Amanda Lester and the Pink Sugar Conspiracy

by Paula Berinstein

  Chapter 30

  Monkeyshines

  Amanda’s arrival in Edinburgh was pretty much the exact opposite of what had happened at the school. There was no place to hide and the chance of being discovered was high.

  The truck stopped abruptly and threw Amanda across the compartment. The rain was coming down so hard that she couldn’t hear anything else. Would the driver open the back and find her? What would he do? Call the police and report a stowaway? The police. Now there was a thought she could do without. Those bunglers would throw her in jail and call the school. Her father would die and she’d be expelled and probably sent to reform school.

  The door opened slowly. She glanced around one more time but there was no way to conceal herself. As soon as he saw her the driver stared at her, dumbstruck. “Who are you?”

  “I’m so sorry, sir,” said Amanda. “Please don’t tell anyone. I promise I’ll never do it again. It’s really important that I get to London.”

  “London?” he said. “Yer going in the wrong direction, kid.” Then, before he could say another word, someone called out to him, “Thornton, come quick! Dick’s been injured!” whereupon the driver said, “Stay there” and ran off.

  They were parked behind an industrial building and the driver had jumped onto the loading dock and rushed inside, leaving Amanda alone. Having seen a million movies, it hit her at once what to do. She ran around the side of the truck, climbed into the cab, grabbed the keys, and started the engine. Her feet could barely reach the pedals. Fortunately the truck had an automatic transmission so she didn’t have to worry about clutching.

  It was a box truck, not one of those eighteen-wheelers, or she wouldn’t have been able to drive it. Since she’d never driven before, she didn’t have to overcome the right-left thing most Americans in the UK did. She just took off out of the parking lot and turned onto the road, running over the curb in the process and stalling in the street. She kept turning the key but nothing would happen. She was stuck and the driver was coming back!

  She turned the key again and pressed the brake, which of course did nothing. She didn’t actually know the accelerator from the brake, but she figured since the pedal she’d touched had had no effect she should try the other one. She turned the key once more, this time stomping on the accelerator. The truck leapt into life and surged forward with a jolt. She pressed down as hard as she could and started speeding down the street, leaving the driver behind shaking his fist.

  Amanda had no idea where to go so she just drove ahead. At first there were no cars around, parked or otherwise, so her weaving didn’t matter. But soon she was in different territory. The town, city, whatever it was, became denser, and she was driving like a drunk. She was sure she’d be caught or collide with another car or hit a pedestrian, and she started to panic. If she’d had all her wits about her she would also have realized that someone, maybe even the police, would be pursuing her, but she was too focused on steering to think such a thing. All she knew was that she had to get somewhere where no one could find her.

  Fortunately she did manage to stop at red lights, although the mass of the truck was so great that she had to press really hard on the brake to keep from sliding into the intersections. She was still thirsty but there wasn’t time to think about that. It was just go, go, go, like what happens in a dream when someone is chasing you.

  Then almost the worst thing that could happen did. She sideswiped a parked car, a fancy-looking coupe of some kind. She knew you were supposed to stop and exchange information—her mother had been rear-ended once—but she was in enough trouble already and couldn’t afford to be identified. She straightened out the truck and hit the accelerator as hard as she could, creating such a strong g-force that she hit her head against the headrest and twisted her back. She could see a woman come out of a shop and yell at her—the owner of the car, surely—but she kept going. Now she was a real criminal, not a simulated one as she and Nick had created when they were trying to plan the cook’s kidnapping. The cook. Boy, she had started one long domino chain.

  As the car careened forward, Amanda was alarmed to see a woman and a child crossing the street ahead of her. The child was holding a stuffed animal that was nearly as big as he was. Amanda wasn’t used to calculating how long it took to stop a car, let alone a truck, and had no idea if she could stop before she hit them. She pressed the brake as hard as she could, pretty much standing on it, but it wasn’t looking good. She could see fear on the woman’s face as she realized the truck was heading right for her and her little boy. Suddenly the pedestrian grabbed the child, who dropped the stuffed animal, and ran as fast as she could back to the curb, just in time for Amanda to barrel through the intersection and crush the toy, which appeared to be a blue elephant. The woman was shouting and raising her fist and trying to get a picture of the truck’s license plate, and the child was bawling, but the light was green and Amanda stepped on the gas again.

  It was only a matter of time before some disaster occurred. She couldn’t keep going like this, but there was no place to park the truck and get out so she had to press on. The streets were becoming narrower and narrower and turning into even more of an obstacle course, and she was sure that within thirty seconds her world would come to an end one way or another.

  Then another extraordinary thing happened. She had just stopped at a red light when she heard a clunk to the right of her. Someone had flung the door open and was pointing a gun at her!

