“Very well,” said Professor Buck. “Send me the link and return to the hall outside the kitchen for questioning. Do not come back here, do you hear me? This area is now off limits.” He produced a Post-It from his pocket, scribbled “Do not enter” on it, and slapped it on the door.
“Yes, sir,” they said in unison.
When Amanda and Nick returned to the hallway, Headmaster Thrillkill pounced on them like a gluppy thing on sugar.
“What were you doing in the kitchen, Miss Lester?” he said, frowning. Amanda was tempted to count the ridges on his forehead there were so many of them. “Students are not allowed there.”
“I, uh, I thought I heard something,” she lied.
“Something like what?” Oh great. Now she had to make up a story, and not a fun one like when she wrote for film.
“I don’t know. A noise.”
“Miss Lester. You are a detective. You do not hear ‘a noise.’ You hear a scream or a scraping or a snare drum or an elephant honking or a lorry door being slammed or a deep-voiced dog barking. Now what was it?”
“I’m sorry, sir. I’m not sure. I wasn’t paying that much attention.” Better not to be specific. That way it would be easier not to disprove her statement.
“You weren’t paying that much attention. Miss Lester, I will excuse you because of the situation with you-know-what, but in future, I expect you to be acutely observant. I will brook no sloppiness here at Legatum. We will brook no sloppiness.”
“Yes, sir.” She looked at her feet.
“Mr. Muffet, were you in the kitchen as well?” His eyes bored into Nick’s but the boy didn’t flinch.
“No, sir.”
“He wasn’t,” said Amanda. “Just me.”
“Very well. Please sit over there.” He motioned to a couple of chairs someone had appropriated from one of the classrooms. “I want you to wait until we can question you thoroughly. Mr. Muffet, you may go.”
“If it’s all the same to you, Professor, I’d like to stay,” said Nick.
“Stay then,” said Thrillkill. Perhaps you’ll learn something.”
Thrillkill interrogated them for hours. Amanda couldn’t help thinking that if he took this long with everyone he’d never finish his investigation. She wanted to ask how he handled that many witnesses, but it obviously wasn’t the right time so she let it go for now. But it was one of those practical questions she had to know the answer to. It was all well and good to explain the types of questions to ask, but what about how long to ask them, how many times to repeat them, what to do if you had to pee in the middle of an interrogation?
Afterwards, she and Nick were walking toward the sideboard in the dining room where they left beverages for the kids during the day, when suddenly her phone vibrated, signifying that a text had arrived. “Hang on,” she said. “I want to see if this is anything important.”
She looked at the phone. The text was from someone she didn’t recognize. It read, “ur next lestrade better watch out.”
She dropped the phone. She’d never received a threat like this before. Was this a message from whoever had taken her father?
“Look,” she said, picking up the phone and shoving it in Nick’s face. He was quiet for what seemed like so long that Amanda felt the panic rise. “Say something!”
“I don’t know what to say,” he said. He was obviously shaken. “I don’t want to say the wrong thing, but I have to tell you, this is bad, Amanda. Very bad.”
24
A Kick in the Nose
Amanda didn’t want to jump to conclusions about the text she’d just received, but she had to agree with Nick. Whatever it meant it wasn’t good. Knowing that someone was watching her gave her the creeps. That they had also threatened her was more than unsettling. And the fact that they knew she was a Lestrade and were calling her by that name, a name she’d never used, just about sent her over the top.
“What should I do?” she asked Nick.
“I don’t know. We need to think,” he said, taking her phone and staring at it, as if that would tell him everything they needed to know.
“I should tell Thrillkill, shouldn’t I?” she said.
“This is pretty serious, Amanda. You probably should.” She’d never seen him look so grave.
