Chapter 27

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"Will, this is a really bad idea."

Will and Laura sat in the cab of their truck in the parking lot of the Good Guys electronics store across Steven's Creek Road from the sprawling nightmare of The Winchester Mystery House. They had driven all day from Los Angeles, and Will was hell-bent on getting into the house before sunset.

"Aww, where's your sense of adventure? This will be fun. Did you ever read that book The Lancelot Closes at Five when you were a kid? About the friends who spent the night in a model home?"

"No, dear, I never had the pleasure." Laura adjusted her jet-black, Gibson Girl wig that Miss Aimee had pulled out of her Halloween bag. "I think we should drive to my Aunt Joy's, spend the night, and come back tomorrow. We can take the tour, scope out the place, and make some educated decisions."

"The less time we spend here the better, my little budgie," Will crooned. "Someone's bound to get suspicious if we show up too many times."

"But they won't get suspicious when we wander away from the tour group and start ransacking the house?"

"Fiddle-dee-dee. The more time we spend in San Jose, the more likely that someone will recognize us."

Laura considered her traveling companion. At Miss Aimee's urging, he had shaved off his generous beard, had his hair tinted black, and was clothed in a pair of black leather pants and a tight T-shirt. Aimee had even bought him some magnetic earrings and a colorful variety of Temporary Tattoos to complete his ensemble.

"No one will recognize us, Will. We look like refugees from a sideshow." She glanced down mournfully through her buggy, TV-mom sunglasses at her sleeveless, flowing, paisley sundress.

"I think we look fabulous. I rather like this look."

"Will, have you looked at that house? It's enormous! We can't just waltz in and expect the clue to hit us in the face!"

"Live on the edge, will you? I've got a really good feeling about this."

"Will, have you ever heard of security systems? Burglar alarms? Guard dogs? Police officers?"

"No matter when we go, it will be fraught with danger and drama."

Laura pouted.

"Come on, Dial. This B and E stuff is old hat to you now. Besides, it's not even really breaking and entering. They're letting us in."

Laura sighed. "Fine. Fine. I can live on the edge. I can be spontaneous," she said weakly. "What's our plan?"

Will wriggled in excitement. "OK. We go up to the house, and we pretend we're tourists. We're from. . .hmm. Where could we be from? We could be from Canada. Canadians always look freakish. We're from Toronto--"

"Get to the good stuff, Will, before I change my mind."

"OK. We go and take the tour. Midway through the tour, you pretend that you've got a really awful stomach cramp and you need the restroom. We leave the tour, and go hide in the house. We should split up so we can cover more ground. We wait till everyone is gone for the night, and then we start our search! I'll meet you at the truck tomorrow morning."

"What if we get caught?"

"Improvise. Tell them you got lost."

"Will, what sort of fantasyland are you living in? There is NO WAY that we will be able to wander away from the tour group and hide."

"People are weird about cordoned-off areas in touristy sites. They assume that they are booby-trapped or alarm rigged. But they're not. There's 160 rooms in that house, Laura. Even if they look for us, it would take them all night."

"This is ridiculous."

"Come on."

"We should read the novel again before we go, so we know what we're looking for."

"No. Let's just go." He picked up Miss Aimee's wide brimmed straw sun hat and slammed it onto Laura's head. Then, he opened the door of the truck.

"Winchester Mystery House, here we come!"

*****

Professor Hattamari and Mr. Yemeshigi sat knee to knee in a utility closet beneath one of the Mystery House's forty staircases. In the darkness, Mr. Yemeshigi fumbled about until he found his duffel bag, and rummaged through it until he found the only nourishment they had left: a bag of squashed Circus Peanuts.

"You're going to eat those now?" Hattamari asked in whispered Japanese. "Those things smell just as bad as you do. They stink. And they have no nutritional value. You might just as well eat a tin can, you goat. "

Yemeshigi ignored him, and bit into the orange sugary sponge.

"Put away that garbage until we get out of here. Those make me nauseous." For effect, the Professor began to gag quietly.

