Authors: Tom Dolby
The Trust (10 page)
A
s Nick’s green and white cab pulled up at his grand-father’s estate, he found himself smiling from behind his sunglasses. Palmer Bell’s Palm Beach home was a coral pink beachfront palace, complete with elaborate plasterwork, multiple fountains, marble elephants guarding the gates, and columns held up by carved monkeys. It had been built by a film star in the 1930s and was known as a local landmark. Nick’s parents had always derided the house as gaudy, but Nick liked it. It was so different from any of the other houses in the Bell family, which were more austere. The Palm Beach house was fun, like a momentary glimpse into fantasyland.
The front door was opened by Horatio, his grandfather’s majordomo, a large, thick man with olive skin, dark hair, and eyes that were a little too close together. Horatio managed the household, rather like a butler, and, in Palmer’s old age, attended to many of his medical needs as well. He made sure that the kitchen was stocked, that the pool was clean, that every inch of the house was dusted and polished by the housekeeping staff. He was of indeterminate age himself, somewhere between forty and sixty, and attributed his agelessness to the dried goji berries that he ate with every meal. The Bells were grateful to Horatio, as he had taken care of Palmer after Elizabeth, Nick’s grandmother, had died. Palmer had refused to move back to New York City, and so it was lucky that the family had someone to look after the eldest member of the Bell clan.
The other cab pulled up behind Nick’s, and the six of them were led to the east wing of the house, where the guest bedrooms were located. The girls immediately changed into swimsuits—Lauren did indeed have a teal one that met Lia’s approval for her to borrow—and they went out to the pool, where Horatio served them iced tea and lemonade. After changing into trunks, Nick reconvened in the living room with Thad and Patch, where the three of them stood in bare feet on the sisal rug. Nick’s grandmother had decorated the room in classic Palm Beach yellow, and the room was punctuated by large linen couches and banana leaf trees in wicker baskets. Patch and Thad wore board shorts and T-shirts, which looked strange, as their arms were pale from the New York winter.
Nick and Phoebe had told the others about Palmer’s challenge after everyone was checked in for the flight. They all had the same questions that Nick and Phoebe had mulled over, but ultimately, everyone agreed that pursuing Parker’s enigmatic riddle was the best course of action. Nick mentioned the missing Pollock painting and the clue of the family photos that had led them down to Palm Beach.
“I don’t know how much Horatio knows about all this,” Nick said to the two other boys. “He might just think we’re here to spend a weekend, so we can’t be too obvious about snooping around. It’s good that the girls are outside keeping him busy.”
“And you still don’t know what we’re looking for?” Thad asked.
“Basically.”
“I think that at least one of us should be at the pool at all times so it’s not obvious that we’re in the house,” Patch said.
There was a voice from behind them, and Nick jumped. “Master Bell.”
It was Horatio, holding a gold box engraved with images of Egyptian hieroglyphics.
“Your grandfather asked that I give this to you. A little ‘welcome to the house’ gift for you and your friends. You may play it while you are here.”
“Play it?” Nick asked.
Thad took the box from Horatio and handed it to Nick, who placed it on the white travertine coffee table. Nick opened the lid as Horatio excused himself from the room.
“Wow,” Thad said.
“What?” Nick asked.
“I’ve only seen this kind of thing in museums. That is so cool.”
“It would help if you told us what it was,” Patch said, giving Thad a playful punch on the arm.
“It’s senet,” Thad said.
“Senate? Like in government?” Nick asked.
“No, S-E-N-E-T. It’s the oldest board game in recorded history. Dates back to something like 3500
B.C.E
. A senet board would be placed in a tomb with the ancient Egyptians—it supposedly gave you protection from the major gods. It was seen as a game of chance and fate.”
“Um, okay, Encyclopedia Brown, how do you know all this?” Patch ribbed him.
Thad blushed. “I was really into Egyptian history in, like, the sixth grade.”
Thad opened the board game and pulled out the pieces from a little drawer on the side. There were nine pieces and four sticks that each had a flat side and round side. “There’s a piece missing,” Thad said.
