House Arrest Read online

  “Yeah.” She sniffed the air, not seeming very interested. “Probably just the chimney. Or maybe it’s the ghost of that Sylvia woman—she must have smoked about five packs a day.”

  I took a step back toward the house, trying to locate the source of the smoke. It didn’t smell like cigarettes. It didn’t really smell like woodsmoke, either.

  Glancing up, I saw a tendril of smoke snaking out from one of the windows. “Hey!” I cried. “I think it’s coming from one of the bedrooms upstairs!”

  Without waiting for an answer, I raced toward the nearest second-story balcony. With a running start, I was able to jump up and grab the metal supports underneath it. Then I swung myself up and over the railing.

  “What are you doing?” Ripley sounded perplexed.

  I didn’t stop to answer. The smell of smoke was stronger up here. Much stronger.

  I crossed the balcony in one jump. The door was locked, so I peered in the window.

  It was Bobby T’s bedroom. The room was full of smoke. Bobby was still in there, asleep—only now he was lying in a bed of flame!

  Red-hot and Red-handed

  Brynn and I were walking through the foyer when I heard muffled shouts from upstairs. It sounded like Joe.

  I sprinted for the steps. Halfway up, I smelled smoke. That got me moving even faster.

  The shouts were coming from the room I shared with Bobby T and Hal. I burst in just in time to hear the crash of breaking glass. A second later Joe tumbled in through the window.

  “Fire!” he shouted hoarsely.

  “Aaaah!” Bobby was lying on the big double bed, totally surrounded by fire. He sat up, looking terrified. “What’s happening?”

  There was a line of flame all around the outside edge of the mattress. “Get him out of there!” I shouted to Joe. I was already racing back into the hall. A fire extinguisher was hanging out there.

  By the time I got back, Bobby was leaning against the wall near the door. Joe was nearby, beating out a few sparks trying to take hold on his own shirt. Both of them seemed to be okay.

  “Stand back!” I called. Then I let the fire extinguisher rip. Thick foam shot out, quickly suppressing the fire.

  When the hissing noise stopped, I heard cries and running footsteps from the hall. A second later most of our housemates burst in, soon followed by Veronica and several crew members.

  “What’s going on in here?” the host exclaimed. She stopped short when she saw the singed and foam-soaked bed. “Oh!”

  There was a burst of chatter. But Bobby’s voice cut through it like a knife.

  “That’s it!” he said loudly. “I want out!”

  “Huh?” One of the crew guys turned to him. “Of course we’ll get you a new bed, but if you’d rather move into a different bedroom, I suppose—”

  “No, I mean I’ve had enough.” Bobby looked grim. “I’m going to take the money and run. I still get thirty thou, right?”

  “Oh, Bobby,” Ripley exclaimed. “Are you really going to quit?”

  “Yes,” Veronica added. “Are you sure about this? I’ll give you one chance to change your mind, considering the circumstances, but—”

  “I’m not changing my mind,” Bobby interrupted. “I’m out of here. This isn’t worth a few extra blog hits.” He grabbed his laptop from the bedside table, where it had miraculously escaped the fire and foam. “Especially since I can’t even blog anymore.”

  Veronica shrugged. “Then it’s official. Pack your things, and someone will call you a cab.”

  Bobby didn’t have much to say as he grabbed the rest of his stuff. Within minutes, he was gone.

  The producers seemed worried now. Not only had someone disabled the smoke alarm, but the room’s automated camera as well. A shirt had been draped over the lens. In fact, it was one of my shirts. Definitely suspicious.

  They shut off all the cameras—actually telling us they were doing it this time—and then brought us all into the great room for a serious talk.

  “We will be investigating the cause of this fire,” the head producer guy said sternly. “In the meantime, we’re getting very concerned about all the things that have gone wrong lately. In fact, we’re seriously considering shutting down the production.”

  “No way!” James burst out. “Dude, you can’t do that. Not when I can almost taste the million!”

  “Yeah,” Georgina spoke up. “And I just got here!”

  Olivia nodded. “Besides, Bobby probably started that fire himself. That way he had an out—a way to quit without looking like a coward.” She shrugged and glanced around the room. “Not to mention a way to go out with a bang for his blog, especially now that he can’t blog from the house anymore.”

