Wilma Tenderfoot and the Case of the Putrid Poison by Emma Kennedy

document that lets people who have things make sure that if those things are damaged or lost, then they can be financially compensated. And this tells me that there is a large insurance payout due to the Baron in the event of unnatural deaths. Interesting.”
    Wilma, chin cupped in her hands on Theodore’s desk, tried to look as serious as she could. “I see.” She nodded. “So, because there have been two unnatural deaths, the Baron will get constipated?”
    Theodore cleared his throat and looked out of his study window for a moment. “Compensated, Wilma,” he replied eventually. “Not constipated. That’s something very . . . different.”
    â€œHere’s the mail from yesterday, Mr. Goodman,” said Mrs. Speckle, waddling in with her knitted tray. “You didn’t have time to look at it last night.”
    Inspector Lemone, who was always romantically startled whenever he was in Mrs. Speckle’s presence, automatically reached for his hair and flattened it.
    Mrs. Speckle stopped and squinted at him. “You have strawberry jam smeared across your forehead, Inspector,” she said with an unimpressed glare.
    Inspector Lemone grimaced. Oh well. At least she’d looked at him. It was a start.
    Theodore was still thinking about the insurance policy as he reached for the two letters on Mrs. Speckle’s tray. “We shall have to talk to the Baron about this,” he pondered. “And bump him up to Prime Suspect on the Clue Board, please, Wilma. And pin the policy on the Motives section. Oh,” he added, waving one of the envelopes in the air. “This one is addressed to you, Wilma. Academy crest too.”
    Wilma scampered back to take it. Pickle, who had been snoozing in front of the study fire, opened one eye and made ready. If it was important, then he might consider getting up. If it wasn’t, then he would stay where he was. There was absolutely no point in giving up the toastiest spot in Clarissa Cottage unless he really had to. Watch and learn, children. Watch. And learn.
    Wilma, grinning with expectation, opened the letter and read it.
    Dear Wilma Tenderfoot,

    I hope your Missing Relative investigation is going well. If it’s not, here is a tip.
    Â 
    Work backward. That’s it.
    Â 
    Â 
    Â 
    Best wishes,
    Kite Lambard
    Â 
    Â 
    P.S. I’m also enclosing a few tags with your name on them in case you want to stitch them into the backs of things.
    Wilma frowned. “Work backward?” she muttered, turning the letter over to see if there was anything else on the back. Nothing. Well, this wasn’t much to go on. Being a pupil at the Academy of Detection and Espionage was clearly going to be tricky and mysterious. But perhaps that was the point. She’d have to think about it later. She had too much to do as it was. As much as she would like to devote her time to her own investigations, it was far more important to follow orders and help with the case at the Valiant. Personal matters would have to wait. Still, the tags were lovely. She poured them into her pinafore pocket.
    â€œInspector,” Theodore said suddenly in a dark, troubled tone. “I think you should see this.”
    Inspector Lemone took the letter held out to him. “Well, I never,” he said, scanning it quickly. “Think it’s the killer?”
    â€œWhat is it?” asked Wilma, running over. Pickle, who had happily gone back to snoozing, opened one eye again and cocked an ear. Wilma peered across Inspector Lemone’s arm. The letter that Theodore had been sent was a collage of cut-out letters.

WHICH ACTORS WILL BE CORPSING NEXT WEEK?
    â€œIt’s made of cut-up paper,” Wilma noted. “Oooh . . . There’s that lady at the theatre who tears bits of paper . . .”
    â€œCountess Honey Piccio,” said Theodore. “Hmmm. It seems we suddenly have a rush of clues and suspects. Put this in an evidence bag