Amanda Lester, Detective Box Set

by Paula Berinstein

  “That never occurred to me,” said Ivy. “Do you think so?”

  “I don’t know,” said Amphora. “Thrillkill said we’d know for sure, and I don’t. I mean for one thing, I never saw any blood.” She played with the condensation on her glass.

  “Yeah,” said Amanda. “None of us did except you, Simon.”

  “And I never heard any noises,” said Simon.

  “I’ll tell you one thing, though,” said Amanda, stabbing some peas. “I did see something else.”

  “Oh?” said Ivy. “What was that?”

  Amanda proceeded to tell them about the glinting light and the mysterious shape she’d seen while taking Nigel out that second day.

  “I don’t think it’s part of the project,” said Amphora, chewing on a piece of wheat bread, which she’d slathered with butter. “No one else saw it.”

  “True,” said Simon, eyeing the peas suspiciously. “But consider this. It might have been a test run. Maybe the teachers were practicing to make sure they got it right.”

  “Yes,” said Ivy, “but how could they be sure we’d see that stuff from inside the building? They’d have to do it when they knew we were outside.” She stuck her glass next to Nigel’s face and let him drink from it. Amanda was amazed that she would do such a thing in the dining room, even if Nigel was a guide dog. She got up and went for a fresh glass.

  “They could do it during breaks,” said Amphora, when Amanda had returned.

  “Yes!” said Simon. “They could. We should be on the lookout. Better yet, let’s go look for clues.” He was testing a pea now.

  “I don’t think there will be any yet,” said Amanda. “Anyway they said we’d know. We shouldn’t have to go looking.”

  “Come on, where’s your spirit?” said Simon. “We’ve got some time right now.” He dropped the pea and pushed away from the table.

  “Nah,” said Amanda. “I want to start working on my disguise ideas.”

  “Me too,” said Amphora. “That monster makeup was fun, wasn’t it? Maybe we can come up with something just as cool.”

  “Nigel and I will go with you, Simon,” said Ivy, leaning down to give her dog a kiss.

  “Brilliant! Come on,” Simon said, taking Ivy’s arm and heading off toward the east door.

  When they’d gone, Amanda said, “Let’s go to the kitchen and see if we can sneak something delicious. I’m having sugar withdrawal.”

  “Me too,” said Amphora. “You’re on.”

  You weren’t supposed to go into the kitchen without a good reason. It was a school rule and the cook was very strict about it. But both girls were craving sugar so badly that they didn’t care, so they snuck off to see if there were any easy pickings.

  They didn’t have much time. They’d have to be in class in a few minutes. As they approached they saw the cook in the hall talking to her assistant, a petite, dark-haired woman who obviously wasn’t happy about something. Good. The cook wasn’t paying attention to the other people around her. This would be easy. They opened the door quietly and tiptoed in.

  The woman certainly was fastidious. The huge kitchen gleamed like the Taj Mahal on a sunny day. Gigantic iron pots were sitting on the stove, steaming, boiling, and sizzling away, and fresh, colorful vegetables that bore faint resemblance to the peas at lunch were laid out on the massive wooden cutting board in the center of the room. At the far end was a refrigerator the size of a semi-trailer.

  “There,” said Amphora, pointing. “Let’s try the fridge.”

  “You got it,” said Amanda, tippy-toeing toward the behemoth. “Hey, wait a minute. There’s the pantry. Maybe there are some cookies in there.”

  “Cookies?” said Amphora. “Oh, biscuits. Right.”

  “Biscuits? I don’t want a biscuit. I want something sweet,” said Amanda.

  “Biscuits are sweet,” hissed Amphora.

  “No they’re not,” said Amanda. “I want cookies.”

  Continuing to argue, the two girls entered the gigantic pantry, which was lined with shelves and cubbies of assorted shapes and sizes. It felt very homey, and Amanda thought that if she were stuck there for a week she wouldn’t mind at all.

  “There!” they both said at once, running toward a shelf full of cookies of every variety—chocolate, vanilla, coconut, raisin, jam-in-the-center, marshmallow, sprinkle-topped—smashing into each other in the process.

