by R. A. Spratt
Friday smashed the hammer hard into the lock three times. The rusty metal collapsed. She lifted the lid and pulled out a thick pile of paper. There was lined notepaper, art paper, even printed worksheets, but they were all covered in scrawling handwriting. ‘What is this?’ asked the Headmaster. ‘Some kind of assignment?’
‘No,’ said Friday. ‘It’s a priceless handwritten manuscript.’
‘It is?’ said the Headmaster.
‘The last chapter in the final book of The Curse of the Pirate King series by E.M. Dowell,’ revealed Friday.
Everyone gasped.
‘He was a student here in 1987,’ said Friday. ‘He was already working on his stories of pirates.’
‘Wow,’ said Ian, peering at the manuscript.
‘Isn’t that right, Malcolm?’ said Friday. ‘Or should I call you E.M.?’
‘What?!’ exclaimed Ian.
‘Malcolm is E.M. Dowell,’ said Friday.
‘No way,’ said Ian.
‘How did you figure it out?’ asked Malcolm.
‘When the Headmaster sprained his ankle, you started for the infirmary. You knew your way around,’ said Friday. ‘And when the Vice Principal saw you he was genuinely shocked. Not because you were a scary-looking vagrant carrying his employer, but because he recognised you. You were the year above him at school. It all fit that you could be the author. You weren’t in jail because you’d committed a crime. You were there to research your next book.’
‘What does the “E” stand for?’ asked Melanie. ‘Edward? Evan? Earnest?’
‘Worse,’ said Malcolm. ‘Ebenezer.’
‘You poor man,’ sympathised Melanie. ‘I know how you feel. My middle name is Alice and I’ve never been able to forgive my parents.’
‘So how did Chris know about it?’ asked the Headmaster.
‘He was my cellmate,’ said Malcolm. ‘He asked all these questions about my past: my writing and school. I thought he was just passing the time. But then his questions became more and more specific. I realised he’d read every article about me. He knew all about the story of the hidden final chapter.’
‘This is ridiculous,’ said Chris. ‘It’s all crazy speculation. You can’t believe a word of it, sir.’
‘I’d prefer not to,’ admitted the Headmaster. ‘But I’ve come to know Friday’s crazy speculations are usually unerringly accurate.’
‘You must have thought it would only take a couple of days,’ said Friday. ‘Find the map, dig up the time capsule, sell it online to some foreign super-fan and off you go, to Brazil or Monaco or wherever well-heeled thieves congregate. But you couldn’t find the manuscript and you found yourself stuck here for weeks and weeks.’
‘I’ve got a question for Malcolm,’ said Melanie. ‘Why did you bury the final chapter? It seems like such a strange thing to do.’
‘I did it to irritate Archie,’ said Malcolm with a smile.
‘Who?’ asked Ian.
‘Vice Principal Archibald James Dean,’ said Friday.
‘Archie liked my stories,’ said Malcolm. ‘I found out he had handed one in as his own for English.’
‘Vice Principal!’ exclaimed Melanie. ‘That is so naughty.’
The Vice Principal stared at the floor, pouting.
‘We got in a fistfight over it,’ continued Malcolm.
‘Which is why you were both punished and that was noted in the records,’ said Friday.
‘Yes, but Mrs Cannon backed me up,’ said Malcolm. ‘She said she knew Archie hadn’t written the story himself because he had less imagination than a dead geranium. Anyway, Archie was desperate to find out what happened at the end of the story, so I buried it in a secret location. Someplace I knew he’d never have the imagination to uncover.’
There was a knock at the door.
‘Come in,’ called the Headmaster.
The door opened and Sergeant Crowley walked in. ‘What’s all this then?’
‘I believe this young man may be of interest to you,’ said the Headmaster.
Sergeant Crowley scanned the people in the room. ‘Malcolm? What is it now? Not a sapphire bracelet again, I hope?’
‘Not him,’ said Friday. ‘Him.’ She pointed at Chris.
Sergeant Crowley peered at Chris.
‘Imagine how he would look in a bright orange prison jumpsuit,’ said Friday.
