Amanda Lester and the Purple Rainbow Puzzle

by Paula Berinstein

  “You’re not serious,” said Celerie Wiffle with a look of horror on her face. “That’s crazy talk.”

  “I’ll show you what’s crazy,” said Mrs. Sweetgum. “If you insult me like that, I’ll add you too. You’ll be hearing from me, Mr. Thrillkill. And you,” she said looking at David’s mother, “will be feeling a few twinges, as will that Lestrade girl. Come to think of it, I’ll bet that spoiled son of yours had something to do with my daughter’s disappearance.”

  “Spoiled?” cried Mrs. Wiffle. “You have the nerve to call my David spoiled? I’ll have you know that David has had a very strict upbringing. My husband and I—”

  “Your husband is dead,” said Mrs. Sweetgum. Amanda gasped. She couldn’t believe Editta’s mother would be so cruel. “And my daughter may be as well. If she’s still alive, she will not be coming back to this miserable excuse for a school. Good day, Headmaster. Ms. Wiffle.”

  As she blasted out of the headmaster’s office, Andalusia Sweetgum stepped on Amanda’s foot. When she felt the foot she screeched to a halt, looked right through Amanda, and swished out into the hall. Then Celerie Wiffle rose and practically flew out of the office, prancing even faster than Editta’s mother, heels clicking loudly. She didn’t look at Amanda either.

  Amanda was torn. Thrillkill was a strong man. With the exception of his icicle phobia, nothing got to him. Well, nothing used to get to him. He had been acting a bit peculiar lately, behaving as though nothing was wrong when the sky was falling. Obviously he was feeling pressured. But Amanda still had complete confidence in him. You didn’t face down the likes of Belarus Mafioso Jumbo Pinchuk, serial killer Potato Skootch, and arch criminal Blixus Moriarty and live to tell the tale unless you were Superman. Thrillkill was facing many challenges, but he would come through as he always did.

  Suddenly a well-dressed young man blew by Amanda and stopped in front of the headmaster’s desk.

  “It’s polite to knock,” said Thrillkill.

  “You Gaston Thrillkill?” said the visitor.

  “I am.”

  “Here you are, then,” said the man, coughing all over them. “You’ve been served.” Out he went, bashing into Amanda in his hurry. Thrillkill threw the paper across the desk and onto the floor.

  “Blast,” he said. “That was all we needed.” He sat back in his chair, then swiveled around and faced his bookcase. The book on his lap fell to the floor. He picked it up and threw it in the trash.

  “I take it that’s the lawsuit,” said Amanda. “The paper, not the book.”

  “Correct,” said Thrillkill, still facing the bookcase. “Never mind the book. It was a discard from the library.” Amanda didn’t know if she believed him. Suddenly he slued around and said, “Your father.”

  “My father?” said Amanda. “What about him?”

  “Is he available?”

  Amanda was confused. Herb Lester, a former prosecuting attorney for the City of Los Angeles and then a barrister at the Crown Prosecution Office in London, had recently freaked out following his kidnapping and near death at the hands of the Moriartys. Suffering from PTSD, he’d gone off to find himself and was now devoting his life to yoga, a development Amanda’s mother, Lila, couldn’t cope with. As a result they were getting a divorce. So what did Thrillkill mean, “Is he available?”

  “I don’t understand the question, sir,” said Amanda.

  “To represent the school,” said Thrillkill. “We’re going to need a barrister. Celerie Wiffle has filed a wrongful death suit.” He picked up the legal document from the floor and skimmed it. “Bad news.”

  “That was fast,” said Amanda.

  “Yes,” said Thrillkill. “She’s a well-organized woman. I see she’s hired Dapple Payslip as her attorney. This is no laughing matter.” He made as if to tear up the papers, then crumpled them into a ball instead.

  “Dapple Payslip? Who is that?” Amanda knew a few names of UK lawyers, but not many. She’d only been in the country a few months and had been rather tied up during that time. Obviously she’d need to brush up.

  “Mmm,” said Thrillkill. “Not someone you want to fool with. She’s only the most cutthroat barrister in London. She could ruin us.” He tossed the paper into the corner.

