Wilma Tenderfoot and the Case of the Putrid Poison by Emma Kennedy

Baron?” asked the great detective, pulling his pipe from his pocket. “That’s not to say that it can’t be accidental, of course. Was she taking any strange herbal remedies, for instance? Had she eaten anything peculiar?”
    â€œIn my textbook from the Academy of Detection and Espionage,” piped up Wilma, reaching into her pinafore pocket, “there’s a whole chapter on poisonings. ‘When poison is involved, it’s generally administered by someone with a grudge or a need for secrecy or revenge.’ That’s what it says. And there’s a list of poisons. And—”
    â€œWilma,” said Theodore firmly. “Please be quiet. Let the Baron answer.”
    Baron von Worms shook his head. “I have no idea! She seemed to be reasonably popular. But then, it is hard to tell. They all call each other darling. So there’s no way of knowing. There was a bit of tension between her and Cecily. Sabbatica was younger, you see. And Cecily has started to get wrinkles. I’m sure it’s nothing.”
    â€œNo,” replied Theodore, packing his pipe with some rosemary tobacco. “Everything is useful.” The great detective turned to look at his apprentice. “Did you write that bit down? If you didn’t, you might want to.”
    Wilma’s eyes widened. Something official at last! She took out her pencil and notebook and made a note. “I could ask Scraps more about that.”
    Theodore twitched his mustache in thought. “All right then, later,” he said after a moment. “Seeing as you are both girls. She might feel happier talking to you. But I don’t want you letting slip anything that you shouldn’t, Wilma. Remember the top tips—a detective always saves what he’s thinking till last.”
    â€œAnd the Golden Rules, Mr. Goodman,” said Wilma with a nod, keen to show her employer she was advancing. “The one about being useful! I can do that while I ask the questions.”
    Wilma was practically beside herself. Not only had she gotten to write down something that could turn out to be incredibly important, but she was also going to be allowed to do some investigating. She made a mental note to consult the relevant chapter in her textbook. As well as proving she could be useful, it was vital to show her mentor that she’d been listening and thereby learning. Like a good apprentice. It was very important that she should proceed properly, just like Mr. Goodman.
    Suddenly there was a sharp rap on the door and Malcolm Poppledore, the props boy, stuck his head into the room. “Gentleman to see you, Mr. von Worms,” he said with a sniff.
    â€œBaron von Worms, Malcolm, Baron, ” replied the exasperated manager, rolling his eyes. “Show him in, please. Mr. Goodman, that’ll be my investor. I’ll have to ask you to leave. I really can’t think of anything further to help. But if I do I’ll let you know.”
    â€œBaron!” boomed a voice from the doorway. Everyone turned to look. “What a perfectly spectacular evening!” It was Barbu D’Anvers, closely followed by Tully and Janty.
    â€œOh no, not him,” mumbled the Inspector, reaching for the last corn crumble in his box.
    â€œMr. Goodman,” acknowledged the diminutive villain with an ironic bow. “We meet again! And so soon! Aren’t I the lucky one?”
    â€œLet’s go, Wilma, Inspector,” said the detective, ignoring him. “And take care, Barbu. I shall be keeping a close eye on things here. Mark my words.”
    Wilma leaned in toward Janty, who glared back at her. “You’ll come to no good if you stick with him, you know,” she hissed as Theodore made his way toward the door.
    â€œI’m glad,” sneered the boy in return. “I like being no good. It’s fun.”
    Wilma shook her head disapprovingly. “Come on, Pickle,” she added, gesturing