“Well, sir, I like to read Hatchet by Gary Paulsen whenever I feel like I can’t go on.”
“Perfect. Help yourself to anything in the fridge or pantry, friends. I’ll be in my reading room. Reading.”
He stepped toward the door.
“You can’t give up, Mr. Lemoncello,” said Kyle.
“I know. In fact, I’m not giving up. However, I also cannot personally help you, as you say, ‘clear my good name.’ It would be like the Wicked Witch of the West saying, ‘Hey, I’m not all that bad, Munchkins. Trust me.’ No, Elphaba, the green-skinned girl who grew up to become that Wicked Witch, needed Gregory Maguire to write Wicked to clear her good name. I, on the other hand, need you.”
“B-b-but…”
“Why do you think Dr. Zinchenko and I created a game that would send you children out into the field to find facts for our new exhibits that we ourselves had already found?”
“To make it fun for us to play?”
Mr. Lemoncello smiled. “Partially. But sometimes knowing how to find the answers and what questions to ask are more important than the answers themselves. With the research skills you twelve have honed in the Fabulous Fact-Finding Frenzy, we hoped you would learn how to find facts on your own—facts that Dr. Zinchenko and myself did not already have.”
Kyle nodded. “Like who’s trying to make you look like a liar, a thief, and a cheat?”
“Exactly. I didn’t know you’d be researching this particular subject right now, but that’s why research skills are like tweezers. You just never know when you might need them. Now, if you will excuse me, there is nothing more that I personally can do except, of course, hope that our trust in our trustees was not misplaced.”
Mr. Lemoncello clicked his heels together. His shoes burped. He bowed, twirled his fingers in front of his face, and exited the room.
Kyle and the others were on their own.
“Bummer,” said Angus.
“Totally,” agreed Pranav.
“Wait a second, you guys,” said Elliott. “Where the heck is Katherine Kelly?”
“Probably over in her chalet,” said Akimi. “Why?”
“She was my partner,” said Elliott. “While we were driving around, she told me she’s from Kansas City. Bragged about how it was the home of the best barbecue in America and the Krinkle Brothers game company.”
“Yeah,” said Kyle. “She mentioned that to me, too. When we first met.”
“It’s so obvious, we should’ve seen it sooner!” said Elliott. “She’s a spy! She planted that phony game box up in the Lemoncello-abilia Room. Then she stole the blueprints to the Fantabulous Floating Emoji game!”
“Katherine Kelly?” said Kyle. “No way.”
“Way, dude,” said Elliott. “I saw her write down the combination to the safe in her stupid little notebook when Mr. Lemoncello told it to us.”
“Now that you mention it,” said Sierra, “I saw her do that, too.”
“She is from the Krinkle brothers’ hometown,” said Jamal.
“What more evidence do we need?” said Elliott.
“Please,” said Abia, “I beg of you: Do not go there.”
“Go where?” said Elliott, sounding defensive.
“Holding everybody in the state of Missouri responsible for the acts of two creepy old men.”
“But it makes sense,” said Diane.
“In the same way that it makes sense for the airport security screeners to give my father extra scrutiny every time he flies because his skin is brown and his first name is Muhammad?”
The room became quiet again.
“Abia’s right,” said Kyle. “Let’s not jump to conclusions.”
“Fine,” said Elliott. “Whatever. Let’s just go ask Katherine Kelly a few questions. Like Mr. Lemoncello said, we know how to find the truth!”
—
The eleven trustees went to Katherine Kelly’s suite in a chalet located at the far edge of the old motel grounds.
She was in the one where the room and furniture were designed to look like snack cakes.
“Uh, hi, guys,” said Katherine from the Hostess Twinkies sofa when everybody crowded into her living room. “What’s up?”
“Why don’t you tell us?” said Elliott, who probably watched a few too many lawyer shows on TV. “You’re from Missouri. Kansas City, Missouri, to be precise. Just like the Krinkle brothers. Just like Irma Hirschman.”
“Actually,” said Akimi, “Ms. Hirschman is an actress from New York.”
“Huh,” said Katherine. “That’s interesting. But why are you guys all here?”
