Amanda Lester, Detective Box Set

by Paula Berinstein

  Before her next class she made a little foray to the same ladies’ she’d used the previous evening. This time Ivy and Nigel were with her. She opened the stall she’d looked at before, and again she could swear there was something odd about the back wall. It had a funny color to it in one spot, as if something had bled over from the other side. She couldn’t ask Ivy to take a look, obviously. Maybe she could get Amphora to help later.

  Suddenly Ivy said, “Something isn’t right in here.” She walked around and listened in various places.

  “What do you mean?” said Amanda, who couldn’t hear anything.

  “I mean something is off,” said Ivy.

  “Off like what?” Amanda craned her ears but still didn’t hear anything unusual.

  “I hear something. So does Nigel.” Sure enough Nigel’s ears were cocked and he was staring at the stall wall. Amanda hadn’t mentioned anything about the stall, so it was odd that the dog had found the exact same spot she’d thought looked weird.

  “What do you hear?” she said.

  “It sounds like scraping. From over there.” Ivy gestured toward the stall wall.

  Amanda put her head to the wall and listened. “I don’t hear anything.”

  “Well, I do, and Nigel does. There has to be something there. No, wait. It stopped.”

  Amanda listened again. No difference.

  “No, it’s gone,” said Ivy. Nigel obviously thought so too because he was looking at Amanda with his tongue hanging out.

  “You know, I thought I saw something there last night but I don’t see anything now.”

  “Probably nothing,” said Ivy. “But we can keep an eye on it, so to speak.” She broke into one of her grins.

  “Yes,” said Amanda. “Probably nothing.”

  Even if there had been something, so what? There was something about being around all these detectives that made you paranoid. It wasn’t like her and she wished it would stop.

  Amanda was sitting in her third class, Observation and Research, waiting for the teacher to arrive, when a boy turned to her and said, “What kinds of criminals do you think we’ll meet? I’m hoping for a lot of murderers.”

  Criminals! Of course. She knew all about criminals. Her father, her mother, Uncle Randy, and a myriad of her parents’ friends were intimately involved with criminals every day. And yet she’d forgotten all about them, even though Professor Thrillkill had mentioned them just the day before. Not that she knew any personally. Her parents would never let her anywhere near a criminal. But that was why she was there, wasn’t it? How could you be a detective without coming into contact with criminals?

  Actually, she didn’t much care for the idea. It wasn’t just her antipathy to detectives. She was actually afraid of criminals. Maybe embezzlers weren’t so bad, or counterfeiters, but violent criminals? They scared her half to death. She felt a chill.

  Act! “I don’t really have a favorite kind,” she said. “I was hoping to learn about them.” Learn about them? That was the last thing she wanted to do. She wasn’t even sure she wanted to make films about them. Too close to home.

  “Me too,” said the boy. “I can’t wait! I don’t think we get to take Profiling for a while, though. Get inside their minds and all that. I think they want us to have some experience with evidence and observation first.”

  Amanda had no idea what classes she’d take when. She was just taking the school as it came. They told her which class to go to and she did. End of story.

  But now the boy had got her thinking. Would they really meet criminals? If so, how? Would they be dangerous? Could she be killed? Surely the school wouldn’t allow that. Her father would sue the pants off of them.

  And then a sobering thought hit her. Could there be criminals out there targeting the detectives? Targeting the school? Targeting her? Wouldn’t Thrillkill have told them if that were the case?

  This was not a discussion she was comfortable having, even while acting. She tuned out and let the boy talk, which he was quite happy to do. But when the teacher arrived, she was still thinking about those criminals, and she couldn’t get them out of her mind all day.

  4

  Mysterious Shapes

  When she returned to her room in the evening, Amanda was beat. She was still jetlagged, and the day had been so full that all she wanted to do was fall into bed. Of course there had been no time to consider her brilliant idea, the one she’d lit upon outside the ice cream shop. At this rate there never would be but she was too tired to fret.

