Amanda Lester and the Red Spider Rumpus

by Paula Berinstein

  Amanda thought of Holmes guiltily. She was sure Thrillkill had just insulted him and knew it.

  “But as far as your father is concerned, and I did not know he was your father,” said Thrillkill, “that’s the kind of thing he would have figured out. He was an astute observer. When he was in Professor Sidebotham’s class, he got a hundred percent on every quiz.”

  “Wink was in Professor Sidebotham’s observation class?” said Amanda.

  “Yes indeed,” said Thrillkill.

  It seemed that this revelation had floored both kids because neither one said a word.

  Thrillkill glanced at his phone. “Sorry. Must go. To be continued?”

  Nick looked confused. “Excuse me, sir?”

  “Let’s talk more about Wink another time, shall we?”

  Nick relaxed. “Yes, sir. I would like that.”

  In the hall outside Thrillkill’s office, Nick drew his hand through his hair, grinned, and looked into Amanda’s eyes.

  “To be continued,” she said. She was so happy she thought she’d burst.

  17

  THE FIRST LABOR

  “Darling, do you know anything about making those Web site things?” Despina said to Amanda one evening on the phone.

  “Not really,” Amanda said. “Why?”

  “My collaborative art site. I want to put that up on Saturday.”

  “That’s the day after tomorrow.”

  “Oh,” said Despina, getting excited, “do you think I could have it tomorrow instead?”

  Amanda sighed. This was all she needed.

  “I don’t know. Maybe Jeffrey can help you.”

  Despina laughed. “Jeffrey? He’s much too busy fighting crime, dear. He doesn’t have time for technology.”

  Her cousin Jeffrey wouldn’t have time for technology if he were independently wealthy, Amanda thought. She doubted he’d ever sent an email.

  “It will be very simple,” Despina continued. “You’ll have all your paints, your charcoal, your clay, your metal, and so on, and you’ll have a workspace. Then you put all your stuff in your studio and play. You can create a profile, and people select each other to work with. Or you can be matched up randomly. It will be oodles of fun.”

  It wasn’t actually a bad idea. Whether her cousin could have such a site up and running in two days was more of an issue, however.

  “You want to use this to bring Professor Kindseth and Charlotte together, do you?” said Amanda.

  “Yes. I will finagle it so they’re teamed up no matter who they pick.”

  “What makes you think they will be interested?” said Amanda. Despina was such a dreamer. Inconvenient facts didn’t bother her. “Charlotte is a professional. Would she really want to work with some anonymous person who might be a five-year-old kid?”

  “Of course she will, dear. I’ll ask her to test it for me and she’ll do it. She owes me.”

  Wow. Despina was not a stupid woman. She might look and act flakey, but Amanda was beginning to wonder if that was all an act. She was one shrewd cookie. The two women must have forged quite a bond when the wretches kidnapped the detectives. Charlotte probably did owe her, and from what Gordon had said she most likely would want to help Despina. Bully for her.

  “That sounds good, Despina,” Amanda said. “What about Professor Kindseth though?”

  “Piece of cake,” said Despina. “I’ll just tell him we have a cinematography section. You told me he’s always wanted to do that, didn’t you? How could he resist?”

  Well, well, well. Maybe Despina should apply to Legatum after all. She’d probably run rings around both Holmes and Simon. If only she’d stay out of Amanda’s hair, that is.

  But Despina had a funny way of getting things done, and although it wasn’t as soon as Saturday she did get the site up, and a lot faster than Amanda would have expected. The reason? Binnie Belasco.

  A self-styled incurable romantic, Binnie took on Despina’s project happily and had it done in a flash. Using all kinds of open source software, she cobbled together a collaborative site which, if not the most aesthetically pleasing, worked, and had quite a bit of functionality besides.

  Soon hundreds of users were collaborating on paintings, animations, and virtual sculptures, among other things, and Despina was all in a tizzy. Then when she saw that her plot to connect Professor Kindseth and Charlotte was working, she showered Amanda with so many texts that Amanda had to turn off notifications.

