The Multiplying Mysteries of Mount Ten

by Krista Van Dolzer

  I rolled my eyes. “I’m sure.” Mixing math with the White Rabbit was bound to cause a few problems.

  She didn’t take the bait. “So I decided to design my very own logic puzzle—with Archimedes’s help, of course.”

  He pointed his spoon at her head. “You keep trying to involve me, but I won’t be involved. This mess is all yours, darlin’.”

  She managed to ignore him. “After I heard that you and Toby were headed back down to your truck, I left my little note where I was sure that you would see it. And once I had the clues, it was child’s play to hide them.” She stuck out her chin. “I’ve been playing in these woods since before I could subtract.”

  I glanced down at my toes. “I thought you and Graham were sneaking off.”

  “Is that because you wanted to sneak off with Graham?” she asked.

  I felt my cheeks get hot again, but if there was one thing I’d learned from fencing, it was that sometimes the best defense was an even better offense. “So that was you in the woods earlier.”

  She lowered her gaze. “I didn’t mean to get caught. I’m usually much stealthier.” She held up her arm, which was sporting a Scooby-Doo Band-Aid. “When my cardigan snagged on a branch, I had to leave it behind.”

  “I knew Director Verity recognized your sweater!”

  “I’m sure she did,” Angeline said. “But she’d never give me away. She knows the other kids treat me differently when they know the truth.”

  “When they don’t think you’re dead, you mean.”

  She had the decency to blush, but then, I couldn’t really blame her. Kids could be awful sometimes.

  “What about the cipher?” I asked.

  Her nose crinkled. “What cipher?”

  “The cipher you posted in the common room.” I looked around the room for a printer. “Did you print it off here, or did you sneak into your mom’s office?”

  She held up both hands. “Honestly, Esther, I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’ve been using this old typewriter I found out in the shed.”

  “Well, if it’s not your cipher, then whose it is?” I replied.

  She didn’t have a chance to answer before someone pounded on the door. “Police!” a rough voice shouted. “If you don’t open this door, I’m gonna have to break it down!”

  CHAPTER 25

  Now it was Angeline’s turn to leap out of her seat. “What are the police doing here?” she asked as she looked back and forth between us.

  Archimedes shook his head—his mouth was full of his concoction—but when Angeline tried to get the door, I jumped into her way.

  “Let me get it,” I replied. “I think I know what’s going on.”

  I should have known that Graham wouldn’t be able to keep his mouth shut. Luckily, I’d seen enough Castle that I knew what to do from here. After creeping past the lumpy couch, I opened the door oh-so-carefully and stuck both hands in the air. The cops didn’t have their weapons drawn, but better to be safe than sorry.

  The first cop had a handlebar mustache that wouldn’t have looked out of place in the Wild West. “Are you Archimedes?” he demanded.

  “No, I’m Esther,” I said. “You know, the murder victim? Except I’m still alive, so your services won’t be required.”

  Captain Mustache and his partner exchanged a serious look. It was a look I’d seen a hundred times. They might as well have asked, What are we supposed to do with this one?

  I patted my cheeks, then rubbed my stomach. “See, I’m not a ghost, so you can call off the SWAT team.”

  Captain Mustache shook his head. “I’m very sorry, miss, but I’m afraid I have to ask you to step out of the house.” He glanced over my shoulder. “Are you home alone?”

  I started to answer, then changed my mind at the last second. If I squealed on Archimedes, they might arrest him first and ask questions later, but he couldn’t go to jail. He might starve without his peaches.

  I was still trying to decide exactly what to tell the cops when a hand landed on my shoulder. I didn’t have to turn around to know it belonged to Archimedes.

  “I guess our jig is up,” he said as he stepped out of the house. After closing the door behind us, he calmly held up his hands. “Please forgive my newfound friend for disrupting your evening, but allow me to explain.”

  He went on, of course, but I was no longer listening. I was scanning the edge of the clearing, looking for signs of the math nerds. As if on cue, a row of heads popped up from behind a distant bush.

  “It’s all right!” I shouted.

  Munch lurched to his feet. “Esther?”

