Amanda Lester and the Pink Sugar Conspiracy

by Paula Berinstein

They quickly concluded that the process would go faster if they had help, so they recruited Amphora and Editta, and soon they had cleared a usable path through the garage. They found some boxes behind the kitchen, sans sugar, and wiped them out with damp cloths, then lined them with plastic. They put the debris from each footprint into a different box and labeled it. Then they started the real investigation.

  As they moved through the scene Amanda kept an inventory. She assigned each item a number, description, and location and took pictures of it. When she got to the vehicles, she noted the make, model, year, tire and wheel types, chassis type, and the damage to each, asking Nick for help with some of the technical details. Where possible she also noted items inside the cars and damage under the hoods and in the interiors.

  They started with Professor Pickle’s car. The golf clubs in the rumble seat of his Triumph Roadster had partially melted and fused to the upholstery, which was now devoid of its leather skin and padding. Amanda peered over the edge into the interior of the car and saw a lot of glass she hadn’t noticed before. The professor must have been carrying jars or bottles or something. Beer? She couldn’t tell. Then something white caught her eye. At least it used to be white, she thought. She didn’t want to touch it for fear of disturbing it, but she did manage to get a picture of it. It was difficult to tell what it was until she enlarged the image on the screen and saw the word “dill.” Dill? Was there a dill beer? Amanda didn’t think so. The only thing she knew about dill was that it was used to flavor pickles. Pickles! Professor Pickle had pickles in his car? She didn’t know him, but she thought maybe what everyone said about him was wrong. Maybe he did have a sense of humor. A Pickle with pickles. Cute.

  As punny as that was, it surely didn’t have anything to do with the reason for the explosion. She took some video and stopped to think. Perhaps one of the other cars was the target, or something inside them. Except for Pickle, she didn’t know which teacher drove which car, but she could match them up later. Now would be a good time to examine the others and see what they told her.

  Aside from Pickle’s baby, there was an assortment of sedans, a Volkswagen bus, a huge Bentley, an old sports car of some kind, and would you believe it, a surfer’s woody. She was sure it belonged to Professor Ducey. He looked like a surfer. Now she might have proof that he actually was one, although if she really wanted to know, the easiest thing to do was ask.

  Professor Pickle’s ruined classic model was flanked by a dark blue sedan on the left and the woody on the right. She decided to start with the woody because it reminded her of home.

  It was a mess, just like everything else in the garage. Still, there might be hope. Amanda took a pair of rubber gloves out of her bag, put them on, and took hold of the glove compartment handle. The glove box felt like it was about to disintegrate, but she was able to get it open without much damage. Amazingly, the contents were untouched.

  She reached inside and lifted out some maps of various parts of England and Scotland, a topo map of the Lake Windermere area, a receipt for some windsurfing equipment, a pair of glasses, and some melted candy bars. There was also a tube of sunscreen and several packs of gum.

  She carefully opened the maps. Three locations were circled in red pencil: Ullswater, Derwentwater, and Bassenthwaite Lake. She took out her phone and snapped pictures. She wasn’t familiar with the locations and would have to research them later. She put the items back in the glove compartment and closed it softly.

  The body of the car was empty. Amanda turned on her light and looked under the car and inside the wheel compartments. She didn’t see anything other than a lot of pipes, which she figured was normal, but she tried to get some pictures anyway. Then she made a video survey of the car.

  Moving on to the dark blue sedan on the other side of Professor Pickle’s car, she was faced with a new problem: a trunk. How were they going to get in? No one had any hairpins, if anyone even knew how to use them. Maybe there was another way.

  What if they were to make a key? They could take an impression of the lock and get one made, although she wasn’t sure how. Students weren’t supposed to leave the campus. Was it possible to make one themselves? She didn’t think so. Unless . . . there were no rules against mailing things. She could take a wax impression, send it to someone, and ask them to get a key made. Maybe Ivy’s family would do it, or Nick’s.

  The lab! Maybe there was a way they could make their own key there. There were all kinds of tools on hand. There had to be a way to make a mold and fill it with something hard enough to function as a key.

  “Hey, you guys, we need to make a key for this trunk,” she called out.