“Another thing that’s missing,” Patch said.
“What do you mean?” Nick said.
“So far, two things are missing: what you found at the beach was a missing painting. Now you’ve got a missing piece on a board game.”
Nick sat down. “So he’s leaving these little clues for us. What does it mean?”
“You’ve got four things so far,” Thad said. “A missing painting, family photos, the beach, though you don’t know which beach. And an Egyptian board game with a missing piece.”
“And where does that leave us?” Nick asked.
“This is just off the top of my head, but I think you’re looking for something Egyptian,” Thad said. “Maybe a family heirloom or something? Did your grandfather collect Egyptian art at all?”
“I think he might have. I never paid much attention.”
“Okay, and if he had something that was special to him, where would he keep it?”
“In his study,” Nick said. “Always in his study. It was the only place he wouldn’t let my grandmother touch. That place is like a time capsule.”
“So you should go to his study. I think I should go outside and teach the girls to play senet. You know, just so that Horatio doesn’t get any ideas. Besides, we might come up with another clue.”
Nick looked up to see that Phoebe was standing at the entryway to the room. He didn’t know how long she had been there.
“What about this?” she said. “A missing piece is keeping you from playing the game. I think that like so many things in the Society, the game itself is incidental. We can learn to play senet, but I think what Palmer’s trying to tell you is that first you need to find what’s missing, and then you can play the game.”
“The game being?” Thad asked.
“The game isn’t senet,” Phoebe said. “The game is getting out of the Society.”
P
atch, Nick, and Phoebe stood in the center of Palmer’s study in front of a large Brazilian rosewood desk. It was a dark, mustard-colored room with a deep yellow shag carpet on the floor and electronically operated curtains that closed over a large picture window. The window looked out onto the property—the pool deck, the bathing cabins—and the beach beyond it.
“This is like a page out of
Architectural Digest
, circa 1974,” Phoebe said.
Outside they could see that Lauren, Thad, and Lia were sunning by the pool and being served sandwiches by Horatio. Thad was trying to explain to them how to play senet, though Lauren seemed more interested in her copy of Italian
Vogue.
They were using a golf tee to represent the missing piece.
Patch scanned the bookshelves that lined the walls, save for a small alcove behind Palmer’s desk that was curtained in a fabric that was the same dark mustard color. In this room was Palmer’s entire life, the life of a man who had always been mysterious to him. Books, awards, diplomas. Medals of commendation from various organizations. Photographs of Palmer with dignitaries. He was a man who couldn’t have been more distant from Patch—he suspected that Palmer disliked him, for he had never paid him any mind. And yet there was something strangely comforting about the room, the way that a smell is familiar. It reminded Patch of his childhood.
“Hey, Earth to Patch. Come check this out.” Nick had flipped up a raised wooden panel on the side of the desk. In it were two buttons. Patch and Phoebe went to take a closer look.
“Should we push them?” Phoebe asked.
“It could be an alarm,” Nick said. “Horatio will know something’s going on.”
“Just make something up,” Patch said. “Say you were looking for a notepad and you pushed it by accident.”
“Prepare to be kicked out,” Nick said. He pushed the top button and the three of them cringed.
At first, nothing happened.
Then, slowly, the set of curtains parted in the alcove behind Palmer’s desk. It had seemed when they first looked at them that the curtains were merely a decorative element, but now, behind them was a piece of stone with some Egyptian hieroglyphics on it. It was encased in a Plexiglas box and a spotlight shone on it, as if it were in a museum.
“Have you ever seen this before?” Patch asked.
Nick shook his head. “He used to have a painting hanging on that wall. The usual Floridian crap.”
The three of them turned to see that Thad had slipped into the room and was gazing with admiration at the piece of stone.
“If that’s the real thing, your grandfather’s been holding out on everyone,” Thad said. “It’s got to be worth a million dollars or something.”
“What do you mean?” Patch asked.
“That’s a serious piece of antiquity there.”
“In plain English, please,” Nick said.
