Amanda Lester, Detective Box Set

by Paula Berinstein

  “Nick did,” said Simon. “Uh, sorry, Amanda.” Simon knew she did not like talking about Nick.

  “Maybe it’s a clue,” said Amanda, trying to him. “Our first one. But what does it mean?”

  “Let’s just gather the evidence for now,” said Ivy. “It may turn out to be something else entirely.”

  “You’re right,” said Amanda. “But I’ll make a note.”

  And then she remembered something. When Eustace had driven her to Crocodile Pleth’s flat in Ulverston, he’d had a picture in the back seat that looked a lot like this one. Could good old Eustace be connected with the zombies? He’d claimed he’d bought the thing for his uncle, who was kind of eccentric, but was he trying to throw her off? It was unthinkable. Eustace was a nice guy. He couldn’t possibly have anything to do with the wretches, could he? But if he didn’t, what was he doing with a picture that looked so similar to these?

  “I just thought of something,” she said, and told the others about Eustace’s painting. “But I can’t ask him directly. What if he isn’t what he seems?”

  “What if who isn’t what he seems?” said Holmes from the doorway. Oh no. She hadn’t meant for him—or anyone—to know about her doubts.

  “Um, uh, no one,” she said.

  “You were talking about Eustace, weren’t you?” said Holmes, who was looking fresh and bright-eyed. Amanda felt a pang. They’d had a short relationship, but it had ended when she’d found out Nick was alive. She’d wanted to resolve her feelings about Nick and hadn’t felt it was fair to lead Holmes on, even though she still loved him and he knew it and still loved her too. It was just that he was with Amphora now, and Amanda still hadn’t quite resolved her feelings about Nick and the whole thing was so complicated it made her sick. Not gingersnap sick, but heartsick.

  “Uh, well . . .”

  “Listen,” said Holmes. “If you’re worried about that painting don’t give it another thought. I was with him when he bought it.”

  “Excuse me?” said Ivy.

  “Yep,” said Holmes. “I ran into him in town. He was looking at this painting in the window of that little gallery—what’s the name of it? Pashmina, I think. Anyway, he couldn’t take his eyes off it. It was a bit pricey for him but he bought it. I don’t know why. It’s hideous.”

  “Are you sure about this?” said Amanda.

  “‘Course I am,” said Holmes, who Amanda thought wasn’t looking simply energized but positively gorgeous.

  “Then I guess he’s all right after all.” Holmes didn’t lie. If he said he was with Eustace when he bought the painting, he was. And that probably meant—probably—that Eustace wasn’t an evil zombie.

  But could the painting still be a clue? If it was so similar to the pictures found in the tunnels, perhaps it had been created by the same person. The location worked. The zombies had been seen in Windermere, and the gallery was located in Windermere. She had to get to the gallery and talk to the owner.

  When she got there, the owner, one Burkhardt Blather, told her that he didn’t know where the painting had come from. Some woman had found it while cleaning out an attic and had placed it in the gallery on consignment. And wouldn’t you just know it, when he’d attempted to send her her share of the proceeds from the sale, his letter had been returned. The addressee had moved without leaving a forwarding address.

  6

  Illogic

  With the zombie trail once again cold, Amanda at last turned her attention to the Bible page. But she couldn’t stop thinking about Holmes, and that led her to thinking about Nick, and soon she was so agitated she couldn’t focus on the page at all. She decided the only way to deal with her discomfort was to confront Nick, so she got on her skateboard, raced down to The Falls, and knocked loudly on the cabin door.

  “Amanda?” Nick said as he opened it for her. He looked like he’d been sleeping because his face was all creased and his hair was a disaster. It was past his shoulders now and it seemed to tangle as badly as hers did, even though it was straighter.

  She pushed past him into the cabin, turned, and right into his face yelled, “What is wrong with you?”

  He looked astonished. “I told you what’s wrong with me.”

  “Well I don’t believe you.” Of course she believed him. She’d seen Blixus abuse him. Why had she said that?

