The Maze of Bones (The 39 Clues #1)(3)

"Now, girls," Eisenhower said. "We can't go flinging people at a funeral. This is a happy occasion!"

"Amy!" Dan called. "A little help here?"

Her face had gone pale. She mumbled, "Dr-dr-drop ..."

Dan sighed in exasperation. "She's trying to say 'DROP ME!'"

Madison and Reagan did -- on his head.

"Ow!" Dan said.

"M-M-Madison!" Amy protested.

"Y-y-yes?" Madison mimicked. "I think all those books are turning your brain to mush, weirdo."

If it had been anybody else, Dan would've hit back, but he knew better with the Holts.

Even Madison and Reagan, the youngest, could cream him. The whole Holt family was way too buff. They had meaty hands and thick necks and faces that looked like G.I.

Joe figures. Even the mom looked like she should be shaving and chewing on a cigar.

"I hope you losers took a good last look around the house," Madison said. "You're not going to be invited back here anymore, now that the old witch is dead."

"Rawf!" said Arnold the pit bull.

Dan looked around for Beatrice, but as usual she wasn't anywhere near them. She'd drifted off to talk to the other old people.

"Grace wasn't a witch," Dan said. "And we're going to inherit this place!"

The big brother, Hamilton, laughed. "Yeah, right." His hair was combed toward the middle so it stuck up like a shark fin. "Wait till they read the will, runt. I'm gonna kick you out myself!"

"All right, team," the dad said. "Enough of this. Formation!"

The family lined up and started jogging toward the grave site, knocking other relatives out of their way as Arnold snapped at everyone's heels.

"Is your head okay?" Amy asked guiltily.

Dan nodded. He was a little annoyed Amy hadn't helped him, but there was no point complaining about it. She always got tongue-tied around other people. "Man, I hate the Holts."

"We've got worse problems." Amy pointed toward the grave site, and Dan's heart sank.

"The Cobras," he muttered.

Ian and Natalie Kabra were standing by Grace's coffin, looking like perfect little angels as they talked to the preacher. They wore matching designer mourning outfits that complemented their silky black hair and cinnamon-colored skin. They could've been child supermodels.

"They won't try anything during the funeral," Dan said hopefully. "They're just here for Grace's money like the rest of them. But they won't get it."

Amy frowned. "Dan ... did you really believe what you said, about us inheriting the mansion?"

"Of course! You know Grace liked us best. We spent more time with her than anybody."

Amy sighed like Dan was too young to understand, which Dan hated.

"Come on," she said. "We might as well get this over with." And together they waded into the crowd.

The funeral was a blur to Dan. The minister said some stuff about ashes. They lowered the coffin into the ground. Everybody tossed in a shovelful of dirt. Dan thought the mourners enjoyed this part too much, especially Ian and Natalie.

He recognized a few more relatives: Alistair Oh, the old Korean dude with the diamond-tipped walking stick who always insisted they call him Uncle; the Russian lady Irina Spasky, who had a twitch in one eye so everybody called her Spaz behind her back; the Starling triplets -- Ned, Ted, and Sinead, who looked like part of a cloned Ivy League lacrosse team. Even that kid from television was there: Jonah Wizard. He stood to one side, getting his picture taken with a bunch of girls, and there was a line of people waiting to talk to him. He was dressed just like on TV, with lots of silver chains and bracelets, ripped jeans, and a black muscle shirt (which was kind of stupid, since he didn't have any muscles). An older African-American guy in a business suit stood behind him, punching notes in a BlackBerry. Probably Jonah's dad. Dan had heard that Jonah Wizard was related to the Cahills, but he'd never seen him in person before. He wondered if he should get an autograph for his collection.

After the service, a guy in a charcoal-gray suit stepped to the podium. He looked vaguely familiar to Dan. The man had a long pointed nose and a balding head. He reminded Dan of a vulture.

"Thank you all for coming," he said gravely. "I am William McIntyre, Madame Cahill's lawyer and executor."

"Executor?" Dan whispered to Amy. "He killed her?"

"No, you idiot," Amy whispered back. "That means he's in charge of her will."

"If you will look inside your programs," William McIntyre continued, "some of you will find a gold invitation card."

Excited murmuring broke out as four hundred people leafed through their programs.

Then most of them cursed and shouted complaints when they found nothing. Dan ripped through his program. Inside was a card with a gold-leafed border. It read:

Dan and Amy Cahill are hereby invited to the reading of the last will and testament of Grace Cahill Where:

The Great Hall, Cahill Manor

When:

Now

"I knew it!" Dan said.

"I assure you," Mr. McIntyre said, raising his voice above the crowd, "the invitations were not done randomly. I apologize to those of you who were excluded. Grace Cahill meant you no disrespect. Of all the members of the Cahill clan, only a few were chosen as the most likely."