Chapter 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.
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.
After the observation class Amanda met up with Ivy, Amphora, and Nigel in the first-floor hall, which overnight had been hung with medieval tapestries featuring lots of unicorns and white birds. Her new friends were abuzz with news.
“A girl has already been expelled,” said Amphora.
Amanda wasn’t sure if her roommate was horrified or titillated. “What? You’re kidding.”
“No,” said Ivy gravely. “She violated the secrecy oath. They caught her texting something about the school to an outsider.”
“Wow, they don’t mess around,” said Amanda. The teachers at home hadn’t been this strict. Then again the teachers back home hadn’t been very competent.
“Apparently they take it very seriously,” said Amphora. “I suppose they would. If criminals ever found out about us . . .”
Criminals again. It was bad enough being at Legatum without that. Amanda wondered what the others thought about them.
“Do you think we’ll have to deal with any actual criminals?” she said.
“Of course,” said Ivy. “That’s why we’re here, isn’t it?”
“I thought it was all just theory, right? I mean, you learn how to follow clues and figure out who the murderer is, but you don’t actually have to meet them, do you? Doesn’t that come later, when you have a job?” As if she was ever going to get a job as a detective.
“I wouldn’t think so,” said Amphora. “We’re supposed to be getting real experience at fighting crime.”
“Fighting crime?” said Amanda. “We’re not a SWAT team. We’re thinkers.” She’d forgotten that her father was both a thinker and a crime fighter, and he had to meet criminals all the time.
“Sure we’re thinkers,” said Ivy, “but you can’t think in a vacuum.”
“No you can’t,” said a voice. “Although I tried once when my mum was cleaning the house. Well, I didn’t try, actually. I had this hamster and this theory, you see.” It was the goofy guy from the orientation: Simon.
What a doofus. First he butts into a conversation, and then he starts talking about how he torments animals. I don’t like this guy, or his coke-bottle glasses.
“I’m kidding. I thought maybe the mood needed lifting. I would never hurt an animal. Would I, Nigel? You’re beautiful, don’t ya know?”
This guy really is a nutball. He’s worse with people than I am.
“Have you ever met any criminals, whoever you are?” said Amphora.
“Moi? No, not me. Although I did shake hands with my MP once. And I’m Simon. Simon Binkle.” He rocked back on his heels and up onto his toes.
“Right. I remember you. The mystique guy. I’m Amphora and this is Ivy . . . and Amanda. Are you worried about them?”
“Nah. What’s the big deal? They’ll train us, and then we’ll be able to handle anything. Easy peasey.” He was maddening. Didn’t he get anything?
“I don’t know about that,” said Amanda. “I’m not sure it’s that . . . easy peasey.”
“No,” said Ivy. “If it were, the good guys would always win. They would have caught Jack the Ripper, found the money from the Great Train Robbery, put Moriarty behind bars.”
Moriarty? Oh no! Why did she have to mention him? Not Holmes and his overrated cast of characters again. She could receive a thousand emails from Darius Plover and bask in a million smiles from Nick Muffet, and even with those to soften the blow she couldn’t bear the thought of Holmes, who was pretty much the same thing as Moriarty to her, except that there was a certain je ne sais quoi about the criminal mastermind that she found just the tiniest bit exciting.
“I get it, I get it,” said Simon. You’re right, I’m wrong. No worries.” He smiled in a lopsided kind of way that made Amanda want to grab his cheeks and straighten his face.
“So what about the criminals then?” said Amphora. “Aren’t you afraid of serial killers?”
Chalk one up for Amphora.
“Look, this is the way I figure it,” said Simon. “Everything in life is a challenge. You work, you prepare, you do the best you can. You win some, you lose some. There’s no point in dwelling on the bad stuff as long as you’ve done your best.” He patted down a cowlick.
“I agree,” said Ivy. She bent down and petted Nigel, who looked like he was in heaven.
This philosophy had never worked for Amanda but she wasn’t about to argue. Maybe it worked for this boy, but right now she didn’t want to think about any of it.
“Say,” said Simon. “Did you hear that they lost a teacher already?”
“What?” said Amanda. “We heard a girl was expelled but nothing about a teacher. What happened?”
“No one is saying,” said Simon. “But it was very sudden. Dead bodies teacher. Er, pathology. Autopsies. You know.”
“Maybe he—he?” said Amanda. Simon nodded. “Maybe he was taken ill.”
“Or fired,” said Amphora happily.
“Yes, for snatching bodies,” giggled Ivy.
“Right. Good one,” said Simon, and broke into giggles as well.
Amanda didn’t like the idea of body snatching. She wasn’t keen on horror films, and anything associated with them seemed cheap. So she was doubly unkeen on taking the pathology class and felt secretly glad that the teacher was gone.
“They’ve brought in a substitute,” said Simon. “Guy named Basil Hoxby. I guess he starts tomorrow.”
“Ugh,” said Amphora. “He sounds like a dead body.”
At this remark Amanda couldn’t help herself. She started to laugh. “Or a spice. No, wait. An herb. Herb Hoxby.” The others looked at her with appreciation. “I’m allowed to say that because my dad’s name is Herb. Get it?”
“We get it,” said Amphora. “Very cute. Except that ‘herb’ starts with an H, so it’s h-e-r-b.” She sounded the H.
“We say erb,” said Aman
da.
“Herb, erb, it doesn’t matter. But listen,” said Simon. “I have this theory, and I thought you might like to help me test it.” He looked excited. Amanda thought his cowlick might even have risen a little as he spoke.
“A theory,” said Amphora. “What kind of theory?”
He leaned forward. “I think there’s something weird going on here.”
“At the school?” said Amanda.
“Yes.”
“What kind of weird thing?” said Ivy.
“I’m not sure, but I think something is wrong,” said Simon.
“Something like what?” said Amanda, half dismissing the idea. Who knew if he was credible?
“I don’t like to be melodramatic, but I think I’ve been hearing things,” he said.
“Things?” said Amphora.
“Odd noises behind walls,” said Simon, motioning toward the right-hand hall wall with his head, then circling toward the left-hand one. The motion made him appear slightly spastic.
“You mean like mice?” said Amphora. “I don’t like mice.” She shuddered.
“No, he’s right,” said Ivy. “Not mice. People.”
“Yes, people,” said Simon, doing that heel-toe rocking thing again.
“Is that what it was?” said Amanda.
“What what was?” said Amphora.
“Ivy heard it. In the bathroom.” She jerked her head in the direction of the offending restroom, then caught herself. She hoped she didn’t look as dumb as Simon doing that.
“Like a scraping?” said Simon.
“Yes,” said Ivy. “And some thumping. No, Nigel. Not you.” The dog was wagging his tail excitedly for some reason only he knew.
“I didn’t hear any thumping,” said Amanda.
“Definitely thumping,” said Ivy, rubbing Nigel’s head.
“It’s probably nothing,” said Amphora. “We’re not used to the school. I’m sure there are all kinds of things they have to do that we don’t know anything about. Maintenance and stuff. Maybe those décor guys.”
“I don’t think so,” said Ivy.
“No, I don’t either,” said Simon. “I think it might be something we’re not supposed to know about, and I want to find out what it is.”
“But why do you think that?” said Amphora. “I think you’re overreacting.”
“I don’t think so,” said Simon.
“Why not?” said Amphora.
“Because I saw blood outside the east door.”
Amanda Lester and the Pink Sugar Conspiracy Page 15
