Amanda Lester, Detective Box Set

by Paula Berinstein

  It was obviously going to be difficult to explore. Mrs. Scarper had a clear view of the hall and she wasn’t letting anyone pass. Amanda wasn’t sure what to do. It seemed that she could either give up and go back to her room, getting whatever news there was when someone brought it, or figure out how to bypass the matron and find out for herself.

  She felt antsy. She hadn’t had a chance to work on her film, and she hadn’t been able to go back and see what was happening with the pink powder. It was time to do something of her own volition. She hadn’t realized it but she’d been feeling like a caged animal. She wasn’t used to being so restricted and she didn’t like it. She had to find a way out.

  What were her options? She could find another route out of the dorm, create a distraction to get Mrs. Scarper out of the way, or contact one of the boys to see if they’d managed to get away. The last didn’t seem like a great idea. Even if they’d eluded their watchers, the boys probably wouldn’t have their phones with them. She wondered if there was another way out. The only thing she could think of was to climb out the window, but since her room was on the third floor and she hadn’t been bitten by a radioactive spider, that wasn’t practical.

  The distraction idea seemed the most likely to work. All that would have to happen would be for the matron to go into someone’s room long enough for Amanda to get by and turn the corner. That didn’t seem too difficult. She could get Editta to call for Mrs. Scarper and make a dash for it while the woman was occupied.

  She explained her idea to Amphora, who agreed to help. But when they turned around and looked in the direction of the stairs, Amanda’s hopes sank. The hall was now blocked not just by the matron, but also by Professors Also and Tumble, who had come to check on the girls. Amanda didn’t see how she was going to distract all three of them at once.

  And then she had an idea. To say that it was the most ridiculous one she’d ever had would probably be correct, but Amanda was no stranger to ridiculous ideas. She would hide in plain sight. She took Amphora’s hand, ran back into her room, and threw open the closet door, knocking Amphora onto her bed. She grabbed her blue parka, dark woolen scarf, and black galoshes, all of which were exactly the same as everyone else’s, and within twenty seconds was out the door again.

  She looked left, then right. Professors Tumble and Also were talking with some girls in the hall near the corner that led to the stairs. Mrs. Scarper must have been in one of the rooms. Bundling herself up so you could barely see her face, Amanda walked past the teachers and turned the corner. As she descended the stairs, she didn’t dare look back to see if they were coming after her. After a minute had passed without incident, she concluded that she’d pulled off the ruse and breathed a sigh of relief.

  The hall downstairs was still dark. She crept along it toward the dining room. No one was around. They must have all been in the boys’ dormitory or the teachers’ quarters. Then a horrible thought struck her. What if those living areas had been bombed and people had died? She had to see. She didn’t know what she would do if it were true, but she had to know. Nick and Simon were there. She couldn’t bear it if anything happened to them. She paused for a moment as she realized that she actually cared enough about Simon to worry.

  As she turned and tiptoed down the main hall she could hear a commotion coming from the front of the school. Something was going on outside. Carefully, so as to remain hidden, she hugged the walls, snuck into the main foyer, and cautiously peeked out. Someone had turned on the floodlights and she could see a bunch of people milling around the front grounds. But there was something worse. An ambulance! Someone was hurt, maybe dead! And then the obvious occurred to her: the school had been bombed.

  11

  Explosion!

  Bombed! Amanda didn’t know if she was more scared or outraged. She was terrified at the thought that someone might be dead, that there might be more bombs set to go off, and that she might be the next victim. On the other hand, how dare someone bomb her school? Who did they think they were anyway? Unless, of course, it was an accident. Maybe some gasoline exploded or something. Yes, that was it. Of course. She was being silly.

  Where had the explosion occurred and who had been hurt? She had to know at once. She couldn’t go out the main door to look or she might be seen, so she left the foyer and made her way to the Van Helden House common room, which was located under the boys’ dorm. There she opened the much smaller and less conspicuous exterior door and ventured out.

