Everyone stopped eating and looked at her.
“I mean . . .” she said.
“She’s right,” said Ivy, removing her glasses and affecting an icy stare. Despite her blindness, it was most effective. Amanda made a mental note to watch out when Ivy took her glasses off. “Why are you being so mean to her?”
“I’m not being mean,” said Simon. “She has to face the truth. That’s what this school is all about. Fooling yourself isn’t going to get you anywhere.” He speared three string beans.
Suddenly Nick was there. “She does need to learn, but you don’t have to be so confrontational about it,” he said looking straight at Simon.
“Mfglb,” said Simon in mid-bite.
“Now then,” said Nick, flashing that smile of his. “Are we all friends? What’s your name, darling?”
“Editta,” said the girl, going all gooey.
“Well, now, Editta,” said Nick, “if anyone ever gives you any trouble around here, you come to me. I’ll sort them out.”
The girl was speechless. Red-faced, she looked down at her lap. Nick grinned, winked at Amanda, and walked away.
“Pretty full of himself, isn’t he?” said Amphora, watching him leave the room.
“I’ll say,” said Simon, sticking more beans in his mouth and chewing loudly. “Who does he think he is?”
“He’s an actor,” said Amanda without thinking.
“What?” All four faces turned to her.
“I mean, he acts nice to me,” said Amanda.
“I thought you said . . .” said Ivy.
“That he was an actor,” said Simon.
“Oh no, I didn’t say that,” stammered Amanda. “Why would I say that? No, I said he acts nice. That’s all.”
Simon gave her a skeptical look.
“What’s for dessert?” said Amanda, looking over at one of the huge sideboards that lined the dining room. “I’m dying for chocolate.” Maybe the prospect of sweets would distract them from her blunder.
“Me too,” said Ivy.
“And look. Chocolate cake,” said Amphora, who’d already helped herself to the largest piece and dug in before the others had even got theirs.
Amanda had been waiting for this ever since she’d left L.A. and her mouth was watering. She cut a large chunk off her wedge and chomped down. “Mfglb,” she said. “It’s sort of good but it tastes a bit, I don’t know, cardboardy.”
“Tastes fine to me,” said Simon. “You Americans put too much sugar in things.”
“No, she’s right,” said Ivy, chewing. “It’s a little bland. Oh well. You know how school food is.”
“You mean it’s going to be like this all the time?” said Amanda. If this place didn’t have proper sweets she’d die.
“We’re resourceful,” said Amphora. “Let’s go into town and get some real chocolate.” She started to push her chair back.
“You’re not supposed to leave campus,” said Simon.
“Maybe we can bribe someone to get something for us,” said Ivy brightly.
“We can try,” said Amanda. “This will never do.” She put her fork down and pushed her plate away.
“You’ll get over it,” said Simon.
Amanda wanted to hit him.
7
The Monster Mash
The next morning, the thing Amanda had been dreading more than anything finally happened. Two older girls cornered her outside the dining room and blocked her path.
“You’re Amanda Lester,” said one of them, a stunning blonde who was obviously used to getting a lot of attention.
“Yes,” said Amanda. “Nice to—”
“You’re descended from that idiot, Lestrade.”
“Hey—”
“You’re a loser. You don’t belong here.” The girl lifted her chin high, turned her head, and half closed her eyes. The pose made her look like a goose. The two girls broke into such laughter that a couple of boys came over to see what was going on.
“She’s descended from Inspector Lestrade,” said the mean girl.
Now the boys were laughing and pointing. “Lestrade! Ha ha ha! What’s your IQ, ten?” said the shorter one, who looked about seven. “And you’re American. Knock it down to five.”
“Who died and made you so great?” said Amanda to the four students, who were now in hysterics. “Shut up!” she screamed, attracting the attention of one of the teachers, who strode over to the group.
“What’s going on here?” said a rumpled, rotund professor with jet-black hair. He was so large that the students had to pull aside to make way for him.
