OTHER BOOKS BY ANDREA BEATY AND DAVID ROBERTS

  Iggy Peck, Architect

  Rosie Revere, Engineer

  Ada Twist, Scientist

  Sofia Valdez, Future Prez

  Rosie Revere’s Big Project

  Book for Bold Engineers

  Iggy Peck’s Big Project

  Book for Amazing Architects

  Ada Twist’s Big Project

  Book for Stellar Scientists

  Rosie Revere and the

  Raucous Riveters

  Ada Twist and the Perilous Pants

  To Anna and Alexandra —A.B.

  For Joel —D.R.

  PUBLISHER’S NOTE: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Cataloging-in-Publication Data has been applied for and may be obtained from the Library of Congress.

  ISBN 978-1-4197-3692-6

  eISBN 978-1-6833-5866-4

  Text copyright © 2020 Andrea Beaty

  Illustrations copyright © 2020 David Roberts

  Book design by Marcie Lawrence

  Published in 2020 by Amulet Books, an imprint of ABRAMS. All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, mechanical, electronic, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission from the publisher.

  Amulet Books® and Amulet Paperbacks are registered trademarks of Harry N. Abrams, Inc.

  Amulet Books are available at special discounts when purchased in quantity for premiums and promotions as well as fundraising or educational use. Special editions can also be created to specification. For details, contact specialsales@abramsbooks.com or the address below.

  ABRAMS The Art of Books

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  CHAPTER 1

  Iggy Peck sat on a log and studied the giant oak towering above him. A chilly wind rattled the golden leaves and sent them tumbling, one by one, onto the forest floor. Iggy’s cat, Bricks, chased the leaves with a loud MEOW.

  Iggy did not notice. He was busy designing a treehouse. Iggy Peck was an architect and he designed houses everywhere he went, even the forest.

  “This oak is perfect for a Victorian mansion,” said Iggy.

  “Ooh!” said Iggy. “That elm tree needs a cottage and that maple needs a bungalow! Or a castle!”

  Iggy unclipped his paper and flipped it over. Before he could clip it down again—WHOOSH!—the wind ripped the paper from his hand and sent it flying through the forest.

  “Hey!” cried Iggy.

  “Meow!” cried Bricks.

  Iggy and Bricks scrambled after the paper, which tumbled deeper and deeper into the dim woods.

  WHACK!

  Iggy’s sneaker hit a root and he tripped. The clipboard flew out of his hand as Iggy stumbled and tumbled head over heels down … down … down the hill.

  “Whooooaaaaaaa-whooooaaaaa!” he yelled.

  Iggy slammed into something very hard beneath the leaves. He sat up and rubbed his shoulder.

  “Ouch!” he said.

  Bricks hissed.

  “What’s wro—?” Iggy started.

  Suddenly, a strong gust of wind blew away the leaves and revealed what Iggy had hit.

  “Whoa,” he said, staring into a pair of stone-cold eyes.

  CHAPTER 2

  The eyes stared back at Iggy from the face of a white marble cat with the word HAPPINESS carved into its base. It stood beside two other stone cats. One titled WHIMSY and the other, WONDER. Iggy touched the cool stone of the third cat.

  “They look like you, Bricks!” he said.

  Bricks hissed and arched his back.

  Iggy laughed.

  “Don’t be scared!” he said. “They can’t hurt—”

  Iggy stopped short. A glimpse of something white caught his eye. A few feet behind the cats, a slab of vine-covered marble jutted from the forest floor. He stepped closer. Iggy reached through the vines and his fingers touched cold marble. His hand trembled as he pulled back the vines, revealing a weathered marble slab with faint letters: C. SHERBERT AND H. SHERBERT, 1918.

  Iggy gasped.

  “It’s a gravestone,” Iggy whispered.

  Another gravestone stood to the left. It seemed newer, its lettering unmelted by time and rain. It simply read: PIERRE GLACE. Nearby, the remains of a small cottage stood like an ancient ruin. Long abandoned. Long forgotten.

  Bricks hissed again and bristled his fur. Iggy nodded.

