House Arrest Read online

  We tried the bathrooms, but they were both occupied. Next we headed for the supply closet. But that spastic PA, Sylvia, was digging around in there. I guess she was having trouble finding whatever she was looking for, because she was cursing like a sailor and muttering something about needing a cigarette. I don’t think she even noticed us.

  “Let’s go outside,” Frank suggested.

  We still weren’t sure how many cameras were set up outside. But the grounds were so vast, it seemed impossible they could cover the whole place.

  Just outside the back door, we found James lifting weights on the grass near the covered-over pool. At first I wondered why, since there was an awesome state-of-the-art exercise room in the mansion’s basement.

  Then I saw Ripley and Brynn. They were lying on a couple of teak lounge chairs, dressed in bikinis. Nice.

  “Sure you don’t want to take a turn, fatso?” James taunted as he lifted.

  I hadn’t even noticed that Mikey was out there too. Can you blame me?

  Ripley lowered her designer shades and peered at James. “If you want to work up a sweat, why don’t you chop more wood?” She gestured at the pile of split logs at the far end of the grassy part of the yard. “We’re all going to be cold tonight if we don’t keep the fire going.”

  “Ugh. Hard to believe. It’s boiling out here now.” Mikey squinted up toward the sun, then took a swig out of the glass of ice water he was holding.

  I was surprised to see that ice water. No freezer meant no ice maker, either. Veronica had explained that if we wanted ice, we had to get it the old-fashioned way. There was a big block of it in a shed behind the woodpile. We were welcome to chip pieces off and haul them back to the house.

  James looked surprised too. “Hey, where’d you get that ice water, Chubby Chan?”

  Mikey shrugged. “There’s a pitcher in the fridge.” He took another sip and grimaced. “Yuck. I hate water. I wish they hadn’t taken our soda away.”

  “You should be thanking them.” James swung the weights up over his head. “There are no calories in water.”

  “Whatever,” Mikey muttered.

  I rolled my eyes. Sure, Mikey could stand to lose a few pounds. Okay, make that a few dozen. That didn’t give James the right to razz him nonstop.

  “What’d you say, chubby?” James asked. “I couldn’t quite hear you. Your blubber must be soaking up the sound waves from your voice.”

  “Hey, James. Lay off already, okay?” Frank’s voice was mild, but I know him pretty well. I could tell he was getting steamed.

  “Yeah,” I backed him up. “Enough, dude.”

  James shot us an irritated look. “I don’t like people telling me what to do,” he said. “That’s not a threat—it’s a fact.”

  “Grow up, James,” Brynn put in. “You may think you’re funny, but you’re not.”

  Mikey didn’t say a word. He was staring into his glass, looking embarrassed and kind of sad. I felt bad for him. He seemed like a nice guy.

  Ripley wasn’t saying anything either. She was just lying there watching us. Sort of like we were some slightly boring TV show.

  James dropped his weights on the grass. “Fine,” he said. “I was just about to hit the shower anyway.” He strode across the lawn.

  When he reached Mikey’s lounge chair, he stopped. Mikey stared up at him, looking nervous.

  James’s hand shot out. Mikey cringed, obviously thinking he was about to be hit.

  I thought so, too. My muscles tensed automatically, ready to jump in. Beside me, I could sense Frank reacting the same way.

  But James only grabbed Mikey’s glass. He chugged the water and most of the ice. “Thanks, dude,” he said, chewing the ice cubes as he talked. “I needed that.”

  He grinned, then spit a small chunk of ice in Mikey’s direction. It bounced off Mikey’s head. Brynn gasped in shock.

  “Listen, fatty,” James said, tossing the glass back to Mikey, “I had to chip that ice myself. From now on, keep your meaty little paws off it, okay?”

  Ripley stood up and stretched. “Am I allowed to have any of your precious ice?” she asked. “I’m hot.”

  “Yes, you certainly are.” I was surprised James wasn’t actually drooling as he took in the sight of her in her bikini. “Come on, ice princess. I’ll pour you a glass myself.”

