“So the one-celled organisms have bonded together and gone in search of food, which is the pink stuff,” she said.
“Correct.”
“And the pink stuff is . . .”
“Powdered sugar.”
“Really?”
“Yes, ma’am. They love it. Apparently researchers use it as bait. Do you know that some scientists have got slime mold to solve a maze by putting sugar at the end of the correct path? Here, I’ll show you.” He grabbed for the phone.
“You lie,” she said, pulling it away from him.
“No, really. There’s this picture,” he said, trying again.
“Ha ha! Can’t get the phone. Hey—” He was successful this time and held his mobile away from her. She laughed. “That explains a lot. The stuff in the pantry was sugar, which makes sense. Where else would sugar be? The cook has been throwing sugar out, so maybe some leaked while she was moving it and we’ve seen traces of that in various places. The slime mold goes after the sugar because its regular source of food has been disrupted. So if we see slime mold around the school, chances are there’s sugar nearby. Oh yuck. What if there was slime mold in the pantry or the kitchen?” Maybe they’d all been poisoned.
“There’s no sign that that’s happened. I’m sure the cook would have noticed.”
“There’s something weird about that cook. First she steals a bunch of sugar, then she makes a weird phone call, and then—”
“Wait a minute,” he said. “What weird phone call?” Amanda explained what she’d heard in the kitchen. As she spoke he shook his head. “That doesn’t necessarily mean anything.”
“Not on its own, but it does if you put two and two together, and the cook has obviously been using less sugar. We know that because the desserts are yucky and no one is eating them,” she said trying to get his phone again just to show him she could.
“But why would the cook steal sugar?” he said, using his height advantage to keep the phone from her.
“Maybe she’s fencing it,” she said, stabbing at him with an imaginary sword.
“Oh, come on,” he said grinning. “Again, too many movies.” He was now holding the phone out of reach with one hand and air fencing with the other.
“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe there’s a black, er, pink market for sugar,” she huffed.
“Why would there be something like that?” he said, pretend-stabbing her on the shoulder.
“Hey, you nicked me, Nick!” She lunged at him with even more determination. “Think about it. If you can create a scarcity, the price of something will rise.”
“That’s pretty fancy footwork, there.” He got her on the other shoulder. “I don’t see how one cook is going to be able to create a scarcity.”
“You think you’re so good, do you?” she said dancing around trying to get behind him. “She’s working with someone. That’s what the phone call is about.”
“Right. Now there’s a sugar mafia.” He was keeping the front of his body to her at all times, despite her efforts. He was obviously loving teasing her.
“Come on. Work with me here.”
“Not a chance. You’ll get me.” He was huffing now too.
“I’ll tell you what I think. I think there’s a sugar-stealing ring, and someone blew up the garage by mistake when they thought they were going to destroy a lot of sugar. En garde!”
“You wish,” he said, sidestepping her imaginary sword again. “And Professor Pickle is in on it?”
“What a thought. Pickles and sugar.” She let the sword fall to her side. “Well, there is such a thing as sweet pickles. But actually, I’d forgotten about him. I suppose that could be true.”
“I don’t know, but I will say that I think we should continue with our movie. Let’s keep documenting and then we’ll see what we’ve got.” He took one last half-hearted stab, then gave up too.
“Good point. We should do those profiles. And actually, I’ve got an idea. We need to start thinking like criminals. We should plan our own crime so we can get inside their heads.”
19
Thinking Like a Criminal
Nick looked at Amanda as if she were crazy. “Wait a minute. Did I just hear you say you wanted to plan a crime?” He seemed surprised for the first time since Amanda had known him, which surprised her, since she’d come to believe that he was unflappable. Not that he was exactly flapping.
“Yup,” said Amanda, trying not to gloat.
“You really do have a thing for Moriarty, don’t you?” he said.
“Not like that. I wouldn’t really do it.”
He made a moue. He looked ridiculous. “Oh, I see. A theoretical Moriarty then,” he said, grinning and tousling her already unruly hair.
“Cut that out,” she said trying to tousle him back. He was too tall and nimble. “If you want to think of it like that.”
“All right, then, Professor. Let’s do it,” he said rapping twice on the table in front of the sofa.
“Excellent. What should we do?” She took out her phone and opened her notes.
“Hey, this is your project. I’m just a simple sidekick.”
“There’s nothing simple about you, Nick. Now help me think.” She poised a finger over the phone.
“We could plan how to steal back the sugar,” he said.
“Interesting idea. That would involve a lot of equipment. Do you want to include getting the sugar back into our desserts?”
“It would just be theoretical equipment. I hadn’t thought about what we’d do with it. Write it down and we’ll figure that out later.” He pointed to the phone.
She thumbed the screen. “Right. Very cheap, theoretical equipment. Well within our budget.” She grinned. “We could plan our own explosion.”
“Now that seems a bit over the top. Although who doesn’t like explosions? Say, did you ever play that videogame Explosions!?” He punched his hand in the air and mouthed “Pow!”
“Never heard of it, and again, theoretical. I mean actually doing an explosion, not the game.”
