Mr. Lemoncello's Great Library Race: Chapters 38–55

When they entered the foyer, yellow crime-scene police tape blocked the path to the living room.

“E-Float-E-Cons is a whole lot of holographic fun for the whole family,” crooned the announcer.

“Really?” said the top cop, still sounding skeptical.

But sometimes knowing how to find the answers and what questions to ask are more important than the answers themselves. With the research skills you twelve have honed in the Fabulous Fact-Finding Frenzy, we hoped you would learn how to find facts on your own—facts that Dr. Zinchenko and myself did not already have.

“In the same way that it makes sense for the airport security screeners to give my father extra scrutiny every time he flies because his skin is brown and his first name is Muhammad?”

“Just a minute,” said Mr. Lemoncello, riveted by the pages of his novel.

“We’re pretty sure she’s related to the actress pretending to be Irma Hirschman.”
“My, what a felonious family.”
“Jessica stole the combination out of Katherine Kelly’s backpack during the second leg of the Fabulous Fact-Finding Frenzy,” said Kyle.

“And,” said Miguel, “we also know nobody will listen to us. We’re kids.”
“Not to mention Mr. Lemoncello’s biggest fans,” added Katherine.
“Indeed,” said Abia. “We hardly come across as unbiased researchers.”

“We just have to make the right moves. All games put you in a puzzle or a predicament. Then it’s up to the players to figure out how to wiggle free.”

No, what Kyle couldn’t believe was the guy standing behind the cluster of smiling dignitaries on the front steps of the library.

There was a smattering of applause. Mostly from Mrs. Chiltington’s League of Concerned Library Lovers.

“We, the concerned citizens of Alexandriaville, are very, very pleased with this recent development,” cooed Mrs. Chiltington operatically. “Very.”
“Indubitably,” added her son.

Too pretentious. You see, friends, I am a modest man. That’s why I did not want a holographic exhibit about me until Dr. Zinchenko’s mother insisted.

The patent and all its supporting paraphernalia are downstairs.

They moved a lot of those old cartons around a couple weeks ago—all the papers from my early years in the game-making game. Back when the Imagination Factory wasn’t even a full-fledged idea.

It was more of an inkling, which, by the way, is not a small pen.

You see, once we installed the Nonfictionator, Mr. Raymo insisted that he take over major security issues such as front door lock combinations. As you two have pointed out, I tend to be a little lax in that department.

“Who’s to say Mr. Raymo isn’t one of my most loyal employees and that he volunteered to risk his life, fortune, and sacred honor to go undercover and keep an eye on the nefarious Krinkle brothers for me?”

“That’s not going to be too stealthy,” said Miguel. “A big honking bookmobile driving up to the library when everybody knows the place is closed.”

Hunkered down, he flew to the front steps of the library.

“So,” whispered Miguel, “is this when we call Jamal and the gang and tell them to initiate plan B?”

The only illumination came from sporadic security lights mounted on the walls.

That Supreme Court justice, Oliver Wendell Holmes Jr., was posed next to him, sitting behind an elevated judge’s bench, a gavel poised in his hand.

“You were able to crack my rudimentary code.”

“We need that other box! The one about Benjamin Bean. Quit being obstinate, Ms. Adrienne Waintraub!”

“I am not at liberty to divulge that information.”

After two more rib-crunching twists and turns, his stomach leapt up and down in his throat as he careened across a series of rolling hills.

He gestured toward the other exhibits as they came to animated life and ambled over to where Lincoln was standing.

“We need Honest Abe to give us a resounding public endorsement tomorrow night!”

“We need Honest Abe to give us a resounding public endorsement tomorrow night!”

“When Mr. Lemoncello’s disgruntled employee, Benjamin Bean, first came to us in the 1970s with a screwy idea for a picture game coupled with a whoopee cushion, we took that concept and streamlined it. Made it simpler. More accessible to the masses.”

Mr. Raymo loaded the boxes on his dolly and exited.

“As fellow inventors,” David announced, “we’d love to hear what Thomas Edison has to say on this grand and auspicious occasion.”

Mr. Lemoncello does have a patent and a shoebox filled with the stuff that inspired Family Frenzy, including a vintage Barbie doll boot from 1973!

A hologram of the shoebox, a patent with an embossed seal, and a knee-high go-go boot appeared under the Wonder Dome, which had faded to black to help make the holograms pop.

The Krinkle brothers had long since fled Alexandriaville, and they were facing several lawsuits filed by Max Khatchadourian, chief corporate counsel at the Imagination Factory, as well as federal charges of corporate espionage.

Balloons were festooned everywhere.

Mr. Lemoncello looked flabbergasted. “My gast has been flabbered. Why would you two give away your prizes?”

In gratitude for all that you twelve trustees have done in your unrelenting quest for the truth and your refusal to accept the first answer as the only answer, I hereby decree that a new set of statues fill the nooks of the Rotunda Reading Room for the coming week!

One by one, five of the ten alcoves were illuminated with new holographic images: pairs of statues featuring the teams of the Fabulous Fact-Finding Frenzy: Elliott Schilpp and Katherine Kelly, Miguel Fernandez and Pranav Pillai, Sierra Russell and Jamal Davis, Andrew Peckleman and Diane Capriola, Akimi Hughes and Angus Harper.