Friday Barnes 2 by R. A. Spratt

‘but now that we have a working theory, let us extrapolate. Mrs Piccone, what is the next cooking assignment for this class?’
    â€˜We are going to make apple pie next week,’ said Mrs Piccone.
    â€˜And your students are aware of the assignment schedule ahead of time, I presume?’ asked Friday.
    â€˜Why, yes,’ said Mrs Piccone. ‘I give them a list before the holidays so they can practise.’
    â€˜So if Judith brought a stash of pre-made baked goods from home at the beginning of term, where would she have hidden them?’ asked Friday.
    â€˜They’d have to be frozen,’ said Melanie. ‘So I guess, in a freezer?’
    â€˜Good deductive reasoning, Melanie,’ said Friday. ‘You’re improving.’
    â€˜Thank you,’ said Melanie. She so rarely listened to conversations, it was nice to have the extra effort pay off.
    â€˜Shall we check the deep freezer?’ Friday asked Mrs Piccone.
    â€˜It’s over here,’ said Mrs Piccone, leading Friday to the corner of the classroom.
    Friday opened the lid of the enormous chest freezer and saw that it was full of plastic bags containing vegetables, stocks of various flavours, sauces andcuts of meat. She took the packages out, one by one, and laid them on the floor.
    â€˜She’s letting the food ruin, miss,’ complained Stacey.
    â€˜Stop complaining,’ said Mrs Piccone. ‘If you absorbed any of the information I taught you about home economics, you’d know it would take a leg of lamb more than a few seconds to thaw.’
    Friday kept digging. ‘A-ha!’ She had bent over so far she practically tumbled headfirst into the freezer. Friday grabbed something from the bottom and pulled herself upright. She was holding a large white cardboard box. The box had a handwritten message on the lid.
    Â 
    Purrcy
    (Dead Cat)
    Â 
    â€˜Don’t open that,’ warned Mrs Piccone. ‘That’s Purrcy the school cat. We’re storing him here until the end of term, when Mrs Henderson is taking him back to her home to bury him in her sandpit. Purrcy loved a sandpit.’
    â€˜Really?’ said Friday. ‘Do you believe in reincarnation, Mrs Piccone?’
    â€˜No,’ said Mrs Piccone.
    â€˜Then how do you explain Purrcy’s transformation into an apple pie?’ Friday opened the box and revealed a perfect-looking apple pie.
    Mrs Piccone gasped. All the girls looked guilty except for Rebecca, who looked angry and smug all at the same time.
    â€˜I think if you ring Judith’s home you will soon discover a maid, a cook or some other member of the domestic staff who will confess to making this dessert,’ said Friday.
    â€˜Girls, I don’t understand,’ said Mrs Piccone. ‘How could you? Why would you?’
    â€˜We were so sick of Rebecca’s smirking superiority,’ said Judith. ‘We just did it as a joke, really.’
    â€˜Yeah, that’s right,’ agreed Stacey. The other girls nodded as well. ‘It’s a joke. Just like Rebecca is a joke.’ The girls sniggered. Rebecca looked hurt.
    â€˜You should make sure you enjoy every last moment of high school then,’ said Friday. ‘It is the last place you’ll find where a person is scorned for caring about what they do and working hard to be good at it. Rebecca may well be an obsessive freak but in the real world she has all the makings of a top-classgourmet chef, once she learns to swear like a sailor, that is.’
    â€˜Home economics has always been a subject rife with vitriolic rivalries,’ said Mrs Piccone. ‘But bringing a dead cat into it? That is a new low. You are all going to have to go and see the Headmaster.’
    â€˜Poor Headmaster,’ said Melanie. ‘He’s going to need a bigger bench.’
    â€˜There’s one more mystery that needs to be settled first,’ said Friday. ‘What did you do with