Amanda Lester, Detective Box Set

by Paula Berinstein

  “No ransom demand?”

  “No, dear,” he said gently. “But the Met are on the case—”

  “You mean the kidnappers didn’t say not to involve the police?” She jerked her hand away and knocked the headmaster’s hair dryer onto the floor. It made a loud clattering noise. “Oh, sorry.”

  “Yes, they did,” he said, picking it up. It looked a bit battered. “But the Yard is highly experienced in these matters. They’ll bring your father back safe and sound.”

  Amanda thought about the Great Train Robbery. They hadn’t found the loot from that one yet. Or figured out who Jack the Ripper was.

  “With all due respect, Professor,” she said, “I don’t think so. They’re going to take the money and kill him anyway. He has a lot of enemies.” Enemies she’d never wanted to think about. Enemies he’d only hinted at, but every time he’d done so, she’d felt chills. She didn’t even like the word “enemy.” It sounded scary.

  “We all have enemies,” he said. “Many of these criminals aren’t as tough as they seem. They talk and act like big shots, but inside they’re just as scared as you and I. They don’t want to go to jail.”

  As scared as you and I? Surely Thrillkill wasn’t afraid of anything.

  “Now I know this is difficult, but I want you to go about your business normally. I will keep you informed, but you must try to stay calm. If you need someone to talk to, I suggest you consult Professor Also. She is a very reassuring voice and she knows a lot about these things.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Keep your phone on and I will text you as soon as I receive news. Now go back to your classes.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Amanda was shaking so hard she could barely walk. She didn’t always get along with her father, but now she felt a surge of affection for him. They may have had their problems but he didn’t deserve this.

  At the same time she was outraged. This was his own fault, and her mother’s. They were always shooting off their mouths about how important they were. If her mother hadn’t pushed her father so hard, he wouldn’t have run for district attorney back in L.A., he wouldn’t have made so many enemies, and he’d be safe. And maybe, just maybe, she wouldn’t be stuck here in this miserable school in a freezing cold country where they didn’t know how to cook.

  Anger aside, she was genuinely worried. Her father might be killed! She wondered where he was and whether he was being beaten or worse. Fury and worry overcame her and she started to run.

  The good thing about barreling along the hall was that it emptied her mind. The bad thing was that she ran smack into Professor Stegelmeyer, who was holding a brand new microscope, which slipped out of his hands and shattered on the floor. But before he could say anything, Amanda was running again. She ran out the south door toward the garage, then to the right and all the way around the school, past the gluppy things, past the secret room, past the kitchen and the girls’ dorm. She was so distraught that she didn’t notice whether she was tired.

  At last she went back inside. She entered the east door, sat down in the common room, and stared at the fire. She rarely got to see lit fireplaces back home. The weather was always too hot, except for maybe a week in December. The sight mesmerized and calmed her, and she watched for a very long time.

  Then Ivy and Amphora came in. She didn’t want to talk to them, or anyone. She got up and walked right past them without a word. Amphora called after her, “Amanda, what’s wrong?” and she heard Ivy say, “What’s happening?” She ignored them and continued on toward Administration.

  As soon as she reached Thrillkill’s office she realized she was being irrational. The headmaster had said he would let her know. He wouldn’t be pleased if she started bugging him. Despite his sensitivity to her situation, he was a buttoned up sort of person, and it wouldn’t be a good idea to push him. Maybe she could figure out this thing with her father herself.

  Where should she start? She thought of Darius Plover’s words: if you know why, everything else will follow. But it was obvious why. Her father had lots of enemies—people he’d put in prison, their families, attorneys he’d gone up against, judges—the list was endless. How could she possibly work with that?

  Think! How long had they been in this country? A few weeks. Was it possible he’d already made enemies here? Unlikely. There hadn’t been time. Had someone from the U.S. followed him here? They’d have to hate him very much to go to all that trouble. Had he prosecuted anyone in Los Angeles who had UK ties? She didn’t think so.