  “Get out,” hissed a man dressed in a dark raincoat and a hat that covered his eyes.

  Amanda jumped out of the truck, almost twisting her ankle in the process. The man pushed her aside, got into the truck, and peeled out, leaving her standing there in the downpour. Fortunately she had grabbed her bag and now she and the bag ran to the nearest shelter, which happened to be a pub called The Rooster’s Beak. She pushed the door open with her shoulder, dripped water all over the polished wooden floor, and dragged herself to the fire, which was happily blazing away as if it hadn’t a care in the world. Amanda didn’t know whether to be grateful or envious.

  She cringed when the publican came over to her. She was sure he was going to yell at her about his floor, but instead he said, “Hey, little lady. You’re pretty wet there. Why don’t you hang up that coat and let it dry a tad? How about if I get you a cuppa?” He had a very heavy brogue, but she was used to listening to Scottish people in BBC productions and was miraculously able to understand him.

  Should she? She was in an awful hurry and growing more anxious by the second, but he didn’t look too busy. How much of an imposition could it be? “Yes, thank you. That would be lovely,” she said in a voice that was much brighter than she felt. The man went off to get the tea, and after hanging up her coat Amanda sat down at the table nearest the fire and held her hair out to dry.

  Now that she was out of the truck and the rain, she realized that things had turned out better than she could have hoped, given the circumstances. She may have ended up in Edinburgh instead of London, and she may have sideswiped an expensive car and almost killed two pedestrians, and she may have been thirsty and soaked, but she’d escaped the truck driver and the carjacker and no one was pursuing her—that she knew of. She was sorry about the dent in the parked car, but she knew the woman would recover. If she’d continued to drive, who knows what else would have happened? Of course she was stranded and alone, but she’d proved she could handle those things. All she had to do now was think her way out of this, quickly.

  The publican brought her tea and she offered to pay with the little bit of money she had, but he turned her down with a wink and a smile. “It’s on the house,” he said. The steam rose from the cup in graceful swirls.

  “Thank you,” said Amanda. “You’re nice.” She held out her hands over the tea and warmed them, turning them over and back again. The heat was heavenly.

  “So, what brings you out on this foul day?” he said. He held out his hand. “The name is Kirkwood. Angus Kirkwood.”


  “Amanda Lester,” she said, shaking his hand, which was as big as a bear’s paw. Now that she had a chance to look at him, she could see that he was a giant. He must have been six foot six, maybe taller. Editta would probably have wanted to know his height down to the millimeter and then would have calculated his weight to the gram. “If I told you, you wouldn’t believe it,” she said, picking up the cup and bringing it to her lips. The tea was scalding hot, so she blew on it.

  “Try me.”

  This was a tricky one. She couldn’t reveal the existence of the school or the nature of her mission, and she couldn’t admit to her sins on the road. But she was a good storyteller, and now that she had some liquid in her her mind was working again.

  “I’m looking for my father,” she said truthfully.

  “Your birth father?” he said.

  “No, my real father. We got separated at a rest stop on the M6 and now I can’t find him. I hitchhiked here.” It wasn’t great literature but it was pretty innocuous. “We were on our way to a wedding in London and now we’re going to be late.”

  “What time is the wedding?” said the publican.

  “Six,” said Amanda. It was close to two now.

  “Yes, I think you will be late. Can’t you text him?”

  “He lost his phone,” she lied.

  “That’s too bad. What do you think he’s doing now? Maybe he’s found a phone he can borrow.”

  “Obviously not,” she said, embellishing the lie. “If he had I’d have heard from him.”

  “This is a sad state of affairs,” said the man. “Have you at least let the bride and groom know where you are?”

  “I tried but they haven’t answered,” she said. “I guess they’re kind of busy.”

  “I’ll tell you what,” said the man, missing the holes in her story. “How about if I help you? You can take a train to London. I’ll give you cab fare to the station. You won’t arrive in time for the ceremony but at least you can put in an appearance.”

  “I couldn’t ask you to do that,” she said. Actually, the train would be the answer to her prayers but she didn’t want to seem too eager.

  “But you haven’t. You can pay me back some other time.”

  “I don’t know . . .”

  “What’s the harm? You look honest. I know you’re good for it.” He smiled at her and the bridge of his long nose crinkled.

  “If you’re sure.”

  “I am. Now look, I can’t leave the pub, but here is some money. I’ll call a taxi. You go to the station and buy a ticket. Text me when you get there.” He handed her a card with his contact details.

  “I can’t thank you enough,” said Amanda, feeling slightly guilty about all the lies, but not enough to refuse. She would pay him back, of course, so what was the harm?

  “Just go and have a good time. Okay?”

  “Okay.”