Amanda Lester, Detective Box Set

by Paula Berinstein

  He tapped, and up came a picture of the school basements.

  “It’s the basements,” she said.

  “Kind of. Watch this.”

  He pressed another couple of icons and up came a space full of books.

  “A library?” she said. What was he doing anyway?

  “Watch this,” he said. More pressing, then a roomful of what looked like Greek antiquities.

  Now she knew what he had done. “Bicycles,” she said. He pressed. Up came a roomful of every bicycle you could imagine, including some of those old-fashioned ones with a big wheel in front and a little one in back. “Japanese prints,” she said. He pressed again. Up came a roomful of beautiful Japanese prints. “Faucets.” A roomful of faucets.

  How did you—” she said.

  “It’s taken me a while,” said Holmes. “You like it?”

  “OMG, it’s amazing,” she said and threw her arms around his neck. He began to melt into her, then seemed to realize what he was doing and stopped himself.

  “Uh, I’m glad you like it.” His voice came out kind of crushed.

  She disentangled herself from him and stared into his eyes. “But why . . .”

  “For our films,” he said, meeting her gaze. “A property department to end all property departments. You can add to it too. I wrote a program that lets you make any object you want.”

  Our films? Our films? He wanted to make more with her? Well, of course when Thrillkill got back, if he got back, he’d probably assign them more film projects. They’d already produced two great ones, so why not? Did this mean Holmes was looking forward to working with her again? Or was his creation simply a practicality, something he knew they’d use?

  She wasn’t sure which she wanted. Part of her desperately desired him to have done it because of the way he felt about her. But another part wanted the whole thing to be a school project and nothing more.

  And then he showed her a roomful of digital puppies and she knew. There was nothing practical about that. It was a clear sign that he still loved her.

  She was free of Nick now, or almost. Why not go for it? Simon thought she should. Of course then he’d have to stop kissing her for sure, which would be welcome. However there was the issue of Amphora. Despite the fact that the two girls had been feuding for months, she still couldn’t bring herself to hurt her roommate.

  She took Holmes’s hand and he brightened. She loved the warm, strong feel of him. She’d missed being close to him.

  “Amanda,” he said softly, and touched her hair with his other hand. She’d never felt so loved. She wanted to stay there like that all day, but all of a sudden she thought of Amphora.

  “Oh, Scapulus,” she said, and sighed in a way that wasn’t romantic at all.

  He got the message. “What is it?” he said, pulling away.

  She sighed. She wanted him more than anything, but it was wrong. “I can’t hurt her.”

  “She’ll get over it,” he said, and reached for her hand again.

  “Don’t you love her?” said Amanda, dodging him.

  “Please don’t ask me that.” Then his voice changed, became harsh. “It’s not because of her, is it?”

  “Please don’t ask me that.” She did not even want to think about Nick, let alone discuss him.

  “You know I’ll kill him one day,” Holmes said.

  She looked into his beautiful eyes. “You’re better than that.”

  “No,” he said, getting up. “I’m not.”

  Professor Darktower gave Amanda and Holmes a suspended sentence. As it was the first day of school, he said he would let their impudence go this time but he wouldn’t be so generous the next. He ran his classroom like an iron ship, and they would be well advised to behave themselves or they’d find themselves walking the plank, er, spending the rest of the term in detention.

  7

  I Vant to Be Alone

  After Logic, Ivy and Simon grabbed Amanda in the hall and asked her what had happened. Of course she didn’t tell them about her time in the chapel with Holmes. No one could ever know about that. She did bring them up to date on her punishment though, and then they told her what had happened in Blackbeard’s class.

  The course was to be heavy on math and symbolic logic, which didn’t bother them but did throw many of the others into paroxysms of anxiety, especially Amphora, who told Ivy that this class could seriously get her to drop out altogether. The term project was to specify a mobile logic game, which would have to be extremely sophisticated and incorporate a number of difficult principles. Simon was champing at the bit to get started and was already looking things up on his phone, which gave Amanda hope that he’d forget all about the kissing thing. Of course when she heard the details she kind of freaked out too. The class sounded like it would be the hardest one she’d ever had.

