Deprivation House (4 page)

A girl in an acid yellow T-shirt that said ASK ME ABOUT MY CRIPPLING SHYNESS jumped to the front of the group. “Are we going to take that from him?” she cried. It was like we'd suddenly been transported to a pep rally. “He basically just called us all losers,” she added. I noticed she was careful to angle her face toward one of the cameras.

“Not basically,” said James. “I
did
just call you losers.”

“Well, I'm Kit Elroy,” she told him, although she kept looking at the camera. She sucked down a big swallow of coffee from a huge paper cup. “And I am no loser! You better watch out for me!”

“No more interruptions, please!” Veronica called out. “Tonight's agenda is an easy one. Get unpacked.
The bedrooms are upstairs and your room assignments are posted. Then feel free to explore the house. There will be a barbecue by the pool in an hour.”

“Is that when we get the deets on the contest?” Bobby T asked.

“No, all you have to do tonight is enjoy yourselves,” Veronica answered. “I'll see you tomorrow and explain everything you need to know then.”

“Oooh, mysterious,” said Bobby T. “I'm going to get a juicy blog entry out of this.” He started for the gate.

Veronica held up one hand. “First, a word about cameras. As you can see, you are being filmed now. You need to know that there are also cameras positioned everywhere in the house and grounds.”

“Does that include—,” Frank began.

“Bathrooms aren't included,” she answered. “And, because you are all minors, union rules don't allow you to be on-camera twenty-four hours a day. Simply being on-camera is considered work for you. However, I will not tell you when the cameras will be off.”

She smiled her very red smile. “And there are no union rules covering the hours I may watch you.” Veronica waved us through the gate. The cameramen stayed close as we entered.

The photo we'd seen of the villa didn't really give
the scope of the place. There were miles of land around it. Not another mansion in sight. I wished Mom and Aunt Trudy could see the garden. It was insane. I don't know if it should even be called a garden. It was too huge. I tried to do a quick inventory as we walked toward the mansion. Palm trees with flowering vines snaking up the trunks. Rosebushes. And a ton of other flowers and trees. A huge fountain in the center of a courtyard paved with red stones.

“Who has a house like this?” a chubby guy asked. “It looks like it should belong to a movie star.”

“That's because it did. Katrina Decter used to live here. I recognized the place as soon as Veronica opened the gate,” Kit told him. “This is so creepy.”

“Who's Katrina Decter?” asked Frank.

“Why creepy?” I said at the same time.

“I can't believe you haven't heard of her. Everyone in Hollywood thought she was going to be a huge star. I'm named after her. Kit's short for Katrina. My mom and I have watched her movies a million times. I can't afford acting lessons—yet. So that's how I study,” Kit answered.

“What's the creepy part?” I asked again.

“Ten years ago, Katrina's husband murdered her. Right in front of their four-year-old daughter. Right in that house.” Kit pointed to the villa.

“Whoa,” the chubby guy murmured.

“How did he kill her?” Frank said. If he hadn't asked, I would have. It's a detective thing. Doesn't matter if a murder happened ten years ago, we still want the facts.

“If there's a room with a hot tub, I'm gettin' it,” James Sittenfeld called over his shoulder before Kit had a chance to answer. He'd reached the front door before anyone else. Big surprise. He jerked it open and rushed in.

“Didn't Veronica say that our assignments would be posted?” the chubby guy asked. He gave a helpless shrug. “I'm thinking if the room that guy wants has the name Mikey Chan on the door, I'm outta luck.”

“Let's get up there before he gets too much rearranging done,” Frank suggested. He led the way up the S-shaped staircase to the second floor.

Great
, I thought when I spotted my name on a small cream-colored card on the nearest door—along with James Sittenfeld's. Mikey's name was on there too. And the name Wilson Tarlow. I didn't know who he was yet.

At least Mikey seemed decent. “Hey, roomies,” James called out as Mikey and I entered the room. He was stretched out on the king-size bed next to the double doors that led to the balcony. Another
king-size bed and a bunk bed filled out the sleeping arrangements.

I turned to Mikey. “Want to wait for the other guy before we—”

“I'm here.” A gawky guy with a haircut that showed a little too much ear ambled into the room. We did the introduction thing.

“We were just trying to figure out where we're going to sleep,” I told Wilson.

“They were.” James crossed his arms under his head and gave an obnoxious sigh of contentment. “I'm good right here. But if you want my advice, I wouldn't put the president of PBOA on the top bunk.”

Wilson, Mikey, and I exchanged “huh?” looks.

“Pot-Bellies of America,” James explained.

Can I just say—what a complete dillweed.

Deep red flooded from Mikey's neck up to his face. “I'll take the bottom.” He grabbed his suitcase from the pile that had been left for us inside the door. Then he got really busy opening it and messing around with his clothes.

“I'll take the top,” I offered. “It'll be like camp.”

I unloaded my gear as fast as possible. Which is pretty fast. I'm used to packing and unpacking a lot for missions. “Anyone want to go check out the rest of the house?” I asked.

“Sure,” said Mikey.

Wilson slid his suitcase under his enormous bed. “I'm in.”

I looked over at James. Aunt Trudy and Mom have trained me well.

“I'm not a joiner,” he told me.

“Some people think any kind of fraternizing makes you lose your competitive edge,” Wilson commented once we were out in the hall. “Think that's Mr. Personality's deal?”

“I think he's more your basic jerk,” I answered. “At least he didn't seem too worried about competition downstairs.”

“True,” Mikey agreed. “So where to first?”

“Wherever the girls are hanging,” Wilson said. “That's my real mission. To find a girlfriend. I watch these shows. The people who live these TV show houses are always hooking up. Even on that
Princess and Nerd
one.”

