Wilma Tenderfoot and the Case of the Putrid Poison (22 page)

“And where might that be?” shouted Barbu.

“The only place on the island that had a cheap spare room, Mr. D'Anvers,” replied Officer Swinnerton, fixing the villain with a steely glare. “At the Institute for Woeful Children.”

Wilma, who, like everyone else in the theatre, had been watching this small drama unfold with interest, clamped a hand to her mouth. She could barely believe it.

“Oh, Pickle,” she whispered, “I wouldn't wish that on my worst enemy.” Stepping forward, she put her hand on Janty's forearm. “I lived at the Institute for Woeful Children for ten years,” she said softly. “If you ever need any help—”

But Janty pulled his arm away from her. “I'll never need your help, Tenderfoot! Never!”

Barbu, on hearing this calamitous news, went a little stiff, burbled something incomprehensible, and collapsed backward into Tully's arms.

In the silence that followed, a voice rang out from the dress circle. “Well done, Goodman!” The sentiment was soon being echoed around the auditorium until applause filled the air, peppered with whistles and whoops and, onstage, Wilma turned to see the surviving cast and crew clapping too. Not used to the frivolities of show business, Theodore acknowledged the approval with nothing more than a small dignified nod, and then, tucking his magnifying glass into his waistcoat pocket, he descended from the stage and started up the center aisle toward the back of the theatre. And as he walked, everyone to his left and right rose to their feet. “Stand up,” Wilma heard one man say to his son. “Mr. Goodman is passing.”

And as Wilma looked around her, she understood that while there will always be people who brag and boast, there are also people like Mr. Goodman, who do great deeds quietly, and that it is they who deserve the loudest honors.

 

Hooray. Hooray. Hooray!

W
ith the case done and dusted, things were getting back to normal at Clarissa Cottage. Mrs. Speckle was baking a fresh batch of corn crumbles, Inspector Lemone and Theodore were enjoying an afternoon game of Lantha, and Wilma and Pickle had been chasing each other around the garden, taking care not to crash into any of Mr. Goodman's roses.

It had been an exciting few weeks. Not only had Wilma been enrolled as an apprentice, but she had also learned a valuable lesson. Being a detective was far more complicated than it looked and just because Mr. Goodman made it seem easy didn't mean that she could just jump in at the deep end and hope for the best. Wilma would have to learn patience and stealth. This was how Mr. Goodman had solved the case, not by clattering about like a spinning top. Still, she had managed to think wonkily and that, at least, was a step in the right direction.

With this in mind, Wilma was now able to turn her attentions back to her own mysterious family investigations. A note from Penbert had revealed that the scrap of material she had sent for analysis was a piece of butcher's muslin. The foul, smelly stain was old pig's blood and the two crossed bones had been firmly identified as lamb chops. Perhaps she had been left at the Institute by a butcher? Or a farmer?

But as for the letters, Wilma was still all at sea. Somehow, she had to find out who had written them and where that person was. “It's impossible, Mr. Goodman,” she said, shaking her head as she handed Theodore two of the letters. “The name on the bottom of the money ones is illegible. And there's no address. And this one, in the different handwriting, is a total mystery.”

Theodore, who had just captured two of Inspector Lemone's Lantha pieces at once, leaned back into his armchair and took the letters. “On the contrary,” he replied, briefly examining the notes. “Let's look at the one in the different handwriting. This letter is full of clues. A handwritten note is a unique calling card, as telling as a fingerprint or a limp. First, there's the paper it is written on. This writing paper is handmade. Look at the uneven edges. This tells me that the writer may be an artistic type or a free-thinker. The ink is thickly lain. You're looking for a pen with a fat nib. And the handwriting is a little erratic. This was written by someone in a hurry. Not only that, but look at the end of each sentence. Every single one has a small smudge at the tail end. Whoever wrote this note is probably wearing a ring on the little finger of their writing hand. All of these things, Wilma, are clues. Clues right in front of your eyes.”

Wilma was astonished. “It's like some sort of magic trick!” she said, face beaming. “Now you've pointed those things out, they seem obvious. I guess it's just another wonky way of thinking, isn't it, Mr. Goodman?”

“A little bit, yes,” agreed the great detective with a nod. “Being a detective is all about using your eyes and ears, Wilma. And playing sharp.”

“Playing pretty sharp at Lantha today, Goodman!” mumbled Inspector Lemone, who had had to take his two pieces back to the start. “Almost had them off the board then.”

Theodore reached for his pipe. “A fortunate roll of the dice, Inspector,” he said, getting out his rosemary tobacco. “What's our game tally now?”

Inspector Lemone pulled out his notebook and flicked to the back page. “Goodman versus Lemone,” he read out, “Clarissa Cottage Championships. Wins. Goodman, three hundred fifty-eight. Lemone, zero. Although there was that time when I almost won. Perhaps I could add that?”

“Perhaps,” said Theodore with a small smile. “Ahh! Mrs. Speckle!” he added as the door to his study swung open. “Peppermint tea!”

“And corn crumbles!” added the Inspector, jumping to his feet.

“Letter for Miss Wilma,” muttered the ever grumpy housekeeper, laying the tea tray down on the study table. “Academy crest on it. Probably something official. And a review of Maude Muddle and her Amazing Cat Pizzazz in the
Early Worm,
” she added with a small wink.

“Really?” enthused Wilma, jumping over to the tea tray. “I've never had a review before. Oh wait. That's not true. I was in a play once when I was at the Institute for Woeful Children. My character was called Smelly Socks Bear. I was a bear. With smelly socks. Who also liked eating smelly socks. Madam Skratch said I was unconvincing.” Wilma picked up the paper and flicked through to the Arts pages. “Here it is! Oh, Pickle! Listen to this!”