  Amanda didn’t want to say that they were well on their way to ruination for reasons other than Dapple Payslip. “And you want my father to be opposing counsel?” she said.

  “Yes,” said Thrillkill. “There’s none better.”

  Amanda had never thought of her father as a superstar. She knew he was good, but otherwise he was just her father. Now it seemed that he had built quite a reputation, although not a good enough one to make him District Attorney of Los Angeles, a position he’d run for and lost.

  “The thing is . . .” said Amanda. She wasn’t sure how to tell him. She understood her father, but she didn’t think Thrillkill would. He’d think Herb was weak.

  “Don’t tell me he’s booked up,” said Thrillkill.

  “Er, not exactly,” said Amanda. It was probably better just to come out with it. She steeled herself for his reaction. “He, uh, quit.”

  “Quit the Crown Prosecution Service?” said Thrillkill. “That’s good, then. Now he’s a free agent.” He looked delighted, if you could be delighted under the circumstances.

  “A little too free,” said Amanda. Boy, this was difficult.

  “Miss Lester, would you please get to the point? We don’t have time for dilly-dallying.”

  “Sorry, sir. He’s, uh, he’s quit working altogether. He’s, uh, he’s practicing yoga.”

  “You what?” roared Thrillkill. Amanda could never get used to that Britishism. It sounded like the speaker was blaming the listener for something when in fact it just meant “What?”

  “Yes, sir. It seems that he’s had some trouble adjusting since his kidnapping. He and my mother have split up.”

  “Sorry to hear that,” said Thrillkill, who seemed to be performing mental calculations. “But that doesn’t mean he can’t work. I know how devoted he is to Lila, but—”

  “It isn’t that, sir,” said Amanda. She really didn’t want to have to explain, but he was giving her no choice. “He’s just, uh, different now. I don’t think he wants to be a lawyer anymore.”

  “Nonsense,” said Thrillkill. “Herb Lester is the best lawyer in the Legatum family, and that’s going some. He lives and breathes the law. He’ll do this for us.”

  “You can try,” said Amanda. Let him experience her father’s transformation for himself. Then he’d see. “Would you like me to phone him?”

  “Let’s do that now, shall we?” said Thrillkill.

  “All right,” said Amanda, pulling out her phone. She pressed her father’s icon and waited a moment. When the outgoing message came on, her jaw dropped. Her father had begun it with one long toneless “OM.”

  She looked at Thrillkill. His face had twisted into geometrical shapes. “I can hear that,” he said.

  Then Herb Lester’s recorded voice gently pushed aside the mantra. Amanda didn’t think she’d ever heard him use that tone before. “Namaste. You have reached a place of peace. I am on a spiritual journey and may not return your call for some time. Blessings.”

  Amanda held the phone away from her ear, stared at it, and sighed. She left a halting message, ended the call, and looked down at her lap. “You see what I mean, Professor.”

  “Well I’ll be,” said Thrillkill. “I never would have expected that. Shall we come up with another name, then?”

  “I think we’d better,” said Amanda.

  After Thrillkill had left half a dozen messages for various attorneys, he turned to Amanda and said, “Here is a list of critical problems that need our attention. Please prioritize them. Take five minutes, but no longer. Go.”

  He passed her a hand-written list scrawled on a piece of scrap paper, then grabbed it away and added an item at the bottom before shoving it back at her. It read:

  Find the Detective’s Bible.


  Solve Wink Wiffle’s murder.

  Find out what Wink’s key goes to.

  Rescue Editta Sweetgum.

  Find Philip Puppybreath and Gavin Niven.

  Monitor Professor Redleaf’s computer.

  Make film about our options without the Bible.

  Speak to David Wiffle.

  Find attorney and prepare for wrongful death lawsuit.

  It was quite a list. Everything on it was critical, but did she have to do this now? She glanced at him. He was absolutely serious.

  She twirled a strand of her thick brown hair around her finger and studied the list. Her hair had got so much longer since she’d come to Legatum that now it curled around her finger at least four times. Maybe there was something in the damp climate that made it grow faster.