  The producer looked uncertain. I wondered what he was thinking. Based on the comments on Bobby’s blog, the show was already getting tons of buzz, even though it hadn’t started airing yet. The producers probably hated the thought of pulling the plug on a potential hit.

  “That’s an interesting theory,” the producer said to Olivia. “We’ll take it under advisement. I suppose for now you should all just go about your business here.”

  “Woo-hoo!” James pumped his fist. “The show must go on.”

  Veronica shot him a disgusted look. So did several others.

  Joe and I needed to talk. And soon. I waited until Brynn was busy talking with the twins, then slipped away to the supply closet.

  Joe joined me there a few minutes later. “So what do you think of Olivia’s theory?” he asked immediately.

  “It makes a lot of sense, logically speaking.” I shrugged. “But I just don’t know if I believe it. I keep remembering the look of raw terror on Bobby’s face when he woke up.”

  “Yeah.” It looked like Joe remembered too. “So then who set that fire?”

  I shook my head. “That’s the question of the hour. It could have been anyone.”

  “Not anyone,” he reminded me. “Whoever did it must have sneaked up there while we were in the kitchen. That means it wasn’t us, or Brynn.…”

  “Or Hal or Ann,” I continued.

  “Or Ripley,” added Joe. “She was outside with me when I smelled the smoke. She caught up with me when I was trying to follow…” His words trailed off, and he gasped.

  “What?” I demanded.

  “Mikey,” he said. “I saw him acting weird—like he was nervous. He went sneaking out of the house, and I tried to follow him. But Ripley waylaid me.”

  “Interesting. So you think he could’ve set the fire?”

  “Maybe. I’d looked in on Bobby and he was fine. But I was down the hall for a few minutes after that. It might have been enough time for Mikey to sneak in and start the fire.”

  “Okay,” I said. “We’d better try to question Mikey about this. But I also can’t help thinking about Gail.”

  Joe nodded. “Because of the arson thing, you mean?”

  “They say the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, right?”

  Before either of us could say anything else, we heard Veronica on the intercom system, calling everyone back to the great room. “Uh-oh,” Joe said. “Either something else happened…”

  “Or it’s elimination time,” I finished. My stomach twisted nervously. Joe and I were deep undercover—Veronica and the other judges had no idea who we really were or why we were really on the show. If they decided to kick us off, there was nothing we could do about it.

  Soon everyone was gathered around the fireplace. “I won’t keep you in suspense,” Veronica said. “The other judges and I have reviewed the tapes since the last elimination. Our decision is unanimous. The next person to go will be…”

  Despite her promise not to keep us in suspense, she paused. Her eyes wandered over us, each person in turn. When those pitiless eyes met mine, I did my best not to shiver. You could have heard a pin drop.

  “The next person to go,” she said again, “will be—Mikey Chan.”

  My eyebrows shot up. I guess others were surp
rised too. There was a lot of murmuring.

  Mikey’s eyes went wide, and his round face turned red. “But I—I—,” he stammered.

  Veronica didn’t let him finish. “The camera sees everything, Mikey,” she said. “Take a look.”

  She waved a hand, and a PA rolled in a large TV set. Images flashed on the screen. Images of Mikey tiptoeing into the supply closet—the bathroom—the ice shed. Then an image of him tossing something into the fireplace.

  I leaned forward. “What was that?”

  “Candy bar wrappers,” Veronica replied. She smiled her icy smile. “Our Mikey has been sneaking junk food all week long—actually, ever since junk food got taken away. He got the stuff from our old friend Mitch and has been hoarding it.”

  “But—,” Mikey sputtered.

  “We’ve been aware of it all along, of course,” Veronica went on. “However, we chose not to address it. Until now.” She turned toward Mikey. “Mikey Chan, you have deprived yourself of the chance to be a millionaire.”

  “But it’s not fair!” Mikey burst out, looking close to tears. “If you’re going to kick me out for that, Ripley should go too! She’s been doing the same thing—she ate stuff during her punishment when she was supposed to have only bread and water!”

