AMANDA LESTER
AND THE GOLD SPECTACLES SURPRISE
(AMANDA LESTER, DETECTIVE #6)
Also by Paula Berinstein
Amanda Lester and the Pink Sugar Conspiracy (Amanda Lester, Detective #1)
Amanda Lester and the Orange Crystal Crisis (Amanda Lester, Detective #2)
Amanda Lester and the Purple Rainbow Puzzle (Amanda Lester, Detective #3)
Amanda Lester and the Blue Peacocks’ Secret (Amanda Lester, Detective #4)
Amanda Lester and the Red Spider’ Rumpus (Amanda Lester, Detective #5)
Amanda Lester and the Green Monkey Gotcha (Amanda Lester, Detective #7), forthcoming 2017
Amanda Lester and the Gold Spectacles Surprise
PAULA BERINSTEIN
The Writing Show
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s twisted imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © 2017 by Paula Berinstein.
All rights reserved. Thank you for not scanning, uploading, or sharing any part of this book electronically without permission. If you would like to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), please contact the author at [email protected].
The Writing Show
P.O. Box 2970
Agoura Hills, CA 91376-2970
www.amandalester.net
ISBN: 978-1-942361-19-0 (softcover)
ISBN-10: 1-942361-19-X (softcover)
ISBN: 978-1-942361-20-6 (ebook)
ISBN-10: 1-942361-20-3 (ebook)
Cover design: Anna Mogileva
Text set in Garamond Premier Pro
Printed in the United States of America
For Alan
Table of Contents
Acknowledgements
Chapter 1Exploding Fairies
Chapter 2Sasha
Chapter 3A Funny Feeling
Chapter 4Scapulus Holmes, Badass
Chapter 5The Lovelace Earful Archives
Chapter 6Spectacles
Chapter 7A Bold Plan
Chapter 8Breaking and Entering
Chapter 9So That’s What Happened
Chapter 10The Ivy-forte
Chapter 11Him
Chapter 12The Metadata Woman
Chapter 13The First Castle
Chapter 14Strange Bedfellows
Chapter 15To the Lighthouse
Chapter 16The Lockup
Chapter 17Victor
Chapter 18Stencil
Chapter 19The Second Castle
Chapter 20Salvation
Chapter 21Moran
Chapter 22In Disguise
Chapter 23All Roads Lead to Schola
Chapter 24Shot
Chapter 25Gibberish
Chapter 26Moriarty’s Secret
Chapter 27Ivy’s Secret
Chapter 28The End of Everything
Summer Term Second-Year Class Schedule
About the Author
Acknowledgements
My deepest thanks to:
The incomparable Anna Mogileva, whose designs are absolutely gorgeous.
Amanda’s Irregulars, my wise and wonderful advisers.
My friends Sudie Crouch, Barbara Wong, Frankie Alan Strathclyde, Lola Verroen, Jerry Manas, Barry Chersky, LaShelle VanHouten, Greg Bolcer, Derrick Belanger, and Carol Bro.
The sublime book bloggers who host my virtual tours.
My amazing readers and beta readers, especially David Bibb and Maryleigh Ware.
And my husband, Alan, to whom this book is dedicated for good reason.
Exploding Fairies
Nick Muffet was still screaming in his sleep, but he could no longer hear himself. He knew he was doing it, though, because he’d wake up with a ragged throat, sweat pouring off his body despite the cold spring air. After that he would sit up in his sleeping bag hugging his knees with the lamp lit to chase away the shadows. It would take him hours to settle down but it didn’t matter. There was nothing to do, nowhere to be, nothing to live for. He was finished, useless, over.
It wasn’t just the deafness, though that was bad enough. The problem was the panic that would take hold of him without warning. He’d be poking about, minding his own business, when suddenly his brain would freeze and the darkness would close in. Then he would hear noises that weren’t there: the rusty ladder clanging, the echo of his own voice yelling for Amanda, Blixus taunting, the gunshot that had killed his mother. It would all blend together and reverberate so loudly that he’d cover his ears, as if that would do any good.
