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  ‘BARNES!’

  Friday turned around to see the Headmaster yelling at her from the window of the administration building.

  ‘Get in here, I need to talk to you,’ said the Headmaster. He slammed the window quickly before it was showered with a volley of mud thrown by the students below.

  When Friday and Melanie reached the door of the administration building, it was locked.

  ‘Let me in!’ called Friday.

  ‘Can’t, I’m not allowed to open the door for anyone except Friday Barnes,’ said a familiar voice.

  ‘Binky, is that you?’ asked Friday.

  ‘Yes,’ said Binky. ‘Is that you, Friday? Or someone pretending to be you?’

  ‘Why on earth would anyone pretend to be me?’ asked Friday.

  ‘Word got out that the Headmaster has a large supply of chocolate biscuits in the admin block,’ said Binky. ‘Mirabella Peterson has been doing increasingly desperate things to try to get in here.’

  ‘It’s really Friday,’ said Melanie. ‘Let us in.’

  ‘Melanie, is that you?’ asked Binky.

  Binky was Melanie’s brother, so he really should have recognised her voice, but his strength did not lie in thinking. But he was very tall and strong, so he was the person to go to if you needed a door guarded against a horde of chocolate-starved girls.

  ‘Just let us in,’ ordered Melanie.

  The door unlocked and Binky peeked around the side. ‘I’m so glad to see you,’ said Binky. ‘I don’t like having this kind of responsibility.’

  ‘Why isn’t Debbie with you?’ asked Friday.

  ‘When the riot broke out, her father had her airlifted back to Norway,’ said Binky.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ said Friday.

  ‘It’s all right,’ said Binky. ‘I’ve started learning Norwegian. As soon as I finish school, I’m going to go to Norway and win her back.’

  ‘Bra for deg,’ said Friday.

  ‘What?’ said Binky.

  ‘I said “good for you” in Norwegian,’ said Friday.

  ‘Oh, I haven’t got that far,’ said Binky. ‘I can only say “yes” and “sorry”.’

  ‘Not yes and no?’ asked Friday.

  ‘No,’ said Binky. ‘Saying “no” sounds rude.’

  ‘Barnes, get in here!’ said the Headmaster. He was standing in the doorway to his office.

  Friday and Melanie followed him in and he slammed the door shut behind them.

  ‘Why did you fire all the teachers?’ asked Friday.

  ‘I didn’t,’ said the Headmaster.

  ‘Okay, why did the school council fire all the teachers?’ asked Friday.

  ‘They didn’t, either,’ said the Headmaster.

  ‘But what about the letters the teachers received?’ asked Friday.

  ‘They were forgeries,’ said the Headmaster.

  ‘Really?’ said Friday. ‘If someone was that good at forging things, why would they forge termination letters? Surely forging bond certificates would be a more efficient use of their time.’

  ‘I can’t fathom the motives behind why the crazy students and staff do the things they do,’ said the Headmaster. ‘I just wish they would stop it and go back to blowing spitballs and stealing mascots like at normal schools.’

  ‘Can’t you call the teachers and explain?’ asked Friday.

  ‘I’ve tried,’ said the Headmaster. ‘But the termination letters are so specific they don’t believe me. They’re not just form letters. They give detailed accounts of all the teachers’ failings.’

  ‘Like Mr Atwood’s drinking problem?’ asked Melanie.

  ‘I didn’t know that Mr Atwood had a drinking problem!’ exclaimed the Headmaster.

  ‘I’m sure he doesn’t,’ said Melanie. ‘I must have misunderstood. He probably has a persistent cough and that’s why he keeps having to pretend he dropped a pencil and take sips from a bottle under his desk.’

  ‘No, Mr Atwood’s letter accused him of being a bigamist,’ said the Headmaster.

  ‘That sounds a bit far-fetched,’ said Friday. ‘How could anybody afford to have two wives on a teacher’s salary?’

  ‘He’s actually got three wives and they are all extremely successful business executives,’ said the Headmaster.

  ‘Ah,’ said Melanie, ‘no wonder he has to drink. It must be exhausting not getting their names wrong.’

  ‘It turns out several staff members have criminal records,’ said the Headmaster.

  ‘Really?’ said Friday. ‘Who?’

