Amanda Lester, Detective Box Set

by Paula Berinstein

  Dear Mr. Plover,

  Thank you so much for your extremely helpful message. I am so sorry for the delay.

  I have another question for you. I hope I’m not taking too much of your time, but your advice has been invaluable, and you are the world’s most respected action film director.

  I am trying to find out about explosions. Don’t worry, I don’t want to create one. I would just like to know how to investigate one. Theoretically, of course. Just one teensy hint would be wonderful.

  I don’t want to pry, but I would love to hear about what you’re working on if you want someone to talk to.

  No, cross that out. What a dumb thing to say. Why would he want to talk to her about his work? Mmmm, how about this?

  I would like to reciprocate for your kindness, so if you ever need—

  Need what? What could she possibly give him that he didn’t have or couldn’t get from someone better?

  Drumming her fingers on the desk, Amanda thought that maybe she should just close the letter and not try to be fancy. Then she got an idea.

  I would like to reciprocate for your kindness, so if you ever need a tween’s perspective on your films, please do not hesitate to ask.

  Thank you very much.

  Sincerely,

  Amanda Lester,

  Filmmaker.

  It wasn’t Shakespeare but it would do. She hoped he’d answer quickly. On the other hand, what was she thinking? She had no reason to expect him to answer at all. She’d better look on the Internet. Everything was so unreliable there, but at least it would be a start. She’d do that as soon as she got out of detention.

  When she got to class she looked over at Nick. What was he thinking about the explosion? He’d gotten the worst of it, getting caught in that smoky garage while the roof was falling down. He was lucky to be thinking at all. She was so glad nothing had happened to him.

  Maybe she could help him. He looked like he needed it. Should she tell him about Darius Plover? Despite the fact that Ivy was almost her best friend at this point, she didn’t want to tell her. It was too personal. But Nick would appreciate it. He was a filmmaker just like her, and an actor to boot. Not that she was trying to impress him. That would be stupid. But a helping hand, that would be okay. He’d been so nice to her. Now she could reciprocate.

  Suddenly she remembered what Ivy had said, that she could hear the difference between one part of the garage and another. What did she mean? Maybe they could get together and go over their findings, except that Amanda had no findings. Well, she’d better get some. It wasn’t fair to take advantage of Ivy like that. She’d contribute, and it would be something big.

  Could there be a connection between the pink powder and the explosion? She didn’t see how, unless the pink powder was the explosive. Maybe there would be more pink powder in the garage. That was certainly something she could look for. Good. She had a plan.

  When she saw Nick again later, he pulled her aside. “You look like you’re onto something,” he said.

  “I believe I might be. Do you have some time to talk?”

  “I’m all yours,” he said, making her blush. “Let’s go to the common room.”

  The Holmes House common room was Amanda’s favorite place to hang out because it had a clear view of the back of the campus, which was beautiful even though some of the trees had no leaves and the lawn was still brown. Now she sank onto a hideous overstuffed green couch with pink flowers on it and curled her legs underneath her. Nick sat opposite in an equally atrocious bright yellow beanbag chair, settling in as if preparing to hear a long story.

  A fire was crackling in the fireplace, and the clock, one of those old-fashioned school clocks that ticks every time the second hand moves, seemed louder than usual. Was it a new one? It sure looked like it. The school’s décor gremlins at work again, Amanda supposed. Sometimes she enjoyed the novelty of the constant change, and sometimes, like now, it was disorienting. There was a mood in the room that Amanda couldn’t describe—a creepy kind of silence that made her feel as if something terrible were about to happen.

  “So,” Nick said. “You found something.”

  “Actually, I didn’t. Not really.”

  “Oh. I thought you said—”

  “It’s not so much that I found something as that I have an appointment to find something.” She certainly wasn’t going to say “a date.”

  “I see,” he said smiling. “An appointment, is it?”

  “You laugh,” she said, “but I’ve got a plan. Don’t detectives always need a plan?”

  “Indeed they do. Let’s hear it.” He looked eager. She liked the fact that he always seemed interested. It was inspiring to be listened to. Suddenly she felt that if she didn’t tell him her secret she’d die.

  “Listen, the plan can wait. I want to tell you something.”

  It was a risk opening up to him. She’d never done that before. Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea.

  “Sure.”

  She hesitated. “This is actually a secret,” she said, lowering her voice. “I’m only telling you because you’re a filmmaker.” She thought that maybe if she led into the topic slowly, there would be a chance to bail if things went south.

  “I’m honored.”

  No such luck. If she didn’t tell him now she’d look like a tease. “I’ve been corresponding with Darius Plover.” She waited for his reaction.

  “The director.” Of course he knew who Darius Plover was. How could he not?

  “Yes.”

  “Brilliant! Tell me.”

  He didn’t think she was an idiot! Or if he did, he was doing a good job of hiding his true feelings.

  “It started when I wrote to ask him about something that had been bothering me for a while. I was worried that my actors would leave.” She felt her face go red. Her moviemaking failures were embarrassing. Maybe she shouldn’t have started this. The ticking of that darn clock was becoming louder.

