Amanda Lester, Detective Box Set

by Paula Berinstein

  “That seems a bit farfetched. Although I like it better than the chairs. Fewer pieces.”

  “Stepping-stones?”

  “Again, won’t they destroy more than if we just tiptoe through the debris? And where are we going to get them?”

  He had a point. The only stepping-stones on campus were huge and probably as heavy as she was. Heavier, maybe.

  “Argh. There has to be a solution to this. How about a clothesline-type thing that will hold our weight? We just roll along it using some kind of pulley.” She acted out what that would look like.

  “You’re determined to do this, aren’t you?” he said, smiling at her through the dust.

  “Of course. Aren’t you?”

  “Not every question has a good answer.”

  “I refuse to believe that. How do they do archaeological digs? I know they have to map everything where they find it and make sure they don’t break things.”

  “This isn’t an archaeological dig. Do you know how much those things cost?” He whistled.

  “I know, but we have an opportunity here. We could revolutionize the way crime scenes are processed.” The right side of her brain was all fired up now.

  “Ha ha. You really are something, you know that?”

  “As a matter of fact I do. Hang on. I want to look up archaeological investigations.” She took out her phone and did a couple of searches. “Hm, it seems that archaeological sites involve digging way down. This is different.”

  “Yes,” said Nick.

  “But they do take stuff away from the area they’re interested in. They describe where they found it, then they remove it for further processing. We could do that.” She looked at him. She was sure he’d go for this one. It was the most practical, and archaeology was also romantic, not like chairs and ladders and pulleys.

  “With what? Where would we take it?” he said sweeping his eyes over the area.

  “I’ll admit there’s a lot of stuff here. But what if we only removed debris where we put our feet? We could create a path and leave everything else as it is.”

  “I still don’t see . . .”

  “I think it would be pretty easy. We make a couple of footsteps where the debris starts and carry it out in a carton. One of us catalogs it, then scoops, and the other holds the box. We do this little by little until we’ve cleared a path. We put the boxes in an outbuilding.”

  “Hm, that doesn’t sound like a bad idea. Then the evidence is there for the others to examine. It could work. Well done, Amanda. I’m impressed.” He high-fived her.

  “Let’s get started,” she said.

  They quickly concluded that the process would go faster if they had help, so they recruited Amphora and Editta, and soon they had cleared a usable path through the garage. They found some boxes behind the kitchen, sans sugar, and wiped them out with damp cloths, then lined them with plastic. They put the debris from each footprint into a different box and labeled it. Then they started the real investigation.

  As they moved through the scene Amanda kept an inventory. She assigned each item a number, description, and location and took pictures of it. When she got to the vehicles, she noted the make, model, year, tire and wheel types, chassis type, and the damage to each, asking Nick for help with some of the technical details. Where possible she also noted items inside the cars and damage under the hoods and in the interiors.

  They started with Professor Pickle’s car. The golf clubs in the rumble seat of his Triumph Roadster had partially melted and fused to the upholstery, which was now devoid of its leather skin and padding. Amanda peered over the edge into the interior of the car and saw a lot of glass she hadn’t noticed before. The professor must have been carrying jars or bottles or something. Beer? She couldn’t tell. Then something white caught her eye. At least it used to be white, she thought. She didn’t want to touch it for fear of disturbing it, but she did manage to get a picture of it. It was difficult to tell what it was until she enlarged the image on the screen and saw the word “dill.” Dill? Was there a dill beer? Amanda didn’t think so. The only thing she knew about dill was that it was used to flavor pickles. Pickles! Professor Pickle had pickles in his car? She didn’t know him, but she thought maybe what everyone said about him was wrong. Maybe he did have a sense of humor. A Pickle with pickles. Cute.

  As punny as that was, it surely didn’t have anything to do with the reason for the explosion. She took some video and stopped to think. Perhaps one of the other cars was the target, or something inside them. Except for Pickle, she didn’t know which teacher drove which car, but she could match them up later. Now would be a good time to examine the others and see what they told her.

