Amanda Lester and the Purple Rainbow Puzzle Page 10

  What would one of Blixus’s henchman have been doing living in such an out-of-the-way place? And what would Wink have been doing there? He lived in Cornwall, for heaven’s sake. It was hundreds of miles away. Would Thrillkill tell Mrs. Wiffle what they’d discovered? With the lawsuit pending, they weren’t supposed to speak to each other. Of course he could inform her through his attorney—when he found one. But the idea of her having one more reason to hate Legatum and everyone associated with it was extremely unpleasant.

  Obviously they needed to connect quite a few dots, some of which they didn’t even have yet. They’d have to determine the times of the two men’s deaths, find whatever the key belonged with to figure out what the relationship between Wink and Crocodile was, come up with a motive for murder, and deduce what Blixus and possibly Mavis had to do with all of this. Such an investigation could take months all by itself. With the Bible, Editta and the roommates, the lawsuit, the film, and whatever else was also in play, the chances of something falling by the wayside were huge, especially since everyone was feuding. If they were to work together they could cover just about everything on the list. If they were squabbling, not so much. Therefore Amanda decided that the first order of business was to make up and start getting along again.

  Since Simon and Clive were right there, she thought she’d start with them. Not that she was feuding with Clive. She couldn’t imagine that happening. He was way too laid back. She turned her attention to Simon. She had just the offer to make him come round.

  “I’m sorry about earlier,” she said. “Would you like to kiss me now?”

  Simon gave her a quizzical look. “What are you talking about?”

  “You wanted to kiss me,” she said. “I wasn’t ready. I am now.”

  He grinned, put down his tablet, threw his arms around her, and kissed her softly on the mouth. It was an amazing kiss, or at least it seemed to be—she’d never kissed a boy before—and for a moment she saw Nick’s face in her mind.

  “Well?” said Simon.

  “I uh, er,” said Amanda. She could feel her face going red.

  Simon broke into a huge grin and gently slid the back of his hand down her cheek. He must have seen that in the movies. No way was that a Simon thing. Even so, his touch gave her the shivers.

  “Told ya.”

  When Amanda’s phone rang a few seconds later, she jumped. She couldn’t get that kiss out of her mind.

  She was surprised to hear Mr. Onion’s voice. She’d completely forgotten about the lawyer.

  “I have news,” said Mr. Onion. “Your Gaston Thrillkill has asked me to defend Legatum in the Celerie Wiffle lawsuit.”

  Amanda didn’t know what to say. She’d had so little to do with the man that she didn’t even know if he was a good lawyer. She’d hoped to hear something about Mr. Doodle relenting and letting Manny have his guitar, or Jackie his cookbook.

  “That’s, uh, great, Mr. Onion,” she said. “Can I help?”

  “You surely can,” said Mr. Onion. “I’m going to need a timeline and a boatload of facts. You’ll be hearing from Mr. Thrillkill, but I wanted to give you a heads up. I hope you’re not busy.”

  10

  Blixus’s Trail Goes Cold

  If she didn’t figure out how to slow down, Amanda was sure she’d get nothing done. The most important tasks were those two item ones on the list, plus Darius Plover. Period. Not the key, not David Wiffle, not the Bible, and not Thrillkill’s lawsuit. She had to locate Blixus, and she had to look at Darius Plover’s project plan and write up a response. Now.

  Ivy and Amphora might be in their room, but she had to get her computer and that was where it was. On the way she passed Mrs. Scarper in her tiny office. The matron waved as Amanda walked by. Poor woman. She’d hate to have to keep track of a bunch of teenage girls. Surely there were more fulfilling occupations.

  When Amanda got to her door it was closed. She put her ear to it and listened. Amphora was saying, “I’m sorry, Ivy, but I can’t stay here. If you want to come with me, fine, but I’m not rooming with Amanda anymore.”

  “She’s just stressed,” said Ivy. “She didn’t mean it.”

  “She’s so bossy,” said Amphora.

