Amanda Lester, Detective Box Set

by Paula Berinstein

  “I know that,” said Amanda. “But since I don’t actually have one, it doesn’t matter. Now we know he knows where they are, right? So all we need to do is send in an undercover agent to watch him and we’ll find out.”

  “Is that what you think?” said Mr. Onion. “Miss Lester, this is nae television. We canna just grab an MI-5 agent, send him in there, and sit back and wait. And you do realize that he’s going to tip the Moriartys off, do you not?”

  “I understand, but consider this. I don’t have a key, but I do have Nick’s game. Well, I don’t have it, but Headmaster Thrillkill does. Nick would want that game. I think he’ll come looking for it.”

  “Don’t be naïve,” said Mr. Onion. “The boy is as ruthless as his da. He would never take a chance like that.”

  Apparently he didn’t know Nick the way she did. “He would,” said Amanda. “He thinks he can get away with anything. He’ll come after it. He may not have thought about the game for a while, but once Jackie mentions it, he’ll remember.”

  “And you’re going to watch for him, is that it? Of all the hare-brained, crazy schemes—”

  “I’ll admit there’s a chance it won’t work,” said Amanda. “So just in case, shall we speak to the other Moriarty associate?”

  “Guard,” said Mr. Onion, turning around and motioning as if calling a waiter. “We’re ready for Manny Companion.”

  4

  Manny Companion

  Manny Companion was an albino, and one of the best-looking men Amanda had ever seen. His long white hair, which reminded Amanda of a palomino’s mane, fell down below his shoulders and framed his chiseled face perfectly. Why a guy like that had turned to crime when he could easily have been a movie star she couldn’t imagine, although come to think of it, Blixus Moriarty was pretty handsome as well. Oh well. There was no accounting for taste.

  Manny looked Amanda and the lawyer up and down, turned to the guard, and said, “We’re done here.”

  This wasn’t good. He wasn’t even going to sit down. Amanda blurted out, “You look like Johnny Winter.” She knew about the great blues guitarist because her great-aunt Euphoria liked him.

  Manny turned around and said, “Yeah, I do, and I’m a better guitarist than he ever was.”

  Amanda seriously doubted that, but she thought he might have given her an in.

  “I don’t know,” she said. “He was the man.” Mr. Onion flashed her a look.

  Manny strode over to the chair opposite Amanda and Mr. Onion and sat down. “Who are you?” he said.

  “A fan,” said Amanda.

  “You wish,” said Manny.

  “I do wish,” said Amanda. “Show me.” Mr. Onion looked at her again and a shadow of a smile rippled across his face.

  “I ain’t got a guitar,” said Manny.

  “Air guitar then,” said Amanda. If he really knew his stuff, he’d want to show off however he could.

  Manny looked at her slyly, picked up an imaginary guitar, and started to rock his fingers off. Finding that he couldn’t play sitting down, he stood up and banged on the phantom instrument, making all kinds of swirls in the air as he moved his fingers up and down its invisible neck.

  “Siddown,” said the guard. “You ain’t Johnny Winter, Companion.”

  “I told you I was better,” said Manny.

  “I can see that you’re very good,” said Amanda. “I’d like to hear you play the real thing.”

  “Tell you what,” said Manny. “I don’t know why you’re here, but if you get me a guitar I might tell you something. Assuming I have the info you want, of course.”

  Mr. Onion knocked Amanda’s knee with his own. She knocked back.

  “I don’t have one with me,” she said.

  “Obviously,” said Manny. “You’re going to have to sweet-talk the warden. They don’t let people bring stuff in here.”

  As if. All kinds of things were smuggled into prisons every day, although guitars were rather difficult to conceal.

  Manny put his hand up to the glass and nodded to Amanda to do the same. She placed her hand opposite his. It was about half the size.

  “Dealio,” he said.

  “Deal,” she said.

  Manny gave her a big smile and left her with an air riff.

  “Miss Lester,” said Mr. Onion when he’d left, “you’re going to make quite a detective. You’ve got the gift of gab.”

