Wilma Tenderfoot: The Case of the Fatal Phantom (21 page)

“Hold on!” shouted Tarquin, who was running toward them, hand on top hat. “Wait for me!” He looked frantically along the line of boats. Nearest to him there was a paddleboat in the shape of a duck and a small canoe tied to the rickety wooden jetty. He looked from one to the other before jumping into the paddleboat, but just as his feet touched the pedals, a large hand grabbed his coat collar and yanked him back onto the snow. “Out of our way!” yelled Barbu, leaping into the paddleboat instead. “Tully, Janty, GET IN!”

Spitting frozen soil from his mouth, Tarquin scrabbled to his feet and squeezed himself into the canoe. Both Theodore’s boat and Barbu’s paddleboat were now racing toward the island. He had to beat them!

Suddenly Belinda appeared from nowhere and threw herself at the end of the canoe, where she hung on for dear life. “Wait for me!” she yelled. “I need that treasure for my dream wedding!”

“And I need a new set of pans!” shouted Mrs. Moggins, shoving Belinda out of the way.

“And we need it so we can start our String Emporium!” cried Molly, who was running with Polly toward the lake’s edge.

“Hang on!” yelled Lord Blackheart, who was struggling to keep up with everyone else. “That treasure is mine! I’m the head of this house and I hired Mr. Goodman!”

“And I am the lady! And I have pearls to replace!” cried Lady Blackheart, who was right behind him.

Portious brought up the rear, looking as somber and disinterested as ever but following nonetheless.

“Everyone’s gone treasure-CRAZY! And that devil D’Anvers is catching up with us, Goodman!” wailed Inspector Lemone, pulling on his oar with all his might. Theodore looked over
his shoulder. The duck-shaped paddleboat was indeed gaining on them.

“Ram them!” shouted Barbu at Tully, who was pedaling like fury. “Ram them in the side!” Janty, who had his hand on the tiller, swung it away from himself, sending the paddleboat veering to its left. The beak-shaped prow missed the tail end of Mr. Goodman’s rowing boat by inches. “Blast!” yelled the villain. “Come around again and smash them in the other side!”

“Get away!” bellowed Inspector Lemone, standing up and swinging his oar at the fast-approaching paddleboat. “You’re a dastardly scoundrel, Barbu D’Anvers!”

“Now isn’t the time for compliments, Inspector Lemone!” jeered the diminutive rascal as they bore down on the small rowing boat for the second time. “Prepare for a dousing!” As the vessels collided, there was a mighty crunch and the rowing boat toppled sideways. The lighter paddleboat, propelled by its own speed, skewed skyward and flew over the top of the rowboat rear end first, where it caught the wind and in one
almost balletic movement flipped and dumped everyone in it into the lake.

“Yes!” shouted Inspector Lemone, standing once more to cheer as their enemies splashed into the water. But as he stood, the rowboat gave a deep and troubling cracking sound and with one shuddering snap, fractured in two.

“Quick!” shouted the great and serious detective, still frantically rowing. “Jump onto this half and pull as hard as you can, Lemone!” With only a few more feet to go, Theodore and the Inspector dug into the water with their oars and made it to shore just before the boat sank into oblivion.

Inspector Lemone crawled onto the shore and lay there panting and dripping, looking out toward the overturned paddleboat. Just behind it, Janty was standing up to his chest in water. “It’s not so bad,” he heard him shout to Tully. “I can reach the bottom. Hang on! Where’s the master?” Tully looked around him, but there was no sign of the villainous D’Anvers. Then a small plume of bubbles broke the water’s surface to his left. Plunging a hand downward, he pulled up a
spluttering, coughing Barbu. He could reach the bottom too, but unfortunately his head couldn’t reach the surface at the same time.

“Get off!” yelled a voice behind them. “It’s mine!” The others, taking advantage of the mid-lake battle, had reached the island first and discovered the casket. Mrs. Moggins was scrabbling with Molly and Polly, while Lord Blackheart was wrestling his wife. Belinda, crawling out from the tangle of bodies, stretched a hand toward the infamous casket but suddenly Tarquin climbed over his sister, grabbed it, and held it aloft.

“I have it!” he declared in triumph. “Finders Keepers! Finders Keepers!” Breathing heavily with exertion, everyone stopped and stared. “Where’s the key?” Tarquin demanded, looking toward Mr. Goodman. “Don’t be a sore loser—hand it over!”

“Actually …” the great detective began.

