“Outrageous,” said Alexei, turning his head away snootily.
“You’re assuming that it’s one or the other and nothing else,” said Simon. “Or that there’s a difference at all. Professor Ducey would fail you.” The logic teacher definitely would have taken points off for the gremlins’ flawed assumptions.
Ivy was looking like she wasn’t sure whether to charge Simon another 50 p. Amanda whispered “Uh uh” into her ear to forestall any punitive action.
“I beg your pardon,” said Noel. “That isn’t true at all. It’s a scientific fact that people do one thing on Mondays and Wednesdays and another on Tuesdays and Thursdays.”
“Save us,” said Simon. “Another Editta.”
“Fifty p,” said Ivy, holding out her hand.
“Uh uh,” said Simon.
“Uh huh,” said Amphora, holding out her own hand.
“I’ve had enough of this,” said Simon. “I’ve got work to do.” He stood up and left the room noisily without looking back.
“Terrible posture, that one,” said Alexei. “But now we can address the question properly.” He looked disapprovingly at Simon’s plate, which he had not bussed.
“Indeed,” said Noel. “So what is your answer?” He looked at the three girls.
“Well, sirs,” said Ivy kindly, “I would say Mondays and Wednesdays.”
“Told you so,” said Alexei looking smugly at Noel.
“Not correct,” said Noel, giving Alexei a snide look.
“Why do you say that, Ivy?” said Amphora.
“Because we’re more keyed up and therefore more alert on Mondays, and we’ve mellowed out a little by Tuesday, so we’re less observant then. Then on Wednesdays, once we’ve had a chance to adjust to the rhythm of the week, our minds are sharp again.”
“Not so,” said Noel looking crestfallen. “It’s the exact opposite.”
“How so?” said Amanda.
“On Mondays you’re too traumatized by the change of routine to think straight. By Tuesday you have relaxed. On Wednesday, you congratulate yourself for having such a productive Tuesday, and you let your guard down. Then on Thursday you feel guilty so you buck up again.”
“That’s quite an interesting analysis,” said Ivy.
“And correct,” said Noel, folding his arms.
“And incorrect,” said Alexei, folding his. Amanda thought they might come to blows.
“Correct.”
“Incorrect.”
“Gentlemen, gentlemen,” said Ivy. “I think both hypotheses have merit. Would you like to conduct a scientific experiment to see which is correct?”
“Absolutely not,” said Alexei huffily.
“Rubbish,” said Noel abruptly.
“Well, then,” said Ivy, “I’m not sure there’s another way to be certain.”
“I am certain already,” said Alexei.
“As am I,” said Noel. “Thank you for your time. Have a pleasant day.” And with that, the gremlins got up and walked out, continuing to argue.
“That was interesting,” said Amphora, watching them leave.
“Yes,” said Amanda, thinking that if Alexei got marinara sauce on his tux it wouldn’t show. “I wonder who’s right.”
“Simon,” said Ivy, barely squelching a giggle. “I just didn’t want to say so in front of them.”
4
Nick’s Secrets
With all this unexpected drama going on, Amanda was starting to freak out a little. It seemed as though everything she’d finally started adjusting to was falling apart, and there were signs that things were going to get a whole lot worse before they got better. At least she had her storytelling class to look forward to. This was something she knew through and through, and she was excited by the prospect of sharing the object of her passion.
She’d spent some time preparing at her parents’ in London, but with her father still recovering from his kidnapping at the hands of the Moriartys, she’d found it difficult to concentrate. Ever since his ordeal, her father had become a shadow of his former self. He’d lost enthusiasm for his work at the Crown Prosecution Service, a position he’d aspired to all his life, and was talking about quitting and going off to find himself. What finding himself? Herb Lester, scion of the Lestrade family, had spent forever basking in the legacy of his ancestor, prosecuting criminals and making the world a safer place. That was his self. What else could there be? At least that was how Amanda’s mother looked at it.
Amanda, however, could see his point. To her way of thinking, he’d spent his life in a straitjacket, trying to live up to an ideal that had never existed. The really sad part was that everyone except her parents knew what Lestrade really was: a bumbler. To them he was a god, and they had been in thrall to him.
