Chapter Twenty

Fired Up

The scent was faint, like burning toast.

“Do you guys smell that too?” Grace wrinkled her nose.

“I’m probably never going to smell anything again.” Trista sighed. “These allergies, man.”

I got up from the bed, crouched by the open window, and sniffed again. At the same time an alarm began shrieking. We pressed our hands to our ears, but nothing could dull its wail or the shouts and pounding footsteps in the hallway.

“Fire! Fire!” girls screamed. My heart started to race.

“Wait,” I said as Trista reached for the doorknob. “You have to feel for heat.” Suddenly I was trying to remember the story Grandpa told all the time about how, after the war, he got stuck in a barracks fire in Korea right when he was about to be shipped home. I felt under the door. “It’s not hot,” I said. “Get wet towels!”

Trista dashed to the bathroom, soaked a towel and washcloths and threw them our way. I put one of the washcloths over my nose and mouth and peered in the hallway. “All clear. Let’s go!”

I turned to see Grace, frozen in the center of the room, face pinched. Her thin, long legs reaching out from her plaid boxer shorts suddenly seemed like fragile twigs that would splinter if she took a step. I thought of the last time I’d seen her looking so terrified, on the beach below the bluffs. Twice in her life Grace had faced death and barely escaped. It was no wonder she was so scared now.

“Are you all right?” I asked, letting down my face cover.

She shook her head slowly.

“It’s safer out there, Grace. We’ve got to go.” I motioned to the door.

Trista extended her hand in front of both of us. It took me a moment to understand. Then I slapped my hand on top of hers. We looked to Grace. She gave a weak smile, then laid hers on top, too.

“Ready, team? And . . . break,” Trista said. We flung our arms high; then I hooked mine through Grace’s and headed for the door.

Out in the hall everything was chaos. Red lights flashed across the ceiling and distant sirens wailed. Grace clung to me as we made our way down the dark hall. The air was clear except for the burning smell, but the Royal Court sounded like a herd of wild coyotes yipping as they rushed from their suite. An unearthly howl rose up from the end of the hall, and I soon realized it was Pookums, tucked like a pink purse under one of Kendra’s arms. With the other, Kendra dragged her half-open rolling suitcase, which spit out scarves, underwear, and tank tops as it bounced down the steps. Jardine yelled at her to leave it behind and waved her on.

Lauren Sparrow materialized at the top of the staircase in a green silk bathrobe that was basically fancier than anything I’ve ever worn. “Everything’s going to be fine, ladies.” Her voice was calm but her eyes bulged. “Just head out to the front terrace.”

Dew soaked the hems of my pajama bottoms as we gathered on the lawn. Sienna, Jardine, and Kendra stood with their arms around each other, staring in shock back at the mansion. Trista—who wouldn’t have dreamed of leaving behind her cargo jacket, especially now that she’d sewn asthma refills into the lining—threw it over Grace, who was shivering in her boxer shorts and T-shirt. Kendra noticed. “Over here, ladies,” she said gently, waving us over. “We’ll warm you up.”

The three of us shuffled over and joined their group-hug circle. Sienna slung her arm around me, and Jardine asked if we were okay. Scared, and huddled together on the wet grass in their pajamas, their hair all messy, for once they didn’t seem like royalty at all, but more like big sisters. I felt a stab of guilt remembering all the mean thoughts I’d had about them. Maybe I was seeing something closer to their real selves.

Danica and Denise, in matching purple pajamas, joined our circle too. “Where were you? We were freaking out!” Denise said to me, worriedly.

“Shh,” I said, eyeing Ms. Sparrow. “Snuck out for a little slumber party.”

They nodded but traded suspicious looks. Meanwhile Pookums yapped and ran dizzy figure eights through our legs, nearly tripping Ms. Sparrow as she checked in on us. So much for Pookums providing soothing therapy in times of distress.

I froze at the sight of two figures tramping toward us from the side path next to the mansion. I didn’t have to wait until the motion-detector floodlights clicked on to know it was Barb and Lily Lund.

