Amanda Lester and the Gold Spectacles Surprise

by Paula Berinstein

  Mr. Tasmania, a tall bald man who had Taffeta’s gorgeous eyes, greeted the family sympathetically and ushered them into a room full of sample coffins: burnished mahogany, sturdy oak, a shiny maroon thing with gold trim, a tacky white plastic model. The family, which comprised a middle-aged couple and three teenagers, ooohed and aahed over them in a muted way, and Mr. Tasmania looked tastefully pleased. He seemed to have a nice way with them, soothing their grief and making them feel as if their loved one was the most important person in the world. A man who could put people at ease in a tough situation like that probably did well for himself.

  No one took any notice of her, and while the group was otherwise occupied Amanda snuck into Mr. Tasmania’s office, a small, unobtrusive room off to the side. A picture of Taffeta at about age ten sat on his desk, next to another of her as a young child and a third taken at about Amanda’s age. She was a beautiful girl, but in each photo Amanda could detect an insolence behind her smile. She wondered how she and her father got along. The girl Amanda knew was nothing like the nice man out there. Then again he might have been acting. Whatever the case he seemed to love his daughter very much.

  Victor Tasmania was a tidy man. His desk was virtually clear of papers except for some business cards near his keyboard. Amanda glanced at them. They were all from psychologists—professionals who specialized in the treatment of disturbed children. So he was worried about Taffeta. She wondered how much he knew about her criminal activities. After all he had sent her to Legatum. He’d wanted her to be a detective. He must have been devastated when she was expelled, worse when she’d gone off with the Moriartys, if he even knew about that.

  But Amanda wasn’t there to find out about him. She needed to locate his daughter. She hit the space bar on the computer and the screen cleared. She opened up the documents folder and was surprised to see a spreadsheet entitled Legatum_funerals.xls.

  She wouldn’t find information about Taffeta in there but she had to look. She opened the file and found herself staring at details about the funerals and burials of Professors Redleaf and Sidebotham, as well as Wink Wiffle. So Victor Tasmania was in touch with the school, even though Taffeta had left. Amanda wasn’t sure what that meant. Was he a detective? Someone in the family had to be or the girl never would have gotten in.

  Then something caught her eye. Each deceased person’s next of kin was listed. For Professor Sidebotham it was her sister, Conchetta. For Wink it was David and Celerie. No mention of Nick, of course, because at the time no one knew that Nick was his son. Still, Nick would want to know where his father was buried—Cornwall, as it turned out—and she made a note of the location. But what she found really weird was the notation next to Professor Redleaf’s name. Her next of kin was listed as Scapulus Holmes, son. Holmes was Redleaf’s son? How was that possible? No, she was a family friend. Mr. Tasmania must mean godson. His parents were Olimus and Pastiche Holmes. Surely it was a mistake. Or was it?

  That slip they found in the secrets trove with Holmes’s name on it—was this what it was about, that he was the biological child of one of Legatum’s teachers? It was entirely possible, and if it was true no wonder he hadn’t wanted anyone to know. Disclosure could have caused all sorts of problems for both of them. But did that mean he wasn’t actually a Holmes? If Professor Redleaf was his mother, who was his father?

  As she studied Professor Redleaf’s entry Amanda noticed something else odd. The teacher’s name was listed as Okimma Earful Redleaf. Earful? Did that mean she was related to Legatum founder Lovelace Earful? If so, was Holmes as well? This was huge! Scapulus Holmes was descended from the founder of the greatest detective school in the world? Did he know this? Should she mention it to him? Did that mean that Professor Redleaf had known Earful’s secrets . . . Moriarty’s secrets? OMG, did Holmes know them and was hiding them?

  She couldn’t believe that. He may have been a secretive guy but he wouldn’t keep such vital information from them. Except that he already had. He hadn’t told a soul that Professor Redleaf was his real mother. What else wasn’t he telling them, telling her?

