Another interesting bit of evidence was some bloodstains that David Wiffle found in the bushes. These were difficult to see and he was proud of himself for having discovered them. His friend Gordon showered him with so much praise that Amanda thought Wiffle’s head would burst, but maybe it was good for him this once. The poor kid was normally so much less capable than he thought he was that maybe a shot in the arm would calm him down. Of course the blood might belong to a squirrel, but it was still important to collect it and find out.
They didn’t find anything else. There was no ID on the body, no label in the clothing, nothing that would help identify it, except, perhaps, its DNA. They found no artifacts that could have belonged to the murderer and no signs of a weapon. Still, they had quite a bit to go on and Professors Hoxby and Scribbish were optimistic that they would turn up something useful.
There was so much to do that Amanda wasn’t spoiled for choice: the secret stashes, the missing item, the dead body, her newly resurrected storytelling class, Editta. But the most pressing thing on her mind was Darius Plover and the fact that she’d forgotten to answer his request about the “Sand” clips. This she must take care of immediately or potentially damage her career. She still wasn’t sure what she was going to say, but she knew she needed to respond ASAP, so she climbed up to her room and booted up her laptop.
The thing made all the usual clunking, whirring, and half-musical sounds and stood at the ready. She didn’t know why she was using it to compose her message rather than her phone. There was something solid about the device that calmed her. Whoever had heard of anything so crazy?
She opened up her mail and reread the director’s last message. She’d offered feedback, he’d asked for feedback, and she absolutely had to provide feedback.
And suddenly she knew. There was no way she could tell him the truth. Yes, the clips were lousy, and yes, the script was lame, but no, she could not tell him so. She hit Reply and composed a message.
Dear Mr. Plover,
I love the clips! They’re exciting, atmospheric, and well-acted. I especially like the one in which the conspirators are meeting in the tent and the camel wanders in. I can’t wait to see the finished product!
Sincerely,
Amanda Lester,
Filmmaker.
It was all a lie. The scene in the tent was so grainy you could barely tell there was a camel. Furthermore, it was trite. How many films were there in which a bunch of bandits met in a tent out in the desert? Offhand she could think of at least a dozen. What Darius Plover was doing filming such a mediocre script, and filming it badly, she couldn’t imagine, but she wasn’t going to question him. You just didn’t do that.
There. That’s done. Now I can breathe. Satisfied that she had saved her career, Amanda sat back and sighed. She could turn her attention to the next problem: her storytelling class. Not only would that be fun, but it would divert her from the gazillion things she really didn’t want to think about, including Scapulus Holmes
13
Stuck
The next day was Professor Redleaf’s memorial service. Normally they would have used the chapel, but they couldn’t because of the earthquake, so they met in the back garden. The kids were crying and the teachers looked solemn. The décor gremlins had dressed in Victorian black with top hats, which some of the kids thought cool and others ridiculous. Ivy had wrapped a black ribbon around Nigel’s neck, and Simon had unearthed a black fedora from somewhere and was wearing it along with a black jacket. Even Editta had showed up and was looking suitably funereal, not the most difficult achievement considering her recent behavior. Someone, probably the gremlins, had spent a lot of time picking and arranging flowers, because the makeshift dais was engulfed in them. There were dog violets, bluebells, kingcups, and primroses, all from the school’s garden. Fortunately it was too warm for icicles and Thrillkill had arrived sans hair dryer.
Professor Redleaf was too aloof a person to have been beloved, but she was well respected and many people wanted to say a few words about her. Professors Thrillkill, Snaffle, and Mukherjee had much to relate about her cool head, quiet excellence, and dedication. Professor McTavish praised her even though he didn’t understand the first thing about her work. And Professor Feeney lauded her ability to penetrate the minds of the world’s most dangerous hackers.
When the teachers had completed their eulogies, Scapulus Holmes, apparently the only student who had known her well, mounted the podium and looked out upon the sea of grieving faces. The first thing he said so irritated Amanda that she wanted to run up and shut his mouth.
“Professor Redleaf was my friend,” said Holmes.
La di da. Darius Plover is my friend. I don’t go around bragging about it.
“We worked together a number of times over the years.”
Over the years? Are you kidding? You’re twelve.
“I want to tell you about something that happened—”
But Amanda’s mental sparring was cut short when suddenly a strong aftershock, so powerful that it threw her over, struck. Holmes grabbed onto the podium, but it wasn’t secured and he fell over too. Thrillkill barely managed to steady himself on his crutches, and several people had collided with each other. Others had assumed the strangest positions: crouched on their knees like frogs, balancing like tightrope walkers, leaping with one arm raised like Hermes, the messenger god. Nigel was cowering and leaning heavily on Ivy, who had knelt down and grabbed him around the head and shoulders. People were screaming and wailing—even some of the professors, who tried with varying success to hide their distress. Amanda was so startled that she went numb and couldn’t think or do anything.
