The Explorer's Code, page 4
Charlie shrugged. “I guess all old houses would be weird to you.”
That stung. Wouldn’t old houses be weird to anyone? “I meant tell me about it.” Anna patted the ledge beside her. “There’s room for one more.”
Charlie’s face turned the color of the clouds overhead. “Up … up there?”
“Sure. It’s not too hard. The stones make great handholds. Put your hand on that one right there, with the triangular part sticking out. You’ll be up here before you know it.”
For a moment Charlie stared at the stone and Anna stared at Charlie. Come on, she thought. Come up here! Do something a little risky. Remember how much fun we used to have?
But Charlie stepped back. “Maybe another time,” he said. “I think I’m going to go back inside and explore the house a little more. Maybe see the other suites? They were cool, right?”
“Right,” Anna said, slumping back. Her limbs felt heavy with disappointment, though she wasn’t sure why, exactly. Charlie lived in his head, and Anna lived just beyond the reach of her hands. That was just the way things were these days.
But imagine if one day Charlie did put down his book and looked around! She’d have so many things to show him.
“See ya,” Charlie said, and ran off.
Oh, right, he knew something weird about the house! “Wait!” Anna called, but Charlie was already gone.
She sighed, pushed her hair back, and considered the drop down to the ground. Could she jump, or would it be better to climb down? Better climb. Nothing worse on the first day of a vacation than a broken bone—Anna knew this from experience. (That had been an unpleasant trip to Florida, but in her defense, the pier hadn’t looked rotten.)
This house seems really weird, Charlie had said. Exactly what Anna was thinking! What had he noticed? Was it the same thing as whatever was bugging her, tickling the back of her mind? Too bad he ran off before she could ask.
And now Charlie was going to go explore the other suites, like she had. But because it was Charlie, the contest winner, he’d probably get a tour from Mr. Llewellyn himself. As she thumped down into the grass, Anna could see it: the gray old man escorting Charlie and that dark-haired brat from room to room, taking them through the ballroom, letting them pick pineapples in the indoor garden. Her parents could accompany them, regaling every guest with the story of Charlie’s victory and not saying a word about their inadequate daughter. Anna looked up at the house’s rows of windows. Mr. Llewellyn would probably take them to the third-floor rooms and into the tower, too.
Wait. Anna looked up again, counting windows. First floor, second floor, third floor, tower. She’d seen all of them when they’d driven into Idlewood. Three floors.
So why, in all of her exploring, had she never seen a staircase or door leading to the third floor?
That was it! An adult might say that the third floor was storage, or off-limits because it was where the workers stayed. But if that were true, then there’d be a sign in front of a staircase, warning people away. That was what Anna had seen before.
Anna touched the weight in her jeans where the blackened key lay in her pocket and grinned. An old, mysterious floor of an old, mysterious house? One no one knew about? Now that was real exploration, the kind Virginia Maines would jump at.
And so would Anna. She dashed back into the mansion, the key bumping against her leg with every stride.
* * *
The redheaded trespasser almost knocked Emily over as she raced up the main staircase. Emily had been admiring the molding, tapping a finger on the bag at her hip, when the girl had flown by, catching Emily’s shoulder and spinning her around.
“Watch where you’re going!” Emily called, but if the girl heard her, she didn’t respond.
So Emily was left to shake her head. Kids like that were the reason adults had issues trusting kids like her. Emily wouldn’t be surprised if before the weekend was over, the redhead ended up smashing some precious antique from the Civil War era.
Speaking of which, Emily had a job to do. Her parents were on the second floor taking pictures, so Emily tiptoed downstairs. She stopped, once, in the entry hall. No, not here. This was too open, too obvious. She’d have to come back later. There were plenty of other rooms to start in.
Emily tried the carved door beside the dragon statue. Locked. Okay, maybe not that room. How about the next one?
This one opened onto a classy parlor. Emily smiled. This would work great. She opened her bag, pulled out the childish camera, and snapped a picture of the wallpaper.
