Friday Barnes Girl Detective Read online

  “I know,” wailed Delia. “What am I going to do?”

  “Leave it to me,” said Friday reassuringly. She couldn’t help but like this disarmingly attractive and weepy girl. “I’ll break into the office and find the evidence to prove your innocence.”

  “But then you’ll get expelled, too,” wailed Delia even louder.

  “I doubt it,” said Friday. “As long as I’m right, which I usually am, the Headmaster would be very churlish to expel me for a little harmless breaking and entering. Come along.” Friday got up and went over to examine the lock on the Headmaster’s door.

  “You want to do it now?!” exclaimed Delia. “In broad daylight?”

  “It’s always better to perpetrate crimes in broad daylight,” said Friday as she riffled through her backpack before taking a tension wrench, a stethoscope, and a homemade lock pick made from a flattened piece of umbrella hinge. “You bump into fewer things if you can see what you’re doing. And people get tremendously grumpy if they have to get out of bed in the middle of the night to confront you with your misdeeds.” Friday knelt on the floor, put the stethoscope in her ears and the other end against the lock, inserted the pick and tension wrench into the shaft, and started jiggling the pins with her pick.

  “How long is this going to take?” asked Delia, nervously looking about. “Someone could walk by at any moment.”

  “Picking a lock usually takes between seven and fifteen minutes,” said Friday as she concentrated on her task. “It is not a matter of skill, as commonly depicted. It is a matter of trial and error and the inherent luck in dealing with any matter that involves the law of probability.”

  The lock clicked open.

  “Fortunately for us, our Headmaster has chosen a very cheap lock,” said Friday with a smile.

  It was a large, elegant room that had been ostentatiously decorated with antiques and leather-bound books, to remind whoever sat down in front of the desk that the man on the other side was extremely important.

  Delia didn’t want to be spotted by a passerby in the corridor, so she moved to step into the room.

  Friday stopped her. “Stay still,” whispered Friday. “This is a crime scene. You must not touch anything, especially with your feet.”

  From her position in the doorway Friday systematically scanned every detail in the room. “Lend me your phone,” she said to Delia.

  “I don’t have one,” said Delia. “It’s against school rules.”

  “I know you have a phone in your inside jacket pocket,” said Friday, “because it dug into my shoulder when you collapsed on me weeping. I’m sure that someone with the means to bribe a member of the janitorial staff can get a phone smuggled into a boarding school.”

  Delia reluctantly took the phone from her jacket and handed it to Friday. But Friday didn’t make any calls. Instead she turned on the camera function and started taking close-up pictures of the carpet. She systematically crawled over every inch of the floor, taking photos of everything.

  “Can you hurry up?” whispered Delia urgently. “The Headmaster is sure to return soon.”

  “I don’t know what you’re worried about,” said Friday as she moved on to the desk and started taking even closer photographs of seemingly nothing, because the desk was entirely empty. “You’re being expelled anyway. It’s not like things can get any worse for you.”

  “You don’t know my father,” said Delia sadly. “He’s been sending away for brochures to military school.”

  “Your father is not going to send you to military school,” said Friday, who now produced a tape measure and notebook, and started jotting down precise notes about all the measurements of the desk.

  “He’s not?” asked the girl.

  “No, you are habitually clumsy,” said Friday. “The scuff marks on your shoes show that you trip an unusual amount. You are flighty and emotional. Any sensible man would not want a child like that to be trained in the use of firearms, and I presume your father must be a sensible man, because he can afford to send you here. No, if he’s really cross with you, the worst he’ll do is send you to a public school.”

  Delia gasped. “Noooo!” she cried.

  “Shhh,” said Friday. “Someone will hear you.”

  And Friday was entirely right because the next second the Headmaster burst into the office.

  “What is the meaning of this?!”

