Free Sleuth on Skates by Clementine Beauvais Page A

duck catalogue. On a ballet brochure. On a T-shirt.
    â€œA coincidence is when, accidentally, two or more things happen at the same time, or seem to be related,” I replied.
    â€œThat’s a fairly good definition,” approved Mr. Halitosis. “And when does it stop being a coincidence?”
    I shrugged. “Dunno.”
    â€œWell, wouldn’t you say it stops being a coincidence when you can prove that itdidn’t happen accidentally, but that the events are related?”
    But how do you prove it? I wrote to Toby and Gemma.
    You investigate, replied Gemma.

    When school finished, I raced up to the city center, flanked on one side by Toby on his bike and on the other by Gemma on her scooter. Destination: Trinity College.

    â€œSo the plan is, we find Stacy Vance and pretend that we’re her biggest fans ever and that we want our
Swan Lake
program signed,”I shouted to Gemma. “And then, once we’re in the place, we try to find out if she is Tsarina by playing good cop, bad cop!”
    â€œWhat’s good cop, bad cop?” asked Toby, swirling around a taxi.
    â€œIt’s a police strategy. Gemma pretends to be nice, and I pretend to be mean, and we extract the truth from Stacy Vance in this way.”
    â€œAnd what do
I
do?” he asked indignantly. “You girls are always doing the fun things.”
    â€œWell, OK, then, you play fun cop.”
    â€œI’m sure it doesn’t even exist.”
    â€œIt does now.”
    We reached the huge gate of Trinity College. A Porter with a bowler hat was at the door, making sure that a bunch of tourists who wanted to look around the College paid enough money to do so. We dismounted, hid behind the bum of the most gigantic tourist in the group, followed the bum inside, and started investigating the painted name boards at the bottom of students’ staircases.
    Thankfully, we didn’t have to go very far. Thethird board we got to simply said:
R1
Miss A. C. Brookland
R2
Mr. E. E. P. Franklin
R3
Mr. P. Mahal
R4
Miss A. Vance
    The spiral staircase unrolled under our feet, and we quickly reached R4, which was facing the door to R2.
    On to which was pinned, alongside other things, a postcard with a green and white C in a circle.
    â€œWhat is that C?” I mumbled, and Gemma shrugged.
    â€œDunno, why?” asked Toby.
    â€œI just—” I said, trying to unpin the postcard from the door, “keep seeing it—everywhere—” and suddenly the door swung open and we were faced with someone I didn’t particularly want to see.
    â€œWho’s there?” said Edwin.
    â€œMy name is Seade—Sesame Seade.”
    â€œAh, I remember you,” Edwin groaned. “You were the weird kid at the rehearsal. What areyou doing here?”

    â€œJust visiting,” I said. I looked over his shoulder. His room was a mess, with all the feathery wings in a pile, and two computers on the desk. “We want Stacy’s autograph.”
    â€œChildren aren’t allowed in this staircase.”
    â€œWe haven’t brought our children,” I said. “Now you’re here, can I ask you something?”
    He eyed me suspiciously. “What?”
    â€œWhat does that C mean on your door? The one in the circle?”
    He didn’t even look. He just laughed and closed the door in my face.
    â€œHow rude!” commented Gemma. “He’s definitely not a gentleman.”
    Vengefully, I tried to rip out the C postcard, but then the door behind us opened, and Stacy Vance appeared.
    â€œWhat’s going on?” she said.
    She had the most singsong voice I’d ever heard, and was wearing a sort of half-transparent white kimono. If she jumped out of the window she’d probably fly away.
    â€œHonorable dancer,” I said, “I’m delighted to meet you. My name is Sesame Seade, and I am your most devoted fan.”
    â€œThat is not true,” said Gemma. “
I
am