  That stung. Amanda thought she had conquered her tendency to tell people what to do. She opened the door and barged in.

  “I am not bossy,” she said, trying not to cry.

  “Were you listening at the door?” said Amphora. She was sitting cross-legged on her bed. Ivy was lying on her stomach on hers.

  “No,” said Amanda. “Of course not. I was just about to come in.”

  “I thought you were listening, but then again, I’m just a dilettante,” said Amphora. “Who would take me seriously?”

  “I’m sorry,” said Amanda. “You know I didn’t mean that.”

  “I do, do I? The great Amanda Lester has decreed what I do and don’t know.”

  “Amphora,” said Ivy, sitting up.

  “No, she needs to hear this,” said Amphora. “I’ve had just about enough of you, Amanda. You prance around as if you’re some kind of celebrity. Just because you like making movies does not entitle you to boss people. You’re not really a director and we’re not your actors. And I meant what I said about transferring. I’m going to move in with Prudence and Owla.”

  Amanda felt like screaming at her. Who was Amphora to tell her that she was an elitist? This was the girl who’d told David Wiffle she was more of an aristocrat than he was. But things would never get back to normal if she mentioned that.

  “I’m sorry you feel that way,” Amanda said. “However you’re right. I am bossy. I’ve been trying to fix myself but I haven’t succeeded yet. I have no excuse.”

  Amphora’s mouth dropped open. She had obviously expected an argument and Amanda’s conciliatory remarks had thrown her for a loop. She burst into tears.

  “Oh, Amanda, I’m so sorry,” she said, falling into her friend’s arms. “I didn’t mean it. I don’t know why I said such terrible things.”

  Now both girls were crying. “Me either,” sobbed Amanda. “I’m so sorry. You guys are my best friends. Please don’t be mad at me.”

  Now Ivy had joined them in their group hug. Nigel seemed confused. He wasn’t sure where to nose in and was everywhere at once, licking first one and then another of the girls.

  “I have to tell you something,” Amanda blubbered. And then she told them all about Darius Plover. Amazingly, this was one thing that Ivy had not figured out and the two of them were astonished. They’d known about Amanda’s obsession with film, but they’d never dreamed she knew anyone so famous, let alone worked for him.

  “I have to say something too,” said Ivy. “Unfortunately it isn’t something fun like Darius Plover.”

  “Go on,” said Amphora.

  “The secrets trove,” said Ivy. “We have to figure out what’s going on with it. With the teachers fighting and threatening to close the school, it could be in danger. No one is keeping track.”

  “That’s right,” said Amanda. “But I don’t have any time.”

  “We’ll handle it,” said Ivy. “All we have to do is figure out where the metadata is. Then we can make sense of the whole thing.”

  “Any ideas?” said Amanda.

  “Not a one,” said Ivy.

  Darius Plover’s project plan was clear and concise. He’d identified scenes in the film that needed more oomph and asked Amanda to come up with as many ideas as possible. She wasn’t to censor herself or worry about budgets, just brainstorm. Then, when she was finished, she was to go back and list pros and cons for each alternative. That was it. Easy peasey.

  Except that it wasn’t easy. Each scene required careful analysis. Amanda had to reread the script, think about what each segment needed to accomplish, and tweak it enough to make it a killer, but not in a way that would completely change the story.

  The assignment was tough and she spent several hours on it. Still, she was pleased with the results. She’d co
me up with some ideas for making the villains more complex. They weren’t just thugs. They felt threatened and were attempting to stabilize their world. That would add more texture to the scenes. She’d phone Darius first thing in the morning and see what he thought. For now, though, it was back to Blixus.

  She needed to approach the problem systematically, go through each option for locating the criminal logically and thoroughly. First up, the two prisoners, Jackie and Manny.

  Were they really the answer? Did they even know where Blixus was? They’d been arrested during the raid on the sugar factory and had been in Strangeways ever since. They had not seen Blixus since he and Mavis had escaped, so what were the chances they actually knew where the Moriartys were?