  While Despina was matchmaking, Ivy was contemplating Simon’s confession. Amanda didn’t want to bug her about it, but she was dying to know if she returned Simon’s feelings. With all that touching going on it was looking like she did. But then one day when they were alone in the dining room Ivy said, “I don’t think I love Simon.”

  Amanda just about choked on her tea. “Excuse me?”

  “Simon,” said Ivy. “I don’t think I love him.”

  “Oh,” said Amanda. “Does he know?”

  “But maybe I do,” said Ivy. “I’m not sure.”

  “Don’t you think you’d know?” said Amanda.

  “You’d think so,” said Ivy. “I can’t stop thinking about him, that’s for sure.”

  “Oh really?” Amanda didn’t want to pry but she was dying to know what that meant.

  “Sometimes when he’s being nice I feel like I want to hold him,” said Ivy. “But then when I think about being with him all the time, like when he’s being a jerk, I don’t feel that way.”

  “I see,” said Amanda, attempting to remain neutral.

  “But I think about kissing him a lot,” said Ivy.

  “He is a good kisser,” said Amanda.

  “I know,” said Ivy. Then out of nowhere, “Do you think Dreidel Pomfritter is a good kisser?”

  Amanda almost knocked her tea over. “Dreidel?”

  “I was just wondering,” said Ivy. “I really like his voice. And he’s such a nice person, and so smart.”

  “Do you think you love Dreidel then?” said Amanda.

  “I don’t know,” said Ivy. “Of course whether someone is a good kisser shouldn’t affect whether you love them or not.”

  “No,” said Amanda, thinking of Nick’s kisses. Just imagining them made her swoon.

  “Maybe I should ask him,” Ivy mused.

  “Whether he’s a good kisser?”

  “No. To kiss me. Then I’d know.”

  “We’re talking about Dreidel here?”

  “Yes,” said Ivy. “Dreidel.” She seemed downright moony. Amanda wondered how long this had been going on. Ivy had never said a word. “Is he good looking?”

  Amanda thought for a moment. It shouldn’t matter whether someone was a good kisser, good looking, or anything superficial. Whether you loved them should have to do with their personality and how they behaved. But was Dreidel good looking? She’d never bothered to think about it.

  “Guess not,” said Ivy. “You would have told me right away if he were.”

  “No, that isn’t it,” said Amanda, who was beginning to think that Ivy and Dreidel would make quite a nice match. “It’s just that I’ve never—yes. He is. He is very good looking.”

  “But you’ve only just now noticed.” She seemed disappointed, as if the fact that Amanda had never noticed meant he couldn’t be cute.

  “Yes, and he is. Now I won’t be able to stop noticing.”

  “What about Simon then?” said Ivy.

  “What about Simon what?” said Amanda.

  “Is he good looking?”

  “No,” said Amanda without hesitation. She felt bad but it was the truth. Anyway, Ivy would know if she lied.

  “Oh well,” said Ivy. “I can’t see him anyway.”

  “How’s your dad doing?” said Amanda, attempting to steer the conversation away from Simon.

  “Since they reinstated him at the university, you mean?” said Ivy.

  “Yes.”

  “He’s tough,” said Ivy. “We Halpins never give up. He’s going b
ack to the King Arthur dig.”

  “I’m glad. We still don’t know what’s going on with the silver coins. They had nothing to do with Blixus.”

  “Dad thinks they’re real. He’s going to . . .”

  Suddenly she was crying. “What’s wrong?” said Amanda.

  “Darius,” said Ivy. “I can’t believe . . . don’t you miss him?”

  Amanda could feel herself tear up. “Yes,” she sniffed. “I miss him like crazy. He never should have gone off like that. I wish I could have stopped him.”

  “It wasn’t your fault, Amanda. It was just a stupid accident.”

  Soon the two girls were sobbing and Nigel was looking up at them to see what was going on. Ivy grabbed his fur and buried her face in it and Amanda joined the hug. And that was how Nick found them when he came in to tell Amanda that the teachers had announced his first task.