  “What?” cried Ripley. “I don’t know what he’s talking about!”

  “I saw you!” Mikey pointed to her. “You were eating in the Deprivation Chamber. I know it.”

  James laughed. “Yeah, right,” he said. “Okay, so we have Ripley.” He moved his hands up and down close together to indicate a sort of curvy stick figure. “And then we have you.” This time he spread his hands far apart, tracing out a shape closer to a beach ball. “Which of these two has been sneaking extra food?”

  A few people laughed. Even Veronica cracked a smile—a small one. “Don’t make yourself look worse, Mikey,” she advised. “I’ll have to ask you to pack your things and leave. Now.”

  Joe and I had to stand there in front of the cameras with the others while Mikey took his walk of shame. But as soon as that was over, we met up in the bathroom.

  “Guess this explains all those times we surprised Mikey in the supply closet or saw him sneaking around,” Joe said.

  “True,” I agreed. “But that doesn’t mean he wasn’t our culprit.”

  Joe shrugged. “Guess we’ll find out. If nothing else happens, we’ll know it was him.”

  We didn’t have long to wait. Everyone was eating dinner when Olivia excused herself to go to the bathroom. A moment later a scream rang out.

  When we all got there, she was standing in the bathroom doorway staring at the floor. Someone had written a message on the tile in thick black letters: TWO MORE DOWN, A DOZEN TO GO. WILL YOU BE THE NEXT VICTIM?

  Rattled

  Okay, so it hadn’t been Mikey. We got that, loud and clear.

  I wondered if this would finally be the last straw for the producers. I was expecting Veronica to burst in and announce that the show was over. But I guess the cameras were off, because nobody turned up.

  Frank was already on his knees, examining the scrawled message. “I think this is written in eyeliner.” He held up his fingers. They were smudged with black.

  Ripley let out a pained little shriek. “It is!” she cried, leaping over to grab a tube lying on the floor nearby. “It’s my eyeliner!” She waved the tube around, looking upset. “Do you guys know how much this stuff costs? It’s ruined!”

  Olivia shot her a suspicious look. “Interesting,” she said. “First someone writes a message using your lipstick, then another one turns up with your eyeliner. Almost seems like a pattern, doesn’t it?”

  Ripley tossed the empty tube aside and planted her hands on her hips. “Are you accusing me of something?”

  “No.” Olivia shrugged. “Just making an observation.”

  Meanwhile Georgina was looking freaked out. “What is this place, anyway?” she exclaimed. “Is this all part of the show?”

  “Not exactly…” Brynn started filling her in, with help from Hal and James.

  Meanwhile, Gail and Olivia were still staring at Ripley. “Okay, now what Mikey said about you sneaking around is sort of making sense,” Olivia said.

  “Yeah. I always wondered why someone like you would come on a show like this,” said Gail. “It’s not like you need the money. Are you a ringer or something?”

  “What do you mean?” Ripley looked confused. Maybe she didn’t know what a ringer was. Or maybe she just assumed everyone knew why she was really there.

  “She means you could be working for the show,” Olivia explained. “Doing all this weird stuff to try to freak us out. Hysterical contestants equal bigger ratings, right?”

  You had to hand it to Olivia. The girl was a quick thinker. Logical, too. Although she was forgetting a few key points.

  “Are you nuts?” James put in. “Yeah, maybe the producers might try to psych us out by sending stupid messages and stuff. But they wouldn’t do this.” He opened his mouth and pointed inside. It still looked raw and red from his encounter with the glassy ice. “Or that.” He pointed at Brynn’s bandaged hands. “They wouldn’t even do something like push her down.” He glanced at Mary, then shrugged. “Of course, that could’ve just been a passing breeze.”

  I hid a smile as I flashed to the image of Mary in those tough yoga poses. James had better hope she never got fed up with him teasing her about being skinny and weak. She was probably a whole lot stronger than he realized.

  Olivia was still glaring at Ripley. “Mikey might’ve been a pig,” she said. “But I don’t think he was a liar. So why did he say that about you eating during your punishment?”

  Ripley frowned. Then she sighed. “Fine,” she said. “You want the truth?”