  Hot or Cold

  After James and Ripley left, Joe and I hung out with Brynn and Mikey for a while. We chatted about the show, the next challenge, and of course, the strange happenings lately.

  “What do you guys think of Olivia’s theory?” Joe asked at one point. “You know—about how maybe the producers are doing freaky stuff like planting that dead bird in the shower just to mess with us.”

  I knew he was feeling the others out, trying to make them say something to give themselves away. That was one of the first things we learned in our ATAC training—get whatever info you can out of the locals without letting them know that’s what you’re doing.

  Then again, maybe Joe was just making small talk with Brynn. After all, she and Mikey weren’t exactly our prime suspects.

  “I don’t know.” Mikey shot a slightly nervous glance at the house. He seemed kind of distracted. Was he afraid James might come back for more? “Maybe.”

  “I hope it’s not true,” Brynn said. “The show doesn’t need it.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  She shrugged. “I mean it’s interesting enough just finding out what it’s possible to live without. There’s some stuff you take for granted—stuff you really don’t notice much until it’s gone. You know, like cell phones. Or ice.”

  Mikey frowned. “Yeah,” he muttered. “You don’t notice it except when James is chewing on it all the time. Totally gross.”

  I raised an eyebrow. Working for ATAC, you learn to be pretty observant. But I had to admit, I hadn’t noticed James’s ice-chewing habit before this. Then again, James had mostly left me alone. It was no wonder if Mikey was a little more sensitive.

  The door opened and Veronica stepped out. She looked even more purple in the sunlight. Like a giant eggplant, only skinnier and with blond hair.

  “Interesting,” she said. “Given that it’s supposed to drop into the forties tonight, I would have thought you’d be working a little harder at chopping wood for the fire.”

  “How are we supposed to know the five-day forecast?” Joe murmured. “The Weather Channel’s on cable.”

  Veronica shot him a look. I wasn’t sure if she’d heard him or not. “See you tomorrow morning at the competition,” she said, then spun on her heel and disappeared back into the house.

  I stood up. “Come on,” I said to Joe. “I’ll split if you stack.”

  Chopping firewood is hard work. But I didn’t mind. The physical labor gave me time to think. One of the things I thought about was our host, Veronica Wilmont. So far Joe and I hadn’t seriously considered her a suspect. Was that a mistake? She certainly had enough access to do just about anything she wanted. And she seemed mean enough to pull the most recent pranks. But what could be her motive? Could Olivia’s theory be right? Or could Veronica possibly be doing it on her own?

  SUSPECT PROFILE

  Name: Veronica Wilmont

  Hometown: Los Angeles, California, by way of Minnesota

  Physical description: 5’11”, 130 lbs., white-blond hair, green eyes.

  Occupation: Reality show host

  Background: Came to Hollywood ten years ago as an aspiring actress. Played bit parts in minor films and on TV before landing lead role in failed sitcom. After that, worked odd jobs before getting hired as fill-in host for a couple of game shows, which led to the job on Deprivation House.

  Suspicious behavior: Her job description-lurking around and watching us. She knows everything that goes on in this house and never lets us forget it.

  Suspected of: Staging nasty pranks to freak us out, maybe to take advantage of our leftover fear from Mitch’s crimes.

 
; Possible motive: Wants to make sure the show is a ratings success. It could make her career and ensure that she never has to play Stabbing Victim Number Four again.

  • • •

  “Ms. Wilmont, I need you to come to the Deprivation Chamber with me.” Sylvia, the skinny, hyper little production assistant, bustled into the kitchen that night. “They want you to do some more on-camera commentary before tomorrow’s competition.”

  “Right now?” Veronica snapped. “Can’t it wait?”

  Sylvia rolled her eyes. “Look, the director said to go get you, so here I am. Are you coming or not?”

  “Fine.” Veronica scowled at her, though Sylvia didn’t seem to notice. The PA was already racing back out of the room like a monkey hopped up on caffeine.

  Veronica glanced around the kitchen. Most of the contestants were still gathered around the table. Only Hal and James were missing.

  “I suppose this is good night, then,” she told us. “I’ll see you in the morning for the competition.”