‘Christos Stassinopoulou!’ exclaimed Sergeant Crowley. ‘Half the region’s police force has been tied up in a manhunt looking for you. They’ve been dredging lakes and searching abandoned mineshafts in a fifty-kilometre radius.’
‘Sergeant, before you arrest Chris,’ said Friday, ‘perhaps you could satisfy my curiosity. What crime was he jailed for?’
‘We busted him for fraud,’ said Sergeant Crowley.
‘Really?’ said Melanie. ‘That’s very unromantic. I was hoping cat burglary.’
‘You do realise that cat burglars don’t actually steal cats?’ asked Friday.
‘I refuse to believe that,’ said Melanie.
‘He used his youthful good looks,’ began Sergeant Crowley, ‘and short stature …’
‘Hey!’ protested Chris. ‘Five foot four is average height.’
Ian snorted. ‘For a Peruvian woman, perhaps.’
‘He used his appearance to pass himself off as a minor,’ said Sergeant Crowley. ‘It started out with paying kids’ prices at the movies and buying cheap train tickets, then escalated to him posing as the long-lost grandchild of elderly people and swindling them out of their savings.’
‘How was he caught?’ asked Friday.
‘He tried to trick an 85-year-old lady awaiting hip replacement surgery,’ explained Sergeant Crowley. ‘Little did he realise she was a retired professional wrestler. She hit him over the head with her walking frame, then held him in a leg lock until the police arrived.’
‘She’s the one who should have been doing time for excessive force,’ complained Chris.
Sergeant Crowley tried to pull Chris out of the office chair he was sticky-taped to, but the chair just rolled across the floor. The sergeant considered the problem for a moment before turning to the Headmaster. ‘Can I borrow the chair to wheel him away?’ he asked.
‘Of course, anything to help an officer of the law,’ said the Headmaster.
They all watched Chris get rolled out the door.
‘I’ll get you, Barnes!’ threatened Chris. ‘You haven’t seen the last of me.’
‘I’m afraid it’s hard to take a threat seriously,’ said Friday, ‘when it comes from a man restrained by stationery supplies.’
Ian closed the door on Chris before he could holler any more abuse.
The Headmaster shook his head sadly. ‘I can’t believe he’s been here the whole time. This is going to be terrible for the school’s reputation.’
‘If it’s a comfort to you,’ said Friday, ‘it’s only because the school has such an excellent reputation that Chris has been so safe here. Who would ever think of looking for a jailbird in the country’s most expensive boarding school? And your strict enforcement of the anti-technology rules meant that none of us ever saw his mugshot on the news.’
Chapter 25
Denouement
Friday, Melanie and Ian walked back to class. They walked slowly, because they knew there was not much point getting there. They would never be able to concentrate on the lesson after the morning’s dramatic events. Ian was the first one to break the silence.
‘In a way,’ he began, ‘you were only able to put it all together and work out what Chris was up to, thanks to me.’
‘How do you figure that?’ asked Friday.
‘If I hadn’t framed you with the ricin,’ said Ian, ‘you would never have been at the police station and met Malcolm, or heard the description of the escaped prisoner.’
Friday froze and spun around to face him. ‘So you admit you did frame me?’
Ian shrugged. ‘Of course.’
‘Is this some sort of w
eird backward apology?’ asked Friday.
Ian stopped walking and looked at Friday. ‘Maybe,’ he said, looking sincere for once. ‘I didn’t want to lose my scholarship. This place might suck with all the rules, the teachers and kidney pie Tuesday. But home right now …’
‘Sucks more?’ Friday finished for him.
Ian nodded.
‘I can relate to that,’ said Friday.
‘Would you two like me to leave you alone?’ said Melanie. ‘Maybe I’ve been watching too many daytime soap operas in the holidays, but this seems to be leading to some sort of public display of affection.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous, Melanie,’ said Friday.
‘Who says she’s being ridiculous?’ asked Ian.
Friday looked at Ian. She couldn’t gauge the expression on his face.
‘Friday!’
The moment was broken. They all turned to see Thistlewaite, a Year 9 boy, running towards them.
‘It’s a world of high drama when you’re with Friday Barnes,’ said Ian.
‘You’ve got to come quickly,’ said Thistlewaite.