On the other hand, Lila Lester, a successful mystery novelist, hadn’t changed at all, or at least not that Amanda could see. Overbearing and opinionated, she was still pushing both her husband and her daughter to do what she wanted them to do. No grief, no empathy, no sensitivity whatsoever. In fact she was flourishing now that she had the two of them to talk at, which she did incessantly. If her husband’s near death hadn’t mellowed her, what would?
With her parents’ woes adding to her feelings of loss, Amanda had started digging into her class preparation in earnest on the train ride from London to Windermere. She had devised a brilliant way to get across basic story concepts, which was to use examples from the Harry Potter stories. She’d thrashed around until she’d come up with that one, trying out one dumb idea after another, but now she was getting excited. Harry Potter had everything: a likeable underdog, a powerful and shadowy villain, fascinating supporting characters, high stakes, suspense, a rich world, and FUN. It was perfect! She wanted desperately to get back to it, but with so many distractions she wasn’t sure when that would be, especially with Thrillkill wanting something else from her.
After lunch the first-years went to their crime lab class, which built upon the introductory course from last term. Professor Stegelmeyer, never a pussycat at the best of times, was surly and rumpled, which, given that he usually looked like a Marine, was almost alarming. Amanda’s lab partner this time was Dreidel Pomfritter, a kid she didn’t know very well. He seemed okay, at least so far. Short, with glasses and a dark brown crew cut, he was courteous and competent but not very interesting. Last term she had partnered with Nick and he’d been a blast—for a while, anyway. Come to think of it, maybe it was better that Dreidel wasn’t so much fun. Then she wouldn’t get attached or sidetracked and everything wouldn’t blow up again.
After Crime Lab, Amanda betook herself to Headmaster Thrillkill’s office as requested. Surprise, surprise, he seemed distracted. She must have sat there for two minutes, during which time he barely looked at her. Then there was a knock at the door and Scapulus Holmes walked in, whistling. Amanda hated whistling. It was so Huck Finn. Not that there was anything wrong with Huck Finn per se. He was just so read-fifty-pages-by-Friday-and-then-we’ll-have-a-test, which she could do without.
At last Thrillkill, glassy-eyed from the effort of staring at whatever had transfixed him, looked up from his computer. “Ah, Miss Lester, Mr. Holmes. Just the two people I want to see.” Well of course they were the people he wanted to see. He’d asked them there, hadn’t he? Come to think of it, Amanda wasn’t sure whether Thrillkill had invited Holmes or the boy was worming his way into her territory unbidden. But about thirty seconds later she found out.
“I have a task for you two,” said Thrillkill. Them? Together? This didn’t sound good. “I want you to make a training film. You have thirty days.” Amanda couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Holmes make a film? With her? Why him? What could he possibly know about filmmaking? Then Thrillkill dropped a bombshell. “Miss Lester, I’m afraid you will have to postpone your storytelling class. There isn’t time to do both.”
What?! That Holmes. This was all his fault. How dare he mess with the one thing she was excited about? What a waste of her t
alents—working on a training film with some newbie—a kid who wasn’t even there last term and couldn’t possibly know as much about anything as the rest of the first-years. It was an outrageous request. She felt like screaming.
“Your topic is cyberforensics. I’ve made a list of the concepts I want you to cover. Please set a time to start work. I expect you to keep me up to date on your progress with a daily report. This is a critical project. Professor Redleaf needs all the help she can get. There’s too much important material for her to cover alone. Questions?”
Amanda didn’t dare open her mouth for fear she’d lose control. Holmes simply shook his head and said, “No, sir. Thank you, sir.” How original.
“Now then,” said Thrillkill, “I would like a project plan in forty-eight hours. Understood?”
“Yes, sir,” they said in unison, although Amanda was looking at her feet when she spoke.
“Good enough. Mr. Holmes, you are excused.” Mr. Holmes? What about me? “Miss Lester, I have another job for you.” Oh great. Now what?
