“It might not be a place,” Jake pointed out. “Mabu could be a person. A famous swimmer, maybe.”
Atticus’s eyes were as round as CDs. “What if it’s, like, a nudist colony?”
Dan snorted. “You wish.”
“We don’t have time to waste on wild-goose chases,” Amy said. “Stop this nonsense and ask him for a sporting-goods store.”
“It might not be far,” Dan countered. “What’s the harm in checking it out?”
They were still arguing a few minutes later when the taxi turned into a driveway that led to a big hotel.
“Mabu,” the driver said with a satisfied expression.
The sign said MABU THERMAS HOTEL AND SPA.
“‘Hotel and Spa’ — it could still be for nudists, couldn’t it?” Atticus said. “Gimme the laptop.” He took it from Dan and began tapping on the keyboard.
Amy was sitting like a stone, refusing to move. Dan opened the taxi door. “Come on, Amy —”
“No — YOU come on! Some random guy takes us to a random hotel, and you think it could be part of this?”
Her voice, shrill and brittle, was setting off alarm bells in Dan’s head. Why is she acting like this? Okay, so she doesn’t think it’s a great idea, but does she have to get hysterical about it?
Amy’s shrieking continued. “I can’t believe — you can’t possibly —”
“Hey!” Atticus cut her off with a grin and held up the laptop. “Poos!”
The hotel’s pools were its most famous feature. According to the website, an underground thermal spring bubbled up into a large hot tub. It was constructed so the water would spill out via a waterfall into a swimming pool built on a lower level. The water in the pool cascaded into yet another pool, with the temperature getting cooler with each successive level; you could choose whether to simmer in the hot tub or be refreshed in the lowest pool.
Atticus smacked himself on the head. “The word pools in Dr. Siffright’s message — that should have told us it couldn’t possibly be the big falls.” He bounced up and down a little. “I have a feeling — this could be the right place!”
With Amy partly mollified, the group checked in and went to their rooms. None of them had swimming gear, so the boys all put on shorts. Amy had to go to the hotel shop to find a bathing suit, her companions helpfully trailing along.
Atticus pulled a suit off the rack. “How does this even work?” he said, examining it in wonder. Several skinny black straps were connected in a complicated and mysterious way to a few tiny triangles of fabric.
“I believe it’s called a thong,” Jake said wisely.
Amy blushed, snatched it away from Atticus, and hung it back up on the rack. “I am not wearing that.”
“Amy, how about this one?” Dan held a spangly leopard-print number under his chin and sashayed a few steps, wiggling his hips.
“Oh, Dan, that’s so you!” Jake said in falsetto. All three boys howled with laughter.
“Would you all please just LEAVE?” Amy said, now bright pink with mortification.
“Okay, okay,” Jake said, his hands raised in mock surrender. “We’ll wait outside.”
A few minutes later, Amy joined them wearing a towel wrapped around her waist and a navy-blue striped bikini. They took the elevator down to the pool level. As they pushed through the glass doors, Atticus put one hand over his eyes and peeked through his fingers.
“Not nudist,” he announced, and Jake could hear the relief in his voice.
About a dozen other people were in the pools, with a handful more lounging in deck chairs on the extensive patio. Jake moved a little closer to Amy.
“What’s the plan?” he asked, his voice low.
He followed her gaze as she looked around. The hot tub, two big pools, the patio . . . There was a lot of ground to cover.
She didn’t answer, so he went on, “We can start with this pool, it’s the biggest. Atticus, you and Dan take the perimeter. Amy and I will search the rest of it.”
“Is that an order?” Amy said and crossed her arms over her chest. “Or just a suggestion?”
“I’m only trying to help,” Jake said. “And Atticus, you don’t go anywhere on your own. One of us always has to be next to you, understand?”
Atticus seemed about to talk back, but Jake’s expression clearly indicated zero tolerance on this. With a shrug, he cannonballed into the pool, followed immediately by Dan.
Amy was watching Dan. Her expression seemed to soften a little; Dan already appeared free of any effects from the curare.
