The Mystery of Miss King

by Margaret Ryan

  For Isabel and Granny Elspeth with love

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  The problem: My old bike. I am growing too big for it, but we can’t afford a new one as Dad is off work with a broken leg.

  The brainwave: Ask Mr Maini at the corner shop if he has a paper round so I can save up for some new wheels.

  The dilemma: There is a paper round, but it takes in Weir Street and I’ve heard that the people who live there are weird.

  The hero: Me, of course. Jonny Smith. I’m not scared – it’s only a paper round. And just how weird can the people in Weir Street be…?

  Chapter One

  I was having breakfast and just about to set off on my paper round, when Mum came into the kitchen carrying a pile of dirty washing.

  “Your bedroom is such a mess, Jonny Smith,” she said. “I could hardly walk across the floor. You must tidy it up when you come home from school.”

  “OK,” I sighed. It would take a while. I’m just not a very tidy person.

  Unlike Miss Violet King, who lives at number 57 Weird Street. Her house always looks spick and span, and her garden is perfect. All the flowers stand to attention, the bushes grow neatly, and the trees never seem to drop their leaves. Her front gate is polished and the path freshly swept. I try not to get any mud on it as I walk along, and when I reach the front door, I open the shiny letter box wearing gloves. For two reasons:

  1. So I don’t leave any fingerprints.

  2. So it doesn’t nip my fingers when it springs back.

  I don’t often see Miss King, which is just as well. She kept me late for school last week. She had written out a list of magazines she wanted to order from Mr Maini, then couldn’t find it.

  “That’s strange,” she frowned. “I’m sure I put it on the hall table. I’ll just go and look for it.”

  She was away for ages while I hopped about from foot to foot looking at my watch. My teacher, Miss Dodds, goes bananas when I’m late. Which is quite often.

  When Miss King finally did find the list, there was only half of it left. The rest of it was in her dog, so she had to write it out all over again. In very neat writing.

  Then she’d looked at me and said, “Why don’t you pull up your socks and tuck in your shirt? A tidy outside means a tidy inside, you know.” And she’d tapped her head.

  I thought she was crazy. But, crazy or not, I still had to deliver her paper.

  I finished my breakfast, said goodbye to Mum and jumped onto my bike. I collected my big orange bag from Mr Maini at the corner shop and set off on my round.

  It was a bright morning and, even on my old bike, I enjoyed whizzing down Barr Avenue. But it wasn’t such fun pedalling up the big hill to Weird Street.

  Captain Cross-eyed at number 13 gave me a wave as he went off to work in the park. “How’s the bike fund coming along?” he called.

  “Nearly there,” I gasped. I couldn’t wait to get my new bike. The one I wanted had lots of gears and would make going up Weird Street much easier.

  Mr Tipp was in the garden of number 34 and a half when I arrived. I handed him his paper and stopped for a chat.

  “What are you inventing now, Mr Tipp?” I asked.

  “Something I think could be great fun, Jonny,” he grinned. “Bouncing wellies.”

  “Bouncing wellies?”

  “Like these ones I’m wearing,” he said. “Watch.”

  He flicked a remote control and began bouncing around the garden. Then he gave an extra large bounce, leapt over the garden gate and headed down the hill.

  “They’re not quite right yet,” he called. “Now, where’s the OFF button?”

  I smiled as he disappeared. Mr Tipp always cheered me up.

  When I reached Miss King’s house, I parked my bike very carefully, so it didn’t lean on the hedge, and pushed open the silent gate. The bad-tempered letter box gleamed on the front door, as did the Viking-ship brass knocker.

  I put on my gloves and searched in my bag for Miss King’s paper. I soon found it, but there was also a whole bundle of magazines with number 57 written on the top right-hand corner. I’d have to put them through the letter box one by one!

