The Plot Thickens Read online

  ‘Since it’s just your cuff that is caught,’ said Friday, ‘can’t you pull your arm free? The material should tear off.’

  ‘I’ve tried,’ said Binky. ‘I’m stuck in too awkward a position. I can’t pull on it with enough force.’

  ‘We’ll have to get you out another way, then,’ said Friday.

  ‘Do you want me to smash the glass?’ asked Dexter.

  ‘No,’ said Friday. ‘Being wrongly accused of stealing a chocolate bar pales in comparison to being rightly accused of smashing a vending machine.’

  ‘You can’t just leave me here!’ said Binky. ‘Someone’s bound to notice. And if I’m caught with my arm in a vending machine, the Headmaster will sack me as a prefect.’

  ‘That would be a shame. But it is a miracle that you’ve been a prefect for months and he hasn’t sacked you already,’ said Melanie.

  ‘True,’ conceded Binky.

  ‘I think I can get you out,’ said Friday. ‘How much money do you have?’

  ‘Friday!’ exclaimed Melanie. ‘This is my brother you’re talking about. Are you really going to force him to pay you for your help?’

  ‘She should,’ said Binky. ‘I get in to trouble often enough. I like to know Friday is there to help me out.’

  ‘I’m not going to charge Binky,’ said Friday. ‘I need money for the vending machine.’

  ‘I hardly think now is a good time to be eating chocolate,’ said Melanie.

  ‘Just give me your change and I’ll show you,’ said Friday.

  Melanie and Dexter handed over all the loose change from their pockets. It came to a total of $3.10.

  ‘I need another forty cents,’ said Friday.

  ‘You can get a milk chocolate bar for that,’ said Melanie.

  ‘Yes, but I need a Mars Bar,’ said Friday.

  ‘I’ve got some coins,’ said Binky, ‘but they’re in my right pocket and I can’t reach them.’

  ‘I’ll get it,’ said Friday. She stepped over Binky so that one foot was balanced between his legs and the other was wedged against the vending machine. Then she bent over to reach into Binky’s pocket. Her face was jammed up against Binky’s shoulder and her hair was right in his face. He sneezed.

  ‘Achoo!’ said Binky. ‘Sorry, the feather in your pork-pie hat tickled my nose.’

  It was hard getting her fingers into Binky’s pocket because the way he was sitting was holding the material closed. She pressed forward, trying to reach her fingers in. She felt the warm metal against her fingertips when a sudden noise made her flinch.

  ‘Hello, what’s this then?’ asked Ian.

  Friday tried to look up, but that made her lose her balance and topple onto Binky.

  ‘Hello Wainscott,’ said Binky. ‘I don’t suppose we could borrow forty cents, could we?’

  Ian fished the money out of his pocket and handed it to Binky, who handed it to Friday.

  ‘Payment for another case well done?’ asked Ian.

  Friday just glared at Ian. ‘Hardly. What are you doing here? I thought you were at cricket camp.’

  ‘Been counting the days, have you?’ Ian smirked. ‘We came back a day early because of the rain.’

  ‘It’s not raining,’ noted Melanie.

  ‘It was when someone rigged the sprinklers so they couldn’t be turned off.’ Ian winked.

  Friday got up, fed the money into the vending machine, and then punched in two numbers on the keypad.

  ‘What are you doing?’ asked Binky, alarmed that Friday was operating the machine in which his arm was trapped.

  The money rattled down, and the machine started to whirr and hiss pneumatically.

  ‘Owww!’ cried Binky. ‘It’s breaking my arm.’

  The coil that Binky’s cuff was caught on started to turn.

  ‘Stay calm,’ said Friday.

  ‘Easy for you to say!’ yelled Binky. ‘It isn’t your arm.’

  ‘Stand back!’ yelled Ian. Friday turned to see him grab the fire extinguisher off the wall.

  ‘What are you doing?’ demanded Friday.

  ‘Saving Binky’s arm,’ said Ian. He held up the fire extinguisher and started to swing it at the glass.

  ‘Nooo!’ cried Friday, jumping in front of the fire extinguisher.

  Ian tried to stop the swing, but he only slowed it. The fire extinguisher banged into Friday, who banged into the vending machine. It caught her in the solar plexis, knocking the breath out of her, and she slumped to the ground.