  “I don’t care if you believe me,” he said, rubbing sleep out of his eyes. She saw that he was padding around in his socks. “What are you doing here anyway?”

  Now that she thought about it, she had no idea why she’d come. What an idiot she was. She didn’t know what to say, so she said the first thing that popped into her head.

  “I’ll help you.” What? She’d sworn she’d never help him.

  He looked shocked. “You will?”

  “I, um, I know a lawyer. He’s very good.”

  He was still looking shocked. “Thank you. I appreciate that.”

  “He’s, uh, he’s . . .” She couldn’t tell him that Mr. Onion had helped her try to find out where his father was hiding. What could she say? “His name is Balthazar Onion. He’s a barrister. Here’s his number. But you have to tell him I sent you. No, wait a minute. I have to explain this to him myself. You’ll have to wait until I talk to him.”

  “I’ll wait,” he said. “As long as it takes. Thank you so much.” He was wide awake now.

  “But let’s say you do get this divorce from your father. How are you going to live? Do you have relatives you can go to?”

  “No,” he said. “They’re all on my dad’s side. My mum didn’t have anyone left.” He paused. Anyone else would have been looking for sympathy at this point, but not Nick. Ever resourceful, he had a plan. “But if Thrillkill would take me in, I could live at the school until I find a job.”

  “Thrillkill is missing,” she said without thinking about the fact that he was proposing to spend every day near her—with her. Not that that had anything to do with his reasons for wanting to be at Legatum, of course. Why should it? She was just a tool to him.

  “What do you mean ‘missing’?” he said.

  She explained what had happened with the zombies and watched his face carefully. There was a flicker of recognition when she mentioned the wretch society.

  “You know something about this,” she said.

  “Only that we fought with them,” he said. “They’re ruthless and very well equipped. They’re probably still somewhere in the tunnels.”

  “How do we find them?” she asked.

  He shrugged. “I don’t know. We could never figure out who they were or what they wanted. They’d just magically appear, then disappear just as quickly. Regular wizards if you ask me.”

  “And you never heard them say anything?”

  “Not a peep. Zombies don’t talk, do they?” He laughed.

  “It’s not funny,” she said. “Ivy’s sister is with them.”

  “Apologies. Just some gallows humor. I’m sorry to hear that.”

  This did not sound at all like evil Nick, although it did sound like the fake Nick she’d known the previous winter. His posing got her dander up.

  “Look,” she said. “I’m willing to help you because I know what kind of person your father is. But I’m sick and tired of your lies. So don’t try that stuff on me anymore.”

  “I deserve that,” he said.

  “And more. Anyway, we’ll have to wait until Thrillkill comes back. Sidebotham is in charge now. You can’t expect any sympathy from her.”

  He smiled. “Noooo. Not that woman.” Amanda realized she’d been holding her breath and let it out. It was almost as if they were commiserating for a moment. Then she caught herself. She was not going to let him fool her again. This was just about simple human decency. “I can live on this boat until then,” he said.

  “And how are you going to eat?” Come to think of it, how had he been able to live thus far?

  “I’ve got some money. It will hold me over for a while. I’ll have to pay th
e attorney anyway. I have enough for that too.” Of course he did. His dad was filthy rich. How could she have forgotten?

  “You know how iffy this all is, don’t you?” she said.

  “I know. If it fails, then I end up in Strangeways for the rest of my life.”

  That was an extremely sobering thought, especially after she’d seen an inmate killed there. As angry as she was, she didn’t want to see that happen to Nick.

  “Let’s just take one step at a time,” she said. He nodded. She grabbed her phone and, forgetting that it was Sunday, called Mr. Onion. He didn’t seem to mind, though. When she told him what she wanted he was gobsmacked, but being a lawyer he quickly recovered and told her he was intrigued by the idea of taking such a case. If after meeting Nick he felt he could win, he would accept.

