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When Riley was ten, she was riding her older brother’s bike to Bushland Elementary. At least on those days when she could steal it.
Riley got behind the wheel and took a deep breath. “This is a lot bigger than my Mini.”
“Everything is bigger than your Mini.”
She rolled the engine over, and it purred like an overfed lion. She shifted gears and backed out of the garage, careful to avoid the RV.
“Was that your father’s too?” she asked as they drove past the motorhome.
“It’s Vernon’s. Aunt Myra’s son. My father wouldn’t have been caught dead in one of those. So, naturally, he was.”
“Pardon?”
“Long story. For another day.”
He pulled an iPad from his rucksack and touched an app. A blueprint of the house appeared on the screen. He tapped the screen a few times and gave a small grunt of satisfaction.
“That’s Mysterioso Manor,” Riley said, stealing a glance at the iPad.
“Yes. I was checking my security system. This will inform me, from anywhere in the world, if there’s a break-in.”
Riley turned off the driveway on
to Park Road and then onto Walbridge Place. She thought about calling the office and warning them that Emerson was coming in, but decided against it. What good would it do?
She drove down the Rock Creek and Potomac Parkway and circled around the Watergate complex, skirting along the Potomac River and past the Kennedy Center.
“About the tent in the library,” Riley said.
“I was wondering how long it would take you to ask.”
“I was trying to be polite.”
“And now?”
“Now I’m asking politely.”
“It’s a very large, complicated house, and I’ve become a person with simple needs. The tent is a more comfortable scale for me.”
“So you basically live in the tent?”
“Correct.”
Riley found it hard to believe he was a person with simple needs since he’d needed to ride in the Bentley.
“And the name of the house?” she asked. “Mysterioso Manor.”
“My great-great-grandfather was something of a Spiritualist,” Emerson said. “He claimed the spirit of Christopher Columbus gave him the name during a séance. Originally ‘Mysterioso’ referred to my great-great-grandfather. When he died, he bequeathed the Mysterioso title to his son.”
“Mysterioso Junior?”
“Just Mysterioso.”
“And are you the fifth-generation Mysterioso?”
“I suppose I am, although I don’t often use it.”
“Too mysterious?”