Then there was that other problem, the one that really frightened him. His mind didn’t work right anymore. He’d be following a train of thought and it would run off without him. He’d felt it happen during that second labor at Legatum when Thrillkill had made him drink the poison, and it had continued ever since. Sure, anyone would react badly under the circumstances, but Nick wasn’t used to being nervous and he wasn’t used to his mind going blank. Now both were becoming such common occurrences that he feared the effects of the poison might be permanent. They were flaws he couldn’t accept and couldn’t ask others to either, especially Amanda—his beautiful Amanda, who loved him despite his betrayals and his faults and deserved so much better, much more than he could ever give her.
And so he had left Legatum and headed for one of his secret stashes, this one in someone’s old shed. He’d grabbed his tent and sleeping bag and struck out for the North Pennines and as much solitude as he could get, hoping to find a secluded place where he could scream all he wanted and no one would hear, or care.
Nick saw Amanda everywhere he looked. Her face smiled down at him from the trees, reflected in the stream, gazed at him from the clouds. At night he’d trace the outline of her beautiful hair in the stars. Sometimes, before a nightmare but never afterwards, he would dream of her, see her face at the door of the old clock tower where he’d taken refuge, feel her grasp his hand, kiss his lips, hold him tight. And then his adoptive father, Blixus Moriarty, would appear, or his brother Hugh, or that devil Waltz, and he’d fight for his life, all thought of her gone.
One particular sequence haunted him night after night. He would be asleep in the cabin of his dad’s fishing boat, stretched out on that old sofa where he’d placed Amanda after her accident with the peacock. Then, out of nowhere, his world would shatter and he would be thrown across the room, hitting the wall shoulder first. For a moment he would lie there, paralyzed, but then he’d scramble to his feet, dive over the rail into the freezing water, and swim for his life with his ears ringing. He’d never told Amanda but that was exactly how it had happened. The blast Blixus had set off had taken his home, half his hearing, and any illusion of safety he’d had.
But the daytimes were better. Then he would stare at the oaks, watch the water bubbling in the brook, observe the curlews and the red grouse as they foraged. Eventually he’d realize he was hungry and open a can of beans, or catch a trout and cook it over a small fire. And sometimes he would think about his unknown mother, his real father who was dead, and the brother he’d only just learned about, who didn’t want him either. Funny, that. His real family was either dead, missing, or indifferent, while his adoptive father and brother wanted him desperately—wanted him so they could do away with him once and for all.
Did his family, and the one friend he had—Amanda—even matter anymore? He didn’t see how. What was he living for, survival for its own sake? Yes, it was just that now. Eat, sleep, walk, then eat and sleep again. And it struck him that he was nothing more than a
n animal, an animal surviving each hour, each day, and soon, perhaps, dying and finding peace at last.
Sometimes to pass the time he would track animals—not to hunt them, but just because. He’d spot a paw print in the dirt and follow the trail as far as it would take him. Once he discovered a nest of badgers and had known to keep his distance: a mother badger was not a docile creature. Often, though, the tracks would disappear and he would return to his little camp defeated. At other times he would study rocks, try to name them by dredging up some memory or other of a picture he’d seen, or a specimen at a museum. He had no idea if he was right—his phone was out of range and he had no way of charging it—but it pleased him to try.
One day he realized he’d been making up stories. It was funny how you could be doing something and not even know it. The tales had started at dusk when he imagined he’d seen fairies among the foliage. He knew there were no such creatures, but that hadn’t stopped him from wondering where they might live and what they might be doing. He’d fancied tracking them back to their homes, toadstools and tiny shrubs all lit up with phosphorescence, cleverly hidden in the shadows. Day after day he’d watch and imagine, and each day he’d get further into his story until one day his imagination ran away with him and he accidentally made the fairies explode. Then in his mind’s eye he saw wings tumbling, arms and legs flying, flames shooting out of the glade, and he stopped because he knew the panic was still there and he still could not control it.
