Amanda Lester, Detective Box Set

by Paula Berinstein

  She pondered this for a moment. He was so extraordinary. He must have some family. Suddenly she was so curious she couldn’t stand it. “What are they like?”

  “What are who like?” he said.

  “Your family.”

  “Nothing special. They don’t really practice the detective thing. They’re show business people. They send me here because they want me to have a better life than theirs.” He took out another packet of crackers and offered it to her.

  She refused. “You’re kidding. But this is wonderful.”

  “Why? They’re just small-time. Little parts, a bit of directing, crew gigs, some writing. Honestly, you shouldn’t get excited.”

  “But I am. This is so cool. I want to meet them.”

  “Really, they’re pretty ordinary.”

  “But they’re in show business. How can they be ordinary? Film or stage?” She was talking faster now.

  “Both. Mostly stage.”

  “Royal Shakespeare?”

  “No. Just regional work, but yes, some Shakespeare. They’re nice people. Enthusiastic, but they’ve never had much luck. Sometimes they get on my nerves and sometimes things are good. Nothing to write home about.” He bit into a cracker. The crumbs spilled onto his jacket and he brushed them away.

  “I don’t believe you. Promise me I can meet them someday,” she said.

  “All right, I promise. We’ll all go out for a curry.”

  “I can’t wait.”

  “I’m glad you’re excited. You look smashing that way,” he said.

  “Er, thanks.” She was feeling very close to him right now but the embarrassment was returning. Which was it going to be, good feelings or bad? She felt like a yoyo. Still, she had to bring up the weird clues they’d found or the film wouldn’t work.

  “Um, look, there’s something else I want to tell you about.”

  He looked into her eyes and smiled. “What’s that?”

  “I think I might have found something.”

  “You mean a clue?” he said.

  “I’m not sure. It might be nothing.”

  He balled up the empty cellophane packet and stuck it in his pocket. “I’ll bet it’s not nothing.”

  “Don’t be too sure. It’s kind of silly,” she said.

  “Tell me. We’ll put it in the film.”

  Amanda proceeded to tell Nick about the pink substance she’d found near the garage, the blood Simon had claimed to see, the glinting, and the shadowy figure she’d noticed when she was walking Nigel. She could almost see the wheels turning in his mind as he listened.

  “Never doubt yourself,” he said. “These clues have to mean something.”

  “I don’t know . . .”

  “We gather the evidence—everything. We make no judgments. Everything goes into the mix, no matter how trivial it seems.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “This is perfect,” he said. “I know. Why don’t we set up a place in the film called Evidence Locker? We’ll put all these clues there. Perhaps we could even make the locker a Greek chorus.”

  A Greek chorus! No one she knew had ever heard of a Greek chorus, that group of actors in old plays that commented on the action to give the audience background and perspective. But Nick had. Oh, he was wonderful.

  “We’ll need a script,” she said. “Well, a plan, since we won’t know how the story will go yet. I’ll start working on that after I finish my paper on butlers.”

  “Good,” he said. “I’ll do a little location scouting and we can meet up after dinner.”

  “Great! See you then.”

  “You know, Amanda,” he said as they were leaving, “we should come up with a name for our production company. Holmes Productions?” He gave her a wink.

  She took a quick step toward him and started to chase him. “I’m going to get you, Nick Muffet,” she screamed, mock attacking him as the two of them collapsed laughing.

  But Amanda wasn’t able to get to her script or her paper on butlers because she found another clue. As she was heading back to her room, she thought she’d try to sneak back into the pantry to see if the pink substance was still there. When she got to the kitchen no one was around, so she carefully opened the door and stepped in as quietly as she could. When she was halfway to the pantry she heard the door open and ducked behind the center island. The cook had entered the room and was punching her phone. Amanda crouched down as low as she could and held her breath.

  “Don’t tell me what to do,” the cook whispered hoarsely. “I’ve got it under control. Yes, I know what will happen if—” She listened for a moment and then said, “I don’t know anything about that. That’s up to you.” Another pause. “I don’t bloody know, do I? You figure it out.”

  Suddenly the woman threw her phone down and made a beeline for the pantry. Amanda couldn’t see inside, but she could hear a lot of banging and rustling. After about five minutes, during which her entire lower body went all tingly, she heard the cook emerge. She looked up and saw that the woman was pushing a cart piled high with bags of sugar and heading for the utility exit. It seemed odd. Why would she be taking full bags out the door? On the other hand, what was the big deal? She was probably catering a special event or something. Amanda wondered if she was getting carried away with the whole cloak and dagger thing. This detective business was making her paranoid.

  But her curiosity was piqued, so she snuck back out of the kitchen and went out a side door to see if she could tell where the cook was going. Sure enough the woman was headed toward the extreme north side of the campus. There wasn’t anything much there though: the backs of the kitchen, dining room, Father Brown House common room, and the chapel/auditorium where the orientation had been held. What could she possibly want there?

  Amanda realized she should be documenting this activity for her film, so she grabbed her camera and made to record the cook’s actions. She didn’t get much footage, though, because by the time she’d thought to turn on her camera the cook had disappeared.