“It’s probably Egyptian,” Thad said. “Possibly from a temple. I’m not an expert, but something like that belongs in a museum, not in some old man’s study.”
“What do you think the second button does?” Nick asked.
Patch shrugged. “Push it and see. We’ve gotten this far.”
Nick pushed the button and the piece started swiveling around on a turntable, revealing the hieroglyphics on the back. Like the front, it was beautiful, with images of deities and animals on the glyphs.
Patch went closer to take a look. “There’s something in the stone, a key of some sort.”
There was a playing card–sized hinged door in the back of the Plexiglas box that corresponded exactly with a little niche in the stone. In it was wedged a key.
“Okay,” Thad said. “That key is
not
part of the original stonework. They didn’t have keys like that back then.”
“You need to find the key,” Nick said.
“Um, moron, the key is right there,” Patch said.
“No,” Phoebe said, “what he means is that Palmer told us, ‘You need to find the key.’”
“And this key opens what?” Thad asked.
“I have no idea. But we need to get it.” The little door was locked. “Can you guys open this?” Nick asked.
“I can pick the lock,” Patch said. “But there’s no way that it’s not on an alarm.”
Thad examined it. “It’s a basic magnetic latch system,” he said.
“Can you disable it?” Nick said.
“Give me half an hour,” Thad said. “And tell me where your grandfather’s maintenance room is. With the right tools, Patch and I can get it open.”
“So what do we do?” Nick asked, motioning to Phoebe.
“You go hang out with the girls,” Thad said. “And keep Horatio busy enough that he’s not going to come looking for us.”
T
hat evening, Lauren made a reservation for the six of them at an Italian restaurant on Worth Avenue that she knew her mother liked. It was a colorful scene, with a pastiche of Palm Beach socialites, their plastically altered faces frozen in time, overly tanned gay decorators, Manhattan celebrities in exile, and elderly dowagers dripping in costume jewelry who looked like they never left the island. Lauren and her friends were the youngest ones there, but thanks to Thad’s flirting with the maitre d’, they had scored an amazing table and had been comped several bottles of wine.
Nick had decided that after dinner they would make a small fire on the beach and roast s’mores. The boys were reveling over some kind of key that they had managed to find in the house, though no one knew exactly what the key would open. On the beach, as Lauren sipped the beer that Nick had offered her from a cooler, she only wanted to focus on things that were fun, diversions that would take her away from everything.
She sat with Phoebe and Thad on a towel near the crackling fire while Nick, Patch, and Lia tossed around a glow-in-the-dark Frisbee. Their marshmallows had burned to a crisp and were gooey and disgusting, and everyone shrieked each time they went up in flames. Thad helped them whittle down some sticks so that they could roast them without letting them fall into the fire.
For Lauren the trip had been a welcome relief from the city. Perhaps it was silly, but a tropical location like this, not to mention her friends’ happiness, had made her think again of Alejandro. Palm Beach reminded her of that Saturday afternoon they had spent swimming at the house his parents had rented in Southampton, a chic, modern house that looked like it belonged in Miami. It reminded her of the dancing they had done under a background of palm trees to a Brazilian pop sensation singing “The Girl from Ipanema.”
But Alejandro had been foolish. She had told herself this over and over again. Foolish with his life. He had squandered his opportunities. Even worse, he had broken her heart.
Perhaps it wasn’t fair to blame him. After all, if it weren’t for the Society, Alejandro would still be here today.
Lauren looked over at Thad, as he carefully held his melting marshmallow over the flames. She had been so grateful for his friendship ever since he had pulled her out of her self-absorbed bubble several weeks ago. He had been so supportive and sweet, and she was indebted to him. She wished he would meet someone, though part of her also wished that she could keep him all to herself.
Lauren felt guilty for playing such a passive role in getting out of the Society, while her friends did all the work. But she was exhausted and depressed by it all. It was difficult to get excited about Nick’s grandfather’s challenge when her main personal struggle was getting out of bed each morning. She knew she would get through it, but for now, it hurt. Nothing, not even getting out of the Society, was going to change that.