Friday Barnes 2

by R. A. Spratt

  ‘He thinks of such clever, rude things to say,’ said Melanie. ‘Friday, you’re so lucky to have found him.’

  ‘Given his acrobatic skills,’ continued Friday, ‘the best place for Ian to hide the punches would be somewhere high up in the tree.’

  ‘And how are you going to prove that?’ asked Ian. ‘We all know you’re barely capable of jogging, so you aren’t going to be able to climb the tree yourself. You can’t cut down the tree either, because it’s heritage-listed. So what does that leave? You’ll have to train a squirrel to search for you.’

  ‘I’ll be your squirrel,’ volunteered Chris.

  ‘This is getting better than a Mills and Boon plot,’ said Melanie.

  Ian made a scoffing noise.

  ‘Are you sure?’ asked Friday. ‘The lowest branch is eight feet off the ground. And you are pretty …’

  ‘Short,’ Ian finished off her sentence.

  ‘I may not be an acrobat, but I do know a thing or two about climbing,’ said Chris. He walked over to the trunk and stared at the bark for a few moments.

  ‘Are you trying to out-think the tree?’ Ian asked.

  Chris ignored him. He kicked off his shoes, reached up and wedged his fingertips into the small gaps in the bark, then pulled his feet up off the ground and tucked his toes into the bark. After a few swift decisive movements, he had pulled himself up to the lowest branch.

  ‘Wow!’ said Melanie. ‘He must have really strong fingertips.’

  ‘And toe tips,’ agreed Friday.

  ‘Climbing is a hobby of mine,’ called Chris. ‘It’s all just a matter of working within the laws of physics.’

  ‘I think he’s using science talk to flirt with you,’ said Melanie.

  Once Chris was in the branches, climbing became much easier and he soon disappeared from sight.

  Friday glanced across at Ian. He was starting to look sullen.

  ‘I’ve found a bag,’ called out Chris. ‘It’s tied to a branch.’

  ‘What’s inside?’ asked Friday.

  ‘A box,’ called Chris.

  ‘And what’s in the box?’ asked Friday.

  There was a rustle of leaves and suddenly Chris dropped to the ground, landing with the agility of a cat, right in front of them.

  ‘See for yourself,’ he said, handing Friday the box.

  She opened it. Inside was a brand new shiny set of orienteering punches.

  ‘You can’t prove they’re mine,’ said Ian. ‘I was framed. She planted them up there.’

  ‘What I don’t understand,’ said Friday, ‘is why on earth you would want to cheat. If you’d just done the orienteering properly, you probably would still have won.’

  ‘Most people at this school don’t care about grades,’ added Melanie.

  ‘I have to,’ said Ian.

  ‘What does that mean?’ asked Friday.

  ‘I need all the As I can get,’ said Ian. ‘I have to maintain my grade-point average or I lose my scholarship.’

  ‘But you’re the second smartest student in the year, after Friday,’ said Melanie. ‘Surely your grade-point average is fine.’

  ‘Second smartest isn’t good enough, is it?’ said Ian. ‘When there’s only one scholarship.’

  ‘I don’t need the scholarship,’ said Friday. ‘I’ve already got $10,000 towards next term’s fees.’

  ‘Oh, and you think you’ll keep stumbling across crimes to solve and be rewarded for, do you?’ asked Ian. ‘One per semester for the next five-and-a-half years?’

  ‘I don’t see why not,’ said Friday. ‘It’s worked this far.’

  Mr Maclean sighed and rubbed his eyes while he tried to figure out what to do. ‘Barnes, you and Gianos will get the A++ for finishing first,’ he finally said.

  ‘Yes!’ exclaimed Chris.

  ‘Wainscott and Pelly,’ said Mr Maclean, turning to Ian and Melanie, ‘I’m giving you a B+.’

  ‘What?!’ exclaimed Chris. ‘Aren’t you going to send Ian to the Headmaster? He cheated!’

  ‘He did have sufficient geographic knowledge and initiative to seek and purchase a set of orienteering punches. Most students wouldn’t even be aware that such a thing existed,’ said Mr Maclean. ‘And he managed to go into the forest, find the oak tree and his way back without getting lost, which may very well turn out to be the second best result in the class. And I can’t give everyone Fs.’

  ‘That’s ridiculous,’ protested Chris.