  It took ages as my gloved fingers kept slipping on the shiny covers. But the magazines all went through, until the last one. It was called Human Anatomy and was really thick. I had to give it a huge push. Big mistake. The front cover ripped in two.

  “Oh no,” I groaned. Now I would have to knock on the door and apologise. Otherwise Miss King might complain to Mr Maini. I didn’t want to lose my job. Not now I was so close to being able to afford a new bike.

  I lifted the heavy knocker and gave a tap. Nothing happened. I banged a little harder. Still no one answered.

  I must have leaned on the door when I knocked, because it slid open silently, and I found myself looking into an empty hall. The scattered magazines and paper lay on the floor beside the morning post. A large pot plant sat neatly on the hall table, but I couldn’t see or hear anything. Not the radio or the TV, not Miss King, or even her dog. There seemed to be no one around except me.

  “Hello,” I called. “Hello? Is anybody there?”

  Nothing.

  I chewed on my lip. Something was wrong. Miss King would never leave her house unattended. Never leave her front door open for anyone to walk in. It was all very strange and I wondered what I should do.

  Chapter Two

  I decided to have a look round the back. Miss King was probably outside washing her wheelie bin, or ironing the grass.

  I tiptoed round the side of the house, past the the stone Viking warrior peeping out from behind the water butt, and past the two Viking gods fiercely guarding the compost heap. Which was tidy, of course.

  There was no Miss King. But there was a shed. Checking that no one was looking, I sprinted across the grass and peered in the window.

  Inside, I could see a white-painted chair, a grey filing cabinet and a large wooden workbench. On the bench, laid out in rows, were some strange tools, and beside them lay some old sacks, which were neatly folded. Then I saw another sack sitting on the floor. It was lumpy and bulging, and there was something sticking out of it. I gasped, rubbed my eyes, and craned my neck to have a closer look. What was sticking out of it was … a foot!

  What? Whose foot was that? I didn’t wait to find out. I turned and ran. I leapt over the garden gate and jumped on my bike. I quickly delivered my other papers, and was still breathing hard when I handed in my bag to Mr Maini.

  “Are you all right, Jonny?” he asked. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  “No, not a ghost,” I said, and decided to say no more. Mr Maini hadn’t believed me when I’d told him about the enormous pirate who lived at number 13, and this story was even more unlikely.

  So I just got back on my bike and headed for school.

  I got there in record time.

  Miss Dodds was surprised to see me. “You’re early this morning, Jonny,” she said. “Threatening to ban you from football practice seems to have worked. You may get to play in the inter-schools’ football final on Saturday, after all.”

  I gave her a weak smile and slumped down in my seat. I wasn’t going to tell her what I’d just seen; she never believed me.

  “What’s wrong with you?” my friend Surinder grinned, sitting down behind me. “You’re not late.”

  “But you look terrible,” said my other friend, Sara. “You haven’t seen some Martians land their spacecraft in Weird Street, have you?”

  “No,” I said. “T
rouble is, I’m not sure what I’ve seen. Can’t speak now. I’ll tell you all about it at break…”

  “Surely it can’t have been a real foot,” said Sara, as we munched our apples in the playground. “Otherwise there would have been a lot of blood. What did it look like?”

  “I don’t know. A foot,” I said, crossly. “A foot attached to a bit of leg.”

  “Ah,” said Surinder. “You didn’t say anything before about a leg.”

  “I’ve only just remembered.”

  “What kind of a leg?” asked Sara. “Male or female?”

  “I don’t know. I was too shocked to notice.”

  “Was it smooth or hairy?” asked Surinder. “My dad’s got really hairy legs.”

  “Smooth, I think, and brown…”

  “See,” said Sara. “You are remembering. I could be a policeman like your dad. I bet he’s good at getting people to remember things.”

  “Why don’t you tell your dad about it and see what he thinks,” said Surinder.

  “I’m going to, just as soon as I get home,” I nodded. But I couldn’t get that foot out of my mind. I kept seeing it, sticking up out of the sack, and it put me off my schoolwork.