  Chapter

  9

  A Problem Solved

  “Ah, Headmaster,” said Friday. “My name is Friday Barnes. Pleased to meet you.” She held out her hand for him to shake, but he ignored it. “My acquaintance Delia Michaels has asked me to investigate the wrongful allegation against her regarding the theft of the memorial carriage clock on your desk.”

  “Of all the impertinence—” began the Headmaster.

  “Before you continue,” interrupted Friday, “you should know I can prove she did not take it. So if I were you, I’d hear me out before you made any wild allegations, which Delia’s no doubt litigious father would not be happy to hear about.”

  The Headmaster visibly warred with himself. His eye twitched as he pressed his lips together and scowled. He was in his early sixties and had been a teacher for over forty years, so he could remember the days when you were allowed to whack children for being naughty—and he missed those days dreadfully. “She was caught red-handed, sneaking out of my office with my spare keys in her hand,” seethed the Headmaster, struggling to maintain his indoor voice.

  “You didn’t tell me that,” said Friday, turning to Delia. “That is pretty incriminating.”

  “I know,” sobbed Delia. “I guess going to military school won’t be so bad. I’m not afraid of marching. It’s the haircut I’m worried about.”

  “Never fear,” said Friday. “Your golden locks are safe. Because I can prove it wasn’t you who took the clock.”

  “Then where is the clock?” demanded the Headmaster.

  “Exactly,” said Friday. “Didn’t you think it was odd that Delia didn’t have the clock on her, if you thought she was the thief?”

  “I assumed she had an accomplice,” said the Headmaster, “or she threw it outside into the bushes. The students at this school have a bizarre obsession with throwing things in bushes.”

  “That is not what happened. The carpet fibers do not support your hypothesis,” announced Friday.

  “The what?!” exploded the Headmaster. He probably would have lunged for Friday at this point, except he had a heart condition so he didn’t think he had the agility to catch an eleven-year-old anymore.

  “From my close observation of the carpet fibers, I can see that Delia did indeed go to your desk,” said Friday.

  “I thought you were going to clear my name!” wailed Delia.

  “But she did not go to the front of the desk where the carriage clock was located. No, her size-six Mary Janes went all the way around to the drawers on the other side, where she took your keys so that she could let herself into the kitchen and eat the fresh pastries that had been delivered for this morning’s breakfast.”

  “How on earth can you tell all that from carpet fibers?” demanded the Headmaster.

  “I can tell she went to the drawer from the carpet fibers, and I know she took the key because she had it on her when you found her,” explained Friday. “And I know she has a great passion for sticky Danishes because even now there are crumbs of flaky pastry about her collar and cuffs.”

  “Then who did steal the clock and where is it?” asked the Headmaster. “Tell me that if you are so clever.”

  “You have an excellent cleaner,” observed Friday.

  “You’re not saying it was Manuela?!” gasped the Headmaster. He had a great fondness for his cleaner. She was the only member of the staff who was even more pedantic and grumpy than he was.

  “I am observing that she does excellent work,” said Friday. “The only reason I could track Delia’s movements so accurately across the carpet is because your cleaner has done such a wonderful job of vacuuming. Look at the beautifully precise lines where she vacuums up and down. It’s like a football field. You can tell she takes great pride in the accuracy of her corners.”

  “I can’t see her corners,” said the Headmaster.

  “Exactly,” said Friday. “Only a precise expert can turn a vacuum cleaner a hundred and eighty degrees without leaving any pivot marks in the carpet and yet still get the dust out of every corner. She must concentrate very hard on what she is doing, which is how she came to bump your desk.”

  “What?”

  “Look at the deep indentations two inches from each of the feet of your desk,” said Friday. “That shows where your desk stood yesterday. She would have been concentrating so hard on your dirty carpet that she inadvertently bumped the desk with her hip. Perhaps because she, too, has been eating too many pastries lately. Really, Headmaster, it is tantamount to entrapment to get a whole shipment of mouthwateringly delicious pastries delivered in the middle of the night. Of course people are going to try to steal them. People think much less rationally at that time, especially when they are hungry from doing all the vacuuming.”