  ‘Actually, I think it shows remarkable good sense,’ said Friday. ‘Very uncharacteristic for Mr Maclean. Well done, sir.’

  ‘I’d say thank you, Barnes,’ said Mr Maclean, ‘but I don’t think that was really a compliment.’

  Chapter 21

  DNA Results

  It took Friday’s legs several days to recover from the ordeals of orienteering.

  ‘Ow,’ said Friday as she gingerly got of bed. ‘Exercise is bad enough when you’re doing it, but it hurts afterwards as well. Indeed, from my observation, it hurts more on the third day than it does on the first.’

  ‘I know,’ agreed Melanie. ‘It’s a wonder fit people manage to walk at all.’

  ‘I imagine if you exercise regularly your muscles get used to it,’ said Friday.

  ‘How awful,’ said Melanie. ‘I never want to find out.’

  As they headed out to breakfast, Friday and Melanie came across a large group of giggling girls gathered in the lobby of their dormitory.

  ‘What’s going on?’ asked Friday.

  ‘The police are on their way!’ said Mirabella. ‘They’re going to be here all afternoon.’

  The girls giggled again.

  ‘Who for?’ asked Friday.

  ‘They’re looking for that escaped convict,’ said Trea. ‘They’ve been searching the whole region. Today they’re searching here.’

  ‘They’re bringing all the recruits from the police academy to comb the grounds,’ said Mirabella. ‘Just think, hundreds of fit young men everywhere, searching for clues. I’m going to wag English so I can go and watch.’

  ‘You’d better be careful, Friday,’ said Trea.

  ‘They might arrest you again.’

  The giggling erupted into cackling.

  ‘Enjoy your objectification of men in uniform,’ said Friday. ‘We’re going to breakfast.’

  ‘There’s a letter for you,’ said Melanie, noticing an envelope in Friday’s pigeon hole.

  ‘Really?’ said Friday, taking the official-looking envelope and inspecting the letterhead as she headed out the door.

  ‘Who’s it from?’ asked Melanie.

  ‘It’s from the university medical lab,’ said Friday. ‘It’s my test results.’

  ‘I didn’t know there was something wrong with you,’ said Melanie. ‘Apart from the obvious social malfunction, and I doubt that could be measured in a blood test.’

  ‘No, it’s the results from the DNA test on the string,’ said Friday. ‘The piece we found in the library. I got one of my mother’s former PhD students to run it through for me.’

  ‘Your mother is a theoretical physicist,’ said Melanie. ‘Why would she have a student working in a DNA testing lab?’

  ‘The student changed her major,’ explained Friday. ‘After one semester of working with my mother, she grew to hate all things relating to quantum mechanics generally and M-theory, in particular.’

  As they walked across to the dining hall, Friday tore open the envelope and began reading the cover letter. ‘I don’t believe it,’ she said. ‘They found an exact match.’

  ‘I thought you couldn’t match DNA unless you had a sample from a suspect,’ said Melanie.

  ‘You can’t,’ said Friday. ‘If they found a match that means the saliva must belong to someone associated with the university, who voluntarily allowed their sample to be available.’

  Friday flipped through the rest of the paperwork, looking for the name.

  ‘Let’s see,’ said Friday, ‘it’s a female, Anglo-Saxon Celti
c, no genetic diseases, called …’ She found the piece of paper with the name. ‘Friday Astrella Barnes.’

  ‘What a coincidence,’ said Melanie. ‘The thief is someone with the same name as you, apart from the middle name. You’d never have such a ridiculous middle name.’

  ‘My siblings are called Quantum, Quasar, Orion and Halley,’ said Friday. ‘Of course I have a ridiculous middle name!’

  ‘Does it start with an A?’ asked Melanie.

  ‘Yes,’ said Friday.

  ‘It isn’t Astrella, is it?’ asked Melanie.

  ‘It is,’ said Friday.

  ‘That’s either a really big coincidence,’ said Melanie, ‘or they found your spit on that string.’

  ‘I think the probability of my spit being on a piece of a string at a crime scene is much greater than two sets of parents thinking it was a good idea to name their daughters Friday Astrella Barnes,’ said Friday.

  ‘But how did your spit get on that string?’ asked Melanie.

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Friday.