  “I thought you said you wanted biscuits,” said Amanda.

  “These are biscuits,” said Amphora, grabbing a box.

  “No, they’re cookies,” said Amanda, attempting to wrest it away from her.

  “Uh uh,” said Amphora, grabbing back. “Biscuits.”

  “Wait a minute,” said Amanda, letting her have the box. “You think these are biscuits?”

  “They are biscuits.”

  “Oooooh, I get it. That’s what you guys call cookies. To us, biscuits are dinner rolls. Or breakfast rolls.”

  “Really? How peculiar.” Amanda wasn’t sure if Amphora meant interesting peculiar or get-it-away-from-me peculiar.

  “Okay, what do you call that?” said Amanda pointing at some boxes of spaghetti. She was sure English people had some exotic name for the pasta but she couldn’t imagine what.

  “Spaghetti. What do you call it?”

  “Spaghetti. How about that?” She pointed to another box that said “Tea” on it.

  “Tea.”

  “Tea. And that?” A brightly colored can.

  “Mushy peas.”

  “Mushy peas? Eeeeeeew.” Amanda looked at the picture on the can. It was a huge green splat that looked like the creature from the black lagoon.

  “Why, what do you call them?”

  “I don’t,” said Amanda, sticking her finger down her throat. How could anyone eat something with the word “mushy” in the name?

  “They’re really quite good,” said Amphora, admiring the can. “You should try them sometime.”

  “Ugh,” said Amanda. “They look like you-know-what.”

  The girls burst into laughter.

  “Say, look at that,” said Amanda, bending down to examine some pink powder on the floor.

  “Hm, that’s weird,” said Amphora, peering down at the stuff.

  “It’s pink. It’s nice.”

  “Don’t touch it!” yelled Amphora, grabbing at Amanda’s arm. “It’s probably rat poison!”

  “Rat poison in a pantry? I don’t think so.” Amanda shook off Amphora’s hand and reached closer.

  “No, really. Don’t touch it. Come on, let’s go. We’re going to get into trouble.”

  “Oh, all right,” said Amanda. “But I’m coming back later. I want to see what that is. It’s really pretty.” It was. It looked like cotton candy that had dried and shattered into tiny bits of confetti.

  “Okay,” said Amphora. “You go back later. Got the biscuits?”

  “They’re in my bag,” said Amanda, gripping the place where she’d stuck the cookies. “Let’s roll. Er, biscuit. No, roll.”

  Sitting next to Nick in the crime lab the next day, Amanda had an idea.

  “What would you do if you discovered a substance you wanted to analyze but you thought it might be dangerous?” she said, drawing imaginary shapes on the lab bench with one hand and twirling her long, bushy hair with the other.

  “I guess I’d ask Professor Stegelmeyer for help,” he said, following her artistic efforts with his eyes.

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” she said, stopping what she was doing. The twisted hair fell but refused to join the rest.

  “You’ve found something? What is it?” He looked eager.

  “I’m not sure,” she said, still looking down at the table. “It’s just interesting. Probably nothing, though.” She looked up, saw him watching her, and quickly looked away.

  “Tell me,” he said flashing that amazing grin, which she could see out of the corner of her eye.

  “Nah, it’s not important.”

  “Sure
it is. If it weren’t, we wouldn’t be talking about it.”

  That made sense. She wondered if Professor Ducey would agree. “Maybe you’re right. But if I tell you, you can’t mention this to anyone.”

  “Of course not.”

  “Promise?”

  “I promise.” He held up his hand and made himself look very serious.

  “Okay.” Amanda bent over and cupped her hand to his ear. “There’s something weird in the cook’s pantry.”

  “Weird how?” said Nick, talking to the lab table.

  “First of all, it’s on the floor, and the rest of the kitchen is really clean, so I don’t think it’s supposed to be there,” she said, uncupping.

  “Oh, well, that’s probably nothing. I’m sure the cook will clean it up. Anyone can spill something.” He ran his hand over the beaker in front of him.

  “No. I don’t think so. It doesn’t look like a normal ingredient.”