  If they did, they’d have to have heard through the prison grapevine or from a visitor—unless there was a way they were in touch with Moriarty directly via phone or computer. What were the odds of that? Even if they had communicated with him, he probably hadn’t told them where he was. The fewer the people who knew, the less the chance he’d be caught. No, Amanda doubted that they knew. Their requests for cookbooks and guitars were just trying it on, not legitimate offers. Scratch the prison, although she would have loved to see if Manny could actually play.

  Perhaps the Crocodile connection would reveal something about Blixus’s whereabouts. Amanda had no idea how, but they did have sort of a lead. If Crocodile worked for Blixus, he’d have to have kept in touch. Maybe his phone would yield a clue. It was possible that Blixus had even visited him. The police had said they’d discovered Wink’s fingerprints in Crocodile’s flat, but what about Blixus’s? That was easy enough to find out. She’d just ask Thrillkill.

  Unfortunately, Thrillkill told her that the only prints found at Crocodile’s flat were the man’s own and Wink’s. No Blixus. And by the way, no murder weapon or phone.

  What other clues did they have to Blixus’s whereabouts? None, really. The detectives had checked all his known hiding places, as had Scotland Yard, although from what Amanda had seen of Jeffrey Lestrade, she wasn’t holding her breath. Were there other Moriarty associates who might know, and if so, was there a way to get them to talk? Again, even if she could track them down, she doubted that they knew anything.

  Wait a minute. What about hacking their phones? Holmes had done that before, although now that she thought about it, he’d hacked the roommates’ phones, not the Moriartys’. Still, maybe he could figure out something. But that meant talking to him and she really didn’t want to do that. He’d already have looked into that possibility anyway.

  Had Blixus left a trail? How about Philip and Gavin, or Editta? They wouldn’t have done so purposely, but perhaps accidentally. If so, what would that trail look like? She decided to make a list of clues to look for:

  Crystals. Maybe, but hadn’t the kids taken all the crystals out of the van the Moriartys had been using at the quarry? Perhaps they’d had some in their pockets when they’d left, although there was no reason they should have left them for her to find. Still, an errant crystal might indicate which way they’d gone.

  Clothing. Perhaps they’d left an item behind somewhere—maybe parts of those disguises they’d been using. Not that the disguises were much to write home about, but there should be some hats and facial appliances such as eyebrows and maybe a mustache for Blixus.

  Phones. Had they been using disposable phones that might have fingerprints on them? That didn’t seem like much of a lead. Trash doesn’t sit around in bins as long as that.

  Fibers. Perhaps, but those were so small that they were worse than needles in haystacks, and where would she look?

  Pink sugar. That was an interesting idea. The stuff stuck to everything and was extremely difficult to get rid of. But when the police had found the van abandoned in Windermere, there had been no sugar nearby. If the Moriartys or Editta had got it on their feet, they would have tracked it only a short way. Another dead end.

  The gun that had killed Crocodile. Amanda wasn’t even sure Blixus had committed the murder, but if they were to find the gun, they might be able to trace it. Not that Blixus would have left it lying around.

  Therein lay the rub. Blixus Moriarty was not a sloppy man. His wife and son, on the other hand, had made plenty of mistakes. Perhaps they had left something that could lead the detectives to them. And surely the kids—Editta and the two roommates—didn’t know what they were doing, assuming they were still with the group.

  Amanda felt like pulling her hair out. None of these ideas seemed the least bit sound. Maybe it was time to take another tack.

  What about profiling them? She was good at that. If she could figure out their thinking, she might be able to predict where they’d gone with some accuracy.

  If she were a criminal trying to escape the notice of the law, where would she go? Not to relatives or friends. That would be too obvious. She wouldn’t go to any property she was known to own or rent. The boat had already been searched, although there was no reason for Blixus not to use another one.