“Because,” said Elliott, “we think you may know something about who stole Mr. Lemoncello’s game blueprints and gave them to the Krinkle brothers so they could steal Mr. Lemoncello’s Fantabulous Floating Emoji idea.”
Katherine Kelly turned a ghostly shade of puke-green.
“You’re right. I think I do. And I feel totally responsible.”
“Aha! Are you saying, Katherine Kelly, that you stole the blueprints?” demanded Elliott, hands clasped behind his back as if he were addressing the jury on the TV show Law & Order.
“What? No! No way. I would never steal anything from Mr. Lemoncello! Or give anything to the Krinkle brothers. I don’t care where they live. Those two old guys are weird. And their games stink. I didn’t do it.”
“So why’d you turn green like that?” asked Akimi.
“Because,” said Katherine, “I think I might’ve accidentally given the real thief the combination to the safe. We were in such a rush in the second leg of the race because we wanted to win that flight in Mr. Lemoncello’s private jet.”
“Awesome ride,” said Angus.
“Excellent cookies,” added Kyle. “Baked right on the plane.”
“You’re kidding,” said Andrew. “You guys got free cookies?”
“Boys?” said Abia. “I believe Katherine was attempting to tell us how the floor-safe combination was stolen?”
“Right,” said Kyle. “Our bad.”
“We were in such a rush,” said Katherine, “we left our backpack in the bookmobile. Remember, Elliott?”
“Vaguely.”
“Well, I had dumped my notebook in that bag along with the clues and junk. Since I have trouble remembering stuff, I always write everything down.”
“Even R-E-A-D?” said Elliott skeptically.
“Yes. Sorry. I have what they call ‘working memory difficulties.’ Anyway, the driver of our bookmobile in the second leg was a college girl named Jessica.”
“We had her for the first leg,” said Kyle. “Wait! When we came back from North Carolina, we saw her zipping up your backpack.”
“She told us she wanted your sandwiches,” added Abia.
“I think she wanted to steal more than our lunches,” said Katherine. “I think she is the one working for the Krinkle brothers! I checked with Ms. Waintraub, the research librarian. She told me that Jessica quit her job and left town right after we all came back from North Carolina. Ms. Waintraub found it interesting that Jessica, a student at Alexandriaville State College, was originally from New York City but had booked a plane ‘home’ to Kansas City.”
“Did she have a last name?” asked Abia.
“Yes. Bennett.”
“Whaaaaat?” said Angus. “She’s related to Mrs. Maplebutter?”
“It looms as a possibility,” said Abia.
“A very large one,” said Kyle. “Maybe the whole family is working for the Krinkle brothers.”
Akimi tapped her lPad. “Found her Facebook page,” she said. “Jessica Bennett. Two days ago she put up a post: ‘Get ready for my grandmother’s biggest starring role ever!’ ”
“Okay, okay,” said Elliott. “I was wrong. Sorry, Katherine.”
“That’s okay,” said Katherine. “She stole your sandwich, too.”
—
Kyle and Akimi were selected to be the ones to tell Mr. Lemoncello the news. A robotic butler escorted
them up to the second floor of the mansion and Mr. Lemoncello’s reading room.
He was curled up on a floating beanbag chair, reading Hatchet by Gary Paulsen.
“Um, Mr. Lemoncello?” said Kyle.
“Just a minute,” said Mr. Lemoncello, riveted by the pages of his novel. “I think this plane is about to crash.”
“It’s kind of important.”
“So is a pilot who just had a heart attack!”
“We know who stole your game plans,” blurted Akimi.
Mr. Lemoncello snapped the book shut. “I’m all ears, except for my nose and, of course, my eyes.”
“It was one of the bookmobile drivers. Jessica Bennett.”
“I see.”
“We’re pretty sure she’s related to the actress pretending to be Irma Hirschman.”
“My, what a felonious family.”
“Jessica stole the combination out of Katherine Kelly’s backpack during the second leg of the Fabulous Fact-Finding Frenzy,” said Kyle.
“Then,” said Akimi, “she drove over here while you were at the library, open-sesame’d your front door…”
“You really might want to consider a better security system out there, sir,” suggested Kyle.