Emily gave the instant photo a shake as she glanced around for her next target. Maybe the furniture next? It looked old enough to potentially hide a story. She took a picture of it, as well as a few more of the walls and the room as a whole, before moving on.
There were some interesting rooms, for sure. Emily peeked into the dining room but had to leave because an older couple was sitting and enjoying the view. She lingered a while in the greenhouse, with its tropical plants. Everett Gardner had been just that: a gardener. Here was the proof of his horticultural hobbies.
She took a picture of the towering banana plants and shook her head. It was a pity, really, how little time she and her parents had at Idlewood. Which just meant Emily had to work harder.
Every detail needed to be captured. Her parents were busy finding their own evidence that Idlewood was historically more than just an old house. Emily was sure they’d get what they came for. Her parents were brilliant at uncovering history from hints and scraps.
But it was possible that those hints and scraps wouldn’t be enough, and Northern California would happen all over again. So Emily had to take measures herself, especially if her parents missed or overlooked important historical evidence.
Emily left the greenhouse and heard footsteps in the hallway. She froze, then stashed the camera in her bag as Mr. Llewellyn came down the hall.
He stopped when he saw her, then approached.
“What are you doing down here?”
“I’m sorry. Aren’t I allowed to be here?” Emily asked quietly, remembering her role as the shy, mousy daughter. Nothing to see here, sir. Move along.
Mr. Llewellyn smiled stiffly. “This is the public area, so yes, you may be here. I’m just surprised to find you alone.”
“It was this or homework, and I heard so much about this place, I wanted to see it for myself.”
“In that case, I’ll show you around,” Mr. Llewellyn said. “Perhaps your parents would like to join us.”
No, no, no! If Mr. Llewellyn was here, Emily and her parents wouldn’t be able to take their pictures! But what could she say? “Don’t you have to greet guests?”
“The guests have already arrived and checked in. I have some free time now.”
Fine. There would be time later to get her pictures. “Okay. My parents are resting, though, so it’s just me.”
Emily followed Mr. Llewellyn as he showed her the library and the parlor again, trying to act interested but not too interested. A normal kid wouldn’t care about why the Gardners chose which antiques to display, or how slightly the building was altered when it became a hotel. But when he showed her the ballroom with its gallery of paintings, Emily couldn’t fake indifference anymore. “Amazing!”
“You think so?” Mr. Llewellyn sounded pleased. “It is quite stunning. I think the Gardners wanted their guests to feel a little overwhelmed when they came in here.”
Emily took in the grand ivory-colored walls, hung with vibrant paintings of people in silk robes. She pointed at one of a couple. “That’s them, right?”
Of course it was. But Mr. Llewellyn wouldn’t expect Emily to know that.
“Yes,” Mr. Llewellyn said.
“How did you end up getting Idlewood?”
“Inheritance,” Mr. Llewellyn said, but the smile was gone from his voice. “My father bought the house, and now it comes to me.”
“It’s beautiful,” Emily said. Her fingers itched to take pictures, but that would have to wait. So, instead, she decided to pry a little. “It’s really interesting that Mrs. Gardner insisted that the house stay exactly the same. Looking around here is like looking back in time.”
Mr. Llewellyn shrugged, staring up at the painting. “Almost. Some changes have been made over the years. Modern conveniences and technology, especially in the kitchen, and I made some alterations when I cleaned this place up.”
Alterations? “You changed it?” Emily asked. “Why? I thought it was supposed to stay the same, always.”
Mr. Llewellyn faced Emily, smiling. “Nothing drastic. I was only correcting some errors made by past building crews. But the important things, decorations included, are all as Mrs. Gardner wanted.”
Okay. That was good. Which led to Emily’s big question, which was one an innocent kid could easily ask. So she did. “Why did Mrs. Gardner want Idlewood to stay the same?”