  “I’m beginning to think the guy is pretty cool after all,” said Simon, reaching down to pet Nigel.

  “You can’t be serious,” said Ivy, nuzzling the dog’s nose while Simon stroked his back. Nigel leaned against Ivy in what can only be described as ecstasy.

  “I’m always serious,” said Simon.

  “I don’t know about that,” said Amanda.

  “What,” said Simon, “when haven’t I been serious?”

  “I’d prefer not to discuss it,” said Amanda. “Anyway, you should lighten up more often. You know, smile sometimes.”

  “I smile.”

  “No you don’t,” said Ivy.

  “How would you—” He looked abashed. Amanda supposed Ivy didn’t need to see his red face to tell how his gaffe had made him feel. Referring to Ivy’s blindness in such a way was a no-no. The idea that Simon was able to recognize a gaffe was progress though. Maybe there was hope for him. “Sorry, Ivy. But I do smile. See?” He let loose with one of the silliest grins Amanda had ever seen.

  “Very funny,” she said.

  “Don’t you like my smile?” He widened it, if that was even possible.

  “It’s lovely,” said Amanda. “Just like the sun.”

  “My parents would correct you on that,” said Simon. “The sun is a ball of hot gas. There’s nothing lovely about it. In fact, when you think about what gas can do—”

  “Simon!” wailed Ivy. “For heaven’s sake.”

  “What? Don’t you like gas?”

  “Simon, shut up,” said Amanda, “and I refuse to be fined for that. What is wrong with you?”

  “Nothing is wrong with me. You girls are missing out on a lot in life. You should learn to appreciate things that seem obvious.”

  “We do appreciate things that seem obvious,” said Amanda. “Even you.”

  “I don’t think—” said Ivy.

  “Can we just move on?” said Amanda.

  “Fine,” said Simon. “I’m a reasonable guy.”

  Amanda rolled her eyes.

  “Do you think Darktower is the guy’s real name?” said Ivy suddenly. “It seems to fit him too well. Or did he change his name to go with his personality?”

  “Or his personality to go with his name,” said Simon, whose face had returned to its normal expression.

  “Do you think he has a dungeon somewhere?” said Amanda. “Or a dreadful tower where he locks kids up.”

  “Bah,” said Simon. “He’s a little strict is all.”

  “Too bad Professor Stegelmeyer isn’t here to see him,” said Ivy. “He could put him in one of his horror stories.”

  “I don’t think there are pirates in horror stories,” said Amanda.

  “Ever hear of a ghost ship?” said Simon.

  While they were sparring Holmes walked up. Amanda felt her knees go weak. She almost wished she’d taken him up on his offer. Things would have been a lot less awkward that way—except for dealing with Amphora, of course.

  “What a jerk,” said Holmes.

  “What, you too?” said Simon.

  Holmes gave him a funny look, and it struck Amanda that he might not have been referring to th
e teacher.

  The next class was Profiling. This was the course Professor Buck used to teach, but he’d gone off to Skye with the Punitori and there was a new teacher. Amanda was actually glad because he was very intimidating. The man was strict, stern, and humorless and he always seemed to show up when there was trouble. Maybe that was what you needed in a detective, but he gave her the willies.

  The new instructor, one Scintilla Goodgrief, a mousy young woman with skinny ankles and a stained blouse, was a newly minted profiler with almost no experience. The kids knew that from having seen her resume. Was Legatum really in such bad shape that they had to hire people who were completely unqualified? They’d better get Thrillkill back soon so he could straighten everything out.

  After introducing herself, the new professor said, “We’re going to study loners today.”

  Simon leaned over to Ivy and said, “Why is she talking about cars?”

  “Shut up,” said Ivy.

  “When my mom takes her car in to be repaired, she gets a loaner,” said Simon.