Yemeshigi crumpled the cellophane bag into a ball and threw it in the general direction of Hattamari's face. "There. They're all gone. Are you happy now?"

Hattamari was silent. From experience, Yemeshigi knew that in the darkness, tears were welling up in the old man's eyes, and his lower lip was trembling.

"Professor, unless you have seriously miscalculated, we will find the next clue tonight, and then we will get out of here. We only have five more rooms to search. We'll be out by morning."

"Mr. Yemeshigi," Hattamari whined, "whether or not we find the clue tonight is immaterial to me. I am leaving you. There is not enough money in the world to pay me to deal with all this mental and physical abuse. I will speak to Mr. Takamoto myself, I will. You will be sorry, I can tell you that. I am through."

Yemeshigi spoke through gritted teeth. "I'm sure that Mr. Takamoto will be more than happy to compensate you adequately for your discomfort." As it was, Hattamari was making a cool two million for each clue he helped Yemeshigi find on behalf of the company.

Hattamari was proving to be more of a nightmare than Yemeshigi had ever imagined possible. After their discovery in Beaver Creek, the Professor had insisted on dawdling in the mountain resort for nearly a week, while he attended a highbrow literary conference. Then, the professor had badly burned his hands while assisting Yemeshigi in charring and defacing the box car clue, and demanded four days of "recuperation" at a tony luxury spa. Finally, Yemeshigi's patience had worn thin, and he had screamed at the diminutive academician until the old man sobbed like a four-year-old. Upon their arrival in Los Angeles, the Professor refused to go to the Huntington Library until he spoke directly to Mr. Takamoto. Takamoto, obsessed with finding the Waterbury treasure before his investments liquidated before his eyes, had agreed to quadruple the Professor's fee.

Finding the clue at the Huntington had been relatively elementary, but their hunt at the Winchester Mystery House was nearly impossible. One hundred sixty rooms, a state-of-the art security system, and a limited window of time in which to search had waylaid them for nearly a week.

Since sneaking away from a tour group the previous Thursday, Yemeshigi and Hattamari had hidden themselves in the utility closet in a seldom-trafficked portion of the mansion. After Hattamari deduced how to paralyze the House's elaborate alarms, they had begun a nightly, systematic, room-by-room sweep of the house. On two occasions, they had nearly been caught by a vigilant and pudgy late-night security guard, and on the previous evening, Yemeshigi had nearly stepped through an ornate stained glass window, conveniently located in the floorboards of an upstairs bedroom.

Their days in the closet were hellish. They had run out of "real food," as the Professor called it, three days ago. Their bodies were knots of angry muscle from spending so much time in the cramped space. Yemeshigi's eyes were sore from constant straining in semi-darkness, and they both needed to shower. Badly.

And through it all, the Professor--who had formerly been such a gentle, quiet, reclusive man--complained. He complained about his back, his neck, his malnutrition, his internal miseries, his sleep deprivation, and his utter weariness nonstop. Yemeshigi half-hoped that the old man would quit Takamoto's venture, so he wouldn't have to deal with him any longer.

Yemeshigi illuminated his Indiglo. "It's almost six o'clock," he said into the darkness. "The last tour just started."

*****

Nina Kellogg dialed the phone, bracing herself for yet another intensely frustrating conversation.

"Howdy doodles! Vesper Shillington's residence. This is Shilah. How can I help you today?"

"Shilah, this is Nina Kellogg from Waterbury Publishing. I'd like to speak to Vesper, please."

Automatically, Shilah chirped, "I'm sorry, Ms. Shillington is resting. But I will tell her you--"

"Ok, ok, ok, " Nina barked impatiently. "Shilah, she can't be resting all the time. She can't be. She's been resting for a week. No matter when I call, she's resting. If she is resting this much, she must be very ill, and Mr. Waterbury and I will have to send over a doctor right away. Put her on the phone."

"She isn't ill, Mrs. Kellogg," Shilah said simply. "Truth to tell, she said she'd rather pull off her eyelids than talk to you."