Emily watched Mr. Llewellyn carefully as he answered. He shrugged and raised his hands. “We can speculate,” he said, “but I don’t know. Perhaps she was attached to the place as it was and didn’t want those memories to fade.” He ran a hand along an armchair beside them. “Personally, I think she always intended to buy the house back, once the family overcame the Depression, but she died before she could.”
That was true. Elaine Gardner had died fairly young, in the early 1940s. Her children lived with their father until they left to start their own lives, after which Mr. Gardner died after running afoul of a mountain lion while on a fishing trip. But that wasn’t the story Emily wanted to hear. “Huh,” she said. “After the scandal, I would have thought she’d prefer to leave those memories behind.”
“The scandal.” Mr. Llewellyn frowned. “You’ve done your reading.”
Not good. Emily dipped her head and scuffed a foot along the floor. “A little. When my parents got the reservation, I searched Idlewood online. There was something in 1925 that the family never spoke about, so I figured there was a scandal.”
Oh, Emily knew a lot more than that. But this was to figure out what Mr. Llewellyn knew.
“Yes, well.” Mr. Llewellyn fixed his old, gray eyes on Emily’s. “There may have been. But the past is so beautiful. It doesn’t do to dwell on the ugly parts. Let’s celebrate the good. Like this painting. It truly is lovely.” He faced the portrait again.
The owner seemed to be aching to change the topic, which was perfect for Emily. He was uncomfortable. She could use that.
“Yes,” she said. “And everything is so authentic. I can’t imagine why anyone would want to sell this place.”
Mr. Llewellyn twitched. He gave a smile that didn’t quite meet his eyes (he seemed to have a lot of those, in many flavors) and looked at Emily. “Sell it?” he asked.
Play it cool, Emily. “Sure,” she said. “Like how your family got it. Someone sold it, right? And someday you’ll sell it.”
Mr. Llewellyn’s eyes widened. Emily kept her composure, holding her face in an innocent expression, watching his every move. He ran a finger along his tie.
“Maybe even soon,” Emily added. “After all, it can’t be easy to maintain a place like this, hidden up in the mountains away from most visitors. It’s an old house. But the land is pretty. An owner could make a lot of money on a good sale, and it’s not like the buyer has any obligation to keep the building as it is. But with the scandal and everything, perhaps it’s best if some ugly parts of the past are covered up for good. Oh, I’m sorry. I was rambling.”
“Yes,” Mr. Llewellyn said. He coughed and peered at her. “How…?” He swallowed, then said, “Those are some good points, and someday a buyer might make some similar ones. But that’s a long way off.”
But Mr. Llewellyn dropped his gaze and scratched his jaw, looking every inch a liar.
“So, you’re not planning to sell the house, say, after this one last weekend?”
Mr. Llewellyn stiffened like she’d hit him. Bingo.
The big door to the ballroom opened, and another guest dragging a little rolling suitcase (the souvenir pins all over it clinked as it bumped along) and a nice-looking couple peered inside. “Hello?” the woman called. “Mr. Llewellyn, are you in here? There’s a man named Garrett who says he has a call for you.”
“What? Yes, yes. I’m coming.” Mr. Llewellyn threw another glance at Emily and hurried out of the room.
Both men followed him, but the woman frowned at Emily. “He seems a little rattled. What happened?”
“No idea,” Emily said, sitting down in one of the armchairs scattered along the sides of the room. The woman left, and as the door closed, Emily pulled out her camera. Alone at last.
As she snapped Polaroids of the walls, she grinned. Everything was going her way: She had the pictures, and she had caught Mr. Llewellyn off guard and gotten some important information out of him.
Emily finished the shoot and tucked the camera and the pictures away. She now had three rooms preserved on film, but if she did well (and she intended to do well), they’d be preserved in real life, too.
Her parents had been right: Mr. Llewellyn was planning to sell Idlewood to some disrespectful buyer after this last guest-filled weekend, and he was keeping that information to himself for reasons unknown. That was not going to happen. Not if Emily had anything to say about it.
4
THE BEDROOM DOORS were closed when Anna returned to the second-floor hall. Good—the last thing she wanted was another scene. It couldn’t be bad to wander the hall, right?
