Wiffle was referring to the time he’d accidentally injured Amanda with an errant kick in self-defense class. Despite her antagonism toward him, she had taken the high road and insisted that it was an accident, but Nick, who always came to the rescue, had tried to punch him and ended up twisting his ankle. The teacher had punished the kid anyway, and now he’d never let her forget that there was a permanent note in his file.
“You don’t scare me, chicken hawk,” she said. She glanced at the clock. “OMG, you’re going to be late to class. Can’t afford another detention, can you?”
Wiffle took one look and started running toward their observation class. He was so predictable.
Amanda knew she should go too, but suddenly she heard the name “Holmes” from behind the door. Oh brother. It was probably the new kid—Sherlock Holmes’s descendant, Scapulus Holmes, whom Thrillkill had mentioned at the end of last term. What was he going to be like? And what could he possibly have to do with the missing item? Did they think he had taken it?
It was true that a few short months ago Amanda would have done anything to avoid Sherlock Holmes. And it was true that now she was somewhat less sensitive, although not entirely sanguine, about the man who’d made her own ancestor, Inspector G. Lestrade of Scotland Yard, and by extension her, a laughingstock. She had finally decided that she was no longer embarrassed to be the descendant of a police detective known by all to be a dodo. She was pretty sure she had resolved all that. Lestrade wasn’t her and she wasn’t him. She was going to be the greatest detective ever, as well as the greatest filmmaker, her life’s desire, despite her duddy genes. But theory was one thing and practice another. The new kid was probably here, right now, doing his worst. This was getting juicy as well as nerve-racking. She had to find out more.
“Chop, chop,” Miss Lester, said Professor Mukherjee, the legal issues teacher, who had suddenly emerged from Thrillkill’s office to look for something in the anteroom. “We don’t want to be late on the first day of class, do we?”
Nuts. There was no way she’d hear anything now. “Er, no, Professor. I was just . . . I’m on my way.”
Oh well. If whatever it was was that important, there would be other opportunities to find out about it. Truth be told, Amanda was looking forward to seeing this legendary Holmes. Thrillkill had said that he wanted her to show him the ropes. Her! Little did he know that she was the last person who should be doing that. All she’d have to do was take one look at the boy and she’d throw up—a stunt she’d become well known for ever since that first day of spring term when she’d hurled all over poor Simon Binkle’s jacket. Fortunately Simon was now a friend, although he could still be irritating in a nerdish sort of way.
But between that incident and the one in the dead bodies, aka pathology, class, where she’d made the entire class puke, she had quite a reputation and didn’t want to enhance it. She just knew, though, that this Holmes kid was going to be trouble, although what sort of trouble she wasn’t sure. She was pretty sure he’d be arrogant. These sorts of things ran in families: the Wiffle family was arrogant, the Moriarty family was arrogant, Sherlock Holmes was arrogant, ergo their descendants would be the same. She wondered if Professor Ducey, the logic teacher, would buy that argument. It seemed airtight to her.
Suddenly she realized she hadn’t had breakfast. In her haste to get to the headmaster’s office before class, she’d completely forgotten to eat and she was hungry. Breakfast was officially over as of one minute ago, but she took a chance and snuck into the dining room, making sure to keep an eye out for the new cook, whoever she might be. The previous one had been strict about mealtimes, and if you missed them you were out of luck. Of course the previous cook had also been a mole working on behalf of the Moriarty cartel, so you couldn’t go by anything she’d done. Perhaps the new one would be nicer and a bit more lenient, not to mention less crooked.
Amanda hustled as quietly as she could to the dining room, which was next to the stairs leading to the girls’ dorm. She looked around, first behind her, then to either side, then whirled around to get a 360-degree view and almost lost her balance. She heard some clunking coming from the kitchen, but there was no sign of the new cook. Was someone coming? Should she chance it?
