Amanda Lester and the Orange Crystal Crisis

“I suppose so,” said Amanda. “They were wearing disguises when we saw them, though. That could help them anywhere.”

  “Those old things?” said Despina. “Junk and more junk. Not like the kinds of things you and that lovely Indian girl come up with, are they?”

  Despina was referring to Amphora, who was actually English, but of Indian descent, and very tall and elegant. And yes, she and Amanda were much more talented at creating effective disguises than the Moriartys, despite Nick’s alleged theater background. Amanda had been making costumes and applying theatrical makeup all her life, and Amphora was a natural designer.

  “That’s nice of you to say,” said Amanda. “So Jeffrey has located the Moriartys?” She thought if she pushed the matter, Despina would get to the point faster.

  “Not exactly. But he has plenty of leads. He’s been out knocking on doors non-stop. It’s been so exciting. One tip took him to an old folks home where a gangster who was once associated with Blixus was living. Unfortunately the man had moved to Malibu and wasn’t available for questioning. He followed another lead to an off-track betting parlor, but the bookie told him he had no idea where the Moriartys were, and anyhow he was quitting to pursue his lifelong dream of doing movie stunts and wouldn’t be following them anymore. That was most unfortunate as he seemed so very promising. Then Jeffrey was told that someone saw Blixus at the British Museum, but the place is so humongous that he got lost in the Roman antiquities section and had to call for help finding his way back. But you see what I mean. Very, very hopeful. He’ll locate those crooks any day now.”

  “I’m sure he will, Despina,” said Amanda, almost choking on her lie.

  “Ready to get together again, dear?” said Despina. “I’ve got gajillions of ideas for outings.” Amanda didn’t doubt it. The woman was a whirlwind of social activity—a bit too much of a whirlwind.

  “Almost,” said Amanda, trying to humor her. “I was just wondering if I might ask you for a favor first.”

  This request seemed to flatter Despina so much that for a moment she could barely speak, but the silence didn’t last.

  “Anything, anything,” she said even more breathlessly. “Would you like to see the pictures of Windermere we took? We’ve got oodles of inspiring views. How about if I send you that family history I told you about? No, I know. You’d love to see my seashell collection. I did promise you—”

  This was going to be more difficult than Amanda had thought. “Actually, I was looking for a referral.”

  “Name it,” said Despina cheerfully. “We know plumbers, roofers, babysitters—oh, and there’s a lovely woman who translates from German into Spanish. You don’t need a tutor, do you? No, of course you wouldn’t. I know. You’re looking for a birthday party clown. We know the nicest little man—”

  “No, it’s none of those,” said Amanda. “I’m looking for a prosecutor.”

  “A prosecutor? You mean like your father? Why don’t you ask him whatever it is? Is it juicy, dear?”

  Oh dear. Despina didn’t know about Herb quitting. Amanda didn’t even want to think about what she’d say, but she had to tell her. She prepared herself for a barrage.

  “You know he quit the Crown Prosecution Service, right?”

  “NO!” Despina stopped talking at once. So that was what it took to get her to shut up: a shock. Amanda didn’t want to have to resort to such extreme tactics, but it was good to know that something worked. For two seconds anyway. “You have got to be joking. Why would he do a thing like that?”

  Amanda sighed. “It’s complicated.”

  “Nonsense,” said Despina. “Your father isn’t a complicated person. He’s as simple as I am.”

  Despina obviously didn’t realize how that statement sounded. Amanda didn’t think tipping her off was a good idea. “He didn’t used to be. He is now.”

  “Have you two been arguing?” said Despina. “Having trouble getting along?”

  “For once, no,” Amanda said without thinking. “I mean, no, of course not.” She paused. “The truth is that he’s suffering from PTSD and isn’t himself.”

  “Oh, well, that makes sense,” said Despina. “Being kidnapped is a very traumatic experience. Did you know that Jeffrey was almost kidnapped once?”

  “No, I didn’t. Perhaps you can tell me about that another time. I need to find this lawyer pretty quickly.”

  “All right, dear. We’ll have lunch next Saturday and catch up.” Maybe, maybe not. Despina was always trying to dictate her schedule, but this wasn’t the time to protest. “Now, what kind of solicitor do you need?”