  ‘Are you okay?’ asked Ian.

  ‘Urrgh,’ moaned Friday.

  ‘Here, have a Mars Bar,’ said Binky.

  Friday looked up to see Binky holding out the chocolate bar.

  ‘It worked,’ said Friday with a smile.

  Binky looked at his arm. ‘Yes, it did. The machine just tore the cuff button off.’

  ‘I knew it would,’ said Friday. ‘The screw conveyor had enough power to move the button, but not your arm. So the button had to give way.’

  Melanie reached into the release tray. ‘Here’s the button.’

  ‘Mmmm-mm,’ said Binky. He couldn’t say anything more eloquent because he was eating the chocolate bar.

  ‘The really intriguing question here is,’ said Friday, as she peered into the workings of the vending machine at the back, ‘why would anyone want to trap Binky’s arm in a vending machine?’

  ‘There always has to be a conspiracy with you, hasn’t there?’ said Ian. ‘It’s simple – Binky was hungry, the machine didn’t work properly, he stuck his arm into the machine. No offence, Binky, but it’s not like this sort of thing is wildly out of character for you.’

  ‘No offence taken,’ said Binky. ‘You’re entirely right. I got my foot stuck in a storm water drain last week when I tried getting a soccer ball out. This sort of thing happens to me all the time.’

  ‘But if someone did want to delay Binky for some reason,’ said Friday, ‘this would be perfect. He always uses the same vending machine, at the same time, to get the same chocolate bar. All you’d have to do is stick a lump of Blu-Tack in the vending machine so that when the spiral turned forward the chocolate bar wouldn’t fall.’

  Friday put her foot in the dispenser tray.

  ‘You’re not going to stick your leg in there, are you?’ asked Melanie.

  ‘No, I’m just going to have a look,’ said Friday. She hoisted herself up so she could look down on the shelf that the chocolate bar had come from. ‘Intriguing.’

  ‘What is it?’ asked Melanie.

  ‘It’s not a lump of Blu-Tack,’ said Friday. ‘It’s a lump of clay. Like the type we use in art class.’

  Friday climbed down from the vending machine.

  ‘The next question is – what’s the motive?’ said Friday. ‘Binky, where should you be right now?’

  ‘I’ve got a free period,’ said Binky, ‘so I normally go back to my room to study.’

  ‘You mean take a nap, don’t you?’ said Melanie.

  Binky blushed. ‘You’re not the only one who likes napping, you know.’

  ‘I know,’ said Melanie. ‘That’s how I know it’s what you really want to do.’

  ‘So perhaps the motive for trapping Binky in the vending machine,’ said Friday, ‘was really to keep him from going back to his room.’

  ‘What could be going on in my room?’ asked Binky. ‘I hope they haven’t mussed up my clothes. I spent hours doing my ironing last night.’

  ‘There’s only one way to find out,’ said Friday. ‘Let’s take a look.’

  Chapter 6

  Binky’s Room

  Friday, Melanie and Ian went with Binky back to his room. (Dexter had to go to his physics lesson, because his teacher threw whiteboard markers at late people.) When they arrived, the first thing Friday noticed was that the door was unlocked.

  ‘It’s clearly been picked by an expert,’ said Friday, as she peered closely at the lock. ‘There are no scratches around the chamber.’

  ‘That’s
more likely to be because I never lock it,’ confessed Binky.

  ‘What?’ said Friday.

  ‘Well, I play so much sport I’m forever taking my clothes on and off,’ explained Binky.

  ‘Binky!’ exclaimed Melanie. ‘Don’t be disgusting.’

  ‘It’s true,’ said Binky. ‘And every time I get changed, I always forget to swap things over from my pockets. I kept getting locked out. I found it was much easier just to never lock the door at all.’

  ‘But don’t people steal things out of your room?’ asked Ian.

  ‘Oh yes,’ said Binky. ‘But only things like pens, tennis balls and sneakers. It’s not a big deal.’

  Friday tentatively pushed the door open. Binky’s room was immaculate.

  ‘Has someone broken in and tidied everything?’ asked Friday. No one in her family had ever valued tidiness. It was a foreign condition to her.

  ‘Oh no, this is how it always looks,’ said Binky. ‘You’ve got to be organised and tidy when you’ve got a mind like a sieve, otherwise you end up in all sorts of muddles.’

