Amanda Lester and the Red Spider Rumpus Page 5

  When the kids finally finished their discussion, the fake sun the gremlins had designed had moved across the fake sky. Everyone agreed that they had to get to those spiders before the lawyer did. They also agreed that it was possible he was working with Blixus, in which case they were in real trouble. Blixus had to be in a terrible rage about what they’d done to him, forcing him to admit he’d faked evidence of the wizard Merlin’s existence so he could harm the detectives and Ivy’s father. They’d made a fool of him, and between that and Nick suing to become an emancipated minor, he had to be plotting to get back at them. No one wanted to say it, but it was obvious what they were thinking: his number one target had to be Nick.

  While they were contemplating Blixus’s potential plans, Ivy’s phone beeped and she said, “It’s Fern. Let me see what she wants.” She put the phone to her ear—it read out her texts since she couldn’t see them—and said, “She’s going out with Salty. Just wanted to ask me whether the Cross-eyed Sheep or that new vegan place is better. I’m not sure why she thinks I’d know.”

  The other three looked at each other guiltily. They all knew that Fern’s boyfriend had a criminal record but they’d been afraid to tell Ivy. Salty had been arrested and convicted for assaulting a police officer, but his file was sealed and they couldn’t tell why. Ever since they’d discovered his secret they’d been worried sick about Ivy’s sister, who’d been seeing the paramedic for a while.

  Suddenly Ivy said, “All right, you guys, I’ve had just about enough of it. What is the problem with Salty?”

  The three friends knew better than to be shocked. Ivy could always tell what they were doing even though she couldn’t see them. They tried to camouflage their looks and gestures but it didn’t help. And now she knew that they knew something about Salty that she didn’t.

  They couldn’t lie because she could tell from their voices. The only thing they could do was impart the information in the least upsetting way possible.

  “It’s not a big thing,” said Amanda.

  “Of course it is,” said Ivy. “You wouldn’t look at each other like that if it weren’t.”

  “All right,” said Amanda, throwing caution to the wind. If anyone could deal with bad news it was Ivy. Besides, she’d find out anyway, one way or another. “Here it is.” She paused for a moment, hoping for a last-minute reprieve—someone popping in, an explosion, anything, but nothing came. “Salty has a record. He went to jail for assaulting a cop.”

  For a moment Ivy said nothing, but from the way she was sitting Amanda could tell she was stunned. Then she said very quietly, “And you didn’t tell me this?” She was steaming mad.

  “We didn’t want to worry you,” said Simon, bravely taking the blame.

  “Didn’t want to worry me?” screamed Ivy. “This is my sister we’re talking about! It’s a wonder she isn’t dead. He’s a paramedic. He could be a drug dealer!”

  “Hang on,” said Clive. “Just because he hit a policeman doesn’t mean he’d harm Fern. And it certainly doesn’t mean he deals drugs.”

  “Shut up,” said Ivy. “I don’t see how you can have done this to me. To her. Now what am I going to do? If I tell her she’ll have a fit. OMG, maybe he’s taken her somewhere and killed her already.”

  “Obviously not,” said Simon. “She just texted you.”

  “I don’t care,” said Ivy. “I am so mad at you I could spit. This is all your fault, Simon.”

  “Hey!” said Simon.

  “It’s not him,” said Amanda. “If anyone’s to blame, I am.”

  Ivy snorted. “I thought you were my friend, Amanda.”

  “Let’s not panic,” said Clive. “If he were going to do something to Fern, he would have already done it.”

  “Is that the logic you use when you build things?” said Ivy. “No wonder your gadgets don’t work.”

  “Ivy!” said Amanda. “That’s not fair.”

  “Shut up,” said Ivy. “This is your fault, Amanda. How are you going to fix it?”

  Amanda thought for a moment. For all they knew, Fern already knew about Salty’s background. Was there a way to find out if she did? They could hint around, see if she said anything, but that wasn’t a reliable approach. They could spy on her, but even if you ignored the ethics of that, there was no guarantee they could tell. They could try to do something to make her break up with Salty, but that was assuming facts that weren’t in evidence and it might ruin her life. No, there was only one thing they could do, and Amanda would have to be the one to do it.

