The Puzzler's Mansion (26 page)

The noise of the two hammers in this small space was tremendous. Winston could tell that Zook and Jake, without saying a word, had fallen into a race to see who could break through their window first. Zook won—sharp pieces of his window flew outward. Jake battered through his window a few moments later. They stopped, breathing hard, both looking satisfied at their destructive power. Zook then started clearing away as much of the plastic windowpane as he could, making the opening as wide as possible. Jake followed suit.

“All right,” said Jake, through his panting. “I think we're set.”

“Yeah,” said Zook. He turned to Mal, who was still sitting on the mower, and said, “Off.”

Mal was offended. “What? Why do you get to do it?”

“Do you know how to drive?”

“This isn't like driving a car!” Mal said. “It's like driving a bumper car at an amusement park.” But he got up, and Zook took the seat.

“We should move all this stuff away,” said Amanda, pointing to the boxes and sacks that were piled behind the mower. “So you can start from as far back as possible.”

That made sense, so the four of them got busy clearing a path while Zook tried to figure out the lawn mower's controls. The five of them were getting pretty dusty and gritty.

With everything taken care of, Zook started the lawn mower. The noise was horrific, louder than Winston would have dreamed. It echoed endlessly off the wooden walls like some kind of terrible sonic weapon. All of them except Zook clapped their hands over their ears. Winston hoped that the people in the house would simply hear the lawn mower and come running . . . though they would probably think the sound was coming from a neighbor's yard, not Richard's own toolshed.

Zook figured out how to stop the blade from spinning, which eased the noise somewhat. Then he shifted into reverse and awkwardly backed up. He went too far and slammed into the tool bench, knocking things to the floor. Zook gritted his teeth and changed gears. The mower jolted forward, and then began to move at a surprisingly turtlelike pace.

The mower traveled a few feet and hit the double doors. Winston had imagined Zook would smash through them, like a superhero busting into a villain's lair. That didn't happen. The padlock was too strong. The mower pushed the doors open a slight bit, and when Zook switched to yet another gear, he was able to force the doors open an inch or two farther. But that was all. The doors were too strong, and the mower was too slow to build up any real force.

Angry and frustrated, Zook threw the mower into reverse again. The doors seemed to sigh with relief as the mower backed away. Zook hit the doors a second time, but again the lock held fast.

Looking at the doors straining to stay closed, Winston had an idea. He waved his arms to get Zook's attention, then held up a hand:
Stop! Wait a minute!
Zook watched, frowning, as Winston grabbed one of the hammers off the tool bench and sized it up. Yes, this might work. He signaled to Jake and yelled at him over the noise of the mower: “Find that other hammer! Or something with a handle!”

Jake gave a look like he didn't understand why Winston wanted this, but he got busy looking. Winston ran to the doors and yelled to Zook, “Push on the doors! Open them as much as you can!”

Zook nodded—perhaps he had figured out Winston's plan. He sent the mower forward, and the doors once more strained against the padlock. Winston shoved the head of the hammer into the gap between the door and the wall, just underneath the hinge, so that when Zook pulled back, the doors would not be able to close all the way. Jake saw this and his eyes lit up—
Aha! I see!
He did the same thing with the other door.

It was getting hard to breathe—the shed was filling with blue exhaust. Zook pulled the mower back, but the doors stayed wedged open slightly, like a dental patient with his jaw wired open. He got in position for another go, slamming again into the tool bench as he did so. Shifting gears, he steered the mower forward and hit the double doors right in the gap where they had separated. Both hammers fell to the floor as the doors were pushed open wider than ever. There was a sickening wood-cracking noise . . . but that was all. The doors still held.

Keeping the mower pressed against the doors, Zook yelled, “Do it again!” On either side of him, Winston and Jake scrambled to get the hammers back into position. Winston was able to fit the head in almost lengthwise this time—the doors might not have opened, but they were definitely broken.