She cleared her throat and turned to Jake. “We should try not to look like we’re searching,” she said.
“Agreed.” Jake thought for a moment. “Can you swim the butterfly stroke?”
“Yes,” she said, “not great. But why —”
“I can’t,” he said. “So you can teach me. That’ll be our cover for going back and forth across the pool a million times.”
“Good idea,” she said.
Which felt almost as good as making her laugh.
“I don’t get it,” Dan said to Atticus as they inspected the perimeter of the first pool. “If it’s a manuscript page we’re looking for, a swimming pool would be the worst place to hide it, right? If it got wet, it could be ruined forever.”
Atticus thought for a moment. “Yeah, but maybe that’s why she hid it here. Because no one would think of looking for it in a pool.”
“I don’t know,” Dan said, shaking his head. “Even if she wrapped it up really good, it seems like an awfully big risk.”
Atticus scanned the whole area carefully. “Maybe you’re right,” he said slowly. “How about this: near the pool, but not in it?”
They climbed out of the pool.
“You start here and I’ll start over there,” Dan said, pointing toward the outer edge of the patio area. “We can meet in the middle.” He headed for the fence that bordered the patio.
Atticus decided that searching the permanent structures first made the most sense. Surely Dr. Siffright wouldn’t have hidden the manuscript page under something like a lounge chair or patio table that could easily be moved.
A few yards from the pool, there was a hut for towel storage. It wasn’t much more than a wooden counter beneath a palm-frond roof. Clean folded towels were stacked on one end of the counter; at the other end, a rectangular hole had been cut into the wood, with a rolling laundry bin underneath.
Atticus walked to the hut to begin his search, then took a quick glance around. Jake and Amy were still checking out the pool. Dan was examining the wrought-iron fence. Atticus didn’t see anything suspect, but just in case . . .
He reached for a towel and began drying himself.
“Oh, that feels good!” he said loudly and wiped his legs and arms with exaggerated motions. As a final flourish, he draped the towel around his neck. That should throw off anyone who might be spying, he thought with satisfaction.
Atticus searched the little hut thoroughly. I have to find the folio. Dan got hurt because of me.
He even moved the laundry bin so he could inspect the floor space underneath.
Nothing.
He rolled the laundry bin back into its place under the counter. As he straightened up, his glance fell on one of the bamboo poles supporting the roof of the hut. He followed it with his gaze to the palm fronds overhead.
What if it’s hidden up there?
Skinny bamboo poles and palm fronds. The roof would never support his weight.
A ladder . . . where am I going to get a ladder? And even if I can find one, it would look awfully strange, me climbing up to get a look at the roof. . . .
Atticus decided to consult Dan on this one. He looked toward the fence, but Dan wasn’t there.
Jake and Amy in the pool, check. Where’s Dan?
He surveyed the patio area carefully.
Still no Dan.
Atticus started to feel a little knot of panic in his stomach. What if he’s, like, passed out b
ecause — because of the curare affecting him somehow? He looked around one more time.
The knot loosened. There he is!
Not far from the fence, Dan was on his hands and knees on the ground; that was why Atticus hadn’t spotted him at first. Dan seemed to be talking to a woman standing near him. She was wearing sunglasses and a floppy hat.
Something about the way she’s standing . . . Atticus couldn’t have said exactly what it was, but the woman looked tense to him. Then he realized that, although her arms were down by her sides, her right hand was clenched around something.
She took a step toward Dan, and the object in her hand flashed in the sunlight.
Atticus gasped.
A knife!
Dan had spent only a few minutes searching the wrought-iron fence. He didn’t see how the manuscript page could be hidden there, unless it was buried at the base of one of the pilings, which were set into concrete. He decided instead to search the patio itself, which had sections of both brickwork and wood decking.
Determined to do a thorough job of it, Dan went down to his hands and knees and began to crawl around the patio. He knew it looked strange, but he could always reprise the contact-lens excuse if anyone asked.