  “It is spooky,” he said, picking up Bricks. “Let’s get home.”

  Iggy looked around. It was much darker now. The wind was chillier and stronger. A storm was brewing.

  He had lost track of time. He always did when he was thinking about architecture—which was all the time. But he couldn’t help it. Thinking about architecture always made Iggy feel like he was doing exactly what he should be doing. Even when he was supposed to be doing something else. Sometimes, it got him in trouble. He was pretty sure that this was going to be one of those times. He wasn’t supposed to go past the edge of the woods, and he should have been home long ago.

  “C’mon, Bricks,” he said. “We’d better—”

  Suddenly, a flash of lightning lit up the forest.

  BAM!—a crack of thunder split the air.

  Bricks squirmed out of Iggy’s arms and bolted through the trees.

  “Bricks!” yelled Iggy, chasing after him.

  BOOM! CRASH!

  MEOW!

  Bricks zigged and zagged through the trees, changing direction with each lightning flash and thunder crash.

  MEOW!

  “Come back!” Iggy yelled.

  Iggy chased Bricks deeper and deeper into the woods. At last, Bricks dived into the end of a hollow log and hunkered down, trembling in the storm. Iggy caught up and knelt beside the log.

  “It’s okay, Bricks,” he said. “It’s okay.”

  Iggy reached into the log and pulled out the shivering cat. He clutched Bricks close and looked around.

  “Where are we?” he asked.

  Nothing looked familiar.

  “Which way do we go?” he wondered.

  CREEEAAAAK!

  Iggy looked up as a large, dead branch swayed in the wind and—CRACK!—Iggy jumped out of the way just as the limb crashed onto the hollow log, smashing it to smithereens.

  “That was too close,” said Iggy. “Let’s get out of here!”

  Iggy ran.

  PLOP! PLOP! PLOP!

  Large raindrops splattered onto his face. In moments, it was pouring. Iggy stumbled through the darkening woods until, at last, he saw a gap in the trees.

  “It’s a path!” he said.

  Iggy ran down the uneven path, which opened onto a wide, overgrown lawn. A brilliant flash of lightning revealed the outline of an enormous dark house, and suddenly Iggy Peck knew exactly where he was.

  “Uh-oh,” he whispered, and pulled Bricks a little closer.

  Iggy looked at the looming, shadowy building before him. He took a deep breath and stepped onto the lawn.

  “Architects are brave,” Iggy whispered. “Architects are brave …”

  At that moment, Iggy did not feel brave. Bricks growled.

  “Architects and their cats are brave,” Iggy whispered.

  A streak of lightning sliced across the sky. Iggy took a deep breath and ran toward the Mysterious Mansion.

  CHAPTER 3

  Bricks jumped from Iggy’s arms onto the weatherworn porch and shook his fur, spraying Iggy with water. Iggy looked around nervously at the spooky house as the dark trees whipped furiously in the storm.

  This was the Sherbert House, but everyone in Blue River Creek called it the Mysterious Mansion. It had been empty for longer than anyone could remember. But everyone knew the strange stories. Stories of the famous ice cream baron Herbert Sherbert, and his wife, Candace. They were very important in Blue River Creek’s history. They’d built the Blue River Creek library, the original school, and the train station.

  The stories said that she’d died young and he went away and was never seen again. Some said their ghosts haunted the house and played eerie music that filled the air. There were darker tales of a woman whose cries could be heard late at night if you dared to get close enough to the house to listen. They said the ghosts were looking for something—or someone!

  They said that sometimes, on a dark and stormy night, you could even hear a voice calling.

  “Iiiiiiiiiiiggy … Iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiggyyyyyyyy …”

  CHAPTER 4

  Iggy froze. A croaking, creaking voice was calling his name!

  His heart banged in his chest and he wanted to run, but his feet were like lead. He heard a footstep behind him.

  “Iiiiiiiiiggy!”

  Another footstep.

  “Iiiiiiiiiiggy!”

  It was right behind him. Iggy held his breath and closed his eyes.