Sasha
Nick’s mother was not what Amanda had been expecting. That was because she hadn’t been expecting Nick’s mother at all. She and Ivy had traveled to London to meet Basilica Pashmina, the lovely dark-haired girl who had saved them from that twit Hugh Moriarty the previous summer. That the girl would turn out to be Nick’s sister and her mother his mother had not even crossed her mind. But here they were, the family Nick had never known he had, inviting the girls in for tea and a chat on a cool spring day.
Of course being blind, Ivy wasn’t to realize who they were—not standing in the doorway like that. Unlike Amanda, she couldn’t see Nick’s mother’s beautiful face, the face that looked so much like his. How Amanda was supposed to let her know what was going on without blurting it out she had no idea, but Nick’s mother seemed to have a sixth sense and saved her the embarrassment. Before the girls had even stepped inside she said, “I look like him, yes?”
Amanda took a deep breath and said, “Yes, exactly like him.” Her hair was darker and even longer than his and she was curvy, but otherwise they could almost have been twins.
Nick’s mother turned to Ivy and said, “We are talking about Nick. My son. Your friend, eh?” She had a slight accent. Amanda couldn’t place it.
Ivy gasped and took Amanda’s hand. “Yes. Nick is our friend.”
“I am glad he has friends,” said Nick’s mother. “It has been hard for him, yes?”
Ivy squeezed Amanda’s hand and Amanda squeezed back. This was Ivy and Amanda language for “I’m completely baffled, not to mention gobsmacked.”
Nick’s mother turned away and called out, “Basilica. They’re here.”
There was a scream from somewhere deep in the house, and before they knew it the girl, Basilica, was upon them, hugging all of them at once: Amanda, Ivy, and Ivy’s guide dog, Nigel. Then, after hugs back and a lick or two from Nigel, she said, “Tell me everything about my brother.”
Now it made sense. When Basilica, whose name they hadn’t known at the time, had bashed Hugh on the head and saved them from the Moriartys, she’d winked and said, “No one hurts my brother.” Who she was, and who the brother, had been a complete mystery. But if the woman was his mother, her daughter had to be his sister.
Still, something else didn’t make sense. If Basilica had known Nick was her brother and cared about him that much, why hadn’t she looked for him? And why had her mother, the mother who had given him up at birth, left him to the mercy of the Moriartys? For that matter, who was Basilica’s father? Wink Wiffle, the same as Nick? It was all so confusing.
Leave it to Ivy to notice what no one else did though. No more than a few seconds had passed before she blurted out, “You’re Darius Plover’s daughter!”
Amanda felt as if someone had kicked her. Of course! So that was why Darius had been carrying Basilica’s picture in his wallet. But how . . .
Basilica grabbed hold of the two girls’ hands and pulled them into the house. “Yes, he was my father,” she said.
Really? The girl who saved the Legatum kids from the Moriartys was Darius Plover’s daughter as well as Nick’s sister? Did that mean that Darius knew the Moriartys? Was Darius related to Nick? How had Ivy figured it out and how did all of this fit together? Amanda was lost.
Which may have been why the first thing she saw, or thought she saw, when she got inside the house was a huge mess. She had to look twice to be sure, but yes, the place was a disaster, if a colorful one. Green, magenta, red, and blue junk was lying everywhere, as if a cyclone had hit it. This didn’t seem like the way rich people—for the neighborhood was ritzy, Kensington la di da—would live. The situation was becoming so weird that for a moment Amanda thought she might be dreaming.
“Oh that,” said Nick’s mother, noticing her reaction. “Yes, it’s a mess. We have been robbed.”