“Nothing, Professor Mukherjee,” said the taller boy.
“It doesn’t look like nothing to me,” said the teacher. He had a lilting Indian accent that made him sound poetic, but there wasn’t a shred of sympathy on his face.
The mean kids glared at Amanda, who was caught between wanting to gloat and burst into tears. She chose gloating and smiled ever so slightly. But she wasn’t about to tattle.
Finally the quiet mean girl spoke. “Uh, we were just introducing ourselves, Professor.”
“Oh, you were, were you?” said Professor Mukherjee. “It looks to me like it was more than that.”
The students stared at the floor.
“Very well,” said the teacher. “You’re all going to detention. If I don’t see you there at 3:00 you will be put on probation. Is that clear?”
“Yes, Professor,” they said in unison.
“Good. See you then, and whatever you were doing, stop it,” he said, and waddled away.
When the teacher had departed, the four mean kids glared at Amanda as if the whole thing were her fault, then turned and walked away. Amanda was left standing there shaking. Now everyone knew, not just the people in her evidence class, and they’d make her life intolerable. How could her parents have done this to her? She vowed to put an end to this misery. If anyone said one word about Lestrade again she’d get her revenge. Oh, how she’d get it.
“What’s going on?” said Ivy from behind her.
Amanda whirled around and debated for about a second. Ivy obviously knew she was a Lestrade, but Amanda didn’t know if that bothered her. “Can you keep a secret?”
“Of course I can,” said Ivy. “I’m a detective.”
Her friend was already thinking of herself as a detective. And Amanda had really started to like her. Now she wondered if they could be friends after all.
“You’re a nice person, Ivy,” said Amanda, backpedaling, “but I don’t think I’m ready to talk about this.”
“No problem,” said Ivy. “I’ll be here when you are. Oh dear. We’re going to be late to our first dead bodies class.”
Amanda had to laugh. The real name of the class was Introductory Pathology, but everyone referred to it as “dead bodies.” It was so much more appropriate.
Thank goodness the pathology class didn’t meet in an autopsy room. It hadn’t occurred to Amanda that she might be subject to such a horror until she looked at her schedule, and then she panicked. Morgues were gross, and even when she learned about the school it hadn’t dawned on her that she’d have to have anything to do with them. So the fact that the class met in a regular classroom was quite a relief, at least until the teacher, Professor Hoxby, a morbid older man with purplish skin who would have been perfect in a horror movie, spoke.
“Students, this week and next we will meet here, but the week after we will convene at the autopsy room. I will give you complete instructions in a few days. For now I want you to get into the spirit of the class by reading chapters one through seven in your text, The Complete Handbook of Autopsy Practice, Featuring 1200 Color Images, Twelfth Edition, by the time we next meet. This should take you through images one through sixty. I must tell you that this is a particularly excellent edition because it now covers tonsils in great detail, as well as amputations.”
Amanda felt like she was going to throw up again, and looked at the seat in front of her to make sur
e there were no coats there. Professor Hoxby was practically glowing a sort of metallic purple now. He was really into this stuff.
“I also want you to pay special attention to the chapter on little known facts about dissection,” he continued. “This is a particularly insightful addition that will help you greatly in your work.”
Now everyone was gagging, even the boys. Amanda wondered how often people threw up in Professor Hoxby’s classes. He didn’t seem to care that he was making people sick. In fact he seemed to be relishing doing so. The whole idea of going to the detectives’ school made Amanda ill, but she’d never expected the reality of the situation to be so nauseating.
Suddenly the boy next to her heaved all over his desk. The vomit dripped all over his pants and the floor, but fortunately it didn’t travel in her direction.
“Splendid!” said Professor Hoxby. “Now you will get a lesson in specimen acquisition. You there next to the boy who vomited. Come up here and get a sterile plastic bag and scoop. Chop chop. Yes, I mean you.” He was gesturing toward Amanda.