Zook pulled back again. His eyes were shining with determination.
He revved the motor and changed gears—Winston kept expecting the mower to peel out like a sports car, but again it only poked forward. But it was enough. The mower hit the doors dead center, and the left door snapped away from its lower hinge.

“Yes!” yelled Jake.

“Turn it off! Turn it off!” yelled Amanda. Zook backed away from the door, then turned off the mower. A gentle cloud of silence descended over them, and they all breathed a deep, exhaust-filled sigh of relief. Mal prodded experimentally at the broken door. The top hinge was still connected—barely—so they would have to push their way underneath like it was an oversized doggie door. But they had done it.

Jake was the first one out, crawling and grunting. He held the door open as much as he could to let the others squeeze out more easily. They stood there for a moment in the clean autumn air. The toolshed looked like a hand grenade had gone off inside it. Plexiglas shards from the windows littered the lawn, and the doors were unfixable, bent away from the door frame. The lawn mower could be seen in the wide cracks they had made, like a wild animal that had tried to escape its cage but now needed a nap.

“Come on,” Zook said. They all ran back to the house.

Winston knew what they were all thinking: somehow, they still needed to catch up to Freddie.

“It's not enough to call the police,” said Gerard, standing in the reading room, one fist raised but with nobody to punch. “We have to find this guy.”

“He's gone, Dad,” said Amanda.

“Every second counts,” Gerard continued. “How far could he
have gotten? But he's getting farther away the longer we stand here talking!”

They had been standing there awhile, Winston had to admit. The five of them had burst through the front door covered in grit and grime, talking a mile a minute and all at once, so that nobody had any idea what they were saying. Even after they had calmed down a little and were able to start describing more clearly what had happened, getting the whole story out was slow going because the grown-ups kept interrupting to express their amazement.

“Wait,” said Larry at one point, “you found a secret passage? You're not serious!”

“You didn't know about that?” Gerard said. “I thought everybody knew about that.”

“I didn't,” said Kimberly, looking astonished.

“It's true,” said Richard. “I had this home built from the ground up. I thought, in my youth, that it would be clever to have secret doors. That became an underground passage connecting the main house to the guesthouse, and then also to the toolshed and the garden. They hardly ever get used anymore.”

“I think they get used more often than you think,” said Jake.

“Your gardener was living in the toolshed,” said Amanda.

“Freddie? You're joking,” Richard said.

“He
what
?” Norma said. She was livid. “He's been here the whole time? That beef-headed nitwit.” She turned to Richard and said, “I
said
we should fire that guy, didn't I? After that last incident?”

“I know, I know,” said Richard.

“What last incident?” Larry asked.

“We caught him stealing,” said Norma. “He was ordering gardening supplies and giving them to his girlfriend's family.”

“He honestly didn't know he had done anything wrong,” Richard said. “He just thought he was borrowing things.”

“He's an idiot,” Norma insisted.

“Well, where is he now? What happened?” Derek Bibb asked.

And the adults listened, stunned, as Winston explained about coming across Freddie in the secret passage. “He locked us in the toolshed so he could get away.” That was when Gerard stood up and starting clenching his fists.

At first, Richard didn't want to call the police. Winston thought that Norma was going to shake him. “He's been
living in the toolshed,
” Norma shouted. “He's been sneaking around stealing things all weekend! We are calling the police.” She wasn't going to argue about it any further. She stood up and marched out of the room. Richard did not try to stop her.

“Yes, of course we should call the police, but we need to do more than that,” said Gerard. “We're wasting time. We have to find this guy ourselves.”

“I'm sure he's miles away by now,” said Chase.

Larry asked, “How long did it take to get out of the toolshed?”

The kids looked at one another. “Twenty minutes? Half an hour?” suggested Jake.

“About that,” said Zook. “Somewhere in there.”

“Yeah, this guy Freddie is gone,” Chase said again.

Gerard set his jaw. “How far could he possibly have gotten?” he asked again. And then a new question hit him. “How did he even get out of the secret passage? Is there an exit that puts you out in the world?”