"Shilah, I don't want to play games. You tell her that if she is not back to work by Monday morning, we are going to--"

Suddenly, in the background, Nina heard Vesper. She was mooing. The mooing quickly turned into a demon-like keening. "Cow-bitch! Cow-bitch!" she shrieked. "I'm not coming back until your ass is gone!" Vesper's voice was high-pitched, piercing, and unbelievably loud. She sounded as if she had been drinking.

"Uh, Mrs. Kellogg?"

"'Ms.,' Shilah. 'Ms.' Kellogg."

"Ms. Shillington just woke up from her nap, and she's in an awful temper."

Before Nina could respond, she heard the sounds of smashing china, and Shilah yelped. Nina thought she heard a low, male chuckle.

"Shilah, is everything all right there?"

"Everything is fine here." Shilah's voice was quavering. "Ms. Shillington says try to remember not to call her again."

The line went dead.

Nina hung up the phone, pushed away from her desk, and sighed. She rubbed her eyes wearily. She had never worked with a more childish, difficult, foul-tempered, unorganized, and wholly unprofessional person as Vesper Shillington. There were others who came close, but Vesper was the epitome.

Nina needed a vacation. Italy would be nice at this time of the year.

There was a tentative knock on her office door. Simon stuck his head into the room.

"Did you get ahold of her?"

"Mr. Waterbury, no. No, I didn't. She won't speak to me. Her ultimatum is the same. She won't return until I leave."

"Vesper is certainly stubborn when she wants to be. Not to worry. She'll get over it."

"Frankly, I don't understand why you keep her on here. She does no work. She's missed press event after press event. I'm not even trying to schedule any more PR circuses. She can't be counted on."

"Ms. Kellogg, we've been through this. Vesper is adored by the public. She's a beautiful, bright, witty--"

"Is she somehow tied up in the treasure hunt? Is that why you won't get rid of her?"

Simon smiled obscurely. "Perhaps."

"Well, we've got to come up with some new marketing ploys, fast. She's thrown off all of my plans. And with that Star Wars movie coming out this summer, Sooner than Never is going to be pushed onto the back burner. "

"Do you have any ideas, Ms. Kellogg?"

Nina thought for a moment, pursing her thin, colorless lips. "We could give A&E the go ahead to do your Biography."

"Absolutely not."

"We could pull the funding from Will Gilbert and Laura Dial. That would cause a stir."

Simon considered her. "They have been doing awfully well. Extremely well." He stroked his beard. "We could always decide to give it back to them later."

"Yes, we could."

"Do it, Ms. Kellogg."

******

"You're where?!" Marcus bellowed into David's ear.

David took a deep breath. Marcus Kessler, his line producer at CNN, was not the most patient person one could ever hope to work for.

David turned around in the phone booth, gazing across the freeway in the direction of The Winchester Mystery House.

"I'm in San Jose. I need a camera crew as fast as you can get one to me."

"Is that skinny skater kid from LAX up there?"

"Well, no. . .not exactly. It's Will Gilbert and Laura Dial. They--"

"Jesus Christ! What the hell are you following them for?! That kid found that clue at LAX, and you're following them?!"

"The next clue is at The Winchester Mystery House, Marcus."

"The what?! What in God's name are you talking about?"

"Marcus, just trust me. I need a crew here FAST. I'd bet they're going to find another clue tonight. I'm sure of it."

"Like you were sure about Niagara Falls?"

"Marcus, please--"

"Don't whine. Jesus, I've got all this work to do, and you're whining. Listen, kid. I'll get you a crew. But if you're wrong, you're out of a job."

*****

Will crouched in an alcove behind a potted palm. The House had grown eerily quiet. He glanced at his watch. It was nearly 9:00. The lights in the dark, paneled hall had been lowered to near darkness at 8:00, and a queer sort of twilight gloom pervaded the place. He could feel his heart pounding in his ears. Should he go? Wait? Didn't they do some sort of final walk-though before they closed the joint up for the night?

