Amanda Lester and the Purple Rainbow Puzzle

by Paula Berinstein

  “I certainly hope not,” said Amanda, grabbing a crumpet. “We’ve had enough trouble with cooks already. I really would like to feel that there are good cooks in the world.”

  “Nice pun,” said Simon, smiling. He looked good that way. He should do it more often, she thought.

  There was no butter left so she took a bite of dry crumpet. It wasn’t bad. The new cook knew what he was doing. “What? Oh, I didn’t realize what I was saying. You don’t think Gordon—”

  “No,” said Simon. “He’s changed.”

  “I agree,” said Amanda. “Clive, are you absolutely sure it was gone?”

  Clive hung his head. “I’m not going crazy. It was there, then it was gone, then it was back.” He pushed his eggs from one side of his plate to the other.

  “Hang on,” said Simon, looking around for more butter. “You know how we got out of the gates in the trove?”

  “Using the acoustic levitator,” said Clive. “Sure.”

  “And you know how the trove has been breached?”

  “OMG,” said Amanda. “Someone took the levitator to get into the trove!”

  “Bingo.” Simon took a bite of his toast. He chewed for a moment and then stopped to pass judgment. His concoction must have been okay because he took another bite, this time larger. Amanda didn’t see how he could even taste the bread with all that butter, but maybe that was the point.

  “Someone at Legatum.”

  “Looks like it,” said Simon. “Clive, is there any evidence that would lead us to the thief? Fingerprints?”

  “Not a one,” said Clive. “I checked.”

  “Substances?” said Amanda.

  “No,” said Clive. “The levitator’s been wiped clean.”

  “Nuts,” said Simon. “How about marks on your carpet?”

  “I forgot about that,” said Clive. “Let’s go check.”

  The two boys ran off to the dorm to see if the thief had left footprints or fibers or any other clues in Clive’s room. Although Amanda had a million things to do, she was somewhat stuck until her phone was working again. Unfortunately that meant she had to talk to Holmes. He had taken the broken phones from her, Simon, Fern, and Ivy and said he hoped to have them working in a few hours.

  When she found him, he was in the cyberforensics classroom as usual. “I got it to work,” he said. “It’s a bit unreliable though.”

  “What do you mean?” said Amanda.

  “It cuts in and out. Also sometimes the screen turns rainbow colors.”

  “Is it dangerous?”

  “I don’t think so. You should back up all your data though.”

  “Okay. Thanks, Scapulus.”

  He got that pained look again. “Amanda, be careful.”

  “With the phone, you mean?” she said.

  “With everything. I don’t for a moment believe there are zombies out there, but dangerous things are happening and you tend to be a bit bold sometimes.”

  “I’m a detective,” she said. “I have to be.”

  “What good is being a detective if you’re dead?”

  That threw her for a loop. If a descendant of Sherlock Holmes was advising caution, things must be really bad. His family history was rife with risk-taking. Jumping into dangerous situations was second nature to him.

  “Just try, please,” he said. “I think this thing with Mavis and Wink is going to lead to unimaginable chaos. It’s just a hunch, but it’s a strong one.”

  “Why?”

  “Detectives and criminals fraternizing never turns out well.” It was one of the worst things ever to come out of his mouth. He wasn’t talking about Wink Wiffle and Mavis Moriarty. He was talking about Amanda and Nick.

  “I can take care of myself,” she said, and flounced out of the room.

  Now that her phone was working, Amanda was really starting to worry about Despina and Hill. Not only had she texted them ages ago and heard nothing, but Despina had promised to keep in touch and had even started to do so. Now, however, she had gone completely quiet. This behavior was so unlike her that Amanda thought the zombies might have got her. How silly was that? Zombies indeed. On the other hand, there had been murders in the area, and someone might still be looking for valuable artifacts. If Despina had got hold of one, or ended up in someone’s way, they might even have killed her!

  She texted Despina again, and this time she texted Hill as well. She didn’t have a number for Jeffrey or she would have tried him too.

  Funny how once Jeffrey had entered the church they hadn’t seen him again. Had he made it to the farm too? Surely if he had he would have reported the murder. On the other hand, he might not have gone to the house at all. But he would have been curious about the holes, and the kids would have caught up with him then. He hadn’t been that far ahead of them.