  “Let me see,” said Amphora, navigating through the debris until she was standing next to Amanda. She fiddled with the lock, which seemed to be loose. “Wait a minute. I think I can pop the lock out.”

  “Isn’t that disturbing the evidence?” said Amanda. Breaking the lock seemed too easy. Anyway she was quite warming to the idea of making a key. You never knew when a skill like that would come in handy.

  “No,” said Amphora. “Here, I’ll just . . .” She pushed the lock and it fell into the trunk. “Voila!” A cloud of dust flew up.

  “What is all that?” said Nick, looking inside.

  “Looks like some manuscripts,” said Amanda. “What is this?” She leafed through them, then read aloud, giggling more and more with each line. “The Ghost in the Pit Stop. The Haunted Curry House. A Wailing at Crowtooth Manor. He’s writing horror novels.”

  The four of them howled with laughter.

  “They sound dreadful,” said Nick.

  “I’ll say,” said Amphora. “Listen to this. ‘The ghost was angry now, screaming like a mynah bird and rattling the Wedgewood.’ Is he kidding?” She was doubled over.

  “Here’s one,” said Amanda. “‘She had dreamed of this night all her life. The ghost enfolded her in its arms and caressed her ears.’ Eeeeeeeew!” She too bent over and held her stomach.

  “He’s terrible,” said Editta. “How embarrassing for him.”

  “Is this evidence?” said Amphora. “I guess it is.”

  “If the police impounded it the world would never miss it,” said Nick. Amanda thought snot was going to come out of his nose he was laughing so hard.

  “What is he going to do with these?” said Editta. “Does he really think anyone will publish them?”

  “He’s probably going to self-publish,” said Amphora. “My dad did that. He sold twenty-two copies of his magnum opus, Closing Arguments Citing Bird Behavior in American Criminal Trials, 1946 to 2007.”

  There was a lot more giggling that seemed to go on and on until at last Nick spoke up.

  “Changing the subject entirely, if this is the class project, they’ve spent a lot of money on it.”

  Amanda stopped laughing. It was an interesting point, something that wouldn’t have occurred to her. How did he know all this stuff? “You mean because of all the damage? I hadn’t thought of that. That is something to consider. Do you think knowing that will help us solve the mystery?”

  “I’m not sure,” said Nick. “Let’s think about that for a moment. What would a reasonable budget for the class project be?”

  “I have no idea,” said Amanda. “‘I don’t know nuthin’ about birthin’ babies and all that.’”

  “What are you talking about?” said Amphora, looking at her as if she were crazy.

  “Nothing,” said Amanda. “It’s from a movie.”

  “We can estimate how much this blast has cost,” said Editta.

  “Great idea,” said Amanda. “Let’s do that.”

  Amphora gave her a sidelong look. “What movie?” she demanded.

  “It’s from ‘Gone with the Wind,’ if you must know.”

  “You shouldn’t make obscure references,” said Amphora. “It isn’t polite.” Amanda rolled her eyes.

  “We’re documenting what was destroyed,” said Editta. “We can research how much replacements
will cost and come up with a total.”

  “What do you think about this damage?” said Nick, making a quick survey with his eyes.

  “It’s quite a mess, but we can at least value the cars and the building,” said Editta. “I reckon I can calculate something pretty quickly.” She started muttering to herself and punching information into her phone. “Let’s see, thirty thousand, twenty-five, times sixteen.” She went on like that for a couple of minutes and then blurted out, “Three hundred-sixty-five thousand eight-hundred quid and change for the project. That’s a lot of dosh. Can you believe they spent all that money on us? They must really want us to be good detectives.”

  “That’s impossible,” said Amphora. She looked like a bird had just dropped something yucky on her head.

  “I say,” said Nick. “That was brilliant, Editta.” Editta blushed. This wasn’t the first time Amanda had seen signs of a secret crush on Nick. Who cared, though? She didn’t have one. She and Nick were friends, that was all. “You’re right. That’s quite a bit of money. I guess there are a lot of rich alumni. Not my family.” He grinned.

  “Or me,” said Amanda.

  “Me either,” said Editta.

  Amphora looked down at the ground. It seemed she had nothing to say.