Amanda Lester and the Gold Spectacles Surprise

by Paula Berinstein

  This wasn’t good, not good at all. The detectives thought the Moran line had died out. They’d studied the criminal in History of Detectives, and both Professor Also and her mother had said so. Professor Feeney had confirmed the assertion in Criminals and Their Methods. There weren’t any more Morans. Obviously they were wrong. And that was very bad news because it meant that the Morans had been able to hide and do who knew what in secret for who knew how long. They might be responsible for any number of unsolved crimes. She needed to let the school know ASAP.

  Now she heard him on the other side of the door. How could she not? His voice was like a trombone, but what he was saying was more akin to glass shattering. He was telling them about their class project, and it was nothing like Legatum’s. Explosions might be over the top, but assassination was out of the universe. The man was telling the kids that they were supposed to target a detective and devise a plan to take them out. But that was only the beginning because they would get extra credit if they actually accomplished the task! And then she heard something that chilled her to the bone: Gavin Niven was telling the teacher he was going to target her!

  Moran laughed. He seemed to think this was a marvelous idea. He congratulated Gavin on his initiative and told him he’d get even more credit if he threw Nick into the bargain. But that didn’t frighten her. That made her mad—so mad, in fact, that she almost burst right through the door. But the next thing she heard stopped her. Because someone was complaining that they hadn’t been able to find Professor Snaffle. And that baffled her.

  Hadn’t one of Taffeta’s minions been the one to spirit Professor Snaffle away from Dandy Castle? If that were the case, surely the criminal kids and their teachers would know about it. But if they didn’t, that meant the kidnapper had to be someone else. And she had no idea who that might be.

  She felt so sick to her stomach that she reached into a pocket and pulled out a broken gingersnap. She didn’t know whether revulsion, fear, anger, or bewilderment was the dominant emotion she was feeling. Everything had changed in the last five minutes and she felt that her world had spun out of orbit.

  Blixus shined his torch into the crevice at the end of the tunnel and peered at the rocks. There had to be an entrance here somewhere. He knew tunnels too well. The builders would have connected the dungeons to the network. He just had to find the way in.

  He wondered if Taffy knew what she had there. It was the perfect setup: a place remote enough to be obscure, but reachable via a variety of routes, including one so well hidden that you could move people and goods in and out without anyone being the wiser. Perhaps he’d have a setup like that himself someday, but for now he still had to keep a low profile. Heaven could wait.

  If Taffy knew he had the metadata she’d be green with envy. It had been so easy in the end. All those years of watching and waiting and it had come down to that stupid Binkle kid giving it all away. What a loser he was. Almost as overrated as Amanda.

  The only problem was that now the detectives had Hugh. Of course he wouldn’t talk. He’d trained the boy well. There was nothing they could do to him, but it was such an inconvenience. Now he’d have to rescue him. Editta was no loss though. She’d long since outlived her usefulness. She could rot for all he cared.

  Taffeta was another matter though, opening his school as if she had the right. Who did she think she was anyway? She was almost as uppity as Mavis had got sometimes—all those delusions about King Arthur and round tables. He would take care of her personally, but not tonight. Tonight he had other things to attend to.

  Fortunately it had been easy to find her once he had her friend Julie Pantaloon’s phone. He’d known she had some of the secrets. They’d figured that out when they had Harry Sheriff trapped in that cavern in Penrith. Now they’d be his, and with the metadata he’d got from that loser Belize he’d finally be able to wipe out the detectives and get on with his life. He couldn’t wait.

  It wasn’t usually difficult to find these hidden entrances if you knew where to look, but this one was giving him trouble. That meant it was either ancient or brand new. Either way it might be booby trapped, but he was prepared. He knew all the tricks. Some he’d learned the hard way.

  Suddenly something caught his eye. He’d found it! He had to hand it to whoever had constructed it. Most people wouldn’t think of looking up, but Blixus knew that that was often the most productive approach. There at the junction of the roof and the wall he could just make out the tiniest abnormality. Now he’d just have to figure out how to get up there and he’d be in.