  Now she saw that it wasn’t an ambulance at all, but a fire engine, and there were several firemen with hoses aimed at the school’s garage, which had recently been built and was a rarity for UK public schools (which was what private schools were called over here, for some bizarre reason), but was deemed a necessary security measure at Legatum. Unfortunately the rarity was on fire. The flames were shooting high into the early morning sky, illuminating the school buildings, grounds, and woods beyond. The scene was very dramatic.

  If there was no ambulance, chances were that no one was hurt. That was a good thing. And if the damage was confined to the garage and its contents, everyone was safe. That was another good thing. But she was only guessing. If she was wrong she wouldn’t be able to warn people properly, so she had to be thorough. She re-entered the building and snuck into the Legal Issues classroom, which gave her better cover and a clearer view.

  Headmaster Thrillkill and Professors Stegelmeyer, Scribbish, and Ducey were all outside waving their arms and shouting directions at the firemen, who did not look amused. Thrillkill seemed to be holding a hair dryer, which Amanda thought particularly odd. But what really stood out was Professor Bill Pickle, the textual analysis teacher. Amanda had heard the older students describe him as an annoying, Latin-spouting, bow tie-wearing, grammar-correcting ponce, whatever that was. He seemed to be moaning and wailing and wringing his hands. Could he have been injured? She couldn’t see how. He looked perfectly fine. There were no paramedics at the scene and no one was paying any attention to him. Perhaps something important to him had been damaged. Of course. His car.

  Everyone knew about Professor Pickle’s car. You couldn’t get within a mile of the school and not hear about Professor Pickle’s car. It was a classic Triumph Roadster that he treated like a Michelangelo sculpture. You’d swear he polished the thing as if it were the Hubble Telescope mirror just so he could admire himself in its reflection and take selfies in its light. It was even said that the man sterilized the engine as if he were administering a high colonic. And he’d given it some sort of silly name. Gorky? Girly? No, Gherkin. It was definitely Gherkin. Well, of course. The man’s name was Pickle.

  What was really neat about the car wasn’t all that flash though. It had a way cool rumble seat. Amanda had wanted to ride in a rumble seat ever since she’d read the early Nancy Drew books, in which the girl sleuth had driven a blue rumble-seated roadster. It was said that Professor Pickle took his car out for a long drive every Sunday wearing a jaunty cap and special driving gloves, with his golf clubs ensconced in the rumble seat.

  Amanda didn’t know anything else about the man. The students didn’t take Textual Analysis until their third year, so she wouldn’t be in his class for quite some time. He did seem to cut a ridiculous figure, but she didn’t want to jump to any conclusions about him or his car. She should be methodical about this investigation and let the evidence speak for itself, just as Professor Scribbish had instructed.

  Investigation? Yes, that was what it was now, wasn’t it? She was conducting an investigation. Well, if that was the case, she’d better do it right. Examine all the evidence, document everything carefully, and keep an open mind. Since there were too many people around and because she didn’t have her phone, she wouldn’t be able to do a proper job right now, but she could certainly come back later. Perhaps she could get Ivy and Amphora to accompany her.

  Then it hit her. There was no way this could be the class project, was there? No, it couldn’t be. It was way too dangerous. The school
would never put the students, teachers, staff, and property in danger like that, would they? The parents would never let them.

  But what if it was the class project? They said it would be obvious, and it was certainly that. The explosion or whatever it was was way more likely to be the project than some pink dust. What could she have been thinking? Wow, if this was the kind of project they gave you at Legatum, maybe it was a good school. They didn’t fool around.

  Amanda thought she’d better get away before one of the teachers saw her. It was a shame she didn’t have her phone so she could take pictures of the fire, but she wasn’t about to go back to her room to retrieve it. She’d never get out of there again. Anyway, she’d seen enough for now. She made detailed mental notes and started back. It was time to tell the others what was going on so they wouldn’t worry.