  Aside from Pickle’s baby, there was an assortment of sedans, a Volkswagen bus, a huge Bentley, an old sports car of some kind, and would you believe it, a surfer’s woody. She was sure it belonged to Professor Ducey. He looked like a surfer. Now she might have proof that he actually was one, although if she really wanted to know, the easiest thing to do was ask.

  Professor Pickle’s ruined classic model was flanked by a dark blue sedan on the left and the woody on the right. She decided to start with the woody because it reminded her of home.

  It was a mess, just like everything else in the garage. Still, there might be hope. Amanda took a pair of rubber gloves out of her bag, put them on, and took hold of the glove compartment handle. The glove box felt like it was about to disintegrate, but she was able to get it open without much damage. Amazingly, the contents were untouched.

  She reached inside and lifted out some maps of various parts of England and Scotland, a topo map of the Lake Windermere area, a receipt for some windsurfing equipment, a pair of glasses, and some melted candy bars. There was also a tube of sunscreen and several packs of gum.

  She carefully opened the maps. Three locations were circled in red pencil: Ullswater, Derwentwater, and Bassenthwaite Lake. She took out her phone and snapped pictures. She wasn’t familiar with the locations and would have to research them later. She put the items back in the glove compartment and closed it softly.

  The body of the car was empty. Amanda turned on her light and looked under the car and inside the wheel compartments. She didn’t see anything other than a lot of pipes, which she figured was normal, but she tried to get some pictures anyway. Then she made a video survey of the car.

  Moving on to the dark blue sedan on the other side of Professor Pickle’s car, she was faced with a new problem: a trunk. How were they going to get in? No one had any hairpins, if anyone even knew how to use them. Maybe there was another way.

  What if they were to make a key? They could take an impression of the lock and get one made, although she wasn’t sure how. Students weren’t supposed to leave the campus. Was it possible to make one themselves? She didn’t think so. Unless . . . there were no rules against mailing things. She could take a wax impression, send it to someone, and ask them to get a key made. Maybe Ivy’s family would do it, or Nick’s.

  The lab! Maybe there was a way they could make their own key there. There were all kinds of tools on hand. There had to be a way to make a mold and fill it with something hard enough to function as a key.

  “Hey, you guys, we need to make a key for this trunk,” she called out.

  “Let me see,” said Amphora, navigating through the debris until she was standing next to Amanda. She fiddled with the lock, which seemed to be loose. “Wait a minute. I think I can pop the lock out.”

  “Isn’t that disturbing the evidence?” said Amanda. Breaking the lock seemed too easy. Anyway she was quite warming to the idea of making a key. You never knew when a skill like that would come in handy.

  “No,” said Amphora. “Here, I’ll just . . .” She pushed the lock and it fell into the trunk. “Voila!” A cloud of dust flew up.

  “What is all that?” said Nick, looking inside.

  “Looks like some manuscripts,” said Amanda. “What is this?” She leafed through them, then read aloud, gigglin
g more and more with each line. “The Ghost in the Pit Stop. The Haunted Curry House. A Wailing at Crowtooth Manor. He’s writing horror novels.”

  The four of them howled with laughter.

  “They sound dreadful,” said Nick.

  “I’ll say,” said Amphora. “Listen to this. ‘The ghost was angry now, screaming like a mynah bird and rattling the Wedgewood.’ Is he kidding?” She was doubled over.

  “Here’s one,” said Amanda. “‘She had dreamed of this night all her life. The ghost enfolded her in its arms and caressed her ears.’ Eeeeeeeew!” She too bent over and held her stomach.

  “He’s terrible,” said Editta. “How embarrassing for him.”

  “Is this evidence?” said Amphora. “I guess it is.”

  “If the police impounded it the world would never miss it,” said Nick. Amanda thought snot was going to come out of his nose he was laughing so hard.

  “What is he going to do with these?” said Editta. “Does he really think anyone will publish them?”