  Before I could reply, two pairs of hands pulled him back down.

  “It’s all right!” I said again. “But we got it all wrong—”

  “I’m very sorry, miss,” Captain Mustache interrupted, “but I’m afraid I have to ask you to restrain yourself.”

  What was this guy, a robot? Luckily, before Captain Mustache could force me to calm down, Munch jerked out of Graham’s grip and literally leaped over the bush. For a kid who could eat his weight in Swiss Rolls, he was pretty light on his feet.

  “We thought you were dead!” Munch said.

  Captain Mustache and his partner sharply spun around. Their hands flew to their holsters, but when they saw it was just Munch, they lowered their arms and went back to scowling.

  “I’m not dead,” I replied. “And I know what happened to Angeline and Toby!”

  By the time the cops decided that Archimedes didn’t have a bunch of bodies in his freezer, the sun had set completely, so we had to walk back to the lodge in the fading twilight. My flashlight couldn’t compete with Captain Mustache’s Maglite (which probably doubled as a nightstick), but I didn’t turn it off. I liked the way it illuminated my path as we headed down the hill, our footsteps thumping in time with the flashlights’ bouncing beams.

  Archimedes opted to hang out at his cabin, but Angeline agreed to go back to the lodge with us. I wanted to grill her about the cipher, but Captain Mustache kept sending me these weird glances, so I kept my mouth shut.

  The lodge shone like a beacon at the bottom of the hill. It helped that two squad cars were standing guard in the driveway, their headlights blazing. I thought Director Verity would be pacing on the porch, but she was just standing there glaring. At least her toe wasn’t tapping, but then, you could only tap your toe so long before your shins gave out.

  I was the one whose life had been on the line, but Director Verity’s eyes were stuck on Angeline. “Do you have any idea how angry I am?” she demanded.

  Angeline looked down at her toes. “Probably pretty angry,” she mumbled.

  “I’m furious,” she said, but instead of lecturing her daughter, she yanked Angeline into a hug.

  Angeline didn’t protest, and Director Verity didn’t cry, but that was probably just because she’d smashed her mascara-smeared face into her daughter’s bony shoulder.

  When Angeline pulled away, Director Verity sniffed. “I should have known it was your puzzle.”

  Angeline massaged her check (which was now sporting a dent from her mom’s starched lapel). “I told you they’d kill it.”

  Director Verity half laughed, half sobbed. “I suppose you did,” she said, smoothing Angeline’s blond hair. “But I didn’t think you were into ciphers.”

  Angeline shook her head. “Esther said something about a cipher, too, but I still don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  An alarm bell went off in my head—I was missing something here, something right under my nose—but before I could put my finger on it, Federico squinted into the twilight.

  “Hey, isn’t that Mr. Pearson?”

  I craned my neck to see what he was squinting at, and sure enough, there was Mr. Pearson, who’d just rounded the corner with a knapsack on his back. He was weaving through the gaps between the squad cars’ slashing headlights when, at the sound of his own name, he took off like a bottle rocket, his knapsack bouncing wildly.


  Captain Mustache aimed his Maglite in Mr. Pearson’s direction. “You there—stop!” he shouted.

  But Mr. Pearson didn’t stop; if anything, he picked up speed. Acting purely on instinct, I picked up a fallen branch—it was shorter than my foil, but it would have to do—and threw myself into his path.

  “En garde!” I shouted as I got down into my squat.

  He shuddered to a halt and cocked his head to the side, like he was trying to decide if I was serious. I was. I gave him a few seconds to pick up his own fallen branch, then, when he just stood there gaping, launched my preemptive assault.

  I was going less for points than a swift and sudden takedown, so my form was less than perfect. When I lunged for his chest, he frantically blocked me with both arms, and when he tried to sidestep me, I cut him off with a smooth slide. In an effort to distract him, I slipped my branch under the strap of what I assumed was his knapsack and swiftly flung it off his shoulder. When he scrambled after it, I swept his feet out from under him. He landed on his back with a less-than-graceful thud.