  The other girls hadn’t returned yet, so tired as she was she decided to check her email. She grabbed her phone and scanned her inbox. There it was, another message from Darius Plover. She’d forgotten all about him! This wasn’t good. She was losing her skills and now she was losing her passion. Sure, Ivy and Amphora were nice, the goofy boy was kind of funny, and Nick was cool, but she still didn’t want to be here. The school was derailing her from her plans and OMG, the festival! She’d forgotten about that too.

  She couldn’t let this happen. She had to enter that competition. She absolutely could not wait until next year, and oh no again, the film program she’d applied to! The letter had probably gotten lost in the move and now she’d never be admitted. Competition to get in was fierce, and she’d probably lost her one chance.

  But she couldn’t think about that now. She read the email greedily.

  Dear Miss Lester,

  What a pleasure it is to hear from you again.

  I sense a note of frustration in your email, and I want to put your mind at rest. Some of the most creative and respected filmmakers come from difficult backgrounds. Do not worry. Keep working on your ideas and your techniques, practice with the most rudimentary equipment and supplies if you must, but persevere. It may not seem like it now, but you will get through whatever bumps you’re having with your parents and you will succeed.

  As always, I’m happy to hear from you anytime.

  Sincerely,

  Darius Plover.

  Amanda put her phone away and stared out the icy window. Could the director be right? She hadn’t thought of her problem quite that way before. Up to now it had been all or nothing. But maybe she could slip in enough filmmaking to keep her career on track. Tomorrow she’d make a list of priorities. But before she could think about that or anything else, she had fallen asleep on top of her covers.

  When Amanda woke in the morning she found herself warm and toasty under a layer of quilts. Nigel was lying on Ivy’s bed and the other girls were still asleep. She looked at the clock.

  “Eeeeeeeek!” she yelled. “It’s 7:45. We’re late!”

  The two girls woke with a start and Nigel jumped off the bed. “Eeeeeeeeeee,” they all yelled, running around trying to get dressed and down to breakfast as fast as they could. Classes started at 8:00 so they’d have to inhale their food. But when they got there the dining room was closed, and a stern-looking cook, who was holding a large wooden spoon, was shaking her head.

  “Ya missed it,” she said.

  “But we’re so hungry,” said Amphora. “Do you think we might get a roll at least?”

  “Nope,” said the cook, a tall, angular woman with gray hair. She looked a bit like the wicked witch of the west. Amanda wondered where her winged monkeys were. “Yer too late, and it isn’t permitted. Get off to yer class now, and don’t let this happen again.”

  The girls grabbed the dog and started to run to their first class, when Ivy stopped. “I have to take Nigel out.”

  “Aaaaah,” said Amphora. “We’re already late. They’ll yell at you.”

  “Can’t be helped,” said Ivy, rubbing the dog’s head. “He’s a dog. He has his needs.”

  “I’ll take him out,” said Amanda, grabbing hold of Nigel’s lead. “You go on to class.”

  “Thank you, Amanda, but he’s my responsibility,” said Ivy, pulling the lead back.

  “It’s okay. I love dogs,” Amanda said, reaching for the lead again, but missing. Nigel kept
looking from one girl to the other as if to say, “Make up your minds already.” “We’ll be fine. Catch you in a few.”

  Ivy reluctantly handed the lead over to Amanda and thanked her profusely. Then she and Amphora ran down the hall, the tall girl guiding her as best she could.

  Amanda headed for the closest outside door. Even the interior of the building was freezing. She wasn’t sure she’d ever get used to the cold, especially because she’d forgotten to bring her heavy jacket with her. But there was nothing for it. Nigel had to be walked and that was that.

  She hunched herself up, opened the door, and stepped out. It was co-co-cold and smelled shiny and clear, if colors, or the lack of them, could be said to have smells. She figured she’d better find an unobtrusive place to take the retriever. Even though guide dogs were allowed, she had no idea what the rules were for taking care of them and she didn’t want to risk getting into trouble.