  Friday looked about. There was absolutely nothing out of place. She wasn’t sure where to start. All of Binky’s books and stationery sat in ordered piles on his desk. His clothes were neatly hung or stacked in his wardrobe. Even his sporting equipment was perfectly cleaned and lined up along the wall, waiting for its next use. Unlike other boys, Binky did not have any posters of sports teams or pop stars on his walls. He just had one framed Monet print of a field full of wild flowers. Friday had seen the same print many times before in hospitals and motel rooms.

  ‘Did you pick this picture?’ Friday asked Binky.

  ‘Gosh, no,’ said Binky. ‘Don’t know much about art. It seemed nice and cheerful, though, so I didn’t want to offend anyone by changing it.’

  Friday peered closer. The picture was exactly straight, but there was an arch-shaped scuff mark near one of the bottom corners.

  ‘When did you last straighten the picture?’ asked Friday.

  ‘I never have,’ said Binky. ‘It’s always seemed perfectly level to me.’

  ‘But there’s this scuff mark near the corner,’ said Friday. ‘It’s the same colour as the frame. It’s the type of mark you make when you straighten a picture and leave a little scrape on the paintwork on the wall.’

  ‘So there is,’ said Binky.

  ‘Was the mark there before?’ asked Friday.

  Binky peered at it. Friday didn’t really expect him to know. Binky was as vague as Melanie, in his own unique way.

  ‘No, it wasn’t,’ said Binky, with surprising decisiveness. ‘I would have fixed it up if it was like that before. It would be easy enough to clean off.’ Binky leaned forward to rub the mark with his thumb.

  Friday grabbed his hand to stop him. ‘No, don’t do that,’ said Friday. ‘It’s evidence.’

  ‘Of what?’ asked Ian.

  ‘Let’s see,’ said Friday. She carefully reached out with two hands and lifted the picture off the wall. There were no other marks on the wall behind it.

  ‘Nothing,’ said Binky.

  ‘Not on the wall,’ agreed Friday. ‘But maybe here. She flipped the picture over in her hand and was shocked by her discovery.

  ‘“The Red Princess”!’ exclaimed Melanie.

  Lysander Brecht’s famous masterpiece was sticky-taped to the back of Binky’s print.

  Binky went pale. ‘I didn’t put it there!’

  ‘Of course you didn’t,’ said Friday. ‘Someone tricked you into getting your arm caught in a vending machine so that they could put it here. The question is – who?’

  ‘And why?’ said Ian.

  Friday looked closer at the painting. ‘This isn’t right.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ asked Ian.

  ‘It’s called “The Red Princess”,’ said Friday, ‘because the baby princess has red hair. Her hair is black here. Someone has painted over it.’ She dabbed the hair on the baby’s head. ‘The paint is still tacky to touch.’

  ‘Who would do that?’ asked Ian.

  ‘This crime is getting stranger and stranger,’ said Friday. ‘And there’s something odd about the face of the baby …’

  Binky looked over Friday’s shoulder. ‘I don’t see what the fuss is about, anyway. I’d rather look at the picture on the other side with all the flowers.’

  ‘We’ll have to take this to the Headmaster,’ said Friday. ‘It will be interesting to see what Mr Brecht has to say about someone painting over his great masterpiece.’

  Suddenly they heard a loud thud and a muffled cry of ‘Ow!’.

  ‘What was that?’ asked Melanie.

  ‘It sounded like it came from next door,’ said Binky.

  Friday was not asking questions. She had already darted out of the room and was running down the corridor to whip open Binky’s neighbour’s door.

  ‘Aha!’ cried Friday. Then she realised it was just Epstein lying on the floor, having apparently fallen off a chair. ‘Oh, it’s you.’

  Epstein was rubbing his shin and wincing. His desk chair was lying on its side. Friday glanced about the room. She noticed there was an air vent in the shared wall between Epstein’s room and Binky’s.

  ‘Were you listening in to our conversation next door?’ asked Friday.

  ‘No,’ said Epstein.

  ‘Then why were you standing on a chair?’ asked Friday.

  ‘I was changing a lightbulb,’ said Epstein.

  Friday looked at the illuminated lightbulb. ‘Your lightbulb doesn’t need changing,’ she observed.

  ‘I’d just finished changing it,’ said Epstein.