  “He’s probably going to self-publish,” said Amphora. “My dad did that. He sold twenty-two copies of his magnum opus, Closing Arguments Citing Bird Behavior in American Criminal Trials, 1946 to 2007.”

  There was a lot more giggling that seemed to go on and on until at last Nick spoke up.

  “Changing the subject entirely, if this is the class project, they’ve spent a lot of money on it.”

  Amanda stopped laughing. It was an interesting point, something that wouldn’t have occurred to her. How did he know all this stuff? “You mean because of all the damage? I hadn’t thought of that. That is something to consider. Do you think knowing that will help us solve the mystery?”

  “I’m not sure,” said Nick. “Let’s think about that for a moment. What would a reasonable budget for the class project be?”

  “I have no idea,” said Amanda. “‘I don’t know nuthin’ about birthin’ babies and all that.’”

  “What are you talking about?” said Amphora, looking at her as if she were crazy.

  “Nothing,” said Amanda. “It’s from a movie.”

  “We can estimate how much this blast has cost,” said Editta.

  “Great idea,” said Amanda. “Let’s do that.”

  Amphora gave her a sidelong look. “What movie?” she demanded.

  “It’s from ‘Gone with the Wind,’ if you must know.”

  “You shouldn’t make obscure references,” said Amphora. “It isn’t polite.” Amanda rolled her eyes.

  “We’re documenting what was destroyed,” said Editta. “We can research how much replacements will cost and come up with a total.”

  “What do you think about this damage?” said Nick, making a quick survey with his eyes.

  “It’s quite a mess, but we can at least value the cars and the building,” said Editta. “I reckon I can calculate something pretty quickly.” She started muttering to herself and punching information into her phone. “Let’s see, thirty thousand, twenty-five, times sixteen.” She went on like that for a couple of minutes and then blurted out, “Three hundred-sixty-five thousand eight-hundred quid and change for the project. That’s a lot of dosh. Can you believe they spent all that money on us? They must really want us to be good detectives.”

  “That’s impossible,” said Amphora. She looked like a bird had just dropped something yucky on her head.

  “I say,” said Nick. “That was brilliant, Editta.” Editta blushed. This wasn’t the first time Amanda had seen signs of a secret crush on Nick. Who cared, though? She didn’t have one. She and Nick were friends, that was all. “You’re right. That’s quite a bit of money. I guess there are a lot of rich alumni. Not my family.” He grinned.

  “Or me,” said Amanda.

  “Me either,” said Editta.

  Amphora looked down at the ground. It seemed she had nothing to say.

  Amanda was sorely impressed with Editta’s abilities. She hadn’t realized how smart her friend was. She guessed it was possible to be smart and superstitious at the same time, although she wasn’t sure what would happen if a situation required that Editta pick one or the other.

  “That was amazing,” she said. “Just out of curiosity, how did you do that?”

  “It’s simpler than it looks,” said Editta. “Sixteen cars at an average value of 18,200 pounds apiece. This is just a guess, of course. Fifteen thousand two hundred or so for the building, plus extra for the contents. I could be off.”

  “That sounds reasonable,” said Amanda, who still had trouble converting between U.S. and UK currencies. Still, Editta’s assumptions made sense when you thought about them.

  “Brava!” said Nick. “I think we should all take you out for chocolate.” Editta blushed again. She was starting to look good all red. The color went nicely with her brown eyes.

  “If they ever let us out of this place,” said Amphora. “But I’m in. Excellent, Editta.”

  “Thank you,” squeaked the honoree.

  “What’s next then?” said Amanda. “I know. Why don’t we try profiling the perpetrator?”

  “We haven’t had Profiling yet,” said Amphora.

  “That’s okay. I have an idea,” said Amanda, winking at Nick. “We know how to look for a character’s motivation.”

  “So we do,” said Nick, winking back.

  Editta and Amphora looked at each other with a what-are-they-talking-about look.