  ‘Do you remember licking any string?’ asked Melanie. ‘Do you think it is possible that you could have cleverly and elaborately broken into the library, stolen the map and then entirely forgotten about it?’

  ‘No,’ said Friday.

  ‘You could have been hypnotised,’ suggested Melanie.

  ‘That’s not possible,’ said Friday. ‘When I was eight I hypnotised myself and implanted instructions in my subconscious to never allow myself to be hypnotised again.’

  ‘So what did happen?’ asked Melanie.

  ‘Someone must have stolen my spit,’ said Friday.

  ‘But who would do something so unhygienic?’ asked Melanie. ‘And weird?’

  ‘Ian,’ said Friday. ‘He’s trying to get rid of me to protect his scholarship.’

  Chapter 22

  The Confrontation

  ‘Ian!’ called Friday angrily as she strode across the dining hall with Melanie following.

  Ian looked up from the paperback he was reading as he ate his bacon and eggs. ‘Not you. Can’t you see I’m busy?’

  ‘Doing what?’ asked Friday. ‘Plotting to have me arrested again?’

  ‘Reading The Curse of the Pirate King,’ said Ian. ‘It’s very good. Lots of violence.’

  ‘Did you steal my spit?’ demanded Friday.

  ‘Has she lost her marbles?’ Ian asked Melanie.

  ‘She doesn’t play marbles,’ said Melanie. ‘At least, I’ve never noticed that she does.’

  ‘You put my spit on that string,’ accused Friday.

  ‘I wish I had,’ said Ian. ‘If I knew it would make you this angry.’

  ‘Friday!’ Chris called out from the other side of the hall.

  Friday and Melanie turned.

  ‘It’s your other boyfriend,’ said Melanie. ‘It really must be exhausting for you to be in a love triangle.’

  ‘I’m not in a love triangle, or even a love straight line,’ protested Friday.

  ‘Then why is the second cutest boy in the entire school running over here to talk to you?’ asked Melanie.

  ‘Chris isn’t the second cutest boy in the school,’ said Friday.

  ‘You think he’s the cutest?’ said Melanie. ‘Oh dear, Ian will be disappointed about that.’

  ‘I’ve had as much of this conversation as I can handle without taking anti-nausea medication,’ said Ian as he tucked his book into his pocket. ‘I’m going.’ He slouched away.

  ‘Fine,’ Friday called after him, ‘but this isn’t over. I’ll prove it was you.’

  ‘Friday,’ said Chris as he caught up with the girls. ‘I need your help.’

  ‘How romantic,’ said Melanie.

  ‘Melanie, perhaps you’d better go on to class,’ said Friday. ‘I’ll help Chris and catch up with you as soon as I can.’

  ‘You want privacy,’ said Melanie. ‘I understand. I would say I would take notes for you in maths, but of course I won’t, and I’d hate to lie.’ She drifted away.

  ‘What’s the problem?’ asked Friday.

  ‘You’ll have to see for yourself,’ said Chris. ‘It will be easier than trying to explain.’

  Chris took Friday by the hand, which Melanie would have noted made her blush, and hurriedly led her outside.

  ‘Where are we going?’ asked Friday.

  ‘You’ll see,’ said Chris. He squeezed her hand tighter. If Friday had wanted to let go, she would have found it hard to do now.

  They turned around the corner of the building and there on the gravel stood Mr Pilcher’s ride-on lawnmower.

  ‘A ride-on lawnmower?’ said Friday. ‘You know fixing machines isn’t really my thing. Don’t get me wrong, I have an excellent grasp of the workings of the internal combustion engine. But I am clumsy, and if I stuck my hands under a lawnmower, chances are I would cut my fingers off.’

  ‘I’m not going to cut your fingers off,’ said Chris.

  ‘I didn’t think you were,’ said Friday.

  ‘I’m going to break your arm if you don’t shut up and get on that ride-on lawnmower right now,’ said Chris.

  Friday turned and looked him in the eye. Chris smiled his most charming smile.

  ‘Did you just say you would break my arm?’ asked Friday.

  ‘Yes, I did,’ said Chris. ‘And I’m not going to repeat myself. If you don’t do as you’re told, I’m just going to do it.’

