Free Wilma Tenderfoot and the Case of the Frozen Hearts by Emma Kennedy Page A

I’d bet my boots on it.”
    â€œThen where’s the stone that I saw?” asked Captain Brock, tapping himself in the chest with an angry finger. “Where did that go?”
    â€œSimple, Captain Brock,” said Theodore, taking out a handkerchief with a flourish. “The stone inside this box was designed to disintegrate, and here,” he added, picking out something from inside, “is the proof.” The Curator, Captain Brock, and the Inspector leaned in to get a closer look. Pinched in the folds of Theodore’s handkerchief was a gleaming shard.
    â€œWell, I never,” said Inspector Lemone. “If you haven’t done it again, Goodman!”
    â€œDone what?” said a small voice behind them. “Have I missed much? No matter. Just carry on as you were.” Everyone turned around. Wilma waved at them. “Only me,” she said, and grinned. “Came in inside a big dinosaur’s skull. It was quite cramped. But he liked it,” she added as Pickle licked his lips.
    â€œNo, no, no,” said Theodore with a frown. “This won’t do. Wilma, does Mrs. Waldock know that you’re here?”
    â€œIf I said not really, would that be a problem?” said Wilma, twisting the edge of her pinafore in her fingers.
    The detective fixed her with a serious stare that left Wilma in no doubt that she might be in considerable trouble. “I shall have to take you back when I’m done,” he said. “Now stay close to Inspector Lemone and not one peep out of you. Do you understand?” Wilma nodded and smiled up at the Inspector.
    Captain Brock had taken Theodore’s handkerchief and was holding the shard to the light. Wilma gasped a little as she saw it. “It’s like sunshine,” she said.
    â€œNot one peep, remember?” said Inspector Lemone, putting a finger to his lips.
    â€œWhat is it, Goodman?” asked the Captain, squinting at the sparkling object. “And how did it disintegrate?”
    â€œLook inside the box, Captain,” said the detective, holding it out for everyone to see. “There’s a tiny hole in one side. The clasp of the box was designed in such a way so as to release a melting agent when the box was shut. It is my belief that the fake Katzin Stone was made of nothing more than colored sugar, and that when the box was closed a concentrated gas or liquid simply melted it away.”
    â€œDevilish simple,” said Miss Pagne, smiling a little.
    â€œSo the person who took it,” said Wilma, wide-eyed, “must have swapped the stone! Or swapped the box! Like in that magic trick when you were solving the Case of the Vanished Buttons. I’ve got it on my Clue—”
    â€œShhhhhh, Wilma,” whispered the Inspector, giving her a nudge.
    â€œShe’s quite right,” acknowledged Theodore, raising an eyebrow, “if a little overexcitable . . . so we may be looking for someone with an exceptional ability for sleight of hand.”
    â€œThough why swap it for a stone that melted?” asked the Curator, shooting Wilma a sideways glance.
    â€œExcept for that shard. And thank goodness for it. By examining it I shall be able to determine exactly what it’s made of. When I understand that I’ll be nearer to knowing who made it. Clearly whoever it was wanted something that would leave no trace—but buy him some time.”
    â€œBut what about the real Katzin Stone, Mr. Goodman?” said the Curator, tapping his cane on the floor. “It’s all very well you chasing theories, but the most precious jewel ever found is still missing. And I want to know what you’re going to do about it.” He took a step forward to emphasize his point and, catching his foot on the edge of one of the display cases, slipped a little and fell against the Captain. The gleaming shard, the detective’s only clue, flew out of the soldier’s hand and into the gloom of