  She headed for a stand of trees that bordered the vast lawn. Ice dotted the ground, and despite her lack of experience with cold weather she knew to avoid it. Ice had formed on the sidewalk at home once, and she’d slipped and wrenched her neck. Never again. Thank goodness Nigel was well behaved. He didn’t pull, explore, or cause trouble in any way. He seemed to sense what she wanted and accompanied her docilely.

  If she thought about it, which was hard to do when you were shivering, it really was a lovely scene. Maybe she could make something of it. She’d have to sketch out some views and see. There was a sparkle to the air from the ice crystals. The muted burnt red of the brick, the ancient deep green of the firs, even the stark branches that spread out like lace—hey, what was that? There was a flash in the distance, as if someone were signaling with a mirror. She had done that at camp one year and had become quite good at communicating by flash. She peered off into the direction the light had come from but saw nothing more.

  When Nigel had finished doing his business she said, “Come on, Nigel. Let’s hurry!” The dog looked at her as if he understood and turned back toward the school. But before they had advanced more than a few paces the flash came again, this time from the north side of the campus. Amanda scanned the view and saw a dark shape off in the distance near the woods, running. It seemed an odd thing to do when there was so much ice. You could fall and hit your head. Or not. Maybe these English people knew how to cope with it. One more thing she’d have to learn. She continued to search but the shape and the light were gone, so she went back to the building and made her way to the crime lab.

  When Amanda and Nigel entered the lab, the teacher, Professor Stegelmeyer, gave her the dirtiest of looks and said, “Miss Lester, I presume?” He had a buzz cut that made him look like a marine and a manner to match.

  “Yes, sir.” This was not going to be good.

  “Do you realize what time it is?” He motioned toward the clock and tapped his foot, as if keeping time to the second hand.

  “Yes, sir. I am so sorry, sir. Nigel needed to go out. It won’t happen again.”

  “No, it won’t, because the next time it happens you will be dismissed from this class. Do you understand?”

  Amanda looked over at Ivy, who for the first time was frowning. “Yes, sir. I’m very sorry, sir.” As if. The dog had needs. What a heartless man Professor Stegelmeyer was.

  Having delivered Nigel, Amanda took the only free seat in the class and found herself sitting next to Nick. He gave her a big grin, pointed to her hands, and rubbed his own together. She looked at him quizzically. He motioned for her to give one of them to him. She shook her head. She didn’t care how cold she was. She wasn’t about to hold hands with a boy in front of a teacher. Nick shrugged as if to say, “Suit yourself.” Then he flashed her another grin and turned toward the front.

  The lab was all about DNA, fingerprints, and chemical analysis—your typical crime scene stuff. Amanda found it all incredibly boring until Professor Stegelmeyer made Nick her lab partner. Nick was the kind of boy who wouldn’t have said two words to her back in L.A., but for some reason he seemed to have taken a shine to her. Maybe he was like that with everybody. She certainly had nothing to offer him. Yes, that must have been it. He was just a friendly guy.

  With almost no preamble they were thrown right into an exercise: dusting and lifting fingerprints. The first step was to create samples. Next to their supplies—fingerprint brushes, black and white powders, goggles, gloves, and tape—were two shiny drinking glasses, two empty soda cans, and two plastic plates. The pair took the materials and made firm prints with various fingers and their thumbs. Fortunately Amanda’s hands had defrosted enough that she could actually wiggle them. Then they slipped on their gloves and proceeded to dust their prints with the black powder. Nick’s came up quickly and beautifully but Amanda’s looked murky and clumped.

  “I can’t do this,” she said, surveying the mess.

  “Sure you can,” said Nick. “Just use a light twirling motion. I think you’re pressing too hard. Try the plate. And think feathery.”

