Wilma Tenderfoot: The Case of the Fatal Phantom (16 page)

“Ohhhhhhhh!” Inspector Lemone gagged as the foul, gloopy gunk was poured all over his head and shoulders, then spread around his sides by Wilma, using a large spoon from Pickle’s saddlebag. “Smells like a skunk’s armpit!”

“Actually,” said Theodore, holding his nose, “it’s worse than that. Now breathe in again!”

Wilma and her mentor grabbed hold of Lemone’s hands and pulled with all their might and at last, with a shuddering pop, out slipped the Inspector. “Oh, thank Cooper!” he gasped. “Thought I was going to be stuck in there for all eternity.”

Mr. Goodman was already scanning the cavern’s far recesses with the lantern. “There!” he called out, pointing toward a shimmering mass in the distance. “Water! That must be the rock pool we’re looking for! There’s a low arch on the far side and the water flows through it. We’re going to have to swim under the arch, so we’ll be totally submerged, but according to this map, the way out should be just on the other side.”

Wilma gulped. As small ten-year-old girls go, she was extremely brave, of that there was no doubt. But the fact of the matter was, she couldn’t swim. In fact, she didn’t have the first clue how to do it. She looked down at Pickle. “Can I hold on to you, please?” she whispered, chewing her lip. Pickle gazed back at her. Of course she could. There was no scrape on this earth that
Pickle wouldn’t want to get Wilma out of and, given that his day thus far had been just about as bad as it could get, it would be a pleasure, nay, an HONOR to
finally
do something noble.

Theodore had removed the skis from his back, waded into the water, and was up to his chest by the time he reached the arch. Placing the lantern on a rock ledge, he took a gulp of air and dived from sight. Wilma and Inspector Lemone looked at each other as they unstrapped their own skis. “Do you think it’s going to be very cold?” asked Wilma anxiously.

“Positively freezing, I expect,” Lemone replied. “It’ll still be better than being dug up as a relic with no trousers on, though,” he added with a firm blink. “And smelling of slugs.”

A splash sounded and Mr. Goodman reappeared, gasping for air. “We were right!” he shouted, tossing his wet hair from his face. “There’s a stairway carved into the rock on the other side of this arch. The tunnel is a little longer than I would have hoped, but with one big lungful of air you’ll be able to make it. Come on in,
Lemone. Wilma, you follow the Inspector, and I’ll bring up the rear.”

Wilma twisted the bottom of her pinafore into a knot. Pickle had already padded into the pool and was treading water just in front of her. Giving her a small bark of encouragement, he paddled after Inspector Lemone, who was now wading toward the arch. Wilma dipped one foot into the water. Oh, it was icy! “Just jump in, Wilma,” shouted Theodore as he shoved the Inspector down into the underwater tunnel. “You know how it is with swimming…the sooner you’re in, the less you feel the cold!”

Wilma didn’t know this because she couldn’t swim. But she was sure that a good apprentice detective would be an excellent swimmer, so she didn’t like to say anything. “What did I read in my textbook about adventures?” she whispered to herself. “Nothing ventured—nothing gained! I’m not quite sure what that means, but I think it’s about how you’ll never get anywhere if you don’t try. Well, it’s time to venture! Here I come, Pickle!”

Worried and a little frightened, Wilma threw herself into the water. A blast of cold so intense as to be almost blinding took her breath away. She gasped in short, sharp pants as the chill stabbed at every part of her body. Still able to keep a foot on the rock pool floor, she moved toward Theodore and Pickle. “All right?” the great detective said gently. “Keep your eyes open and your hand on the tunnel wall. And take a deep breath, Wilma! You’re going to need it! Don’t worry, I’ll be right behind you.”

Wilma nodded and tried to look as if she swam through pitch-black tunnels every day of the week just for fun. But of course she didn’t. She’d never swum in her life. Taking hold of the leather saddlebag she had tied around Pickle that morning she took three deep breaths and threw herself downward behind her faithful friend. As they dived, all Wilma could hear was the muffled gurgling of rushing water. Ahead of her, she could see Pickle’s back legs kicking through the dark and murky water. With one hand on her beagle friend and the other on the tunnel wall,
she pulled herself along while copying Pickle and paddling as hard as she could with her own feet. But suddenly, she felt something snag. Fumbling around, she realized that the knot on her pinafore had gotten itself hooked on an underwater stalagmite!