  The detectives weren’t the only inventors. Blixus and his associates were actively engaged in developing new gadgets and he just happened to be carrying one. He’d foreseen that he might need a variety of devices to get him past Taffy’s security and into locked compartments, and he pulled one of them out now: an adjustable hoist that could take a man’s weight.

  Made out of titanium, it was lightweight, strong, and compact. He placed it on the ground, set the height he wanted, and stepped on top. The special coating fixed his boots to the metal. Then he pressed the button and felt it lift him to the ceiling. He fiddled with the secret opening, hoisted himself through, and detached the device from his feet, leaving the coating as pristine and useful as when he’d found it. Then he collapsed it and stuck it back in his cargo pants.

  The opening led into another tunnel, but this one was different. It was obviously part of the castle because it was lined with stone. He checked his GPS, which miraculously was working. He was on the south side of the structure, almost at its rear. According to the plans he was under one of the tower sections, of which there were at least eight. He wondered what he’d find there.

  What he really needed to do was locate Taffy’s inner sanctum. The girl would keep the secrets close. Of course what form they would take he wasn’t sure. She might have scanned them onto a memory stick. If she was wearing the blasted thing that would make obtaining them more difficult, but just marginally. The only thing to worry about was whether she also carried a weapon, but his jamming device would probably take care of that. It usually did.

  He crept along the passageway and found himself facing a circular staircase. There was no way to go but up, so he began his climb and found himself on what seemed to be the ground floor. Around the staircase was a hall, and in the hall were several doors labeled “Lab.” He wondered who she’d got to teach the labs. He was pretty sure his former teachers wouldn’t touch her with a ten-foot pole. If it was Crispin Ice, it would be a joke. That waste of space didn’t know a centrifuge from an incubator. One thing was certain though. He wasn’t going to find her quarters in here.

  There were two unmarked doors leading out of the hall. One opened onto a large round area that appeared to be residential and the other gave onto some classrooms. He chose the lodgings and closed the door behind him. He found himself in yet another round area with a set of circular stairs in the middle. He was working out a mental picture of the place based on his exploration and beginning to have a sneaking suspicion about where she would have set herself up.

  Taffeta would position herself in the rear of the castle so that everything surrounded and protected her. She would choose a location high up from which she could survey her domain and look down on everyone. He briefly pictured her as some sort of Rapunzel, letting her golden hair flow down the tower, but that wasn’t Taffy at all. She was more like the evil queen who had imprisoned the fairy tale girl in the first place.

  He padded around the residential area, opening a door here and there. He wasn’t worried about the occupants. He’d just zap them if they tried anything. He needn’t have been concerned though. All the rooms were empty and he concluded that they were so small they couldn’t possibly have anything to do with Taffy anyway. These were for students and teachers. They didn’t concern him.

  The quarters connected to several other round areas: more residences, a library, and a tower that smelled like Taffy’s perfume. He was getting clo
se. How stupid the girl was. You could smell her a mile away. She couldn’t hide if she tried.

  But her person wasn’t what he was interested in, at least not yet. Not that he’d forgo the chance to eliminate her if he could. But that would happen naturally once he obtained the secrets so why get his hands dirty now? They were all that mattered.

  He was getting so excited he was practically salivating. Sure enough, there at the top was her suite, and what a suite it was: absolutely palatial, with rich Elizabethan furniture including the largest canopied bed he’d ever seen. Of course the place was a mess—typical Taffy—with clothes and paraphernalia thrown everywhere, but she’d definitely put some dosh into it. Where was she getting all that money anyway? More important, where did she keep the secrets?

  He stopped to consider what he knew about her. She was quirky, that was for sure. And rebellious. If you were supposed to do something a certain way, nine times out of ten she wouldn’t. She was so contrary, so sure she was always right, that she didn’t listen, even when it was in her interest to do so. That little tendency would trip her up sooner or later, but what did it mean now?

