by R. A. Spratt
Even sitting behind the desk in the Headmaster’s office made the Vice Principal nervous. Things got worse when his least favourite student barged in without an appointment, accompanied by her perpetually vague friend.
‘Something is going on here,’ said Friday. ‘You need to take it seriously.’
‘I am, I am,’ said the Vice Principal, his hands visibly shaking as he took a sip of water from a glass. ‘I’ve informed the school council. They are taking it seriously too. They are sending the school legal counsel to advise me. She’s a top lawyer from the city. She’ll know what to do.’
‘Good,’ said Friday. ‘Finally someone is doing something. Will she urge the police to investigate more thoroughly?’
‘She’s not here about that,’ said the Vice Principal.
‘Then why is she here?’ asked Friday.
‘Has she come to try Mrs Marigold’s cooking?’ asked Melanie. ‘Mrs Marigold is better than ever now that’s she’s cooking with real cream again.’
‘No, Ms Writtle is here to help us avoid a lawsuit,’ said the Vice Principal. His whole body spasmed at having to think about such a distressing idea.
‘The Headmaster is suing?’ asked Friday.
‘Not the Headmaster,’ said the Vice Principal, ‘all the other headmasters.’
‘All of them?’ asked Melanie.
‘They all want compensation because of the accident in the swamp,’ said the Vice Principal. ‘Apparently, Dr Wallace has a giardia infection and Mr Novokavic’s doctor says it has brought on early onset Alzheimer’s.’
‘Early onset?’ said Friday. ‘The man is ninety-one! If anything, it’s late onset.’
‘What about the Colonel?’ asked Melanie.
‘He hasn’t made any claims yet,’ said the Vice Principal. ‘But he has been acting very strangely. He accused me of being a Viet Cong spy at breakfast, just because I asked him to pass the ketchup.’
The Vice Principal dabbed the sweat off his brow.
‘And they all want money?’ asked Friday.
‘Hundreds of thousands of dollars,’ said the Vice Principal.
‘Can the school afford that?’ asked Friday.
Melanie laughed. ‘Oh, Friday, you really don’t know much about private schools, do you?’
‘Of course we can,’ said the Vice Principal. ‘The school has millions of dollars in assets and trust funds. But right now, specifically, there is $500,000 cash sitting in the sesquicentenary celebration fund. It is meant to fund the big birthday party and the building of the Sebastian Dowell Memorial Meditation Centre.’
‘What is a meditation centre exactly?’ asked Friday.
‘It will be a purpose-built facility to optimise the teaching of meditation techniques,’ said the Vice Principal.
‘So it will be a big empty room?’ asked Friday.
‘That’s what it looks like on the plans to me,’ confessed the Vice Principal. ‘But I didn’t like to say anything in case somebody yelled at me.’
Now the Vice Principal was dabbing at his eyes.
‘Don’t worry, sir,’ said Melanie. ‘It will all be all right. I’m sure you’ll be able to buy those nasty headmasters off.’
‘The school can’t afford the publicity,’ said the Vice Principal, his voice quavering. He was clearly close to tears. ‘And then there’s Mrs Thompson’s family as well. They’re devastated. And they’re threatening to go to the press. I’m going to discuss with the lawyer whether we should just abandon the sesquicentenary plans and hand all the money over to the headmasters as compensation.’
‘Don’t rush into anything, sir. There’s more to this than meets the eye,’ said Friday, feeling sorry for the Vice Principal. ‘Give me some time to look into it.’
‘Please don’t,’ said the Vice Principal desperately. ‘If you do, you might find something. Then I’ll have to deal with that as well.’
‘I don’t like it,’ said Friday, as they walked away from their meeting with the Vice Principal. ‘Something strange is going on.’
‘This is Highcrest,’ said Melanie. ‘Everything is always strange.’
‘It all comes back to the boat crash,’ said Friday. ‘Either it was an accident …’
‘Which makes it Binky’s fault because he lost control of the boat,’ Melanie pointed out.
‘Or,’ said Friday, ‘it wasn’t an accident. Which means that someone tried to wipe out all five headmasters past and present.’
‘Headmasters do have a knack for making people not like them,’ said Melanie.