“Duly noted. Do go on, Miss Hughes.”
“She waltzed into the dining room and found the floor safe—because Katherine was so afraid she might forget its location, she drew a diagram in her notebook.”
“The same notebook Jessica found in the Wright brothers backpack,” added Kyle.
“So,” said Akimi, “Jessica grabbed the blueprints, dashed off to the airport in Cleveland, and grabbed the first flight she could to Kansas City—home of the Krinkle brothers.”
Mr. Lemoncello nodded thoughtfully. “I suppose the Krinkle brothers were paying her more for stealing game ideas than I was giving her for driving a bookmobile. I know they paid Benjamin Bean a fortune.”
“Who’s Benjamin Bean?” asked Kyle.
“My first employee. I hired him right after Family Frenzy became such a huge, unexpected hit. I was going to follow it up with a sensationally fun picture-drawing version of charades that I called the Wondermous Whoop Dee Doodle game. If your team couldn’t guess the answer from your sketches before the sand dial ran out, you had to sit on a whoopee cushion.”
“Wait a second,” said Akimi. “Don’t the Krinkle brothers have a game called Whoop Dee Doodle?”
Mr. Lemoncello nodded. “It’s their biggest hit. Has been for decades.”
“And they stole it from you?” said Kyle.
“Yes. Stealing other people’s ideas is, more or less, the Krinkle brothers’ business model.”
“Well,” said Kyle. “You have to stop them or they’ll keep on doing it.”
Mr. Lemoncello grinned. “I already told you, I can’t. No one would believe me or my lawyers. That’s why I’m counting on you kids to do the research! You have all the training and skills you need. Now you simply need to trust yourself, trustees! Because I already do.”
Walking down the steps from the reading room, Kyle realized things had gone from bad to worse to absolutely horrible.
The mayor had shut down the library.
The Krinkle brothers had smeared Mr. Lemoncello’s good name and stolen his cool new holographic game idea.
The first law enforcement officers they had told about Irma Hirschman being a fraud had basically laughed in their faces because they were just kids.
And now Mr. Lemoncello was saying it was all up to Kyle and the others to find and reveal the truth.
No pressure or anything.
“What’d he say?” asked Miguel, who was waiting in Mr. Lemoncello’s enormous dining room with the rest of the data dashers, including Katherine Kelly.
“Game over, thank you for playing,” said Akimi. “We’ve burned through our extra lives and are all out of quarters.”
“Huh?” said Jamal. “Could you repeat that in English?”
“We’re dead in the water,” said Akimi.
“No, we’re not,” said Kyle. “We know the truth.”
“And,” said Miguel, “we also know nobody will listen to us. We’re kids.”
“Not to mention Mr. Lemoncello’s biggest fans,” added Katherine.
“Indeed,” said Abia. “We hardly come across as un-biased researchers.”
“It doesn’t matter,” said Kyle. “We just have to make the right moves. All games put you in a puzzle or a predicament. Then it’s up to the players to figure out how to wiggle free.”
“Very well,” said Abia, “what do you suggest, Kyle Keeley?”
Kyle saw the Nonfictionator sitting on a table.
“I’ve got it!” he said. “Those detectives didn’t believe us when we tried to tell them about Irma Hirschman being an actress. So we use this thing to dial up Abraham Lincoln again. Then, Honest Abe holds a press conference in a hotel ballroom, just like Irma Hirschman did, and tells everybody about the fake game box and the phony picture on it coming from a 1969 theatrical production in Sheboygan, Wisconsin. Then he tells them about Jessica stealing the blueprints. And since it’s Honest Abe, everybody has to believe he’s telling the truth!”
Eleven pairs of eyeballs were staring at Kyle.
“Seriously?” said Angus. “That’s your plan?”
“It would look like a car commercial on Presidents’ Day weekend,” whined Andrew.
Abia was shaking her head. “I thought you were through looking for quick and easy solutions, Kyle Keeley. I am seriously disappointed to learn that this is not the case.”
Kyle heard an annoying disco tune.
“That’s my mother’s ringtone!” said Andrew.
He pulled out his phone.
