Wilma Tenderfoot: The Case of the Fatal Phantom (23 page)

“So the spear in the pistol parlor was meant for Father too,” Tarquin added. “What a relief. Er, I mean …” He trailed off as Lord Blackheart’s already reddened face turned puce.

“And who would want Lord and Lady Blackheart dead? It’s obvious—our old friend Barbu D’Anvers, though I am sure Tully was doing the dirty work. Barbu had engaged himself to Belinda, and with Tarquin disinherited, all he had to do was bump everyone else off. Thankfully, he failed.”

“I feel almost disappointed that I can’t openly take the credit for all that,” admitted the villain,
arching an eyebrow. “It is a splendidly dastardly sequence of events, even if it didn’t quite succeed!”

The great and serious detective shook his head in disgust.

“But hang on,” Wilma piped up from where she was sitting on the floor, Pickle in her arms. “So after Folly Island you were back to thinking it WAS Oscar, but does that mean you still don’t know who the accomplice is?”

“In fact, Wilma, that fell into place almost at the same moment!”

“So who was it? It must be Fenomina Daise!” cried Belinda, pointing to the gasping psychic. “And she tried to turn everyone against me with her possession nonsense. I say arrest her immediately!”

Portious made a dutiful move in her direction, but Mr. Goodman waved him back.

“She was an obvious choice,” he agreed, “especially when I learned that her card was left in Lady Blackheart’s room anonymously at such a prescient time. But it was
too
obvious. And I saw
her face at the séance when the fake Phantom materialized—she was genuinely shocked. There is no doubt that Fenomina was brought in to advance the illusion of a haunting, and like most psychics she was a willing participant in a sham. It was in her interests to pretend that the haunting was real—it could only mean more business for her. But she was not expecting an attempt on her life, and that is why she rushed back here to pack her things and leave. She knew she was in danger, and she was right. Oscar’s presence in this shack proves one thing: He might not have been responsible for the crossbow near-miss, as Miss Daise believed he was, but he had come here to kill her.”

The evil crook shrank further into himself, but he did not try to deny the great and serious detective’s words.

“It’s true.” Fenomina nodded shamefacedly. “I received a note from someone tipping me off about a legend of a haunting at the Hoo. I was told I’d be paid handsomely but that I wasn’t to question anything and to go along with everything
I saw. Someone at the Hoo would help me. But then I was almost killed and it made me realize that no amount of money was worth losing my life over. I knew that the very note that had hired me made me a liability—I held one of the case’s biggest clues.”

“A clue as to the person on the inside who was in cahoots with Oscar Crackett,” Theodore continued. “Someone with access to all areas of the house, who could easily leave a psychic’s card in Lady Blackheart’s room, who knew all the secret passageways and closets with false backs perfect for listening in from.”

“Ooh.” Wilma suddenly twigged. “All that sneaking and creaking outside the official operations room!”

“Indeed,” Mr. Goodman agreed. “And it was the person who had bamboo planting sticks aplenty with which to fashion strangely light phantom talons like the one you found, Wilma, the person with curved pruning shears perfect for scratching talon-like messages into walls, the person who was standing right next to Belinda
when she got covered in ectoplasm—actually mashed peas—the person who tended the Hoo’s award-winning vegetable patch. And the person who longed to retire but thanks to the Blackhearts’ poverty couldn’t afford to do so comfortably. It was…Portious!”

“Thank goodness that’s finished.” Inspector Lemone sank back into his chair, panting.

“What did I say?” yelled Wilma, punching the air with her fist. “It
is
always the butler!”

“What?” Lord Blackheart roared again—now he was even pucer than puce!

“If you look in his pocket, I believe you’ll find a letter of notice already typed out,” Mr. Goodman explained. “Miss Daise and the doctor were the last loose ends before Oscar and Portious were due to disappear blamelessly and forever.”

Realizing the game was up, the butler made a dive for the shack door, but Tarquin wrestled him to the floor. “Oh no you don’t!” he said.

“I thought I had covered my tracks and that Fenomina would take the blame,” grumbled Portious, his long face becoming even longer.

“Ironically, it was almost the first thing you said to me that gave you away in the end,” Mr. Goodman said, addressing the butler seriously. “You complained that the snow was preventing you from planting your favorite vegetable: peas. And what do you need to plant peas? Bamboo sticks and hedge clippers. I had completely forgotten about it until Mrs. Moggins mentioned peas at Folly Island.”