  “You’ve been staring into space all morning, Jonny Smith,” frowned Miss Dodds, when she saw how few maths problems I had done. “You’ll finish these at home.”

  “OK,” I sighed, and put my maths book into my rucksack. I’d have to do them after I tidied my room.

  Mr McGregor, our football coach, wasn’t too pleased with me at practice, either.

  “You’re on another planet, today, Smith,” he yelled. “Keep your eye on the ball if you want to keep your place in the team.”

  “Uh huh,” I muttered, and did my best, but I couldn’t wait to get home to tell Dad what I’d seen.

  In the end, I told Mum and Gran, too, as they were all sitting in the kitchen.

  “Are you sure about this, Jonny?” frowned Dad, when I’d finished. “You’ve told us some strange stories about the people in Weir Street before.”

  “But they all turned out to be true,” Mum pointed out.

  “The enormous pirate, the wacky inventor, the mysterious archaeologist…” Gran ticked them off on her fingers. “And now… Did you know that in the nineteenth century there were two men called Burke and Hare, who were grave robbers. They used to dig up the bodies then sell the parts to medical science.”

  “That’s quite enough of that.” Dad was stern. “I’m sure there’s a perfectly simple explanation. The foot’s probably a theatrical prop, or something from a joke shop.”

  “But you could check the missing persons register,” Gran said. “Just to be sure.”

  “You watch too many cop shows,” sighed Dad. “But I’ll drop by the station tomorrow, if you like.”

  “Excellent,” said Gran. “I love a good mystery.”

  She wasn’t the only one. Sara phoned me later that evening.

  “Surinder and I have been talking,” she said. “We’ve decided you shouldn’t go back to Miss King’s on your own, so we’ll help with your paper round tomorrow.”

  “But you two hate getting up early,” I said. “I bet you just want to have a look in that shed.”

  “Maybe,” said Sara. “But I don’t hear you complaining.”

  She was right. I would be glad of their company. Just in case…

  Chapter Three

  “What do you know about Miss King at number 57?” I asked Mr Maini, while I was waiting for Sara and Surinder to arrive.

  “Not a lot.” Mr Maini shook his head. “She hasn’t lived in the street very long, but she seems nice enough. She has a big, shaggy dog called Thor. He comes in here with her to buy dog food. And she orders loads of magazines. Which reminds me, I have another one for her today.” He took it from under the counter and popped it in my orange bag. But not before I’d seen the title: Ancient Burial Grounds.

  I swallowed hard. What did she want to know about them for? Fortunately, at that moment Sara and Surinder arrived, so I went outside to meet them.

  “Let’s go to number 57 first,” said Sara. “I can’t wait to sneak a look at that foot.”

  “OK,” I agreed. “I’ll be glad to get it over with.”

  We pedalled right up to the top of the hill to Miss King’s house.

  “You didn’t tell us the garden was full of Vikings!” exclaimed Surinder.

  “Did you know that, starting around the eighth century, the Vikings terrorised Europe for about 200 years?” said Sara.

  I tried to ignore her. Sara can be a bit of a brainbox sometimes and likes to show off what she knows, but I’d been terrified enough by the sight of that foot! “I’ll go and knock on the front door,” I said. “If Miss King’s in, I’ll apologise for ripping the magazine yesterday. If not, I’ll wave and we can slip round to the shed and have a look.”

  “Good plan,” breathed Sara.

  Sara and Surinder waited while I hurried up the path. I took a deep breath and rapped on the door.

  No reply.

  I tried again.

  Still no reply.

  I pushed the paper through the letter box and leaned on the door. It didn’t open. I leaned a bit harder. It still didn’t move.

  “Looks like she’s out,” I said, and gave my friends a wave.

  Sara and Surinder came running.

  We sneaked round the path, past the Viking warrior and the Viking gods. They eyed us sternly.

