St. Mallory's Forever!

30 HELEN: Eureka!

I really wasn't too surprised when Abby told me that lacrosse was used as a substitute for war by Native American tribes. Who would be? The aim of the sport seems to me to be, pretty much, beheading your opponent. Possibly with a motive for stealing the ball involved in some cases.

Fortunately Abby hadn't dragged me out into the cold grey afternoon to the far end of the sports field to discuss the origins of lacrosse. At first I'd thought she meant to ask me about what had happened at the disco, but... Well, I was half right. Turns out she was more interested in the fact I'd actually talked to a boy than the fact the Bursar was stalking my mum.

Or rather, not just a boy, but one particular boy.

"Is it really that big a deal?" I asked her.

"It is in a place like this." Abby grinned at me through the netting of her lacrosse stick as, for the sake of appearances should any staff be watching, she taught me to cradle the ball. "You'll be the talk of the town by tomorrow, I can guarantee it."

Fan-bloody-tastic.

"Did you get his number or anything?" Abby pressed deeper with her Gestapo interrogation. We have ways of making you talk!

"No," I said. It was true — we hadn't had time to swap numbers before the end of the disco. I had, however, added him as a friend on Facebook earlier this morning. But there was no way I was telling Abby that. It was like having a little sister dancing around singing the K-I-S-S song, only in a ridiculously Queen's-English-y accent. Yuk!

"Well, that's probably just as well," Abby said, but didn't explain. "I mean, you wouldn't want people to talk."

O. M. G. I would have been better off going to a convent! I'd had enough. I decided to change the topic.

"Let's worry about the Bursar, shall we?" I suggested in a tone that indicated it wasn't optional. "Why do you think the Bursar's pestering Mum? I mean, she's only been with the department five minutes. She hardly knows where the cupboard for the music stands is, let alone any top-secret hiding places for long-lost sheet music or whatever it is Sammy-Boy thinks is stashed away."

"Nothing makes any sense," Abby said unhelpfully. There can't be any connection between Mrs. Stroud and Mrs. Walters. But it's pretty obvious the Bursar thinks Mrs. Walters left something of importance in the music room when she vanished. And maybe he thinks your mum's in on the secret."

I smiled a little. "So, it's like some grand conspiracy of St Mallory's staff?"

"Why not? The Bursar was poking around in Brighton, wasn't he? Funny he'd follow us there on a school trip, and just happen to visit that poky little music shop. Trust me, it's not much frequented, and I swear I've never seen him leave the school grounds at weekends before then."

I put the lacrosse stick down and sat on the grass, lost in thought. This was sort of exciting. Sort of, because Mum was somehow involved, which added a sinister element to the affair that I wasn't entirely comfortable with. If the previous music teacher really had mysteriously disappeared, then Mum could be next. Much as we argued, I couldn't face that.

"We need to find out what really happened to this Mrs. Walters," I said. "I mean, she can't really have just disappeared, can she? The school must know more than they're making public. Maybe she's pregnant."

"She was at least fifty," Abby said.

Strike that one then. "Maybe she took early retirement?"

"Then why would that be a secret?" Abby had an answer for everything. "Surely the school could have announced that. No, either Mrs. Walters is keeping a low profile and the school is in on the secret, or she's been murdered by a mad axeman and buried somewhere in an unmarked grave."

Of course, Abby was only joking with that last bit, but we both looked down at the ground and decided to move on.

I watched Abby flipping her lacrosse stick around in a series of complicated motions, juggling the worries about Mum with the rather amusing thought that Abby would bash herself on the head if she wasn't careful.

Well, they say be careful what you wish for. I tried not to laugh as Abby yelped and danced around doing an Indian rain-dance while gripping her nose and muttering her faux-curses under her breath. She really is taking the North American Indians origins of lacrosse too seriously.

"Zorry," Abby said, "gobba go anb geb a tissue."

I watched her run back across the fields towards Marylebone House and I knew I ought to be feeling sorry for her, but my mind was somewhere else.

Supposing something bad really had happened to Mrs. Walters? Because of some connection with the music department? Did the Bursar think Mum knew about the music, and had followed us into that shop? Maybe he thought I was some sort of little delivery minion for my mum and her co-conspirators.

Suddenly I was thinking about the weird moment when I'd first shown Mum the sheet music I'd bought her from that shop in Brighton. The Tchaikovsky piece and the Nils score.

Hmmm. The Nils score. The one that didn't exist so was either a fake, or...

I picked up my discarded stick and followed Abby back towards the house, determined to find Xuan and Don Pedro.

I'd just had a eureka moment.