  Was it possible that Holmes didn’t know any of this? Maybe he thought Olimus and Pastiche Holmes were really his parents, Sherlock really his ancestor. But why would his “parents” lead him to believe he was a Holmes if he wasn’t? And why would they keep Redleaf in his life? None of it made sense.

  Whatever the case, Amanda was absolutely shocked and busting to tell someone. As soon as she got out of the funeral parlor she would call Ivy and swear her to secrecy. Then the two of them would figure out what to do.

  She could hear noises coming from the next room so she knew she had to hurry. She opened Mr. Tasmania’s email and scanned the headers. Not a single message from his daughter. That was weird. So they were estranged, or so it seemed. Did that mean he didn’t know where she was? If so, Amanda was wasting her time. But there was one more place she wanted to look.

  She opened the browser and checked the viewing history. The man had spent a lot of time looking at Google Maps. She brought up one of the URLs and lo and behold he’d created a marker with the word “Schola” on it. Schola Sceleratorum, the school for criminals? What did the undertaker know of that? The Moriartys’ Schola had been destroyed, but the detectives had always expected them to rebuild. Was this what Blixus had been up to in his spare time? But then why would Mr. Tasmania . . . Perhaps someone else had restarted the school and Taffeta was attending. And look where it was: right in County Durham, not far from Legatum.

  She wanted to check one more thing before she left. She clicked the Schola marker to see if Mr. Tasmania had added notes. He had, quite a few. It seemed that the Moriarty cartel was indeed behind the new school, but it wasn’t Blixus who was supporting it; it was Banting Waltz. Furthermore Taffeta was the head of it! Oh, this was bad. Waltz controlled not only the cartel but the new school, and the Queen of the Night (Amanda liked to think of her as that) was his principal? Oh brother. This was getting crazier and crazier. Taffeta’s agents breaking into Sasha’s house. Holmes not being Holmes. Waltz and Taffeta joining up. Blixus and Hugh still at large. Her mother dating an evil crook. And the worst of all, Nick leaving her. She wasn’t sure what was true and what was false anymore and she felt her head spin.

  She had to get out of there—now—especially because Mr. Tasmania was standing in the doorway with a shocked expression on his face.

  “Who are you?” he said. “What are you doing with my computer?”

  Amanda got up and ran, knocking him to one side. The mourners were gathered by the front desk, their mouths hanging open, as she blew through the reception area, out through the front door, and into the arms of Stencil Moriarty.

  Lila gave the very short, very obsequious waiter her lunch order. Why not caviar, even though it was early in the day? Then she turned back to her phone and smiled. “Well, well. Another loser Moriarty. This should be interesting.”

  18

  Stencil

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa, little lady,” said Stencil, holding Amanda in a vise-like grip. “Going somewhere?”

  “I’ll scream,” she said, twisting and flapping.

  “I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” he said, poking something hard and sharpish into her side. A gun?

  She peered up at him. She knew that face. “It was you at the station. When Ivy and I were coming back from London. Who are you and what do you want?”

  “What do you think? My spectacles.” He poked her harder.

  “You’re Stencil Moriarty? So that’s why I thought I knew you. The family resemblance. Well I don’t have them so you can stop following me.”

  “I know that, but your friends do.” He jerked her shoulder and she yelped.

  “What are you talking about, you monkey?”

  He laughed, showing perfect white teeth. “The model and her mum. We’re going to South Kensington to pay them a visit.”

  Forgetting about the gun Amanda whirled around in his arms, or attempted to. His
grip was so tight that all she did was wrench her neck. “You wouldn’t.”

  “I would indeed. Your cheeky little friend stole my glasses. I want them back.”

  So he thought Basilica still had the glasses. That meant he didn’t know Taffeta had them. Well if he didn’t know she wasn’t about to tell him. She needed those glasses herself. But taking him to Sasha’s house would endanger the Pashminas. She’d have to think of a diversion, fast. It wasn’t difficult.

  “She doesn’t have them. They were stolen.”

  Stencil gripped her arm even tighter. He was a big man, as big as Blixus, and easily as strong. “Now why would anyone steal them? No one knows about them. You are a liar, Lestrade.”