“Yes, but it’s an awesome game. I’ll show you,” he said, alternately pressing and flicking his phone, which he’d retrieved before they’d gone to the lab. He held it up for her to see. The screen was full of oranges and yellows moving up and outward, getting larger and noisier and swirlier until he stopped the action.
“Cool.” As if. She didn’t like first-person shooters, although she couldn’t tell if the game actually fell into that category. There were plenty of other ways to make something explode than a gun, of course. This was something they’d have to study if they were going to get to the bottom of the mystery. Then another idea popped into her head. “We could kidnap the cook.”
“I like it! Write it down.” He motioned to her phone.
“Ah, I get it now. You like tormenting people. This is the only idea that involves a human.” She made no move to write anything.
“Not so, Professor. Stealing the sugar means that someone is a victim, and a bomb is a crime against someone’s property. Write it down.”
“Don’t split hairs. You love it and you know it.” She got in a surprise tousle but dropped her phone. Luckily the carpet was thick and it didn’t break.
“Hey, no fair,” he said trying to tousle back. “You found me out.”
“Actually, this is important. It takes a different kind of criminal to commit a crime against a person from one who commits a property crime.”
“Yes, good point.” He got up and started pacing. She followed him around the room with her eyes.
“Let’s think about the type of person who would create an explosion,” she said. “There’s a good chance someone will be injured or killed as a result.”
“That’s true, but when you steal sugar there’s close to no chance.”
“Exactly,” she said. “So the bomber is a ruthless fanatic and the thief is more interested in money.”
“That makes sense.” He leaned against the windowsill and absently playe
d his game.
“To kidnap someone you’re really both, aren’t you?” She held her hand over her eyes to shut out the glare from the window. “It’s hard to see you against the light like that.”
“Pretty much, yes. Oh, sorry,” he said moving away.
“So if we plan a kidnapping, we’ll be able to understand both types of criminals.”
“I don’t know. A thief is one thing. A kidnapper is something else.” He thumbed furiously, then stabbed one last time. “Success!”
“Let’s just try it and see where it takes us,” said Amanda. “I’m writing all this down.”
“All right, since it’s only theoretical. Can I see the list?” he said, craning his neck.
“Here,” she said, handing him her notes. “Now, let’s say we’re going to kidnap the cook. We’ll hold her for ransom, which means we have to target someone who has a lot of money. And someone who cares enough about her to pay that money to get her back.”
“Yes, which in the case of the cook hardly seems likely,” he said, looking out the window again.
“I wouldn’t say that,” she said.
“Really?”
“Whoever is in on this sugar-stealing plot with her obviously has connections. She needs equipment, places to store the sugar, and fences. There’s no way she planned this all herself. She’s working with someone who has brains. What are you looking at out there?” She got up and joined him at the window.
“Nothing. Just moving around,” he said, returning to his chair and falling into it with a thud. “I get restless just sitting sometimes. Good thinking. But we’d need to find out who that is. You don’t suppose it’s one of the teachers, do you? A mole?”
“Now there’s an interesting thought,” she said. “Do you think that’s possible? I’ll bet it’s Thrillkill.”
“Thrillkill? Not a chance. If it’s any of them, I’d say Kindseth or Ducey.” He drew a happy face in the condensation on the window.
“Really? They seem the least likely of anyone. They’re so nice.” She moved forward as if anticipating some juicy gossip.
“Exactly. That’s why it’s probably one of them. Assuming there’s actually a mole, of course.” He added a mustache to the happy face.
“But Thrillkill is so mean,” said Amanda. “He seems like the perfect criminal. And his position as headmaster not only gives him access to everything, but also makes a great cover. I think it’s him.” She flashed a huge “Isn’t making up stories fun?” grin.
“Care to make it interesting?” said Nick, rubbing his thumb against his fingers in a money gesture.
“You’re on! What should we bet?”
“I know,” he said. “If it’s Kindseth or Ducey, you have to get a picture of that weird Professor Feeney who teaches the criminals and their methods class without her Goth makeup. If it’s Thrillkill, I’ll steal his hair dryer.”
Amanda thought Nick was getting the better deal out of that one, but she didn’t believe she’d lose so it didn’t matter. “What if there is no mole?” she said.
“Then we’ll both cut class and go into town and get some real chocolate. Sound fair?” He erased the happy face and wrote “Clean me” on the window.
“Perfect,” she said. “So now we’ve got a theoretical crime to investigate, except it isn’t theoretical because we’re already investigating the cook.”
“Excellent.” He gave her a thumb-finger circle.
“And we know that our first task is to find out who she’s working with. Next we need to figure out a way to grab her and a place to hold her.” She looked at him expectantly.
“We have a place.”
“We do?”
“Yes.”
“You don’t mean that awful slime-moldy secret room, do you?” she said.
“The very same.” He was obviously enjoying this.
“Well, you can clean it out. I’m not going in there.” She folded her arms in so-there fashion.
“Just theoretical, remember?” he said.
“Okay. You can theoretically clean it out.”