  With the cook on the move, the next logical step in Amanda’s investigation, because that was what it was now, was to follow her. She had to find out what was going on. Now she was caught though. She couldn’t afford to cut another class, but this might be the only opportunity she’d have to follow the sugar.

  Simon! He wasn’t going to class now because of his suspension, and he was still on campus. Maybe he could follow the woman.

  Amanda punched her phone and wrote out a text: “Urgent. Meet me outside kitchen utility door. NOW.”

  The answer came at once: “OMW.”

  Good old Simon. He could be annoying sometimes, but she’d underestimated him. He was smart, motivated, creative, and dependable. If he was thrown out of school, she didn’t know what she’d do.

  Was there any possibility that the explosion and the cook’s furtive actions were related? It was likely. The teachers had devised the class project and the cook more or less worked for them. But what was the connection? An exploded garage and some stolen sugar? And what was that pink substance, and the blood Simon had seen? It was all quite puzzling.

  When Simon arrived she didn’t have time to explain. “Just follow the cook and see where she takes the sugar,” she said.

  “I take it this is part of the class project?” he said, trying to see where the cook had gone.

  “Yes. Please. I can’t afford to cut another class.”

  “Of course,” he said, and was off like a shot.

  If only he would lose that stupid fedora.

  15

  The Garage

  “I lost her,” said Simon when Amanda saw him the next day.

  “Sorry, what?” said Amanda, thinking she hadn’t heard right. She’d been hoping to find out where the cook was making off to. Knowing what she was up to, or at least where she was going, would have helped solve the mystery of the pink powder, the blood, and the other weird things they’d seen, if there was indeed a real mystery there.

  “
Lost the cook. So sorry,” he said glumly. “I saw her go down the north side of the building and turn left, but she disappeared before I could see where she went. Dashed weird.”

  “It’s not your fault,” she said. “Thanks for trying.”

  “No problemo. I can try again.”

  “Of course.” If the cook ever did anything suspicious again, but if she was involved in something weird, even nefarious, which was probably going way too far, no doubt she would.

  “I’m going to keep an eye out,” he said.

  “How are you holding up?” she asked. It had only been a day since Simon’s suspension, but she could see that it was already hard on him, especially since his status was so uncertain.

  “I’m okay. It’s not a lot of fun eating in my room, but they didn’t take my computer away. I’ve been playing games. Want to play with me?”

  “Sure. I can manage a quick game or two. It will go by fast, though.” The thought of playing social games with Simon quite buoyed her spirits.

  “Yes, I’m sure it will. I’ve got about a dozen games going at the same time. Barely notice the time that way.” His face belied his words. He was miserable and he wasn’t fooling anyone.

  When Amanda met up with Nick in the common room, she told him what she’d seen and explained that Simon hadn’t been able to find the cook. The room had been set up to resemble an ocean liner, complete with steamer trunks, wooden deck chairs in a variety of bright colors, and a shuffleboard court. She was starting to wonder about the décor gremlins’ taste, but since the point of the constant change was to help the students hone their powers of observation, she supposed whatever they did served its purpose, even if it could be aesthetically questionable.

  “That’s strange,” Nick said. “Do you suppose there’s some kind of surprise planned? Some half-term party or something?” He was sitting on the largest trunk, which sported a huge Bahamas sticker.

  “I suppose there could be,” she said, selecting a smaller one with a patch from Singapore. “Ouch! This thing bit me. Wait a minute. I just realized something.”

  “What’s that?” he said, crossing his legs and assuming a lotus pose.

  “The cook is getting rid of sugar, right? And the desserts have been tasting bland.”

  “I hadn’t noticed.”

  “You’re not a sugar freak. I am, and I’ve noticed that they taste pretty awful, so I haven’t been eating them much.”

  “I can tell,” he said. “You look thinner.”

  She stopped just as she was about to say that he was lucky he didn’t like sweets and blurted out, “I do?”

  “Yes. You’re looking quite svelte,” he said, eyeing her up and down.

  He was putting her on, but actually, she had noticed that her clothes were a bit looser. OMG!

  “Er, thank you. But let’s think about this. No sugar, bland desserts. This third-year student, Olivia—I talked to her at dinner one night—tells me that this isn’t the norm around here. Not that school food is ever exactly gourmet, but she said that the desserts used to be much sweeter.”

  “Really?” he said. “Now that’s useful information.”

  “Yes. So that means the cook has recently started doing something with the sugar.” Then something dawned on her. “Wait a minute. Do you think this is the class project?”

  “I don’t see how,” he said. “Everyone is convinced that the explosion is the project.” He got up and picked up a shuffleboard paddle.

  “It does seem obvious, doesn’t it? But what if they’re testing us to see if we can tell the difference between a real and a fake project, or, OMG! What if the sugar is the project and the explosion was real?”

  He thought for a few seconds. “I don’t know, Amanda, but we should document this for the film.” He placed a disk in front of the paddle and shoved. It was a perfect shot.

  “Yes, of course. I’ll turn on the camera. Do you mind repeating this conversation?” she said.

  He put down the racket. “I’m an actor. We can redo scenes forty or fifty times. Hundreds, if necessary.” There was that grin again. Would there ever come a time when it didn’t melt her?