  “I’ll talk to Salty,” she said.

  Now she’d put her foot in it. Of course she’d kind of had to. Ivy hadn’t given her any choice. Darn her and her super senses anyway. Well, there was no way to talk to him right then because he was with Fern. She’d text him the next day, and then she’d see what was what. She sure wasn’t looking forward to it though.

  The next morning when she phoned Salty to ask him about his record, he told her it was nothing and that she shouldn’t check up on him like that. She wished Ivy had heard the call because she couldn’t tell if he was being straight with her or making a veiled threat.

  TRANSITIONS

  After her conversation with Salty Amanda was still on edge, so she thought she’d skate into town and visit the peacocks. It was freezing cold and she was bundled up like an Eskimo. The extra padding shifted her center of gravity so much at first that she nearly fell off her board, but after a couple of minutes she adjusted and sailed into town as usual.

  When she got there she saw Eustace Plantagenet walking along the street. He was in such a hurry he almost bumped into her. He was bundled up like a scientist in Antarctica, but he still looked like a surfer with all that blond hair falling in his face.

  “Oh, sorry, Amanda,” he said, touching her arm reassuringly. “My fault. I have to get up to Legatum. They’re deciding whether to admit me today.”

  Eustace wasn’t a descendant of a famous sleuth, but he’d fought the Moriartys alongside the detectives so effectively that Thrillkill had promised to consider letting him in. He was also the wrong age—twenty-two—which made him older than the oldest students at the school. But he was still hopeful.

  “I didn’t realize that was today,” she said. “Good luck.”

  “I think I’m going to need it. I get the feeling that despite what Mr. Thrillkill said, they’re not going to want me.”

  “They all know what a great job you’ve done for us,” said Amanda. “That should count for a lot.”

  “I’ll let you know. Sorry for the rush,” he said, and was off.

  It was awfully cold for sitting on a park bench, so Amanda decided to walk around and clear her head. But when she saw the park where she had met with Darius Plover she got so upset she couldn’t bear it. She ducked into a tea shop and ordered a cuppa. Maybe it would distract her.

  Darius was dead, and she couldn’t come to grips with the loss. The great Hollywood director had been her friend and mentor and she missed him like crazy. It had all been such a waste, him breaking his leg, wandering off on crutches to search for Blixus Moriarty, and drowning in the storm of the decade. She didn’t even want to think about what his death would do to her career. That was way too selfish. What really mattered was Darius himself and his family back in the U.S.

  Why had Darius gone after Blixus? He’d been curious about the criminal, but Amanda had never realized just how much. Wasn’t it just like him though? The man was always taking on the most extreme challenges. It was one of the things that made him so dynamic. She was sure he’d intended to make a film about the Moriartys, but had he had to be so reckless about it? Couldn’t he at least have waited until he was off the crutches?

  The other thing nagging at her was the picture she’d found in Darius’s wallet. He’d been carrying around a photo of the girl who’d saved Amanda and her friends from Hugh Moriarty. It had taken them a while, but they had finally figured out that she was a model named Basilica Pashmina. Amanda had at
tempted to contact her through her Web site but she’d had no reply. What did Darius have to do with this mysterious girl anyway? Had he intended to cast her in a movie? She was beautiful. Amanda could definitely see the appeal.

  It seemed that when you got right down to it, everyone was mysterious in some way. She supposed there were people who even found her mysterious, although she couldn’t see why. She wasn’t like Professor Scribbish, or Professor Snaffle, the secrets teacher who had disappeared during the battle with Taffeta Tasmania a few weeks before. They were impenetrable. By contrast she was an open book.

  Darius had been mysterious. Arriving days late for his appointment, he had never explained what had kept him and Amanda hadn’t asked. But she was curious. Why hadn’t he at least texted to tell her he’d be late? Had he been kidnapped or something? Or was she just catastrophizing as she’d done so often since entering Legatum?