“Now I know this is going to be difficult, but I have complete confidence in you. You will do this because it’s critically important, and I know you will put the good of the school ahead of your personal feelings.” This did not sound promising. Amanda braced herself.
“I would like you to help search Nick Muffet’s room. The school wants to reassess the damage he might have caused. Of course this won’t be the first time we’ve searched it, but we want to be even more thorough. I understand that this will be unpleasant for you, but you knew him better than anyone else. You may be able to spot important evidence the rest of us have missed. Miss Lester?” Amanda was looking down again. Thrillkill lowered his head and peered up at her, trying to catch her eye. It was a gesture of submission, an extremely rare one for him.
It didn’t help. Amanda felt herself about to go ballistic. She was the last person who should be searching Nick’s room, and it wasn’t because girls weren’t normally allowed in the boys’ dorm. The idea was unthinkable. She couldn’t take one more blow. But how could she refuse? Thrillkill had a point. She was the best qualified and the detectives did need her help.
But it would be excruciating, especially coming on the heels of the two things that had just occurred: losing her storytelling seminar and having to work with that kid. She wouldn’t just be searching through a bit of this and that. She would have to look through Nick’s most personal possessions.
“When do you want me to do this?” Amanda said, trying to keep her voice steady.
“Right now,” said Thrillkill. “You don’t have any commitments at this instant, do you?”
“No, sir.”
“Excellent. Let’s begin then, shall we?”
Amanda and Thrillkill made their way to the boys’ dorm, which was situated in the southeast corner of the main building. As they entered, the headmaster placed himself in front of her and called out, “Girl in dorm. Make yourself decent,” then kept repeating his warning over and over. At one point she caught a glimpse of a boy in his underwear—one of the older students—but it was so quick that it barely registered. As they passed through, boys’ heads kept emerging from doorways and she could hear a lot of whispering. She had no idea whether the boys were simply curious or outright mocking her, but she was so miserable she didn’t care. Anyway, she’d been teased so much for being Lestrade’s descendant that insults didn’t bother her anymore—except when Nick had said those awful things. His vitriol had just about destroyed her.
Nick’s room was on the top floor. Ever since the tragedy it had stood empty, his two roommates, Philip Puppybreath and Gavin Niven, having moved into David Wiffle’s room. Amanda could barely stand to look inside, let alone step over the threshold, but Thrillkill pushed in and she had no choice.
The room was as neat as a pin, although Amanda wasn’t sure how a pin could be considered neat. She didn’t know if Nick or his roommates had kept things that way or the investigators had straightened everything up before they left. A Batman poster hung on the wall, presumably Nick’s, the roommates no doubt having removed whatever decoration they owned. Amanda could see holes in the wall where their pictures might have hung, although those might have been there for years.
The room held three beds, two of them stripped bare. The third was covered with a heavy dark blue quilt with white shapes on it. It looked like the night sky. Amanda thought she could even see the Big Dipper. Nick had good taste.
The room also held three small wooden dressers, three nightstands, three tiny desks, one of which supported a gooseneck lamp, and one not overly generous closet. An uncomfortable-looking wooden chair was nestled under each desk. A large window outfitted with flimsy drapes overlooked the expansive east side of the campus. The room was as bare bones as Amanda’s, and especially depressing because of its vacancy.
“This is it,” said Thrillkill. “Let’s dig in.”
It didn’t seem that there was much to dig into. The room was so bare that searching it seemed a futile exercise, but Amanda had to do something so she cast around for a suitable starting point.
She didn’t want to look through Nick’s underwear, if he’d left any, so she started with the closet, which held several school uniforms, three pairs of shoes, a couple of jackets, four casual shirts, and an umbrella. Amanda felt all the pockets and looked inside them. They were empty except for bits of lint, a few pence, and a couple of five-pound notes. She was surprised that the crime scene investigators hadn’t removed the money. She looked toward the shelf but couldn’t reach it, so she grabbed a chair and climbed up.