‘Or, something entirely different happened,’ said Friday.
They turned around the corner of the science block and stumbled into chaos. Students were rushing away from the dining hall and dodging behind bushes and picnic tables to take cover.
‘What’s going on?’ said Friday. ‘It’s pancake day today. Usually people are running towards the dining hall.’
There was a loud smash of glass as a can of baked beans came flying out through one of the dining hall windows. A rolling pin poked through the newly smashed hole and bashed all the broken shards out of the frame. Then the Colonel’s head popped out.
‘Neon jeoldaelo nal delyeo gal su eobs-eo!’ bellowed the Colonel.
‘What does that mean?’ asked Melanie.
‘I’m pretty sure it’s Korean for “you’ll never take me alive”,’ said Friday. She tried to walk across the quadrangle to get a closer look but a volley of bread rolls started to rain down on her.
‘Get back,’ yelled the Colonel. ‘I’ve got a full arsenal in here and I’m not afraid to use it.’
‘I’m not afraid of bread rolls,’ muttered Friday.
Then several pineapples came flying out the window in her direction.
‘Okay, I am afraid of being hit in the head by a pineapple,’ said Friday. ‘Let’s take cover.’ She and Melanie scurried over to the verandah of the English block, where they found Mrs Marigold sitting on a step and weeping. Mrs Marigold almost never left her kitchen. It was her kingdom. She seemed diminished sitting in the mundane space of the playground.
‘What’s going on?’ asked Friday.
‘The Colonel’s gone mad,’ said Mrs Marigold, wiping her tears with the hem of her apron.
‘He didn’t have far to go,’ said Melanie.
‘He commandeered my kitchen and threw me out,’ said Mrs Marigold.
‘He didn’t literally throw you, did he?’ asked Friday. Mrs Marigold was a big-boned woman and the Colonel was an old man, she doubted he had the lower back strength.
‘He threatened me with my own wok,’ said Mrs Marigold, sobbing again.
‘But why?’ asked Friday.
‘He said he wasn’t going to allow communism to spread across Asia,’ said Mrs Marigold. ‘The buck stopped with him.’
‘Communism?’ said Melanie. ‘Do we still have that? Daddy says the Chinese are more capitalist than the rest of us put together.’
‘The Colonel said he fought in Vietnam,’ said Friday. ‘That was a war against a communist uprising.’
‘Do you think he’s having some sort of flashback?’ asked Melanie.
‘Maybe,’ said Friday. ‘Oh no!’ She had spotted the Vice Principal making his way across the quadrangle.
‘What’s going on? Why aren’t any of you students in the dining hall?’ asked the Vice Principal. ‘I can’t allow anyone to be late for first class.’
Suddenly a large blancmange flew out of the window of the dining hall and hit the Vice Principal in the face.
‘Don’t try any of your jungle warfare tricks on me,’ yelled the Colonel. ‘I fought at the battle of Phuket. I’ve seen it all before!’
‘How dare you!’ yelled the Vice Principal. ‘I’m calling the police.’
The Colonel responded by hitting the Vice Principal on the head with a mango. The Vice Principal turned and ran sobbing back towards the admin building.
‘That’s one of my good mangoes!’ protested Mrs Marigold
. ‘They cost $40 a tray. He can’t waste those.’
‘The Colonel doesn’t need the police,’ said Melanie. ‘He needs medical attention.’
‘But the nearest doctor is twenty minutes away in town,’ said Mrs Marigold.
‘No, Dr Nicole is on campus. She came to check on Dr Wallace this morning. She’s not wildly competent but she’ll do,’ said Friday. ‘You stay here. I’ll go and get her.’
Twenty minutes later, the Colonel was fast asleep and snoring on the linoleum floor of the dining hall. Dr Nicole had given him a large dose of barbiturates to calm him down.
‘It looks like it’s post-traumatic stress disorder,’ diagnosed Dr Nicole.
‘What?’ demanded the Vice Principal. ‘How can he have that? I’m the one who got hit in the head with a mango.’
‘The Vietnam war was decades ago,’ said Melanie. ‘Surely if he was going to get post-traumatic stress disorder he would have gotten it before now.’
