The following Monday, the entire class was called together for an assembly in the same room in which the orientation had been held. The rain was coming down in buckets, creating a racket on the roof. Amanda was nervous about returning to the scene of her crime and the noise didn’t help, but she forgot her qualms when Ivy pulled her aside and whispered, “I know what this is about.”
“You do?” If anyone did, it was Ivy. She seemed to know everything. Amanda hoped she had good news.
“Yes. The class project.”
“What class project?” Why did Ivy always know about things she didn’t?
“You know, the one they give us that takes the whole term. A mystery we have to solve.”
“Do we get to pick the mystery?” said Amanda. “Maybe we can look for more blood on the walk.” She wriggled in her seat trying to get comfortable. Her parka was thick and for some reason it wouldn’t smooth out.
“No. They give you a mystery,” said Ivy. “When my sister was a first-year they had a poisoning.” Ah, her sister. Now there was a good source of information. No wonder Ivy knew so much.
“A real poisoning?” Poisonings, teachers disappearing. This place was really dangerous. Amanda wondered how many people had died at Legatum.
“No. It was a mock poisoning but it was very realistic. She got a good mark on it but it was grueling. They act like you have no other homework, and it takes a lot of work.”
“So your sister went here too?” said Amanda. Imagine having two detectives in the family. Well, more obviously, because most of the parents were detectives too, but still . . .”
“Actually, she still does. She’s in her fifth year. One more to go.”
“What’s her name?”
“Fern. She looks just like me. Except for being blind, of course.”
“Fern, Ivy. What’s your mom’s name? Rose?”
“Ha ha, very funny. No, her name is Zelda, if you must know. If you want to see a picture, take my phone—here—and go to the photo section.” She pulled out her phone and pushed it at Amanda, who thought it was a little strange for a blind girl to have a photo collection.
“Ah, I see,” she said, thumbing and flicking. They were a handsome group, all tiny except for Ivy’s father, who was normal-sized.
“What’s your mum’s name?” said Ivy.
Argh. That was the last thing she wanted to discuss. “Um, Lila.”
“Wait a minute. Lila Lester? Are you kidding me?”
“No.” Here it comes.
“Lila Lester the mystery writer?”
“Yes.” She was used to this. As soon as people found out that her mother was Lila Lester the famous mystery writer, they started gushing. It made her sick.
“I love her stuff!” Ivy sounded like one of those old cartoons where the girl held her hands together between her knees, wriggled her shoulders, and said, “My hero.”
“That makes one of us,” Amanda said without thinking.
“You don’t like your mum’s books?”
“Nope.”
Ivy’s face fell. “Whyever not?”
Amanda hesitated. Anything she said would make her seem like a bad daughter. She opted for evasion.
“It’s a long story.”
“Some other time then.” She looked crushed.
“Some other time.” Amanda touched her hand as if to say, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to burst your bubble. I really want to apologize for not being able to tell you the truth because I like you, but I still think my mother’s books are stupid, and by the way, so is she.”
“Gosh, I can’t imagine someone not liking Lila Lester,” Ivy said shaking her head.
“Can we just hear the announcement now?”
“Sure. Let’s see what they’re going to say.”
Amanda Lester and the Pink Sugar Conspiracy Page 24