  And then she realized what he must have done. It was so obvious. She and Simon had thought of it before, when they’d seen Blixus sail away on the Thames. If she were Blixus (an awful thought), she’d leave the country. And if that was what he’d done, they were out of luck. They’d have to trust the problem to Interpol or the local authorities in some place like Belgium or Norway and turn their attention to other things. No doubt Blixus was laughing himself silly by now. Some days being a detective was just so depressing.

  11

  Crocodile’s Flat

  Amanda had so much trouble sleeping that night that she got up at 4:00 A.M. and phoned Darius Plover. It was only 8:00 the previous night in L.A. and he was surprised to hear from her. He took a quick peek at her work and gave her a virtual pat on the back, saying he’d phone to discuss next steps.

  The police had scheduled Crocodile’s autopsy for that morning, but Amanda couldn’t stand the idea of waiting around, so at 6:00 she phoned Eustace Plantagenet and asked him if he’d take her to Crocodile’s place in Ulverston. Of course she had woken him up.

  “‘Manda, is that you?” said the English surfer dude who gave tours of Windermere. He’d been invaluable at the quarry and had kept in touch, despite Amphora’s continual attempts to flirt with him, which he took with good humor and then ignored. “Oh no, am I late for work?”

  Amanda explained that no, he wasn’t late, but if he’d do her this one favor she’d introduce him to some L.A. surfers. That got his attention and he agreed at once. He could drive her to the flat before work, but wasn’t it a crime scene and therefore off limits?

  “Not at all,” she told him blithely.

  Within a half hour he appeared at the front gate and they were off. Fortunately he had left his tram in Windermere and had brought his old Vauxhall, which was far less conspicuous and much faster.

  “I’m glad you called,” he said. “There’s something I want to talk to you about.”

  “Oh, right, the surfer thing. I’ll do that later today. I promise.”

  “No, not that,” he said. “I don’t know if you know this, but I’ve spoken to Mr. Thrillkill.”

  “Sure,” she said. “I saw you with him after the quarry thing.”

  “Yes,” he said, “but I don’t think you know what I told him.” Uh oh. She hoped he hadn’t tattled on her and her friends. Not that she could think of anything specific they’d done wrong. They were always breaking rules these days, though, and there had to be something.

  Eustace continued. “After fighting the Moriartys with you guys, I realized that being a detective was the coolest thing ever and I want to become one. He said that this was a bad time—too chaotic or something—but if I’m serious I should be prepared to prove myself, even though I’m not related to any famous detectives. Of course he swore me to secrecy, but that’s no problem. I’d never tell a soul about Legatum.”

  Amanda was gobsmacked. Not only was she unaware of this conversation, bu
t she couldn’t believe Thrillkill would have encouraged the young man. He had been so strict with Simon, whose detective connection was a bit tenuous. Now he was considering training someone who had none? On the other hand, Eustace might make an excellent detective and Thrillkill might have recognized his potential. He was conscientious, dogged, and flexible. She’d watch to see if he also had the nose for sleuthing.

  “That’s great news, Eustace,” she said. “Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.”

  “You bet I will,” he said. He seemed so excited. Who knew?

  When they arrived at Crocodile’s first-floor flat, they could see that the door was blocked with yellow crime scene tape. However upon looking in a couple of windows, they concluded that no one was there to stop them entering. It would have been weird to post a guard around the clock anyway, with manpower so squeezed and all. The local police didn’t exactly have the budget for that kind of thing.

  “What are we going to do?” said Eustace, eyeing the tape.

  “As I see it we have two choices,” said Amanda, mentally weighing the options. “Go in the door or crawl through a window.”

  “But aren’t they locked?” said Eustace.

  “Let’s take a look.”

  But before they could try the locks, Amanda saw something out of the corner of her eye—a person moving between buildings, but not an ordinary person. He was pale and scruffy, with old, tattered clothes. He—or she—looked like a zombie!

  “Come on,” she said as quietly as she could, grabbing Eustace’s hand and pulling him along with her.

  “Hey, what are we doing?” said Eustace. “We can’t get in by running away.”