The Case of the Disappearing Corpse

by June Whyte

  Hmm…

  “What about the knife that’s missing,” I persisted. “What does that look like?”

  “Missing?” Paul glanced across at Krystal.

  “It’s still at the jewelers,” she told him. “Remember you asked me to get the ruby set back into the handle.” She turned to me again. “The jewel was loose and when I knocked the knife off the wall while I was dusting, the ruby fell out.”

  She went to the cupboard that I had been cowering in earlier and brought out a packet of paper plates which she set on the table in readiness for pizza.

  Tayla was listening, her eyes rounder than bicycle wheels. “And is the missing knife a dagger?” she croaked.

  “As a matter of fact it is. It’s a gorgeous little dagger with rubies set in the shape of a dragon on the handle. Paul picked it up when we were in China last year.”

  Dagger?

  China?

  Hmm…again!

  Deciding to switch my line of questioning I pushed my plate away and leaned both elbows on the table. “I don’t suppose you got a look at the two men in overalls who were hanging around outside your class the day of the murder?”

  “No, not really.” Krystal took the reheated pizza from the microwave and fed a slice to Sweetums. Sprawled in a basket the size of a baby’s cot the feral dog drooled up at his mistress, his expression all honey and sugar and strawberry marshmallow. “But I do remember Frank getting nervous when the men came to the door. He stopped laughing and tried to drag your friend, Patsy, in front of him like a shield.”

  “What happened then?” asked Tayla her voice breathless.

  Krystal eyes twinkled. “She just elbowed him in the stomach and went on laughing.”

  “Anyone else whose name starts with a K?” asked Jack.

  “The only person in my Laughing Class whose name starts with a K is the invincible Katherine Mann.”

  My ears pricked. “Katherine Mann?”

  “She’s 91 years old and doesn’t go far from the rest home these days without a nurse.”

  Her eyes twinkled as she grinned across at me.

  Was Krystal Masters a cunning killer who’d placed a spell on us with her yummy chocolate cake?

  I caught her eye, held it. “Just out of curiosity—” I began.

  “Curiosity killed the cat, Cha.”

  Uh! Oh!

  Krystal had suddenly lost her twinkle, her warmth and her easy smile. Her beautiful pixie-like face had become stiff and stony.

  I gulped. Forced myself to continue. “Um…where did you say you went after you left the Laughing Class?”

  “I didn’t. But if you’re asking me if I had the opportunity to kill Frank, the answer is no. At the time of Frank’s death I was on a police-boat in the middle of the Port River with three other members of the force. I went there straight from the church hall.”

  Huh?

  “You see, Cha, I’m a police woman. Sergeant K.C. Masters of the Port Adelaide Water-Police. And I’m warning you—and your friends—go home and forget all about finding Frank’s murderer. Leave that to us. Whoever killed Frank Skinner is a very dangerous criminal who would think nothing of bumping off three nosey kids.”

  She glared at each of us in turn. “Am I getting through to you?”

  Ten

  After leaving Krystal Master’s house, Jack, Tayla and I rode our bikes along the Esplanade as if the bogey-man was after us. The wind still whistled off the sea and dark clouds pushed down from overhead, thick and threatening.

  Whoever murdered Frank Skinner is a very disturbed criminal who would think nothing of bumping off three nosy kids…

  Gasping for breath, we strained every muscle to make our bikes go faster. Honestly, if a dark figure had jumped out at us from the bushes I reckon we’d have died on the spot.

  Of course my P.I. days were over. Flushed down the loo like Mrs. Turner’s maggoty sausages. I decided to hand over my trench coat and beret and hunt through old newspapers in the library for a true crime that had already been solved.

  That is, until Wendy the Weasel deliberately bumped into me during recess at school the following day…

  Wendy was a bully with big thighs and shoulders to match. For some reason she was always out to make me look stupid.

  “Hey, Broomstick,” she sneered as she knocked my half-eaten muesli bar into the dirt. “I heard something really weird today!”

  “If you hang out with zombies, you’re sure to hear weird stuff,” I answered sweetly.