Surely he was kidding. The poor boy had just hurled. The whole class was on the verge of joining him. And the teacher wanted her to collect the barf?
She could feel herself beginning to gag. And then it was too late. She joined the boy, vomiting all over herself in an effort to avoid hitting anyone else. Twice now her sensitive stomach had embarrassed her. She felt like such a baby.
And then, suddenly, the whole class was throwing up. It would have been amazing to have captured the sound effects, even if Amanda wasn’t crazy about horror movies, because they were among the best she’d ever heard. Wait! She could do it. Wiping her hands on the clean portion of her skirt, she reached into her bag and turned on the recorder on her phone. Good. She hadn’t missed it. People were still vomiting and she was capturing authentic noises she could contribute to that open source sound library she liked to use. Now that she thought of it, there might be other opportunities for capturing sound effects at the school.
Amanda looked around the room and beamed. She was getting excited.
After their observation and evidence classes, no one felt like eating and most of the kids skipped lunch, which gave them a free hour. Amanda took the opportunity to back up her precious recording, Ivy took Nigel out, Amphora washed her hair, and Simon put his fedora away to keep it safe. Not that there was much chance of someone vomiting on his head, but after the incident during orientation and now this, he was getting a bit paranoid.
Next was disguise class, which was taught on the top floor overlooking the beautiful east side of campus. As the students entered, Amanda gasped. The room was full of colorful costumes, props, and makeup, all shining like a movie premiere. This was going to be great!
The other students were oohing and aaahing as well. There seemed to be something there for everyone: sparkling ball gowns, shining armor, fake mustaches and beards, rubber faces, film-grade knives and pistols, Nehru jackets, basketballs, and more. If you could think of it, it was there, and the kids were drooling, even Ivy, who somehow could sense the objects even though she couldn’t see them.
A striking sixtyish woman with short gray hair and oversized glasses entered the classroom and smiled. She oozed fashion. “Please take your seats,” she said. When the students had found chairs she continued.
“I know this is an exciting class, but you must take it very seriously. Disguises are not all fun and games. It is absolutely critical that you get them right and that they be undetectable, not like in the movies where you can always cover up flaws with lens filters and post-production gimmicks.” Amanda felt herself stiffening. She hoped this teacher wouldn’t be anti-film.
“I am Professor Tumble and I should know. I worked in the film industry for many years.” That Glassina Tumble? The fashion genius who had clothed all the stars from Marilyn Monroe to Scarlett Johansson? Amanda had had no idea she was a detective. Why would she leave the industry to come here? Obviously she wasn’t anti-film. She’d won several Oscars for her work. Why would she say such a thing?
Amphora raised her hand. “Yes?” said Professor Tumble.
“I loved the work you did on ‘Scarves.’”
“I’m sorry, dear. You’ll have to speak up. I’m a little deaf.”
“I say I loved the work you did on ‘Scarves,’” yelled Amphora.
“Thank you, dear. But that life is behind me. Let’s move on.” Amanda was stunned. Why would she leave, and why would she act almost as if her contribution to film didn’t exist?
“Now, you must realize that this class isn’t a party. I am going to work you very hard, and by the time we’re finished you will appreciate how difficult disguise is. I’m warning you now, because a lot of students come here with the idea that this class will be easy. It won’t. It will be the most difficult class you have, and I’ll tell you why. You will have to fool not only the enemy, but also facial and gait recognition software, and those programs are becoming more sophisticated all the time. You have to be smarter than they are, and I’m going to show you how.”
As if, thought Amanda. It couldn’t be harder than the dead bodies class. Or logic. She wasn’t that good with logic, despite her interest in puzzles. She was creative, and creative people worked on the other side of the brain. That was why this class would be easy for her, even if it wasn’t for the others, software notwithstanding. She was absolutely sure she knew all the little nuances of faces, clothes, hair, gestures, the whole character thing. She’d ace it.
“The next thing I want you to understand,” said Professor Tumble, “is that you won’t be the only ones using disguises. The criminals you pursue will employ them as well.”