She tiptoed up to the kitchen door and looked through the round window. No one. The new cook and her assistant must be in the pantry or outside accepting deliveries. She twirled around again, then felt both dizzy and silly. Enough of that. She tiptoed over to the sideboard and grabbed the last roll, sticking it in her bag for a surreptitious getaway. Yay! She’d done it! She stepped out of the dining room as quietly as she could and power walked down the hall toward her first class.
Unfortunately, as soon as she started moving she realized there was no way to consume the loot without anyone seeing, and if they did she’d probably get into trouble. As great a school as Legatum had turned out to be, sometimes it still felt like a prison. Should she duck into a closet and eat the roll? Why not? She opened the door to a supply area, stepped in, tore the thing in two, and stuffed it in her mouth, almost choking in the process. When she’d swallowed the last lump she was so thirsty she knew she’d never make it to class, so she stopped at a water fountain and managed to get water all over her face, hair, and sweater. Great.
Normally she would have noticed the décor and committed it to memory but she was too rushed. With Professor Sidebotham’s daily observation quizzes constantly requiring fresh material, Legatum’s décor gremlins were always changing the look of the school, and the kids were supposed to note both its present and past states in great detail. Some of the quizzes had been downright unfair though. Like the time when they had to gauge the thickness of dust on a clock. And then there was the time when the old woman had wanted to know how many heel marks there were on the Van Helden House common room floor. Amanda knew that detectives had to hone their powers of observation, but sometimes Professor Sidebotham got carried away.
She opened her new class schedule and checked it to make sure she was headed to the right place, barely noticing the camel standing in the main hall. The décor did not normally feature live animals, but the gremlins seemed to have been particularly active over spring break and had gone a bit crazy. They must have been in some kind of “Lawrence of Arabia” mood, which under normal circumstances Amanda would have very much appreciated, “Lawrence of Arabia” being one of her all-time favorite films. Now, however, nothing registered.
Summer Term First-Year Class Schedule
Monday
Tuesday
Wednesday
Thursday
Friday
8:00-9:15
Observation Sidebotham
History of Detectives Also
Crime Lab Stegel-meyer
Fires and Explosions Pole
Logic Ducey
9:30-10:45
Fires and Explosions Pole
Observation Sidebotham
Cyber-forensics
Redleaf
Crime Lab Stegelmeyer
Cyber-forensics
Redleaf
11:15-12:30
Cyber-forensics Redleaf
Self-defense Peaksribbon
Logic Ducey
Self-defense Peaksribbon
History of Detectives Also
12:30-1:30
Lunch
Lunch
Lunch
Lunch
Lunch
1:30-2:45
Crime Lab Stegelmeyer
Sketching Browning
Disguise Tumble
Observation Sidebotham
Sketching Browning
She checked the first box. Yup. She was going the right way. But as she rushed down the hall, she couldn’t stop thinking about not only what the teachers had said, but how they’d said it.
The school was full of tough people. None of the teachers was the least bit shy about expressing him- or herself, and they could be harsh with the students. But she’d never heard them
argue like this. Maybe they’d hidden their internal disagreements up to now, but she didn’t think so. She was pretty sure they’d always been united in their mission—to produce the best detectives in the world—and their approach to it. Or maybe Thrillkill had always quashed dissent. Whatever it was, she’d never heard a peep before today, not even when she’d overheard Professor Feeney talking about some missing item on the phone last term. At the time, the criminals and their methods teacher had obviously been concerned, but she wasn’t arguing with whoever was on the other end. No, this situation was different.
Wait a minute: last term! Whatever it was had been missing for quite a while. Amanda was sure that at least a month had passed since Professor Feeney’s phone call, if not longer. If that were the case, why were the teachers talking about it only now? Something must have happened recently. Could it have anything to do with Blixus Moriarty? He’d been in prison for a month. Might he have pulled something off from there?
