Brooklyn started to say something, but Director Verity cut her off.
“You may go back to bed now, Brooklyn.”
The smile melted off her face. Apparently, she’d hoped to be a witness at our trial.
“I said, go back to bed.” It was a command, not a suggestion. “The rest of you, stay where you are.”
Brooklyn closed her mouth, then retreated toward the stairs, a crumpled piece of toilet paper trailing along behind her. If I’d been feeling slightly generous, I would have stomped on it to free it. If I’d been feeling slightly generous.
Once Brooklyn disappeared, Director Verity lined us up. I fought the urge to fidget as she wound her arms behind her back, then studied each of us in turn.
“Now,” she finally said, “I want one of you to tell me what you were doing on Mr. Rickman’s property, and I want you to tell me now.” Her robe swirled around her ankles like a cape as she paced back and forth in front of us. “Esther? Moses? Oliver?”
I couldn’t decide which I had a harder time believing, that Munch’s real name was Moses or that Oliver hadn’t cracked (yet).
Director Verity jerked to a stop. “I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that the ground on which you stand literally belongs to Dr. Rickman.”
At least that caught my attention. “I thought it belonged to Archimedes.”
Director Verity’s nostrils shriveled. “His first name is Archimedes, but as far as you’re concerned, his name is Dr. Rickman. He’s a mathematician of some influence … or at least he was.” She raked a hand through her blond hair (which looked thin out of its bun). “Now you’ve disturbed his fragile peace.”
“We’re really sorry,” Munch replied. “We really didn’t mean to bug him.”
“And it won’t happen again,” I said. Next time, we’d be more careful.
One corner of her mouth curled up. “It most certainly will not, because I’ll be monitoring your free time for the remainder of the camp. Do I make myself clear?”
We dropped our eyes and mumbled, “Yeah.”
“Very well,” she said, massaging that squishy spot between her eyes. “You may return to bed now, too.”
We shuffled up the stairs without mumbling another word. At least Director Verity had stopped asking us what we’d been doing. I would have lied if I’d had to, since Angeline’s life was on the line, but I would have felt a little bad. Like I was going to feel bad when I broke into that shed.
One way or another, though, I was getting past that padlock.
As soon as I set foot in the mess hall the next morning, every eye zoomed in on me. Munch dipped his head, then returned his attention to his plate, but Oliver wouldn’t stop glaring, and the other math nerds wouldn’t stop staring. Even the counselors kept sneaking peeks in my direction when they thought I wasn’t looking. In the space of a few hours, I’d gone back to being the outsider.
I fiddled with the skin around my elbow as I shuffled into the food line, careful not to make eye contact. Mr. Pearson had made omelets, but just the sight of all that goop was enough to make me sick. Instead of risking an explosion, I opted for a granola bar.
Director Verity didn’t smile as I came up on the drinks station, but at least she didn’t frown. “Good morning,” she said evenly.
I took a bottled water. “Hey.”
Director Verity arched an eyebrow. “I trust you got a good night’s sleep?”
I felt my cheeks redden. “I guess.”
“Excellent,” she said, but it didn’t sound like she meant it.
I glanced around the dining room. “Hey, have you seen Toby?” I desperately needed an ally.
She pressed her lips into a line. “Mr. Sharp and Mr. Renfro are busy working on the truck. Now that the weather has cleared up, I think your stepfather is hoping to—how do you kids put it? Blow this Popsicle stand?”
I winced. “Can I go out and talk to him?”
She looked me up and down. “I suppose,” she finally said.
I set my bottled water down and made a break for the front door.
“But I expect you to be back for times table sprints!” she hollered after me.
I didn’t bother to reply, just wrenched open the oak door and raised a hand to shield my eyes. For the first time in a long time, the sky was as bright blue as my favorite cobalt turquoise paint. I gave my eyes time to adjust, then surveyed the mucky driveway. Toby’s beat-up truck was sitting right where we’d left it, and two pairs of hairy legs were sticking out from under it. Toby and Mr. Sharp had spread a tarp out on the ground, but they were still flecked with mud.