I laughed. Wilson didn't. “Seriously?” I asked. “That's your mission? You're saying you don't care about the million bucks?”

“I wouldn't turn it down,” Wilson answered. “But I'm here for love. That's even what I said on my audition tape.”

I took a peek over the wrought-iron railing. “I see some female types downstairs,” I told him.

Wilson shoved his hands through his hair and
straightened his shoulders. “Let's do it.” It was like he was about to go into battle and wasn't sure he was coming back.

If Wilson was being honest, he was very low on the list of possible suspects who had sent Ripley the death threat. Of course, people aren't always honest. I wasn't ready to eliminate any of the contestants yet.

“You guys aren't going to believe it!” Kit called to us as we came down the stairs. She took a swig of coffee. “This place has a private screening room. I'm not talking a plasma TV. I mean a real screening room. There's even a little popcorn counter.”

It seemed like she'd gotten over feeling creeped out by the house.

“Only four percent of private homes in the United States have a screening room,” a girl with a ring on every finger announced. “A real screening room like this—not just a large-screen TV with a great sound system.”

“That's Rosemary. She's a mathhead,” Kit explained. “She can give you the percentages on anything.” She nodded toward a girl in a long, plain skirt and a long-sleeved blouse. “And that's Mary. She's home-schooled.”

Kit might make a good ATAC agent
, I thought. She got information out of people fast.

I introduced the guys, without contributing the info I'd picked up—that Wilson was on the prowl for a girlfriend, and that Mikey seemed basically decent.

Frank bounded up from the basement level of the mansion. “We just found a bowling alley. Four regulation-size lanes.”

“Only point six percent of private homes in the United States have a bowling alley. One of them is the White House,” Rosemary observed as we went to check it out.

“I bet Ripley Lansing's house is one of the others,” said Kit. “I don't understand why she's even on this show. A million dollars is nothing to her. That's probably her weekly allowance. And she's already famous. Being on TV isn't going to give her anything she doesn't already have. Unlike the rest of us.”

I was about to answer, but the sight of the bowling alley made me forget everything else for a minute. “Sweet,” I said. The lanes were prime. The wood shone. The pins gleamed white. And the balls—a wide selection—looked like they'd never been touched.

“So who's gonna get themselves something like this if they win the million?” Frank asked.

Good question. It might let us know if anybody
here had a really good reason for wanting the money. A reason good enough to kill for.

“Not me,” Kit said. “I need the money to stay out here and keep auditioning. If I don't win the cash or get discovered while I'm on the show—”

She paused and scanned the room. Then she waved and smiled as she spotted a small camera mounted in one corner. “I love you, America! And I know you're going to love me, too!” she exclaimed. “Anyway,” she added in a more normal voice, “I need money or an acting job when this is over, or my mom says we have to go back to Ann Arbor. We can't afford L.A. anymore. This is my last hope.”

Her last hope. Not a bad motive.

“I've never actually been bowling,” Mary admitted, ducking her head a little.

I wondered how it worked being home-schooled. Did she do any of the usual after-school activities, like bowling or movies? Or did she pretty much stay at home after school too?

“I'm not surprised. I doubt you could lift even one of those dinky purple kiddy balls,” James commented, as he and Ripley came up to the group. “What we need to do is cut off some of Mikey's blubber and give it to you,” he continued. That way you won't accidentally slide down the drain or anything.”

Mary ducked her head again in reply. Mikey opened his mouth, then seemed to decide not to say anything.

“The barbecue is starting up,” Ripley said. “Come on out to the pool.”

The pool was . . . I know my English teacher wouldn't be happy to hear this, but I don't think I have the words to describe it. Sounds come the closest. Ahhhh. Ooooh. Arhlhg. See, even the regular sounds don't work.

You got waterfalls splashing down these walls of rock. Tiki torches. An underwater cave. Two hot tubs. I gotta stop. Looking at it is making my head explode.

“I can't wait to get in there,” a girl said from behind me.

I turned around and smiled. It was automatic. Something about the girl made my smile muscles start working. She was just so cute. She had blond hair that looked really soft. And she had eyebrows that got kind of pointy in the middle. And one of those cute noses that tilts up. She was very cute, okay?

I realized I'd been so busy thinking about how cute she was, that I hadn't responded to what she'd said. Which is a complete Frank move. I have no problem talking to girls.

“Me too,” I answered. “I hope we get some swimming time tonight.”

She told me her name was Brynn Fulgham. I told her my name was Joe Carr. Since Frank and I were supposed to have been adopted by different families, we had different last names as part of our cover stories.

Ripley came up to us with glasses of champagne on a tray. “Take one,” she told us. “We decided we should start things off with a toast. It's just sparkling cider.” She smiled. “No underage drinking on TV, right?”

Brynn and I moved closer to the others. “She seems pretty cool,” Brynn said softly as Ripley
continued passing around the cider. “I'd heard she was—”

“Pretty much of a witch?” I finished for her.

“Yeah,” Brynn admitted.

“Guess we'll have to decide for ourselves what everyone is like,” I said. I glanced around at all the other contestants. Was one of them really capable of murder?

“So what exactly shall we toast to?” Ripley called when she'd handed out the last glass.

“To crushing you losers!” James yelled.

“To all our loyal viewers!” cried Kit. Not that we actually had any loyal viewers yet.

“To the contest not involving anything that is still wiggling!” Brynn tossed out.

“To it not having to do with small spaces!” added Mikey. “I hate small spaces.”

“Big surprise,” James muttered.

“To the whole contest being math questions!” Rosemary yelled.

“To anything that doesn't involve spiders,” Bobby T contributed. “Especially spiders with hairy legs.”