 

Wilma looked up. “I can't quite work out whether that's a good review or a bad one,” she said, a little confused. “And I have no idea what an allegory is. I just got Pickle to stand on my shoulders. I wasn't trying to be clever.”

“Don't worry,” explained Mrs. Speckle. “Critics always make stuff up to try to look brainy.”

“Sparkled up the stage, eh?” commented Inspector Lemone, giving Pickle an encouraging pat. Pickle tried to look blasé, but was secretly delighted. Mostly because they'd said he looked good in his tutu.

“What does the letter from the Academy say, Wilma?” asked Theodore, taking a puff on his pipe.

“It's a report card,” said Wilma, opening the envelope and peering in. “Oh. It hasn't got anything on it. I think Miss Lambard must have forgotten to fill it out. She was quite busy when I last saw her. Perhaps I should go to the Academy this afternoon. I need to hand in my first homework on the Case of the Missing Relative in any event. Especially now you've given me so many letter clues.”

“And you can tell her about the Case of the Putrid Poison too,” chipped in Inspector Lemone, who was quite eager to say anything at that precise moment just so Mrs. Speckle would look at him.

“Yes!” agreed Wilma with a determined nod. “I might get extra credit for working on a proper case and collecting some proper clues of my own. Even if I did get the wrong end of the stick.”

 

The walk to the Academy of Detection and Espionage was a short one. The sun was shining, the famous Cooper poppies were in bloom, and Wilma's head was full of scrawled notes and butcher's blood and what she should try next.

“I'll show Miss Lambard all the letters I've found,” explained the plucky ten-year-old to her loyal beagle as they made their way through the secret entrance behind the statue of Anthony Amber. “She might have some bright ideas. Or be able to tell me the next useful chapter in my textbook. But then again, she is a bit dizzy. So maybe she won't. Funny. It's very quiet.”

Wilma stopped and listened. The place was silent. Miss Lambard was nowhere to be heard or seen. She wasn't in the classrooms, she wasn't in the main hall, and her office, full of clutter, rope, and one old parachute, was empty of her too.

Wilma pondered, her lips pursing with thought.

Pickle, who could always be relied on in any manner of tricky situations, nudged his friend in the leg and pointed his nose upward toward a piece of paper pinned to the notice board. Wilma peered at it.

Wilma peered a bit harder. Her eyes widened. Her mouth dropped open. “Pickle,” she whispered, pointing a shaking finger at the note. “Paper's homemade. Looks to be written with a thick nib. Bit messy. Smudges at the end of the sentences . . .”

Pickle gulped.

“This note,” gasped Wilma, near incredulous, “was written by the same person who wrote the unfinished letter! Miss Lambard? Could it be? Is she my missing relative? Is she my aunt? Or is she just doing some undercover investigating for my missing relative? Either way, she's going to be able to provide the next piece in the puzzle, make no mistake! Oh my goodness! On an adventure till further notice! I can hardly bear it! Well,” she added with a sudden and firm nod. “There's nothing I can do about her now. I shall have to wait. Mr. Goodman bided his time and so can I. And there's always the butcher's-muslin clue to follow up! I may be small, but I'm very determined.”

Unpinning the precious clue from the notice board, Wilma tucked it into her pinafore pocket. “This,” she announced, holding a finger aloft, “is the next clue in the Case of the Missing Relative! And get to the bottom of it I shall! Nothing and nobody stops Wilma Tenderfoot!”

Pickle snorted. For nothing and nobody would stop him helping her do it.

Lantha: a game for two people. The object of the game is to get all your counters past the end Star square first to win. The loser must wear some (clean) underpants on their head for the rest of the day.

In order to get each counter home and off the board, you need to throw a number on the dice that is at least one higher than you need to reach the Star square.

You will need: a six-sided dice, five black counters, and five white counters.

Arrange the counters across the top of the Lantha board as indicated—whoever rolls highest begins. You must enter a new counter onto the board with each roll. Once all your counters are on the board, you can decide which ones to move with each throw of the dice.

You can send an opponent's counter back to the start by landing on it, but only if it's a single counter. If two of the same counters are occupying the same square, they are both safe.

You cannot land on a square occupied by two or more of your opponent's counters.

 

THE HA-HA SEND A PIECE BACK SQUARE
—You may send back to the start any one of your opponent's counters. If an opponent's counter is already on this square when you land on it, it automatically goes back to the start, plus one other counter of your choice.

 

THE DOUBLE UP SQUARE
—Landing on this square means you can also bring one other counter, of your choosing, to the square (which makes them both safe). There is no limit to how many counters can be on this square at any one time. If you only have two counters left on the board and the second one is in front, then you must bring it back.

 

THE PICK YOUR NOSE SQUARE
—If you land on this square you must pick your nose. Failure to pick noses will result in instant disqualification.

 

THE PICK SOMEONE ELSE'S NOSE SQUARE
—Bad luck! You must pick your opponent's nose!

 

THE MISS A TURN SQUARE
—You must miss a turn!

 

THE MOO SQUARE
—You must make the noise of any farmyard animal. Loudly.

 

THE DANCE LIKE YOUR DAD SQUARE
—Stand up and dance like a grown-up with no natural rhythm for at LEAST ten seconds.

 

THE SHAKE YOUR BUM SQUARE
—Shake your bum for five seconds.

 

THE TICKLE SQUARE
—Landing on this square means that your opponent must tickle you for a sustained period or until you beg for mercy.

 

THE GO FIVE FORWARD SQUARE
—Move any counter five spaces forward.

 

THE GO FIVE BACK SQUARE*
—Move any counter five spaces back.

 

THE GO BACK TO START SQUARE
—The one counter that lands on this square must go all the way back to the beginning . . .