As I tramped down the steps, I got the eeriest sensation that I was being watched. A part of me wanted to bend down and use the railing as a shield, but with Toby and Mr. Sharp making enough noise to wake the dead, it wasn’t like the killer didn’t know right where we were.
“Hey, Toby,” I said once I could say it without shouting.
His clanking missed a beat, but then it started up again. “Hey, Esther,” he replied.
I dug my toe into the dirt. It was the consistency of cookie dough, damp but quickly drying out. I itched to sculpt something with it before it morphed back into dirt, but now was really not the time.
“I shouldn’t have snuck out,” I blurted at the same time Toby said, “I told Gordon not to worry about giving us a ride to Morgan.”
I scrunched up my nose. “What?”
Toby’s clanking didn’t stop. “The truck is almost good to go …”
I could nearly hear the dot-dot-dot.
“And it seems like you’ve been having a good time with the number crunchers.”
I huffed despite myself. “I’m not having a good time, I’m solving a very complex puzzle—”
I forced myself to stop before I said something problematic. Mr. Sharp wasn’t my prime suspect, but I still couldn’t rule him out.
“If you say so,” Toby said. “And no, you really shouldn’t have.”
I scrunched up my nose again. “No, I really shouldn’t have what?”
“Snuck out with the boys,” he said.
I waited for him to continue, but of course, he held his peace. Toby never lectured, but then, he usually didn’t have to.
The conversation dipped again. Only Toby’s clanking and Mr. Sharp’s grunting disturbed the uncertain silence. Their legs twitched as they strained to loosen one bolt or another, then, finally, went still.
“Why did you sneak out?” Toby asked. When I didn’t answer right away, he slithered out from under the truck and squinted up at me. “You weren’t … messing around with one of those number crunchers, were you?”
I felt my cheeks get hot, but before I could respond, Mr. Sharp slithered out, too, twisting his hands around his socket wrench.
“Just remembered I told Carmen that I’d help her with the cleanup”—he looked at me, then looked away—“so I guess I’ll leave you to it.”
He returned the socket wrench to his toolbox, then retreated to the lodge. I wanted to call after him, but my tongue wouldn’t cooperate. By the time I untwisted it, he was already gone.
I kicked Toby’s foot instead. “Are you kidding? That’s disgusting.” If I’d been feeling sick before, I was downright nauseated now.
Toby’s shoulders sagged. “Well, that’s something, anyway.” He retrieved the socket wrench that Mr. Sharp had abandoned, then wriggled back under the truck. “So what were you guys doing?”
I fidgeted with my granola bar. Toby was as cool as grown-ups came, so I knew he wouldn’t freak out. And since we were at a standstill, maybe it was time to bring a grown-up in.
“Well,” I finally said, “it’s just that I found this note.”
But Toby had gone back to clanking. “What was that?” he asked.
“I said, I found this note!” I didn’t mean to scream it, but I screamed it, anyway. After lowering my voice, I added, “It’s from this guy named Sphinx.”
“Who’s Sphinx?” Toby replied.
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“I don’t know,” I admitted. “I think that’s kind of the point.” I pulled the note out of my pocket—I’d started carrying it around—and carefully unfolded it. “It says that Sphinx is gonna kill someone.”
“What was that?” he asked again.
Instead of answering, I got down on the tarp beside him and pulled myself under the truck. It must have been a while since I’d last played mechanic, because there wasn’t nearly as much room under the truck as I remembered. I couldn’t even get my arms up, let alone hold out the note, so I returned it to my pocket.
“It’s a puzzle,” I replied. “And I think it’s serious.”
“I’ll take your word for it,” he said as he strained to reach something at the edge of his fingertips. “Hey, could you hand me that bolt? I think I set it by your hip.”
I felt around for the missing bolt, then dropped it into his hand. It might have been a while since I’d last squirmed under the truck, but at least our routine hadn’t changed. That calmed me down a little. And if Toby wasn’t worried, maybe I shouldn’t be, either.