  When he had assured himself that Amanda and Ivy were all right, Nick showed them the message he’d got from Thrillkill. The first part contained a preamble. He read it out so Ivy could hear.

  Mr. Muffet,

  As you know, your admission to the Legatum Continuatum Enduring School for Detectives is contingent upon your fulfilling a set of criteria. You have successfully satisfied all but the last three. If you perform these labors to our specifications you will be admitted. If not we will dismiss you. At the end of this message we ask you to sign to acknowledge that you understand these terms and conditions.

  The point of these exercises is to prove that you are willing to sacrifice for the good of the detective community. We also desire to see if you are worthy of joining our elite group. Given your history, the fact that you are descended from a line of famous detectives alone is insufficient to qualify you. Nor is your academic record, even though it indicates that you are intelligent, inventive, and dedicated.

  In this missive we present your first task. When you have properly completed it we will reveal the second. If you fail you will automatically be disqualified.

  When Nick had finished reading he said, “Nothing new there. We knew this was coming.”

  Amanda felt otherwise. “But what about your deal that he wouldn’t turn you in?” she said. “He hasn’t said a word about that. What if . . .” She couldn’t finish the thought. It was too upsetting.

  “Then I’ll go to prison,” said Nick matter-of-factly.

  “No!” Amanda cried.

  “We’ve talked about this, love. It’s what I deserve. Let’s just see what the first task is.” He continued reading.

  Your first labor is to contact a parent of a student chosen by the teachers, apologize to them for your behavior, and persuade them to make at least a five hundred-pound donation to the school. You may not lie or mislead in any way. You will have three days—seventy-two hours—to complete this task.

  Good luck.

  Gaston Thrillkill, Headmaster

  Nick and Amanda looked at each other at the same moment, he with resignation, she with horror, but Ivy spoke first.

  “That’s a lot of money. I know my parents don’t have that kind of dosh sitting around.”

  “It might not be so bad,” said Amanda, attempting to put Nick at ease, although she was sure he was finished. No one would give him a penny, even if they had a billion pounds. “Who’s the parent?”

  Nick turned away. His reaction terrified her. It meant only one thing. “No, tell me he didn’t.”

  “I’m afraid he did,” said Nick, reading the message over.

  “What?” said Ivy.

  “It’s Andalusia Sweetgum,” he said.

  “No!” Amanda screamed.

  “It’s a tough one, I’ll give you that,” said Nick.

  “The one person—well, one of two,” said Amanda.

  “Celerie Wiffle, Andalusia Sweetgum, same difference,” said Nick.

  “Mrs. Wiffle would be worse,” said Ivy.

  That was probably true. At least the Sweetgums didn’t have the whole Mavis/Wink issue to contend with. Of course the fact that their daughter had run off to be with Nick and the other Moriartys wasn’t exactly a plus.

  “This isn’t fair,” said Amanda. “They want you to fail.”

  “They want to test me properly,” said Nick.

  “But they’ve stacked the deck,” said Amanda.

  “It will be all right,” said Nick. He glanced at Ivy, picked up Amanda’s hand, and kissed it. Amanda looked down at their hands, then at Ivy.

  “It’s okay,” said Ivy. “I know about you two and I think it’s great.”

  Nick smiled but Amanda said, “What are you going to do?”

  “I’ll just have to present a convincing case.”

  It was Editta’s father, now deceased, who had been the detective in the family, and although her mother and her current husband still believed in the detectives’ mission, they didn’t think the school should be a part of it anymore. That much had been made clear in the lawsuit they’d filed against Thrillkill.

  Furthermore, they didn’t have much money. Andalusia was a secretary at a police station, and Ezra Staylittle, her husband, was a tree surgeon. The chances of them having five hundred pounds, let alone donating it to the school, were close to nil, especially since Thrillkill had set such a short deadline.

  After Nick had allowed himself a couple of hours to think about his approach, he was ready to make the call. Amanda thought he should take more time but he told her it was now or never. If he was going to fail, he wanted to know as soon as possible. She didn’t even want to think about what might happen if he did, and tried to put the notion out of her mind.

