Wilma Tenderfoot and the Case of the Frozen Hearts Read Online Free Page B

stood rooted to the spot with her mouth open. In front of her was standing a man smoking a pipe with his hands in his pockets. Nothing odd about that, you might think, except the man was well known to Wilma, very well known indeed. “Theodore P. Goodman,” she whispered as he turned and entered the front gate beside him. Wilma’s new home was next door to Cooper Island’s greatest living detective!
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    But enough of that. Let’s get back to Alan Katzin, who, within seventy-two hours of bumping into Wilma, was going to be stone-cold dead. How very ghastly.

4
    A lan Katzin was a creature of habit. Every year, without fail, he would pack his knapsack and take the Cross Island Cart to Hillbottom, the village where his aunt lived. Alan Katzin was not overly fond of his aunt. It wasn’t because Alan Katzin’s aunt was mean or had dry, clacky lips. The problem with Alan Katzin’s aunt was that she had unnaturally smelly feet. Not only that, but in the evenings she liked to put her feet up in front of the fire and twiddle her toes, which, as far as Alan Katzin was concerned, just made the matter worse. But there was something that made putting up with his aunt’s unnaturally smelly feet a small price to pay: Alan Katzin’s aunt baked incredible lemon meringue pies and made astounding pickled onions, and Alan was obsessed with them. He ate so many of his aunt’s pies and pickles that she had a hard time keeping up. In the world of Business, this is called Supply and Demand, and in Alan Katzin’s aunt’s house the Demand was greater than the Supply. On the morning that Wilma bumped into Alan, it was this discrepancy that set in motion a chain of events that would, three days later, leave Alan Katzin and his aunt done in, murdered and dead.
    It was 11:34 in the morning and Alan Katzin had already managed to eat five lemon meringue pies and forty-seven pickled onions. As he sat at the table in his aunt’s kitchen, Alan noticed something unusual. Wiping the last crumbs of lemon meringue pie from his lips, he turned to his aunt and said, “I’ve noticed you’ve got linoleum on the wall and wallpaper on the floor, aunt. Shouldn’t that be the other way around?”
    Alan Katzin’s aunt, who was sitting at the other end of the table folding tea towels, looked up and said, “Yes, Alan, you’re right. Normally you would put the linoleum on the floor and the wallpaper on the walls, but I have unnaturally smelly feet and I find that walking on wallpaper rather than linoleum makes them sweat less.”
    Alan Katzin’s eyes widened ever so slightly when he heard his aunt speak with such candor about her foot-odor problem, and at first he didn’t know how best to respond. Then, being very careful not to blink or look away, Alan gazed back at his aunt and said, “Have you? I’ve never noticed.”
    Of course, as we already know, Alan had noticed his aunt’s unnaturally smelly feet because it was impossible not to, but he quite rightly realized that there was nothing to be gained from pointing out an embarrassing personal problem to someone who already knows they have it. Alan Katzin’s aunt, on hearing that someone might not have been aware that she had unnaturally smelly feet, felt happy for the first time in her life. She smiled and her nose crinkled up to her forehead.
    â€œAlan,” she said, standing up and undoing her apron, “I’m going to pop down to the grocer’s and buy some more ingredients to bake another batch of lemon meringue pies. It’ll only take an hour or two until they’re ready. While you’re waiting, why don’t you go out and explore the one small hill?”
    â€œYes, Aunt,” said Alan Katzin, nodding and looking out the window. “It’s a lovely day. In fact, I might even go for a pothole. I haven’t done that in ages.”
    â€œGood idea, Alan,” said Alan