The top shelf was incredibly dusty. It looked as if it hadn’t been used in ages. That was weird. With space at such a premium, you’d think the boys would have used every nook and cranny, but they’d neglected to avail themselves of this valuable resource. It couldn’t have been because they were too short to reach it. Nick, at least, had been considerably taller than Amanda, who was five feet, and she was pretty sure that Philip and Gavin weren’t exactly shrimps either. Anyway, there were always chairs to climb onto, but maybe they just didn’t have a lot of stuff.
“Find anything?” said Thrillkill, who was rummaging through one of the desks.
“No, sir,” said Amanda, standing on her tiptoes. “It’s odd, though. This shelf hasn’t been used in months.”
“Really? How peculiar. Now this is a good example of what to look for. What you fail to find can be just as important as what you uncover. That’s a lesson worth remembering.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Are you sure there’s nothing up there?”
“There’s a lot of dust,” Amanda said. That was true. The dust was so thick that Editta would have insisted on measuring it. “I—wait a minute. There’s some writing in the dust. Let me see if I can make it out.”
“Do you need a torch?” said Thrillkill, reaching into his coat pocket.
“I have a light on my phone,” said Amanda. “Let me get it.” She started to get down but Thrillkill was faster. He grabbed her bag and handed it up to her.
“Thank you, sir.” She took out her phone and activated the light. “It’s . . . oh.”
“What is it?” he said.
“It says, ‘Dust me.’”
Thrillkill laughed. Amanda didn’t think she’d ever seen him do that. “Typical,” he said. “They manage to get up there to write in the dust, but heaven forfend they should actually clean the shelf.”
“Sir, don’t you think it might mean more than that? I mean the writing.”
“You think it’s a code?”
“I don’t know. I’m just trying to keep an open mind.”
“Excellent, Miss Lester. Please take pictures of the shelf from a variety of angles and let’s get a sample of the dust. The crime scene people have already looked for prints and didn’t find anything that shouldn’t be there, but it doesn’t hurt to do that again.”
Amanda processed the shelf using her evidence kit, then t
urned her attention to the desks. She thought she’d start with the two that probably weren’t Nick’s. The longer she could delay going through any more of his personal things the better. If she stalled enough, maybe Thrillkill would abort the mission and she wouldn’t have to endure the pain of such intimacy.
Not surprisingly, neither of the two desks near the empty beds held anything other than lint. Philip and Gavin must have cleaned those out pretty thoroughly. However when she came to the third, she almost couldn’t open the drawers, and not because of her feelings about Nick. They were all stuck. She had to wiggle the top one to move it at all, but when she finally got it free she saw that it was empty.
The second of the three drawers was just as stuck but it was not empty. Inside Amanda found a printed copy of a screenplay entitled “Thaddeus Bott and the Magic Fog.” Nick Muffet was listed as the author. It appeared to be a steampunk story he had written, and from the first few lines it looked darn good. She wondered briefly why he hadn’t mentioned it, but then realized he’d never told her the truth about anything so of course he wouldn’t have. She felt as if she’d been kicked in the stomach—again.
Now to the bottom drawer. Like the first two, this one did not want to open, but it was even more stuck. Amanda couldn’t tell if it was blocked or there was something wrong with the sliders.
“Having trouble?” said Thrillkill.
“I can’t get the drawer open.”
“That’s odd. Perhaps the humidity . . .” He yanked on the drawer but it wouldn’t open for him either. “Blasted thing. Come on, you.” He pulled harder and harder, until all of a sudden the drawer gave way and he fell back on his butt. Amanda wanted to laugh. This was certainly not a position she’d ever seen the headmaster assume. He, however, was unperturbed and said, “There you go, Miss Lester. Have at it.”
Thrillkill had pulled the drawer completely out of the desk and Amanda could see that it held an evidence kit full of sample bags, tweezers, a fingerprint kit, and so on—all the items found in every detective’s toolkit. In addition, she found the results of the fingerprint exercise she and Nick had conducted that very first day of Crime Lab. There were also some tools, including a hammer, pliers, screwdriver, and Allen wrench. Nick had been handy. It wasn’t surprising that he’d owned his own tools.
Amanda Lester, Detective Box Set Page 38