  Making a great show of treading on my muesli bar she ground it deeper into the dirt.

  “Oops, sorry. My foot slipped.” She turned to her two sniggering cronies who giggled noisily into their cream buns.

  I counted to five in my head. Every number an imaginary custard pie squashed in Wendy’s face.

  Finally satisfied with the burial of my play lunch she pushed her face into mine. “I heard you were entering the writing competition.”

  “So?” Wendy’s garlic breath made my eyes blink. “What’s it to you?”

  “My father bought me three books on Jack the Ripper. What are you writing about? The mystery of the missing tooth-fairy?”

  I pulled one of my famous vomit faces. You know…tongue dangling to the side, eyes crossed and nose squinched like I’d just got a whiff of something nasty at the back of the fridge.

  “Jack the Ripper? Boooooring!”

  Then I puffed out my non-existent chest and looked down my nose.

  “Me? I’m in the middle of solving a murder that only happened two days ago. I won’t be writing my story until I’ve completed my investigations.”

  I turned and walked away, grinning like the Cheshire cat from Alice in Wonderland. But not for long. It took me all of two seconds for my grin to turn upside down and my shoulders to slump.

  What had I gone and done?

  I’d opened my big mouth and let a whole heap of trouble in. Now I was committed to finding Frank’s murderer. And if I was still alive after that—write a story about it.

  School dragged on as it always does on Mondays, being the first day of the week and such a mega time till Friday. But at last the final siren sounded and the prison doors clanged open.

  Leaving me to carry out my new plan….

  Every Monday night Tayla and I took turns sleeping over. This week it was my turn to stay at Tayla’s house. Hurrying home from school I printed out my story so far and stuffed it in my back-pack. Then I threw in pyjamas, notebook, Tim Tams, a packet of Good-Dog for Leroy, who always went visiting with me…and…the key to Patsy Turner’s empty house.

  Yep, you’ve guessed it!

  We’d tell Tayla’s mum she had her weeks mixed up. Whenever she has a new boyfriend she’s always so dreamy we can play tricks on her. She’d met up with this guy called Stevie only a couple of days before so she didn’t even query us.

  At first Tayla was horrified. “No way!” she said when I told her my plan.

  “Come on, Tayla,” I urged. “We can hunt for clues.”

  She shook her head.

  “Think of it as a sleep-over without annoying adults. We can watch TV until midnight if we feel like it.”

  “Sleep-over? Hey, I wouldn’t sleep in that house for a million, squillion dollars. Have you forgotten Krystal’s warning?”

  “Krystal is a police officer—it’s her duty to scare people.”

  Tayla’s blonde curls shook vigorously from side to side for at least another twenty seconds—until I promised her a large block of her favorite chocolate, two cans of Coke, a packet of cheese and onion chips and to do her math homework for one whole week.

  What we Private Eyes have to endure…

  Bargaining over, Tayla and Leroy followed me up to Patsy’s front door and stood nervously waiting for me to turn the key.

  Squeeeeeek!

  Tayla, her face the color of chewing gum, scuttled backwards off the front steps and stared at the door.

  “Hinge needs oiling,” I expl
ained as I fumbled around inside for the light switch.

  Tayla looked ready to bolt. She gazed around the house as though expecting the murderer to jump out from behind a cupboard, blood still running down his arm from the knife he’d stuck into Frank Skinner’s back.

  “Hey, this is going to be fun,” I said, trying for a cheerful voice.

  I was definitely not spending a night alone in this house so had to get Tayla’s mind off scary things. “Let’s raid the fridge and have a picnic.”

  I tossed my backpack on the table and opened the freezer door. It was packed high with frozen fish fingers and hamburgers. I seem to remember burnt chops, lumpy potatoes and bullet peas when Patsy had been my babysitter. Looked like instead of improving her cooking she’d reverted to eating frozen pre-cooked food.

  While Tayla found a frying pan and Leroy claimed the softest cushion from the sofa for his before-dinner snooze, I went hunting for clues. There had to be a reason for Frank to be sneaking around Patsy’s house.