  The unspoken question, of course, was whether Blixus had killed Darius. All Amanda knew was what the police had told her, that Darius had drowned and they had found him with his crutches at his sides. The evidence implied that he’d fallen into an overflowing stream, and despite the clear blunt force trauma the autopsy couldn’t confirm that there had been foul play, only that he had hit his head. But there are no special signs when someone pushes you, and Blixus very well could have done that. He could have sneaked up behind Darius and given him a shove. The director would have lost his balance and tumbled into the water, unable to escape because of the shock and his heavy cast. That was all it would have taken, but had it happened that way? They’d probably never know.

  She wondered what would happen to the film of the King Arthur dig Darius had been working on. Of course everything had gone south, or at least sideways, when Blixus had made it seem that Liam Halpin, the head of the expedition, was committing fraud. But that didn’t mean the whole project had been invalidated. The archaeologists had found genuine King Arthur coins in the tunnels underneath Penrith. And as far as Amanda knew the dig would resume, since Liam had been cleared of all charges. At the moment the ground was frozen so it wasn’t easy to dig, but perhaps they could continue. She didn’t know.

  As Amanda was contemplating these questions, her phone buzzed. It was a text from her blowsy cousin Despina Lester, a singular woman who could be annoying and endearing at the same time.

  “Darling!” it said. “Must speak ASAP.”

  What now, Amanda thought. When Despina said ASAP it was never important. Usually she wanted Amanda to join her on some boondoggle. She loved the woman, but she really wasn’t in the mood for distractions.

  Then another text arrived. “Cupid is on his way.”

  What was that supposed to mean? If Despina thought she was going to interfere in Amanda’s disaster of a love life, she had another think coming. But then a third text arrived.

  “Ken + Charlotte. Let’s make it happen.”

  Oy. Despina wanted to get Professor Kindseth and his ex-flame Charlotte, the leader of the mysterious wretch society, back together. How had she not seen this one coming?

  The truth was that Professor Kindseth was not happy about Charlotte and her wretches moving into the tunnels under Legatum—not happy at all. They’d once been in love, but their relationship had ended badly and he had almost ruined his career trying to repair the damage. Not that Charlotte would want him either. She’d been the one to leave, after all, and as far as Amanda knew had no inclination to rekindle the flame. But Despina was relentless. She’d pester them until something exploded and somehow Amanda would find herself in the middle of it all. She could not let this happen. She’d better nip it in the bud.

  What could she say that would dissuade Despina? She couldn’t claim that Thrillkill didn’t allow fraternizing because that wasn’t true, although she didn’t know of any instances of it among the faculty. The headmaster had some kind of weird crush on Professor Browning, but as far as she knew the sketching teacher was married and nothing was going on. Other than that she had no knowledge of any romantic relationships among the teachers, although she supposed something could be happening without her knowing.

  Of course Charlotte wasn’t a teacher, not officially. She had offered to conduct art seminars, but that didn’t exactly make her a Legatum instructor. So that argument was probably out. It wouldn’t stop Despina anyway.

  Perhaps a distraction. If Despina were to get caught up in something else, maybe she’d forget about matchmaking. Wasn’t one of the wretches supposed to be helping her design a new line of juror apparel? She should be putting all her energy into that. If she did, she wouldn’t have time to meddle in other people’s affairs.

  Amanda texted back, “How’s new clothing line going?”

  Despina answered in about a second. “On hold. This more important.”

  Was she kidding? Interfering in people’s love lives was more important than her livelihood? What was her cousin thinking anyway? Now what should she say? She’d have to think of another distraction. The problem was that whatever she might come up with was likely to involve interfering in someone else’s life. Despina always put meddling first. If she had to work within that constraint, what would be the least damaging meddling she could do?

  That train of thought led her to an idea so bold it might actually work. What if Despina were to apply to Legatum? Yikes, what a concept. Despina a student alongside her and her friends? No. It would never happen. But the idea might provide a nice distraction and give Professor Kindseth some breathing room.