  After she hung up, Nick Moriarty, supercriminal, son of two arch-criminals and brother of one, couldn’t thank her enough and told her he’d do anything to prove himself. Anything.

  The next thing that happened was not good at all. The local police found blood in the tunnels and declared that it belonged to Gaston Thrillkill and Jeffrey Lestrade. The only positive thing about this discovery was that the amounts were small. Everyone knew that a fatal or serious wound would have led to a lot more blood loss than that. But there was still an alarming possibility: there might have been much more blood somewhere that the police hadn’t yet found, and that made everyone even more nervous.

  On Monday Amanda and her friends had their first class with the new logic teacher. It was a scary affair. The pirate was rude, strict, and humorless, and now he smelled like cigars. Probably drank grog too, by the look of him, Amanda thought, whatever that was.

  The first thing Professor Darktower said, in a really loud voice, was, “Alice in Wonderland is not fun!” No introduction, no “Good morning,” nothing. The statement was so abrupt and the message so out of any context that every kid in the class dropped something, gasped, choked, or bit their tongue, even if they weren’t chewing. Then he said, “In this class we will read nothing but Lewis Carroll—Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, Through the Looking Glass, the whole shebang. These publications are no laughing matter. You think Tweedledum and Tweedledee are funny? The Mad Hatter is a joke? Alice is cute? BALDERDASH!”

  This extremely loud exclamation caused poor Dreidel to fall off his chair and twist his knee. But Professor Darktower would not let him go to the nurse. “Detectives are not sissies,” he said. “You will stay here and learn to be absolutely, impeccably logical. Got that?”

  The boy nodded up and down and attempted to hide his pain. It was obvious that he was hurt, though, because he kept grimacing every time he tried to move his leg. Amanda was so outraged that she refused to keep quiet. “He’s hurt. He needs medical attention.”

  The huge man fixed her with a stony stare and said, “Then he’s out of my class. Do you think, missy, that when you’re out battling the likes of Blixus Moriarty you can take a time out and go to the nurse? Now stop acting like a girl and be a detective. And as for you, laddie, one more sissy incident like this and you’re out of my class. Got that?”

  Dreidel nodded again but Amanda was furious. She opened her mouth to protest, but Ivy tugged on her sleeve and gave her a low “Uh uh,” and she realized that her revenge would have to wait. But revenge she would have, and it would be a doozy. The man was worse than a boor. Why, he was even ruder than an arch-criminal. Even Blixus had never been as bad as that. She wondered what Professor Darktower’s parents must be like to produce a son like him.

  There was something she could do right then and there, however. She reached into her bag and surreptitiously texted Dreidel: “R U OK?” “Y,” the response came almost immediately. Of course he would say that. Dreidel was a trouper. And then it hit her that he hadn’t gone off to Skye after all. She was glad, not just because he’d stayed to support Legatum, but because he was a good guy and a great lab partner. She texted back a smiley and let it go for the time being.

  Darktower glared at the class and said, “As I was saying, there are equations and syllogisms in these volumes that underlie every word, and we’re going to find them. You will be responsible for finding them. Then, for your term paper, you will be expected to arrange them in a different way that’s still logically valid and write the text they would produce. Is that clear? I repeat: this task is not humorous or fanciful. It is deadly serious work, and you won’t be able to build ironclad cases unless you can master it.”

  The man made about as much sense as that strange page Amanda had found. Sometimes it was hard to understand Professor Ducey, but not like this. What did he mean, equations and syllogisms underlie every word? It sounded like he was saying that the books had been translated into English from math. You could read an equation out loud, of course, and you could translate it into Spanish or Chinese, but how could you—OMG. This was storytelling, just like the way she and Holmes had done when they’d put together the training film about a cyberforensics problem, except with math rather than words.

  She glanced over at Holmes and found him looking at her and smiling. He’d got it too. He gave her a quick wink and then everything exploded.