‘It can be triggered by a traumatic event,’ said Dr Nicole. ‘Has he suffered any accidents or sudden shocks recently?’
‘He was standing on a jetty when it was hit by a boat and fell into a swamp,’ said Friday.
‘That would do it,’ said Dr Nicole.
‘Should he go to hospital?’ asked the Vice Principal.
‘No, he should stay here. It’s best for him to be somewhere familiar,’ said Dr Nicole. ‘He needs medical care, counselling and rehabilitation. You should consult your insurance company, Vice Principal. There is going to be a big medical bill for this.’
The Vice Principal started shaking. ‘What am I going to do? I don’t know how to cope with all this!’
‘Doctor, perhaps you should take a look at the Vice Principal as well,’ suggested Melanie.
Dr Nicole led the Vice Principal to the corner of the room for a quiet chat.
Friday and Melanie made their way to class. It was geography so they walked very slowly.
‘I don’t like this,’ said Friday.
‘It’s geography,’ said Melanie, ‘no-one likes it. I’m not convinced even Mr Maclean enjoys the subject.’
‘No, all these headmasters having breakdowns,’ said Friday. ‘It too coincidental.’
‘They were all standing on the jetty when it collapsed,’ said Melanie, ‘and they are all old. That’s not a coincidence. That’s just how it happened.’
‘I know,’ said Friday.
‘And old people are fragile,’ said Melanie. ‘I know if my grandmother fell in a swamp she would never let us forget it. One time she got her dress muddy at a polo party and took to her bed for a week as a precautionary measure because she didn’t want to get tuberculosis.’
‘You can’t catch tuberculosis from mud,’ said Friday.
‘When you’re a billionaire heiress no-one argues with you over details,’ said Melanie.
‘There are too many inconsistencies in their stories,’ said Friday. ‘We need more evidence.’
‘How are you going to find that?’ asked Melanie.
‘I’m going to search Dr Wallace’s room,’ said Friday.
Friday let herself into Dr Wallace’s apartment with her own key. Dr Wallace had not given it to her. Friday had made the key herself using the 3D printer in the computer lab. Originally, she had made the key strictly for practical reasons, in case she urgently needed to polish Dr Wallace’s shoes while she was in class or something like that. But it was very useful now. Dr Wallace was taking a short walk in the garden on Dr Nicole’s orders. Friday was going to use this opportunity to search her rooms.
‘Won’t we get in trouble for being in here?’ asked Melanie.
‘I’ll just say I’m returning Dr Wallace’s washing,’ said Friday, dropping a large laundry bag on the floor. ‘That’s why I brought it with me. It’s my cover story.’
‘Oh,’ said Melanie. ‘I thought you brought the bag of clothes in case you needed a disguise. Or in your case, a better outfit.’
‘Look for anything suspicious,’ said Friday.
‘What do you mean by suspicious?’ asked Melanie. ‘From my understanding of the word, the most suspicious thing here is you.’
‘Yes, that’s because I don’t try to hide anything,’ said Friday. ‘Everyone can see me doing odd strange things. What we’re looking for is someone pretending to be normal but secretly doing odd, strange things.’
‘That wasn’t a very helpful explanation,’ said Melanie, ‘but I’m not going to ask any more questions. Your answers just make me more confused.’
Dr Wallace’s rooms consisted of a small sitting room and a bedroom with an ensuite bathroom. There was nothing immediately apparent in the sitting room so Friday walked into the bedroom.
‘It seems rude to go into a teacher’s bedroom,’ said Melanie.
‘This is no time to be prudish,’ said Friday. ‘We’ve got a mystery to solve.’
Friday was looking around the room. Dr Wallace didn’t have many personal items. There was a laundry basket in the corner and a few books on the bedside table. Friday glanced at the titles. There was a book about anatomy, another about nutrition and a travel guide to Vanuatu.
Melanie lay down on the bed.
‘What are you doing?’ asked Friday.
‘I’m not very good at finding clues,’ said Melanie. ‘So I thought I’d have a rest.’
‘You can’t break into someone’s rooms then take a nap!’ said Friday. ‘You’re not Goldilocks.’
