The Puzzling World of Winston Breen by Eric Berlin

Author:Eric Berlin [Berlin, Eric]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781101460825
Publisher: Penguin Group US
Published: 2009-04-01T07:00:00+00:00

She was right. Now the extra or colored letters spelled out Salvatore Rosetti’s full name. Somehow, the man who had served countless slices of pizza to Winston and his friends was now the key to finding Walter Fredericks’s treasure.

Glowacka said, “Was this guy friends with your dad?”

Mrs. Lewis shrugged, mystified. “I knew they knew each other. I don’t know if they were friends.”

“I guess we should go see the gentleman,” said North.

“I guess we should,” said Glowacka.

Marietta took charge. “All right. Let’s assume we’re not coming back here. Everybody take your stuff, and we’ll go over as a group. The pizzeria is right across the street. Nobody needs to drive anywhere.”

There was a mild hubbub as everybody gathered up their belongings—even in just two hours, they had done a fine job of spreading out and taking over the room.

“Officer Stokes left his coffee machine here,” said Mrs. Lewis.

“Leave it for now,” said Marietta. “He’ll come back for it. I’ll get him on walkie-talkie a little later.”

Katie said, “You have a walkie-talkie?” Marietta pointed to his hip, where a small black box was clipped, making soft crackling noises. Katie seemed deeply impressed at this.

They all made their way up the stairs, an awkward group. Just before the exit, Winston remembered Jake and Mal. “I’ll be right back!” he said, and ran off before Marietta could react. Winston raced into the reading room. Jake and Mal looked up as he ran over. “We’re going to Rosetti’s. That was the answer to the puzzle,” he said.

“What? It was? How?”

“I can’t explain it now. I’m just telling you where we’re going. I gotta go.” And Winston turned back and ran to the rest of the group, leaving his two friends blinking at each other in bewilderment.

“What was that about?” said Marietta as Winston came back.

“Nothing. I . . . just wanted to see something. But it was nothing.” Marietta grunted, and the full group headed across the green to the pizza parlor. They passed Penrose’s shop on the way, of course, and Winston felt an urge to run and tell the old man the latest news. But he thought breaking off from the group again would be frowned upon by Marietta.

Sal Rosetti wasn’t behind the counter at the pizza parlor. His son, Frank, was there, stretching out the dough for a fresh pie. A second worker, a bored-looking teenage girl with a whole artist’s palette of makeup on her face, sat working the cash register.

Frank continued kneading out dough as the group approached the counter, but he said, “Hey, all. What can I get for you?”

North took charge. “You’re not Salvatore Rosetti, are you?”

Winston said in a low voice, “This is his son.”

“That’s right,” said Frank. “Sal’s my dad. Is there a problem?”

“We need to see him on a matter of utmost importance,” North said.

“Yeah?” Frank seemed mildly curious and nothing more. “What is it?”

Mrs. Lewis stepped up. “Frank. Hello.”

“Oh, hey, Mrs. Lewis. How are you?”

“I’m fine, thank you. Frank, this is going to sound very strange.

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