The wood planking was solid and the bricks well mortared, but where they met, there was a seam that formed the narrowest of cracks. Dan fingered the crack experimentally. You could fit something down there, all right, he thought. It would be awfully tight, but maybe the crack is wider somewhere else — if I follow it along . . .
He turned to begin tracing the path of the crack. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw movement and looked up.
And up, and up.
A woman was standing nearby. She was really tall — it was hard to tell from Dan’s vantage point, but she had to be at least six feet. Sunglasses, straw hat, one of those terry-cloth swim cover-ups.
“What are you doing?” she said in a voice not much louder than a whisper.
Dan glanced around quickly, then back at the woman. “Sorry — were you talking to me?” he asked. His heart was starting to beat a little harder. “I just — I’m — um —”
The woman took a small step toward him. “Get away from there,” she said in a voice so tight she was almost choking. “Just stand up and walk away. I don’t want to hurt you, but I will if I have to.” She made a small motion with her right hand.
Dan looked at her hand and saw part of a knife’s blade. He got to his knees slowly.
The woman glanced around, then took a couple of steps. She was now standing behind him.
“Get up,” she said.
Dan felt the chill of metal against his neck. Cold sweat broke out all over his body. It felt like even his elbows were sweating. And why did his left arm suddenly feel a lot weaker?
“Hey, Dan!”
Atticus was waving at him. The woman stayed where she was but lowered the knife out of sight. It pressed between Dan’s shoulder blades.
“Wanna go in again?” Atticus was all smiles. “Bet I can hold my breath underwater longer than you — c’mon —” He started trotting toward Dan.
“Get rid of him,” the woman croaked.
Atticus was now just steps away. Dan felt the knife twitch against his skin. Sweat was rolling down his back — or was it blood?
Could I elbow her, maybe? But she’s on my left — is my arm strong enough for that?
“Atticus, um, I want a Coke,” Dan said in desperation. “Would you go to the bar and get me one? Right now? Like, right this minute? I’m really thirsty.”
Atticus, LISTEN to me, go on, get away from here!
To his utter amazement, Atticus gave him a subtle, secret thumbs-up.
Then Atticus leaped to the woman’s side, grabbed the towel from around his neck, and flicked it like a whip at her hand. She cried out in pain and dropped the knife; it clattered to the ground, bounced, and ended up not far from Dan. She and Dan both dove for the knife.
Dan got there first. His fingers closed around the handle —
“HEY!”
It was Jake’s voice, followed immediately by Amy’s.
“DAN, ATTICUS! RUN!”
Atticus turned instantly to obey, but in his haste he tripped on the towel, knocked down a small table, and plowed into a lounge chair. The chair landed on its side; both Dan and the woman fell over it.
The towel ended up half draped over Dan’s head. One of Atticus’s hands was trapped in the chair’s plastic webbing. The woman’s hat had been knocked off and her sunglasses were askew.
It was her voice that emerged first from the pile.
“Atticus?” she said. “Atticus Rosenbloom?”
Atticus stared at her for a moment.
“Dr. Siffright?”
Disentanglement was followed by multiple explanations.
“Atticus isn’t a common name,” Dr. Siffright said. “And you’re the right age, and now I can see it — you look like Astrid.”
“I hope I didn’t hurt your hand,” Atticus said. “I didn’t know it was you.”
“You didn’t stay with Dan,” Jake said to Atticus. “I told you —”
“I forgot,” Atticus confessed. “It’s hard to remember every single minute.”
“If you forget again, I’m putting you on a leash,” Jake said. Then he relented a little. “That was really brave, what you did. Weren’t you scared?”
“Yeah,” Atticus admitted. “I was scared, but I was more scared for Dan.”
Dan was still holding the knife. Now he looked at it more closely. It was a butter knife, like a small paddle.
“You were going to attack me with this?” he said, incredulous.