As she turned to enter her observation class she almost collided with the door. Everyone was already seated, including David Wiffle, who had obviously eaten breakfast when he was supposed to. She made her way to an empty seat next to her roommate, petite, blind, copper-haired Ivy Halpin, whose golden retriever guide dog, Nigel, wagged his tail at the sight of her. At first she ignored him, but when he looked at her with those soulful eyes she realized she’d been completely distracted and gave him a big hug. This gesture was not lost on David Wiffle, who rolled his eyes. Amanda stuck out her tongue. He mouthed, “Real mature.” She turned away.
“Ivy,” whispered Amanda. “I have to tell you something important.”
“What—is something wrong?” Ivy said so quickly that Amanda started. Ivy was normally the calmest and most together of Amanda’s friends. Even when she was concerned about something you could barely tell, but not now.
“Yes, but I don’t know what,” said Amanda.
“Is it serious?” Ivy reached out and petted Nigel so hard that hair flew off in all directions.
“Yes.” Amanda looked around to make sure no one was listening. That Wiffle kid was so nosy.
“Super serious?”
“It could be really bad. I’ll tell you after class.”
“Is it about Editta?” said Ivy. “She didn’t make it to the dorm last night.” She looked like she was about to cry.
“She’s not here? No, that isn’t it.”
Amanda looked around. No Editta. Since the whole first-year class took the same courses, their friend from down the hall should have been there. She was probably just late though. Most people had returned from the holiday over the weekend but there were always a few stragglers. Maybe there was a traffic jam on the M1.
“I tried to phone her but all I got was her voicemail,” said Ivy. “Five times. I’m getting worried. I don’t know why. It’s not that late. Are you sure your thing doesn’t have anything to do with this?”
“I’m sure. Still, it isn’t like her not to show up. You know how superstitious she is. Everything has to be just so or she freaks out.”
“Yes. That’s what I thought.” Ivy twitched in her seat and resettled her butt in her chair. It was a small butt and there was plenty of space to work with.
“I wonder if there’s a way to smoke her out.” Amanda didn’t realize it, but she was mirroring Ivy, wriggling her slightly larger but no longer pudgy butt into her own seat.
“What do you mean?”
“You know how she’s always counting things and looking for magic numbers and stuff?”
“Uh huh.” That she was. Editta Sweetgum was one of the most superstitious, OCD people Amanda had ever met. The trait seemed to run in her family. From the way Editta described all the odd things her mother believed, she sounded like she practiced voodoo or something.
“How about if we send her three messages one right after the other? When she counts them she’ll see how important they are and she’ll answer.” Ivy tapped the arm of her chair three times to demonstrate. She had a great sense of rhythm.
“I see. A code. Like a light that blinks so many times for yes and so many times for no.”
“Exactly.”
“Let’s do it. Here I—”
Ivy’s other roommate, Amphora Kapoor, a tall, chestnut-skinned girl with long dark hair who had just entered and was sitting on the other side of Ivy, turned to them and interrupted with, “Hey, I hate to bring up the topic of Nick . . .”
Simon Binkle, who was sitting behind the girls, leaned forward and said, “Then don’t.”
“Butt out, Simon,” said Amphora.
“You butt out,” said Simon.
“I see you’re still irritating. Apparently the break did nothing to change that.” Unfortunately she was right. Simon could be extremely annoying.
“Apparently it did nothing to change your bad temper.” He was right too. Amphora could be tetchy, especially with him. The two were like chalk and cheese.
“Oh, stop it, you two,” said Ivy. “What’s wrong with you?”
“There’s nothing wrong with me,” said Amphora. “Ask him.” Simon glared at her. “Anyway, I heard they’re moving Nick’s mother from one prison to another. She’s going to be in the same one as his father. I wonder if she’ll try to escape. Do you think she could?”
“I would,” said Simon. Amphora turned around and gave him a long dirty look. “She has nothing to lose. Lots of prisoners escape. Look at Bosul Fopy and Cowboy Quash. They got away from the two toughest maximum-security prisons in the country. Fopy tunneled under his cell for a mile. A mile! And Quash got away while they were moving him. Of course he had help from his mates, but the Moriartys have lots of friends who aren’t locked up. Yeah, she’ll give it a go.”
