Chapter 16

CHAPTER 16 For Amy, it was like seeing all her least favorite Shakespeare villains come to life. With their faces shadowed, Mary-Todd, Reagan, and Madison Holt reminded her of the three witches from Macbeth. Alistair was like mad King Lear, who punished the child who loved him best. Hamilton was like Brutus from Julius Caesar, the supposed friend who joined in the murder plot. Jonah was like the two-faced Richard III, who pretended to be a good guy but killed off one relative after another. Sinead was like… Amy remembered this wasn't English class. She didn't have time to come up with analogies for everyone. Did she and Dan have time to save their own lives? Amy threw the flashlight down on the floor, so the beam of light pointed out toward the other teams. She and Dan were in total darkness.

"Amy, Dan— we don't want to hurt you," Alistair called. "Of course not," Amy yelled back. "Did you want to hurt our parents seven years ago?" Shouting that made her voice shake. And it made her ears ring, so she couldn't hear what, if anything, Alistair said in reply. No time to think about that, Amy told herself. No time to feel. Just… plan. Amy bent down and picked up the delicate ribbon from the floor. The end of the ribbon was already coming unraveled. "Dan!" she whispered. "Did you get a good look at this? Enough to memorize the letters?" "I think so," he whispered back. "I'm pretty sure." "Sure enough that it's okay if I destroy it?" Amy asked. Dan glanced at the ribbon quickly. "Go ahead," he whispered. Amy put one end of the ribbon under the vase holding the bouquet of flowers. She grabbed the

metal pole from the coffin top and handed it to Dan. "Swing it at them if you have to," she told him grimly. Then she picked up the flashlight and directed the beam of light toward the end of the ribbon she still held in her hand. "This is the next lead," she called out to her relatives. "If you get up here in time, maybe you can stop me from unraveling all of it!" She pulled on the ribbon end that wasn't under the vase. It obligingly separated out into individual threads. She kept her end of the unraveling ribbon firmly between her fingers. Then she dropped the flashlight and grabbed Dan's hand. "Run!" she yelled at him. Dan was halfway down the side aisle of the church before he figured out what Amy was trying to do. He knew she was unraveling the ribbon, leaving a trail of thread behind them as they ran. But why? Oh, yeah, he thought. She's trying to get

everyone to run up to the front of the church to save what's left of the ribbon, instead of chasing us. She's buying us time to get away. Was it working? Dan and Amy reached the door without Dan having to swing the metal pole even once. All right, Amy! Dan thought. He almost regretted calling her pigeon-livered. "Let's hide in the cemetery," Dan hissed to her. "No—keep running," Amy whispered. "We've got to get back to Nellie. We've got to get out of Stratford." Dan couldn't see how that would work. Sure, the other Clue hunters hadn't caught them yet. But any of the Holts could run faster than Dan and Amy. Probably Ian and Jonah and the Starlings could, too. If this turned into a flat-out race, Dan and Amy would lose. They sprinted through the cemetery and burst out the gate to the street outside. Dan could already hear footsteps behind them, getting closer and closer. "Turn left!" Dan whispered to Amy. "Everyone

would expect us to turn right, so we've got to fool them!" Amy cast a quick glance over her shoulder. "But if anyone's close enough to see—" A car down the street suddenly turned on its headlights, pinning Amy and Dan in the bright beams. "Oh, no— get out of the light!" Amy yelled. A figure stepped out of the car. "Amy! Dan! Over here!" It was Nellie. The old man sat beside the open grave, his face buried in his hands. Fifteen generations. That was how long his family had been working at Holy Trinity Church. His father, his grandmother, his great-grandmother, his great- great-grandfather… all the way back to the 1600s. All of them had watched over Shakespeare's grave and watched over his Madrigal secrets.

As Cahill accomplishments went, it wasn't much. Their tiny offshoot branch of Madrigals had produced no Shakespeares of their own. But the old man's family, generation after generation, had been loyal and hardworking and true. They took their pride in that. Every five years they would replace a decaying old ribbon with a newer one, after meticulously copying down a string of letters. Once or twice they had made strategic decisions to modernize, updating even what was printed on the ribbon. But mostly, for fifteen generations, they had waited. The old man had been so sure that this would be the night everyone was waiting for. He picked up a wisp of thread still lingering by the grave. Ruin, he thought. All our hopes in ruin. But his family had had their hopes dashed before. They had learned the value of backup plans. He went to the church gift shop and reached under the desk to pull out a very precise length of satin ribbon. Then he went to a secret