  “Man, finally!” Bobby T burst out as soon as she was gone. “I thought she was going to hang around all night.”

  “Me too.” Joe grinned. “Guess she likes our company.”

  Olivia looked smug. “That’s not why,” she said. “A little bird told me they turned off the hidden cameras at five p.m. today. Veronica was probably just sticking around to observe us like she warned she’d be doing.”

  “A little bird?” Ripley echoed.

  I was wondering about that too. We weren’t supposed to know when the cameras were on or off. Veronica had even mentioned once that the camera guys would sometimes wander around and pretend to film us even after hours, just to keep us on our toes.

  Even so, we kind of figured everything was mostly off at night when we were all asleep. Watching Joe drool or listening to Mikey snore wouldn’t exactly be a ratings grabber. And of course, we knew we were on camera during the competitions and whenever someone quit or got kicked off the show. As for the rest of the time, it was anybody’s guess.

  After a little more questioning, we got Olivia to admit where she’d gotten the scoop. The camera guy Chuck had let it slip earlier that day. Since the next day’s competition was starting earlier than usual, they were shutting down filming early today to make up the time.

  It was just as well. Not much had happened that day. It’s kind of amazing how much down time there is on reality shows. No wonder they can squeeze a whole week into one hour.

  Bobby T kicked back and put his feet up on the kitchen table. Veronica hates that.

  “Ol’ Ronnie seemed kind of pissed off at that skinny chick, didn’t she?” he commented.

  “Big surprise. She seems pissed off by everyone,” said Mikey.

  “So what do you guys think they have in store for us tomorrow morning?” Gail wondered. “All Veronica said was that we’d be starting early.”

  “Ugh,” Bobby groaned. “Guess that means I’m not going to win. I’m useless until, like, noon. So whoever does win—do me a solid and don’t get rid of Internet service, okay?”

  “Or TV!” Mikey added quickly. “We only have two hours as it is.”

  “I’m with you there,” Olivia agreed. “I definitely don’t want to lose our TV before we see that movie about the Decter murder.”

  “Neither do I,” Mary admitted. Silent Girl nodded. I guess we were all curious about that old murder.

  Brynn got up and walked to the refrigerator. “Anyone want anything?” she asked. “I’m going to have a glass of water.”

  “No thanks.” Ripley glanced over at the wall near the door.

  A list of potential deprivations was posted there. Several were already crossed out. iPods. Hot food. Phones. Extra bathrooms. Cable. Junk food. Freezer. Heat and AC. But there were still plenty more to go.

  “My vote goes to keep makeup and toiletries,” said Ripley as she scanned the list. “I don’t think anyone is going to want to see what we’ll all look like on TV without shampoo or concealer, right?”

  “Ugh, good point.” For once, Olivia seemed to be in total agreement with Ripley. She smoothed down her wavy red hair. “Without conditioner and gel, my hair will totally frizz. I’ll look like Little Orphan Annie.”

  Just then James strode into the room. Judging by the sweaty shorts and tank he was wearing, he’d been working out. That, taunting Mikey, and bragging about how he was going to win seemed to be his only hobbies.

  “What are you girls gabbing about?” he asked. “Trying to convince Chubby Chan to sit on me to keep me from walking all over you at the challenge tomorrow?”

  I shot a look at Joe. He rolled his eyes. Obviously telling him off that morning hadn’t stuck.

  When nobody answered, James just shrugged. Then he noticed Brynn pouring herself a glass of ice water.

  “Hey, babe, thanks. How’d you know I needed to rehydrate?” He grabbed the glass out of her hand and took a drink.

  “Hey!” Brynn protested.

  “Dude, have some class,” added Joe.

  James just grinned and started chomping on the ice in his mouth. But a second later his grin faded. The half-full glass slipped from his hand and shattered on the floor.

  “What the—,” he blurted out.

  As he spoke, the water and ice he’d just drunk spurted out in all directions. Only now it was tinted bright red. James rushed over to the sink and spat the rest of it out. His mouth was dripping with blood!

  Going Hungry

  “Oh my God!” Gail shrieked.

  I was already on my feet. Frank and I reached James at the same time.