  Ivy lifted her foot and stomped down on Simon’s, hard. “Ow,” he shrieked.

  “What’s going on?” said the teacher.

  “Nothing, Professor,” said Ivy sweetly.

  “Very well,” said the teacher. She sure was innocent. Professor Buck would have grabbed Simon by the ear and marched him out of the class.

  “As I was saying,” said Professor Goodgrief, “there are various types of loners, and it’s important to understand them when you profile suspects.” She scanned the class and for some unknowable reason, lighted on Clive.

  “You there, in the corner,” she said to him. Clive looked around, saw no one else who qualified, and pointed to himself with a quizzical expression. “Yes, you. Is that Mr., uh,” she scanned her list of students, “Binkle?”

  “No, ma’am,” said Clive. “I’m Mr. Ng.”

  “Ah, yes, Mr. Ng. Welcome to the class,” she said. “Now, Mr. Ng, can you tell me what a loner is?”

  “Um,” said Clive, “a person who likes to be by themself?”

  “I thought you’d say that,” said the teacher. “I apologize, Mr. Ng, but that was a trick question.” She laughed a goofy laugh. “Actually, there are many different kinds of loners, only one of which fits your answer. Ha ha!”

  Simon and Amanda looked at each other, then at Clive. He was beet red. Amanda wasn’t sure why. Probably he just didn’t like being the center of attention. Also, he was rarely wrong, so he wasn’t used to being made to look foolish. Amanda felt sorry for him, and immensely irritated with this so-called teacher.

  “Let me explain,” said Ms. Goodgrief. “There are loners who like to be alone and loners who enjoy being alone. There are also loners who must be alone, loners who have to be alone, loners who don’t like being alone, loners who hate being alone, loners who don’t mind being alone, and loners who are indifferent to being alone.”

  All the kids’ jaws dropped, almost in time. Amanda wondered if it was a requirement for all the new teachers to be able to speak in gobbledygook, because so far they all did.

  “Um, Professor,” said Simon courageously. “Isn’t liking to be alone and enjoying being alone the same thing? And aren’t loners who must be alone the same as loners who have to be alone? What about loners who don’t mind being alone and loners who are indifferent to being alone?”

  Amanda felt like she was going to be sick. How did Simon come up with these things anyway? And was he serious or trying to put one over on the teacher?

  “I’m glad you asked that, Mr. uh,” she consulted her list again, “Pomfritter.” Simon didn’t say a word. Dreidel looked up at the sound of his name with a “Who, me?” expression. “The simple answer is no. These types of people couldn’t be more different from each other.”

  Now Amanda was no stranger to profiling. You had to do it to write screenplays, and actors did it to get into character. But this was crazy. What was the difference between “must” and “have to”? Talk about angels on the head of a pin.

  “Let me explain,” said the teacher. Ivy kicked Amanda in a way that either meant “Thank goodness” or “Do you believe this loser?” Amanda searched Ivy’s face but couldn’t tell which interpretation was correct. “Loners who like to be alone get a positive feeling out of being alone, whereas loners who enjoy being alone have fun being alone. Likewise, loners who must be alone are much more compelled to be that way than loners who have to be alone, who aren’t nearly as driven but still feel the need to be alone. Do you see?”

  It was obvious that no one did.

  “Then there are loners who don’t mind being alone, which means that they’re all right with it, but loners who are indifferent to being alone don’t actually feel anything one way or the other.”

  Simon raised his hand. “Yes, Mr. Pumpfill,” said the teacher. Dreidel cringed. Simon said, “So then a person who likes being alone on Saturday during the day would be a loner who likes to be alone, but a person who likes being alone on Saturday night is a loner who enjoys being alone?”

  Amanda gave him a look. He smiled innocently. She wanted to deck him.

  But the teacher took him seriously. She said, “Well, that depends. When you say ‘alone,’ do you mean completely alone, or out in the world alone?”

  “Doesn’t alone mean completely alone, with no one else around?” said Simon.