  “I don’t need a solicitor. I need a barrister.” In England, a solicitor was a lawyer who did deskwork. A barrister was what Americans refer to as a litigator, or trial lawyer.

  “Oh my,” said Despina. “That sounds serious. Out with it, young lady.”

  Amanda sighed. This was taking much longer than she’d hoped, but not longer than she’d feared.

  “It’s for Headmaster Thrillkill,” she said.

  “I’m all ears.”

  Suddenly Amanda’s phone beeped. She’d received a text. She pulled the phone away from her ear and saw that it was from Ivy, telling her that her parents were going to drive her and Nigel up from Dorset at once. Thank goodness. The news was so welcome that she might be able to put up with Despina a few minutes longer.

  “This is completely confidential, Despina. You can tell Hill, but no one else. Not even Jeffrey.” She hoped Despina could keep a secret. She was pretty sure she could, despite her ebullience. She took being a detective very seriously, even though she didn’t actually practice as one.

  “Of course, dear. Always.”

  “I need someone who can arrange for us to talk to Blixus Moriarty’s associates in prison.”

  “You what?” shrieked Despina. “Why would you want to do that? That’s too dangerous for you, dear. You should let Jeffrey do it. Ah, but he’s tied up, isn’t he? You say this is for Gaston, is it?”

  “Yes. We need to find Blixus as soon as possible. We’ve got to get Editta back.”

  “Oh yes, Editta. Foolish girl. What could she possibly want with that Moriarty boy? Although he is kind of dreamy, isn’t he?” Amanda suddenly had the most ridiculous image of Despina flirting with Nick. Yeah, that would go well.

  “I’ll tell you what,” said Despina. “Hill knows someone who can fix you right up, don’t you, Hill?” She turned away from the phone and yelled the last part, practically deafening Amanda, who could hear Hill in the background saying, “Say what?”

  “Momentito, dear,” said Despina. “Back in a jif.” Now Amanda could hear the two of them talking, although she could only make out a few words, like “disaster,” “bad haircut,” and “shame on her.” Then Despina returned and said, “Yes. Just as I thought. The person you want is Balthazar Onion. He’s outstanding. Tell him Hill sent you. He’ll bend over backwards to help you. He’s based in Edinburgh, but he travels.”

  “Fantastic. Thank you so much, Despina. Please thank Hill for me too. I’ve got to run, but I’ll call you later.”

  “Toodles, kiss, kiss,” she said, and was gone.

  She had a name! Amanda fervently hoped that Mr. Onion was as good an attorney as Hill claimed. She punched in his number.

  3

  Jackie Lumpenstein

  Amanda had considered talking to prisoners before but hadn’t actually done it. When Blixus and Mavis Moriarty were captured at their sugar factory and sent to Strangeways Prison in Manchester, she’d thought of speaking to Blixus about Nick. She wanted to understand how he could have treated her the way he did. But time and events had gotten away from her and she’d never followed through. Despite the fact that she knew both of them personally—Mavis from her position at Legatum and Blixus from the time he’d tied her up and told Nick to leave her for dead—the thought of meeting them again freaked her out, as did the prospect of entering one of the most dangerous prisons in the UK.

  Now, however, s
he had no choice. Of course it wasn’t the Moriartys she was trying to see, but there was still the issue of that awful place—a place with such a horrible reputation that it was constantly in the news. She knew, though, that dealing with criminals wherever they were was part of a detective’s job, so she attempted to put the creepy thoughts out of her mind.

  When the receptionist at Onion, Bearbite, Sklippy, and Capfizzle put her through to Balthazar Onion, she talked so fast that her mouth practically outpaced her brain.

  “Mr. Onion, my name is Amanda Lester and I was referred to you by my cousin Hillary Lester at the magistrates’ court and I was wondering if you can help me, I need to talk to some prisoners at Manchester Prison and Hill told me you were the one to see, this is very important because Gaston Thrillkill—you know him, right?—needs to find Blixus and Mavis Moriarty urgently and we thought that interviewing some of their associates might give us leads, and oh, by the way, my father is Herb Lester, he used to work for the Crown Prosecution Service, do you know him?”

