Wilma Tenderfoot: The Case of the Fatal Phantom Read Online Free PDF

strange angles and shrunkenness exaggerated by a bright beam of gaslight, was the desiccated body. Its legs were twisted across each other and one arm was wrapped about its torso while the other was extended upward, the large, rusty key still in its grasp. But it was the face that was most disturbing. Black sockets seemed even deeper in the lamplight, the mouth agape as if in mid-scream. It was the single most frightening thing Wilma had ever seen.
    “Interesting,” Penbert muttered, pulling on her official white coat and getting to work immediately. Within seconds she had placed small redcones around the body and taped off the area. “The body looks ancient but perfectly preserved, as if it’s been in some sort of embalming fluid. But that’s impossible.”
    “Fascinating,” agreed Theodore, stepping between Wilma and the body and giving her a reassuring pat as he did so. He approached the near-skeleton to take a quick look at it through his magnifying glass. “It’s as if all the moisture has been sucked out of it.”
    “It’s a phenomenon that’s not as uncommon as you might imagine,” said a voice from behind the chair, making Wilma jump. “Dr. Irascimus Flatelly,” the archaeologist added, emerging from the room’s shadows and extending a hand. “I found the body.”
    “Pickle found it, actually,” chipped in Wilma, flicking to a page in her notebook. “I wrote that bit down.”
    “Thank you, Wilma. Now, remember your top tips and Golden Rules. Observe and contemplate for the time being,” said the detective seriously as he reached for the archaeologist’s hand and shookit. “Theodore P. Goodman,” he added, introducing himself. “I don’t believe we have ever met, though you do look familiar. I am aware of your work, of course. I read a paper you wrote on early Cooperan correctional devices. Fascinating stuff. Of course—that’s why I’ve seen you before. There was a picture of you holding a large wrist-slapper, though you had on your rather big-brimmed archaeologist’s hat at the time, so you looked a bit different.”
    “Indeed.” Dr. Flatelly removed his glasses and began to polish them with a small strip of cotton taken from his pocket. “But as I was saying, preserved bodies are not unusual finds in this part of the island,” he went on, looking down. “Something in the soil seems to prevent the bodies from decomposing. It may be the salt, but there is also a significant presence of acetic acid.”
    “The stuff found in vinegar!” declared Dr. Kooks, lifting a finger in the air.
    “So the body,” mused Penbert, getting out a large pair of magnified glasses and putting them on, “has, in effect, been pickled.”
    Pickle’s ears pricked and sensing his moment had come, he stepped over the tape around the body and gave it a quick lick. He clacked his lips together. It was like a preserved onion. A very old preserved onion.
    “Please don’t lick the evidence,” retorted Penbert, bustling Pickle back out of the taped area. “And don’t breach the perimeter. Very irregular.” Penbert returned to examining the body. “Hmmm,” she continued. “There seems to be an unusual build-up of something in patches on the skin …” Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out a small pair of tweezers and a scalpel. Taking the blade, she scraped off a sticky black mass, tweezered it onto a strip of glass, and slipped it under her field microscope. “Well, I never,” she muttered with a sniff. “Fascinating.” She made a quick scribble in her notebook.
    Wilma, who liked to think she was the same level as Penbert, what with them both being assistants, stood on her tiptoes and tried to read Penbert’s notes. “No looking at the official records until they’re completed, thank you,” saidPenbert, shielding what she’d written with her arm. “I still have working out to do.”
    Wilma scrunched her nose up. She hated waiting for the good bits.
    “I must say,” chipped in Dr.