  “Actually, Mr. Onion, I didn’t realize that until just this moment,” said Amanda. “I made everything up as I went along.”

  “I’m impressed,” he said. “I wonder if I can get you to write some of my closing arguments.” He pulled his head back and looked at her. “I can see your father in you.”

  “Do you know him well?”

  “Well enough,” said Mr. Onion. “He’s a brilliant barrister. I heard he quit the Crown Prosecution Service, though. Where’s he gone?”

  Not this again. She hoped the lawyer wouldn’t be judgmental. She’d see if she could get away with a half-truth.

  “I think he’s trying to make up his mind. Nothing firm yet.”

  “You tell him we’d be lucky to have him up in Edinburgh. I’ll make him an offer he can’t refuse. In fact, I think I’ll phone him when I get back today.”

  He could try, thought Amanda, but he probably wouldn’t get anywhere.

  “Mr. Onion,” said Amanda, “do you think you could convince the warden to let Manny play the guitar for us?”

  “I think we might be able to make a deal,” said Mr. Onion. “However, he’d have to tell us what we want to know first.”

  “So if he doesn’t tell us where the Moriartys are, no guitar.”

  “Something like that.”

  “Mr. Doodle must think it’s important to find out, right?” said Amanda.

  “He appreciates the situation. They did escape on his watch. Guard!” There was that waiter thing again. “We’re ready. Please take us back to Mr. Doodle.”

  The guard gave Mr. Onion a look, unlocked the door to the hall, and ushered the two visitors out. But when they made their proposal to the warden, he gave them a flat out no.

  “Uh uh,” he said. “No can do.”

  “But—” said Amanda.

  “You don’t think he knows where Moriarty is, do you?” said Mr. Onion.

  “Not a chance,” said Mr. Doodle. “Anyhow, I don’t want to set any precedents. I do this for him, they’re all going to want something. And no meat cookbook either. Sorry.”

  Amanda thought the warden was not only being unreasonable, but foolish. If either Manny or Jackie were to open up in exchange for a small favor—even to give them a clue—they might actually find the Moriartys. Wouldn’t that go a long way toward restoring the man’s reputation? What a dork.

  “Do you think we could sneak that cookbook in at least?” she asked Balthazar Onion.

  “Not the entire book,” he said. “Maybe some pages.”

  Amanda thought for a moment. She wasn’t sure the prisoner would be happy with that. “What if I were to scan it, or take pictures of the pages?”

  “As long as Jackie gets his beloved annotations, I think that could work,” he said.

  “So now all I have to do is get hold of it. Uh, I forgot to ask where it is. Can we go back in?”

  But Mr. Doodle told them no—they’d had their time for today. They could come back next week.

  Now Amanda had two options: wait a week, which would leave Editta with the Moriartys even longer, or try to find the cookbook on her own.

  “Do you know where Jackie lives?” she asked Mr. Onion.

  “That was my next thought,” he said. “Unfortunately he lives in London.”

  Not London again. Getting there and back was a project. Maybe Mr. Onion would go with her, though, and help her through any rough spots they might encounter.

  “His wife and kids might not give up the book,” he said.

  “I guess we’d have some explaining to do,” said Amanda. “This sounds
complicated.” She thought for a moment. “You don’t suppose Manny would make do with a harmonica?”

  “Wouldn’t that be convenient?” said Mr. Onion. “Let’s think this through. We can’t simply buy a copy of the book because Jackie wants his annotations. We don’t even know the name of the book, for that matter. We can’t get a guitar into the prison. I wonder, though, if something else could get them to talk.”

  “Like what?”

  “A visit from a celebrity chef?” said Mr. Onion.

  “Like Jamie Oliver, you mean?” said Amanda. “Do you think he’d do it?” The idea of getting the celebrity chef to do them a favor seemed ludicrous. But she seemed to remember that someone she knew had a connection with him. Who was it again? Oh, right—another of Amphora’s crushes. “Wait a minute. I have an idea. It’s a longshot, but it might work.”

  “Go,” said Mr. Onion. For a tough guy, he was pretty patient.

