 12–15–19–20

  Insult me with something like that, would he? I crumpled the paper into a wad and glared at Augustus.

  The others had been watching, but Laura had been leaning over my shoulder. “Ohhh,” she said. “It was written in code, and she figured it out so fast! She is good!”

  “Perhaps I underestimated you,” Augustus said to me.

  “Perhaps,” I murmured, and tilted my nose in the air until it occurred to me that I probably looked as conceited as Alex.

  “Augustus, what did you mean, Sam’s clue may make the most sense?” Julia asked.

  Still angry, I didn’t give him a chance to answer. “It doesn’t,” I said. “Why would he want to give something special to me? He was just kidding.”

  The rain increased with such force that when Thea spoke no one could hear her, and she had to repeat, “Augustus, what are we supposed to do now?”

  Augustus propped his hands on the edge of the table, elbows protruding like chicken wings, and shouted, “It’s late. I’d suggest you all retire to your rooms and meditate on the meanings you’ve found in your clues.”

  “What meanings?” Laura asked in a pitiful voice, but Augustus ignored her.

  “There’ll be another set of clues for you in the morning,” he said.

  Thunder slammed and rolled around the house, and I wasn’t the only one who jumped.

  “The storm may interfere with your sleep, but you won’t have to worry about any loss of electricity,” Augustus said. “We have our own generator.”

  Everyone began leaving the dining room, and I glanced toward Laura, whose bleak, miserable expression reminded me of the look that our school’s halfback, Moose Munchberg, gets whenever he has to take any kind of test. Augustus had told me not to help Laura, and his glance was firmly on me, so I bypassed her, kissed Aunt Thea’s cheek, and said good night.

  Thea’s skin was cold, and she clung to me for just an instant.

  “I can help you,” I whispered, “no matter what Augustus says.”

  But Thea shook her head and answered, “Thank you, Samantha. You’re a dear girl, but I’ve already deciphered my clue. Better be off to bed. Breakfast will be served anytime after seven.”

  I passed Mrs. Engstrom at the dining room door. She stood as quietly and motionless as a mummy—her lips held in a tight, angry line and her eyes glittering in the dim light—so I started when I saw her.

  “Good night, Miss Burns,” she said.

  “Good night, Mrs. Engstrom.” I wasn’t quite sure what a housekeeper did. Maybe she planned things. Maybe she took care of the cooking. Politely I said, “That was a very good dinner. I liked the … uh … chicken?”

  “Veal,” she said. “I’ll tell the cook. Good night.”

  I hurried up to my tower room, eagerly turning on the light and locking the door behind me. The storm was really noisy up here, but in a way I kind of liked the whoosh and slam of the wind and rain. It slapped the walls and rattled the windows in a sort of rhythm, like waves crashing on rocks, while lightning slashed the blackness with blue-white explosions.

  I decided to write that description in my journal, but when I sat on the edge of the bed, curiosity got the best of me, and I opened the crumpled wad of paper I was still holding.

  I hadn’t quickly deciphered it, as Laura had thought. I’d been too angry about the little-kid code. So now I took enough time to work out which letter went with which number and came up with the message: GET LOST.

  Funny. Very funny. I didn’t see a wastepaper basket, so instead of tossing the paper, I stuffed it into the pocket of my jeans, which were still draped across the bed.

  Okay, I thought. You want me to get lost? Then I will! The minute the launch came back I’d leave the island, and tomorrow I’d ask Aunt Thea to lend me enough money to get another plane ticket home. I’d stay with Darlene and her family and refuse to let myself worry about what my parents would have to say.

  I’d had all I was going to take from this horrible man with his crazy game.

  FIVE

  I didn’t sleep very well that night, and I’m sure none of the others did either. The storm picked up in intensity, and—even with my down pillow wadded on top of my head—the noise of the wind and rain and thunder was incredible.

  Was that the creaking sound of a door opening? I sat up in bed, clutching the blanket and sheet to my chin and listened as hard as I could. Footsteps … up the little stairs. Footsteps … coming closer … closer … closer. Was the doorknob turning? It was too dark to tell. As the key seemed to rattle in the lock I cried out, “Stop, or I’ll shoot!”

  A heavy blast of wind slammed against the windows, and I told myself I couldn’t have heard soft footsteps under all the noise the storm was making. It had to have been my imagination. My face grew warm with embarrassment when I realized what I had just yelled. How dumb could I get? I must have heard that awful line while my parents were watching their old rental movies, and it stuck in my head. Thank goodness I was off by myself where no one could hear me!