  She probably wouldn’t use a safe. That might be his fault though. He didn’t like ‘em, never used ‘em. Too obvious. He never could convince Stencil of that but that was his problem. Taffy, though, had agreed with him, at least on that issue. Even so, it might be wise to do a quick recon and see if there was one.

  The art and photography she’d hung on her walls was genuine and expensive. She’d never displayed that kind of taste before. Had she brought in a fancy decorator who’d selected the pieces for her? Good grief, a genuine Damien Hirst. And a Cindy Sherman? What would an eighteen-year-old delinquent know about geniuses like that and for heaven’s sake, didn’t she know they didn’t go with the period? Something didn’t add up. One thing he did know, however, was that none of the paintings concealed a wall safe.

  Nor did he find a built-in, freestanding, or any other safe. What he did find, though, was a plush jewelry box, and in it a memory stick on a chain. Voila!

  He reached into his goodie pocket, extracted a USB cable, and pulled the data off onto his phone. As he stuffed the necklace into his pants he threw back his head and laughed. It was the secrets all right, all scanned and OCR’d and ready for use. But there was something else as well, and that made him frown: a list of Schola parents who had contributed money to the project. So that was where she was getting the funds. He wondered if they knew how she was squandering their money on her own aggrandizement. Not that he wouldn’t do the same, but he was forty-five and a proven talent. She was a teenage no one.

  Then he noticed something that made his blood boil. Some of his friends had given the girl money—people he’d known for decades, mates he’d had over for dinner, played golf with. Now that he thought about it he hadn’t heard from them for some time. Was it because of that video Waltz had made? No, it went back further than that. How did she—

  And then he saw it: the name of the principal donor. Banting Waltz was practically bankrolling the new school—his precious Schola. The blackguard who had taken over his cartel was stealing his school too. Well that little ego trip was about to end. Once he had the secrets they would all be done for: the detectives, Waltz, Taffeta, and anyone else who crossed him. And then he’d eliminate Wink’s kid and the Lestrade girl and life would be beautiful again.

  Now that he’d found what he’d come for he was anxious to get away. But as he was leaving the suite he caught sight of what looked like Taffy’s office down the hall. He couldn’t resist. Perhaps it held something else that might benefit him. He listened at the door. Nothing. He turned the handle and pushed. There it was, lodged in the corner: the safe she wasn’t supposed to have. He laughed and ran to it. It took longer than expected to crack it and he could hear someone coming. Without stopping to examine his treasure he shut the door, ducked behind the curtains, and held his breath.

  Amanda couldn’t believe what a maze the castle was. She’d explored it for what had to be hours before she finally found Taffeta’s office. She’d been in umpteen towers—all of them round with spiral staircases at the center—and found not only classrooms but dorm rooms, labs, common rooms, offices, and something that scared the bejeezus out of her, an entire tower devoted to Eamon Moran. She’d hightailed it out of there so fast she was afraid she’d fall and break her neck. But at last, at the rear of the castle, she had found Taffeta’s tower, and what a tower it was.

  Everything in the place screamed “Taffeta.” She could even smell the girl’s perfume and hoped like crazy it wouldn’t make her sneeze. What really got her, though, was the contrast with the rest of the place. The castle was atmospheric and she liked that, but it was a bit on the dingy side. Taffeta’s realm, though, was so rich, so opulent, that it seemed to belong to a different world. She briefly wondered whether all the fixtures were real or had been devised by some extremely talented prop department, but when she saw the art she was pretty sure they were authentic. She wasn’t an expert but she recognized a few signatures and they were big names.

  Suddenly she heard footsteps and froze. Instinct took over and she dove for a potted plant—just in time to conceal herself from . . . Blixus Moriarty?

  Good grief, what was he doing there? And where was he going? Taffeta’s office was right in front of him but he passed it by. Perhaps he needed the loo? Whatever it was, this was serious. Blixus might have the stolen metadata on him! She needed help and she had an idea. She pulled out her phone and sent Simon a text. Then she listened at the door of Taffeta’s office and, taking a deep breath, ducked inside.