  “The cook we had at Legatum last term—and of course, this is confidential so you can’t say a thing.”

  “My lips are sealed,” said Mr. Onion. “We in law enforcement have a special arrangement with the school. We would never give away its existence. I think you know that.”

  “I do,” said Amanda. “I just wanted to stress how important it is that no one ever find out.”

  Mr. Onion nodded.

  “Anyway,” she continued, “the cook we had last term studied with Jamie Oliver. Maybe he could put in a word. Oh, except he left and I don’t know where he’s gone.”

  “That’s a shame,” said Mr. Onion.

  “He knows a lot about candy,” said Amanda.

  That he did. Rupert Thwack had kept a huge stash of the stuff hidden in a disused compartment in an old classroom and had accidentally left it behind. Not that that would help with the current problem.

  “Wait a minute,” she said. “I think I can find Rupert, the cook.”

  Amphora probably knew where he was. She’d been warned not to bug him, but she’d no doubt ignored the directive. Anyway, he didn’t work for Legatum anymore, so what did it matter now? Amanda had to talk to her.

  The problem with all of these potential solutions to the problem of the Moriartys’ location was the amount of time they would take. Get on a train to London, find Jackie Lumpenstein’s flat, make sure his wife was at home, and somehow persuade her to part with his precious meat cookbook. Or, find out where Rupert Thwack was, contact him, and convince him to speak to Jamie Oliver, who may or may not help them and whose visit to the prison may or may not convince Jackie to give up Blixus’s whereabouts. Or, figure out how to smuggle in a guitar and listen to Jackie play it without the warden finding out. Longshots all.

  “This is getting too complicated,” said Amanda. “There has to be another way.” She wracked her brain. “Mr. Doodle is causing a lot of trouble. Maybe we could get him transferred or something. Although not fast enough.” She sighed.

  “I’m not ready to give up,” said Mr. Onion, “but you’re right. There has to be a better way. We just need to find it. Your father really could help here. He’s got the influence to get Doodle moved. What do you think?”

  Amanda didn’t want to tell him how spaced out Herb was. If he snapped out of it one day, people would always wonder about his suitability for practicing law.

  “I’m sure he’d want to help,” she said. “Unfortunately he’s in the U.S. right now. The City of Los Angeles called him in to consult on an important case.” It was a plausible lie. She was getting a little too good at deceiving people, but she’d worry about that some other time.

  “Pity,” said Mr. Onion. “I’m sure he could have persuaded Doodle.”

  “I need to think about this,” said Amanda. “I’ll phone you when I’ve come up with something.”

  “Better make it quick,” said Mr. Onion. “I’m leaving for Mongolia next week.”

  5

  All Together Again

  When Amanda returned to Legatum after her trip to Manchester, she found that her friends had arrived and were having a confab in the Holmes House common room. When they saw her they peppered her with questions.

  Simon was so disappointed that he hadn’t been able to see the inside of a prison that he made her promise to take him next time. Ivy felt that Manny was bluffing about his ability to play guitar and was exploiting his resemblance to Johnny Winter. Amphora said she might be able to get hold of Rupert Thwack except that he was off doing a motorcycle tour of South America and was incommunicado. Clive, whose straight black hair seemed to have grown about a foot since she’d last seen him, offered up his own annotations on meat cookery if they would be helpful (who knew?), and Gordon, who wasn’t actually in Holmes House and wandered in late, said he’d be happy to provide a distraction by creating some glitter explosions. Unfortunately none of these contributions would help the situation. Neither did the kids’ reactions when they found out about the lawsuit.

  “I can kind of see why Editta’s mum is upset,” said Simon, who seemed unhappy to be sitting on a Victorian fainting couch. Amanda couldn’t blame him. It was a sissy piece of furniture.

  “Kind of?” said Amphora, wrapping the drapes around herself and adjusting the fit. They made her look like a fine fin de siècle lady. “If I were her I’d hire a hit man to kill Thrillkill.”

  “You wish,” said Simon.

  “You don’t think I would?” said Amphora.

  “Shut up, you two,” said Ivy, who had ensconced herself on the piano bench with Nigel settled underneath. “I’m still fining you for arguing.”

