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
Learning to Kill: Stories