  “But why did she steal the clock?” asked the Headmaster.

  “Manuela didn’t steal your clock,” said Friday, rolling her eyes. “She bumped your desk with her hip.”

  “So?” asked the Headmaster.

  “That caused the clock to topple off your desk into the bin,” said Friday.

  “The bin?” said the Headmaster. “But that’s not where I keep the bin.”

  “No, that’s where Manuela puts the bin when she is vacuuming, and she didn’t hear it fall in because she was listening to Portuguese lessons on her iPod,” said Friday.

  “How on earth can you know that?” demanded the Headmaster.

  “I’ll admit that’s just a guess,” said Friday. “But a guess I am sure is entirely right, because Manuela is not Portuguese.”

  “What?” blustered the Headmaster.

  “She just pretends to be,” continued Friday. “I suspect because she is in the witness protection program.”

  “How could you know that?” asked the Headmaster.

  “Because anyone this good at vacuuming,” said Friday, “could be earning a six-figure salary working for a very rich person with allergies.”

  “This is the most ridiculous poppycock I have ever heard,” spluttered the Headmaster.

  “Really?” said Friday. “But I can prove it all.”

  “You’ll need more than carpet fibers to back you up,” said the Headmaster.

  “Then how about this?” said Friday as she strode over to the corner of the room where the Headmaster kept his wastepaper bin, reached down through the crumpled papers on the top, and pulled out the carriage clock.

  “My clock!” exclaimed the Headmaster.

  “As you can see, it stopped at precisely 11:14. That would be when it fell into the bin,” said Friday.

  “This girl could have staged all this,” said the Headmaster, indicating Delia.

  “Really?” said Friday. “I’ve only known her five minutes, and I know that such a thing would be far beyond the capabilities of her intellect or guile. You’ve read her report cards. You really should know better.”

  The Headmaster could see he was beaten. He was not going to get to expel anyone today. It was a shame. Expelling a student always instilled a healthy dose of fear in the other students. And best of all he didn’t have to refund the school fees. He had to back out of this situation with his dignity intact. “The girl did still break into my office, steal my keys, and attempt to steal food from the kitchen.”

  “Surely falsely accusing her of a much greater crime, threatening her with expulsion, and shaming her in the eyes of her family is punishment enough,” said Friday. “Besides, it would be dreadful if a story got out to the papers about how Highcrest Academy students are forced to steal food because you don’t feed them enough.”

  “Are you threatening me?” asked the Headmaster.

  “I wasn’t,” admitted Friday. “But now that you’ve given me the idea, it does sound like a good one.”

  The Headmaster went red in the face and clenched his fists, but he could not think of what to do, perhaps because anger was making blood rush through his ears and the sound was distracting him.

  Suddenly the door burst open and Miss Harrow rushed in.

  “What the devil are you interrupting for?” barked the Headmaster.

  “I saw it!” exclaimed Miss Harrow. “I was collecting lichen samples in the swamp, when I looked up and saw…” Her voice trailed off.

  “Saw what?” asked Friday.

  “I don’t know. He was some sort of savage wild man, half ape or werewolf,” said Miss Harrow. “His eyes were terrifying, like those of a swamp yeti!”

  “For goodness’ sake,” said the Headmaster, “you’re a scientist. You of all people should know that yetis don’t exist. We’re trying to clamp down on these fanciful stories before they damage the school’s reputation.”

  “Whatever it was,” said Miss Harrow, “it was dangerous.”

  “It’s probably just some older boy trying to scare sixth graders,” said the Headmaster.

  “That thing was no boy,” said Miss Harrow.

  The Headmaster sagged. It was bad enough having to deal with students, but hysterical staff and fictional creatures were just too much. He wished he hadn’t already eaten the chocolate bar he had snuck into his desk that morning. The Headmaster didn’t want to deal with any crisis, but he certainly didn’t want to deal with two at a time, so he turned to Delia and Friday.