He was beginning to regret his insistence on plunging ahead with their plan. After abandoning Laura near the entrance hall and successfully dodging another group that was finishing up their tour, he had wandered through the long, winding hallways until he had come to an older part of the house, which was scantily furnished and obviously not a part of the tourist experience. He had also noticed, with great relief, that the motion detectors he had spotted during the tour were few and far between in this section of the house. He only hoped that Laura had noticed the same thing.

He missed Laura desperately. What would he do if he found a clue and it made no sense to him? What if, in his reckless haste, he ended up getting arrested? How could they possibly search the mammoth house effectively in one night? What if the clue was outside, on the grounds of the estate, and this tomfoolery was a dangerous waste of time? He sensed a big "I told so you so," would be shortly uttered from Laura's lips.

He took a deep breath. Get it together, Gilbert, he screamed inwardly, no time for a nervous breakdown now.

Slowly, he stepped out from behind the potted palm and into the hallway. Directly in front of him was a heavy oak door with a gleaming brass knob. He pressed his ear to it, and heard nothing. Might as well start here, he thought grimly. He carefully turned the knob and opened it a fraction of an inch. On the other side of the door was impenetrable darkness.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out the keychain flashlight that he and Laura had purchased at a Kwik-E-Mart on the way to the House. He shone it through the door, and was surprised to see that it led to another hallway, identical to the one in which he stood. However, the floor of the hallway was a full ten feet below the doorframe. . .a nasty drop for any of the restless spirits of the Winchester curse.

"Ma Winchester, you were one sick puppy," he muttered to himself, and started to close the door.

"Looking for something?" a voice hissed in his ear.

Will's knees turned to Jell-O, and he started to scream. A hand clamped over his mouth.

"Ssh!" the voice commanded. "Christ, Will, don't be such a drama queen!"

Will turned around, and nearly fainted. Sebastian Moffat stood behind him, his face shadowy and ruddy under a New York Yankees baseball cap. He threw his arms around Will. "Long time no see, stranger!" he exclaimed in a half-whisper which seemed a shout in the sleeping house. "I like your new look. Verrrry sexy."

"Oh, my God!" Will gasped. "What the. . .oh, my God. . . why. . .what are you doing here? You nearly scared me to death! There's a ten-foot drop on the other side of this door, you know, and I almost just went right through it! You could have killed me."

"Calm down," the Australian smiled obliquely. "Have you found anything good yet?"

"What? I. . .no. . .how. . .how did you find me?"

"I didn't know you were going to be here." Sebastian said, still smiling. "I guess it's written in the stars that we would find each other."

Will considered this. There was something incredibly wrong about Sebastian's sudden appearance. His mind screamed that he needed to get out of the house, and away from Sebastian, fast.

"Sebastian, I--"

"Will, you're a naughty boy. I thought I told you to stay in Los Angeles until I reached you."

"I. . .I . . .well, well, when you didn't come, I figured that your plans had changed. . .and when we went to the Huntington, there were no traps, and I didn't want to upset Laura, so I didn't tell her that you called, and she's as stubborn as an ox when she--"

"Will, I was only looking out for your safety. This is a desperately important matter."

"Sebastian, who are you? How do you keep finding me when--"

"Listen, Will. We haven't got time to natter endlessly. I've got something for you. He lifted his T-shirt and Will had a brief glimpse of the Australian's tight, lightly furred belly.

Their night at the Beaver Creek Lodge flashed through Will's mind.

Sebastian withdrew a revolver from his waistband.

"This is for you."

Will blinked. He had never seen a real gun up close. "Sebastian, I don't want that. I --"

"I've been waiting to give you this when I saw you again. I knew you and Laura would turn up here sooner or later."

"I don't want a gun, Sebastian. I want to get out of here. I need to find Laura and we need to get out of here."

Sebastian grabbed Will roughly by the shoulders and shook him. His hands were like an iron vise.

"Will, listen to me. You and Laura are in terrible danger. There's a maniac after you. . .someone who is following the hunt, who will do anything to win. He will kill you to get the lead. This is serious. I know you think I'm a nutter, boyo, but it's the truth!"