“Admit it, brother dear,” Oscar said, looking up for the first time in several minutes. “You were going to let me take the rap alone.”

“I’d have kept the treasure safe till you were out!” Portious retorted even as Wilma registered what had just been said and yelled, “Brother?”

“Hence my moment of recognition when I first met Oscar in the guise of Dr. Flatelly,” Theodore conceded. “Note the same droopy eyes on both of them.”

“That’s not the only reason you recognize me,” sneered Oscar Crackett. “I’m a notorious criminal! A rapscallion of some repute! My face will appear on every newspaper in Cooper!”

Barbu, bemused, turned to Janty and muttered, “Never heard of him. He’s clearly delusional. Beware the wannabes, young apprentice, they’re tedious beyond belief.”

“But I’m afraid I have heard of him,” interjected Theodore, fingering his magnifying glass. “Though he looks quite different now he’s grown up. You see, many years ago, when Oscar was a boy, I was just starting out—and was called upon to solve the Case of the Pinched Partridge. An award-winning game bird had been stolen, pilfered by, it turned out, the young Oscar. As soon as Dr. Flatelly here mentioned his name, I recognized it. I have heard he has been in and out of prison since, his crimes growing in immensity each time. It just goes to show,” continued Theodore, shooting Janty a quick glance, “that a life of petty crime as a lad can turn to graver trouble later.”

Wilma nodded in agreement. She hoped Janty had taken note of that bit about graver trouble. Although as Mr. Goodman was speaking, she noticed he had been picking his nose, which was a disappointment. Boys, eh?

“But why, Portious? Why?” Lady Blackheart wailed, still staring in disbelief at her once faithful manservant.

“I hated you all,” the butler sneered angrily, his face animated for the first time since they’d arrived at the shack. “Waiting on you hand and foot year in, year out—a threadbare existence. No pension to speak of and never a word of thanks. Then Oscar got out of prison and approached me and we hatched the perfect plan! Where’s being good and respectable all these years gotten me? I just wanted some peace and luxury in my retirement—it’s not too much to ask, is it?! It was only a matter of time before we had the treasure from under your noses.” He spat on the floor.

“And we would have been away with it if it hadn’t been for you two!” yelled Oscar grumpily, narrowing his eyes at Mr. Goodman and Wilma.

“Hang on,” said Wilma. “Speaking of the treasure…where is it?”

Just then Oscar tossed Lemone and his chair aside and made a sudden lunge for a bundle left at the foot of the aphengoscopic lantern. “I did
everything to get this,” he yelled, “and you won’t take it from me! Sorry, brother.” And tapping twice on a square in the floor, he abruptly disappeared from view.

“What in the blue blazes!” yelled Inspector Lemone.

“It’s my trapdoor!” cried Fenomina. “I use it to spooky effect when people come for readings. It leads outside!”

“Keep an eye on the butler, Lemone!” yelled Theodore, making for the door. “I’ll go after him!”

Pickle, whom Wilma had been tending gently for the past half hour, suddenly raised his head a little and struggled up. He might not have quite saved the hour, but he was determined to save the day. Nobody could run faster than him. Using every last scrap of strength he had, he dashed through the door after the fake archaeologist, overtaking the great detective. Wilma jumped to her feet and ran after him. Oscar, the treasure tucked under his arm, had almost
made it to the other side of the bridge and into the cloudy swamp when Pickle caught up with him and dashed between his legs. The villain staggered, stumbled, and finally tripped…and as he fell, the bundle that he had held so tightly tumbled to the edge of the bridge and landed at the feet of…Tarquin Blackheart. The cloth unrolled and the golden claw was at last revealed in all its magnificence.

“Finally!” yelled the errant young man, holding the golden claw above his head triumphantly. “I have it! It’s mine!”

“Not so fast!” shouted another voice behind him. It was Barbu D’Anvers, still dripping wet and running at him with Tully and Janty in tow. “Grab it, Tully! Grab it!” The large henchman flung himself forward and landed on Tarquin, bringing him to the ground. As they rolled, the golden claw was tossed into the air. “Catch it!” screamed Barbu, trying to jump up, but he wasn’t tall enough. And the claw, skimming across the tops of his fingertips, rotated in midair before landing squarely in the middle of a patch of wet sand.
Everybody watched as the treasure of Bludsten Blackheart was sucked downward. Forever.

Glaring, Barbu swung his cane into the nearest tree and screamed, “NOOOOOOO! NOOOOOOOO! NOOOOOOOOO!”

