“It looks like a sketch for a funeral.”
“And if you’re lucky—or rather, I am—you could be the guest of honor.” I tried swiping it back, but he held it out of reach.
“You and your friends are having some gathering where you try to bring back the dead—”
“We call it a party,” I said back to him.
“A party? And when should I be there?” he asked.
“A party? Who’s having a party?” Becky asked, placing her trash into her brown lunch bag.
“Uh, no one. Trevor’s just mouthing off.”
“Well, your sketch looked exactly like a party to me.”
“There isn’t a party—not now, not ever! C’mon, Becky, let’s go. This location is suddenly very unappetizing.”
Trevor remained at the half wall, puzzled, as Becky and I escaped into school.
Sebastian and Alexander were hanging out in the gazebo when I arrived.
“We’re going to have a party,” I said to Sebastian.
“I know, Alexander told me all about it. I do appreciate the lengths you guys are going to to repair my broken heart,” he said dramatically, his hand over his chest.
“You never know where you might meet the perfect person,” I said.
“Listen, I’ve been traveling all my life and I haven’t found her yet. Well, I thought I had, but I’ve resigned myself to my fate. Becky will marry Matt and I’ll be alone for eternity.”
Alexander and I were chuckling at his histrionics when we heard the sound of a car coming up the Mansion’s long driveway.
“Are the guests arriving already?” Sebastian asked sarcastically.
No one drove up to the haunted-looking Mansion at night, and I didn’t recognize the car. The three of us headed back inside through the kitchen and waited in the dining room as Jameson answered the door.
“I’m Giles Lunken with the Gazette,” we heard a voice say.
Giles Lunken? He was a well-known writer throughout Dullsville who had a column showcasing local and international talent.
“I was wondering if I could speak with Alexander Sterling,” he continued.
“May I ask what this is regarding?” Jameson asked like a strict butler.
“Is he the artist that painted the canvases sold in last month’s auction? We were thinking of doing an article about him for the Gazette. He’s so young—it’s amazing he’s so talented. Also, I’d love to come back with my photographer.”
“I’m afraid that’s impossible.”
“Why?” His voice was accusatory. “He’s not the artist?”
“Uh…You will have to come back at another time.”
“Then it was another artist?” Mr. Lunken prompted.
“I’m not saying that,” Jameson answered firmly.
“Then what are you saying? Did he paint those paintings?”
“Of course he did—”
“Then does he have a personal phone or cell number?” Mr. Lunken pulled out a PDA.
“I’m afraid he doesn’t.”
“An e-mail?” Mr. Lunken questioned.
“No.”
“He doesn’t have e-mail?”
Jameson shook his bald head.
“Does he have a Web site? I couldn’t find any information on him.”
“You can leave your card with me,” Jameson suggested.
“Uh…I don’t have one.”
“You don’t have a card?” Jameson asked. “Interesting…”
I couldn’t help but snicker. Alexander put his hand gently over my mouth.
“I’ll come back in a few days.”
“That would be best.”
Jameson passed us, and Alexander gave him the thumbs-up sign. The Creepy Man headed for the kitchen as we settled in the living room. Sebastian plopped down on the antique sofa.
“Dude!” Sebastian said with an impressed tone. “You are famous. Soon we’ll have to invest in a security system to weed out the paparazzi.”
“Funny,” Alexander said. “Shouldn’t we have heard his car take off by now?”
Sebastian leaned back and peeked out the worn velvet curtain.
“He didn’t leave.”
Alexander and I jumped onto the sofa and the three of us peered out.