The Case of the Disappearing Corpse by June Whyte Read Free Book Online Page A

the kitchen and not lying in the bottom of the wardrobe, my chest decorated with a blood stained butcher’s knife?
    Well…when Krystal slid the wardrobe door open I let out this ear-piercing scream louder than a fire brigade on the way to a fire. Next minute, Tayla came running in from the street. Jack burst in through the back door with Sweetums in hot pursuit. The woman with the pixie-like face dropped her coat and screamed even louder than me. And a giant of a man with a bald head and a walrus moustache raced into the bedroom, his dinner plate hands overflowing with pizza.
    Then…by the time Krystal and I had stopped screaming, Sweetums stopped barking and Tayla and Jack stopped yelling, the giant’s pizza had gone cold. So Krystal took us all into the kitchen to reheat it. Demanding answers, she sat Jack, Tayla and me down with great slabs of homemade chocolate cake and listened to our story.
    As soon as I told her about the pink handkerchief with K in the corner, she shook her head and frowned.
    “Well, it can’t be mine. I don’t own a handkerchief. I use tissues.”
    “But what about the dagger?” I asked, not quite ready to give up on my chief suspect yet. “I saw lots of knives on the wall in your bedroom.”
    Krystal exchanged an amused smile with the friendly giant, who she’d introduced as her husband. He was busy feeding pizza into the microwave.
    “Okay. I’ll explain,” she said, still with a hint of a smile. “You know how some people collect stamps or cards or silver spoons?”
    Tayla and I nodded. Jack began to nod but cake crumbs sprayed over the table so he decided to blink instead.
    “Well, Paul collects knives. Every time we go on a holiday he brings a knife back with him as a memento.”
    “That’s right,” agreed Paul, setting the microwave onto three minutes. “Knives are a much better way of remembering a holiday than photos. Photo albums get buried in boxes and only come out once a year to bore friends into leaving early.”
    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