“Well done, Pickle,” said Wilma as her brave dog hobbled back to her. “Though I think you’ve had enough excitement for one day.”

I think everyone has. Don’t you?

“S
o let me get this straight,” boomed Lord Blackheart as the family and servants all stood around the fireplace back at the Hoo. “There were no ghosts? None at all? And after all that, the golden claw is gone as well?” He picked up a large steak pie and bit into it aggressively.

“I’m afraid so.” Theodore nodded, his hands clasped behind his back. “And Oscar Crackett and Portious are in custody at last.”

“I can’t believe I had it in my grasp,” wailed Tarquin. “I had the claw! And I lost it!”

“Which is bad luck on you,” snapped Barbu
D’Anvers, who was standing, scowling, in a corner. “You still owe me a vast amount of grogs.”

Lord Blackheart put down his pie and stood up. “I’ve just about had enough of you, D’Anvers,” he said, pushing his chest out. “A man’s home is his castle and for another chap to come in and rattle around it unwanted is the worst sort of bad show there is.”

“Well, you’d better get used to it,” sneered the diminutive villain, twirling his cane, “seeing as I’m going to be marrying…hang on…which one is it…that one there?”

“No, that’s the maid Polly, master,” whispered Janty. “The one you want is there. The one waving at you and smiling.”

“Oh yes. Sorry, what’s her name again?”

“Belinda, master. Belinda Blackheart.”

“Yes!” declared Barbu forcefully. “Blah-Blah Blackheart is my betrothed and I shall be moving in permanently and taking her inheritance.”

“Ah yes,” said Lord Blackheart, sticking his chin in the air. “I’m glad you brought that up. You won’t be marrying my daughter.”

“But Daddy!” wailed Belinda. “We’re engaged!”

“Yes,” Lord Blackheart went on, nodding toward his daughter. “You are engaged, but not to D’Anvers. You have been engaged to your third cousin twice removed, Septimus, since the age of three. I was going to tell you on your twenty-first birthday, as a treat. So that’s that surprise ruined. There it is. You can’t be engaged to two people. You’re already taken.”

Barbu let out a small explosive scream. “All right! You can keep your buck-toothed, wonky-eyed daughter. I don’t really care. I JUST WANT THE MONEY TARQUIN OWES ME!”

Belinda burst into tears.

“I am quite aware of that debt,” continued Lord Blackheart, “but it has come to my attention that you have spent your time here pilfering my possessions and trying to kill us.”

“Correct.” Theodore smiled, lighting his pipe. “Which means Inspector Lemone is perfectly entitled to arrest you
unless
you forfeit your right to the debt in return for amnesty. I’m afraid you leave with nothing, Barbu. Yet again.”

“Toss them out, Goodman,” roared Lord Blackheart. “Immediately!”

“This is an outrage!” yelled Barbu as Inspector Lemone grabbed him by the collar and bundled him to the door. “Torn asunder from the woman I love! Surely you want me to stay?”

Belinda, wiping the tears from her eyes, walked across the room to look down at Barbu. “Even when I discovered you’d been trying to kill my parents I was prepared to forgive you in the name of true love. And having someone to marry. But I see now I meant nothing to you. You just wanted the money. However, if you can get my name right ONCE, I shall ask my father to forgive you.”

Barbu grimaced. “Oh, COME ON! Can’t I have an easy one?”

“WHAT IS MY NAME?”

Barbu’s face contorted into a myriad of ghastly shapes as he racked his brains in thought. “B…B…B …” he began desperately. And then, in a tiny whisper, “Barbara?”

Belinda raised her hand and slapped Barbu
firmly about the face. “OWWWWW!” he yelled. “That STUNG!”

“There’s a manure cart that leaves for the Lowside in five minutes, Inspector,” she said imperiously. “Make sure they’re on it!”

“My pleasure,” replied Lemone, bustling the villain from the room.

It had been a very long day. Pickle was still a little concussed after his tumble at the shack and so, as they waited for a carriage to return them to Clarissa Cottage, Wilma had tucked him into a small bed with a warm hot-water bottle and a bobble hat. Inspector Lemone, exhausted, was fast asleep and snoring in the chair by the fire. Wilma’s mind was whirring. It felt like it had been a difficult case of highs and lows in terms of her apprenticeship, and she wasn’t sure what to make of it. Theodore, noticing that his apprentice looked a little crestfallen, put a hand on her shoulder. “Come and walk with me while I take a pipe, Wilma,” he said. “I want to have a chat with you.”