  “Silly me. My mind is so muddled I’m forgetting obvious things.”

  “It’s happening to all of us. Let’s redo the conversation.” He straightened himself up, swept his hand over his face, and looked like a whole new person.

  When Amanda returned to her room, Ivy and Amphora were agog with news. It seemed that Nigel had found an interesting area of the garage, at least to him, but when Amphora had gone to look there had been nothing there.

  “I could have sworn that was the explosion’s point of origin,” said Amphora. “Although he isn’t trained as an explosive-sniffing dog, so I don’t know why I thought that. I guess it’s because he’s so smart.” She petted Nigel’s head. She seemed to be softening toward him at last.

  “Nigel is never wrong,” said Ivy, beaming. Amanda would have thought her friend was biased about her dog except that he really was the smartest, sweetest dog she’d ever known.

  “He doesn’t have a cold or anything, does he?” said Amanda, feeling the retriever’s nose.

  “No, but I guess his sense of smell could still be a bit off,” said Amphora, looking closely at the nose. “That smoke was pretty thick. And the dust. It’s still bothering me.”

  “I doubt that’s a problem,” said Ivy. “He’s smelling everything else properly. Although my nose is still bothering me too.” All of their noses were looking a bit red.

  “Maybe we just don’t understand how to tell where the point of origin is,” said Amphora.

  “What are you looking for?” said Amanda.

  “It should be the place with the worst damage,” said Ivy. “Maybe with some holes punched in the floor. Don’t you think that’s what would happen?”

  “That sounds right to me,” said Amanda. The Internet had said that, but she wasn’t sure. She wished she’d heard back from Darius Plover, although she knew it often took him a month to reply, and expecting an answer after a day or two was unrealistic.

  “Maybe we should forget about the point of origin and try something else,” said Ivy.

  She had a point. Amanda had explored the garage but she’d neglected the areas around it. She made a mental note to add peripheral exploration to her plan.

  When Amphora had left, Amanda took her phone out and opened her mail. Nothing from Darius Plover. Big duh. What was she expecting anyway? She should be grateful for the messages she’d received. He was a busy man with no time for twelve-year-old fans.

  The next day, the two most important tasks on Amanda’s agenda were to find out where the sugar had gone and explore the wider area around the garage. Once again she enlisted Simon’s help in shadowing the cook, and she and Nick decided to explore the blast area.

  The garage was surrounded by gravel in the front and lawn and shrubs on the other sides. Inside, in addition to the parking area, the school had built an auto shop and a storage area. Amanda and Nick started with the outside, then worked their way inward, crunching broken glass and other debris in the process.

  “This is why we keep shoes under the bed back home,” said Amanda, eyeing all the junk on the garage floor. “If there’s an earthquake in the middle of the night, you need something to put on your feet.”

  “That sounds dreadful! Have you been in an earthquake?” said Nick.

  “No. My parents have, though, and they told me about it in excruciating detail.”

  She thought about what they’d said about the 1994 Northridge quake. A huge jolt knocking everything off shelves, opening cupboards, and spilling the contents. Jars and bottles had broken all over the kitchen, spewing everything from ketchup to pickles all over the floor and mixing it with shards of glass. They said it had taken them an entire day to clean just that room and they’d cut themselves many times. The situation hadn’t been helped by the fact that the electricity, gas, and water had all been shut off. Amanda shudde
red just thinking about it.

  “I’m glad you’re away from there,” said Nick, stepping around a piece of wood with nails sticking out. “It sounds unsafe.”

  “Right. Like this is so safe.”

  “I suppose you’re right. But you have a choice here, don’t you?”

  Not really. Not when your parents make you go to the school and the only alternative is . . . what was it, anyway? Being declared incorrigible and sent to reform school? Running away and living on the street? Going into foster care? Amanda had no idea.

  She looked down. She didn’t think it was a good idea to destroy evidence this way, but what else were they supposed to do? If they cleaned up the glass they’d be disturbing the scene. Of course by walking on it they were also affecting it. It seemed that there was no satisfactory option. If only there were a way to build a walkway above the ground, but that was a ridiculous idea. Or was it?

  “We shouldn’t be walking on this stuff, you know,” she said, eyeing a particularly nasty piece of jagged glass. “We’re disturbing the evidence.”

  “I know, but there’s nothing we can do. Just try to step as carefully as possible,” said Nick.

  “What if we were to build a walkway above the ground so we could look but not touch?” She motioned as if pointing out an invisible platform.

  “Ha ha! Great idea. Exactly how do you propose to do that?”

  “I don’t know. But it seems like there should be a way.”

  “Fly?”

  “Very funny.” She looked down and to the left, reaching into the right side of her brain for an answer, then glancing at Nick. “We could build a scaffold out of chairs.”

  “That’s a lot of chairs,” he said.

  “Wait. I’ve got an idea. What about placing a bunch of ladders end to end?” She motioned to where the ladders might go.

  “Don’t you think the rungs and the frames will crush things?” he said.

  “Yes, they will, but some of the evidence will be preserved better than if we walk on it.”