  But the key jiggled again just as lightning brightened the room. I saw it. For an instant I think my heart stopped, and my whole body turned cold. Footsteps or no footsteps, what was making the key jump like that?

  I climbed out of bed and ran barefoot to the door, just in time to catch the key as it tumbled from the lock.

  Someone had poked it out of the door!

  As fast and quietly as I could manage, with my hands shaking so violently, they could hardly aim the key, I shoved it back into the keyhole. If someone had wanted my key out so their key could unlock my door, as I suspected, they’d find they couldn’t get away with it.

  My key hit against something hard, and I thought I heard someone on the other side of the door grunt in surprise.

  I waited for the person to try to dislodge my key again, but it didn’t happen.

  Was someone still there? Had he left when the key trick hadn’t worked? Or, with all the noise of the thunder and wind, had I just imagined what I thought I’d heard? Maybe no one had been outside my door at all.

  I was scared to death, but still so curious I couldn’t stand it. I slid out my key and bent down to peer through the empty keyhole. Lightning lit up the sky, and in that sudden white-bright flash, I saw the gleam of an eye looking back at me.

  I screamed. I couldn’t help it. And for a moment everything got blurry and fuzzy. My head buzzed, and I thought I was going to faint. Luckily I didn’t, because I heard footsteps running away down the stairs and knew whoever had come to my room had gone. What was the person after? I didn’t have anything of value. Could it have been my clue? Did someone want to know what message Augustus had given me? I wished Augustus hadn’t been so flippant about it. Someone probably had believed him when he said that my clue may have made more sense than all the rest of them.

  Clutching the key tightly, I climbed back into bed. I knew I wouldn’t sleep. I’d probably never sleep as long as I was in this house!

  But at some point I opened my eyes and found that the thunder and lightning were off in the distance and the room had grown lighter. I checked my wristwatch and discovered that it was already eight o’clock in the morning. No wonder I was starving. I bathed and dressed in a hurry, pocketed my key, and hurried downstairs through those dim, gloomy halls, moving even faster as I passed old somebody-or-other’s burial urn. I was eager to reach the dining room, which was bright with the light from the huge crystal chandelier. I didn’t like being alone. I needed someone to talk to.

  Unfortunately, no one else was there.

  The table had been reset, and on the sideboard there was an array of covered warming dis
hes, bowls of strawberries and melon, platters of rolls and muffins, and small boxes of cereal. I was glad to find that this food was familiar, and there weren’t any artistic sauces to confuse me, so I helped myself to some of everything except the cereal—I could have cornflakes at home—and sat down to eat.

  “Good morning, Miss Burns. Is there anything else you’d like?” As she entered the room Mrs. Engstrom eyed my heaping plate, then walked to the nearest warming dish and peeked inside as though to reassure herself I hadn’t taken all the eggs. “Please tell me if there’s anything you need or if there is anything I can do for you. I want your stay here to be as comfortable as possible.”

  “Thank you,” I said, and then I blurted out, “Mrs. Engstrom, I haven’t told Aunt Thea yet, but I will as soon as I see her, and I’m telling you because you probably have to plan for how many there are at meals and all that …” I took a deep breath and tried to slow down. “What I mean is, I’m going home as soon as the storm is over and the launch comes back.”

  I expected her to nod formally, but instead her face softened, and she said, “Your aunt will be disappointed. She told me how much she was looking forward to your visit.”

  “But not everyone here wants me,” I began, and uncomfortably shifted in my chair.

  “Your aunt does and she’s lonely,” Mrs. Engstrom told me.

  I nodded. “I’d be lonely too, if I had to live in this castle, away from my friends and the malls and all that. Aunt Thea and—and Aug—and her husband used to travel a lot, and I remember Mom talking about their town house in New York City. I don’t understand why they decided to hole up here.”

  “Mr. Trevor has always come here to write,” she said. “He demands complete quiet. When he’s working on a book, no one—not even Mrs. Trevor—is allowed in his office.”

  I didn’t mean to pry, but I was curious. “But what does Aunt Thea do to keep busy while they’re living here?”

  Mrs. Engstrom’s lips tightened again, and she said, “Mr. Trevor has never wanted to hire a secretary, so Mrs. Trevor has always done the job. She answers Mr. Trevor’s mail. You wouldn’t believe how much mail he gets. There’s fan mail, and invitations to speak to various groups, and requests for donations—all sorts of things—and she takes all his phone calls, and watches out that he’s not disturbed while he’s working or resting.”