  Friday glanced in the rubbish bin. It was empty. ‘Then where is the old bulb?’

  Epstein didn’t say anything. He just pouted.

  ‘You’re a terrible liar,’ said Friday.

  ‘All Binky does is exercise and snore loudly,’ said Epstein. ‘Of course I was going to be curious when he suddenly has a whole group of people in his room, having some sort of animated conversation.’

  ‘Did you hear anyone enter Binky’s room in the last half hour?’ asked Friday.

  ‘No,’ said Epstein, shaking his head.

  ‘Really?’ said Friday. ‘My friend Melanie can tell if a person is lying.’

  Friday turned to Melanie.

  ‘He’s not,’ said Melanie. ‘And it’s easy to tell when Epstein’s lying because his face goes red. Although his face is already red from hurting himself in the fall. But even so, I know he’s not lying.’

  ‘So someone silently snuck into Binky’s room and stuck the “The Red Princess” to the back of his picture,’ said Friday.

  ‘You found “The Red Princess”?’ said Epstein.

  ‘Yes,’ said Friday. ‘I suppose we had better return it to the Headmaster and Mr Brecht.’

  Mr Brecht stared long and hard at the painting for about five seconds before surprising everyone by bursting into laughter. Friday, Melanie, Binky, Epstein and Ian had all gathered in the Headmaster’s office. They had expected yelling and recriminations, possibly tears. They hadn’t expected the great artist to find it funny.

  ‘Aren’t you upset that your painting has been vandalised?’ asked Friday.

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Mr Brecht, taking a closer look. ‘Whoever did it has nice brushstrokes. Who’s to say it’s not an improvement?’

  ‘But it’s not your original artistic vision anymore,’ said Ian.

  ‘Most of that stuff is all twaddle,’ said Mr Brecht. ‘A good conservator will be able to remove the black hair easily enough. It’s a prank. An elegantly executed prank. I’m not going to get my knickers in a twist over that.’

  ‘Thank you, Mr Brecht,’ said the Headmaster. ‘On behalf of the school, we’re grateful that you can be so understanding. It appears that we are not able to display the painting with the security it requires. If you would like to arrange for it to be stored somewhere safely – a bank vault, perhaps …’

  ‘Hang
it in the reception area, for all I care,’ said Mr Brecht. ‘Miss Priddock will keep an eye on it. Or, rather, anybody who comes in will have an eye on her and not notice the painting.’

  ‘Aren’t you worried that there might be another attack on the picture?’ asked Friday.

  ‘I’m sure whoever the prankster is has enjoyed their little joke and is ready to move on with their life,’ said Mr Brecht. ‘Now that’s all resolved, if you don’t mind, I need to get back to my classroom.’

  ‘You have a class waiting?’ asked the Headmaster.

  ‘No, a lovely Camembert cheese,’ said Mr Brecht as he headed out the door. ‘I’ve been looking forward to having it for afternoon tea.’

  ‘He seems awfully relaxed about the whole thing,’ said Melanie. ‘I’m all for being relaxed, but he seems to be taking relaxation to a new level.’

  ‘Probably been breathing in too many paint fumes,’ said Epstein.

  ‘I suspect Mr Brecht knows something we don’t,’ said Friday.

  ‘Everyone knows something I don’t,’ said Melanie.

  Chapter 7

  The Mystery of the Missing Time

  Friday headed towards her history classroom. She knew she was going to be early, but that suited her just fine. It would give her a chance to read her book. Now that the painting had been recovered, Friday could relax and really enjoy An Analysis of Gut Bacteria. She never realised you could know so much about a person from the micro organisms living in their intestines.

  Melanie wasn’t with Friday because she had been given a detention by the PE teacher for refusing to do a star jump. Their previous PE teacher had long ago given up trying to get Melanie to do anything. But the new teacher, Mr Fontana, was young and enthusiastic and hadn’t realised the enormous strength of will Melanie was capable of when it came to refusing to do any form of exercise.

  Melanie claimed she was a conscientious objector. The teacher declared that Melanie would not be allowed to go to lunch until she had completed just one repetition of the exercise. So Friday had done the only thing she could for her friend. She’d gone to the dining hall, picked up an extra serving of frittata, wrapped it in foil and put it on Melanie’s desk so she could eat it later. She had one hundred per cent confidence in her friend that the star jump would not be performed.