Finally, after what seemed like minutes, Thrillkill spoke. Amanda had never been so relieved to hear his voice, which was much gentler than usual.
“Ladies, let me say how sorry I am for everything that’s happened,” he said. Sklunk.
“Sorry isn’t good enough,” interrupted Mrs. Sweetgum.
“Sorry won’t bring back my Wink,” said Mrs. Wiffle.
“You are correct,” said Thrillkill. “Wink’s death and Editta’s disappearance occurred on my watch and I take full responsibility.” He seemed to think of something, turned around to the shelves behind him, and grabbed the hair dryer sitting there. He opened a desk drawer and threw it inside. Amanda didn’t know why he’d left the thing out. He used it to melt icicles. Winter was months away.
“So what?” said Mrs. Sweetgum. “My daughter—” BANG! “What’s going on out there? It sounds as though Beelzebub and his legions have invaded.”
“It’s just construction,” said Mrs. Wiffle, inclining her head toward the other parent. “Ignore it.” She turned back to Thrillkill. “My son is devastated. He’ll never be the same.” BANG.
“I demand your resignation,” said Mrs. Sweetgum, scowling at the headmaster.
“Yes, your resignation,” said Mrs. Wiffle. “And restitution, starting with the expulsion of—” CRASH!
“I’m afraid it isn’t our policy—” said Thrillkill.
“Policy!” yelled Mrs. Sweetgum. “My daughter is being held prisoner by the most evil criminals in the world and you talk to me about policy?” Bang, bang, thud.
“You should be ashamed, Gaston,” said Mrs. Wiffle, looking for something in her purse. “I thought you were Wink’s friend.”
“I was Wink’s friend,” said Thrillkill. “You know very well that we were like brothers, Celerie. Of course I understand how you feel—both of you—and I can assure you that we’re going to make this right. Whatever it takes.” Rap, rap, rap. “Oh, blast that noise.” He stood up and peered out into the hall.
Surely he didn’t mean he was going to make things right by expelling Amanda? How would that help? She couldn’t believe he would do such a thing, especially after having asked her to stay for the summer to make a film that would, in his words, “save the world.” She’d planned to go to Los Angeles and work with her idol, action film director Darius Plover, who’d offered her the opportunity to help him with his movie “Sand” for a couple of months. However, when Thrillkill had appealed to her sense of duty, she’d agreed to stay, even though it meant missing out on the chance of a lifetime—and having to work side by side with Scapulus Holmes.
Poor Holmes. She’d discovered only recently how crazy he was about her. At first she was horrified, since she had never wanted anything to do with Sherlock Holmes or his descendants. The famous detective was an arrogant jerk. If it hadn’t been for him, no one would have heard of Lestrade and she wouldn’t have had to suffer the eternal embarrassment of being related to him. But against all odds, she’d found herself head over heels about Scapulus and they’d finally gotten together . . . until Nick Moriarty had turned up. As soon as Holmes had seen the tender way Amanda looked at him, he’d clammed up and had barely spoken to her since.
She felt terrible. Yes, she had been shocked to see that Nick wasn’t dead after the explosion at the Moriartys’ sugar factory. She must have had some weird expression on her face when he’d popped up at the quarry outside Windermere with the living crystals she’d tried so hard to save. And yes, she had once had feelings for him, which might have leaked out onto her face for just a teensy moment. But those were long gone. Once she discovered who he really was—not Nick Muffet, her best friend, but Nick Moriarty, criminal—those feelings had died.
Still, Holmes had seen something on her face that had spooked him. Was he right? Did she still care about Nick? No, it was impossible. Just because she’d momentarily pictured him holding out a welcoming arm for her, as he’d once done, didn’t mean anything. It was a slip. She knew that the real Nick was a heartless boy who had laughed at her for trying to save her father, not the gallant friend who’d tried to protect her from David Wiffle or broken a clock just because she didn’t like the noise it made.
She should tell Holmes how she really felt and make everything right. He was a wonderful boy and she was mad about him. It wouldn’t take much. She’d explain everything and the hurt would melt away. But if it was that easy, why did she balk every time she felt the urge to approach him?