  Once she stopped speaking, she realized that she’d babbled incoherently, but Mr. Onion shocked her by matching her thought for thought. In his heavy Scottish brogue he said, “Aye, good plan, I know a couple of the fellas, and I know Gaston well, and yer father and yer cousin—excellent people—and I can help you but only if you meet me in Manchester today, can you get there this afternoon, Miss Lester?”

  This afternoon! That was fast. Could she make it? She hadn’t attacked the rest of the list, she needed to meet with Holmes and Thrillkill about the film, and she had to get her assignment from Darius Plover, but yes, if she left at once she could get to Manchester in time.

  “I can, Mr. Onion. Thank you so much for your help. I can’t tell you—”

  “Thank me later, Miss Lester,” he said. “I will meet you at the warden’s office at half past one sharp.”

  “Goodbye Mr.—” she said, but he was already gone.

  This time she couldn’t leave campus without telling Thrillkill. If she failed to show up for their meeting he’d be furious. Would he let her do something so dangerous, though? Maybe she should make up some other reason for being away. No, that wouldn’t do. If anything went wrong he’d find out anyway, and besides, he’d told her to pursue Blixus and Mavis. She was doing exactly what he wanted. As far as danger was concerned, she’d already been involved in treacherous situations and he’d never admonished her. Legatum took a sink or swim approach to learning, and as the headmaster had told them on their first day, the students would not be coddled. No, he wouldn’t mind. He might even be glad.

  She didn’t usually phone Thrillkill—it was better to text so she wouldn’t interrupt him—but this news required real-time interaction. When he answered her call, she started to deliver her breathless spiel again, but he stopped her with one word: “Go.”

  Amanda grabbed her bag and skateboard and rushed out the front entrance of the school. It would take her about twenty minutes to get to the train station on her skateboard. Then two hours or so on the train and she’d be there.

  Fortunately she was too preoccupied to worry about the ride. Amanda did not have a happy history with trains. During spring term when she’d ridden to London to find her father, she’d encountered a cheeky monkey who’d peed on her. Then last term when she and Simon had traveled to London again to search for crystals in the sugar factory ruins, they’d run into a couple of nasty clowns in full costume, and two young toughs who had punched Simon in the nose. Editta would have said that bad things come in threes (although how could that be if the number three was lucky?) and would have warned her that this was the third time riding the train, but not being superstitious Amanda wasn’t worried. She should have been, however, because something happened this time too. Well, two somethings. No, actually three.

  As she was making her way through town, she caught a glimpse of a boy and a girl kissing. She thought nothing of it until she realized the boy was Harry Sheriff. Typical, she thought, and wondered which girl he had mesmerized now. For some reason she just had to know, so she maneuvered herself into a position where she could see better.

  The girl, who was older than Amanda, had long blond hair and a stunningly beautiful face. She was wearing turquoise shorts and a red T-shirt—a rather bold but aesthetically pleasing combination. Harry had changed from the T-shirt and jeans he’d been wearing earlier into a tank top and shorts that showed off his muscles. His golden hair was all messed up from the girl running her hands through it.

  Big deal, Amanda thought. He sure was full of himself. Then he came up for air for a second, caught a glimpse of Amanda, and winked. Terrific. Flirting with one girl while you’re in the midst of kissing another. He would do something like that. How could Amphora like him?

  Seeing Harry like that was a little weird, but not that bad. What was weird was that she could have sworn she saw something that looked like a zombie sneak into an alley. The person—she couldn’t tell if it was male or female—looked almost exactly like one of those ghouls from a horror movie: discolored skin, wild-eyed, slovenly, with torn clothing. She almost ran after it but stopped herself when she remembered that she might miss her train. Once she’d boarded she realized she’d been acting silly, that she’d probably seen a homeless person and had let her imagination run away with her. Obviously the pressure of all the critical tasks she was responsible for was getting to her. Zombie indeed.

  The third thing that happened was much more serious. When Amanda got to the station she thought she saw Nick getting on a train. Not the train she was supposed to board, but another one. He, if it was he, was by himself, wearing a black turtleneck and a dark gray backpack. The idea of sweltering in a turtleneck on such a warm day was ludicrous, and it made Amanda wonder if it was supposed to be part of a disguise. But the boy was gone so quickly that she couldn’t be sure it actually was Nick.