There it was again. Criminals. Amanda wished everyone would stop talking about them.
“Some of them will be poor at the use of disguises, but others will be so adept that unless you learn to recognize a disguise you won’t be able to tell. This will be a great disadvantage to you in your work, so it’s imperative that you become so familiar with the techniques that you can always tell. Again, this isn’t the theater or the film industry. This is real life.”
She could say what she liked, thought Amanda. She wasn’t going to become a detective. She’d never meet a criminal, and it didn’t matter whether their disguises were good or not. All that mattered was fooling an audience. The class would be helpful to her, though, because she would improve her costuming and makeup skills, and she was excited to be working with a great like Miss Tumble.
She looked around and was surprised to find that everyone was nodding. They were falling for this stuff! Of course they were. They all wanted to be detectives. They were probably looking at this teacher as some sort of detectives’ idol rather than the film genius she was. It was sad. As usual, no one could see the truth but her. Even though she had started to make friends, sort of, she was still alone and always would be.
Well, if that was the case, she was going to make the best of it. She would take this opportunity to work on her film stuff. And so, during the workshop part of the class, she went to the makeup cupboard and selected an array of blue, green, purple, red, yellow, orange, brown, and black grease paint, then sat down at one of the lighted mirrors mounted on a long table at the back of the classroom that had phrases like “What is Morse’s first name?” and “Lovely jubbly” carved into it.
She opened the jar of blue makeup and stuck her fingers into the paste. Ah, nice and gushy, but not too much so. She wouldn’t have expected any less from Glassina Tumble. She rolled the paint around on her fingertips, coating them evenly, then reached up to her face and made a stroke right down the middle. The color was electric—perfect. She dipped again and drew lines on her cheeks, down the outside of the bridge of her nose, under the eyes, and then down in a circular motion until each cheek was covered with swirls. Then she extended the inside of each circle toward her chin and made another round motion, similarly covering the lower part of her face.
She sat back and
looked in the mirror. Except for her forehead, which she hadn’t done, she looked like Van Gogh’s painting “Starry Night,” with its swirly dark blue night sky. All she needed was a few dabs of yellow and she’d be almost indistinguishable from the famous work. But imitating Van Gogh was not her intention.
Simon caught sight of her and said, “What are you doing? Disguising yourself as a clown?”
“Hush,” she said. “You’ll see.”
She wiped her hand with a rag, then dipped into the green jar and added highlights to the blue.
“I get it,” he said. “You’re a dinosaur. Cool!” He reached for one of the jars.
“Be quiet,” she said, slapping his hand away. “I don’t want to draw attention to myself.”
“Then why are you doing that? And that hurt,” he said, sucking his fingers where she’d hit him.
“Because I want to. Leave me alone.”
“Not on your life. I want to see how this turns out. How about—”
Amanda glared at him, causing him to draw back, and returned to her palette. She worked quickly now, using the purple to create further accents, then adding touches of brown, and finally, ringing her eyes and mouth with black. She sat back and admired herself. She’d done a very professional job, but of course, she’d practiced a lot. Theatrical makeup was the one thing the stick dogs were really good at.
“Perfecto,” said Simon. “You’re a monster! Wanna do me?”
“Oh, all right. Come here.”
She pulled Simon’s face into the light and started drawing on it with red and orange. He kept trying to look in the mirror, and she kept pulling his face back toward her so she could see what she was doing.
“Hang on. I need some yellow.”
“Ow. You’re pinching my cheeks,” Simon said.
“Tough. This is show biz. Now hold still.”
She painted, poked, and prodded until Simon was quite a ghoul himself. She opened the wig cupboard and chose a frightful black appliance for herself and a red one for Simon. The hair was dry and tangled, as if it hadn’t been washed or combed for weeks. When she put the black one on, a girl who caught a glimpse of her started screaming. And then things really started to happen.
Amanda Lester, Detective Box Set Page 7