  “Why not? What does a normal ingredient look like?” He looked over at a glass-fronted cabinet filled with various liquids. “Like those?”

  “No. It’s this pink powder,” she said.

  “Pink?”

  She knew it sounded frivolous. She hoped he’d take her seriously. “Pink. Powder.”

  “I’m sure there are ingredients like that.” She could see that she was going to have a hard time convincing him.

  “Name one.”

  “Uh . . .”

  She couldn’t think of any either. “Want to go see? I’ll bet you there aren’t any.” She started to get up.

  “I suppose it could be some kind of cleaner.”

  “I don’t think it is. There’s no cleaner in the pantry. Only food.” She sat back down.

  “Maybe the cook’s assistant was cleaning in there and left some residue. I think you’re getting a bit carried away, to be honest.”

  Was she? Wasn’t everything at Legatum significant?

  “I don’t know,” she said. “Maybe this is part of the class project. Do you think so?”

  “So that’s what you’re thinking. I suppose it could be, but since the kitchen is off limits it isn’t likely. They said it would be obvious, and if you can’t go someplace it isn’t obvious, is it?” He really had a logical mind. She wished she’d thought of that.

  “You’re right. What was I thinking?” She slumped in her chair.

  “Look, if it would make you feel any better, I’ll go there with you and we can grab a sample.”

  “You’d go against the rules like that?”

  “Sure. You did. Rules are made to be broken,” he said, grinning.

  “You don’t think it’s rat poison and we’ll kill ourselves, do you?” Legatum could make you really paranoid. On the other hand, she’d known of cases back home that were just that weird and didn’t want to take any chances.

  “No one would put rat poison in a pantry. At least not here. Can you imagine what the parents would do if someone got sick from rat poison in the kitchen?”

  “Good point.”

  “We’ll go later.” She knew he was humoring her but she didn’t care. Maybe they’d find something. You never knew.

  “Okay. Thank you.”

  But the day got away from them and they didn’t make it to the pantry. However at dinner, Simon and Ivy presented the results of their own investigation.

  “Nothing,” said Simon, looking disappointed.

  “Nothing?” said Amanda.

  “Not a thing,” said Ivy. “No blood, no noises, no mysterious figures. Nothing.”

  “We looked pretty thoroughly,” said Simon.

  “It can’t be helped,” said Amphora. “Obviously these things come and go. You can’t expect to catch them at exactly the right moment.” It was a sensible approach and Amanda mentally applauded her.

  “I do think there’s something to find, though,” said Simon.

  “Maybe you’re just imagining that ordinary stuff is clues,” said Amanda. “Now that we know about the project, we’re looking at things differently.”

  “Could be,” said Ivy. “It’s confusing, though.” Amanda was surprised to hear her say that. Ivy always seemed so sure about things.

  “That’s what we’re supposed to be learning, isn’t it?” said Amanda. “How to evaluate a clue?” Where did that come from? She’d found a little bit of pink powder and now she was all detective-y?

  “You’re right,” said Simon, removing his glasses and polishing them with a napkin, then looking through them to make sure they were clean. They weren’t. He huffed on them and repeated the procedure. “We need to know more before we can do this properly. But I’m still going to keep my eyes open. Good things come to the observant.”

  “Where did you hear that one?” said Amphora.

  “From Simon Binkle,” he said, grinning like a hyena.

  As the girls lay in bed that night, Amanda and Amphora told Ivy about the pink powder. Amanda didn’t say anything about Nick though. For some reason she didn’t like talking about him. She wasn’t sure if it was because she wanted to keep him to herself, which was impossible so why try, or that she was afraid someone might say something bad about him, which she couldn’t bear. She felt like the pink thing was their secret, even though Amphora had been with her when she’d discovered the potential clue, and even though Ivy knew about it now. She’d never felt this way before and it was so illogical it bugged her.

  At last everyone fell asleep. Nigel was snoring softly and the girls were warm and toasty under their quilts. And then at precisely 3:12 in the morning, there came the loudest noise Amanda had ever heard.