  Determined to uncover a clue, I poked my nose in the toilet cistern. I went down on my hands and knees and rummaged under Patsy’s bed. I unplugged the television and used a torch to check out the plug-holes.

  Nothing.

  I searched through Patsy’s coat pockets. I even rifled through her extensive library of romance books, in case someone had slipped evidence between the pages.

  Still nothing.

  It wasn’t until I began my search in the laundry that I hit the jackpot.

  As I threw Patsy’s dirty clothes in the washing-machine, I noticed a pair of bright red tracksuit pants crumpled up on the bottom of the bowl and thought; maybe they were the pants she’d been wearing at her Laughing Class. Maybe this was my big break. Maybe Frank had slipped something into Patsy’s pocket because the FBI was hot on his trail.

  Or maybe I was just plain crazy…

  Expecting to find nothing but dirty tissues or a peppermint lifesaver covered in fluff I slid two fingers gingerly into the pants pocket. Bingo. My fingers hit something small, round and hard. A sort of cartridge thing. Inside was what looked like the tiniest film-spool I’d ever seen. Smaller than my thumb-nail.

  “Hey, Tayla, look at this.” I dropped Patsy’s tracksuit pants on the floor and raced into the kitchen. “I think I’ve found what Frank was after.”

  While turning the fish fingers over with a fork Tayla glanced over her shoulder, frowning. “What is it?”

  “Not sure but it looks like a miniature film. Frank must have put it in Patsy’s pocket when he grabbed her in class. Whoever killed Frank must have been after this.”

  “Throw it away then. If the killer wants that thing—we don’t!”

  After placing our newest piece of evidence on the table I dropped into a chair and took an excited breath. “Tayla, this is an important clue. Much better than the pink handkerchief. This is the break-through. If we can find out what’s on this film, we might crack the case.”

  “Or get our heads cracked.” Tayla heaped fish fingers onto three plates; put two on the table and one on the floor.

  “Wait till it cools down,” I warned Leroy as his mouth closed around the nearest fish-finger.

  “I don’t like this, Cha,” declared Tayla, her face going that funny chewing-gum color again. “We’re not acting in a movie here. If a killer stabs you with a knife in real life—it’s for keeps.”

  Woah!

  Sometimes Tayla gets too scary for her own good. Gives me the creeps. I shivered, then forced myself to concentrate on my newest hot clue.

  “Frank probably thought he could ask himself in for a cup of coffee and pick Patsy’s pocket while she was in the kitchen.”

  Tayla shook her head. “Can’t see Patsy asking him in. She said he was a sleaze. Perhaps he was going to force his way inside as soon as she opened the door.”

  “Or he might have been checking the place out meaning to break in later, didn’t know he was being followed, and got himself killed.” I crunched down on a lightly burned fish finger and ate without tasting it. “But why was he killed?”

  Tayla put down her knife and fork and frowned that wobbly frown she usually gets just before diving under her doona in fright. “Because the killer thought Frank had the film.”

  “Which means he’s still after it.”

  Tayla’s eyes glazed over. “And now we’ve got it.”

  “And keeping it.”

  I slipped the film from the table into my pocket, not letting her spook me out any more. I’d hit on something big here and wasn’t going to be talked out of using it.

  Tayla looked down at her plate, gulped and said, for the seventy-seventh time since we’d walked through the door. “We shouldn’t be here.”

  “Relax, Tay,” I said, in my most soothing voice. “We’ll be okay. No-one even knows we’re here.”

  “And that’s supposed to make me feel safer?”

  Ignoring the squeak in her voice, I grinned and reached for the pepper. “Isn’t this exciting? We’ve stumbled on the biggest clue yet.”

  “That’s not a clue—it’s a time-bomb. And you know it.”

  “Geez, Tay, chill out will you?”

  I sent her a full-on scowl and banged the pepper pot back on the table. My best friend was making me nervous.

  One…Tayla was right.

  And two…she was making the hairs on the back of my neck stand up and shiver.

  “Okay, let’s give Leroy a Tim Tam,” I suggested, changing the subject. “If he’s going to be our guard-dog we’ve got to keep his energy levels up. Make sure he stays a—”

  CRAAAAAAAAAASH

  My mouth remained open, then closed on a swallow that felt like a large cane-toad had somehow crawled down my throat and got stuck.