  She flinched. No one had called her that for a while. She’d have to do better. The truth wasn’t going to work. What could she say that would distract him? Some sort of misdirection perhaps?

  “I’m not lying. They really were stolen but I think I might know where they are.”

  “Oh really? And where might that be?”

  What should she say? Maybe she could get her enemies fighting each other. That way they would weaken each other while she found a way to escape and get the glasses for herself.

  “My stepfather has them.”

  “Waltz? Blixus didn’t mention—” He eyed her suspiciously. “Well, there’s nothing he can do with them, so . . . Very well. If Waltz has them you’re just the person to help me. Come on.”

  Stencil frog-marched her down the street to a black sedan and shoved her in the back. Then he locked the door, sprinted to the driver’s side, and got in.

  “Fun,” he said brightly. “I like going for rides with my favorite girl.”

  Amanda blew a raspberry and he laughed.

  She eyed the door handle, or would have. There wasn’t one. That was odd. Did Stencil make a habit of keeping prisoners in his car? Probably. He’d obviously adapted the door for some reason. Great. Was there some other way she could escape? Knock him out maybe?

  She glanced around. What could she use—her phone? Not heavy enough. Her bag? Perhaps if she got a good swing in, but she wouldn’t render him unconscious that way. It would only distract him and they might crash. Plus he might get so mad he’d hurt her. She could see nothing else that would do.

  Maybe she shouldn’t have been so quick to blame Waltz. But what else could she have said? She’d had to divert Stencil to protect Nick’s family. She couldn’t point him at Blixus because he knew his brother didn’t have them. Some other criminal? Who? Oh well. What was done was done. She’d have to make the best of it.

  She glanced out the window at scenery that was starting to look familiar.

  “Where are we going?”

  “Where do you think?” he said snidely.

  “It looks like you’re going to my mother’s house.”

  “Gosh you’re smart.” He turned around and grinned at her. She wanted to smack him.

  “He isn’t there.”

  “At Lila’s? Where is he then?”

  “I don’t know. He doesn’t check in with me.”

  Stencil swung around and pointed at her bag. A car turned in front of him and she squealed. He hit the brake and she went flying forward. He managed to stop just before hitting the other car.

  “Would you cut that out?” he said. “I had it.” He glanced in the rearview mirror. “It’s a good thing no one was behind us. We’d be wearing neck braces.”

  “You almost got us killed.”

  “Just shut it. Now get on the phone and call your mum. Find out where Waltz is.”

  “I can’t. We’re estranged.”

  He laughed loud and long. “Nick again, eh?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Stupid kid. I don’t know what you two see in each other.”

  She wasn’t going to rise to that bait. He could dis Nick all day but he wouldn’t get anything out of her.

  She thought she’d dissuaded him from going to Lila’s but it was soon apparent that she hadn’t. They were almost there.

  “Belgravia, eh?” he said, looking in the mirror. “I guess those books of hers sell pretty well.”

  “They do all right,” said Amanda, fervently hoping that something would divert him away from Lila.

  “I’d say better than all right.” He whistled.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. You have just as much money as she does.”

  He laughed. “More. Much more.”

  “You’re a pig,” she said. “Money isn’t important.”

  “You’re right. It isn’t. Power is ever so much nicer. Ah, here we are.”

  He pulled the car over and cut the engine. “I do hope she’s at home. Such a lovely woman. Perhaps she’d consent to a nice photo of the two of us. Come on, Lestrade. Show time.”

  He forced her up to the front door, pulled out a gun, and shot the lock. “Lila, we’re here,” he called as he pushed the door open. “Put the kettle on.” Amanda kicked him in the shin. “Ow! Now you behave, Lestrade, or I might have to use this.” He waved the gun at her. “Oh Lila!”

  It soon became apparent that Lila was not at home but Waltz’s things were all over the house. Seeing them there made Amanda sick.