  As she left the classroom, she heard a noise in the hall and jumped into an alcove, where there was a marble statue of the goddess Athena she hadn’t seen before. She scrunched herself up as much as she could and hugged the wall behind her. She could hear footsteps coming in her direction—slow and quiet, as if whoever it was didn’t want to be seen either. Slowly, slowly they approached until—

  “OMG, what are you doing out here?” she said, leaping out of the niche. It was Nick. He was so surprised he almost fell over.

  “Amanda! You scared me half to death. You too?”

  “Mm hm. I wasn’t about to be left out of whatever’s going on.” She pulled her parka close around her to try to stop the shaking.

  “Me either,” he said, rubbing his hands together. It was freezing in the hall. “So you know?”

  “About the garage? Yes, I know.”

  “The garage, yes, but the other thing too.”

  “What other thing?” she said, hopping on one foot, which didn’t warm her at all.

  He drew close to her and lowered his voice. “Professor Pickle is missing.”

  12

  Cutting Class

  Amanda couldn’t believe her ears. The textual analysis teacher was missing? How could Professor Pickle have disappeared so fast? Surely Nick had misheard or mis-seen something.

  “That’s impossible,” she said, stopping her hopping. “I just saw him. He was right there, screaming and carrying on.” She looked toward the garage. It was still bright outside. The yard lights were lit and the firemen had brought their own to supplement them. The glare penetrated the hall and lit up Amanda and Nick’s faces. She was so freaked out that for once she didn’t think about what kind of scene the light would be good for.

  “I just heard Thrillkill say he’s missing,” Nick said, following her glance.

  “I don’t see how. It’s not easy to prove a negative. Just because no one sees him doesn’t mean he’s missing. He must have gone back to his room or something.”

  “Listen to you! You’re really doing well with your logic,” Nick said.

  “Shut up. This is serious,” said Amanda, hopping again.

  “I’m being serious. You cold?” He seemed completely unconcerned about the temperature, as if it were a balmy day at the beach.

  “You see my point, right? And yes, I’m cold. How do you guys stand it?” Her teeth were chattering and her ears felt like they were going to fall off.

  “I’m used to it. And yes, I see your point.”

  “Are you sure Thrillkill said that Pickle is missing?”

  “I’m sure. You want to ask him?” He grinned.

  “Nooooooo. I don’t think that would be a good idea at all.” That was all she needed. Discovered AWOL in some dumb disguise. She’d be suspended for sure. So would Nick, for that matter.

  He moved to the extreme left of the window and turned his head so he could see as far to the right as possible. “What do you think is happening?”

  “I’m not sure. It looks like no one was hurt,” she said, standing on tiptoe for a better view.

  “Because there’s no ambulance?”

  He was right. She hadn’t noticed.

  “Good point.” She sidled up next to him. Now she could see around the fire trucks. The men were still shooting water at the structure. Their hoses looked like boa constrictors. “It looks like there might have been some sort of explosion,” she said. “A fire by itself wouldn’t make such a big noise.”

  “No. Not unless there were combustibles inside the garage. Like the gas tanks, for example.”

  Combustibles. Now there was a word. It sounded so much fancier than its meaning, which gave her the creeps. “Good point. Maybe the explosion was a by-product.”

  “Of course, it could have been a bomb,” said Nick, voicing her fears.

  “I was hoping you wouldn’t say that.” She shuddered. Suddenly the hall seemed deathly quiet, despite what was going on outside.

  “Sorry. I had to. We have to consider every possibility.”

  The orange light from outside seemed ghastly now. It made Nick look ghoulish. She wondered how she looked in it. “I know, but that’s just too awful to think about.”

  “It is scary,” he said. “It means that someone is after us.” He looked her straight in the eye.

  “What?” said Amanda too loudly.

  “Think about it. If it was a bomb, someone had to set it. And why would they do that? To get to the school, or to someone in the school.”

  “You mean criminals?”

  “Yes, of course. Who else?”

  “No one, I guess. I just don’t like the idea of criminals.”