The mood in the mansion the next morning was anxious. The number of workers hustling around seemed to have doubled. Brown Suiters directed them to fling open windows and set up fans. Every outlet seemed to house a floral air freshener plug-in. As Grace, Trista, and I set the breakfast table, we heard the cooks muttering about the Festival curse. I felt like breaking into the cell phone safe to call my parents—or just plain running home.

The adults might have been muttering about Ridley cursing the Festival, but I was more and more sure a different Ridley was behind it all. One who was very much alive. Last night as Barb Lund helped Ms. Sparrow wrangle us all on the lawn while the firefighters thudded through the mansion, she’d mentioned how lucky it was she’d been working in the float barn late so she could “be there for our Royal Court in their time of need.” She stayed with us until the firefighters gave us the all-clear signal to go back to bed.

“Ms. Sparrow said it was no big deal, but have you seen her? I didn’t look that pale when I saw an actual dead body,” Kendra said—with an odd sense of pride—at breakfast. Her mouth flapped open as she chewed a piece of bacon. Apparently they’d skipped a pretty important chapter in that etiquette class.

Jardine looked irritated. “Can you not . . . ?” She held out her hand at Kendra and pinched her fingers together to mime a closing mouth. “Thanks.”

Sienna ignored the showdown and took a sip of coffee. It seemed so adult to sip coffee, but Sienna looked like she’d been drinking it since third grade or something. “I’m not surprised. Can you imagine if she hadn’t woken up? The fire was right in her office. They say it started when the curtains blew into a scented candle that she forgot to blow out before bed.”

Grace kicked me under the table. I kicked back. It was almost impossible to imagine Ms. Sparrow, the same woman who organized books on shelves by order of height, forgetting a detail—let alone one like that. Sparrow had seemed run-down and distracted lately—by her usual standards, at least. Did she know she was being targeted? I kept remembering her strange expression when Lee had thanked Officer Grady at the royal announcements for his speedy “closure.” Was it fear or surprise? Or both?

“Her own smoke detector didn’t even go off! No batteries in it!” Kendra said. She pushed aside her plate, probably not wanting to risk any more scolding from Jardine. “I heard her tell the firefighters last night.”

I pictured Barb and Lily Lund tramping into view from the shadows the night before, and my toast and eggs felt like they were going to climb back up my throat. A fire in Ms. Sparrow’s room. A smoke alarm without batteries. Lee, Barb, and Lily all lurking nearby.

Grace widened her eyes at Trista and me and dropped her fork against her plate with a clatter. Then she drummed her fingers on the table like a heartbeat. Tap tap, tap tap. I stopped midchew and leaned closer as Grace paused, then repeated the pattern twice more. Tap tap, tap tap.

I slid my index card into my lap and sneaked a glance. PP! She wanted us to meet in the pantry! Or wait—did PP mean the first floor bathroom, after all?

I got my answer when Trista darted a look toward the hallway that led to the powder room, then I stacked everyone’s breakfast plates into a Leaning Tower of Pisa and hauled them away.

A minute later we were huddled around the porcelain sink. Grace’s eyes flicked nervously from Trista to me and back again. “Are you guys thinking what I’m thinking?” she asked, her breathing uneven.

I nodded, picturing the lacy curtains in Grace and Trista’s room. The air had been so still that night that they hadn’t so much as twitched. “There was no breeze last night,” I croaked. “How could the curtains have billowed out into a candle?”

“A candle Ms. Sparrow doesn’t even think she lit,” Grace said. “I don’t think there’s any doubt about it. This was an attack.” She rolled her eyes. “A breeze! Talk about ‘hot air.’ Someone set that fire.”

“And they took out the smoke-alarm batteries first,” Trista said, clenching her fist nervously.

“Steptoe, possibly Lee, and now—Ms. Sparrow,” I said, tapping the marble countertop at each name. “All Royal Court judges.” I shuddered.

Grace nodded slowly. “We’re back to our original theory: Lund. In the float barn. With a giant s’more.”

There was only one problem. This round of Clue was no game.