Desperately Wilma struggled to hold on to Pickle, but not realizing she was in trouble, he kicked onward and slipped from her fingers. Frantically she tried to pull herself free, her cheeks puffed out into small balloons as she tugged at the knotted pinafore, but it was stuck fast, twisted around a rocky hook. Where was Mr. Goodman? Her lungs felt as if they would burst. Panic burned through her and she knew that she couldn’t hold her breath for a moment longer. Exhausted, she felt her body go limp. Her hands could no longer work the knot, her feet stopped kicking, and her eyes began to glaze over. Any moment now she’d breathe in water and …

From nowhere, Pickle appeared at Wilma’s side. Biting through the knotted pinafore, he grabbed hold of her sleeve, and at the same time
she felt Mr. Goodman’s hands on her feet propelling her forward. At last Wilma burst from the tunnel of water and felt a fresh wind on her cheek. With one incredible gasp, she filled her lungs with air. “Thank you, Pickle,” she said as Mr. Goodman scooped her from the rock pool to catch her breath on its rocky shore.

“Yes, thank you, Pickle,” he added in his most serious tone, giving the small, brave beagle’s head a rub before checking Wilma over.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you,” Wilma panted. Pickle gave his best friend a quick lick. He didn’t know what he’d do without her either.

“Starlight!” shouted Inspector Lemone, who was standing at the foot of the rock staircase, dripping and pointing toward a hole in the rock above them. “We’ve made it! Thank goodness,” he sighed. “Now we’ve just got to trudge back to the Hoo in freezing temperatures. And with no trousers on.”

Piece of cake. Eh, readers?

B
ack at the Hoo, the evening was drawing in. Theodore and the others had not returned and the Blackhearts had gone their separate ways around the house. Belinda was alone in the sitting room, in a large armchair by the fire, her head resting on her hand, staring at the flickering coals. Everyone was behaving strangely around her: Tarquin was barely speaking to her, her own mother screamed every time she entered a room, and Mrs. Moggins had opened the door a fraction, shoved a tray of food across the floor, and run off again. Everybody thought she was a Spook Beacon. Perhaps she was. She did have a
slight fizzing sensation in her left ear. Was that a symptom of a ghostly possession? Either way, she was thoroughly miserable and would be glad when this business was over.

“Just leave the tea by the door,” she sighed, hearing it open again behind her. “You don’t have to come in if you don’t want to.”

“Is that her?” she heard a man muttering. “The one in the chair?”

“Yes, master,” she heard a boy whisper back.

“At last! I can’t believe we’ve wasted so many hours just looking for her!”

Belinda turned around. Striding toward the fireplace was Barbu D’Anvers, followed by Tully and Janty. The boy had several large cards tucked under his arm, and the henchman seemed to be carrying a wilted bunch of flowers and a box of some sort.

“I have business to conduct. Now then,” Barbu announced, placing himself in front of Belinda, “I shall stand here. Janty, if you could…yes…just behind her chair…left a bit, no, I can’t see the cards…back a bit. There. And Tully, you crouch there. Good.” Barbu cleared his throat. “Right. First card please, Janty.”

The boy held up a large card above Belinda’s head and Barbu began to read. “Belinda Blackheart. Hello.”

“Hello,” answered Belinda, a little puzzled.

“In brackets, shake her hand or something. Hmm. Quite non-specific. Just put a glove on …” Barbu stepped forward, took Belinda’s arm at the wrist, and shook it a few times. “That’s enough,” he muttered, stepping back. “Right, next card, next card …”

Janty held another one aloft. Barbu peered at it. “I think you’re very…what does that say? Fat? I think you’re fat?”

“Fab, master,” corrected Janty.

“And I got you a gift. Dear me. Appalling grammar,” Barbu declared as he read on. “Hand him the chocolates. Oh. Tully—that’s your card. Yours!” he shouted, giving his stupid henchman a sideways kick.

Tully crept forward and handed Barbu a box. “Sorry, Mr. D’Anvers,” he whispered.

“Yes, you’ve got plenty to be sorry about—giving up following Goodman because it was ‘too cold,’ for a start. Anyway, that’ll do,” replied the
tiny villain, shooing him away again. “These,” he added, gesturing toward the box in his hands, “are for you.”

“For me?” gushed Belinda, eyes brightening. She took the box and opened it. “Oh,” she added quietly. “They seem to be half-eaten.”

“Really?” asked Barbu, assuming an innocent face.

“Master!” mouthed Janty, waving another card. “Give her the flowers!”

Barbu stared angrily at his henchman again. “Flowers! Come on! No! Don’t give them to me! Give them to her!”

Tully crawled across the floor on his knees and proffered Miss Blackheart a rather drab-looking handful of tulips.