“Oh, be like that,” Tarquin snapped. “I’ve no time for chit-chat. I’ll just break it open, spook or no spook!” He looked about his feet for a large rock, but suddenly his face, which
moments before had been so smug and joyful, fell. “The…the mummy’s key.” He pointed down to where it lay discarded beneath some leaves. “How…why…?” Slowly, he looked back at the casket in his hands and shook it. Nothing. With trembling fingers he touched the lid. It opened smoothly. The casket had evidently already been unearthed and unlocked, and it was empty. “Nooooooooooooo!” Tarquin screamed.

“Beaten to it!” groaned Mr. Goodman as he took the casket from the young Blackheart to examine it.

“But who by?” wailed Inspector Lemone.

“Maybe I can help with that!” shouted out a tussled figure who was frantically rowing toward the island. “Allow me to introduce myself,” he added as he reached the shore and stepped out from his boat. “I am Dr. Irascimus Flatelly. The real Irascimus Flatelly.”

“It’s as I suspected all along!” exclaimed Theodore, his eyes flashing. “And yet …”

Then as Barbu and his cohorts dragged themselves ashore and Belinda sidled toward them,
the great and serious detective hit himself in the forehead and shouted, “Of course! How could I have been so blind?”

“I’m sorry,” said Lady Blackheart, shaking her head and staring at the crumpled fellow in front of her. “You’re Irascimus Flatelly? Then who was that other chap?”

“My assistant, Oscar Crackett,” explained the real Irascimus. “He’s had me locked up for weeks, ever since he found out about the Blackheart treasure. He threatened to kill me too, once I was of no more use to him—he’s been picking my brains on Blackheart history for days. And as he had the key, I fear it must have been him who beat you all to it.”

“No idea what’s going on,” declared Mrs. Moggins, throwing her arms in the air. “But this treasure-chasing is playing havoc with my cooking timetable. I’ve got onions to peel and peas to shell. I’m off!”

“Peas!” yelled Goodman, throwing the casket to the floor. “And so it comes together!”

“I am VERY confused,” boomed Lord Blackheart,
scrambling up from the ground. “Have the ghosts gone? Were there ever any? Who’s got the treasure? And what’s all this about peas?”

“Don’t worry, Lord Blackheart,” cried the detective, making for the doctor’s rowboat. “I’ll explain everything later. But it’s imperative that I try and arrest this fellow before he makes off with what should rightfully be yours. And I know exactly where he’ll be now he’s got what he was after. Hang on a minute,” he added, looking around him, “we still don’t know where Wilma is.”

“Your able apprentice was the one who released me,” explained Dr. Flatelly with a smile, “and she did ask me to tell you she’s gone to the Swamp of Heavy Sighs to track down some psychic or other. Something to do with needing her for spooks.”

“Oh no,” sighed Theodore. “There isn’t a moment to lose. We must get to the swamp immediately. Portious, everyone else, I shall need you to accompany us—we may need some strong hands on our side!”

“Wilma’s not in dire peril again, is she?” wailed Lemone as Lord Blackheart ushered a reluctant butler after the dynamic duo.

“Just jump in and row, man!” yelled Goodman. “Wilma’s life may depend on it!”

“Help! And it’s going to get spooky!” whimpered Inspector Lemone, wading back into the lake after his friend. “And handcuffs won’t work on ghosts!”

No. No they won’t. Oh dear, I do hope everyone’s going to be all right. Don’t you?

T
here are some places where people with any sense should never go, and on Cooper that place was the Swamp of Heavy Sighs. Very few who entered ever left, and unless you knew every twist and sticky turn, you were more likely to end up lost in a maze of vines and roots or sucked downward to a muddy end than reach your destination. Damp quagmires and bubbling bogs lay on either side as Wilma and her intrepid hound picked their way along the narrow path. The young apprentice detective couldn’t help but shiver. No birds sang. Instead, the only sounds
were the deep rumblings of toads on slimy pads and the occasional slithering of snakes in the shallow waters.

Fenomina’s shack was deep in the center of the swamp, completely surrounded by water and with a wooden bridge connecting it to the patch of dry land they found themselves on. It had a porch adorned with the skeletons of dead animals, marsh gas surrounded it with a permanent rolling cloud of fog, and candles set in rodent skulls lit the way across the wobbly bridge. As Wilma and Pickle began to cross the water, something large and scaly broke the surface below them, only to disappear back into the murky oblivion from whence it came. “Why on earth does Fenomina want to live out here?” wondered Wilma as she flicked something slimy off her hand. “It’s revolting! And more than a little eerie.” She strode on bravely while Pickle crept even closer to her and quivered.