Ivy took Amanda’s hand as if to say, “What’s going on?” Amanda leaned over and whispered, “The room has been ransacked.”
“Oh no!” said Ivy. “Have you called the police, Mrs. Pashmina?”
“Please call me Sasha,” said Nick’s mother. “And yes, a detective came with, how you call it—a SOCO, a scene of crime officer—and took pictures. Fingerprints too. We haven’t finished cleaning up, I’m afraid. So much to do.”
“It’s been terrible,” said Basilica. “But the weirdest thing is that we haven’t been able to find anything missing.”
“None of your valuables?” said Ivy.
“No,” said Sasha. “They’re all here. But come, sit. It is not important.”
Amanda surveyed the living room and the kitchen beyond. It was such a mess she couldn’t see how they would even be able to tell what was missing, but she supposed they knew what to look for. It would take days—weeks, maybe—before they would sort it out. The thieves had spilled vases, broken jars full of pickles and jam, and smeared substances all over. And Sasha didn’t think it important?
“Why don’t we help you clean up?” she said. It was the least they could do, barging in on them like that.
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” said Sasha. “Please, a cup of tea? Or would you prefer coffee? In my country we drink coffee.”
“Your country is . . .” said Amanda.
“Italia,” said Sasha. “I am from Firenze. Florence.”
Nick was Italian? This was getting weirder and weirder. What was the Italian for Nick—Niccolo?
“My mother is from there,” Sasha continued. “The most artistic city in the world. My father, he is from Russia.”
Wait, Nick was Russian? Nikolai? Nicholas Niccolo Nikolai Muffet?
Sasha peered at Amanda. “I can see what you are thinking, cara. You love my son, do you not?”
Amanda froze.
Sasha laughed. “You are all red, sweetheart. You are thinking Nick is Italian—hot-blooded.”
Amanda gulped.
“Oh, there I go with my big mouth again,” said Sasha. “I am sorry. This is too personal, eh?”
Amanda nodded.
“We will get that tea then, shall we?” said Sasha, searching for a place to put her feet in all that stuff. It was a real obstacle course getting to the kitchen.
When Sasha had cleared a spot and they were seated with their tea she said, “It was the biggest mistake I ever made. I have mille regrets.”
“It’s okay,” said Amanda, not sure what mille meant but thinking it must be something big. “I was a little taken aback at first but I don’t mind if you know how I feel about Nick. Everyone else does.�
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Sasha laughed. “No, not that. I was talking about giving my baby away.”
Her baby? What baby was she—oh, she meant Nick. Boy, this woman didn’t beat around the bush. No matter the subject, she was just out there. Well then, there was no reason for Amanda to be coy.
“You’re sorry you gave Nick to the Moriartys?” said Amanda.
“The worst thing I ever did,” said Sasha. “I would give my right arm to take it back. And my foot.”
“Mrs. Pashmina,” said Ivy. “Sasha—”
“No, I didn’t know,” said Sasha, displaying a sense very close to telepathy. “It was all done through a solicitor. Private, of course. I have confessed many times but it still stains my soul.”
Amanda had visions of Sasha inside a huge cathedral, head covered with lace like some madonna in a Renaissance painting. She never in a million years would have imagined Nick’s mother that way. It would take some getting used to.
“I think he would want to know that,” she said.
Sasha’s face lit up. “You will tell him?”
Amanda looked over at Ivy. Nigel turned his face up to her and his tongue lolled out. “I’ll try.”
“What do you mean ‘try’?” said Basilica. “Is he so angry he won’t listen?”
“No, it isn’t that,” said Amanda. “I don’t know where he is.”
“Because he is with that criminal,” said Sasha.
“No, not anymore,” said Amanda.
“Because Mrs. Moriarty, she die. I read it in the papers.”
“She did, but that isn’t the reason,” said Amanda. “Nick ran away from Blixus. He tried to become an emancipated minor, but then he found out that the adoption wasn’t legal and—”
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