“Weren’t those in the vase outside in the hallway?” asked Belinda, brushing a few fallen petals from her skirt.

“Never mind that now, we’re getting to the important bit. Right, you!” Barbu began. “Hold it up a bit, Janty…can’t quite see…yes, that’s it…Belinda Blackheart! I have come here to tell you that I lo…oooh.” Barbu stopped suddenly. He shook his head and cleared his throat. “I lo…
ach, hrrrmph! Sorry. Feel a bit sick suddenly.” He gagged, swallowed, took a deep breath, and carried on. “I love you. Oh, Cooper! Seriously, I think I might be allergic …” He grabbed the chocolate box on Belinda’s lap and threw up into it. “You might not want those now …” he added, handing the box back again, panting. “Anyway, let’s cut to the chase and get this over with. Will you marry me?”

Belinda’s eyes opened to the size of saucers. “Me? Marry YOU?”

“I know,” Barbu sighed. “It’s ridiculous.”

“YES!” she screamed, leaping from her chair, arms wide open. Barbu let out a small screech. Dodging to the left, he ducked and dived around the room, Belinda hot on his heels.

“Stop her, Tully!” he yelled, throwing a chair in her path. The henchman, who was secretly enjoying the spectacle, nonetheless picked Belinda up when she next passed him and dumped her, unceremoniously, on the chaise longue.

“You have to do the wet thing on the face now, Mr. Barbu,” said Tully as the villain cowered behind an armchair.

“Really?” Barbu grimaced, closing his eyes in dread. “Oh, all right!” he yelled at Belinda. “Just stand up, keep still, and I’ll do the kissing.”

Clearing his throat, Barbu came out from behind the chair and approached his expectant fiancée. She had her eyes closed and her lips pursed in readiness. This really was beyond the call of duty, but a villain has to do what a villain has to do. With a heavy sigh, he leaned forward to kiss her, but found himself staring at the end of her chin. “Footstool, Tully,” he hissed. “Quickly. Though I am not small. It’s merely for
gravitas
.”

Tully slid a small wooden box in front of Belinda’s feet. Stepping up onto it with a revolted scowl, Barbu leaned toward Belinda’s cheek and, very swiftly, stuck out his tongue and licked it. “Right!” he yelled, jumping down from the box. “That will do. That’s that. We’re now engaged. But don’t get any funny ideas. I don’t want to be bothered again until the wedding.”

Belinda clutched her hands with joy. “I’m engaged!” She beamed. “Engaged! I must run and tell Mother and Father immediately. You’ve made me the happiest girl on Cooper, Barbu!”

“That’s Mr. D’Anvers to you,” snarled Barbu, wiping his tongue clean with a handkerchief.

As Belinda skipped from the room, the ghastly criminal turned to his cohorts. “It would have been very nice to have avoided all this distastefulness by finding the treasure quicker so we could have been on our way by now,” the villain snarled. “That dreadful Goody-Goodman always seems to thwart my plans. Anyway, that’s phase one of the marriage plan complete. Let phase two commence. Now we just have to get rid of Lord and Lady Blackheart. Is there some sort of deep well anywhere on the estate?”

“Why, Mr. Barbu?” asked Tully, scratching his head. “Do you need some water?”

“No!” yelled Barbu, rapping Tully on the forehead with his silver cane. “So we can push them down it! OBVIOUSLY!”

So there it is. Barbu D’Anvers engaged to a lady. Hell has frozen over.

“T
here you go, Inspector Lemone!” Mrs. Moggins smiled, handing the shivering policeman a large and steaming bowl. “My heavy soup made with our very own butler’s homegrown vegetables will warm you through in no time.”

“He’ll eat nothing of the sort!” snapped Mrs. Speckle, snatching the bowl away again. “Heavy soup? Revolting! Here,” she added, handing the Inspector a pie dish. “Fish tart. That’s the breakfast you need. Heavy soup! I ask you! It’s a wonder anyone in this house is
still alive
!”

Inspector Lemone didn’t dare respond. After
their terrible trudge through the night, he was frozen to the bone, and with icicles hanging from his nostrils, he was in no fit state to be coping with the unexpected attentions of not one, but
two
cooks, especially as one of them was his beloved Mrs. Speckle. Wilma, who had been hanging Pickle up by his ears in front of the fire to thaw out, now pulled off her mittens and slumped into a chair. Her braids were frozen solid, her shoes were full of snow, and her teeth were chattering nonstop. Theodore opened the oven door and stuck his bottom into it. “Oh, that’s better!” he groaned with a grateful sigh. There was no doubt about it, they had had a horrible hike.