  “That would be nice,” Gail retorted.

  I glanced at Frank. He looked as confused as I felt.

  “I’m not in cahoots with the producers,” Ripley said. “I swear. The only thing is… I have a sort of, um, eating disorder.”

  One or two people gasped. Others looked unsurprised.

  “Wow,” said Olivia. “Too bad Bobby left. He would’ve loved to put that kind of scoop on his blog.”

  Ripley ignored the comment. “Anyway, my parents said I could only be on the show if the staff kept an eye on me. You know, foodwise. Since it was for a medical reason, the producers agreed.” She shrugged. “So when I lost that challenge, they sneaked me some food anyway.”

  “So you were cheating!” Gail sounded outraged. “Figures the rich girl would figure out a way around things.”

  “But I wasn’t!” Ripley protested. “Not really. See, they took away my straightening iron as a secret alternative punishment.” She tugged on her wavy hair. “Trust me, having to walk around like this is way worse than the food thing.”

  “If you say so.” James rolled his eyes. “I’d rather shave my head and go naked than get stuck with bread and water.”

  “Anyway, I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you before,” Ripley said. “But I hope this convinces you that I’m definitely not the one who did this.” She waved a hand at the eyeliner message. “Or any of the other weird stuff that’s been happening. Nope, I didn’t do the ice thing, or dump that firewood on Frank, or knock Mary down.” She crossed her arms and glanced around the room. “But I’m pretty sure I know who did do it all.”

  “Huh?” said Frank, looking startled.

  I knew how he felt. It was going to be really embarrassing if we got scooped on our mission by some L.A. socialite.

  “Who did it?” Olivia demanded.

  Ripley shook her head. “I’m no snitch,” she said. “I’m not going to tell—for now, anyway. But if anything else happens, or I find out that Sylvia woman’s death wasn’t an accident, I’ll go straight to the producers with what I know. Consider yourself warned.”

  I sidled toward Frank. “We should talk,” I muttered.

  “Yeah. Outside?”

  I nodded. Since the ca
meras didn’t seem to be on, it didn’t much matter where we went. “Meet you there in five.”

  It was a good fifteen minutes before Frank showed up. I spent the extra time pacing around the yard, trying to figure out what all this meant. Only one thing seemed certain—whoever was doing the bad stuff was definitely still in the mansion.

  When Frank finally appeared, I glanced at my watch. “Glad you could make it,” I said.

  “I got here as fast as I could,” he retorted. “It took a while to lose Brynn.”

  That was so not what I wanted to hear. “I bet,” I said sarcastically. “What, did she finally excuse herself to wipe off your drool?”

  “Grow up, Joe,” he muttered. “We don’t have time for this right now.”

  That put me over the edge. “Oh yeah?” I demanded. “When will we have time to talk about how you stole her right out from under me? Huh? Because I’d like to put it on my schedule.”

  He scowled at me. I scowled back at him. Then, after a moment, his shoulders slumped.

  “Look,” he said, all the anger gone from his voice. “This is getting stupid, and more importantly, it’s getting in the way. So you know what? You’re right. You saw Brynn first. You—you should have her. I won’t stand in your way anymore, I swear.”

  “Good,” I said. “That’s more like it.”

  He didn’t say anything else. I peered at him. He looked kind of upset. Not upset as in, Joe-won-and-I’m-a-loser upset. More like upset upset.

  “Hold the phone,” I said. “What’s with you?”

  “What do you mean? Nothing. I’m just thinking about the mission.”

  “Don’t give me that. This is me you’re talking to.” I reached over and gave him a shove. “You don’t have, like, real feelings for Brynn, do you?”

  “No,” he said quickly.

  Too quickly. That told me all I needed to know. My eyes widened, and I smiled. “Oh, man, you so totally do!” I cried in amazement. “Dude! You really like this girl, don’t you?”

  His face was going bright red. “Drop it, Joe,” he mumbled.

  I couldn’t believe it. Frank, good old scared-of-girls Frank, had actually fallen for Brynn. Who could have guessed? Leave it to good-guy Frank to offer to sacrifice all that for the sake of the mission. What a dork!