  “He definitely lives here,” said Stencil. “Unfortunately the gentleman isn’t at home. We shall have to look elsewhere. Now where would that be? Go see if he has a calendar.”

  “His calendar would be on his phone, dummy,” she said.

  “He’s over thirty,” said Stencil. “Go look.” He grabbed her and dragged her into what had to be Waltz’s study. No calendar. “He must keep it at his office. Or perhaps your mum has one. Let’s go look in her office.”

  Unlike Waltz Lila kept a calendar at home, but it was no help at all. She didn’t seem to use it.

  “Where does your mother write down her appointments?” he said.

  “She doesn’t,” said Amanda. “That’s why she always forgets them.”

  Fine,” said Stencil. “Go check in Waltz’s pockets.”

  Ugh. The thought of handling the man’s clothes was even more nauseating, but she forced herself to dig in. In a pair of trousers she found a comb, in a jacket a fancy pen, and in a shirt pocket a handkerchief. But in his jeans she found something really disgusting: a love letter from her mother.

  “I’m going to hurl,” she said, and ran for the bathroom.

  “What is it?” said Stencil, grabbing the piece of paper and reading greedily as Amanda retched into the toilet. “Oh my, isn’t this sweet? She really loves him, doesn’t she? It will be such a shame when she loses him. You will have to comfort her.”

  Amanda wiped her mouth and sat on the bed. He waved the letter in front of her face. “Nice writing, don’t you think? She really has a way with words.”

  Amanda jumped up, grabbed the paper out of his hand, and ripped it to shreds. Stencil threw his head back and roared with laughter. Then he said, “Stop fooling around. We need to find your father.”

  “He isn’t my father!” she screamed.

  “As good as,” said Stencil. “And I think you know a lot more about him than you’ve been letting on. Where is he?”

  “I don’t know!” she yelled.

  Stencil grabbed her by the sweater and brought her face close to his. His breath was hot and smelly. “Enough stalling. Tell me where Waltz is. They claim they teach you to lie at that school but they make a right hash of it.”

  “At Legatum? No they don’t.” Whoops. Don’t engage. Talking about Legatum might be a slippery slope. He might trick her into revealing secrets. She stared straight ahead.

  “That’s the problem. If they don’t teach you that they ought to. Tell me where he is—NOW.”

  He took his gun out of the pocket and pointed it at her. Would he actually shoot? She didn’t think so. She was too valuable—all those things she knew. She could afford to be lippy.

  “I honestly don’t know. I don’t care either.”

  “
You should. Because if we don’t find him you’re going to be in a whole lot of trouble.”

  That was probably true. If he thought she knew where Waltz was he might torture her. It was better to sacrifice her stepfather than herself.

  “I could try to figure it out.”

  He leered at her. His blue eyes were icier than his brother’s. He gave her the creeps. “Oh you could, could you? Well, have at it then.”

  She swallowed. Maybe if she took it step by step, the way she always tried to solve mysteries. “Waltz took over your organization.”

  Stencil laughed. “So he believes. He’s deluded. Our men will never listen to him.”

  “Yes, but let’s just go with this for a moment. He will want to visit your top lieutenants in person—intimidate them, get them on his side, promise them the moon, whatever. Where do you usually meet? The factory is gone.”

  “He won’t use our places. Not safe.”

  “That makes sense. And not their homes, or his, which come to think of it, I have no idea where he lives.”

  “With your mum, it looks like.”

  Amanda gagged. The idea of that villain moving into her mother’s house made her want to toss her cookies again. She hoped it wasn’t true. She’d just assumed he had his own place. Now she wasn’t so sure. But either way he wouldn’t bring Blixus’s lieutenants there.

  She stared out the window. It had begun to rain again but it was always raining in England. She barely noticed anymore. Would Waltz take his thugs to an obscure place or would he hide them in plain sight? The Penrith tunnels were an obvious possibility—actually too obvious, and anyway a Moriarty hangout. An abandoned building in the city? Perhaps. A deserted factory or warehouse might be just the place, but there were so many of them. How would they ever know which was the right one?