  “We can’t do it here, obviously,” said Amanda. “Let’s go to the common room. Don’t you just love those picture windows? I wonder how it’s decorated today. Do you think they ever let students suggest a theme?”

  “That’s not a bad idea,” said Nick. “Let’s do it.”

  “You can talk to Thrillkill,” said Amanda.

  “I will,” said Nick. “It’s not an unreasonable request.”

  Amanda gave him a look that said “Good luck with that.”

  “Let’s go,” said Nick, stepping rhythmically, as if he were about to travel down the yellow brick road.

  “Watch out for glass,” said Amanda.

  16

  Gluppy Things

  About a week later, Amanda and Nick were walking down the first-floor hall, which was now decorated with massive crystal chandeliers that splashed bits of light all over the walls. Amanda stopped so suddenly that Nick was thrown off his stride.

  “Wait a minute,” she said.

  “What?” said Nick.

  “I see something out there.” She was looking out the Police Procedures classroom window, which faced the back of the school.

  “What?” he said again.

  “I think I see the cook.”

  “What’s she doing?” he said, trying to get a good look, which Amanda’s hair seemed to be blocking. He bobbed this way and that, jockeying for position.

  She moved out of the way. “Look, she’s walking. She’s not carrying or pushing anything. See her?” She pointed.

  “I don’t see anything. Where’s she going?”

  “I don’t know. Toward the north wing,” she said, making a visor out of her hand and standing on tiptoe.

  “Do you see Simon?” he said.

  “No. Let’s follow her.”

  “Okay. Come on.”

  They slipped out the nearest door, where icicles were hanging from the frame, and keeping back far enough to avoid the cook noticing them, followed her as she walked northward and turned the corner to the west. But when they rounded the corner she had vanished.

  Amanda shrugged. Nick shrugged back. There were several places she could have gone: into one of the three doors on that side of the school or the gardening annex.

  “You try the first door,” whispered Amanda. “I’ll look at the far one.”

  “What about the outbuilding?” said Nick, jerking his head toward it.

  “Too dangerous. She could come out and see us.”

  “Not a problem,” he said. “I’ll make up an excuse for being there.” There was the grin ag
ain. It was magical and he knew it, and she knew he knew it but didn’t care.

  “You’re good at that, aren’t you?” She smiled at him in a way she figured wasn’t at all magical, but oh well.

  “I’m an actor,” he smiled back.

  “Okay, Mr. Cumberbatch, you take the outbuilding,” she said, glancing over at the crumbling building. It definitely needed repair. “Let’s meet back here.”

  “Yup,” he said, moving cautiously toward the outbuilding.

  Amanda crept toward the far door. Suddenly she saw something so repulsive she thought she might hurl again. A large, gelatinous, vomity-looking blob was practically blocking the door. What is that? Ugh.

  Whatever it was, it didn’t have anything to do with the class project, the cook, or any pink substances. Of that Amanda was certain. Could she brave it to look for the cook, though? Not that it could do anything to her, probably, but it gave her the creeps. The cook was undoubtedly long gone anyway. Better to try one of the other doors.

  Amanda approached the second door and turned the handle. It was locked. The cook couldn’t have gone there. That left the outbuilding, the first door, and the yucky door.

  Nick came back shaking his head. “She’s not there.”

  “Well, one of the doors is locked, which leaves either the first one down there or—”

  “What is that?” he said pointing toward the last door to the west.

  “Down there?” said Amanda, looking in the direction of the blob.

  “Yes. I see a patch of yellow over there. It’s too early in the year for flowers. Let’s go look.” He started toward the thing.

  “I already did,” said Amanda. “It’s some awful-looking gluppy thing.”

  “Gluppy thing?” said Nick, turning around to look at her. “Is that the scientific name for it?”

  “Stop teasing me,” said Amanda. “You know what I mean.”

  “I don’t, actually,” he said. “Come on.” He grinned and pointed to the yellow spot with one hand while making a sweeping motion with the other, as if to introduce her formally.

  “You go.” She turned away.