“So you’re going to resign then?” said Mrs. Wiffle, breaking into Amanda’s thoughts. “And expel that girl?”
“I didn’t say that,” said Thrillkill. “What I meant was that we’re going to find Editta and bring Wink’s murderer to justice.” He riffled the pages of a book that was sitting on his desk: School Administration for Dummies. Celerie Wiffle eyed it. He pulled the volume toward himself and onto his lap. She made a tsk tsk face.
“I don’t believe you,” said Mrs. Sweetgum. “If you intended to fix things, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. Do you realize my daughter might be dead?”
“Ms. Sweetgum,” said Thrillkill. Amanda could tell that he was losing his patience but trying not to look like it. “If we don’t bring Editta back safe and sound, and if we don’t find Wink Wiffle’s murderer, I promise you I will resign. But not yet. Let me do my job. If you do that, I can assure you you won’t be disappointed.” Glump.
“We are already disappointed,” said Mrs. Sweetgum. “I wish you had been more accommodating because now I’m afraid I’m going to have to add your effigy to my collection.” She pulled out her phone and tapped in a note.
“Effigy?” said Mrs. Wiffle. Squeak.
“Yes,” said Mrs. Sweetgum. “I’m already sticking pins into effigies of those Moriarty people. It will be a trivial matter to include Mr. Thrillkill.”
“You’re not serious,” said Celerie Wiffle with a look of horror on her face. “That’s crazy talk.”
“I’ll show you what’s crazy,” said Mrs. Sweetgum. “If you insult me like that, I’ll add you too. You’ll be hearing from me, Mr. Thrillkill. And you,” she said looking at David’s mother, “will be feeling a few twinges, as will that Lestrade girl. Come to think of it, I’ll bet that spoiled son of yours had something to do with my daughter’s disappearance.”
“Spoiled?” cried Mrs. Wiffle. “You have the nerve to call my David spoiled? I’ll have you know that David has had a very strict upbringing. My husband and I—”
“Your husband is dead,” said Mrs. Sweetgum. Amanda gasped. She couldn’t believe Editta’s mother would be so cruel. “And my daughter may be as well. If she’s still alive, she will not be coming back to this miserable excuse for a school. Good day, Headmaster. Ms. Wiffle.”
As she blasted out of the headmaster’s office, Andalusia Sweetgum stepped on Amanda’s foot. When she felt the foot she screeched to a halt, looked right through Amanda, and swished out into the hall. Then Celerie Wiffle rose and practically flew out of the office, prancing even faster than Editta’s mother, heels clicking loudly. She didn’t look at Amanda either.
Amanda was torn. Thrillkill was a strong man. With the exception of his icicle phobia, nothing got to him. Well, nothing used to get to him. He had been acting a bit peculiar lately, behaving as though nothing was wrong when the sky was falling. Obviously he was feeling pressured. But Amanda still had complete confidence in him. You didn’t face down the likes of Belarus Mafioso Jumbo Pinchuk, serial killer Potato Skootch, and arch criminal Blixus Moriarty and live to tell the tale unless you were Superman. Thrillkill was facing many challenges, but he would come through as he always did.
Suddenly a well-dressed young man blew by Amanda and stopped in front of the headmaster’s desk.
“It’s polite to knock,” said Thrillkill.
“You Gaston Thrillkill?” said the visitor.
“I am.”
“Here you are, then,” said the man, coughing all over them. “You’ve been serv
ed.” Out he went, bashing into Amanda in his hurry. Thrillkill threw the paper across the desk and onto the floor.
“Blast,” he said. “That was all we needed.” He sat back in his chair, then swiveled around and faced his bookcase. The book on his lap fell to the floor. He picked it up and threw it in the trash.
“I take it that’s the lawsuit,” said Amanda. “The paper, not the book.”
“Correct,” said Thrillkill, still facing the bookcase. “Never mind the book. It was a discard from the library.” Amanda didn’t know if she believed him. Suddenly he slued around and said, “Your father.”