But her paralysis didn’t last long. Once she realized what was happening, she resumed her role of earthquake coach and tried to calm the crowd, explaining what was going on in the hope of taking some of the terror out of the situation. Simon, too, was calm and scientific about the whole thing, as was Ivy this time. These efforts were only minimally successful, however, and there continued to be much carrying on, especially by Editta, who wouldn’t stop talking about what bad luck the murder and these aftershocks were. Despite the topic, Amanda was relieved to see her talking again. Maybe there was some good luck in all this chaos too.
But Editta’s catastrophizing so infuriated Simon that he said, “So what brings good luck then?” Editta reeled off a whole list of positive harbingers, like white cats, crickets, and chimney sweeps, to which Simon responded, “Fine. I’m going to keep track of these things and show you that your good luck and your bad luck cancel each other out,” and started tapping notes into his phone. This so upset her that she appealed to Amphora, whom she knew was not exactly Simon’s biggest fan. At this point Ivy interposed herself among the three and said, “Cut it out, all of you. We have to pull together,” and Holmes came up and asked if everyone was okay, which precipitated a round of goo-goo eyes from both Editta and Amphora, who had miraculously forgotten how afraid they were. Holmes seemed not to notice, however, and walked back to the podium, from which he told the crowd that he would understand if people wanted to discontinue the service and he’d record his eulogy and post it on the school’s intranet, a presumption that infuriated Amanda so much that she fled to her room, one of the few places Holmes could not go.
What did they see in him anyway? Sure, he wasn’t bad looking, and he was smart, but so what? A lot of people were smart and nice looking, including, she didn’t want to admit it, Nick Muffet, the bane of her existence, or at least the bane until Holmes had assumed the role. That was exactly what Holmes was: a bane. He thought he was so special, always dropping names and acting like a know-it-all. She’d show him. She’d show him that you have to earn respect, not be born to it. She, Amanda Lester, descendant of the worst famous detective in history, would be the best sleuth who had ever lived, proving that you don’t inherit excellence. But unlike some people, she wouldn’t go around with her nose in the air. Uh uh. She’d be the same modest but amazingly compe
tent person she’d always been.
Once everyone had recovered from the latest aftershock, the school returned to the conundrum of the dead body. Curiosity and speculation were running high, and for once everyone was eager to observe the autopsy, which wouldn’t have been the case under normal circumstances. So on Sunday afternoon, because there wasn’t room for everyone to attend in person, Professor Hoxby’s autopsy of the skeleton was broadcast over CCTV. Some of the older students were allowed into the autopsy room, as was Ivy, who would benefit more from being there than “watching” the proceedings remotely. Amanda and her other friends were to view the procedure in the common room. Just to be on the safe side, several of the students had brought gingersnaps with them. Unfortunately, Holmes had joined the group and for some perverse reason kept looking at Amanda.
Before he began the autopsy, Professor Hoxby explained that some of the results would be delayed. These included extracting the subject’s DNA and matching it to known profiles. The same was true for the victim’s teeth, for which dental records would have to be sought. However, he would be able to examine the state of the body and look for the cause of death and other clues to the identity of the victim and perhaps even the perpetrator.
The first blow came swiftly. The body possessed no usable fingerprints or teeth. The former were gone, while the latter had been smashed. Someone did not want the identity of the victim known, a safe assumption when you consider that they’d walled up the body so securely that had it not been for the earthquake, it might never have been discovered.
Next Professor Hoxby declared that he could not ascertain the cause of death, although he could see evidence of blunt force trauma to the skull. This, he declared, would not have been forceful enough to kill the man, and there were no wounds, broken or shattered bones, or any other signs of violence upon the body that hinted at what had really killed him. Nor was there evidence of disease. The man had been healthy, of normal height and weight, and between thirty-five and fifty years old. Perhaps the tox screen would reveal something. The man might have been poisoned.
As if those findings, or the lack of them, weren’t disappointing enough, Professor Hoxby couldn’t fix the time of death. However, based on her sense of smell, Ivy made a guess that the body had been there for a few months, which no one believed because everything else pointed to its having been there for years. However, Professor Hoxby said that he couldn’t rule out the possibility that the skeleton was of recent vintage.
The next thing that happened was that Professor Stegelmeyer came into the autopsy room and announced that the victim’s DNA wasn’t usable. It had degraded due to the heat generated by the earthquake as well as the moist conditions of the compartment. That meant that the school couldn’t use DNA to identify the body either. No DNA, no fingerprints, no teeth, no clothing, no recognizable features, no wallet—nothing. All they knew was that they had a middle-aged male of average description on their hands. It was going to be tough to figure out who he was.
The last thing Professor Hoxby did was attempt to remove the crystals from the skull. This feat proved to be impossible unless he cut through the skull itself, which he did not want to do. It was important to keep it as intact as possible for later testing so Professor Stegelmeyer ended up taking the entire structure to the lab, where he would analyze the crystals. Professor Pargeter, the toxicology expert, scurried off to do the tox screen, and the autopsy was over without one person having vomited—a remarkable achievement.
The next thing the school learned was that according to Professor Stegelmeyer’s analysis, the crystals were organic and very unusual. Based on these findings, Professors Stegelmeyer and Pole concluded that the crystals had been created at the time of the earthquake. The last time anyone seemed to have gone near the secret room there had been no sign of them, so they had to be new. But exactly how they had been formed and why the two teachers couldn’t yet say.