  She sent, “Why don’t you apply to Legatum?” Now she’d done it. There was no undo. She bit her lip.

  Despina shot back, “Not today, dear. Too much to do.”

  Hurray! She’d misunderstood. Phew. But wait, no she hadn’t. Here came another text.

  “You mean matriculate? Capital idea. I’ll speak to Mr. Thrillkill.”

  Now she’d stuck her foot in it. What was she thinking? Had the cold got to her, or was she really that stupid? Of course Despina would be interested. Being a detective would give her a license to meddle. She’d be in her glory.

  Of course it was possible the woman wouldn’t get in. She wasn’t technically descended from a famous detective. Her husband, Hill, was the one related to G. Lestrade. But if she were rejected for that reason Eustace wouldn’t get in either, and he should. He’d make a great detective, and he was very keen. Although the same was true of Despina, but in a different way.

  Amanda shouldn’t have meddled. Would it really have been so bad if Despina tried to do a little matchmaking? That was nothing compared to the prospect of her being around all day every day, sticking her nose in where it didn’t belong. She wanted to kick herself.

  The best thing to do now was shut up and mind her own business. Which was why, failing to see the irony of the idea she decided to see if she could eavesdrop and find out what was going on with Eustace’s application. She made her way back to the school (it was much warmer going uphill) and took up a position outside the teachers’ lounge.

  Amanda had a complicated relationship with privacy. While in theory she abhorred the idea of eavesdropping, she engaged in it routinely in the name of advancing the greater good. Reminding herself of her noble intentions, she fished her listening device out of her bag and inserted it in her ear.

  The place was packed. Teachers from the rebel Punitori faction, who had humbly if not very graciously returned from Scotland just recently, were in attendance, as were those who had remained at the school. In addition, the replacements for said Punitori had squeezed in, making for a larger than normal faculty that was actually too big for the number of courses the school offered. How Headmaster Thrillkill would deal with the glut no one yet knew, but for now it seemed that everyone would have a say.

  At the moment they were, in fact, discussing Eustace. As expected, some of the teachers were not happy about the prospect of admitting an outsider.

  “You know what they’re like,” said Professor Mukherjee.

&nbs
p; What was that supposed to mean? What who were like?

  “Family history is so important,” said Professor Pargeter.

  That didn’t sound good. So what if Eustace’s father was an ironmonger? He was a Plantagenet. Wasn’t a royal bloodline good enough for them? Not that he was one of those Plantagenets, the ones who had ruled England. Could he be royalty? She had no idea.

  “It’s simply impossible,” said Professor Snool. “I vote to reject.”

  Boy, were they snobby. Thrillkill had always stressed that the kids were not to judge the other students by their backgrounds, but obviously the faculty disagreed. Some of them, anyway. It was appalling.

  A few of the teachers argued that Eustace’s admission would upend the school’s reputation and render it a lower quality institution. Others said that the young man had proven himself sufficiently and should be allowed to test his mettle. But everyone was worried that if they opened the door for him they’d have to do it for everyone, and it was suggested that he apply to a police academy instead.

  After a while of this to-ing and fro-ing, Professor Feeney, the criminals and their methods teacher, said, “This discussion is completely pointless. All we’re doing is frothing. I have a proposition that will settle things once and for all.”

  The room fell silent. Professor Feeney could be very commanding.

  “Now then,” she said. “I propose . . .” and then her voice became so muffled that Amanda couldn’t hear any more. She fiddled with the listening device, moved her ear as close to the door as she could, and even went for a glass to stick to it, but nothing helped. She absolutely could not make out a word the teacher was saying. She would have to have a talk with Simon about his technology, but of course by then it would be too late.

  Professor Feeney’s proposal, whatever it was, led to some lively discussion, also too indistinct to make out. Amanda could hear Professor Tumble, the disguise teacher, and Professor Mukherjee, the legal issues teacher, as well as Professor Goodgrief, the new profiling teacher, and Professor Darktower, the logic teacher, arguing. Then, suddenly, she could make out the words again, just in time to hear that Eustace’s application had been voted down.