  While the math nerds clapped and cheered, I dragged myself back to my feet. The barrel-chested cop who’d been defending the squad cars gently rolled Mr. Pearson over and clapped handcuffs on his wrists. But I was much more interested in Mr. Pearson’s gray knapsack. The flap had come undone, revealing a collection of loosely rolled canvases. Frowning, I bent down so I could get a closer look. If I hadn’t known better, I would have thought that they were paint—

  “You’re not going to believe this,” Officer Bunyan interrupted, “but I think we just caught the so-called Fenimore Forger.”

  Captain Mustache’s jaw dropped.

  “Who’s the Fenimore Forger?” Brooklyn asked at the same time Graham said, “Fenimor!”

  I couldn’t help but raise my eyebrows. “You’ve heard of the Fenimore Forger?”

  “Not really,” Graham admitted, “but ‘Fenimor’ was the keyword we tried to tell you about earlier. It didn’t mean anything to Marshane or me—”

  “But it means something to us now,” Marshane added for good measure.

  And just like that, the pieces slid into place. Mr. Pearson was the Fenimore Forger. It explained the meaning of the cipher and his general creepiness. It even explained the old easel in the storage room. He’d been using the camp as a hideout, and now he’d gone and gotten himself apprehended.

  We might not have caught a mass murderer, but we’d caught the Fenimore Forger, and that was almost as good.

  Captain Mustache cleared his throat. “My apologies, Ms. Verity, but I’m afraid that I’m gonna need statements from you and all of your campers.” Then he glanced at Keith, who’d fallen asleep on Graham’s shoulder. The thin line of drool dangling out of his mouth was an especially nice touch. “But I guess we can come back and get those statements in the morning.”

  Director Verity nodded. “Thank you, Captain Williams.”

  Captain Mustache nodded, too. “Get some rest,” he told us as he trudged back toward his car. When his gaze landed on me, his handlebar mustache twitched. “It sounds like you’ve had quite a day.”

  I hugged my sketchbook to my chest. “You have no idea.”

  CHAPTER 26

  After subjecting us to a fake murder mystery and a real arrest, Director Verity decided to cut our session short. She called our parents first thing the next morning, so by the time we stumbled out of bed, a line of mud-encrusted minivans had already pulled into the driveway under the CAMP ARCHIMEDES sign. Brooklyn and Oliver were gone before breakfast was even served.

  True to their word, the cops showed up after breakfast, unrolling yellow tape and demanding witness statements from the campers who hadn’t left already. It was the first time I’d been a part of an official police investigation, so it was hard not to be inspired. I parked myself in the common room and sketched Captain Mustache’s mustache and Director Verity’s heels. As soon as I got home, I’d transfer these treasures to canvas, but before I left, I had one more thing to do.

  Once Captain Mustache dismissed us, I corralled the rest of my team. Officer Bunyan was now guarding the storage room (though whether this was a step up or a step down from guarding the squad cars, I couldn’t have said), so by unspoken agreement, we headed up the hill.

  Despite the broken rocking chair, the inside of the shed wasn’t as sinister in daylight. While Angeline sat on the workbench and Federico wiggled his way under the rocking chair, I committed the whole scene to memory. Toby said that art was just memories made physical, so if I wanted to make art, I had to make memories first.

  “So why’d you drag us up here?” Marshane finally asked.

  At least that snapped me out of it. Slowly, very slowly, I pulled out the sketchbook. “It’s all here,” I said softly, setting it down on the workbench. It landed with a dull thump.

  The others leaned over the sketchbook like it was some kind of holy relic.

  “All the puzzles, all the doodles, all the right—and wrong—guesses.” A lump of pure nostalgia got caught at the back of my throat. “It’s a work of art itself.”

  Federico snorted. “Don’t get mushy on us now.”

  “Fair enough,” I said as I nudged the sketchbook toward them. “But I think someone else should keep it.”

  Graham’s eyes bulged. “No way.” He pushed the sketchbook back toward me.

  I pushed it back toward him. “Yes way.”

  Munch eyed the sketchbook like he thought it might sting. “But how will you remember?”

  “How could I forget?” I asked. “Besides, as soon as I get home, I’m gonna paint you guys into a mural.” I stuck my chin out at the sketchbook. “So I’m not gonna need that.”

