Amanda Lester, Detective Box Set

by Paula Berinstein

  Amanda didn’t know much about keys, but it sure didn’t look like it went to a door. By the time Professor Stegelmeyer had declared that it belonged to a lockbox or chest, she’d just about reached that conclusion on her own. The problem was that no one had been able to find such an item among Wink’s possessions, and his wife had never seen him use one. The detectives scoured both Wink’s house and his office to no avail. They had also tried to trace his movements, not only for the sake of the key, but also to look for his murderer.

  Wink and his family had lived hundreds of miles away in Cornwall, so it would be difficult, although not impossible, for Amanda to go through his belongings again. Not that Celerie Wiffle would allow such a thing. She was so negative about the school and anyone connected with it that Amanda didn’t dare approach her. However the teachers had taken many pictures and even some video of Wink’s office and parts of his house, and Amanda and her friends could easily go through those. If they did that, perhaps they’d see something that would give them a hint as to where the lockbox or chest might be.

  There was also a minuscule chance that the key had something to do with the secrets trove under the school. The kids had discovered this astonishing place while exploring Legatum’s basements. It was filled with compartments not unlike safety deposit boxes, each with two locks. The earthquake had damaged parts of the trove and left some of the compartments open, but most were still intact and locked tight.

  From the open drawers the kids could see that each one contained paper snippets with a few words scribbled on them. They had concluded that these were Legatum’s secrets, separated and obscured so that anyone who found them couldn’t decipher what they meant. They suspected that there was metadata somewhere that made sense of everything, but they didn’t know where it was. Since Professor Snaffle was the secrets teacher, they speculated that she had both the metadata and the keys to the drawers, although where she kept them wasn’t apparent.

  And then Ivy had made a startling announcement: she had managed to get into some of the compartments by picking the locks. With her excellent hearing, she could tell just how far to push the pins. This was great news, but the problem was that each of the right-hand locks in the pairs was different from all the others and it would have taken her forever to crack them all. Still, the left-hand locks appeared to have been fashioned from one master, so it was possible that one key would fit every one. Was this that key?

  If the key did in fact go to the trove, why would Wink Wiffle have it? Would one of the teachers have given it to him, and if so, why? Had he stolen it? As far as Amanda knew, Wink had never taught at Legatum, so he wouldn’t have had access to the trove. This whole line of inquiry deserved careful thought, although she had a sinking suspicion that she was engaging in wishful thinking. If this key was the master for the trove, why were the teachers still trying to figure out what it went to? Unless they were trying to misdirect the students, but that seemed unlikely. They knew the kids were aware of the trove by now. They’d been in the basements too often not to know. There was no need for a cover-up.

  No, the key to the key was Wink Wiffle himself. And that idea led right back to dear old Blixus again, or at least to his wife. Everyone knew by know that Mavis had hidden Wink’s wedding ring in her room, but no one knew why. Although they couldn’t prove that she had killed him she was the prime suspect, and many believed that the ring was a trophy.

  As logical a conclusion as that was, people were still wondering if Mavis and Wink had known each other. No one was aware of a connection, but Wink did know Blixus so it was possible he knew Mavis too. But a wedding ring was personal, and the fact that Mavis had taken that implied that she’d harbored a grudge against Wink—or perhaps against his wife, Celerie. Still, no one had been able to find any evidence linking Mavis to either of the Wiffles.

  It was true, of course, that Mavis had had contact with their son, David, but when he claimed he’d never spoken to her, that line of inquiry had fallen by the wayside. There was, however, the issue of Mavis’s son, Nick, who had squabbled with David and even tried to beat him up. But would Mavis have murdered Wink because of that? It seemed unlikely, and even less likely that she’d have taken Wink’s ring if so. No, they were back to the prospect of examining the pictures of Wink’s belongings to see what other possibilities they might reveal.