  “Ha ha!” laughed Nick. “I don’t see how that could happen. You’re wonderful with me.”

  Oh, brother. Her face was red enough already. He probably thought she was in love with him by now.

  “Thank you. Er, just theoretically, of course. I’ve never had a problem like that.” As if. “I just wanted to make contact with someone I admire.” That was sort of true. It was the main reason she’d written to the director in the first place. Asking about actors was just her cover story so she’d have something to say other than, “You’re my hero.”

  “Of course. Say, do you have to be somewhere? You keep looking at the clock.”

  She didn’t realize she had been. It was rude and she reddened more.

  “No, I don’t have to go. It’s just so loud today for some reason. Is it bothering you?”

  “No, but I can do something about it. Let me find something to stand on.” He looked around the room.

  “You don’t have to do that,” she said. “I’m fine. Really.”

  “Not at all,” said Nick, appropriating a wooden chair from the game table and dragging it over to the wall. “I’ll just . . .” He grabbed the clock and placed it down where he could look at it properly. “See?” he said, showing her the back. “There’s this little button. Oops. That didn’t work. It moved the minute hand forward. Hm.”

  “You don’t have to do this. Why don’t you just put it back? I’ll be okay.”

  “No. It’s bothering you and I’m going to do something about it. I just can’t find the control for the second hand.”

  Suddenly he raised the clock above his head, threw it onto the floor, and stomped on it, shattering it into one huge piece and a bunch of smaller ones.

  “What are you doing?” cried Amanda. Now they’d get into trouble again. How many infractions were you allowed before you were expelled?

  “Fixing it,” said Nick.

  “But you’ve broken it! Why did you do that?” She rushed to pick up the pieces.

  “Only way,” he said, helping her.
>
  “But it’s school property,” said Amanda.

  “I’ll get them a new one,” he said.

  “What if they find out?”

  “They’ll never know who did it. Don’t worry. I’ll just get something to clean up this glass with. Stay here. I’ll be right back.”

  Amanda couldn’t believe what she’d just seen. Nick didn’t care one iota if someone caught him. He wasn’t afraid of anyone. He was wonderful. If only she could be like that too.

  He returned within about a minute with a whiskbroom and tray, and in another had cleaned up the mess entirely.

  “Now there’s no clock in here,” Amanda said.

  “No worries. I’ll just take one from some room no one ever goes in until I can get a new one.”

  He was outrageous. She didn’t think she’d ever admired anyone more.

  “So, as we were saying,” Nick said.

  “Wha—?”

  “Darius Plover. You were telling me about how you wrote to him.”

  “Oh, right.” She’d completely forgotten about the director. “Uh, well, anyway, I really didn’t expect an answer, but he wrote back!” Her voice was too loud and she knew it.

  “That’s wonderful! And he said . . .”

  She hesitated, looking around to make sure no one was listening. “Basically he told me what I already knew.”

  “Yes.”

  “That a director shouldn’t micromanage.”

  “Sounds like good advice,” he said.

  “Mmmm. So, of course I wrote back to thank him, and . . .” It was probably best not to mention her question about becoming a filmmaker when your parents are against it. “He wrote back again!”

  “Splendid!”

  “Anyway, now that I have this correspondence going and he’s so nice, I thought maybe I could ask him some things about explosions.”

  “One of the foremost action directors working today. Who better?”

  “That’s what I thought. I only wrote to him today, of course. I don’t even know if he’ll answer. But I thought . . .” She didn’t know if this was bragging or exposing herself. “He’d be a completely different source from the ones everyone else would use.”

  “Absolutely brilliant, Amanda!”

  She felt her face go hot. This amazing boy thought she had done something brilliant. When she got to her room, she’d pinch herself to see if she was really awake. “Thank you. Well, as I said, he may not write back.”

  “But you had nothing to lose by trying.”

  “No, I guess not.”

  “I think you’re an excellent detective. And, I suspect, a genius of a filmmaker.”

  She didn’t even want to speculate on what shade of red her face was now. “I don’t think—”

  “Now don’t be modest. I can tell about things.”

  “You can, can’t you? I get the feeling that you know lots of things no one else here does.” Was she looking all melty? She hoped she wasn’t. Red and gooey. What an image. She wished she were wearing her monster makeup right now. Then he wouldn’t be able to see anything.

  “Oh, I don’t think so. I’m no different to the other students.”

  Of course he was. He wasn’t even the same species. Suddenly Amanda threw caution to the wind.

  “Work with me,” she said, suddenly with no embarrassment whatsoever. She’d be fearless like him. No risk, no gain.

  “Sorry?”

  He hadn’t understood. She could still back out. Should she? No. He wanted her to do this. He’d just said as much. There might never be another chance like this.

  “I’ve got a plan, and I really could use some help.”

  “Sure. What do you have in mind?”

  He said yes! He said yes! Let’s see what he says now. Here comes the part where I could lose him.

  She hesitated. “I want to reenact the crime,” she said quietly.

  His eyes lit up and a grin spread across his face. “Brilliant! I love it.”