  Please let that be a stray cat knocking over a rubbish bin in the back yard.

  And not a very disturbed killer here to bump off a couple of nosy kids.

  Eleven

  “What w-was th-that?” Tayla’s voice sounded as though it had been caught in a lemon squeezer.

  I didn’t waste my time pointing out that how the heck would I know—because I really didn’t want to know.

  Perhaps Tayla was right.

  Perhaps not letting anyone know we were at Patsy’s house hadn’t been one of my better ideas. Yet someone knew we were here. And they were outside right now, throwing rubbish bins around to let us know they knew.

  Tayla grabbed my arm and hung on. Her nails dug into my skin.

  “Send Leroy out, Cha. Let him find out what’s going on.”

  I peered dubiously down at Leroy, who after sucking up the last crumb on his plate had curled into a ball. By now he was probably chasing Tim Tam biscuits in his dreams.

  “Er…Leroy. Do you want to go outside?”

  When Leroy opened one eye then shut it again Tayla shook her head. “We’ll ring the police instead.”

  “And what are we going to say? Please send a police car immediately because it sounds like a rubbish bin fell over in the backyard?” I shook my head. “Come on Tay, we’ll check it out ourselves.”

  “No. Send Leroy out first and if nothing happens to him—then we check it out ourselves.”

  “But what if something happens to my dog?”

  “Leroy’s a guard dog isn’t he? And that’s what guard dogs do. Guard their owner.”

  Down on all fours I placed my mouth next to Leroy’s ear. “Pssst! Leroy! Wake up!”

  A train could have rattled through the kitchen and Leroy wouldn’t wake up. So I wasn’t surprised when his snores grew louder.

  “Leroy?”

  Something bumped against the side of the house.

  “Leeeeeroy!” I screeched.

  The dog yelped, shot to his feet and knocked me in the nose. Then, after giving me a filthy look, stalked on bandy legs towards his cushion.

  “Oh…No…You…Don’t!”

  Before he could cement his eyelids shut again, Tayla grabbed his lead from the kitchen shel
f and attached it to his collar.

  “Quick…open the door, Cha.”

  “Do we have to put Leroy outside?”

  “Open the door,” repeated Tayla, dragging the reluctant bulldog along the floor on his rear end. “Leroy can look after himself. Hey, he might even chase the bad guys away.”

  I tried to bring up an image of my lazy bulldog chasing villains but all I could see was the reproachful look he gave me as Tayla dragged him to the door.

  “Here’s the deal, Leroy,” she said, opening the door just wide enough for one very plump bulldog to be shoved through. “If anyone’s out there, bark twice. Okay?”

  It took three goes for Tayla to push all the fat bull-doggy bits through the doorway. Once, they even reversed positions—Leroy inside—Tayla outside.

  But at last the entire dog was in the backyard.

  After a five minute wait I opened the door a crack and we plastered our noses to the gap.

  “You okay, Leroy?” I whispered.

  Still sitting exactly where Tayla had pushed him, the dog yawned, shivered until all his excess fat quivered, then looked back at me with a pitiful expression.

  “He’s okay,” I said, relief flooding through me. “So it must be cats at the garbage bin. I’m going out to check.”

  “Oh, no,” moaned Tayla. “You can’t leave me here alone.”

  “Well, come with me.”

  I slithered through the doorway and grabbed Leroy. With his lead gripped firmly in my left hand and the torch in my right, I stepped off the veranda.

  Tayla super-glued herself to my side.

  Someone or something had been here because both rubbish bins were tipped over. Lids off. Garbage scattered. My heart skittered up into my throat so quickly, if I hadn’t slammed my mouth shut, it would have jumped out and ran away.

  Please let it be cats…

  Our eyes and heads swiveled like clowns at a fun-fair as we inched our way across the yard.

  “Anyone here?” I croaked, my voice getting tangled up with my hammering heart.

  Please, please, don’t let anyone answer.

  I took another step forward. So did my two shadows.