  Holmes loved her hair. During their short time together he’d told her how beautiful it was at least once an hour—how beautiful she was, which she still didn’t believe. Not that he was lying. It was just that she thought her face was okay but nothing special, although truth be told, she didn’t worry much about that kind of stuff. She always had too many other things on her mind, like making films, solving mysteries, and now, prioritizing tasks.

  She contemplated the first item, Find the Detective’s Bible. As long as the Bible was missing, the teachers would remain fractious and distracted, and some might even leave. The fate of the school was at stake. It was hard to see what could be more important.

  As for Wink Wiffle’s murder, the trail was growing colder by the day. They had to find the killer soon. Also, finding the murderer might mollify Celerie Wiffle and get her to drop the lawsuit against the school. That was pretty important as well.

  The key had been discovered with Wink’s remains. The teachers seemed to agree that it belonged to a lockbox or chest of some kind. However, no one could find such an object, and because Wink seemed to have swallowed the key to keep it safe, they knew it was critical and might even reveal the murderer’s identity. The sooner they found the lock that went with it the better.

  It went without saying that they had to rescue Editta from the Moriartys’ clutches. She might be dead already. If she was alive she was in great danger. The more quickly they could bring her back, the faster she could be deprogrammed and return to normal, her obsession with Nick Moriarty all but forgotten.

  Philip Puppybreath and Gavin Niven had been Nick’s roommates, but when he left Legatum they transferred to David Wiffle’s room. These same roommates had stolen the Bible from David with the intention of selling it to Blixus Moriarty. When Amanda and her friends had fought the Moriartys and David’s roommates at the Windermere quarry, the roommates had run off and hadn’t been seen since. If they had joined up with Moriarty or been captured, they were in as much danger as Editta. If not, there was no telling what might happen to them as runaways. They had to be found ASAP.

  The problem with Professor Redleaf’s computer was an open secret. Before she was killed in the earthquake the previous term, the cyberforensics teacher had noticed something on her screen that had shocked her. The entire class had seen the look on her face, but the teachers wouldn’t discuss the incident, and Holmes, the computer whiz who had been assigned to look into the situation, had remained closed-mouthed as well. That the headmaster would even acknowledge that something weird was going on surprised Amanda. Maybe now that he had, she’d find out what the big deal was. It was hard to say how important the item was without knowing more about the situation though.

  Making the film about the school’s options without the Bible had been Thrillkill’s idea. Amanda couldn’t tell how valuable such a film might be. All she knew was that he’d thought the project critical enough to interfere with her fulfilling her heart’s desire. It had to be important.

  The task involving David Wiffle confused her. Was there something special the headmaster wanted to ask him? Did he plan to expel the boy for what he’d done? Was he going to hold him back and make him repeat last term? Or did he plan to try to help David, who’d been through so much in such a short time? She wished she could abstain on that one.

  As far as the attorney was concerned, Thrillkill had already begun the search, so Amanda didn’t think the task belonged on the list. He’d obviously given it a high priority. What would be the point of assigning it a number?

  It seemed that Professor Thrillkill wanted Amanda to go with her gut on these items or he would have given her more time. She closed her eyes, thought a moment, and wrote a big number one next to the task involving Editta’s recovery. This was really a life or death matter. Nothing could be more important.

  She took a deep breath and wrote a large number two next to the names Puppybreath and Niven. Their situation was comparable to Editta’s. In fact, the two items should probably both be number one. Just because she didn’t care for the two boys didn’t make them less important. She crossed out the two and replaced it with a one.

  While the Bible was obviously going to determine what happened to the entire school, figuring out what that key went to might accomplish multiple purposes: help bring Wink Wiffle’s murderer to justice, provide closure to David Wiffle and his mother, and potentially lead to Blixus Moriarty. No one knew what Wink had been working on when he was murdered. He might have had an inside line on the Moriartys, or some other criminal endeavor of major importance. He’d probably been killed for what he knew, so finding out what that was should be given a high priority. Amanda wrote a big two next to the key task.

