“Picasso was not a hero,” Hugo said. “Ask any of his mistresses.”
“True,” Jack said. “But his mistresses are also welcome through the door. As are villains.”
Melanie placed her fingertips on her temples and rubbed them as if a massive headache were brewing. “I’m going to scream,” she mumbled.
“It has to be one thing,” Dustin said, looking up at Jack. “One thing they all have in common, yes?”
“Yes,” Jack said. “It’s one thing they all have in common.”
Jack said nothing as if waiting for them to absorb this hint.
Lucy took a breath. Okay, okay…something they all have in common. One thing all those objects and people and concepts had in common…Carrie Fisher. Princess Leia. A book. A Picasso. Flattery? What on earth was he talking about?
She closed her eyes, thought long and deep. Jack wrote kids’ books. This was probably a riddle a kid could solve.
Something rang a bell…the tiniest of bells when Jack said Carrie Fisher. Oh, she remembered. She’d been teaching Christopher how to spell Carrie. He had a girl named Kari in his class, so it was eye-opening for him to learn that some words could sound exactly alike but have different spellings. Kari. Carrie.
Words. Some words are spelled one way…
Lucy felt a little spark fire in her brain.
What they all had in common was that they were all words. Of course painting, artwork, page, and Hugo were all words too. So it couldn’t be that. Still, something about the words themselves, not the meaning…
Mr. Reese.
Picasso.
Book.
Harrison Ford.
Princess Leia.
Carrie Fisher.
Billy Dee Williams. Three times.
Three names. Three times. Three names. Three words.
Green.
Glass.
Door.
Thirteen.
She pictured Christopher painstakingly spelling out the name Carrie in their thank-you note. She could see his tongue out, and his brow furrowed in adorable concentration as he slowly carved the two Rs into the paper.
C-A-R-R-I-E.
Carrie Fisher.
Princess Leia.
Harrison Ford.
Picasso.
Book.
Green.
Glass.
Door.
Thirteen. Harrison. Carrie. Billy Dee.
Carrie written on their company letterhead. Carrie, not Kari. Carrie, not Kari. Carrie…Carrie with two Rs.
Lucy’s heart leaped in her chest. Her eyes flew open. She raised her head.
“Sheep can go through the door,” Lucy said. “But not their lambs. And a tree can go through the door, but not its limbs.”
Jack slowly opened his arms wide, a smile spread across his face. Then he pointed at her.
“She’s got it.”
* * *
—
She’s got it. Those were the three best words Lucy had heard in her life.
She beamed in triumph. Jack applauded, but no one else did.
“What?” Andre stood up as if he couldn’t sit still anymore. “What the—What the hell do Picasso and some sheep have to do with Star Wars?”
“What is it, Lucy?” Dustin asked. “It’s killing me.”
“No, no, no.” Jack wagged his finger again. Dustin looked at Jack as if he were about to bite that finger off. “Lucy, you may be excused. And don’t give any hints on the way out. The others can play for one point for second place. Hugo, would you take Lucy to her room, get her some dinner if she wants something more substantial than a s’more.”
“I’d be thrilled beyond all comprehension to get out of here,” Hugo said as he stood up.
“A thrill can pass through the glass door,” Jack said. “But not excitement.”
As Lucy followed Hugo from the library, she heard someone moaning in abject frustration.
“Let’s go,” Hugo said as soon as they left the library. “Before things get violent.”
It sounded like he wasn’t joking.
She followed him quickly to the entryway, and then he led her up the main staircase. Once they hit the landing, Hugo looked back at her over his shoulder.
“How did you figure it out?” he asked.
Lucy winced. “I wish I could say I was a genius, but I just taught a seven-year-old boy how to spell the name Carrie. He thought it had one R, but it has two. Two Rs in Carrie. Two Rs in Harrison. Two Ss in Picasso. Two Es in Reese.”
“Two Os in book, two Fs and two Es in coffee,” Hugo said. “Good job.”
“It wasn’t that hard.”
Someone—it sounded like Dustin—yelled out a certain four-letter word that had never appeared in any of Jack’s books. She laughed.
“Told you so,” Hugo said. “And most people don’t figure it out. They get furious, and then they give up and demand the answer. Jack writes for children. His riddles are on that level usually. Kids figure it out quicker than adults because kids are more literal.”
“I guess I’m just a big kid then.”
She remembered this hallway from her first visit. Turning left, they’d reach Jack’s office with his pet raven. They turned right instead. Hugo pushed open a set of oak double doors.
“Over here.” Hugo took a set of keys from his pocket and unlocked the door. “Jack gave you the Ocean Room.”
He opened the door and switched on the light. Lucy’s eyes widened in shock and delight. She thought maybe the Ocean Room would just have an ocean view, but it was so much more than that. The room was painted the palest silvery blue, like the ocean on a winter morning. The brick fireplace had a white mantel, and on the mantel sat a ship in a bottle. The bed was a massive four-poster, big enough for three people.
Hugo showed her the bathroom, the closet where lanterns and emergency supplies were stored, the schedule for the week on the mantel. She ignored the schedule. The painting hanging over the fireplace had caught her attention. A shark swimming not through the ocean but the sky, chasing a flock of birds.
“Nice. One of yours?” Lucy asked.
“One of mine,” Hugo said. “It’s called Fly-Fishing.”
“It’s wonderful. I know a little boy who’d love it too.”
“Son?”
She paused, wanting to say yes. Yes, he’s my son. My son, Christopher. Christopher, my son…But she shook her head no.
“A boy I tutor. Christopher. He loves sharks.” She pulled out her phone and before she knew it, she was showing Hugo the picture of Christopher holding the toy hammerhead she’d given him.
“Cute kid. Hair like a mad scientist.”
“Tell me about it,” Lucy said. “And magical disappearing socks. Would it be too weird to buy sock garters for a seven-year-old? They keep ending up in the toes of his shoes.”
“You know how to fix that?”
“Gorilla Glue?”
“Sandals,” he said. “I see he’s going through the shark-obsessed phase. Dinosaurs are next.”
“Dinosaurs were last year,” she said. “I’m guessing either outer space or ancient Egypt next.”
“Or the Titanic,” Hugo said. “My brother, Davey, was obsessed with the Titanic.” He pulled out his own phone and showed her a photo of his brother in front of a poster for a Titanic museum exhibit.
“That’s Davey?” she asked, smiling at the picture of a boy about ten years old, grinning hugely. He had the slightly tilted eyes and the button nose of a child with Down syndrome.