“I know, but I don’t want to.” All she could see along that road was more grief. Every time Thrillkill got involved in something it deteriorated. She couldn’t afford for that to happen now. And realizing that, something else happened: she got angry, so angry that she felt like she was going to pop. All the teasing, all the needling, being forced to go where she didn’t want to be, worrying about Simon, explosions, blood, gluppy things, her mother talking at rather than to her, the cook’s murder, and of course her father’s kidnapping. And suddenly she knew what she had to do. It was better to get even than to get mad. She would get them all, all her enemies. She’d get everyone here in the UK, and someday she’d go back to L.A. and get the ones she had there too. Enough was enough. She turned to Nick and said, “No. Forget Thrillkill. I can solve this myself.”
“This is no time to fool around. You saw what happened to your father,” he said, leading her to a chair.
They sat down at one of the long tables in the dining room. Amanda rested her hands in her lap. Nick turned toward her and looked at her hands, which had started to fidget.
“I know, but I can do this,” she said. “He didn’t know anything was coming. I do. I can prepare. And look at all the resources I have.”
“The police have better ones. You should let them take care of everything. We’re very new at this.”
“I know, but we’ve got something they don’t have.”
“What’s that?”
She stopped fidgeting and looked at him. “Me!”
Nick started for a second, as if he hadn’t been expecting that, then broke out in a grin. “So we do. The foremost character expert in all the land. I stand corrected.”
“I can do this. We can do this—if you want to help, of course.”
“Are you kidding? Of course I do. But what are you going to do?”
“I’m going to figure out who that message came from, for starters. And I’m going to do it by deduction. You’ll see.”
He took her hands and looked into her eyes. “Amanda Lester, I think you can do anything you put your mind to.”
After that Amanda calmed down and went to her room to think. She suspected the text had come from that awful Wiffle boy. He was so tightly wound and so hostile to anyone who didn’t live up to his impossible standards that she wouldn’t have put it past him. He’d been baiting her all term and she’d had just about enough, so she set out to test her theory, brushing aside the more serious possibilities, like the criminals who had taken her father, or killed the cook.
She knew the Wiffle kid had both motive and opportunity. He was obviously harboring some kind of grudge against her. He wanted her out of the school. And everyone had cell phones, so he could have sent the message any time. Her task now was to link the message to him.
It was ironic. If Professor Pickle had been around she could have asked for his help identifying the writer. After all, his specialty was just that: analyzing a person’s writing style to figure out whose work a letter, article, or other communication was. But Amanda figured that she could make some observations herself, even if they might not be as expert as the teacher’s.
The text had said “ur next lestrade better watch out” without any punctuation. Well, of course. No one used punctuation in texts. That wasn’t significant. The whole text was in lowercase letters, which also didn’t say much. It was common practice to avoid capitals. Easier to type. Then there was “ur” with no space. You’d think people would put the space between the two letters, which stood for “you are,” but again, it was easier and faster to type if you left it out. Most people would have written a text that way. She was nowhere.
Was there anything about the message that pointed to the Wiffl
e kid? The fact that whoever had sent it had called her Lestrade. No one else called her that. But was it enough? Maybe if she could get a look at his phone she could see how he usually formatted his texts.
This, of course, would be easier said than done. First of all, she hardly ever came into contact with him. Second, who lets their phone out of their sight? Maybe there was a way, though. And for that she could get assistance from Nick.
If the kid put his phone in his locker or somewhere else during self-defense class, Nick might be able to take a look at it, maybe even take pictures of the kid’s texts. Of course that would be a huge invasion of the boy’s privacy, but this was a life or death situation so Amanda let the thought stop her for about a tenth of a tenth of a second.
She texted Nick and asked him to meet her after dinner. He answered immediately, saying, “Yes!” He used capitals in texts. And punctuation. But did Wiffle? And by the way, what was that kid’s first name anyway? She could never remember.
But by the time she saw Nick she was wondering if her idea was so great after all. Maybe it was too far over the top. She certainly wouldn’t like it if someone snooped through her things. But if it was for a good cause, maybe it would be justifiable.
