Amanda Lester and the Pink Sugar Conspiracy

When Amanda read her mail later, she was surprised to see a message from Darius Plover. She’d been so busy she’d forgotten about him again. She couldn’t believe how lax she was becoming about her filmmaking. It was unsettling. But when she saw what the director had written, she got very excited.

  Dear Miss Lester,

  I was most gratified to receive your last message. I will be sure to take you up on your gracious offer to weigh in with a tween’s perspective on my work.

  Regarding explosions, I recommend that you write to Alwishus Gabtalk at the UCLA Department of Engineering. He’s consulted for me many times. I’m sure he’ll be happy to talk to you. Just mention my name.

  That’s the technical part. As far as identifying the perpetrator is concerned, you know how to do that. Figure out the motive and work backwards. If you know why, everything else will follow. Always trust the story, in whatever you do.

  Please keep me informed of your progress. It sounds like you’re doing very well.

  Sincerely,

  Darius Plover.

  Whoopee! He was a wonderful man. She hadn’t even asked, and he’d given her a great answer. And she’d been right! Motivation was everything. Her work planning a crime with Nick would pay off. They’d find the reason for the explosion and the sugar theft, and then they’d be able to work backwards and identify the culprit. She was so proud to be a filmmaker. It was a skill that applied to everything.

  She dashed off a quick note to Darius Plover’s friend, then grabbed her phone and began to look at the video she’d captured. It was pretty good stuff. Next she’d start interviewing, but first she thought she would upload the video to her computer and annotate it, then back it up in her cloud service.

  She was so absorbed in what she was doing that she didn’t see the text until a half hour after it had arrived. It was from Thrillkill. “Come to my office at once.”

  She was in for it now. They weren’t supposed to be in that old area of the school and someone had told on them. Or someone had seen her hiding in the kitchen. Or she’d been identified as Nick’s accomplice when he’d gone into the outbuilding. She’d be joining Simon on suspension and her parents would be furious.

  When she reached the headmaster’s office, he was on the phone and that stupid hair dryer was sitting on his desk.

  “You know the school can’t be involved in this,” he said. Then, “I’ll tell her.”

  He looked up, and his face was even more serious than usual. “Miss Lester,” he said. “I’m afraid I have bad news. Your father has been kidnapped.”