  “Don’t tell anyone we were here,” I said.

  “You’re getting to be as weird as the people who live in this street,” muttered Surinder.

  Single file, we crept up to the shed and peeked in.

  The white-painted chair was there. The grey filing cabinet was there. The wooden table with the strange tools was there. But there was no foot sticking out of a lumpy, bulging sack. All the sacks were neatly folded … and empty.

  Sara and Surinder sighed deeply. “Are you sure you saw a foot?” said Sara. “Maybe it was your imagination. You can be a bit dozy sometimes.”

  “Or maybe it was a trick of the light,” said Surinder, when he saw me scowl. “Anyway, there’s nothing there now, so there’s no point in us sticking around.”

  Then they both shrugged and headed for their bikes.

  “OK,” I muttered. I didn’t know whether to be disappointed or relieved. I was about to set off to deliver the rest of my papers, when I remembered the Ancient Burial Grounds magazine. It was still in my bag. I went round to the front of the house and was just about to push it through the letter box when a voice behind me said.

  “I’ll take that. I don’t want it torn, like yesterday’s.”

  It was Miss King!

  She stood there, very tall and straight, with her fair hair scraped back in a long plait. In one hand she held a bag and, in the other, the lead of a large dog.

  “I’m s-s-s-sorry about the magazine,” I stuttered. “I thought it would go through the letter box, but it didn’t.”

  “Just knock next time,” she said, putting down her bag while she fished in her pocket for her keys.

  The dog slumped onto the ground and nosed open the bag.

  “Leave, Thor!” commanded Miss King.

  Thor took no notice. Instead, he pawed at the contents, scraping back a piece of white paper. Miss King pulled him away quickly, but not before I’d glimpsed what was underneath. To my horror, it was a large bone and it still had some flesh clinging to it. Could it possibly be human, I wondered?

  Chapter Four

  I did the rest of my paper round with my mind in a whirl. First I’d seen a foot, now a bone. What was Miss King up to?

  I couldn’t stop thinking about it all the way to school, and I wondered if I should tell Sara and Surinder. They hadn’t really been convinced I’d seen a foot…

  I decided to take the chance.

  “A bone?” said Sara at break. “What kind of bone?”

  “I don’t know,” I muttered. “I
t was long.”

  “Like an arm bone or a leg bone?” asked Surinder.

  “I don’t know,” I repeated. “It didn’t exactly have a label on it.”

  “Could it have belonged to the foot you say you saw the other day?” asked Sara. “Or is this just another one of your stories?”

  “I did see a foot and a bone. You’re as bad as Miss Dodds!”

  I was cross. Cross because I knew what I’d seen, but no one seemed to believe me. Not even my friends. What was I to do? I thought about it for a while, then decided to put all ideas of feet and bones out of my mind for good.

  But Gran wouldn’t let me.

  When I got home from school, she was there again. She handed me a library book.

  “It’s about Burke and Hare. I thought you might be interested. In case you’ve seen any more body parts…”

  “Well…” I said, and then I told her about the bone.

  Dad, who was reading his newspaper, got cross. “Stop this nonsense, both of you,” he said. “I checked with the station and there are no missing persons around here. Now, why don’t you be sensible, Jonny, and concentrate on winning this football match on Saturday instead.”

  “OK,” I said. I’d be happy to.

  But it wasn’t that easy. Next morning, Mr Maini had another thick magazine for Miss King.

  “She certainly has some unusual interests,” he said, handing it to me.

  I looked at the title and gulped. The Muscles of the Human Body. I daren’t think what she wanted that for!

  I stuck it in my bag, along with the rest of the papers, and set off on my round. Outside number 36, I met Dr Sphinx. He was putting a large bag into the back of a taxi.

  “Hello, Jonny,” he smiled. “I’m glad I met you. Will you ask Mr Maini to cancel my paper till I get back from Egypt. I forgot.”