‘I’ve never understood that story,’ said Melanie. ‘Why were a family of bears living in a two-storey house? Now there’s a mystery for you.’
Friday went over to the laundry basket and opened the lid. ‘There’s activewear in here!’ said Friday.
‘What?’ asked Melanie.
‘There are sweaty compression tights, a singlet and very smelly socks,’ said Friday. She didn’t have to get close to smell them. The distinctive odour of the workout was evident as soon as she opened the lid. ‘How is Dr Wallace working out if she’s sick?’
‘Exercise isn’t a crime,’ said Melanie. ‘Although perhaps it should be?’
They heard the key in the lock.
‘She’s coming back!’ exclaimed Friday. ‘Quick, out the window!’
Friday opened the window. Melanie had stood up but didn’t look too keen about making such an athletic exit. They heard the door open in the other room.
Friday pointed meaningfully at the open window and glared at Melanie. Melanie shook her head. Friday rolled her eyes and leapt out the window herself, landing on a clump of hydrangeas. As she sat up, Melanie’s foot pressed down on her head.
‘Thanks for that,’ whispered Melanie, as she climbed down over Friday using her as a stepladder. ‘I don’t like jumping.’
Friday quietly pulled the window closed. ‘Let’s get out of here before she spots us,’ she whispered.
‘Does that mean we can take a nap now?’ asked Melanie.
‘We haven’t finished,’ said Friday. ‘We haven’t searched her car yet. Come on!’
‘Oh, look,’ said Melanie, as she followed after Friday. ‘There’s Abotomey hiding behind that statue. Should we wave?’
‘Don’t encourage him,’ said Friday. ‘Hurry, before he has time to follow us.’
Dark storm clouds were gathering in the sky as Friday and Melanie snuck around the back of the social science block and into the teachers’ car park.
The main difference between the teachers’ car park and the student car park was that at Highcrest, the students had much nicer cars. They’d walked past the pristine sports cars, including Binky’s Lotus (Friday was amazed that such a big boy could fit in such a small car) and were now looking around the aging sedans and station wagons.
‘What’s our cover story this time?’ asked Melanie.
‘We’re looking for a lost handball,’ said Friday.
‘Like anyone would believe that either of us had been playing handball,’ said Melanie.
‘
They might believe that some rich kid paid us to find their handball,’ said Friday.
‘Do you even know what a handball looks like?’ asked Melanie.
‘I assume it’s round and bally,’ said Friday. ‘There it is. That’s Dr Wallace’s car.’ Friday pointed out a very old and beaten up Toyota Corolla.
‘How do you know?’ asked Melanie.
‘I file her paperwork,’ said Friday. ‘She got an invoice for car repairs and towing costs last week, and the number plate matches.’
‘I can’t believe she lets you open her mail,’ said Melanie.
‘They say keep your enemies close,’ said Friday.
‘But they don’t say let your enemies go through your private correspondence,’ said Melanie.
‘She probably realises I’d just go through her papers anyway, even if she didn’t get me to open it,’ said Friday.
Friday took out a plastic ruler from her backpack, slid it down the window on the driver’s side door and started to jimmy the lock.
‘Does that actually work?’ asked Melanie.
‘I don’t know,’ said Friday. ‘If it doesn’t I’ve got a coathanger and I’ll try that next. And if that doesn’t work, I’ve got a spark plug. I know that will definitely do the trick.’
‘A spark plug?’ said Melanie.
‘Yes, they’re good for smashing car windows,’ said Friday as she jiggled with the lock.
‘If you’re going to smash the window, surely a brick would do?’ asked Melanie.
‘No, automotive glass is designed to crack but not shatter on impact,’ said Friday. ‘To make it shatter you need to use a specialised tool. Spark plugs are made with an incredibly hard aluminium oxide ceramic, which on impact focuses the energy into a tiny point, shattering the glass.’
The lock clicked and the knob popped up.
‘Excellent! We won’t have to test spark plugs today,’ said Friday, opening the door and crawling in to search. But the glove box and arm rest were completely empty. She tried under the floor mats, behind the shades and even in the ash tray but there was nothing to see.