  ‘Mr Davies has a juvenile conviction for using illegal explosives,’ said the Headmaster. ‘Apparently, when he was nine years old, he submitted a model of a volcano to his school science fair and he used something more powerful than baking soda and vinegar in his explosion.’

  ‘Who else?’ asked Melanie.

  ‘Mrs Cannon,’ said the Headmaster.

  ‘That doesn’t surprise me,’ said Friday.

  ‘She has a conviction for espionage,’ said the Headmaster. ‘It appears that when she was nineteen she travelled with a dance troupe to Cuba. Fidel Castro caught her performance at a local club and invited her to dinner, where she gave a detailed analysis of the causes of the economic problems in the Western world. Her defence was she was just making small talk.’

  ‘And the forger knew all this,’ said Friday.

  ‘Their information was impeccable,’ said the Headmaster.

  ‘And exhaustive,’ said Friday. ‘It would take an enormous amount of research to dig up dirt on every teacher in the school.’

  ‘I need you to find out who it is,’ said the Headmaster.

  ‘Can you show me one of the letters?’ asked Friday.

  ‘No, I don’t have copies,’ said the Headmaster. ‘You’ll have to go and see the teachers.’

  ‘Where are they?’ asked Friday.

  ‘Most of them have gone home,’ said the Headmaster. ‘But a few stalwarts have taken up residence in town at the pub.’

  ‘If you give us a lift into town we’ll talk to them,’ said Friday.

  ‘Can’t you ride a bicycle?’ asked the Headmaster. ‘Last time I went into town they egged my car.’

  ‘All right,’ said Friday. ‘But bicycle-riding will increase my fee.’

  ‘Your fee?!’ exclaimed the Headmaster. ‘Where is your school pride? Won’t you do this for Highcrest Academy?’

  ‘I’ll do it for one semester of free board and tuition,’ said Friday. ‘That’ll have me paid up until halfway through next year.’

  ‘How can I be expected to run a school if I give board and tuition away?’ asked the Headmaster.

  ‘If you don’t get your teachers back, you won’t have a school,’ said Friday. ‘So not paying me would be a false economy.’

  ‘All right, I agree to your terms. Get going, then,’ said the Headmaster.

  ‘You’re forgetting something,’ said Friday.

  ‘I am?’ asked the Headmaster.

  ‘You need to lend us a bicycle,’ said Friday.

  Chapter 5

  In Town

  It turned out that the only bicycle at the school was a 1950s tandem cruiser, which was probably a good thing because there was no way Melanie had any intention of doing any pedalling. Luckily, the town was only five kilometres away and most of the journey was downhill, so it took Friday and Melanie an hour and a half to get there. This may seem like a long time to cycle five kilometres, but they did fall off twice. The second time they punctured a tyre and Melanie fell asleep in the grass while Friday was changing the inner tube. Then it took some time for Friday to wake Melanie up enough for her to be able to balance in her seat.

  When they finally rolled into town Friday was sweaty, dirty and very scratched up. Somehow, despite sleeping in a ditch and falling off a bicycle twice, Melanie managed to look relaxed and well presented.

  ‘There are the teachers,’ said Friday.

  Several members of the teaching staff were sitting in the beer garde
n out the front of the pub. It was a beautiful sunny day. The pub looked very hospitable. Although Mr Maclean had taken his shirt off and was sunbathing.

  ‘Ew,’ said Melanie.

  ‘I know,’ said Friday. ‘Remind me to report him to the police before we go back.’

  ‘Hello!’ called Mrs Cannon, waving to the girls. ‘Have you come for a chat? Let me buy you both an orange juice.’

  ‘This isn’t a social call,’ said Friday. ‘The Headmaster has hired me to investigate the forged termination letters.’

  ‘Ha!’ said Mrs Cannon. ‘He’s still using that excuse, is he?’

  ‘It’s not my fault I have ringworm!’ declared Mr Maclean. ‘My union representative says it’s not grounds for termination.’

  ‘My name is Mrs Cannon,’ said Mrs Cannon. ‘Stop calling me “your union representative”. It makes me sound like I’m concerned for your welfare, and I can assure you I’m not.’

  ‘You’re the union representative?’ asked Friday.

  ‘I am,’ said Mrs Cannon.

  ‘But you hate doing things,’ said Melanie.

  ‘I know,’ said Mrs Cannon. ‘Which is why I care so passionately about the union movement. The only thing that galvanises me into action is when someone wants me to do more work.’