  Perhaps he’d turned the other way at the fork. Yes, that was what must have happened. Amanda wondered where the other tunnel led. Maybe they should go back and try it. She’d see if Fern could take them again, maybe the next day.

  Why did Holmes have to be so difficult anyway? He used to smile all the time, act so laid back. Now he could be downright snide. Sure he was worried, and a lot of responsibility lay on his shoulders. That was true of all of them, but no one else was sniping—not unless you counted David Wiffle, of course, but in his case the behavior was understandable.

  Did she still love Holmes? She wasn’t sure. Maybe what she thought she’d felt had been an illusion—a late night talk, a few shared intimacies, some laughs. Perhaps they had simply experienced a moment she’d mistaken for something deeper. It hadn’t lasted beyond a day. That wasn’t love.

  Simon thought it was though. He thought they were good together and she should try harder. But he was crazy. What did Simon Binkle know about love? Sure, he liked to kiss people—especially her, it seemed—but so what?

  Funnily enough, Holmes did know about love. He may have been logical, systematic, and unbelievably smart, but he was sensitive—sometimes a little too sensitive. Amanda wondered if he’d ever had a girlfriend before. They hadn’t touched on the subject. She hoped he hadn’t. She didn’t like the thought of him looking into another girl’s eyes the way he had hers. She wanted to be his first, although he wasn’t strictly hers, was he?

  Despite what Simon had said, he was her first. Nick was never her boyfriend. They’d been close, of course, but he’d never tried to kiss her, which come to think of it puzzled her. If Nick had cultivated their relationship to get inside information about Legatum, why hadn’t he? Wouldn’t that have brought them closer together, made her more likely to divulge confidences? There wasn’t a shy bone in Nick Muffet’s body so what had stopped him? Did he find her that repulsive?

  If Simon were inside her head right now he’d say Nick had been her boyfriend. Otherwise why would she be thinking about kissing him? Was Simon right? Wouldn’t she have known if they were boyfriend and girlfriend? Of course she would. Simon was nuts.

  She was all mixed up. Holmes, Nick, what did it matter? There were so many problems facing Legatum that she didn’t have time for idle speculation. Plus there was Darius’s film to work on. Yikes! She’d forgotten all about Darius. She’d better get to her writing.

  She climbed up to her room, booted her computer, and opened the folder containing the “Sand” project. But before she could go further, Ivy and Nigel ran into the room.

  “Oh boy,” said Ivy. “Just when we thought things couldn’t get any worse.”

  “What is it?” said Amanda.

  “Celerie Wiffle is in Thrillkill’s office,” said Ivy. “She’s furious about Mavis and she’s blaming Thrillkill for making the letters public. She and Editta’s mum have organized a parents’ revolt.”

  27

  Revolting Parents

  Great. Just what they needed, a mob of angry parents. Amanda pictured Frankenstein’s monster and villagers carrying torches. She hoped the parents wouldn’t go as crazy as that.

  Celerie Wiffle wa
s turning out to be as big a thorn in Legatum’s side as her son. Yes, a lot of bad things had happened to her, but she should be taking constructive action, not distracting Thrillkill from looking for David, Editta, and Wink’s murderer. Of course no one knew why Wink had kept Mavis’s letters, so Celerie’s hysteria was somewhat understandable. Surely he couldn’t still have loved her. Ugh. What a disgusting thought. That really would have pushed David over the edge.

  As if the disappearances and the murder weren’t bad enough, some of the parents were now getting wind of the fact that the Bible was gone. Although most of them hadn’t known of its existence in the first place, they had plenty to say about Thrillkill’s negligence in allowing it to disappear. Many of them were threatening to withdraw their financial support from the school, and a number of them had begun the process of withdrawing their children. The situation was a disaster.

  Amanda and Ivy decided to go to Thrillkill’s office and see what was happening. When they arrived, there were about ten parents spilling out of the headmaster’s door and they were furious.

  “Did you hear that?” said Amanda.

  “You mean the part about charging Thrillkill with being an accessory to kidnapping?” said Ivy.

  “That and the lynching threat,” said Amanda.

  “This is super serious,” said Ivy. “If the Realists don’t destroy the school, the parents will.”