“Well, that’s it,” he said, giving the chassis a familiar pat. “This boat is almost ready to set sail.” He sent me a sideways glance. “So Camp Vermeer or bust?”
I shook my head, then nodded. “Yeah, Camp Vermeer or bust.”
But even I could tell that I didn’t really mean it.
We dragged ourselves back to our feet, but it wasn’t like we could just leave. They had a few more things to fix before the truck was good and ready, and I’d promised the director I wouldn’t miss times table sprints.
Times table sprints were dumb (as usual), but Director Verity’s workshop on rotational symmetry was kind of cool. We even got to go outside and look for examples in nature. Whistler was the only one who found one (though his pale pink evening primrose wasn’t technically symmetrical, since it was missing one of its petals), but it was nice to be outside. Birds were chirping, bees were buzzing, and for the first time in a long time, the sun was actually shining. Then Director Verity had to go and ruin it. We’d just reached the amphitheater, a terraced semicircle with split logs and a fire pit, when she announced that it was time for us to head back to the lodge.
I felt my shoulders sag. “Can’t we stay a little longer?” I wasn’t ready to go back to the not-so-great indoors.
“Unfortunately, no,” Director Verity replied. “We don’t have time for lollygagging.”
I scowled despite myself. Oliver sent me a smug look, then followed Director Verity. I guess he still hadn’t forgiven me for getting him in trouble. The rest of the math nerds seemed perfectly willing to obey, but I allowed myself to dawdle, weaving in and out of the log benches, tracing the wood grain with both hands. I was just starting to enjoy myself when I found another clue:
Unicorn’s nickname begins with the same letter as Manticore’s first name.
It had been folded twice and tucked into the deepest split, but I’d recognized the paper. I crouched down instinctively and surveyed the surrounding countryside. Director Verity and the math nerds were stretched out in a line on their way back to the lodge, and below the amphitheater, Lake Wannacrunchanumber was glistening like a broken mirror. No one within ten miles was paying the least bit of attention to me.
No one except the killer.
I shoved the clue into my pocket, then dragged myself back to my feet. In my rush to get away, I banged my knee into a bench, but I didn’t stop to baby it, just forced myself to hobble. There was only one person at this camp that I trusted without question, and that was Toby. He might have ignored me before, but he couldn’t ignore another clue. I would make him understand.
I must have been hobbling a lot slower than I’d thought, because the math nerds were already out of sight by the time I rounded the bend. When I burst into the lodge, I didn’t stop to catch my breath, just barreled toward the stairs. Ms. Gutierrez was grading worksheets, but she only had to take one look at me before she set her green pen down.
“Is something wrong?” she asked.
I didn’t bother to slow down. “I just need to speak to Toby.”
Ms. Gutierrez hurried to catch up. “I’m sorry, Esther,” she replied, “but that won’t be possible.”
She managed to catch hold of my sleeve, but I ripped it out of her grasp.
“Why not?”
Ms. Gutierrez blinked. “Because he’s gone,” she said simply.
CHAPTER 14
The air rushed out of my lungs. It was like when Betsy Walker accidentally kneed me in the stomach in the middle of a bout.
Except it was ten times worse.
“What do you mean? He can’t be gone. His rusty truck is right outside.”
“Oh, he’s not gone gone,” she replied (though she wouldn’t meet my eyes). “He just ran down to Morgan to pick up something for the truck. Mr. Pearson had to make a trip, so he offered him a ride.” She pulled her phone out of her pocket. “They should be back by noon or so.”
“They should be back by noon?” I asked as I pulled out my own phone. It was just after eleven.
“Or so,” she said vaguely, putting an arm around my shoulders. “In the meantime, why don’t you get changed? We’re on our way down to the lake.”
She was clearly trying to distract me, but I let her steer me toward the stairs, wiggling out of her grip when Mr. Sharp distracted her. Somehow, he’d sidled up to her without either of us noticing, and when she stopped to tweak his nose, I hightailed it out of there. She was clearly hiding something, too, and it probably had to do with Toby. If I was quick about it, I could look around for clues.