  The safe wasn’t even hidden. Unlike Stencil’s it was out in the open for everyone to see. Either Taffeta trusted the students and teachers implicitly, stored nothing of value there, or had booby-trapped it so effectively that it didn’t matter. Whatever the reason, the glasses might just be there and she had to crack it.

  She tiptoed to the safe and saw that the mechanism was electronic. That meant it was probably controlled by Taffeta’s fingerprint or a retina scan or possibly her scent like the locks in the trove. If it required access to her eyes she was in big trouble. Nor did she know how to concentrate that perfume smell so that it might open—wait. Was that what Blixus was doing—looking for Taffeta’s perfume so he could open the safe? Not a bad idea, but there was no way she was going to chance running into him. She’d have to try another method.

  She reached into her pocket and pulled out her fingerprint kit. There was no way of knowing which fingerprints belonged to Taffeta, but considering that it was her office, chances were good that something would match. Amanda set to work dusting and lifting.

  Many of the prints were partial, smudged, or faint, which was weird. It was almost as if Taffeta had purposely made it difficult for anyone to lift them. Even when she got good ones they didn’t work. Surely some of the prints belonged to her. Perhaps she was on the wrong track.

  Suddenly she heard a noise at the door. Someone was coming! She ducked under the desk just in time to avoid . . . Blixus! She could tell it was him by his musky smell and the way he moved. Was it possible she was developing Ivy senses? If so, why hadn’t she been able to figure out the puzzle of the lock?

  She could hear him at the safe. She didn’t know how he did it but he must have opened it because she heard a click and a lot of cursing. Whatever he was looking for must not have been there. Then, before he could close the safe, the office door rattled and she heard him slip behind the drapes.

  Now a second person came tromping into the room and made straight for the safe, rustling papers and cursing. There was something vaguely familiar about the voice but she couldn’t place it. Then, before the man had been there for even a minute, she heard footsteps outside the door again. The next thing she knew the second visitor had thrown himself under the desk and practically bashed into her. Harry Sheriff! What in the world was he doing here?

  Harry yelped and pulled away from her. Sh
e put a finger to her lips and he nodded, then grinned at her in that leering way of his. He reached out to touch her and she shook her head wildly. He laughed silently and withdrew his hand but winked at her as if promising that this, whatever it was, wasn’t over.

  And then, as Amanda, Harry, and Blixus hid in Taffeta’s office, a third person came through the door.

  24

  Shot

  After a great deal of to-ing and fro-ing, Holmes found Moran’s classroom. It was located on the first floor, indicated by the assassin’s coat of arms. He harrumphed. If the man’s family was so great, where had it been for the last hundred years? Perhaps the bloke wasn’t even a Moran at all. But if not, who was he?

  He inserted Simon’s listening device and, heart racing, put his ear to the door. He wished he had x-ray vision. He was dying to know what the assassin looked like, but more important he needed to tell where he was standing in order to aim the dart properly.

  There was another way to do that though. He activated his 3D mapping software and probed the area. Within seconds he was looking at a 3D representation of the castle as he’d experienced it. He pointed the probe toward Moran’s voice and was able to get a bead on him. He just hoped his practice would make perfect because he wouldn’t get another chance.

  He wished he’d had time to make an electronically guided dart. Then he could just connect the dart to the map and let it find its target. But since that was impossible he’d have to do it the old-fashioned way.

  He studied the map, readied the dart, and reached for the knob. But as soon as his fingers touched the metal he balked. Everything he’d planned, practiced, and contemplated was about to become real. He couldn’t do it, take a man’s life, even a man like that. Not in cold blood like this. This was murder, plain and simple. There had to be another way. He could go back and alert the detectives, let them handle it, or better yet phone the police. That was what they were there for. It was what you were supposed to do—what a detective did.