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

she announced, snapping her fingers. “Miss Lambard’s letter! Work backward! We need to go back to my beginnings! And that means . . . we need to speak to the only person I know who might be able to tell me something . . . Madam Skratch. Prepare yourself, Pickle. We’re going to have to go back to the Institute for Woeful Children!”
    Pickle did his best not to look startled, but the thought of returning to that dark, forbidding place made him very nervous. So he made an involuntary smell. Just to register his feelings on the matter.
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    The Valiant was peculiarly quiet that morning, but then it was a Sunday, when there were no shows. Thankfully Barbu D’Anvers and his cronies were nowhere to be seen, leaving Theodore to conduct his investigations in a bit of peace.
    â€œI can assure you I had nothing to do with it!” protested Baron von Worms as Inspector Lemone presented him with the potentially troublesome insurance policy.
    â€œIt’s there in black and white!” pressed the Inspector, tapping the policy with his finger. “In the event of unnatural deaths, you stand to make a fortune! Now wiggle your way out of that one!”
    Wilma was impressed. It was almost as if Inspector Lemone knew what he was doing and he did look really rather pleased with himself. He’d never solved a case without Goodman before, but there was always a first time and this was obviously it!
    Theodore, who had let his friend take the lead, tapped some rosemary tobacco into his pipe and sat down on the tea crate in front of the Baron’s makeshift desk. “How many people knew about this policy, Baron?” he asked gently.
    â€œNobody!” blustered the Baron, breaking out into an uncomfortable sweat. “Although the document was in my office. I suppose someone could have snuck in and read it, though I usually locked the door . . . But I didn’t kill Sabbatica or Sylvester, Mr. Goodman!You have to believe me!”
    â€œA pretty tale!” shouted the Inspector, rising to his part. “Nothing but flimflam and gobbledygook! I ought to clap you in irons this very instant!”
    â€œThat will do, Inspector,” said Theodore calmly, raising his pipe to his mouth and lighting it.
    â€œIt’s a standard clause in any theatrical insurance policy!” wailed the Baron, looking increasingly frantic.
    â€œBut you must concede that it looks very bad for you. Very bad indeed,” reasoned Theodore, standing. “However, our inquiries are still ongoing. It’s not impossible that someone is trying to use this against you. Obviously we shall have to see your bank records, Baron. It still really could be anyone.”
    â€œWell, I wish you’d said,” mumbled the Inspector with a small pout. “Got myself all worked up. Thought I’d cracked it.”
    â€œOh, I fear there’s a long way to go before we crack this case, Inspector,” replied Theodore, giving his friend an encouraging pat on the shoulder.
    â€œThere!” declared a voice from the corridor behind them. “You heard it from the man himself! He hasn’t got the first clue what he’s doing!”
    Theodore frowned and peered into the dimly lit passageway. A group of people scribbling furiously on notepads were being led by Barbu D’Anvers, who was strolling toward the detective with an evil smirk on his face, Janty close behind. “Members of the Cooper press, Theodore,” he announced with a grand sweep of his arm. “They’ve come for an update on the latest goings-on at the Stage of Death! I’m sure they’ll pay particular note to the fact that you are getting nowhere with this case . . .”
    Theodore’s jaw set tight. “That’s not what I said, Barbu, and you know it.”
    â€œLah-dee-dah,” trilled the tiny villain with a twirl of his cane. “Have you captured the perpetrator of these foul deeds? I think not. Ladies