  There was too much going on: her father, the explosion, the secret room with all that pink sugar and those awful slimy things, Simon’s suspension, the cook and her weird movements, drops of blood (what were those anyway?), her classes, her movie, Darius Plover, Nick, her neglected friends. She stopped. Aside from Nick and Simon, Amphora, Ivy, and Editta were the first real friends she’d ever had and she was pushing them away. Why was she sabotaging herself like that?

  Maybe Professor Thrillkill was right. Maybe she should go talk to Professor Also. If she didn’t let some of this out she’d explode, just like the garage.

  She walked next door, to Professor Also’s office. Fortunately the teacher was in. When she saw Amanda, she welcomed her warmly and motioned for her to sit in the rolling chair opposite her desk, upon which sat one of those silly-looking troll pens. The teacher’s hair was frizzier than usual, even more so than the troll’s. Amanda thought Thrillkill’s hair dryer might help straighten it out but wasn’t about to make the suggestion.

  “Miss Lester, I am so sorry to hear about your father,” said the professor. Thrillkill must have told her about the kidnapping. How many other people knew?

  “Thank you, Professor.”

  “How can I help?” said the teacher, picking up the pen and finger-brushing the troll’s green hair.

  “I’m not sure. I just thought it might help to talk to someone. I don’t really want to tell my friends because they’ll just hover, but I suppose they already know.”

  Professor Also put the pen down. “Headmaster Thrillkill made it absolutely clear that the faculty is not to discuss this matter with the other students.”

  “They’ll know. We’re talking about detectives.”

  “So we are,” said the teacher. “I’m afraid the cat is probably out of the bag, but I would still like to talk with you.” Amanda noticed a snow globe on the shelf behind the teacher. There was a hobbit house in the middle. Professor Also turned around and grabbed it. “I see you like my globe. It was a gift. Would you like to shake it?” She held out the globe.

  Amanda took the globe and shook. Snow drifted down onto the Shire. “You write detective stories, don’t you?” she blurted out. Where did that come from?

  “Yes,” said Professor Also, pointing to a row of books on her shelf. There must have been at least twenty of them, all with her name on the spine. Amanda hoped they weren’t like Professor Stegelmeyer’s horror novels. “Cozies.”

  “Why?” said Amanda.

  “Why?”

  “Why do you do it?” She shook the globe again, this time turning it upside down.

  “Your mother writes detective stories. Haven’t you discussed this topic with her?”

  “We don’t get along too well.”

  “Ah,” said the teacher. “I see.”

  “That’s part of what’s bothering me,” said Amanda watching the flakes. “I feel guilty because I don’t actually like my parents.” She shook the globe violently. The snowflakes flew around at blizzard speed.

  “And you’re worried that because of that, you’re somehow responsible for what happened to your father,” said Professor Also, eyeing the roiling globe.

  “Yes.”

  “I know exactly what you’re going through.” The teacher placed her elbows on her desk and steepled her fingers.

  “You do?” Amanda set the globe down. The water was still eddying.

  “Yes. You see, I was in somewhat the same boat when I wa
s young.”

  “You were?” said Amanda.

  “Yes.” Professor Also leaned forward conspiratorially. “I didn’t get along with my parents either.”

  “That’s not so unusual. A lot of kids don’t.”

  “No, but what is rather unusual is that when my mother died, I thought it was my fault.”

  “You did?” Amanda wasn’t sure what to say to that. Should she express condolences? It was probably a long time ago. When do you stop saying you’re sorry someone died?

  “Yes. And in a way it was.”

  “No! I don’t believe that.” She really didn’t. Professor Also was way too nice to have done something so awful.

  “It’s true. You see, I told someone something I shouldn’t have, and someone else found out about it, and that indirectly led to my mother’s death.” The teacher picked up the globe and held it upside down, then turned it right side up. The snow came down as a gentle dusting.