  Nick burst out laughing. “You’re a detective and you don’t like the idea of criminals?”

  “Stop teasing me,” said Amanda. “This isn’t funny.”

  “I’m sorry, but you have no idea how ridiculous that sounds,” he said, shaking his head and trying not to laugh.

  “I know, I know. No one ever said we weren’t allowed to sound ridiculous,” she said, trying to get a good look at his expression.

  “No,” he laughed openly. “No one ever did.”

  Before Amanda returned to her room she stashed her parka, scarf, and galoshes in a supply cupboard and pretended she’d been in the dorm the whole time. No one but her roommates and Editta were the wiser, but they did press her for news. She told them everything she knew except the part about seeing Nick and what he’d said about Professor Pickle being missing. She didn’t want anyone to find out that Nick had been AWOL, and she didn’t think such a silly rumor as Pickle having disappeared bore repeating. At least that was what she told herself.

  Ivy and Amphora were anxious to get out there and see for themselves. Editta wasn’t so sure.

  “I still think it’s bad luck,” she said. “The farther we stay away from it the better off we’ll be.”

  Amanda decided to put together a little investigation kit before going back to bed for the two hours left before their alarms would go off. She found a zippered bag she’d made in sewing class. In it she put plastic evidence bags, tweezers, cotton balls and swabs, string, rubber gloves, a nail scissors, a couple of ballpoint pens, a felt-tip marker, and a small notebook, as well as her charger. She could use her phone as a magnifier and light. Seeing what a smart idea this was, her roommates copied her, and after they had taken turns calming Nigel down they all went back to sleep.

  By the time she awoke at 6:30 the dorm was bustling. Most of the girls hadn’t been able to get back to sleep and apparently had been speculating about what was going on. Owla Snizzle down the hall was saying she was sure half the school had been blown up and they were trying to figure out what to tell the parents. Her roommate, Positiva Flickover, said it was probably negligence and that there would be lots of lawsuits. Across the hall, Prudence Starshine was explaining why it absolutely had to be the work of anti-capitalist anarchists, and her roommate said that it was definitely the IRA.

  Amanda didn’t know what to think. She knew that half the school had not been blown up, although she wasn’t sure if there had been damage to anything other than the garage. She had no ide
a if the explosion was an accident, although considering Professor Pickle’s disappearance, she didn’t see how it could be. If it wasn’t an accident, what was it? Foul play? By whom and for what purpose? The class project? It couldn’t be. What if someone had been killed? The teachers would never cook up a project that would kill people.

  When she got to breakfast she learned the Professor Thrillkill had called a special assembly. There, after a hurried meal of a soft-boiled egg and a slurp of tea, she found that all the students, all the teachers, and some of the staff were present, and everyone was jabbering at once. Once again the headmaster cleared his throat and again everyone fell silent.

  “You obviously know by now that there has been an explosion at Legatum,” he said. “First of all, let me reassure you that as far as we know there have been no casualties. I repeat: no one has been injured or killed.”

  There was an audible sigh of relief. It was as if the whole room had relaxed.

  “The explosion occurred in the school’s garage, which has been heavily damaged, along with just about everything in it. This is a terrible loss but we will recover. Yes, quite a few vehicles and their contents have been destroyed, but again, there has been no loss of life. For this we are very thankful.”

  Amanda had been right. Professor Pickle’s treasured Roadster had probably been totaled. Did that have anything to do with his disappearance?

  “We are most grateful to the Windermere Fire and Rescue Service for extinguishing the blaze in a speedy fashion. The school will be sending the department a generous gift and we encourage you to write notes of thanks. Please address them to Chief Fire Officer Iain Ducat.

  “Your parents will be officially notified and reassured that everything is under control. There is no need to contact them. That is all.”

  A hundred hands flew up. “Professor, is this the work of terrorists?” “Professor, is it true that one of the teachers is missing?” “Professor, are we still in danger?” “Professor, is this the class project?” Thrillkill peered over his glasses and simply said, “You are dismissed.”