But the stairs were crammed with math nerds with alarmingly bare chests. Federico’s swimsuit was practically scraping his ankles, but Graham’s and Marshane’s trunks didn’t even come down to their knees. I couldn’t even glance at Oliver’s bright orange Speedo.
“Hey, Esther,” Munch said brightly.
“Hey, Munch,” I replied. At least he was wearing a T-shirt.
“Are you coming with us to the lake?”
“That’s the plan,” I said. “But I’ll have to catch up to you guys.” Under my breath, I added, “There have been some new developments.”
I jumped the final steps, then darted up the corridor. At least Cabin Epsilon was empty. I pulled out my sketchbook and added the new clue to the list:
1. Satyr and Minotaur share a cabin with two other monsters.
2. Siren has a nickname.
3. Hydra and Cyclops are involved in a not-so- secret fling.
4. Centaur, Griffin, Unicorn, and Manticore share a cabin.
5. Phoenix wears glasses.
6. Unicorn’s nickname begins with the same letter as Manticore’s first name.
I stared. I glared. And I got nothing.
Sighing, I shucked off my clothes and wriggled into the blue swimsuit I hadn’t planned on wearing. I’d grown a few inches since last summer, and Mom still hadn’t replaced it. I checked myself out in the mirror, then yanked my shirt back on, returned my sketchbook to my pillowcase, and hurried out the door.
My feet thumped in time with my own heart as I raced back down the hall. I tried Cabin Beta first, but someone had locked the door. I thought about knocking, then changed my mind at the last second. Next, I checked the living areas—the mess hall, the game room, the sitting room, and the theater—but there were no clues to be found.
On my way to the common room, I snuck past the director’s office—and couldn’t help but notice that the thick door was ajar. She must have been distracted and forgotten to close it.
Maybe she’d been distracted by a certain someone’s stepdad.
After tapping on the door, I toed it open wide enough to slither through sideways, then softly clicked it shut behind me. The office was as boring as it was predictable: brown paneling, huge bookcases, lots of charts and graphs. An old-fashioned radio sat on the corner of the desk next to a blindingly bright sunlamp. But no amount of sunshine, co
unterfeit or otherwise, was going to revive her shriveled plant, which might have been a daisy back when it was getting water.
I eyed that plant for a long moment, then turned my attention to the desk. I wasn’t sure what I was looking for, but I had to believe that I would know it when I saw it. Unfortunately, the director’s desk was as barren as a desert wasteland, without a paper clip or even a speck of lint in sight.
I tiptoed over to the door and pressed my ear against the seam, then, when I didn’t hear anyone coming, crept back over to the desk and lowered myself into the chair. Either the director didn’t keep anything important in her desk, or she was more trusting than she looked, because none of the drawers were locked. But the folders were so full there was no way they’d surrender their secrets without a fight.
Sighing, I tried the last drawer, the skinny one in the middle. It was crammed with odds and ends, but everything was in its place, with pens and pencils on one side and coins and thumbtacks on the other. The only thing that looked even remotely out of place was a partially torn check.
A check with Toby’s signature.
I seized it without thinking, then yelped and dropped it on the desk (so as not to smudge the fingerprints). The check had been made out to Director Verity for a cool six hundred dollars.
I leaned back in my seat. Was this hush money of some sort? Had Toby tried to pay her off? But if that was the case, wouldn’t she have paid him off? I was still trying to sort out what I thought the check could mean when footsteps padded down the hall. Someone was right outside the door.
I pinched the check between two fingers, slipped it back into the drawer, and eased the drawer shut with both hands, praying that the rollers wouldn’t squeak. Then I crouched down behind the door. The footsteps had moved off, but whoever they’d belonged to probably wasn’t out of sight.
I counted to ninety, then pressed my other ear against the seam. If Director Verity caught me, there was no telling what she’d do. After drawing a deep breath, I carefully cracked open the door and tiptoed out into the hall. I’d just crept across the common room when I bumped into Mr. Pearson, who was drooping awkwardly beneath the weight of a large package draped with an old, ratty towel.
The Multiplying Mysteries of Mount Ten Page 10