Richard nodded. “Yes. There's a ladder. It leaves you in the back of the garden.”

“So he snuck out,” said Derek. “He probably had a car parked nearby. He jumped into that, and he's gone.”

Norma came back to hear the tail end of this. She said in a crisp voice, “Freddie James doesn't have a car.”

No one knew what to say to that for several moments. Hope filled the room. Freddie didn't have a car. Was he out there walking around the neighborhood? Gerard was right: how far could this guy have gotten?

Larry stood up, in amateur detective mode again. “I want to get away from here fast,” he said, “but I don't have a car. What do I do?”

“Is there a bus stop?” Jake asked.

“Not nearby,” said Norma. “But outside of this neighborhood. A mile away, maybe. Perhaps a little farther.”

“It's Sunday,” said Candice.

“Right!” said her husband. “Do buses run on Sunday?”

Nobody had any idea. This was not a group that took a lot of public transportation. After the question had died unanswered, Winston stood up and asked Richard, “Can I use your computer?”

“Yes!” said Gerard, although it wasn't his computer to lend. “Look up the bus schedules! Good idea!”

Richard nodded. “Go ahead.”

Winston ran downstairs, pursued by the others. He jumped into Richard's desk chair and got the computer going. The desktop image showed a page of sheet music, and there were about a billion program icons scattered all over this. Winston finally found a Web browser and opened it up. Norma told him the name of the bus system, and Winston typed it in.

“Why wouldn't he just hide in a neighbor's backyard?” Kimberly asked.

“A lot of the houses around here have fences,” said Norma.

“Even if he did that,” said Larry, “eventually he has to get out of this neighborhood.”

Winston had finished clicking around the Web site. “The buses run on Sundays,” he said, “but not as often.”

“So he might be standing at a bus stop right now,” Gerard said. He was standing directly behind Winston, both hands on the chair. Only the last shred of Gerard's good manners were keeping him from barking at Winston to type faster or get out of the way.

Winston asked for Richard's home address. He pulled up a map and zoomed in. He was starting to feel like a minor character in a spy movie. “If he went to the closest stop, and got on the first bus to pull up . . .” He studied the screen. “He might have gotten lucky—”

“Damn!” said Gerard, smacking the chair.

“And he'd be on the B18 bus. That goes all along this road.” Winston traced his finger along the screen.

“Route 30,” said Larry.

“He'd be here now,” said Winston, pointing to a particular spot.

“We can catch up to him. We can get ahead of him,” said Gerard.

“I think we should wait for the police,” said his wife.

“To heck with that,” said Gerard. “Print out that route. We're going to find this guy and bring him back here. Chase, you want to come with me?”

“You bet,” said Chase.

“I will, too,” said Zook.

“No,” said Chase.

“Dad,” said Zook. “You don't know what this guy looks like.” And that choked off any argument Chase might have made.

Gerard grabbed the printout and ran out of the room. “Come on!”
he shouted. Winston would have sworn that on some level he was having a very good time.

Richard Overton sat in his favorite chair in the reading room. He was talking to nobody in particular. “I knew that boy had a few problems in his life,” he said, astonishment all over his face. “But I had no idea the extent!” He looked around as if realizing for the first time that people were listening to him. “Freddie is an excellent gardener, you should know. He has a superb touch with plants and flowers. A real knack.” He shook his head sadly.

They were waiting for Gerard, Chase, and Zook to get back. Two policemen had been here, but only briefly: After asking a few questions, they had run off, not at all happy to hear that Gerard had taken it on himself to pursue the gardener. The policemen squealed out of the driveway, intent on catching up. Winston certainly never imagined this weekend would end with a car chase.

Jake and Mal were looking out the front window, waiting to see what would happen next. Winston was sitting with them, and Penrose and Kimberly were trying to comfort Richard after this startling turn of events.

“He's been here the whole time,” Richard said again. “I simply can't believe it.”