  Ivy had gotten so sick of Simon and Amphora’s bickering that she’d begun to charge them 20p every time they made a nasty remark. In American money that was about thirty-five cents, depending on the exchange rate—not exactly a deterrent. Still, she had quite a bit of money saved up as a result. Amanda had suggested they all go out to dinner with the proceeds, but Ivy had protested that that would just reward the two for their bad behavior. She’d find a use for the funds later.

  “We certainly didn’t need this,” said Amanda, who had returned to the red leather couch. The material was a bit warm for summer temperatures, but she liked how shiny it was. “But believe it or not, the lawsuit is way down on my priorities list. Look.”

  She showed them the list of tasks she’d made.

  “You have two number ones,” said Simon. She just knew he was going to say that. Simon was so precise about everything.

  “I know,” she said. “They both lead us to Blixus so I made them the same.”

  “He isn’t making you speak to Wiffle, is he?” said Simon. He made a gagging gesture.

  “No,” said Amanda. “That’s his task.”

  “Has Scapulus made any progress with Professor Redleaf’s computer?” said Ivy, accidentally pressing on a couple of high piano keys. The tinkling sound was not unpleasant.

  “No, but I have,” said Amanda. Everyone but Ivy looked at her. She sat up even straighter. “Well, I have and I haven’t.”

  “Out with it,” said Amphora, emerging from the drapes and joining Amanda on the couch.

  Amanda sat quietly for a moment. How could she tell the others what she’d seen? They’d think she was hallucinating. Although Holmes had seen it too. He’d back her up.

  “You’re not going to believe this,” said Amanda, preparing herself for adverse reactions.

  “Say it anyway,” said Simon. “We’ll decide what to believe.”

  “The screen made a bubble while I was looking at it, and then it sent me a personal message,” she said.

  No one said a word. Her friends didn’t laugh or protest or tell her she must be crazy. Even Gordon kept his mouth shut.

  “Blixus,” said Ivy at last.

  “Maybe,” said Simon.

  “You don’t think it was Nick?” said Amphora, just as Holmes entered the room. He stopped as soon as he heard his rival’s name.

  “Don’t say his name,” Ivy whispered rather loudly. She was sitting
too far from Amphora to speak softly.

  “It’s not like I’m talking about Voldemort,” said Amphora in a stage whisper.

  Holmes surveyed the scene, then said, “We don’t know who it is, but they’ve been at it for a while. I wasn’t going to say anything, but since the cat is out of the bag—”

  “I had to tell them,” said Amanda. So she’d told. Big deal. Why should he keep important information like this to himself?

  “I suppose it was time,” said Holmes, leaning against the doorway and looking for a place to sit. Amanda was certain he’d take a seat as far away from her as he could. “I thought maybe I could find him and no one would have to know.”

  Now he was sounding like his famous ancestor: arrogant and superior. Who was he not to tell them? Amanda felt her temper rise. Maybe he wasn’t so great after all. Maybe he was revealing his true colors. If that was the case, it was better to find out now and avoid a big mess later.

  “I’m sorry,” said Holmes. “That was misguided of me. It won’t happen again.”

  Amanda wished he hadn’t apologized. It would have been so easy not to have to worry about him. Now she was stuck all over again.

  “I don’t understand,” said Gordon, who hadn’t figured out where to sit either. It wasn’t his common room and he seemed uneasy. “How can a computer screen make a bubble? You mean it was exposed to heat or something?”

  “No,” said Holmes, selecting a gold-brocaded Queen Anne chair that had been placed next to the fainting couch. Hm, not as far away from her as her might have sat. Amanda wondered what that meant. “It forms and deforms, leaving the screen exactly as it was before. I’ve seen it happen dozens of times now. And there’s always a personal message afterwards. Someone is doing this on purpose.”

  “What do the messages say?” said Clive.

  “The one I saw said, ‘Hello, Amanda. It’s about time we met, don’t you think?’” said Amanda.

  “Hoo boy,” said Simon. “That implies it’s someone you don’t know.”