Dr. Siffright reddened. “I just grabbed whatever was handy,” she said. “I didn’t — I wasn’t — I mean, this is not my usual line of work.” She shrugged, then lowered her head sheepishly. “To be honest, I was shaking the whole time. But look, we have a lot to talk about. Why don’t we all get changed and meet in the restaurant?”
The hotel’s restaurant was a churrascaria, serving Brazilian-style barbecue. Amy, Dan, and Jake scanned the place quickly, then Jake asked for a table in the corner, in an empty part of the room. Amy knew what he was thinking: This way, they would easily be able to see the rest of the room and anyone approaching them. At the table, Dr. Siffright sat between Jake and Atticus, with Amy and Dan opposite.
Amy thought the churrascaria was one of the coolest places she’d ever eaten at. First, they all served themselves at the appetizer buffet, which was at least thirty feet long and held everything from salads to sushi. Ordinary things — lettuce, tomatoes, cheese cubes — alternated with exotic offerings like hearts of palm and manioc.
After they were finished with their appetizers, Dr. Siffright picked up a flat disk by her plate. Each of them had one; they were about the size of coasters, with one side red and the other green.
“You put this by your plate with the green side up when you want meat,” she explained. “If you don’t want any more, you flip it over to the red side.”
Five green disks went faceup on the table. Immediately waiters swarmed around, carrying giant skewers filled with grilled meat. The skewers were easily three feet long, and each waiter held a knife the size of a machete.
“Chicken,” said the first waiter. “You like some chicken?”
“I have sirloin steak here.”
“Anybody want lamb chops?”
“Wow,” Jake said, his eyes wide. “I think we took a wrong turn. We’re supposed to be in Brazil, but this seems more like heaven to me.”
“Meat heaven,” Dan agreed.
Amy had to laugh at them; they were practically panting. “Swallow, all of you,” she said to the boys, “before the whole table gets flooded with drool.”
The waiters carved chicken and lamb onto Amy’s plate. Atticus took a little of everything, and Jake and Dan took a lot of everything.
The meat was delicious: charred and smoky outside, tender and juicy within.
It had been ages since they’d taken the time to have a really good meal.
The waiters came around again, this time with sausages and bacon-wrapped shrimp. With each new wave of meat, the noises of appreciation made by the boys became less coherent. Another serving or two and they’ll all be grunting like cavemen, Amy thought.
With the deep sweet taste of a grilled red pepper in her mouth, Amy realized that for the last twenty minutes, she hadn’t thought of Isabel or the Vespers. She’d been thinking of nothing but food.
Instant guilt. Lots of it. Enough so that the pepper suddenly turned dry and savorless.
She made a silent deal with herself: No guilt until I’m done eating. Then it’s back to work. Her heart sank at the thought, so she took a bite of shrimp to cheer herself up.
They were all too busy eating to talk much, except to comment on the food. At last Amy looked up from her plate. Before she could even take a breath, another waiter had rushed over.
“Ribeye? I have ribeye here, very delicious.”
Amy held her hands up. “No, thank you. Really — I can’t eat another bite.”
“Flip your disk over,” Dr. Siffright suggested.
Amy complied. Dr. Siffright’s disk was already red-side up, and Amy noticed that she had eaten very little of what was on her plate. Dr. Siffright sat still except for her hands, which kept twiddling with her napkin.
The boys stayed in the game for one more round of skewers. Eventually Amy saw the pace of their forks begin to falter.
“Disks to red?” she said. She glanced at Dr. Siffright. “So no one will bother us for a while and we can talk.”
Dr. Siffright nodded as the boys flipped their disks. “Okay,” she said quietly. “Who wants to go first?”
It was hard to know where to start. After a few moments of uneasy silence, Amy prompted Jake to talk about Astrid’s interest in the Voynich and their recent trip to Yale.
“You went because of your mom?” Dr. Siffright asked.
“No, not exactly.” Jake looked at Amy for help.
Amy hesitated.
“It’s okay, Amy,” Atticus said. “Mom trusted her, so we should, too.”
The 39 Clues: Cahills vs. Vespers Book 5: Trust No One Page 9