  An uncomfortable silence settled over the room. Shoes squeaked. Stomachs growled. No one wanted to look greedy, or maybe no one wanted it, period. I resisted the urge to sneak it back under my shirt. That would only make it worse.

  Finally, Angeline broke the silence. “Why don’t we all keep it?” she asked. “Everyone could tear out their own page.”

  I drew a shallow breath. Despite Mom’s best efforts, Toby and I had never been churchgoing folks, so in our opinion, defacing works of art was the most irreverent thing that you could do. But I’d misjudged the other math nerds, so maybe I was misjudging this, too. Maybe it wasn’t defacing. Maybe it was simply sharing.

  Without saying a word, I tore the page with Sphinx’s note out of the sketchbook, then passed it to Angeline, who tore out the next page. She passed it to Federico, who handed it to Munch. After adding a few chocolaty fingerprints, Munch passed it to Graham. Happiness glowed in my chest as I watched the sketchbook make the rounds. We weren’t rewriting history, but we were writing our history, and that was even better.

  By the time it reached Marshane, the sketchbook looked visibly lighter. Federico hadn’t quite gotten his whole page out of the sketchbook, so a small clump of paper was still clinging to the binding. A part of me wanted to grab it and protect it from more damage, but I held that part at bay.

  Marshane thumbed through the pages and cocked an eyebrow at me, but I didn’t react. A rise was what he wanted, so I held my peace.

  “Call me greedy,” Marshane said as he tore out the rest of the pages. After folding them in half and tucking them into his pocket, he returned the sketchbook to me.

  I might have been the first person to wound it, but holding those two pieces of cardboard between my calloused fingers nearly did me in. Angeline must have been able to tell that I was about to cry, because she hopped off the workbench and yanked it out of my hands.

  “To the number crunchers!” she said brashly as she raised the sketchbook high.

  Federico crawled out from under the rocking chair. “To the killer!” he added.

  Marshane took advantage of Angeline’s blush to rip the sketchbook out of her hands. “You know, it’s really too bad we can’t set this thing on fire. That’s how you put Jedi to rest.”

  She tossed her
hair over her shoulder. “Who says we can’t?” she asked.

  “Won’t we get in trouble?” Graham replied. It was like he thought Captain Mustache—or, worse, Director Verity—had long-range X-ray vision.

  Angeline waved that off. “It’s a campfire,” she said. “And this is a summer camp.”

  Marshane ruffled Graham’s red hair. “What’s the worst thing that could happen?”

  “We could start a forest fire.”

  Munch nodded solemnly. “We could get ourselves stranded.”

  Angeline bumped me in the shoulder. “Even if we do, we’ll have Esther here to save us.”

  I liked the sound of that.

  Acknowledgments

  First, thank you to Brent Taylor, who read this book over a weekend, then made an enthusiastic offer. This math nerd couldn’t have found a more adept advocate.

  Second, thank you to Allison Moore, who polished this book until it shone. If you loved this book any less than the ones that you acquired, you never let it show. Also, thank you to Brett Wright, who originally brought this book to Bloomsbury, and to the whole Bloomsbury team, especially Mary Kate Castellani and Liz Byer.

  I couldn’t have written this book without my awesome critique partners, especially Liesl Shurtliff, Michelle Mason, and Myrna Foster. Your comments gave this story the initial push it needed (and Myrna, you were right—it definitely needed one more puzzle). Thanks also to Ashley Turcotte, who read several synopses for this book at practically a moment’s notice.

  Another thank-you to my parents, Gary and Linda Van Dolzer, for their ceaseless support. Thanks also to Kate Testerman for her feedback on early drafts, to Jason Keeley for his expertise on puzzles of all sorts, and to David Richard Garner for his help brainstorming ideas (even if I didn’t end up using most of them).

  Last but never least, another huge thank-you to Chris, who contributed not just moral support but his mad problem-solving skills, and to Isaac, Madeleine, and William, whose love for all things math makes this mom all kinds of happy. I hope your little sister loves math as much as you and I do.