There had to be something. No house had a third floor for no good reason. Anna had seen houses that seemed like they had another floor, with a series of dummy windows on the roof. But those were different—you could tell there wasn’t enough room for another story. With Idlewood, the windows were big. There was another floor, so there had to be a way to access it.
Anna followed the hallway past the themed suites until she reached the sealed doors. Could the entry to the upstairs be past one of them? She pulled on the handle of the first door. Yep. Locked, just like before.
But … Anna pulled the key out of her pocket. She found a keyhole but didn’t bother trying the key once she saw how small the slot was. The black key was old-fashioned and huge, but this door had a smaller, more modern keyhole.
All of them did. Anna buzzed from door to door, checking each lock. No good. The key didn’t have a prayer of fitting in any of them.
Maybe it was a hidden door? Anna smiled. Just like in an ancient tomb! She traced the hall to the bookcase at the end, running her fingers along the pale green wallpaper. All she needed was a crack or raised part, something that signaled a door that had been painted over.
Even though she took her time, stopping at every bump or dent that crossed her fingertips, before long she had circled the whole hall and arrived back in front of the bedrooms. Charlie was sitting on the floor, a notebook on his lap, squinting across the hall.
There it is. He’s lost his mind. Anna sat next to him, trying to follow his gaze. The airplane room door? “What are you doing?”
Charlie didn’t respond, so Anna asked again and nudged his shoulder. Charlie jumped. His eyes widened when he saw her.
“Sorry,” he said. “Deep in thought.”
Of course he was. Anna remembered that Charlie had found something strange about the house. “About what?”
Charlie glanced at the door and then at his notebook. Anna could see numbers scribbled on it. Ever the math nerd, her brother. She smirked, and Charlie must have seen it, because he held the notebook against his chest. “Probably nothing,” he said.
“You sure?”
“Yep.”
“Suit yourself.” Anna thought about telling Charlie about her suspicions about the mysterious third floor, but what if she was wrong? Or what if it was totally boring?
Still, Charlie was good at puzzles. Maybe it was time to call that talent into action. She nudged him again. “Hey, want to explore the second floor with me?”
He thought about it, and for a moment Anna thought he might come, but then he shook his head. “Pass. By the way, I forgot to tell you. Mom and Dad say they aren’t mad, but they want to talk to you later.”
Anna stiffened. No wonder Charlie didn’t want to go exploring with her. He probably thought she’d get them both in trouble. Whatever. At least this way, no one could say it was Charlie’s brains that found the hidden door.
“Okay, then,” Anna said. “I’ll see you at lunch.”
As she stood up, Charlie nodded and laid the notebook flat in his lap again. As she returned to the hallway, Charlie was squinting at the walls.
After tracing the hall another two times, Anna wondered if Charlie was smart not to join this wild-goose chase. Nothing was opening up! Maybe she was wrong about the third floor.
No, no, no! She had seen the windows and the tower, and nothing inside corresponded to them. There had to be more to the house, but why was it missing? Had the door been blocked off, walled over?
If so, that was the end of her search. Anna might be willing to cross a rope or pass a DO NOT ENTER sign, but breaking down walls was a little beyond her.
But why wall off a door when there were perfectly good rooms behind it?
Okay, she had to think this through. Walking, tracing the hall for a third time, she barely felt the green wall-paper under her fingers. Instead, she was building a map in her head.
If the rooms went deeper into the house, and the hall bent when the rooms became sealed, then the hall only went part of the way into the house. She tried to remember how big the house was from the outside. Yes. This hall was too short, which meant that if there was a stair or door leading up, it would be—
Right here, she thought, stopping at the bookcase. A thrill tickled her stomach. Of course! If you wanted to hide a door, you put it behind some furniture.
Anna considered the bookcase. It was old and made of dark wood, and it looked heavy. Several books were stacked on the shelves, as well as a plastic succulent that must have been put there when Idlewood started giving tours, but that was it.