‘Why?’ asked Friday.
‘Mr Davies needs you in the science lab,’ said Thistlewaite.
‘Does he need me to explain quantum mechanics to him again?’ asked Friday.
‘No,’ said Thistlewaite. ‘It’s your father, Dr Barnes.’
‘What about him?’ asked Friday.
‘He’s turned up and taken over Mr Davies’ class,’ said Thistlewaite.
Friday, Melanie and Ian ran to Mr Davies’ classroom. When they burst through the door they saw Mr Davies slumped at a desk, holding his head in his hands while all the students looked very brain-addled and confused. Friday’s father, Dr Barnes, was scrawling equations over every last square inch of the whiteboard.
‘You see, here X is a photon or Z-boson, and here X and Y are two electroweak bosons such that the charge is conserved …’ droned Dr Barnes.
‘Dad, stop!’ cried Friday. ‘You’re hurting their brains!’
Dr Barnes looked up and adjusted his glasses. ‘Ah, Friday. Yes, that’s why I’m here. I’ve come to see you.’
‘Then why have you taken over Mr Davies’ class?’ asked Friday.
‘I was looking for you and I walked past here,’ said Dr Barnes, ‘and I saw the lesson he was teaching. He clearly needed help. His explanation was childlike.’
‘These are children,’ said Friday. ‘He was explaining physics to children.’
Dr Barnes turned and looked at the class. He adjusted his glasses on his nose. ‘Oh yes, I suppose so. I hadn’t considered that.’
‘Why were you looking for me?’ asked Friday. ‘You never have before. Not even the time I got lost at the shopping centre and you went home without me, not realising that I wasn’t in the car.’
‘What?’ said Dr Barnes. ‘I don’t recall the data you’re referring to.’
Friday sighed. ‘Of course you don’t. Just tell me, why are you here?’
‘Oh,’ said Dr Barnes, his eyes suddenly welling with tears, his chin wobbling. ‘It’s Dr Barnes.’
‘Isn’t that you?’ asked Melanie.
‘No, the other Dr Barnes,’ said Dr Barnes.
‘Mum?’ asked Friday.
‘Yes, her,’ said Dr Barnes.
‘What’s happened to Mum?’ asked Friday.
‘She’s disappeared,’ said Dr Barnes.
To be continued …
To find out what happens next, read the third book in the series …
FRIDAY BARNES
Big Trouble
Publishing in 2015
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About the Author
R. A. Spratt is an award-winning author and television writer. She lives in Bowral with her husband and two daughters. Like Friday Barnes, she enjoys wearing a silly hat.
For more information, visit www.raspratt.com
Also by R. A. Spratt
The Adventures of Nanny Piggins
Nanny Piggins and the Wicked Plan
Nanny Piggins and the Runaway Lion
Nanny Piggins and the Accidental Blast-Off
Nanny Piggins and the Rival Ringmaster
Nanny Piggins and the Pursuit of Justice
Nanny Piggins and the Daring Rescue
Nanny Piggins and the Race to Power
The Nanny Piggins Guide to Conquering Christmas
Friday Barnes: Girl Detective
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted by any person or entity, including internet search engines or retailers, in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including printing, photocopying (except under the statutory exceptions provisions of the Australian Copyright Act 1968), recording, scanning or by any information storage and retrieval system without the prior written permission of Random House Australia. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.
Version 1.0
Friday Barnes: Under Suspicion
9781742759654
Published by Random House Australia 2015
Copyright © R. A. Spratt 2015
The moral right of the author has been asserted.
A Random House Australia book
Published by Random House Australia Pty Ltd
Level 3, 100 Pacific Highway, North Sydney NSW, 2060
www.randomhouse.com.au
Addresses for companies within the Random House Group can be found at
www.randomhouse.com.au/offices
First published by Random House Australia in 2015
National Library of Australia
Cataloguing-in-Publication Entry
Author: Spratt, R. A.
Title: Under suspicion [electronic resource]
ISBN: 978 1 74275 965 4 (ebook)
Series: Friday Barnes; 2
Dewey Number: A823.3
Cover illustration by Lilly Piri, www.littlegalaxie.com
Cover design by Kirby Armstrong
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