“Thanks a lot, Simon,” said Amphora. “That was really helpful. What if she comes after Thrillkill, or Amanda?”
This was a thought that hadn’t occurred to Amanda. When she’d helped capture the Moriartys she’d thought that was that. It had never occurred to her that either of them might escape. If she’d been thinking from a filmmaker’s point of view, she’d have got it at once because the prospect of escape would have added suspense and danger to the story and she would have milked it. But thinking like a detective she’d missed it. Boy, she still had a lot to learn. And BTW, ouch. The thought of either of those two coming after her was terrifying.
“Good morning, class,” said Professor Sidebotham. Amanda started. She had been so wrapped up in picturing Mavis Moriarty coming after her with an axe that she hadn’t seen the teacher enter the room. Ivy jabbed Amanda with her elbow and mouthed the word “Editta,” but because the teacher was watching them Amanda put her phone away without having sent the texts. She’d have to do it later.
Suddenly Simon poked her in the back. “Hey,” he whispered. “Did you see that camel?”
“Mr. Binkle,” said Professor Sidebotham loudly. “I’m so glad you have volunteered to start the class. Come up here, please. And remove your fedora in the classroom.”
Simon was always wearing his fedora now, ever since the first day of school when he’d begun to create his detective’s mystique in Professor Also’s history of detectives class. The look included said hat and sometimes a red sweater vest. The hat suited him better than Amanda had thought it would, but she still wasn’t convinced about the vest, which she felt was too old a look for a twelve-year-old. Maybe not in the UK though. At home in L.A. people would have thought he looked ridiculous. Everyone was more formal here. Everyone but her, that is.
Every time Simon took the hat off you could see that crazy cowlick of his, and then he’d smack his head constantly trying to get it to lie flat. Now he removed the hat and immediately felt for the disobedient hairs. Slap, slap. His efforts did no good. He grumbled under his breath and slunk up to the front of the class.
“Stand up straight,” said Professor Sidebotham. Simon complied. “That’s better. Now, let’s do a little exercise. Class, has Mr. Binkle gained in heigh
t since last term?”
Last term was about ten days ago. If Simon had grown since then it would be a miracle. Ivy raised her hand. Amanda noticed that the floor around her chair was covered with dog hair.
“Miss Halpin?” said the teacher.
“Simon has grown about a quarter of an inch in the last two weeks,” said Ivy. “His voice is coming from a slightly different place now.”
Ivy was already an amazing detective. She may have been sightless, but her ears were incredible. She could detect better than any of the other kids just by listening. If she said Simon had grown a quarter of an inch, he had.
“I don’t think so,” blurted out David Wiffle.
Oh no. Here we go. Amanda sat back in anticipation of the argument to come.
“Mr. Wiffle, from now on wait until I call on you,” said Professor Sidebotham. “Now, why don’t you think Mr. Binkle has grown?”
“Sorry, Professor. But no one grows a quarter of an inch in ten days.”
The class laughed.
“This is a class in observation, Mr. Wiffle,” said the teacher. “Not common wisdom.”
More laughter. Amanda was particularly gratified to see the thorn in her side taken down a peg, especially by an old lady.
“But aren’t we supposed to use everything we know to solve crimes?” said the thorn.
“In general, yes,” said Professor Sidebotham, “but this is a class in observation. You must perceive what’s around you, not project onto it.”
“Yes, ma’am.” The Wiffle kid looked more annoyed than usual. He didn’t like being wrong, and he really didn’t like being laughed at.
“What is the answer, Mr. Binkle? You have been keeping track of your height and weight as I instructed, have you not?”
Simon looked like he wanted to sink into the floor. “Yes, Professor.”
Amanda leaned over to Ivy and said, “I don’t know what his problem is. He looks good.” She was right. Simon was tall and trim, albeit a bit geeky-looking.
Amanda Lester, Detective Box Set Page 34