“I had this idea, but I’m not sure about it,” she said to Nick in the common room, where cubist paintings in ghastly colors were now hanging on the walls.
“Let’s hear it,” he said. “It’s probably better than you think.”
She told him what it was and he laughed so hard he had to bend over and hold his stomach. She liked seeing him laugh, and she was especially happy this time because she was the cause. Watching him like that buoyed her spirits so much that she forgot her fears and said, “I’m sold if you are. And it looks like you are.”
He winked at her and said, “I can’t wait.”
Now the only thing left to do was to pull off the caper, as Amanda had started to think of it. The next self-defense class was right before lunch the following Tuesday, so they wouldn’t be able to try it for a few days. Obviously Amanda couldn’t go into the boys’ locker room, so it would be up to Nick to sneak in and get the phone.
“Are you sure you’re going to be able to find it?” she asked him before class.
“Yep. Piece of cake,” he said as if he’d done this kind of thing millions of times.
“Do you want me to distract him?”
“It won’t be necessary because he’ll be doing the exercises. It’s better not to call attention to yourself.”
“Good point. Do you think he’ll notice that you’re gone?”
“Not a chance. He’s completely wrapped up in himself.”
“Okay. I trust you.” She gave him a big smile, then said, “Break a leg.”
After changing into her uniform Amanda joined the rest of the class in the gym. Professor Peaksribbon, a wiry middle-aged man with thick jet black hair and a winter tan, had them all line up while he showed them some new karate moves. Amanda looked around nervously. The Wiffle kid was watching as if his life depended on it. Nick was nowhere to be seen.
What was the worst that could happen, she thought as she eyed the teacher without really seeing him. First, the kid could catch Nick. Second and worse, the teacher could catch him. Third and very unlikely, Thrillkill could catch him in the middle of his snooping. But none of that would amount to anything once Nick explained his reasons. It was all to help Amanda make sure her life wasn’t being threatened. Surely they’d understand that and not suspend either of them, wouldn’t they?
Nick was a good talker. There was no way any of this could backfire on him or her, although the Wiffle kid would make a big stink. Still, it would amount to nothing. He could scream and yell all he wanted and—splat. The Wiffle kid had kicked her right in the butt. She lost her balance and fell forward, landing on her nose. The kid was so involved in what he was doing that he didn’t even notice what he’d done, and he wheeled around and kicked her again, this time in the feet.
“Hey!” she yelled. “Ooooooow!” Her nose hurt so badly that she had to hold it, and even then it was throbbing. She rolled over onto her back and brought her knees up in a reflex action.
The kid, suddenly realizing that something was wrong, spun around and stopped in the middle of another kick. This move promised to be another accident in the making, although this time he was heading right for his friend Gordon. At the same time Professor Peaksribbon was bending over Amanda barking out, “Ice! Now,” which caused three different kids to scurry off in search of what Amanda hoped was ice for her face. Editta, Ivy, and Amphora fussed over her until the teacher told them to move away. Simon was conspicuous by his absence.
The pain was intense and Amanda’s face was sure to be black and blue for days. The Wiffle kid was so shocked that he didn’t say anything at first. Then after about two minutes he cried, “It was an accident. I didn’t mean to do that.”
“Miss Lester, I want you to go to the nurse,” said the teacher. “Can you walk?”
“I think so,” said Amanda, whose nose was now bleeding. The teacher pressed a rag with ice wrapped inside to it and told her to hold it there.
“I’m going to want to see you in my office, Mr. Wiffle,” said the teacher. “Please go there and wait for me. You can change first.”
“Oh, great,” Wiffle said under his breath. He gave Amanda a dirty look and stomped off ungraciously.
But before he’d got very far, Nick had returned. When he saw what was going on he yelled, “Hey!” and ran over to Amanda, who was sitting up on a mat. “What happened?” He looked from Amanda to the teacher to the Wiffle kid, who was shooting daggers from his eyes. “You little ponce!” yelled Nick, and lunged for him.