  Then something even worse than a mob of rioting parents with virtual pitchforks occurred. Lila Lester came clicking down the hall in her high heels, pushed her way past the onlookers, and forced her way into Thrillkill’s office, stopping for half a second to acknowledge her daughter and her daughter’s best friend. Her hair was freshly dyed and her nails polished to a high gloss. She looked radiant.

  “Amanda, Ivy, come with me,” said Lila.

  “Mom, what are you doing here?” said Amanda.

  “Fixing things,” said Lila. “Come on.”

  “I don’t think—”

  Lila snapped her fingers, motioned toward Thrillkill’s office, and gave Amanda a withering look, which fortunately Ivy couldn’t see. Amanda let out a huge sigh, took Ivy by the hand, and followed Lila.

  When they entered Thrillkill’s office they found more angry parents screaming and pounding on the desk. Lila stepped forward, turned that look on each of them, and said, “Shut up.” The room went silent. “Now you all listen to me.

  “Gaston, fellow parents, I have written something I want you to read. Here are copies of my guide to predicting criminal behavior.” She passed a few copies of a book with a red cover to the parents and gave one to Thrillkill. “I’ve updated it to include UK institutions and locations so you’ll find everything you could possibly need. With my tips you should be able to find those awful Moriartys post-haste and return the situation to normal. Except for your husband’s death, Ms. Wiffle, for which I am very sorry.”

  “Who are you?” said Celerie Wiffle. “What do you know about my husband?”

  “I’m Lila Lester and I know that the Moriartys killed him. Now I want you to understand that things will be all right in the end. If we can just get through this rough period—”

  “I’ve never heard such rubbish in all my life,” said Andalusia Sweetgum. “You don’t recover kidnapped children by reading a book.”

  A look of astonishment came over Lila’s face. “Of course you do if it’s mine,” she said. “If you’d read any of my books you’d know I’m an expert.”

  The parents looked at each other as if to say “Who let her out of the asylum?”

  “I can see that you good people are skeptical,” said Lila. “Let me assure you that Scotland Yard has a copy of my book and they’re on the Moriartys’ trail as we speak.”

  “You’re loony,” said a woman in a green Chanel suit.

  “Certifiable,” said a man in a tan corduroy jacket.

  “Ha!” said Lila. “You skeptics always want proof. Very well. Take a look at this.”

  She threw a newspaper clipping onto Thrillkill’s desk. The headline read, “Acclaimed Novelist Helps Police Solve Cases.” It was from the Calabasas Rancho and had run on page 12. There was no date.

  “Mom,” said Amanda.

  “Now, darling, I know I forgot to tell you about the article, but you can read it when we’re finished here,” said Lila.

  “That wasn’t what—” said Amanda.

  “Mrs. Lester,” said Thrillkill. “I appreciate your concern and your enthusiasm. Thank you for the books and the article. I must tell you, however, that the staff and administration at Legatum have come up with a plan to find the missing children and bring Wink Wiffle’s murderer to justice. I was just trying to explain—”

  “Nonsense,” said Lila. “You don’t need a plan. It’s all here in my book.”

  “Mom, would you just let him talk?” said Amanda.

  “He doesn’t need to, dear,” said Lila, holding up a copy of the book. “It’s in here.”

  Ivy was giggling but Lila didn’t notice. She stopped at once, however, when Mrs. Wiffle said, “I don’t know who you are or what your problem is, but if you don’t get out of here at once I will extend my lawsuit against this school to include you. Good day, madam.”

  “You have no idea who you’re talking to,” said Lila.

  “Yes I do,” said Celerie. “An escapee from Bedlam. Now if you don’t get out of this office in two seconds I’ll throw you out myself.”

  Lila smiled at Celerie and stood her ground. This behavior so enraged Wink’s widow that she lunged for the author and pulled her bottle-blonde hair. Lila screamed and bashed Celerie with her extremely large designer purse, which managed to sideswipe several of the other parents before it made contact. This unfortunate move led to a general mayhem in which people were falling on top of each other, punching each other’s chins, and vowing to get one or the other of Thrillkill, Lila, Blixus Moriarty, and the entire Legatum staff. By the time everyone had stopped flailing, brushed themselves off, and retrieved missing shoes, earrings, and wallets, there were so many threats of lawsuits and other punishments flying around that the place looked like a soccer stadium after a Manchester United game. Fortunately, during all the chaos Thrillkill had managed to contact Professors Buck, Snool, and Peaksribbon, who had arrived too late to break up the fight but were now standing guard in case something else happened, and the group was eyeing them warily.