  Everyone who wanted to listen was invited to do so, and most of the school gathered in the dining room to watch Nick fall on his face. Amanda thought she would die, she was so worried. The prospect of failure was bad enough, but doing it publicly would be humiliating.

  But Nick didn’t seem bothered. When everyone had settled, he initiated the call and got Mrs. Sweetgum on the line. “Mrs. Sweetgum, this is Nick Moriarty and—” Click. She’d hung up.

  The audience gasped. With Holmes next to her, however, Amanda forced herself to bite her tongue. Was this it? Was Nick finished?

  He tried again. This time when she answered he said, “Your daughter is well.”

  “Why aren’t you in prison?” Mrs. Sweetgum screamed.

  “I may be yet,” said Nick.

  But she didn’t hang up. “That Gaston Thrillkill is a criminal. You should both be locked up.”

  More gasping. There was no way this woman would even listen to Nick, let alone part with five hundred pounds she probably didn’t have.

  “Mrs. Sweetgum,” said Nick, “I would like to tell you about your daughter.”

  There was a pause. “If you’ve hurt her . . .”

  “She is well,” said Nick. “She misses you.”

  “Let her go, you animal! Why are you tormenting me? Let my daughter come home!”

  Nick hesitated a moment. “She’s free to go at any time. She won’t listen to me, though, I’m afraid.”

  “Put your father on,” said Mrs. Sweetgum. “No, wait. Put Editta on.” Nick hesitated. “Do it. DO it!”

  In a very quiet voice Nick said, “I can’t.”

  “Put my daughter on the phone!”

  Nick started to turn his head around to look at the audience, but focused on the table in front of him instead. “I wish I could.” He spoke so low Amanda could barely hear him.

  “You miserable punk!” Mrs. Sweetgum screamed. “You think you can play with me, ruin my daughter’s life? Why are you phoning me anyway? Haven’t you tormented me enough?”

  “Mrs. Sweetgum, I cannot tell you how sorry I am for everything I’ve done. I am sorry for causing you pain, for hurting your daughter and your family. A lifetime of repentance wouldn’t begin to be enough.”

  Dead silence. Then, “Give me back my daughter.”

  “I want to tell you a story. It’s very short. Thirty seconds.”

/>   Amanda thought it was brave of him to propose something that seemed so off the point. She also thought whatever he had in mind would fail. There was no way Mrs. Sweetgum was going to sit still for tales.

  She was right. The woman wasn’t amused. “I’m hanging up now,” she said.

  But Nick persisted. “The detectives are in trouble. They need your help.”

  Mrs. Sweetgum’s voice cracked. “I’ll say they’re in trouble. Gaston Thrillkill is a disgrace.”

  Nick spoke softly. “How would you feel if the detectives went away?”

  A pause. “What do you mean ‘went away’?”

  Nick switched the phone to his other ear. “If there were no more detectives. Not just the school. Everything.”

  Mrs. Sweetgum was seething. “You think you and your criminal father can wipe out all detectives? You’re an arrogant boy.”

  “No, not me. Not us. There are much greater forces at work. Shall I tell you about them?”

  He was getting through to her. “What are you on about?”

  “Mrs. Sweetgum, do you know what The Detective’s Bible is?”

  Gasps from every direction. Someone yelled, “How does he know about that?” Carlos Fapp got up and headed toward Nick but Thrillkill sat him back down.

  “No,” she said. “What is it?”

  Nick glanced behind him. “It is the most important document the detectives have ever produced. It contains the secret writings of Legatum’s founder, Lovelace Earful.”

  Hearing this, Holmes rose and said, “That’s enough,” but Thrillkill said, “Let him talk.” Holmes frowned but Thrillkill turned back to Nick and nodded.

  “The Bible is missing,” said Nick.

  “What do you mean ‘missing’?” said Mrs. Sweetgum.

  “There was an accident. No one knows where it is.”

  “Are you telling me that Gaston Thrillkill allowed the detectives’ most precious document to be stolen?” said Mrs. Sweetgum, her volume rising again.