  She couldn’t believe that she was assigning a priority of three to the Bible. This was the issue that was tearing the school apart, yet she didn’t think it was the most important one. Thrillkill would probably make her repeat last term for that, but she didn’t care. The other tasks were more time-sensitive.

  Number four was finding Wink Wiffle’s murderer, which might or might not actually be a subset of the number two task, the key. She was pretty sure that solving one of the two mysteries would resolve the other, and she was tempted to make them both number two, but the five minutes were almost up so she hurried along to number five, which she assigned to Professor Redleaf’s computer.

  That left David Wiffle, the attorney, and the film. She felt that she didn’t have enough information to rank them properly. She assigned a six to the lawsuit, a seven to the film, and an eight to poor David, not because she disliked him, which she did, but because she was pretty sure Thrillkill would find a way to talk to him soon no matter what else was going on.

  There. She’d done it. She passed the list to Thrillkill, who took it gently and peered at it over his glasses.

  “Very well,” he said cryptically. “Miss Lester, I want you to get on the horn and get hold of your friends Miss Halpin, Miss Kapoor, Mr. Binkle, and Mr. Ng. Please invite them to return to Legatum for the summer. Oh, and invite Mr. Bramble as well.” Gordon Bramble was David Wiffle’s best friend, or former best friend. Amanda wasn’t sure. He was a pleasant-faced, freckled kid whose favorite expression was, “Yeah.” Thrillkill handed her the list and said, “With the exception of the David Wiffle talk and the attorney, I want the six of you to tackle these items, along with Mr. Holmes, who of course is already here. In the order you specified, which I happen to agree with. Chop, chop, Miss Lester. Critical tasks.”

  Amanda realized that her mouth was hanging open just in time to stop a drop of saliva from dribbling. She’d never expected the list to be anything but an academic exercise, and she certainly didn’t anticipate having to execute it. The responsibility was overwhelming. But as she considered what Thrillkill had asked of her, she realized that she’d have help from the best and most capable friends in the world—except for Gordon Bramble, whom she could have done without. What did Thrillkill want with him? The kid was a big fat zero. Oh well. He would probably keep out of their way.

  “Um, sir, what about the teachers?” she said, realizing that Thrillkill hadn’t mentioned them.

  “What about them, Miss Lester?” s
aid Thrillkill.

  “Can I ask them for help as well?”

  “You may always ask the teachers, me, and any of the staff for help. That’s what we’re here for. Now off you go.”

  Amanda was so excited, both in a good and bad way, that she could barely catch her breath. She felt a great urgency to accomplish the tasks, but the responsibility and time constraints were overwhelming. Still, it was a huge honor that Thrillkill had assigned them to her, a mere first-year student.

  She thought the best way to start would be to plop herself down in the Holmes House common room and contact her friends. As she was dodging various construction workers, piles of debris, and yellow emergency tape, she noticed one of the older students, Harry Sheriff, who was considered a heartthrob by many of the girls, walking down the hall. She was surprised to see him, since she thought she and Holmes were the only students who had stayed for the summer. As they passed each other, Harry broke into an enormous grin. Amanda nodded and smiled at him and continued on her way. It was a bit odd that he had seemed so jovial since they’d never spoken. Perhaps he felt compelled to acknowledge her because there were so few students around, although “acknowledge” was too mild a word. He’d looked as if she’d just told him a joke or something. Oh well. Whatever.

  Nick had been a real heartthrob, at least in her eyes, and obviously Editta’s. The poor girl had been so lovesick that she had given up everything to be with him. Amanda wondered how that was going. She couldn’t imagine the two of them together. Sure, Nick had flirted with Editta, which was probably what had got her going, but he hadn’t meant it. He did that with everyone. The problem was that Editta had taken him seriously. No, wait a minute. That wasn’t true. The problem was that Amanda had taken him seriously. She’d thought he was her best friend, that he got her and she him, only to find out he’d been using her all along—using her as a way to stay at Legatum so he could help his mother and the cook run their nefarious sugar enterprise right under the detectives’ noses. She had no right to judge Editta. None at all.