Free The Case of the Disappearing Corpse by June Whyte

sight—catch him off guard and finally pounce.
    Standing on my brakes, I came to a dragging halt. In the P.I. manual it says a good P.I. should follow their suspect on foot so I chained my bike to a post outside the British Hotel and waited for him to reach the curb.
    Not wanting him to recognize me, I untied my ponytail and let the reddish straw-colored stuff I called my hair hang down over my face. This disguise stuff is easy , I thought, as I slipped a pair of sunnies on my nose, yanked the teal, black and white Port Power’s cap down over my eyes, and developed a left-leg limp.
    Constable Roberts stood by the curb waiting for a red light so I hid behind a bush and peeped out through the leaves. As soon as he reached the other side of the road, I ran a yellow light and hid in the doorway of a hairdresser’s shop.
    A woman with bright yellow hair piled on top of her head pushed through the hairdresser’s door and smiled at me. It was Patsy’s neighbor from the house she’d been renting with Zoë.
    “Hi Mrs. Murch,” I said. “Cool hair-do.”
    I could almost see her going through the files in her head, trying to work out who I was. Then it seemed like a light went on.
    “Chiana Ryan? How are you, dear? Have you recovered from finding that nasty body in the shed? Poor thing. It must have been a terrifying experience for you and your little friend, Tayla.”
    “Terrifying,” I answered, mechanically. Nick was striding down the street mega fast. If I got caught up talking, I’d lose him.
    “Nice to see you, Mrs. Murch,” I said, moving out of the doorway. “Can’t stop. I have to get to the library before it closes.”
    She smiled again and then with a toss of her new hair-do, took off up the street, high-heels clicking on the stone pavement with each step.
    Eyes on my prey, I flattened myself against the painted brick wall then slid into the next shop doorway. Nick had crossed the road by now and was heading in the direction of the shopping mall.
    In my hurry to cross the road and keep my prey in sight, I didn’t see the humungous truck. That is until its blaring horn made my heart do a double somersault with a twist. I quickly staggered into the gutter and crouched down behind a parked car.
    Over the bonnet of the silver grey Commodore, I could see Nick coming out of the Newsagents, a magazine in one hand and a can of Coke in the other. He glanced up and down the street then headed off once more toward the mall.
    I started to jog to keep up, my eyes still on the jean-clad figure ahead. Suddenly Nick stopped. So I stopped. Nick scrunched his can, put it in a street bin and looked casually in my direction. I threw myself at the nearest shop window and plastered my nose to the glass.
    That’s when I discovered the only thing worth buying in the window was a row of dead blowflies. The shop was closed. And judging by the thickness of the dust it had been closed for a hundred years.
    What was Constable Roberts doing now ?
    I grabbed a quick look out of the corner of my eye.
    Uh! Oh!
    He was walking toward me.
    I couldn’t move. Couldn’t even slip inside the shop and pretend to buy a few mummified blowflies. Shoulders hunched, chin buried in my chest, I bent down and undid my shoelace on the pretence of tying it up again. The footsteps came closer, not in any hurry, just casually strolling towards me.
    “Hey, kid! Why are you following me?”
    I buried my chin further into my chest and untied the other lace. Perhaps if I ignored him he might think he’d mistaken me for someone else.
    “Chiana Ryan?”
    Hmm…
    I looked up at his starchy face through a curtain of hair. “Oh, hello, Constable Roberts. Fancy meeting you here. Your day off, is it?”
    One large hand, complete with very pointy fingers, wrapped itself around my arm and helped me to my feet.
    “Don’t give me any of that who me rubbish. I want to know why you are you tailing me like some third rate Private Eye from a cheap movie?”
    Third rate?