  As she was making her way to Thrillkill’s office to ask him for access to the pictures, Amanda saw the headmaster in the hall talking to Professor Browning, the sketching teacher. He was looking at her in the oddest way. “OMG,” she thought: “Headmaster Thrillkill has a crush on Julia Browning!” How sad. She wondered if Professor Browning knew. Forget that—she wondered if Thrillkill’s feelings were returned. Professor Browning was married and had small children, or so Amanda thought. That would be terrible! Boy, love was difficult. She hoped Thrillkill would get over the woman soon. Otherwise he was headed for a world of hurt.

  “Ah, Miss Lester,” said Thrillkill when he saw her. He’d broken his leg in the quake and was still using crutches. The whole school had signed his cast but it was getting so beat up that you couldn’t make out the names anymore.

  “Hello, Professor,” said Amanda. “Professor Browning.”

  “Good evening, Miss Lester,” said Professor Browning. “This is one talented artist we have here, Professor Thrillkill.”

  “So I’m told,” said Thrillkill. “Good skill for making storyboards, eh? How’s that film coming?”

  Storyboards? What did Thrillkill know about storyboards? “I’ll have news for you soon, sir,” said Amanda. She had no intention of telling him that she hadn’t yet started work on his number seven task, the film. He seemed to think she could handle everything at once.

  “Excuse me, but would it be possible to look at those pictures of Mr. Wiffle’s belongings?” she said.

  “Yes, of course,” said Thrillkill. “Ask Ms. Canoodle for a link.”

  Drusilla Canoodle was the school’s dean of admissions, but she helped Thrillkill with other tasks as well. She was a nice woman, if a bit mysterious.

  “Thank you, sir,” said Amanda. At least that was easy.

  As Amanda and Amphora were examining the pictures the next morning, Amphora noticed something.

  “Look at those paintings,” she said, pointing to an image of Wink’s office. “You see that one on the end? What is that?”

  Amanda appraised the painting. “I don’t know. It looks like a nice place though.”

  The painting had been executed in an impressionistic style and depicted an idyllic-looking village. Whoever had created it was talented.

  “It looks familiar somehow. Can we zoom in?” said Amphora.

  “Sure,” said Amanda. “Let me just—”

  “OMG,” said Amphora. “Look at the signature. Mr. Wiffle painted that picture himself.”

  “I had no idea he was so creative,” said Amanda. She hadn’t known Wink, but it was hard to picture him doing something artistic.

  “Hang on,” said Simon. “She’s right. There’s something about it. That could be a real place.”

  “That’s just what I was thinking,” said Amphora. “We need to find out where it is. It might give us a clue.”

  7

  A Big Blowup

  When the girls told Simon about the painting, he said he was sure he could match the place Wink had depicted with a satellite view of the area as long as the rendition was accurate. Whether it was, or whether the view Wink had painted was even contemporary, no one knew. Of course it was also unclear whether it had anything to do with the key or Wink’s death, but all felt the idea worth a try. They had so little to go on that they had to follow even the slimmest of leads.

  But before they could say “Bacon and eggs,” Gordon came running up breathlessly and said, “There are zombies in Windermere!”

  Amphora sniffed. “What are you talking about?” Amanda didn’t know if her disapproval had to do with Gordon or his message.


  “I saw them,” said Gordon. He looked incredibly proud of himself. He was obviously one of those people who loved to be the one to deliver news.

  “Cool!” said Clive. “Let’s go see.”

  “Hang on a minute,” said Simon. “There’s no such thing as zombies. Someone must be making a film or something.”

  Amanda wondered how many film shoots Simon had seen. They certainly weren’t common in Windermere like they were in L.A. Maybe where he lived in Cambridge they were, though. She hadn’t been there, but she’d seen pictures. With all those beautiful college buildings it looked like a perfect location.

  “Nope, they’re real,” said Gordon. “There weren’t any cameras around. I saw one of them go into a newsagent’s and one was crossing the street.”

  “Can’t be,” said Simon. “What did they look like?”

  “They were all pasty-looking,” said Gordon. “With ragged clothes and kind of dirty.”

