The dorm was full of books (mostly history and mysteries), stuffed toys and a football-shaped clock. Crisp and biscuit wrappers were littered around Max’s bed. Christophe’s bed was expertly made. A bag of marshmallows had been placed on the pillow of the third bed in the room.
Jeremy’s new roommates were sitting on a rug, throwing paper balls into a rubbish bin.
‘Welcome to the top floor, Jeremy,’ said
Christophe, patting the floor beside him. ‘This is our usual Friday-evening game. The loser gets to buy the sweet supply for the week!’
Jeremy joined in, trying to look cheerful – not that his friends expected him to. They didn’t say anything, but he guessed that they knew about his parents by now. The whole school would, in the morning.
The fact they didn’t mention it made them the best roommates ever. They were the best roommates, in the best dorm, in the best boarding house in the academy: Poirot House.
The academy’s four boarding houses were named after four famous fictional detectives: Poirot, Marple, Wimsey and Drew. Each house was split into several dormitories, home to students with minds for mysteries: future superstars of the detective world.
That was exactly what Jeremy knew he needed to become. He couldn’t wait a week for his grandmother to return. He needed to settle quickly into boarding so he could focus on one thing: solving the mystery. He would become a great detective, just like his family hoped. He’d be the great detective they needed.
CHAPTER 2
Innocence
Jeremy woke up with a start. It was his first morning as a full-time boarder at Manor Academy. Luckily, it was Saturday – no lessons that day.
Christophe sat up, bleary-eyed. His usually neat pyjamas, covered with mini magnifying glasses, were rumpled. His dark brown skin was criss-crossed with lines made by pillow creases.
‘How was your first night as a boarder?’ he asked, throwing a pair of tightly rolled socks to silence the alarm clock. He fist-bumped the air as they fell tidily into the washing basket.
‘Not bad,’ mumbled Jeremy, beginning to dread the thought of going to breakfast. Everyone would have heard the news by now. They’d stare at him: Jeremy Swift, the son of disgraced detectives. It would feel strange, thought Jeremy, not having his parents across the breakfast table. They’d have been ready with pancakes and chocolate spread. Max came out of the bathroom, his wavy blond hair tied up in a small ponytail. His freckled face already looked alert.
‘Breakfast’s usually pretty good,’ Max said.
Jeremy smiled. ‘Thanks for making me feel at home, guys. I … I didn’t expect to be staying here.’
‘Another roommate will be fun,’ said Christophe, heading to the bathroom. ‘As long as you’re happy to share your sweet supply!’
They mentioned nothing about his parents, just as last night. Jeremy felt another swell of gratitude. He didn’t want to speak about it yet. Maybe, in the next few days, once the police realized that they’d made a genuine mistake, he’d feel able to talk about everything – joke about it, even.
Everyone said talking about stuff helped. Mostly, it did. Sometimes, though, Jeremy needed time to think about things on his own. He’d come to understand that through the Mindful Detective classes they had on Monday mornings, just after their Language of Sleuths lessons.
Dictionary definition of sleuths sleuths: detectives
The students kept notes on special words used in the detective world. It was one of their first lessons on entering the school: writing clear and accurate dictionary definitions.
As the Panthers approached the dining hall, the great Poirot Clock bonged eight times.
The clock was made from walnut wood, and was as tall as Principal Croft. It was powered by little grey cogs that you could see through the clock face. It stood on the landing of the main staircase, and its hourly bongs could be heard everywhere in the school.
The dining hall was filled with the annoying slam of metal trays. It was lined with what seemed like an endless queue of yawning, pushing, chattering students. It was also full of enticing scents from the academy’s kitchen.
The Panthers loaded their plates with warm toast, buttery scrambled eggs and juicy chunks of grilled tomato. Bowls of steaming porridge and glasses of juice were crammed alongside on their trays.
They made their way to a table at the far side of the dining hall. It was less busy, and Jeremy hoped he might not be noticed as much.
Halfway through their breakfast, three of their classmates headed for their table. They were the Mystery Machine, a group of student sleuths named after a detective cartoon series. These students – Jahita, Cassie and Fred – were
constantly top of the school leader board for solving the school’s end-of-term mysteries. Everything about them screamed brilliance.
‘We heard about your parents, Jeremy,’ said Cassie, a girl with blonde hair, pink cheeks and a frown. She tucked a curl behind her ear, revealing a neon green hearing aid spotted with small black skulls. ‘Any idea where the Golden Pen is?’
Jeremy looked up, and faced her so she could read his lips. ‘No, and neither do my parents.’ He carried on spooning up creamy porridge spotted with raspberry jam, but it now seemed tasteless.
‘You’ve got no clues, I assume,’ said Jahita carelessly, clearly hoping to find out some details.