“No problem. Where’s my theoretical broom?” He looked around as if searching for the phantom implement.
“So how do we grab her?” she said, pretending to get the broom for him.
“We need to do it in a way that no one sees us,” he said, air-accepting it and sweeping.
“How about this? If we follow her and find her in a place where no one is about, we can take her without anyone being the wiser.”
“Huzzah!” He held up the imaginary broom like a trophy.
“Well, look who’s here. We thought you’d gone back to America,” said Amphora, entering the room with Ivy and Nigel on her heels and looking none too pleased.
“Yes,” said Ivy. “Where have you been?” Her tone was far less accusing than Amphora’s. More hurt.
“Investigating,” said Amanda putting her phone down. “You?”
“Investigating,” said Amphora eyeing the phone suspiciously.
“Find anything?” said Amanda, following Amphora’s gaze and noting her expression. Why was she being so nosy all of a sudden?
“Not really. No one can seem to identify the point of origin,” said Amphora coldly.
“Doesn’t that seem weird to you?” said Amanda.
“It sure does,” said Ivy. “The explosion had to come from somewhere.”
“So what have you found?” said Amphora.
Nick looked at Amanda. Her face was blank.
“Not much,” he said. “You?”
Amphora looked skeptical. “Nothing really.” Her tone implied that they’d actually found quite a lot. “Have you heard anything about Professor Pickle?”
“No,” said Amphora. “No one seems to know what happened to him. Boy, this school is harder than I thought it would be. Nobody knows anything.”
“We’ll get there,” said Nick.
“I’m sure we will,” said Amphora narrowing her eyes.
When the girls had left, Nick turned to Amanda. “Why didn’t you tell them anything?”
“Why didn’t you?”
When Amanda read her mail later, she was surprised to see a message from Darius Plover. She’d been so busy she’d forgotten about him again. She couldn’t believe how lax she was becoming about her filmmaking. It was unsettling. But when she saw what the director had written, she got very excited.
Dear Miss Lester,
I was most gratified to receive your last message. I will be sure to take you up on your gracious offer to weigh in with a tween’s perspective on my work.
Regarding explosions, I recommend that you write to Alwishus Gabtalk at the UCLA Department of Engineering. He’s consulted for me many times. I’m sure he’ll be happy to talk to you. Just mention my name.
That’s the technical part. As far as identifying the perpetrator is concerned, you know how to do that. Figure out the motive and work backwards. If you know why, everything else will follow. Always trust the story, in whatever you do.
Please keep me informed of your progress. It sounds like you’re doing very well.
Sincerely,
Darius Plover.
Whoopee! He was a wonderful man. She hadn’t even asked, and he’d given her a great answer. And she’d been right! Motivation was everything. Her work planning a crime with Nick would pay off. They’d find the reason for the explosion and the sugar theft, and then they’d be able to work backwards and identify the culprit. She was so proud to be a filmmaker. It was a skill that applied to everything.
She dashed off a quick note to Darius Plover’s friend, then grabbed her phone and began to look at the video she’d captured. It was pretty good stuff. Next she’d start interviewing, but first she thought she would upload the video to her computer and annotate it, then back it up in her cloud service.
She was so absorbed in what she was doing that she didn’t see the text until a half hour after it had arrived. It was from Thrillkill. “Come to my office at
once.”
She was in for it now. They weren’t supposed to be in that old area of the school and someone had told on them. Or someone had seen her hiding in the kitchen. Or she’d been identified as Nick’s accomplice when he’d gone into the outbuilding. She’d be joining Simon on suspension and her parents would be furious.
When she reached the headmaster’s office, he was on the phone and that stupid hair dryer was sitting on his desk.
“You know the school can’t be involved in this,” he said. Then, “I’ll tell her.”
He looked up, and his face was even more serious than usual. “Miss Lester,” he said. “I’m afraid I have bad news. Your father has been kidnapped.”
20
Snow Globe
The walls of Headmaster Thrillkill’s office seemed to close in. Amanda was so stunned at the news about her father that she had to grab a chair to keep from falling over. Her heart started to pound and she couldn’t breathe. Thrillkill just stood there looking at her with that blank expression he always wore.
Then he softened for the first time. “I know this is a shock. Let me assure you that the authorities are doing everything they can to find your father and bring him home safely. Don’t you worry.” He came over and patted her hand.
“I don’t understand,” said Amanda. “Are you sure he’s been kidnapped?”
“Unfortunately yes. He was taken on the street a half block from his office. Two men tripped him with a banana peel and shoved him into a van.” His look was solicitous.
Amanda moved in front of the chair she was holding and sat down. “Criminals. They finally got him.” Maybe her father had known this was coming. Perhaps that was why he’d been acting so strange. Now that she thought about it, he’d seemed almost fearful at home. Was that possible? If so, why hadn’t he hired a bodyguard? Or was the acting weird about something else entirely?
“Yes,” said Thrillkill softly.
“What do they want?” she said.
“They haven’t said.”
Amanda Lester, Detective Box Set Page 16