“My father?” said Amanda. “What about him?”
“Is he available?”
Amanda was confused. Herb Lester, a former prosecuting attorney for the City of Los Angeles and then a barrister at the Crown Prosecution Office in London, had recently freaked out following his kidnapping and near death at the hands of the Moriartys. Suffering from PTSD, he’d gone off to find himself and was now devoting his life to yoga, a development Amanda’s mother, Lila, couldn’t cope with. As a result they were getting a divorce. So what did Thrillkill mean, “Is he available?”
“I don’t understand the question, sir,” said Amanda.
“To represent the school,” said Thrillkill. “We’re going to need a barrister. Celerie Wiffle has filed a wrongful death suit.” He picked up the legal document from the floor and skimmed it. “Bad news.”
“That was fast,” said Amanda.
“Yes,” said Thrillkill. “She’s a well-organized woman. I see she’s hired Dapple Payslip as her attorney. This is no laughing matter.” He made as if to tear up the papers, then crumpled them into a ball instead.
“Dapple Payslip? Who is that?” Amanda knew a few names of UK lawyers, but not many. She’d only been in the country a few months and had been rather tied up during that time. Obviously she’d need to brush up.
“Mmm,” said Thrillkill. “Not someone you want to fool with. She’s only the most cutthroat barrister in London. She could ruin us.” He tossed the paper into the corner.
Amanda didn’t want to say that they were well on their way to ruination for reasons other than Dapple Payslip. “And you want my father to be opposing counsel?” she said.
“Yes,” said Thrillkill. “There’s none better.”
Amanda had never thought of her father as a superstar. She knew he was good, but otherwise he was just her father. Now it seemed that he had built quite a reputation, although not a good enough one to make him District Attorney of Los Angeles, a position he’d run for and lost.
“The thing is . . .” said Amanda. She wasn’t sure how to tell him. She understood her father, but she didn’t think Thrillkill would. He’d think Herb was weak.
“Don’t tell me he’s booked up,” said Thrillkill.
“Er, not exactly,” said Amanda. It was probably better just to come out with it. She steeled herself for his reaction. “He, uh, quit.”
“Quit the Crown Prosecution Service?” said Thrillkill. “That’s good, then. Now he’s a free agent.” He looked delighted, if you could be delighted under the circumstances.
“A little too free,” said Amanda. Boy, this was difficult.
“Miss Lester, would you please get to the point? We don’t have time for dilly-dallying.”
“Sorry, sir. He’s, uh, he’s quit working altogether. He’s, uh, he’s practicing yoga.”
“You what?” roared Thrillkill. Amanda could never get used to that Britishism. It sounded like the speaker was blaming the listener for something when in fact it just meant “What?”
“Yes, sir. It seems that he’s had some trouble adjusting since his kidnapping. He and my mother have split up.”
“Sorry to hear that,” said Thrillkill, who seemed to be performing mental calculations. “But that doesn’t mean he can’t work. I know how devoted he is to Lila, but—”
“It isn’t that, sir,” said Amanda. She really didn’t want to have to explain, but he was giving her no choice. “He’s just, uh, different now. I don’t think he wants to be a lawyer anymore.”
“Nonsense,” said Thrillkill. “Herb Lester is the best lawyer in the Legatum family, and that’s going some. He lives and breathes the law. He’ll do this for us.”
“You can try,” said Amanda. Let him experience her father’s transformation for himself. Then he’d see. “Would you like me to phone him?”
“Let’s do that now, shall we?” said Thrillkill.
“All right,” said Amanda, pulling out her phone. She pressed her father’s icon and waited a moment. When the outgoing message came on, her jaw dropped. Her father had begun it with one long toneless “OM.”
She looked at Thrillkill. His face had twisted into geometrical shapes. “I can hear that,” he said.
Then Herb Lester’s recorded voice gently pushed aside the mantra. Amanda didn’t think she’d ever heard him use that tone before. “Namaste. You have reached a place of peace. I am on a spiritual journey and may not return your call for some time. Blessings.”