  “That’s terrible! Didn’t you feel awful? I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

  “That’s all right, Amanda. No offense taken. I did feel awful, and I’m not ashamed to admit it. The thing is, though, that there’s always more to any story than you think. For a long time I believed I was the reason my mother died, but eventually I discovered that what I’d said had nothing to do with it. And the same is true in your case. How could you have possibly done anything that would have led to your father’s kidnapping?”

  “When you put it like that—”

  “Exactly. It’s not helping the situation to blame yourself. What’s important now is finding your father and getting him home safely.”

  “All right,” said Amanda, twirling her hair around her finger. “Say I accept what you’re telling me and stop blaming myself. How can I find my father?”

  “You don’t trust the police?” The teacher put the globe back on the shelf and turned it around so the hobbit house was facing them.

  “No.”

  “Well, maybe there are things you can do. I would say the first thing is to rack your brain and see if you can think of someone who might have done this.”

  Amanda looked down at her hands. “I’ve done that already. I can’t think of anyone.”

  “Fair enough. In that case I’d say it’s time to investigate.” She smiled as if imparting a wonderful secret.

  “Really?”

  “Yes, really.”

  “Why aren’t you telling me to leave this to the police?”

  “Because I’m a detective,” said the professor. “And so are you.”

  Amanda broke into a huge grin. “Thank you,” she said. “Thank you very much.”

  A minute after Amanda left Professor Also’s office her phone rang. It was her mother. This took the wind out of her newly inflated sails. She was worried about her father but she wasn’t ready to talk to her mother. One thing was certain, though. There was no way Lila could blame her for the kidnapping. Realizing that, and knowing that there was no possible punishment coming, she answered. As much bitterness as there was between the two, at this moment she felt a bond with her parents. She didn’t recall feeling that way since she was little and it unnerved her. But as soon as her mother spoke, she felt the bond go limp. Despite the situation, the woman was still a migraine waiting to happen.

  “Hello, darling,” her mother said. “Your father will be fine. The police will get him back. As you know, we’re acquainted with many of them personally. I’ve given them very specific instructions about how to handle these criminals. Did you know that I’ve compiled a handbook for solving crimes? I’ve been working on it for years. You didn’t know that, did you? It will all be yours someday. Anyway, I’ve taken a couple of pages out of the book and sent them to the Yard, explaining exactly why and how my techniques work. They’re to follow them to the letter.”

  Of course the police weren’t going to listen to her. Where did Lila Lester get these delusions of grandeur? This was a question Amanda had often pondered. Lila was one of five children, with two sisters and two brothers, all older than she was. That made her the baby of her family, which explained why she was spoiled and felt a deep sense of entitlement. Her parents had raised the children to believe that they could do anything, and do it better than anyone else, simply because of who they were, not how smart or talented they were, or because they worked at it. This didn’t mean that the kids sloughed off because they didn’t. In their own way, they were all hard workers, each one dedicated to the life he or she had chosen. And they did excel, but along with that excellence, most of them were insufferable.

  The one exception was Aunt Delilah, a lovely, humble person who had devoted her life to helping others. As a young woman, she had gone into the Peace Corps, serving in Azerbaijan, and after her two-year stint had founded an organization called Scribble and Nibble, which helped poor people learn to read and write so they could get better jobs and feed their families. The group had done a lot of work in Asia and was well thought of. Amanda admired her Aunt Delilah a lot, and she was hoping to raise enough money to make a film about her someday.

  Amanda realized that she was daydreaming and snapped back to attention. Her mother was still rattling on about how everything would be all right because she knew best, and the police knew she knew best, and her father would know that she knew best, and he’d feel confident knowing that the police were following his wife’s methods, and he wouldn’t be panicking and she shouldn’t panic either. Amanda casually wondered how many words her mother had spoken in just this one conversation, then thought of Editta and the way she loved to count things, and thought maybe she should put her on the phone so she could count the words and her mother would never even know that she was no longer there.