Now Amanda and her friends wondered whether there was any connection between the body and the whatsit, and they decided to do more investigation with that in mind. They still didn’t know what they were looking for but they figured they’d know it when they saw it.
But before they could start, Amanda received an email from Darius Plover.
Dear Miss Lester,
Thank you so much for your quick turnaround. I am delighted that you like the “Sand” clips. I was a bit concerned, but you’ve put my mind at rest.
I hope you won’t consider it too much of an imposition if I send you more clips. I should have something new for you to look at in a few days.
Your friend,
Darius Plover.
This was not good. If the next clips were bad too, she’d have to lie about them. And the next, and the next.
She wasn’t a liar, or she never used to be. What did these untruths make her? A friend and supporter, or a villain? Criminals were liars. Amanda was a liar. Nick would have concluded that that made her a criminal in the way he sometimes twisted logic. Would he have been right? What if she ruined Darius Plover’s film? He’d lose money. That would make her as good as a thief, wouldn’t it?
No way. Lying to help a friend wasn’t a criminal act unless your lie was illegal. This wasn’t. This lie pumped up Darius Plover’s morale and deepened the bond between them. It wasn’t actually a lie. It was a little fib. There was nothing criminal or unethical about that, especially since there was no way he’d make important decisions based on anything she said. He’d have to be crazy to let a twelve-year-old dictate his actions.
Amanda breathed a sigh of relief. She wouldn’t have to answer him right this minute. And that was a good thing because she had a lot of important investigation to do and her friends were waiting.
14
The Magnificent Basements
Although Amanda and her friends hadn’t searched the first or second floors of the main building, they decided to turn their attention to the basements. These seemed a likely place for secrets. Stretching underneath the school, the gardens, and all the way to the lake, they comprised a vast network of innumerable rooms, niches, cubbies, closets, compartments, and tunnels. In short, they were perfect hiding places.
The basements had so many entrances it was hard to keep track of them. Amanda and her friends selected the one closest to the dining room and waited there for Simon, who had to come all the way from the boys’ dorm.
“You can’t go in there,” said David Wiffle. He and Gordon had sidled up to where the girls were congregated.
“Go away,” said Amanda.
“You’re not supposed to be down there. It isn’t safe, and it isn’t allowed anyway,” said David.
“Since when isn’t it allowed?” said Amphora.
“Since always,” said the little prig. “It’s in the school rules.”
“Is not,” said Amphora.
“Is too.”
“We don’t have time for this,” said Ivy. “It’s not in the rules and you know it. Now go away.”
Gordon cupped his hand and whispered something in David’s ear. “Bad idea,” said David for all to hear. Gordon whispered again. “You’ll get in trouble. Anyway, you don’t want to go anywhere they’re going.” Gordon cupped his hand again. “You’re nuts,” said Wiffle. More whispering, then, “Fine. Do what you want. I’m not going to be responsible. Sometimes I really don’t understand you, Bramble.”
While this little conference was going on, Simon arrived and eyed the two boys quizzically. Ivy was trying to hear what Gordon was saying but her expression indicated that she wasn’t getting anything. Simon wiggled his ear but obviously wasn’t adjusting his listening device properly because he seemed more absorbed in it than whatever Gordon was saying. Amphora was craning her neck, and Amanda just heard a bunch of sss sss sss.
Suddenly Gordon turned to the group and said, “I’m going into the basements with you,” at which point the four friends stared at him with their mouths hanging open.
“Uh, yeah, sur
e,” said Simon, who seemed not at all pleased.
“I don’t think that’s such a good idea,” said Amphora in a stage whisper.
“We can’t stop him,” said Simon with his usual impeccable logic. “It’s a free country.”
“Nuts,” said Amanda. She certainly didn’t want him.
“Great,” said Ivy. “The more the merrier.” Amanda wondered if she was actually sending a coded message to David that said, “Ha ha. You can’t boss your friend around anymore. Now what are you going to do?” Of course that could have been Amanda’s imagination.
Amphora leaned over to Ivy and whispered something. Ivy whispered back, loud enough for Amanda to hear, “Don’t worry. He won’t find out.”
Amanda was horrified. What if Gordon and/or David had heard her? Then they’d know about the whatsit. The possibility that the two boys were wondering what they were doing in the basements in the first place hadn’t occurred to her. Troublemakers and prigs they might be, but Wiffle and Bramble weren’t that stupid. They had to know something was up. But with Darius Plover, Professor Redleaf, Professor Kindseth, dead bodies, mysterious crystals, aftershocks, Holmes, and everything else that had happened in the last few days going on, her brain was overloaded and it didn’t occur to her that they might know more than she thought.
“Whatever it is, we know now,” said David, which made no sense because they didn’t. They only knew there was something, but not what the something was.
“Yeah,” said Gordon, who seemed to favor that word above all others. “But I don’t care. I won’t bother you. I want to see the tunnels.”
“I told you, that’s a really bad idea,” said David. “Thrillkill will send you to detention.”
Amanda Lester and the Orange Crystal Crisis Page 15
