St. Mallory's Forever!

32 XUAN: A web of intrigue.

I've always had a soft spot for detective series on television — probably because they are one of the few genres worth watching amid all the dross that seems to infest today's airwaves, no matter where you are in the world.

That's not to say they're all good, of course. But there is a certain satisfaction in watching the clues unravel on screen and working out whodunnit before the star of the show names the bad guy. Come on, admit it. We all love a good murder mystery.

But never before had it occurred to me that I would become entangled in an investigation of my own. Okay, so it's not quite a murder mystery. At least, I hope not, though (cue sinister music to set suspense mood) there is a missing music teacher and no-one is sure what happened to her, so I suppose it could be.

Now that would make for a great book or TV series. Not that CSI:Brighton has quite the right ring to it, but a book titled Midnight Murder at St. Mallory's...

Truth is, I've always fancied myself as an author. This could be my first book. But I guess I'll have to wait a few years before I bother. We all know no-one would ever publish a book written by a teenager.

And of course, that would be fiction. The current mystery here at St. Mall's is well-grounded in fact. Okay, not fact as such. Factish, maybe? If that's not a word, it should be.

One thing's for sure, there is clear evidence of suspicious goings on, and there's foul play of some sort afoot, and now we have this boy from Linbury Court on our team we'll soon have the mystery solved.

Which ought to make things quite exciting around here. But actually real-life detective work is utterly unlike the glamour and flash of the TV screen. Thus far I haven't chased a single suspect down an alleyway, snooped around a crime scene with a magnifying glass to my nose, or even sat under a sun umbrella to muse philosophically while nursing a grilled cheese sandwich.

But that's not to say I've not been busy. In fact, since yesterday evening I've spent most of my free time relentlessly interrogating one irascible and very misleading witness. You may have heard of him. They call him Mr. Google.

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You see, Helen and Abby had gone down to see Mrs. Stroud in the music department, under the pretence that Abby was contemplating taking up an instrument and wanted some recommendations on what would be good for beginners (I bet Mrs. Stroud took well to that — you'd have to be blind not to have noticed she despairs of the girl).

While Abby did her best to convince Mrs. Stroud that she really was serious (difficult, given she wasn't) Helen went into the storage room (pretty easy because, being the music teacher's daughter, she basically has free run of the music block).

While we're not entirely sure what we're looking for, we think there may be a connection between the last music teacher, Mrs. Walters, and the music shop we visited in Brighton at the weekend. The reason being the sighting of the Bursar coming out of the shop aforementioned and staring at the school coach, which you will recall had chosen to break down right outside.

The problem with conspiracy theories is that any coincidental event can be dragged in to develop the conspiracy element. Was the coach-driver involved? Was it a staged break-down to aid the Bursar's sinister activities in some way?

Hmmm. Given the huge plume of effluent that poured from the vehicle's engine I think we can safely say the coach stopping there was coincidental. Strike one.

That the Bursar should be emerging and staring hard at Helen (or so she is convinced) when he has not previously been known to leave the school grounds at weekends has more merit to it.