  “MR. Holmes!” bellowed the teacher. “Out, NOW!” Holmes looked astonished, then got up and walked out of the room. “MISS Lester!” the teacher continued. Amanda was surprised. “Oh, you thought I didn’t know who you were,” the man said. “I want you to take your things, find Mr. Holmes, and wait in my office. Is that clear?”

  “But—” Amanda said.

  “OUT!” he roared.

  Amanda felt the strongest urge to stick her tongue out at him again, but she managed to control herself and abstained. She picked up her bag and followed Holmes out into the hall.

  “What in the world was that?” he said when she’d caught up with him. He looked confused, as if he didn’t know quite what to do with himself.

  “The man is a lunatic,” said Amanda. “He wants us to go to his office.”

  “But the class just started,” said Holmes. “It will be fifty minutes.” Gosh, he looked good. His eyes seemed to be on fire. She looked away for a second.

  “All I know is that’s what he said.”

  He shook his head but he was smiling. “You know, the dumb thing is that up until he had his little meltdown, he was making sense.”

  “You got that too?” she said, matching his grin.

  “Of course. You taught me.”

  “I did, didn’t I?” she said. She felt absolutely triumphant. It was a wonderful feeling after that ridiculous scene in the classroom. “Who needs him?”

  “I guess we do,” said Holmes. “If we want to stay here.”

  “You’re not thinking of going to Skye?” she said.

  “Never. Not even for Professor Ducey.”

  And then, instead of worrying or fuming or plotting revenge, the two of them cracked up so hard they had to hold their stomachs.

  When they calmed down enough to speak, Holmes looked at her with mischief in his eyes and said, “You know what this means, don’t you?”

  She threw back her head and laughed. “We have forty-five minutes to do whatever we want.”

  “Come on,” he said. “Let’s go.”

  If you were going to cut class, you had to be smart about it. If any of the teachers or administrators saw you, you’d be in for it. So Amanda and Holmes had to find as secret a place as possible to hide out. That meant either a disused classroom, an outbuilding, or the basements. Or the secret room in which the criminal cook and the school’s former doctor had imprisoned Herb Lester. No way would they go there.

  The basements, of course, were virtually limitless. There were two problems with them, however. One was that the teachers had installed cameras everywhere. The second was that the gremlins spent a lot of time down there and might see them.

  On the other hand, to get to an outbuilding, you had to traverse the school grounds and could be seen from many classrooms. A dis
used classroom had the same drawback. Sometimes teachers went into them to get things, and you could never be sure when that might be.

  Of course there was one other option but it was extremely dangerous. The chapel/auditorium had been declared off limits following the earthquake that had hit in the spring and no one ever went there. It was extremely unstable, and Thrillkill had told the kids in no uncertain terms that they were not to go anywhere near the place. So far Amanda had stayed clear, but she was in a weird mood.

  “What do you think?” she said.

  “I think I want to show you something,” said Holmes with a weird look on his face. “Let’s go. It will be okay. Just twenty minutes, and then we’ll go to Darktower’s office.”

  The chapel had stood this long. It would last another twenty minutes. “Okay,” she said.

  The first thing that happened as they made their way to the wreck was that they ran into Professor Hoxby, the pathology teacher. “Why aren’t you in class?’ he said.

  “Professor Darktower told us to go to his office,” said Holmes. There was no point lying.

  “Already?” said the teacher. “It’s only the first day of class.”

  “Afraid so,” said Amanda.

  “Well, then, off you go,” he said.

  When he’d gone Holmes whispered in her ear. “Hiding in plain sight. What could be better?”

  She smiled, and they made their way to the chapel without further incident.

  When they got there, they ducked under the yellow tape that said “No entry” and carefully made their way inside. The place was a disaster area. Stone pillars had fallen, seats had been crushed, columns looked cracked and shaky. It was a dumb idea to be there, but neither of them seemed to care. Something about their Darktower experience had emboldened them.

  They found a spot that was less ruined than the rest and sat down on a couple of relatively intact seats. Holmes whipped out his tablet and said, “What do you think of this?”