  “Iiiiiiiiiiig—”

  Suddenly, a hand grabbed his shoulder.

  “EEEEEK!” yelled Iggy, jumping straight into the air.

  He whirled around and came face-to-face with—

  “Mrs. Twist?!” Iggy cried.

  “Iiiiiiiiggyyy—” said the old woman, coughing into her
elbow.

  COUGH. COUGH.

  “Ahem—” she said.

  She stood up, cleared her throat again, and chuckled. It was Bernice Twist with her great-niece, Ada. Bernice owned the Can You Dig It? shop. It was filled with treasures from around Blue River Creek. She was the town historian, geologist, anthropologist, and paleontologist, all in one person. Her shop had everything from old buttons to dinosaur bones. If it could be dug from the ground, she had it in her shop. It was one of Iggy’s favorite places to go with his friends.

  Aunt Bernice cleared her throat again.

  “Phew! Oh my. Ahem,” she said. “I’m so sorry, Iggy. I had a frog in my throat.”

  “Can I see?” asked Ada. “What kind of frog is it? How do you know it’s not a toad? People often confuse them but it’s easy to tell. Toads are covered with bumps. Are there bumps?”

  “It’s just a saying, Ada,” said Aunt Bernice with a smile. “Not a real frog.”

  “Oh,” said Ada. She was disappointed. “That’s too bad. Why don’t people say you have a turtle in your throat? Like a turtleneck? Why do people wear turtlenecks? You wear turtlenecks, Iggy! Why do you do that? Do you have bumps?”

  Iggy relaxed. He was glad to see his friend Ada and her great-aunt Bernice.

  CHAPTER 5

  Finding yourself on the porch of a haunted house on a dark, stormy night was a lot less scary with friends. Even for a brave architect and his cat.

  “I’m glad to see you!” said Iggy.

  “Why are you out in this weather?” asked Aunt Bernice.

  Iggy told them about designing treehouses and the graves by the run-down cottage in the woods.

  “But why are you here?” Iggy asked.

  Aunt Bernice pointed to the mansion.

  “This is my shiny new house!” she said. “I got a letter with the surprising news today! And this key!”

  She held up a very old key on a frayed ribbon.

  Though it was dark, Iggy could tell that there was nothing new or shiny about the house. In fact, it was very, very old. The porch was worn and had not been painted for many years.

  “You own the Mysterious Mansion?” asked Iggy. “They say it’s haunted!”

  “People say a lot of things,” said Aunt Bernice.

  “We should do an experiment to see if it is!” said Ada, who loved experiments.

  “If it is,” said Iggy, “I could design a new house for the ghost. Do ghosts use stairs? Or doors? Closets? Do they like modern architecture? I bet they like Gothic architecture. Gothic castles in movies are always haunted. But that’s just the movies.”

  Aunt Bernice chuckled. She loved Ada and her friends. They were full of questions. That’s why she had given the group their nickname: the Questioneers.

  Aunt Bernice thought for a moment.

  “Well,” she said. “I never thought I’d be standing on this spot again.”

  “You’ve been here before?” asked Ada.

  “Of course,” said Aunt Bernice. “The last time was during the war, and I was a very young woman. Agnes Lu came with me to collect junk for the war effort. The country needed metal and rubber to make jeeps and planes. The old Frenchman who took care of the place met us right here in the yard with a wagonful of stuff.”

  “Pierre Glace?” asked Iggy.

  “Yes!” said Aunt Bernice. "He was the caretaker here, but he still had family in France, which was invaded during World War II, you know. Those were bad times.

  “He donated some brass lamps and vases,” she said. “And a beautiful copper weathervane shaped like an ice cream cone. It was the color of Herbert Sherbert’s most famous flavor: Green Goose!”

  “Blech!” said Iggy. “Goose-flavored ice cream?”

  Aunt Bernice laughed.

  “Gooseberry,” she said. “It made him famous around the world. It was also very good. Too bad nobody makes that anymore.

  “Okay,” she said. “Enough chat. Let’s go in!”

  She handed the key to Ada, who tried to jam it into the lock.