  “I want you to know,” said Lila when the noise had died down, “that I do have a guide to conflict resolution available for all who would like to read it. Unfortunately I don’t have copies with me. However, if you’ll just write your mailing address on this—”

  While Lila was speaking, Andalusia Sweetgum pulled a doll out of her purse, absently grabbed a few pins from who-knew-where, and began to stick them into the effigy. As she did so she muttered under her breath. Then, suddenly, she stopped in mid thrust, looked down at the figure, and said, “Not you.” She’d been sticking pins into a monkey doll. She threw the monkey aside angrily and felt inside her purse. After a moment her hand emerged clutching an effigy of a woman with blonde hair. This gesture did not faze Lila in the least, but rather inspired her to ooh and ah and ask Ms. Sweetgum if she could interview her for a book she was thinking of writing. If the three teachers hadn’t been there, Ms. Sweetgum would have stuck a pin directly into her.

  As the parents were dispersing, Lila took Amanda aside and said, “That Wiffle woman is crazy. No wonder her son is such a mess.”

  “She’s grieving, Mom,” said Amanda.

  “I know, but she doesn’t have to take it out on me. Now darling, I want you to keep me informed. I know my guide will help. I’d go out and find those crooks myself but I have a deadline. I’m sure it won’t take the school long to track down Blixus Moriarty if they pay special attention to pages 89 through 103. Do point that out to them, won’t you?”

  Amanda sighed. There was no point arguing with her mother. She was sure Thrillkill would do what h
e liked anyway.

  “Yes, Mom. I will,” she said as if she really meant it. “I’m sure they feel lucky to have your help.”

  “Indeed they should,” said Lila. “Oh, while I have you, I just wanted to tell you that I’ve started dating.”

  This news practically knocked Amanda on her butt. She couldn’t picture her parents with other people and didn’t want to. “Oh?” she managed to squeak out.

  “You’ll like him,” said Lila. “His name is Banting Waltz. He’s taken the position your father vacated when he decided to drop out. He’s never lost a case. He’s a good man.”

  Amanda wasn’t so sure that just because her mother’s new boyfriend had never lost a case he was a good man. In fact, chances were that he was quite the opposite, however she’d try to keep an open mind. Still, the thought of her mother dating was weird. She wondered if her dad was too.

  “Sounds great, Mom,” she said. Choke. “I can’t wait to meet him.”

  “Oh, you will, darling,” said Lila. “And before I forget, here’s a copy of my new book. You’re going to love it.”

  28

  The Silver Coin

  Amanda wasn’t sure what might come out of the parents’ meeting, if you could call it that, but so many other things were happening that she didn’t have time to speculate. For one thing, Professor Also had stopped by the common room and told them that the silver coin had been assessed, and it was a doozy.

  The numismatist had declared it the rarest thing he’d ever seen. Subject to more testing, he had pronounced the coin a relic from the age of Camelot, most probably depicting King Arthur himself. This news had sent Thrillkill and the teachers into such a tizzy that they’d forgot they were feuding and rushed off to examine the artifact every which way.

  Professor Also was so excited she could hardly speak. “The thing is—the thing is,” she said, “normally—well, never—we don’t—well, I don’t, and I know the school doesn’t—except one time when Professor Pickle vouched for the art history expert—well, it wasn’t exactly art history, more current art. Well, not even that. It wasn’t art—crafts really. Anyway, we don’t accept these assessments at face value, or book value, or whatever it’s called, I forget, could it be par value? That doesn’t sound right. Of course we’re skeptical. We’re detectives. But Fashly Terrapin is the foremost expert—oh, yes, we were lucky to get him—he’s the top numismatist in the world, except for that fellow in Shanghai. At any rate, he said this is definitely—well, probably—no, absolutely—a coin from King Arthur’s time, can you imagine?”