Amanda held the phone away from her ear, stared at it, and sighed. She left a halting message, ended the call, and looked down at her lap. “You see what I mean, Professor.”
“Well I’ll be,” said Thrillkill. “I never would have expected that. Shall we come up with another name, then?”
“I think we’d better,” said Amanda.
After Thrillkill had left half a dozen messages for various attorneys, he turned to Amanda and said, “Here is a list of critical problems that need our attention. Please prioritize them. Take five minutes, but no longer. Go.”
He passed her a hand-written list scrawled on a piece of scrap paper, then grabbed it away and added an item at the bottom before shoving it back at her. It read:
Find the Detective’s Bible.
Solve Wink Wiffle’s murder.
Find out what Wink’s key goes to.
Rescue Editta Sweetgum.
Find Philip Puppybreath and Gavin Niven.
Monitor Professor Redleaf’s computer.
Make film about our options without the Bible.
Speak to David Wiffle.
Find attorney and prepare for wrongful death lawsuit.
It was quite a list. Everything on it was critical, but did she have to do this now? She glanced at him. He was absolutely serious.
She twirled a strand of her thick brown hair around her finger and studied the list. Her hair had got so much longer since she’d come to Legatum that now it curled around her finger at least four times. Maybe there was something in the damp climate that made it grow faster.
Holmes loved her hair. During their short time together he’d told her how beautiful it was at least once an hour—how beautiful she was, which she still didn’t believe. Not that he was lying. It was just that she thought her face was okay but nothing special, although truth be told, she didn’t worry much about that kind of stuff. She always had too many other things on her mind, like making films, solving mysteries, and now, prioritizing tasks.
She contemplated the first item, Find the Detective’s Bible. As long as the Bible was missing, the teachers would remain fractious and distracted, and some might even leave. The fate of the school was at stake. It was hard to see what could be more important.
As for Wink Wiffle’s murder, the trail was growing colder by the day. They had to find the killer soon. Also, finding the murderer might mollify Celerie Wiffle and get her to drop the lawsuit against the school. That was pretty important as well.
The key had been discovered with Wink’s remains. The teachers seemed to agree that it belonged to a lockbox or chest of some kind. However, no one could find such an object, and because Wink seemed to have swallowed the key to keep it safe, they knew it was critical and might even reveal the murderer’s identity. The sooner they found the lock that went with it the better.
It went without saying that they had to rescue Editta from the Moriartys’
clutches. She might be dead already. If she was alive she was in great danger. The more quickly they could bring her back, the faster she could be deprogrammed and return to normal, her obsession with Nick Moriarty all but forgotten.
Philip Puppybreath and Gavin Niven had been Nick’s roommates, but when he left Legatum they transferred to David Wiffle’s room. These same roommates had stolen the Bible from David with the intention of selling it to Blixus Moriarty. When Amanda and her friends had fought the Moriartys and David’s roommates at the Windermere quarry, the roommates had run off and hadn’t been seen since. If they had joined up with Moriarty or been captured, they were in as much danger as Editta. If not, there was no telling what might happen to them as runaways. They had to be found ASAP.
The problem with Professor Redleaf’s computer was an open secret. Before she was killed in the earthquake the previous term, the cyberforensics teacher had noticed something on her screen that had shocked her. The entire class had seen the look on her face, but the teachers wouldn’t discuss the incident, and Holmes, the computer whiz who had been assigned to look into the situation, had remained closed-mouthed as well. That the headmaster would even acknowledge that something weird was going on surprised Amanda. Maybe now that he had, she’d find out what the big deal was. It was hard to say how important the item was without knowing more about the situation though.
Making the film about the school’s options without the Bible had been Thrillkill’s idea. Amanda couldn’t tell how valuable such a film might be. All she knew was that he’d thought the project critical enough to interfere with her fulfilling her heart’s desire. It had to be important.
The task involving David Wiffle confused her. Was there something special the headmaster wanted to ask him? Did he plan to expel the boy for what he’d done? Was he going to hold him back and make him repeat last term? Or did he plan to try to help David, who’d been through so much in such a short time? She wished she could abstain on that one.