  She picked up her skateboard and ran toward the train, but the doors shut in her face and it moved out of the station. She looked at the schedule board to see where it was headed: Oxenholme Station, the first stop on the way to London. Had the Moriartys returned there? If so, she was going the wrong way: Manchester lay in the opposite direction.

  Should she hop the next train to Oxenholme or meet Mr. Onion as planned? If it wasn’t Nick, she would have blown her opportunity to interview Blixus’s associates. If it was, wouldn’t it make sense to follow him? But could she catch up with him? By the time he’d have got to Oxenholme, he’d be too far ahead of her. She’d never be able to tell where he’d got off. She concluded, sadly, that there was no way to follow him. She’d been so close. Unless, of course, it hadn’t been Nick at all, which she supposed was possible.

  The whole way to Manchester she couldn’t get Nick out of her mind. Had he been hiding out near Legatum this whole time? If so, what was he doing? Where was Editta? What had his parents done with the white van in which they’d left the quarry? Did any of them have the Detective’s Bible?

  By the time she got to Strangeways Prison, Amanda had got herself all in a tizzy. She was certain they wouldn’t let her in and she’d have to go back empty-handed. However her fears proved groundless and soon she was standing outside the warden’s office, waiting for Mr. Onion to conclude his business.

  “Miss Lester, I presume,” he said when Amanda walked in. He was a large middle-aged man with a florid complexion and a receding hairline. He could have stood to lose a few pounds, which might have improved the fit of his rather rumpled suit.

  “Yes, sir,” said Amanda, reaching out to shake his hand. His grip was so strong she thought he might break one of her bones.

  “Warden Doodle,” said the little man behind the desk. He was so short than when he stood up to shake hands, he was no taller than Amanda, who was all of five feet. His face was so nondescript that Amanda couldn’t remember what it looked like when she was actually looking at him. He head-motioned to her purse. “Bag stays here. No phones, writing implements, or paper. No bob
by pins, jewelry, or hearing aids. You got any hidden piercings you take the studs out, okay?”

  Amanda nodded. Only her ears were pierced, and she wasn’t wearing earrings. She did wonder about the fillings in her teeth, though. Was she allowed to bring those in?

  “Ten minutes with each prisoner,” said the warden. “Starting . . . now.”

  Balthazar Onion grabbed Amanda’s hand and pulled her out of the warden’s office to the security station, where they were frisked, x-rayed, and given a stern lecture. Then the guard let them into the visiting room, which was outfitted with bulletproof glass separating inmate from visitor. However, unlike in the movies you didn’t have to speak by phone. You could actually hear each other.

  Amanda and Balthazar Onion sat down in front of an empty pane of glass and watched as a prisoner in chains was brought out from the cell area by two burly guards. Mr. Onion leaned over to Amanda and said, “Jackie Lumpenstein. Caught in the sugar factory raid last March.”

  Amanda did indeed recognize the man. She’d seen him briefly when she’d hidden from him and another Moriarty associate when she’d come looking for her father. He did look like a lump, probably as a result of eating all those burgers and onions and drinking all that beer he seemed to consume. Come to think of it, he still smelled like onions, even through the thick glass.

  “What do you want, Onion?” he said as he sat down.

  “Where’s Moriarty?” said Balthazar Onion.

  “Never heard of the guy,” said Lumpenstein. He eyed Amanda suspiciously. “Who’s the kid?”

  “My daughter,” said Mr. Onion without missing a beat. “Don’t get cute with me unless you want to end up in solitary. There are no onions there. Know what I mean?”

  “Don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Lumpenstein smugly. “Why’d you bring her here? I ain’t interested in children.”

  “I don’t care what you’re interested in,” said Mr. Onion, leaning forward in a menacing way. “I just want to know where Blixus is. That’s nae such a tough question, is it?”

  Jackie looked at the ceiling. Amanda wondered if he was going to start whistling. She’d seen characters do that in the movies when they were trying to be cool. “Wouldn’t be if I knew the guy. Your wife must be quite a looker. The girl ain’t half bad.”