  “Oh no,” said the teacher. “There are many meanings of the word ‘alone.’ For example, you can be alone with no one else in the same room, or the same floor, or the same building, or the same group of buildings. Those are all different degrees of alone.”

  Amanda’s thoughts drifted off. At this very moment, the only thing she wanted was to be completely alone, away from this crazy woman, from Holmes, from Nick, and particularly from Simon. When she finally turned her attention to the teacher again, nothing had changed.

  “You can be alone in the sense that there’s no one within walking distance. You can be alone in the wilderness, for example in the northern reaches of Canada, where there’s no one around for hundreds of miles, except flying over the landscape in airplanes, but they don’t count.”

  At last there was a reaction. Dreidel—the real Mr. Pomfritter—raised his hand and said, “What are we supposed to do with all these various types of aloneness, Professor?”

  Everyone breathed a sigh of relief. At last an intelligent question. Unfortunately it didn’t produce an intelligent answer.

  “I’m glad you asked that,” said Professor Goodgrief, whom Amanda thought aptly named. “I’ve developed a nomenclature for each of these types of aloneness. We will use this nomenclature when analyzing personalities.”

  “Can you give us an example?” said Simon.

  “Yes, of course,” said the teacher. “A loner who doesn’t mind being alone is a soft loner. A loner who must be alone is a brittle loner. A loner who enjoys being alone is a positive loner. You see where I’m going with this.”

  “Sorry, Professor,” said Simon. “I really don’t.”

  Ivy and Amanda were practically in stitches by now. Amanda felt that she’d been too harsh with Simon. He really did have a sense of humor.

  “Very well, Mr. Pummelhaffen. Please come see me during office hours and we’ll straighten this all out. I don’t want to hold up the rest of the class.”

  This woman was no Professor Buck. Amanda wasn’t sure if that was a good or a bad thing. She wondered if she was a loner, and if so, which type. If the class was going to be like this, all the kids would fail, even Clive. Maybe not Simon, but that was about it. Then more parents would come down on the school, and things would be even more of a mess than they already were.

  After class the kids gathered in the hall and said not one word to each other. All they did was laugh—until Simon said that he might go to Scotland so he could get a good education.

  “You wouldn’t,” said Ivy.

  “Dunno,” he said. “It isn’t looking good.”
>
  “I have a better idea,” said Amanda. “We could find them some better teachers.”

  “I don’t think that will do any good—at least not now,” said Ivy. “They must have contracts.”

  “Contracts are made to be broken,” said Amanda.

  “That’s right,” said Ivy. “Your dad would know all about that.”

  “Yes,” said Amanda. “And believe me, you can always get out of them. Except the one with my mother, I think. I don’t think we have a prayer there.”

  It doesn’t hurt to keep our eyes open,” said Clive.

  “Let’s do it, then,” said Amanda.

  8

  Conundrums

  Finally, after all the first-day classes, Amanda got to the precious page. She decided she wanted a crack at it all by herself, so she greedily took it to the library and sat at a battered old table in a remote corner. Since it was early in the term and people hadn’t started on their projects in earnest, no one was there and it was the perfect place.

  Of course she couldn’t read it. It was complete gibberish. None of the words was even a word as far as she could tell. They were all just characters, one after the other. It was obviously in code. And who was the best one to decode it? Holmes, of course, but she didn’t want to ask him. Not yet anyway, and it wasn’t because of their personal relationship. She wanted to see if she could come up with something useful all on her own.

  When she couldn’t find a pattern or clue of any sort, she decided she needed to do some research, so she went to the cryptography section, which, as you’d expect, was quite robust. Detectives need to know a lot about secret codes.

  There was a lot of information about codes. It was all quite confusing to her, but she sat and worked out each idea carefully, looking at the page six ways from Sunday. At one point she got distracted trying to figure out what six ways from Sunday actually meant, but she got right back on track and kept at her puzzle as if the world depended on it, which it very well might.