  ‘Have you got one of the termination letters?’ asked Friday. ‘Perhaps it holds a clue.’

  ‘I’m reluctant to show them to you, girls,’ said Mrs Cannon. ‘They are all deeply personal, offensive and dangerously truthful. Who knew the staff at Highcrest Academy had done so many dreadful things in the past?’

  ‘I didn’t mean to poison the Indonesian ambassador,’ said Mrs Marigold, the school cook, bursting into tears.

  The tears shocked Friday and Melanie more than the revelation that the school cook had poisoned someone. Mrs Marigold was such a battleaxe and it took a lot to rattle her.

  ‘There there, dear,’ said Mrs Cannon. ‘No one blames you. If they are going to sell rat poison in boxes the same size and shape as sea salt, what can they expect?’

  ‘Besides, it only qualifies you more for cooking at Highcrest,’ said Mr Maclean. ‘There are so many students who deserve to be poisoned.’

  ‘Mr Maclean, shame on you! Threatening a culinary assault on children will not help our cause,’ said Mrs Cannon. ‘Putting your shirt back on might, though.’

  ‘There must be one letter we can look at,’ said Friday.

  ‘I suppose you can look at mine,’ said Mrs Cannon. ‘The accusations of espionage have all been a matter of public record, anyway. If anything, the letter is a sad reflection on the former headmaster’s ability to do background checks. But I was very thin and pretty thirty years ago, so I can’t blame him for his high opinion of my other assets.’ Mrs Cannon reached into her handbag and pulled out a pink sheet of paper.

  ‘At least they used pretty stationery,’ said Melanie.

  ‘It’s traditional for termination letters to be printed on pink paper,’ said Friday.

  ‘It’s helpful, really,’ said Mrs Cannon. ‘It saves you from having to read the letter. You can just start crying as soon as you see the colour of the paper. Although, of course, it can make Valentine’s Day very awkward.’

  Friday scanned the letter. ‘It all looks very straightforward,’ she said. ‘Apart from the shocking details of your sordid past, this is a perfectly formal standard termination letter.’

  ‘The stationery looks authentic,’ said Melanie. ‘With the school crest embossed in the letterhead.’

  Friday ran her hand over the raised print.

  ‘Someone could have stolen the stationery,’ said Melanie.

  ‘The school council wouldn’t have had sixty sheets of pink letterhead,’ said Friday. ‘They would have had to get it printed specially.’ She held the sheet of paper up so the sun shone through it.

  ‘What are you looking for?’ asked Melanie.

  ‘Watermarks,’ said Friday. ‘All good-quality stationery has a semi-transparent watermark made into the paper. Oh dear …’

  ‘What is it?’ said Mrs Cannon.

  ‘I can’t tell exactly,’ said Friday, ‘because the passage about you teaching Fidel Castro the lambada is obscuring the picture. Mr Maclean, show me your letter.’

  ‘I will not,’ said Mr Maclean. ‘It is very rude.’

  ‘Show her your letter,’ said Mrs Cannon, ‘or I’ll tell her about the time you nearly got fired for skinny-dipping in the swamp.’

  ‘That’s a breach of confidentiality!’ protested Mr Maclean. ‘Besides, I was not skinny-dipping. I had my underwear on. I just didn’t want to get my chinos wet when I was caught out by rising tidewater on the far side of the swamp.’

  ‘That’s what they all say,’ said Mrs Cannon, grabbing Mr Maclean’s shirt from the back of the chair it hung on and fishing the letter out of the top pocket.

  ‘Hey!’ yelled Mr Maclean.

  ‘That will serve you right for sunbathing in a public place while people are trying to keep their breakfast down,’ said Mrs Cannon, handing the letter over to Friday.

  Friday held up Mr Maclean’s letter. The watermark was clearer in this one.

  ‘Can you see anything?’ asked Melanie.

  ‘Yes,’ said Friday. ‘A face.’

  ‘Really?’ said Melanie.

  ‘Take a look,’ said Friday. ‘Does it remind you of anyone?’

  Melanie looked at the watermark.

  ‘Beautiful smile, piercing eyes, floppy hair – it looks like … Ian!’ said Melanie.

  ‘And can you read the writing beneath?’ said Friday.