When they reached the porch, Wilma looked down at her companion. “Do nothing unless I say so,” she whispered. “It may be about to go all spooky and precarious.”

Pickle threw his best friend a troubled glance. Wilma gulped. “We have to persuade Fenomina to come back with us so she can exercise the spooks now that we’ve found the treasure. Only that will definitely, once and for all, be the proof Mr. Goodman needs. We can’t give up now. Besides, he might be in trouble if the spooks attack and there’s no expert exerciser on hand.”

As Wilma raised her hand to knock, she realized she could hear loud sounds on the other side of the door as if things were being moved in a hurry. She rapped hard. The sounds stopped but no one answered. Wilma looked down at Pickle. “We’ve got no time to waste,” she whispered, and burst through the door, Pickle tumbling in behind her.

There was a strange smell inside the shack, of old incense and worse. A large suitcase stood in the center of the room and Fenomina, startled by the sudden intrusion, had dived behind it momentarily. “My goodness!” she cried, staring up at them. “I wasn’t expecting…I mean…Has there been another phenomenon? Must I
intervene? Sorry! You have caught me unawares. I was just packing some things. For a psychic’s convention. Over in Bleeuuurgh. In fact, I’m quite late!” Scrambling to her feet, Fenomina slammed the case shut, dress sleeves still hanging out of it, and picking it up, made a dash for the door.

“I’ve got news, Miss Daise,” said Wilma, stepping into her path. “We need your help. Mr. Goodman thinks he knows where the treasure is and only you can fend off the spooks.”

Fenomina rose to her full height. “Are you…alone?” she asked, peering around the young girl.

“Yes,” said Wilma, nodding, “apart from Pickle …”

Suddenly, a strange moaning sounded through the shack. Wilma looked around, but in the gloom she could see nothing except the almost imperceptible trembling of a curtain to their left. Fenomina, her one good eye ablaze, dropped her case and held a hand to her forehead in apparent terror.

“Oh my,” mumbled Wilma, backing into a coat stand that was dripping in snakes. “OH MY!” she
yelled, realizing that they were crawling over her shoulders. She brushed them off with some urgency only to notice a strange bulge behind the curtain. “There’s something going on over there. What is it, Miss Daise? Is someone else here? Or some
thing
?”

Wilma turned to look at Fenomina, who was pointing wordlessly at the ceiling. Just then a great wind rushed through the shack, extinguishing all the candles. The place was pitched into darkness and Wilma was left staring up at the glowing, disembodied head of the Fatal Phantom! “I warned you to leave what was mine!” it hissed. “AND NOW I SHALL KILL YOU BOTH!”

Suddenly, the apparition disappeared, and from out of the shadows swept the Fatal Phantom made flesh. Fenomina screamed and recoiled from it. Then, as it pursued her across the shack, she dropped down in a dead faint and it turned its attentions on Wilma.

Wilma looked around to see if there was anything she could protect herself with. Grabbing a mounted set of antlers, she cowered, waving them
defensively, but the Fatal Phantom, red eyes burning and hissing evilly, knocked the makeshift shield to one side and raised its talons to strike. Wilma was defenseless. But as the Phantom lunged forward, Pickle leaped up, bit down on its arm, and twisted the talons away from Wilma’s heart. The spook was too strong for the small hound, however, and shook Pickle violently, sending the poor dog careening into the wall. Winded, the brave hound slumped to the floor.

“Pickle!” yelled Wilma, trying to get to him, but the Phantom had hold of her. She could feel its hot breath on the back of her head as the Phantom raised its talons once more …

Click! A handcuff snapped shut around the Phantom’s wrist and as Mr. Goodman swept Wilma from its clutches, Inspector Lemone wrestled the ghoul to the floor and cuffed its second wrist. The shack door was still swinging wildly from where they had burst in.

“Well, I never!” declared Inspector Lemone, panting. “Handcuffs
do
work on ghosts! And spooks or no spooks, no one attempts murder on
our young apprentice detective on my watch!” He wiped his eyes discreetly. “I’m so glad you’re all right, Wilma.”

“You have to believe in ghosts now, Mr. Goodman,” breathed the small girl determinedly. “We’ve only gone and
caught
one.”

“Ohhhhhh!” moaned Fenomina, coming to and gingerly standing up. “Sorry I wasn’t of much help…Shall I wave a few crystals?”

“You’re in no way guiltless in all of this, Miss Daise,” Mr. Goodman retorted. “Portious, would you mind standing guard over her for the time being?” Fenomina grunted and stood, looking sheepish, as the butler planted himself at her side expressionlessly.