  Gosh, he was positive. Amanda grinned so hard her cheeks hurt. “Nicholas Muffet, you and I are going to make a film.”

  14

  Holmes Productions

  The afternoon light was already beginning to fade. Amanda couldn’t believe how early it got dark in England. When she’d mentioned how surprised she was at dinner one night, Editta had told her that in the summer it didn’t get dark until 10:00. Now that sounded like fun.

  “A film, you say?” said Nick without missing a beat. She had stuck her neck out by suggesting that they make a film together, and now he was questioning her? Maybe she wasn’t cut out for this risk-taking business after all. He probably thought she was a complete idiot. She’d done so many stupid things already. How could he think otherwise?

  “Ye-e-e-s,” said Amanda tentatively. “I was, er, thinking that we could reenact the crime and document the whole thing. Then we’ll sift through the evidence, conduct interviews, and do some experiments. When we’re done we should have figured out who set off the explosion and why.”

  “You are a genius!” he said.

  Whoa. She hadn’t been expecting that. “Well, I don’t know about that.” Even if he liked the idea, which she hoped he did, it wasn’t exactly earth-shattering. He was either the most enthusiastic boy in the universe or he was putting her on.

  “No, you are. We can document everything that way, and when we’re done we can hold a performance. What a smashing project.” His smile was very broad, and he looked sincere.

  “I’m glad you like the idea.” She still wasn’t convinced.

  “We'll need a protagonist,” he said, jumping up. “I think it should be you.” He looked down at her with such a fixed gaze that she squirmed.

  “Oh no, I don't think so.” Was this some English custom, being ultra-supportive? That didn’t sound right. She’d heard that English people were reserved. He certainly wasn’t. But then show business people were always different. That was probably it.

  “We'll see the investigation through your eyes. We’ll watch you sift through everything, follow your reasoning. It will be fantastic.”

  “I suppose I could do that.” This was not exactly what she’d meant when she’d suggested making a film. She had to admit that the idea of creating a faux detective story was a good one, though. She’d been thinking of a documentary but this was much better, if only she didn’t have to play a detective.

  “Yes, perfect. And I'll be your Watson.”

  Wrong thing to say. Of course he wasn't to know how she felt about Holmes and Watson. She frowned.

  “Is something wrong?” Nick said, sitting next to her.

  Nuts. Her face was an open book even when it wasn’t red, which she didn’t think it was now because it didn’t feel hot. She’d have to work on that.

  “No, I'm fine.” She tried to smile, but she was sure he could see through her.

  “You look upset. Did I say something?”

  He searched her eyes and she knew she couldn’t hide anything from him no matter how hard she tried. Then he smiled, and his whole face lit up. Whatever he’d seen had intrigued him. If anyone would understand it was Nick Muffet.

  “I need to tell you something,” she said. It's something I'm very sensitive about.”

  “I won't tell,” he said gently.

  “Promise?”

  “Promise.”

  “Okay, good.” She took a deep breath. “You know how I'm descended from G. Lestrade.”

  “Yes.”

  “I hate him. I hate Sherlock Holmes. I hate Dr. Watson.” She watched for a reaction but she couldn’t read his face.

  “Okay,” he said slowly.

  “I was going to say that I hate Professor Moriarty too, but I’d be lying. I actually kind of admire him. He’s the only one who sees Holmes for what he really is and does something about it. Is that a terrible thing to say?”

  “Why would it be terrible?”

  He was still full of surprises. Everyone else would think she’d said so
mething awful. Her parents would disown her.

  “Because, everyone thinks Holmes is so wonderful, and they hate Moriarty because he’s the anti-Holmes, and also because they think he’s evil. But I think Moriarty is much more honest than Holmes. He believes in something. Holmes is just an egotistical, maladjusted drug addict. He’s a coward.”

  Nick burst into laughter. “You don’t have strong opinions, do you?”

  He was laughing when she was dead serious? “What’s so funny?”

  “You are.”

  “I don’t think I’m funny. How would you like people to know you’re descended from an idiot?”

  Nick smiled. “Would it help if I said I agree with you?”

  “What, you think I’m inferior because I’m descended from a moron?” She felt herself becoming defensive.

  “No, that’s not what I mean. I mean I agree that Holmes is overrated.”

  “Oh. Well, good.” She relaxed a bit but kept her guard up.

  “Look, Amanda, we all have things we don’t like about ourselves or our families.” He took a rumpled packet of crackers from his coat pocket and offered her one.

  “Thank you. Hey, these are good,” she said, munching. “I know, but it’s so humiliating and people won’t give it a rest. You weren’t there when that Wiffle kid was beating up on me, but trust me, he was merciless.”

  “He’s a jerk. He’d better stay away from you or he’ll have me to deal with. I know it’s hard but you have to try to ignore it. They do that because they’re in pain.”

  Amanda looked at him in amazement. There was no indication that any of the other kids were in pain, except Simon of course. Even Ivy, who couldn’t see, was always cheerful.

  “My family bugs me sometimes,” he said. “You’ll meet them someday and see what they’re like. We all do the best we can.”