“Nick, no!” yelled Amanda, who had just enough brain power left to visualize him being expelled if he got into a fight. “It was an accident.” She had to remove the cloth in order to call out. Her nose was so stopped up that her words came out sounding more like, “Bick, do. Id wuz ad ackidun.”
“Mr. Muffet,” boomed Professor Peaksribbon. “Don’t even think it.” His loud voice seemed to startle Nick, who stopped so abruptly that he stumbled and fell, twisting his ankle before he could make contact with the kid.
Nick shrieked with pain and grabbed his leg. “More ice!” yelled the teacher. “And more rags.” The same three kids ran off for more first aid items, which Professor Peaksribbon kept on hand for just such occasions. “Call the nurse,” he yelled out. “You, there, Mr. Ng. Quickly!”
The other students didn’t seem to know whether to laugh or panic. Some of them were afraid of the teacher, who could be quite intimidating when he wanted to be. Others found the whole idea of Wiffle kicking Amanda and Nick trying to avenge her hilarious. All in all, their reactions created quite a din until finally Professor Peaksribbon had had enough and shouted, “Class, shut up!” whereupon the din cut off so abruptly that everyone just stood and stared at each other as if to say, “What happened?”
The nurse must have been a track star at one time because she was on the scene in about thirty seconds flat, even though she was carrying a pair of crutches. She was so agile that she seemed to be everywhere at once, attending to Amanda’s nose, then Nick’s ankle, then Amanda’s foot, then the three kids who’d given themselves frostbite carrying the ice in their hands, then the teacher, who’d strained his voice yelling for help. She took pictures of the injuries, tapped notes into her tablet, and told all the parties involved to come in for a checkup. Nick was given the crutches and the historic class was over.
Instead of going to lunch, Amanda and Nick sat in the common room and nursed their wounds before logic class. Amanda’s nose was so swollen she could hardly talk (and turning purple, too, but that didn’t affect her ability to speak), so she used a combination of gestures and grunts to talk to him. Nick, for his part, was pretty stoic about the whole thing and was acting as if nothing had happened.
Amanda took out her phone and pointed to it as if to say, “So? Did y
ou get it?” Nick said, “Yes,” and looking around to make sure no one could see what he was doing, handed her his phone, which had pictures of the Wiffle kid’s texts on it. As Amanda read through the texts, her eyes got wider and wider, which considering how swollen she was, wasn’t very wide. The kid’s texts were not only a lot like the one she’d received, but they showed how deeply his hatred for her ran. There must have been a hundred texts between him and Gordon Bramble absolutely skewering her, using words that were so harsh and crude they made her blood boil. After reading, she looked up at Nick and grunted, “Dat liddle weedl.”
“What’s that?” he said. “That little what?” He stretched his neck toward her, as if that would help him untangle the garbled sounds.
“Wee-dle,” she said.
“Wheedle? Yes, he’s a wheedler, all right.”
“Do. Dot wheedlur. Weedl.” She was getting frustrated.
“Weevil?” Nick said. “He’s an insect. A spider. A cockroach.”
“Do,” she said, even more emphatically. “Wee-zl.”
“Oh! A weasel. Ha ha,” Nick said. “Wiffle is a little weasel.”
“Yed.”
“I’ll say. I’m afraid he really hates you. So does his friend Gordon.”
“Yed.” She handed Nick his phone. “Wed, I’b used to beeble nod likig be. I dode care about dat. Bud I do care dat he’s makig trets.”
“You’re used to people not liking you, you don’t care about that, but you do care that he’s making threats. Did I get that right?”
“Yed.”
“Hey, I’m getting good at Amanda-speak.” He smiled.
“I cad smile. Id hurts,” she said.
“I know. I’ll try not to say anything funny. But this is pretty solid proof that he’s the one who sent the text.”
“Yed.”
“So now what?”
“I dode know. Wud do you thig?”
Amanda Lester, Detective Box Set Page 19