  “Were they walking funny?” said Clive.

  “Yeah,” said Gordon. “All slow-like.”

  “But not eating any brains?” said Ivy, giggling.

  “Well, no,” said Gordon as if he wished they had been.

  “That’s because there’s no such thing as zombies,” said Simon. “They were homeless people.”

  Gordon dug his heels in. “Nuh uh. They didn’t look like homeless people. Their faces were kind of purple and scabby. I forgot to mention that.”

  “Did you take any pictures?” said Amphora.

  “No,” said Gordon. He looked beaten. “Didn’t have my phone.”

  Normally Amanda would have been skeptical too, but she knew better. “I saw one too,” she said. Everyone turned to look at her. “What—you think I’m delusional too?”

  “I’m not delusional,” Gordon protested.

  “Film shoot then,” said Simon.

  “I don’t think so,” said Amanda. She knew what a film shoot looked like and it wasn’t that.

  “Rubbish,” said Simon. “They were in costume. The shoot was somewhere nearby and they just came into town to get supplies.”

  Amanda had to admit that this explanation made sense. She’d seen actors do that. They wouldn’t even take off their costumes, just go running errands as Klingons or cowboys or whatever. Seeing that was a cool aspect of living in L.A.

  “Sorry, Gordon,” said Ivy. “The idea is lovely, but I think Simon is right.”

  “Isn’t,” said Gordon. “You’ll see.”

  “Gosh, I hope they’re real,” said Clive, looking defeated.

  “We’ve got more important things to do,” said Simon. “Come on, Clive. Let’s check out this painting.”

  Clive sighed and obediently followed Simon out of the room.

  Number three on Thrillkill’s list was the Bible. This particular task seemed hopeless. Everyone had seen David Wiffle run over the book with an earthmover, then throw it in that watery pit at the quarry. The teachers had dragged the pit and divers had searched it repeatedly, but they had found no Bible, crushed or otherwise. They hadn’t come up with so much as one page, which was weird because even if the thing was waterlogged, you’d have expected some kind of detritus to be present. That made everyone think that somehow Moriarty had managed to retrieve it. But when? The avalanche Clive had created had filled the pit with boulders. There was no way Blixus or even Nick could have slipped in there and got hold of the thing. Maybe the book was magic after all.

  “Perhaps it wasn’t real in the first place,” said Ivy. “Maybe there really are copies and the original is still out there.”

  “Yes,” said Amphora. “Maybe the teachers know exactly where it is and are trying to throw Moriarty off.”

  That didn’t make sense. The teachers did some weird things, but that sounded counterproductive.

  “If so, they’re making a pretty good show of it, with all that arguing and panic,” said Amanda. “Would they really go to all that trouble? If they did it for Blixus’s benefit, how would he even know it was happening?”

  “If there’s another mole at Legatum he would,” said Amphora.

  “If that’s the case,” said Ivy, “who is it?”

  “Surely not one of the teachers,” said Amanda, who didn’t like the idea at all. They’d been fooled enough. Being infiltrated wasn’t just dangerous, it was embarrassing. “Although that Professor Snool is pretty shifty.” Samuel Snool taught the weapons class, and he looked like a criminal himself. Not Jackie Lumpenstein or Manny Companion criminal. They were cocky. He was paranoid.

  “And Professor Pargeter,” said Amphora. Honoria Pargeter was the school’s poisons expert and a real nut job.

  “They’re all weird,” said Amanda. “But are there telltale signs?”

  “What, like being caught in the act?” said Amphora.

  “That would make it easy, wouldn’t it?” said Ivy.

  “I don’t think they’d be so stupid as to be obvious,” said Amanda. “They’re highly trained and very experienced.”

  “Probably true,” said Ivy. She hesitated. Amanda knew what was coming next. “The moles so far haven’t been teachers.”

  “What do you mean ‘so far’?” said Amphora. “You mean there are going to be more?”