“Yes, Mother? No, we’re at Mr. Lemoncello’s. Seriously? Right now? Wow. Thank you, Mother.” He ended the call. “Quick. Use that stupid remote thingy to turn on the stupid TV.”
“Why?” asked Kyle, fumbling with the portable Nonfictionator.
“Because,” said Andrew excitedly, “the Grand Gala is still on—minus Mr. Lemoncello, of course!”
Kyle bopped a red button and scrolled down the menu to “Dining Room TV.” The white wall blinked and turned into a giant screen.
“This is Victoria Bartlett, Action News Eleven. We’re here at the building formerly known as the Lemoncello Library, where world-famous game makers the Krinkle brothers have arrived to make an announcement about the Grand Gala, originally scheduled for tomorrow night. It was canceled, of course, due to the controversy swirling around Mr. Lemoncello and his reported theft of intellectual property. However, we’re hearing that the canceled event may be back on. Wait. Here come the Krinkles. They are exiting their limousine and climbing up the front steps to the library.”
“What are those guys doing here?” said Akimi.
“Is that Mrs. Chiltington?” said Miguel.
“Yes,” said Andrew. “And Charles, too.”
“And Mayor O’Brady,” added Diane.
Kyle couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Not the fact that the Chiltingtons had joined forces with the evil Krinkles and Mayor O’Brady. That was sort of to be expected. Birds of a feather always flocked together. Even vultures.
No, what Kyle couldn’t believe was the guy standing behind the cluster of smiling dignitaries on the front steps of the library. The one very close to the keypad that could open the front bank vault door.
Mr. Raymo. Mr. Lemoncello’s brand-new chief imagineer!
“The Krinkles are in place now,” said the TV reporter. “Let’s listen to what they have to say.”
“Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls,” said David Krinkle while his brother, Frederick, smiled smugly. “My brother and I have generously volunteered to take over as entertainment directors here at your public library. As master game makers, we know how to make learning fun!”
“And,” said the mayor, stepping forward, “the city of Alexandriaville has graciously accepted their offer to s
erve in this capacity—free of charge!”
There was a smattering of applause. Mostly from Mrs. Chiltington’s League of Concerned Library Lovers.
“We, the concerned citizens of Alexandriaville, are very, very pleased with this recent development,” cooed Mrs. Chiltington operatically. “Very.”
“Indubitably,” added her son.
“With the help of Mr. Raymo,” said David Krinkle, “who, by the way, is the real, uncelebrated genius behind all the marvels and magic inside this building, we will reopen tomorrow evening with a Grand Gala, when several new exhibits shall be revealed. We hope everybody in town will join us back here tomorrow at seven p.m. for a Krinkle Brothers extravaganza!”
That’s when Frederick Krinkle stepped forward and smirked into the camera.
“My brother misspoke,” he said. “Everyone in town is invited except, of course, for your local fraud, thief, and plagiarist, Luigi L. Lemoncello!”
“Unbelievable,” said Akimi, shaking her head at the TV screen. “The Krinkle brothers are taking over the library, and Mr. Raymo’s gone over to the dark side.”
Kyle watched Mr. Raymo tap the electronic keypad next to the bank vault door. Ten seconds later, it swung open. The Krinkle brothers stepped into the circular doorway with Mr. Raymo. The Chiltingtons wanted to go with them, as did the mayor, but the taller brother, David, held up his hand like a traffic cop.
“We have work to do inside, good people of Alexandriaville,” he announced. “You are all invited back tomorrow evening. Come along, Mr. Raymo.”
The three figures disappeared and, with a heavy thunk of the bank vault door, locked themselves inside.
Kyle shook his head and shut off the TV.
“That’s it,” said Kyle. “They win.”
“What?” asked Angus. “Why?”
“No way can we get into the library now. We should’ve grabbed the patent and that old shoebox last night like you guys said. We could’ve shown the world the Barbie boot and models that Irma Hirschman swore Mr. Lemoncello didn’t have!”
Abia nodded. “Yes. It would have been excellent primary-source research materials.”
“Um, hello?” said Akimi. “There were police guarding the front door, remember?”