  “Just get out of my office!” he barked at Delia.

  “Thank you, sir,” said Delia happily.

  “But you, Barnes,” said the Headmaster.

  “Yes, sir?” said Friday.

  “Why was it you were sent to me?”

  “I hurt my head in an accident with a car and a statue of Socrates,” Friday reminded him.

  “Oh yes,” said the Headmaster. “Are you going to sue the school?”

  “No, sir,” said Friday.

  “Good,” said the Headmaster. “Then we needn’t talk about it further. I’d like to try to get through the first week of the term without any new lawsuits. Now both of you get out of here.”

  The two girls turned to leave.

  “And, girls,” the Headmaster called after them, “I don’t want either of you spreading the story of this ridiculous swamp business. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Absolutely,” said Delia earnestly.

  They left, closing the door behind them.

  “Thank you,” said Friday as she and Delia scuttled away from the office, keen to get as much distance as possible between themselves and the Headmaster in case he changed his mind.

  “Why are you thanking me?” asked Delia. “I’m the one who is tremendously grateful to you.”

  “Yes, but you are the one who got me off for stumbling headfirst into a statue of Socrates,” said Friday. “The Headmaster was too distracted by your problem to deal properly with mine.”

  Delia surprised Friday by wrapping her in a big hug. Friday had not often been hugged in her life. When people in her family hugged it was always an embarrassed and awkward affair, which was brought to an end as quickly as possible. But Delia gave her a good affectionate squeeze.

  “I think you’re wonderful,” announced Delia. “Here’s your money.”

  Friday was so dazed by Delia’s unexpected affection that she entirely forgot to complain about the bills coming from inside Delia’s sock.

  “Now I’ve got to go and tell my roommate about the swamp yeti,” said Delia.

  “But you promised you wouldn’t tell anyone,” Friday reminded her.

  “Oh yes, but I can’t not tell my roommate,” said Delia. “That wouldn’t be fair.”

  Delia hurried off to her own class. Friday looked down at the warm wad of cash in her hand. She had never held so much money in her life. True, she did briefly have $50,000, but that was gone in just a few clicks of a mouse when the money had been electronically transferred to the school. She had never gotten to hold it. There was something so satisfying about having cash money.

  As she looked at the money and felt the strange unfamiliar happiness that Delia’s affectionate gratitude had given her, Friday had an epiphany. She had spent her whole life accumulating intellectual pursuits, but nothing had made her feel so good as this simple act of helping a schoolmate. She wanted to do it again. Friday saw her destiny before her. She was going to be a private detective. Here she was at Highcrest Academy, surrounded by rich children, and everyone knew rich people had such tremendous problems. If they paid a gardener to do their gardening, a maid to do their cleaning, why not let them pay her to solve their dilemmas?

  Friday tucked the money in her own sock, then thought better of it, and tucked it in her pocket (she wasn’t a total moral degenerate yet). Then she strode off to find her dorm room with a renewed sense of purpose.

  Chapter

  10

  Friday’s Roommate

  Friday had imagined that her dorm would be a long, cold, bleak room with wooden floorboards and steel-framed beds all in a line. (She had read both Jane Eyre and the Madeline picture books, so she was well versed on the subject.) When she cautiously pushed open the door Friday was shocked.

  For a start there were only two beds, which delighted her—it meant only one person to cope with. Then the room itself was lovely. The carpet was deep thick wool, the kind that made you want to kick off your shoes and wriggle your toes. The walls were a pleasant creamy yellow. And best of all, the furnishings were stylish yet modern and functional. Friday always enjoyed functional furniture. (Her own chest of drawers back home had been an Edwardian antique. Consequently, on wet days she needed a crowbar to open her sock drawer.) The most beautiful feature of her new dorm room was, however, the window—a huge bay window decorated with leadlight-colored glass and a window seat, and a view across the school’s wonderful grounds, the sports fields, the kitchen garden, and, in the distance, the river and the swamp that lay in between.