  But somehow in all that dense verbiage, Amanda realized that she cared about her father a lot, and despite his tendency to lecture, and his obsession with his work, and his inability to understand her, he was a good person and she missed him. For Herb Lester was a good person. In fact, he was a very good person. In a way, he was like his sister-in-law Delilah, working himself into the ground to make the world a better place for people he didn’t even know. Amanda was surprised to discover that she felt proud of him.

  “Are you all right, darling? Need something? I can send you anything you like. Warm clothes? More of my books to read? Perhaps your friends would enjoy them. You could pass them around. Amanda?”

  Amanda sighed. Her mother would never change, but she couldn’t think about that now. Her father had been kidnapped, strange things were going on at school, and there was a class project to do. Suddenly she felt exhausted. “No, Mom. I’m fine. You take care of yourself, all right?” Then, as a concession to the situation, she added, “Keep in touch.”

  “I will, darling,” said her mother. “I will.”

  21

  Counting Calories

  Investigating her father’s disappearance was a great idea, but Amanda wasn’t sure where to start. She couldn’t ask her mother. She’d known that as soon as she heard her voice. So she’d have to do it on her own, but so far, trying to figure out the why hadn’t led her anywhere. She already knew. Someone her father had put in prison was out now, or had a confederate, and they had taken him. That was the most likely explanation anyway.

  It also explained why there had been no ransom demand. Whoever it was wasn’t interested in money. They just wanted revenge. Which meant they were going to kill him! Maybe they already had.

  But no matter how panicky she felt, there was only one thing she could do: push forward with her investigation. There was no other option. If she just sat and wallowed, she wouldn’t help her father and she’d probably lose her mind.

  So, back to the drawing board. She had to reason this thing out. What sorts of criminals might have taken him? She did know that they had used a banana peel to capture him. That almost implied a sense of humor. Did she know if any of the criminals her dad had locked up had a sense of humor?

  Maybe she was wrong. M
aybe he had been in the UK long enough to anger someone. How would she find out what cases he had worked on since he’d been here? The only thing she could think of was to ask her mother, but that was a terrible idea. She didn’t want to talk to her, and she might not know anyway. She couldn’t go to London and look at his files. She couldn’t even ask anyone else to do that. Was there any other way?

  Oh, great. Now she had an idea but no way to pursue it. Maybe she should try something else, but what? She suddenly wished she’d kept in closer touch with her father. Then she might have something she could use.

  She decided to go to her room and lie down. Her head was hurting and she was suddenly exhausted. Classes were in session, but Thrillkill had implied that she was allowed to take some time for herself as long as it wasn’t too much. Now seemed like as good a time as any.

  When she got to her room, she threw herself down on her bed and started to sob. Her thoughts bombarded her, and with each new one she cried louder and harder until she was all cried out. She lifted her head and turned over onto her side. Suddenly she noticed the book she’d thrown across the room that first day, one of her mother’s novels, lying under Ivy’s dresser. She got up, snaked her arm underneath, and retrieved the book, which was splayed and lying open to page 243. She took it back to her bed and read:

  Jessie counted the empty parking spots, which would tell her how many people were missing. Numbers were significant. They held clues that most people missed. But in her experience they were key for cracking a case.

  There was that counting idea again. Editta had showed them that counting could be useful, even if she was sometimes superstitious about it. Amanda hadn’t realized that before, but maybe Editta and her mother were onto something. It wouldn’t hurt to try. But what should she count?

  Then she remembered that the previous night at dinner Editta had said something important: "When we arrived, there were approximately 1800 calories in our meals in any given twenty-four-hour period. I’ve been watching carefully, and I’d estimate that now there are only 1450. That’s a daily difference of 350 calories, which would come out to a lost pound every ten days, 3600 calories making up a pound." Amanda had lost her patience and had told her to cut it out, but Amphora saw something the others didn’t.