  “You never know in this business,” said Ivy.

  “Oh great,” said Amphora. “Just what we need. Like we have nothing else to worry about.”

  “Look,” said Amanda, trying to nip that topic in the bud, “the problem is that we can’t watch all of them, even with our listening devices, and even with Gordon’s help. There are just too many of them.”

  “Not to mention too many students,” said Amphora. “Although not now, during the summer.”

  Actually, what would be the point of infiltrating during the summer? With very few people around, there wasn’t much to infiltrate. However, there was one person present whom Amanda didn’t trust under any circumstances.

  “Speaking of students,” said Amanda, “you know that Harry Sheriff?”

  “Boy, do I,” said Amphora. “He’s so cool.”

  “He most certainly is not,” said Amanda. “He keeps grinning and winking at me.”

  “Oooooh,” said Amphora. “You’re lucky. He’s noticed you. I’m jealous.”

  “Don’t get too excited,” said Amanda. “I saw him kissing some girl in Windermere.”

  “Really?” said Amphora. This topic was way more exciting to her than zombies or secret books. “Who was she? Details, please.”

  “She had long blond hair. She was beautiful.”

  “Does he look like he’s a good kisser?” said Amphora.

  “Oh for heaven’s sake,” said Amanda. “First of all, who cares, and second, how should I know? What does a good kisser look like?”

  “I’ll bet Professor Scribbish is a good kisser,” said Amphora. Christopher Scribbish was the best-looking of all the male teachers. His curly black hair was legendary among the students.

  “He sounds like he would be,” said Ivy.

  Only she knew what that meant. Amanda had no idea how you could sound like a good kisser. “You’ll have to enlighten us another time,” she said. They didn’t have time for this folderol. Ivy should know better.

  “You know what you need, Amanda?” said Amphora. “A boyfriend who knows how to kiss.”

  Amanda was getting tired of Amphora’s frivolous remarks. She wished she’d concentrate on important matters instead of oohing and aaahing over guys all the time.

  “Would you forget about this? We need to figure out what happened to the Bible.”

  “I don’t think Simon is a good kisser,” said Amphora.

  That did it. Amanda stood up, stuck her hands on her hips, and said, “And you wonder why people don’t take you seriously.”

  As soon as the words left her mouth, she knew she had done something terrible. Amphora’s ego was already so fragile. The last thing she needed was insults from her friends. Plus now there would be even more tension between
them.

  Amphora stared daggers at Amanda, then got up and faced her.

  “I’m transferring,” she said. “I don’t want to be your roommate anymore. In fact, I don’t want to have anything to do with you.”

  And with that, she left the room, presumably to file her transfer request.

  “Oh, Ivy,” said Amanda when Amphora had gone. “Why did I say that?” She wanted to slap herself. What she’d done was unforgiveable. Why did she keep opening her big mouth?

  “That was bad,” said Ivy.

  “I know! Do you think she’d sit still for an apology?”

  “Not right now. You could try a bit later.”

  “She’ll never forgive me,” said Amanda. “Why do I do things like that?”

  “You’re a doer,” said Ivy. “You become impatient when people get in the way of things you think are important.”

  It was true. That was why she used to lose all her actors when she was directing a film, and why she’d lost Jill and Laurie, the only friends she’d had back in L.A. But that couldn’t be the only explanation. Ivy was being kind.

  “Right, like I insulted Scapulus because I wanted to get things done.”

  “That was just surprise,” said Ivy. “You didn’t expect him to be preppy.” She was referring to the day when Amanda had seen Holmes for the first time. She’d taken one look at him and blurted out, “What a dork.” She’d never been so embarrassed in her life, even when people teased her about being descended from G. Lestrade, the man who was such a nothing that he didn’t even have a first name.

  “You know, Ivy,” said Amanda, thinking of Holmes’s incredible eyes, “the funny thing is that he isn’t preppy at all. When you get to know him, he’s actually kind of unconventional. I don’t know why he dresses that way.”