When Amanda and Nick returned to the hallway, Headmaster Thrillkill pounced on them like a gluppy thing on sugar.
“What were you doing in the kitchen, Miss Lester?” he said, frowning. Amanda was tempted to count the ridges on his forehead there were so many of them. “Students are not allowed there.”
“I, uh, I thought I heard something,” she lied.
“Something like what?” Oh great. Now she had to make up a story, and not a fun one like when she wrote for film.
“I don’t know. A noise.”
“Miss Lester. You are a detective. You do not hear ‘a noise.’ You hear a scream or a scraping or a snare drum or an elephant honking or a lorry door being slammed or a deep-voiced dog barking. Now what was it?”
“I’m sorry, sir. I’m not sure. I wasn’t paying that much attention.” Better not to be specific. That way it would be easier not to disprove her statement.
“You weren’t paying that much attention. Miss Lester, I will excuse you because of the situation with you-know-what, but in future, I expect you to be acutely observant. I will brook no sloppiness here at Legatum. We will brook no sloppiness.”
“Yes, sir.” She looked at her feet.
“Mr. Muffet, were you in the kitchen as well?” His eyes bored into Nick’s but the boy didn’t flinch.
“No, sir.”
“He wasn’t,” said Amanda. “Just me.”
“Very well. Please sit over there.” He motioned to a couple of chairs someone had appropriated from one of the classrooms. “I want you to wait until we can question you thoroughly. Mr. Muffet, you may go.”
“If it’s all the same to you, Professor, I’d like to stay,” said Nick.
“Stay then,” said Thrillkill. Perhaps you’ll learn something.”
Amanda Lester and the Pink Sugar Conspiracy Page 58