  ‘Ego omnes seducti estis?’ said Melanie. ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘It’s Latin,’ said Friday. ‘It means, “I fooled you all”.’

  ‘Oh, Ian,’ said Melanie. ‘So this means he’s the one who forged the letters?’

  ‘I can’t believe he would do something so large-scale,’ said Friday.

  ‘Well, that’s because you weren’t here,’ said Melanie. ‘You didn’t see how lost he was without you.’

  ‘Don’t start that again,’ said Friday.

  ‘He missed you dreadfully,’ said Melanie. ‘He barely said anything sarcastic. And when he did, none of us were smart enough to understand what he was talking about. He must have cooked all this up for fun.’

  ‘He certainly seemed to be enjoying the catapult back at the school,’ said Friday, ‘but this seems too cruel for him.’

  Melanie put her arm around Friday. ‘That’s because you love him, so you are blind to his weaknesses.’

  ‘Just like me and Fidel,’ said Mrs Cannon.

  ‘You loved Fidel Castro?’ asked Friday.

  ‘No, he was in love with me,’ said Mrs Cannon. ‘Just because he’s a communist dictator, doesn’t mean he can’t have good taste in ladies.’

  ‘I suppose I’ll have to tell the Headmaster,’ said Friday glumly.

  ‘No need,’ said Mr Maclean, tucking his mobile phone into his trouser pocket. ‘I just texted him what you uncovered. I told him we would all be ready to resume work first thing tomorrow.’

  ‘You are such a goody-two-shoes,’ said Mrs Cannon.

  ‘We’d better get back to the school,’ said Friday, ‘before the Headmaster overreacts. I’m sure there must be more to this.’

  Melanie and Friday jumped back on their bicycle and hurried back to the school as fast as they could. Unfortunately this was not terribly fast. Going back was mainly uphill. And their legs were tired from the downhill ride into town. It was two hours before they cycled painstakingly slowly up the gravel driveway to the administration building, lumbered off the bicycle and staggered inside to confront the Headmaster.

  Chapter 6

  The Bitter Farewell

  ‘Headmaster,’ said Friday, struggling for breath, ‘you mustn’t overreact.’

  ‘How dare you barge into my office!’ barked the Headmaster. ‘Just because you’re in here all the time from causing trouble, do
esn’t mean you can waltz in whenever you like.’

  ‘I think there’s more to this than meets the eye,’ said Friday.

  ‘I’m very grateful to you for finding the culprit and resolving the industrial dispute,’ said the Headmaster. ‘You’ll get your board and tuition covered. Isn’t that enough?’

  ‘I don’t believe Ian would do this,’ said Friday.

  ‘Oh, I see,’ said the Headmaster. ‘You didn’t realise it was your boyfriend you were dropping in it.’

  ‘He’s not my boyfriend,’ said Friday.

  ‘Yes, yes,’ said the Headmaster, ‘you can delude yourself, but you can’t expect the rest of us not to notice what we see with our own eyes.’

  ‘My opinion is based on fact and reason,’ said Friday.

  ‘And just a little bit of warm affection,’ said Melanie. ‘Ian is seriously handsome. It’s hard to believe someone so good-looking would do something so ugly.’

  ‘I’m just asking you to wait while I investigate further before you take action,’ said Friday.

  The Headmaster sighed. ‘You’re too late,’ he said. ‘I confronted Wainscott immediately. He laughed. He didn’t deny it.’

  ‘What would be the point when there was so much evidence against him,’ said Friday sadly.

  ‘That’s exactly what he said,’ said the Headmaster. ‘It’s unnerving how simpatico you two are.’

  ‘So you suspended him?’ asked Friday.

  ‘He sacked the entire staff two days ago!’ said the Headmaster. ‘Several of them have found other jobs. Some have taken off on holidays, leaving no contact details. And Vice Principal Dean was so devastated to be fired that he … well, that’s none of your business.’

  ‘Had a mental breakdown?’ guessed Friday.

  ‘How did you know?’ asked the Headmaster.

  ‘I didn’t,’ said Friday. ‘But it makes sense. He was never very stable.’

  ‘Even when the teachers come back tomorrow it will take weeks, if not months, before things return to normal,’ said the Headmaster, slumping in his seat.

  ‘What are you saying?’ asked Friday, although her blood chilled as she feared the worst.