Will was suddenly aware of the fact that he needed to relieve his bladder. He swallowed. "Why should I trust you?"

Sebastian's cerulean eyes seemed to shine under the brim of his cap. "Because you're very special to me, Will, and because I know."

Will's stomach flip-flopped. "What do you know?"

"I knew the clue was at the Huntington when nobody else did. I knew that the Huntington clue pointed here. And," he paused dramatically, "I know about the car bomb in Chicago."

Will's eyes widened. No one knew about the attempted bombing of their car in Chicago, except for the Girls with Glasses, Laura, and Mike.

"That car bomb was just a warning. It wasn't meant to get you. I don't know when he's going to show up again, but you'll need this. He's an absolute psychopath, Will, but he's a real charmer. He'll think nothing of--"

Suddenly, somewhere down the hall, they heard approaching footsteps.

Sebastian pushed the revolver into Will's hand, and shoved him down the hallway in the opposite direction of the mysterious footsteps. "Move fast, lover!" The Australian hissed as they catapulted down the hallway.

They turned a corner and entered a dead-end passage with no windows or doors. Sebastian cursed softly under his breath, retreated, and reached for the nearest doorknob. He threw the door open and pushed Will inside.

The inside of the room was as black as midnight. Will bumped his knee painfully against a bulky piece of heavy furniture. Sebastian produced a flashlight and beamed it across the room.

The room was empty, save for an enormous wardrobe with a looking glass above its double doors, and an iron spiral staircase, planted in the center of the room, which twisted its way out through an opening in the ceiling, twenty feet above them.

"Oh, God," Will gasped. "It must be the security guards! They're going to get us! Or maybe it's the maniac! Maybe he's come for us both, and--"

"Hush, Will! Hush!" Sebastian snapped, "or I'll have to slap you." He pulled open the heavy doors of the wardrobe. "All aboard for the Narnia express."

"What?"

"Get in, Will."

"But I--"

Sebastian practically threw Will into the wardrobe, then climbed in beside him, clamping his hands over Will's mouth. He pulled the doors almost totally shut, leaving them slightly ajar.

"It's very silly to shut oneself up inside a wardrobe," the Australian commented needlessly.

Seconds later, they heard footsteps in the hallway. The door of the staircase room opened, and two dark figures entered., brandishing amazingly powerful flashlights. Despite the wardrobe's heavy doors and Sebastian's hands over his face, the smell of their BO hit Will like a hammer.

"This is the last room we searched yesterday," the first figure said to the second.

The second figure grumbled something in a foreign language; it was Asian, Will decided. Was it Korean? Chinese?

"I'll speak English if I want to, damn it!" The first figure bellowed, quite loudly.

The second figure mumbled something, again in another tongue, but Will could tell he was complaining, bitterly.

"Ok. We're almost through," the first figure responded, sighing. "Did you check the wardrobe last night?"

The second figure made a low, guttural, monosyllablic noise.

"The wardrobe!" The first figure cried, exasperated. He struck the side of the wardrobe with his flashlight. "This thing! It's a wardrobe! Some brilliant professor you are!"

The second figure let loose what seemed to Will to be a blue streak of curses.

A hand grasped the ornate handle of the wardrobe door.

"Fine," the first figure responded. "Let's go upstairs."

Will heard their feet padding up the staircase, which rang out softly with each of their steps. The second figure continued to mumble, but Will caught one word he said quite clearly: "Takamoto."

Soon, Will and Sebastian were alone again, left in the dark and quiet of the wardrobe.

"Who are those guys?" Will whispered frantically. "Are they Japanese?"

In the darkness, Will heard the wardrobe door slam open, and he felt rather than saw Sebastian leaping out of it.

The door to the hallway opened briefly, slammed shut, and Will was alone.

He thought.

"Sebastian?" He whispered into the darkness. "Are you here. . .? Sebastian. . .?"

Suddenly, he was glad to have the revolver.

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