  “What happened?” Frank demanded. “What’s wrong?”

  “The ice.” James sounded odd and mumbly as he twisted his mouth around. More blood spurted with every word. “It, like—it cut me or something!”

  “Open up,” I ordered him. “Let me see.”

  For once he obeyed without arguing or making an obnoxious comment. The inside of his mouth looked like raw hamburger. Blood was oozing everywhere. His teeth were coated in it.

  “It’s glass,” said Frank grimly. He was bent over the sink, examining the grossness. Then he squatted down to examine the ice rapidly melting all over the kitchen floor. “Here’s more of it. Too much to be just from the broken glass. Someone must have frozen shards of it into the ice cubes.”

  “But that’s crazy!” Olivia protested. “Who would do something like that?”

  Brynn’s face was pale. “Maybe the same kind of person who would plant a bomb on a lawn mower.”

  I felt a pang of sympathy. Brynn had had a close call in one of the earlier challenges, when a bomb had been rigged to go off when someone turned on the ignition on a riding mower. The look in her eyes and the quiver in her voice made me want to take her away somewhere safe and make it all better for her. Unfortunately, there was no time for that right now.

  “But that bomb thing was Mitch, right? He’s long gone.” Mary looked pale too. Then again, she always looks kind of pale. She’s practically see-through. “That ice water has only been in the fridge since this morning.”

  “We’d better call the paramedics.” Frank was already reaching for the intercom button on the wall nearby.

  “No! Wait,” said James. He closed his mouth and sort of wriggled his tongue around. Then he winced, opened up, and pulled out another chunk of bloody glass. “I’m okay.”

  “Dude, you sure don’t look okay,” Bobby T commented.

  Talk about an understatement. Blood was dripping down his chin onto his white tank top. He could have starred in a workout video for vampires.

  “If you swallowed some glass, it could kill you,” Frank said.

  “I didn’t swallow any,” James insisted. “I just swished the water around in my mouth and then started chewing. Nothing went down—I’m sure of it.”

  “But why don’t you want to go get checked out?” exclaimed Brynn. “Better safe than sorry.”

  James swiped at the blood on his chi
n. “No way,” he said. “Like Dooley said, I coulda been killed. And the producers are already skittish after all the stuff that’s happened. If they hear about this, they’ll shut the show down for sure.”

  “He’s right,” Gail agreed. “We can’t risk it. Some of us need that million-dollar prize.” She shot a slightly sour look at Ripley.

  Ripley didn’t seem to notice. “Well, let’s make sure there’s nothing still stuck in there. Hang on, I’ll get some tweezers.” She hurried out of the room.

  “She’s really getting into her role as little miss Florence Nightinheiress, isn’t she?” Bobby T commented.

  Ripley returned while a few of the others were still giggling at that. But she paid no attention to anyone but James.

  “Open wide and hold still,” she said. “Is there a flashlight around? That would help.”

  She got busy picking the remaining shards out of James’s cheeks and tongue. It was pretty gross. I have to give her credit, she really kept her cool. So did James. I saw his eyes water a few times, but he let her do her thing without complaining.

  “I think I got it all,” Ripley said at last. “But you should probably still get checked out by the pros. Maybe you can come up with a cover story.”

  James spit a gob of blood into the sink. “Yeah,” he agreed. “I’ll come up with something.” He grinned weakly. “It’s not like I’ve never done something stupid and injured myself before. I’m sure I can make it believable.”

  A few minutes later, he was explaining to Veronica how he’d tried to fit a whole water glass into his mouth and accidentally broken it in there. She looked disgusted, both at his story and the mess in the kitchen. We’d already gotten rid of the rest of the glassy ice, of course, but blood and bits of the shattered water glass were still everywhere. Stepping over to the intercom, she called for help.

  Sylvia was the first to arrive. “What is it now?” she complained. “I have a stinking migraine, and I was just getting ready to go to bed.”

  “Take Mr. Sittenfeld to see the medics,” Veronica ordered her. Then she glanced around at the rest of us. “Everyone else get to bed. You have a long day tomorrow.”