  10

  Amanda the Spy

  The blast that ripped through the school woke everyone even before the windows had stopped rattling. The girls sat bolt upright in bed, and Nigel, who never barked, started howling at the top of his lungs. Within about five seconds, loud sounds echoed in the hall as girls screamed, ran out of their rooms, and slammed doors.

  Amanda reached for her light and switched it on. She could see that Amphora and Ivy were shaking, but at first glance it didn’t appear that anything had fallen or broken.

  “What was that!” yelled Amphora, clutching her covers.

  “I don’t know,” screamed Ivy, holding Nigel, who was shaking as hard as she was.

  Amanda couldn’t speak.

  “Are you okay?” said Ivy, her voice cracking.

  “I don’t know,” said Amanda at last. She was shivering. “Are you?”

  “I don’t know. Amphora?”

  “I don’t know. What time is it? Was that an earthquake? Are we awake?”

  “Is Nigel okay?” said Amanda. “Yes, we’re awake. Earthquakes don’t behave like that, I don’t think. They go on and on. Nothing’s moving now.”

  “He seems okay,” said Ivy. “Can you look for me?”

  “Sure,” said Amanda, grateful for something to do. Forgetting how cold it was, she threw off her covers. The frigid air hit her like a shock wave and she ran to get her robe, which wasn’t nearly as warm as her parka but would do. Then she wriggled over to Ivy’s bed and put her hands on the dog, who was shaking so hard the whole bed was making clomping sounds. “Hold still,” she said. “Let me take a look.” She felt all over and examined as much as she could. There was no blood and no bumps. “He looks okay to me. I think he’s just scared.”

  “What’s going on out there?” said Amphora. “Something’s happening in the hall.”

  “I don’t know,” said Amanda. “I’ll go look.”

  “No, don’t,” said Ivy, burying her head in her dog. “It might be dangerous.”

  Suddenly there was a knock on their door. “Ivy, Amphora, Amanda,” came a voice. “Are you okay?”

  “Yes,” said Amanda. “Who is it?”

  “Editta,” said the voice. “Can I come in?”

  “Of course,” said Amphora, running to the door. “Are you okay?”

  “Yes,” said Editta, squeezing in through the tiny space Amp
hora was guarding. “Thank goodness. Nigel!” She ran to hug the dog. Then, “I told you that teacher dying was bad luck.”

  “I don’t think he died,” Ivy said.

  “Well, whatever it was. And that girl being expelled. It isn’t good,” said Editta.

  “I don’t see how that has anything to do with this,” said Amanda, pulling her robe around her as tight as it would go.

  “OMG,” said Amphora, slamming the door. “Do you think anyone was killed?”

  “I have no idea,” said Amanda. “We’ve got to find out what happened.”

  “I don’t want to know,” said Editta, sitting on Ivy’s bed and joining in the group hug with Nigel at the center.

  “We have to,” said Amphora. “Otherwise we won’t know what to do.” She got back under her covers and pulled them around her shoulders.

  “Look,” said Amanda. “You all stay here and I’ll go see what’s going on.” She fumbled for her shoes.

  “No,” said Amphora. “You can’t go alone. I’m coming with you.” She went to the closet to get her own robe, which was way prettier than Amanda’s ratty old thing.

  “Okay,” said Amanda. “I’ll get my flashlight just in case.”

  “Torch,” said Amphora.

  “Flashlight,” said Amanda.

  “Whatever,” said Amphora.

  Amanda rummaged in her drawer, looking for her flashlight. Then she grabbed Amphora’s hand and the two girls slowly ventured out into the hall. The lights were on and girls were running around in a panic. The matron, a round, red-haired woman named Mrs. Scarper, was trying to get them to stop, first by clucking to them, then by pleading, and finally by yelling. The yelling seemed to work. The girls stopped their hysterics and looked at her.

  “Enough,” she said. “We’re all alive. No one appears to be hurt. The most important thing we can do is keep calm. Please go back into your rooms and stay there. Is that clear?”

  The girls were happy to comply. Amanda didn’t know any of them very well but she could tell that most of them would never end up being detectives. Too flighty, too sloppy, too frivolous, too illogical. She felt a wave of pity wash over her. As if now were the time for that.