  Amanda carefully dipped the brush into the powder and positioned it over the print. Feathers, feathery, oh so light. She envisioned the scene in her mind’s eye and took a breath. She twirled the brush lightly, just barely touching the print until the ridges came into view clearly. They looked nothing like Nick’s, which were wavy and seemed to undulate. They were actually kind of straight and boring. Figures. He’s got gorgeous fingers and mine are from that moron Lestrade.

  “Brilliant,” said Nick, looking at her fingerprints as if they were the Mona Lisa. “I knew you could do it.”

  “How did you do that?” she said, trying to tell from his prints what he’d done differently.

  “I have my ways.” He winked. “You see, I fancy myself as something of a filmmaker. I watch how things are done and try to use what I see to create art. It helps.” He gave her a mock sheepish look.

  Amanda was aghast. “You’re kidding.”

  “Mais non.”

  She was stunned. If that was the case, what was he doing here? And should she tell him about her own inclinations?

  “I see I’ve shocked you,” he said feigning horror.

  “Not really. I just didn’t think . . .”

  “It doesn’t compute, does it? Here we are at a school for detectives and I’m telling you I want to be a filmmaker. I suppose you wonder what I’m doing here.”

  “Wellll . . .” Maybe his parents were as bad as hers. She didn’t want to get into that.

  “Of course, my family. Isn’t that why we’re all here? But also, my personal philosophy is that in order to make great films, you need as much experience in as many areas as you can get.”

  “That makes sense,” said Amanda, though she’d never thought of it that way before. There was so much in her head already that she didn’t see why she needed any more, especially if it took her out of her comfort zone.

  “Do you know what I especially like?” Nick said conspiratorially. He paused a moment for effect. “Acting,” he whispered.

  “Acting?” said Amanda. OMG. He would make the best leading man ever.

  “Yes, acting. It’s immensely challenging and satisfying. You get to be anyone you want to be. Have you ever tried it?”

  “I, uh, I—”

  “Didn’t think so. It’s not something most people ever do, although coming from L.A. I thought you might have dabbled.”

  Should she say anything? It was so tempting to be able to share her passion with someone who understood.

  “I suppose I’m talking your ear off. Let’s do the white powder now.” He reached for the second vial.

  “I’m a filmmaker too,” she blurted out.

  Nick broke into a wide grin. “I knew it,” he said. “I can just tell.”

  5

  The Inimitable Simon Binkle

  After crime lab, Amanda felt like she was walking on air. Nick had given her hope, and she had a new friend who shared her interests. It didn’t hurt that he was so good-looking and nice either.<
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  The observation class, which was taught by the oldest, most wrinkled lady she’d ever seen, Professor Sidebotham, proved to be a lot more interesting than she’d expected, despite Professor Also’s warning about buttons and motor oil. It seemed that the school expected its students to observe constantly, and they provided an ever-changing environment that forced them to practice on a daily basis. To this end the administration kept a fulltime staff of two men whose duties included changing the décor of the school continuously and randomly. That meant that paintings, furniture, decorative objects, carpets and rugs, lamps and chandeliers, and dining room fixtures, most of which were stored in various basements underneath the school, were always appearing, disappearing, and changing position. It was the students’ job to be ever vigilant and note not only the current state of the school’s décor, but also past tableaus, for Professor Sidebotham gave pop quizzes in every class, and if your score fell below seventy-five you were forced to go for special tutoring with the old lady, whose senses and brain power appeared to have diminished not one whit with age. What was worst about failing was that the professor’s sharp tongue hadn’t dulled either, and she worked the poor students half to death when they fell behind. Amanda did not want to find herself in that unfortunate situation.

  In addition, Professor Sidebotham informed them that starting next term they would be taking field trips all over the UK. These promised to give the students the opportunity to escape the confines of the school, and everyone looked forward to them, although a couple of the boys remarked that they were afraid the old bat might drop dead from the exertion and then what would they do? Word from the older students was that the trips were virtual parties, although Amanda had a hard time believing that, given Professor Sidebotham’s temperament and the school’s rigid rules. Still, they would provide ample filmmaking fodder and she wished they would start right away.