  Friday evidently had a look of disbelief on her face. While Chris did not repeat himself, he apparently saw a need to explain. ‘You’re not the only one who knows about physics. I, for example, know that Archimedes stated that with a fulcrum and a lever he could move the world, which is how I know that if I used my knee as a fulcrum and your forearm as a lever I could snap your elbow like a dry twig. Now, would you like to get on the lawnmower?’

  Again, Chris smiled. It crossed Friday’s mind that perhaps he didn’t know what he was saying. That perhaps English was his second language and he had learned the wrong sentence from a phrasebook, but as she looked at him she could see that while his face was smiling, his eyes were cold and dead inside.

  ‘All right,’ said Friday. She climbed onto the lawnmower.

  ‘Not onto the seat, you idiot,’ said Chris. ‘I’m not letting you drive. You can sit on the grass catcher.’

  Friday climbed over the seat onto the grass catcher. Chris got in and turned on the engine.

  ‘Let’s go, we don’t have much time. The police are due here in an hour,’ he said. ‘But first, I don’t want you trying anything brave during the ride.’ Chris produced a zip tie from his pocket and fastened Friday’s hands to the grass catcher. He put the lawnmower in gear and took off across the rugby field.

  ‘Someone from the school is bound to see us,’ said Friday. ‘A noisy diesel engine is hardly a subtle escape vehicle.’

  ‘If someone sees us they won’t think anything of it,’ said Chris. ‘You do strange things for the Headmaster all the time. And I am very charming. Everybody loves me. They will assume I’m helping you out as a good Samaritan. Or that I’m mowing the lawn for Mr Pilcher. Either way they won’t interfere.’

  Friday looked back at the school. The buildings seemed to grow smaller as they steadily chugged away. Through the windows she could see tardy students hurrying to their classes. Not one of them looked her way.

  They crossed the rugby pitch and went down an embankment, nearly tipping the mower over. Chris was not a cautious driver. They drove onto the soccer field and powered towards the tree line of the swamp in the distance. The mower could go at an impressive speed when the blades were up. They must have been travelling at twenty kilometres an hour, which was fast enough for Friday to not consider jumping off.

  The lawnmower wound around trees with reckless speed. It scraped a pine tree at one point, causing the grass catcher to shudder so hard that Friday was worried it would fall off.

  ‘Mr Pilcher is not going to be happy about you scraping his lawnmower,’
said Friday, noting the ugly marks on the paintwork.

  Chris just laughed. ‘As if I could care less.’ He smashed through a rhododendron bush and headed straight for a mangrove tree.

  ‘Stop!’ cried Friday.

  Chris yanked on the handbrake and jumped out in one fluid movement. Friday toppled forward and landed on her back in the driver’s seat with her hands still tied to the grass catcher.

  ‘Ow,’ said Friday.

  ‘Your clumsiness knows no bounds,’ said Chris with a sigh. ‘Come on, sit up. I need you to read something for me.’

  Friday struggled to get herself up in a sitting position. The best she could manage was to sit sideways in the driver’s seat.

  ‘What can I read that you can’t?’ asked Friday. ‘Is it something in Latin? Or Lithuanian? Or perhaps scrambled by the Enigma code?’

  ‘It’s a map,’ said Chris. He went over to a hollow log, reached in and pulled out a wad of paper. He unfolded it and held it in front of Friday.

  ‘The stolen map of the school!’ exclaimed Friday.

  ‘Well done, Sherlock,’ said Chris sarcastically.

  ‘Why are you showing it to me?’ asked Friday. ‘And why is it such a mess?’ As Friday looked at the map she could see it had suffered hard use. It had dirt stains, frayed edges and even a mysterious red blotch. ‘Is that a bloodstain?’ she asked.

  Chris looked over the top of the map to see what she meant. ‘No, that’s strawberry syrup from when Mrs Marigold served sundaes for dessert.’ Chris pointed to a brown stain in the corner. ‘That’s a bloodstain.’

  ‘Good to know,’ said Friday.

  ‘I need to find the 1987 time capsule,’ said Chris.

  ‘Why?’ asked Friday.

  ‘That’s none of your business,’ said Chris. ‘You’re the one tied to a lawnmower. I ask the questions. Now look at the map and tell me where it is.’

  Friday studied the sheet of paper being held in her face. The diagram of the school grounds was fairly detailed for a hand-drawn effort. Scattered across the page were numbers indicating where the different years had buried their time capsules. Most of them had been crossed out.