The Puzzler's Mansion by Eric Berlin Page A

Amanda,” Gerard continued, “she is only going to be the next Richard Overton. Count on it.”
    Amanda was looking down at her plate, studying her food with great interest.
    â€œOh, you play piano?” asked Kimberly Schmidt.
    â€œYes,” Amanda said quietly.
    â€œYou’ll have to play for us at some point this weekend,” said Larry Rossdale.
    â€œOf course she will!” said her father, beaming.
    Amanda looked up and attempted a smile, but mostly she looked like she wanted to crawl under the table. Winston wondered if maybe her father was overstating things a little. He guessed that Amanda was probably pretty good, but was she really the next Richard Overton? That was a lot to live up to.
    Richard, sensing that Amanda had had enough attention, turned to Penrose. “Any travels to report, Arthur?”
    Winston had wondered what Penrose would say to match theseincredible stories. It turned out that twice a year, Penrose took trips to different places throughout the world. Winston had no idea that when the CLOSED sign appeared on Penrose’s shop, it meant Penrose had flown off to Ecuador, or China, or Madagascar.
    â€œSix weeks from now, I’m heading back to Paris,” said Penrose. “Haven’t been there in forty years.” That led to a whole conversation about the things he should see and do there, and the restaurants he should eat in and avoid. Mal and Jake and Winston kept trading disbelieving, wondering smiles. Usually on a Friday evening, if they could get together at all, the three of them would sit around playing board games or watching a movie. This was a whole other kind of experience.
    â€œAnd what about our younger guests?” Richard Overton said, looking around. “What do you have to say for yourselves?” He turned to his left. “Jake, is it? What are your interests?”
    Jake looked surprised to find himself in the spotlight. He must have assumed—as Winston had—that only the grown-ups would be speaking, bragging about their accomplishments. Jake glanced around, and Winston knew what he was thinking: what can I say that could compare with these people?
    â€œWell, I like sports,” he said. “I’m swimming now. In the spring I’ll be back on the baseball team.”
    â€œWhat position?” Richard Overton asked.
    â€œThird base.”
    â€œThe hot corner!” Larry Rossdale said, waving his fork in Jake’s direction. “Well done! No team worth its salt puts anybody at third who isn’t a real athlete.”
    Jake smiled, pleased.
    Their host turned next to Zook Worthington, who stared off at an imaginary point on the far wall, like he was trying to pretendhe wasn’t here. Winston didn’t think he would even respond, but Zook shrugged and said, “I’m just doing stuff,” he said. “You know. Whatever.”
    A disappointed silence greeted this. Zook looked around briefly to see his father frowning and rubbing his forehead. Zook ducked his head and went back to his food.
    Richard, seeing he wasn’t going to get anything else from Zook, continued his way around the table. “Amanda we have already heard from—our future maestro. How about you, young man? Remind me of your name, please.”
    â€œMal,” said Mal. “And I want to be an actor. You know, someday. Not now. Although I’m in my school play now.” Winston had never seen Mal this nervous. He kept looking and then trying not to look at Derek Bibb, who was smiling with encouragement. “Anyway, that’s what I’m doing,” Mal concluded, his face bright red.
    â€œWhat play are you in?” Derek Bibb asked.
    â€œWhat play?” Mal repeated. He blinked. His mind had gone as blank as an empty road. “Uh,” he said. “Oh!
Arsenic and Old Lace.
”
    Derek Bibb gave a satisfied nod. “A classic indeed.”
    â€œYes. Yes. A classic,” Mal agreed,