  “It’s too big,” said Ada.

  Another flash of lightning lit the sky. Thunder growled through the forest.

  “Hmm,” said Aunt Bernice. “Let’s come back when there’s more light and less lightning! Ada, you may keep that key as a necklace. Iggy, we’ll give you and Bricks a ride home. Your parents are probably wondering where you are.”

  “Can you come back tomorrow, Iggy?” asked Ada.

  Iggy nodded. How could he pass up the chance to see inside the Mysterious Mansion? It might have ghosts. And even better, it had architecture!

  The rain eased up for a moment, and they ran to Aunt Bernice’s car. Bricks settled on the back seat between Ada and Iggy.

  “I wonder what we’ll find tomorrow,” said Aunt Bernice as she started the car. “Maybe we’ll find a quart of Green Goose ice cream! That would be a treat.”

  Gravel crackled beneath the tires as they drove down the tree-lined lane. Bricks purred and the rain gently drummed on the car roof as Iggy looked out the window.

  Then, just as the mansion faded behind them, something caught his eye. At the edge of the wide wooden porch sat a small figure, as still as stone.

  It was a white cat.

  The car passed a tree and the view was blocked for a heartbeat. When the mansion briefly flickered into view once more, the cat was gone.

  Iggy reached onto the car seat next to him. Bricks nuzzled his hand and purred as the lane turned once more and the mansion was lost, at last, in darkness.

  To Mrs. Bernice Twist,

  We are lawyers for the Estate of Mr. Herbert Sherbert, the world-famous creator of Green Goose ice cream.

  Herbert Sherbet was a public figure, but a very private man. He believed that his wife’s spirit remained in the house and he did not want anyone to disturb her. Since Mr. Sherbert did not have any heirs, his estate was handled by the caretaker, Monsieur Pierre Glace. Monsieur Glace died twenty-seven years ago. At that point, the Herbert mansion and money were placed in our care with two directions:

  1. Use the money to pay taxes and care for the mansion.

  2. When the money is gone, give the mansion to the person in Blue River Creek who has done the most to share the city’s history with the public.

  If anybody was to live in the house, Mr. Sherbert wanted it to be someone who loved Blue River Creek as much as he and Mrs. Sherbert had. We believe that you are that person.

  The Can You Dig It? shop celebrates the history of Blue River Creek. It is filled with historical things dug up through the centuries. Of special interest is the display of archeological items from very, very old outhouses. Who knew that you could learn so much about people from what they threw away in outhouses? We did not. Nor did we care to.

  Be that as it may, here is the deed and a key for the property at 1 Rocky Road, Blue River Creek. The property and contents, including original furnishings and art, are now yours.

  Be well and best wishes,

  Ms. Rachel Yabba, Esquire

  Mr. George Dabba, Esquire

  Mrs. Jane Dew, Esquire

  Law Offices of Yabba, Dabba & Dew

  P.S. Some say that the mansion is haunted. This is probably not true. Just in case:

  The Law Offices of Yabba, Dabba & Dew are not responsible for the actions of ghosts or anything that causes shivers, nightmares, heebie-jeebies, or worse. Especially worse.

  P.P.S. Contents have not been verified. As our property agent said after throwing the key into the river, “I’m not going in that haunted house. You go in there!”

  We did not.

  P.P.P.S. Ha-ha. Joke is on our property agent. Monsieur Glace gave us two keys. We are giving one to you. Please do not throw it in a river.

  P.P.P.P.S. It is not funny that we just said “pee-pee” two times. Stop laughing.

  P.P.P.P.P.S. We are retiring and moving to Fiji or maybe Iowa. Our office is now closed forever. The mansion is yours. No tag backs. No backsies. No returns.

  P.P.P.P.P.P.S. Good luck.

  P.P.P.P.P.P.P.S. You are going to need it.

  CHAPTER 6

  The next day was crisp, cool, and clear. The lawn of the Sherbert House was littered with leaves and branches that had snapped in the storm.

  Iggy stood in front of the porch with Ada and Aunt Bernice. He looked around in awe.