The Case of the Disappearing Corpse

Twenty-Three

The Case of the Disappearing Corpse

By June Whyte

Copyright 2013 by June Whyte

Cover Copyright 2013 by Ginny Glass and Untreed Reads Publishing

The author is hereby established as the sole holder of the copyright. Either the publisher (Untreed Reads) or author may enforce copyrights to the fullest extent.

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This is a work of fiction. The characters, dialogue and events in this book are wholly fictional, and any resemblance to companies and actual persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

Also by June Whyte and Untreed Reads Publishing

The Case of the Missing Dinosaur Egg

http://www.untreedreads.com

The Case of the Disappearing Corpse

June Whyte

One

Hey, guess what?

I almost dislocated my neck as I swiveled around on the bench and stared at the gangly redhead behind me. Dressed in orange board shorts and a too-small, faded black tee-shirt that crept up his back whenever he bent over, Jack McEvoy practically crackled with excitement.

Hmm… Let’s see. You found a ten dollar note and you’re going to share it with us?

Jack grinned at me. In your dreams, Cha. His carrot hair standing on end, he tossed his football bag onto the scarred wooden table and crossed his arms. Give up?

Tayla, my best friend in the world since year one, took a swig from her water bottle. You know I’m hopeless at guessing games, she protested.

Even dribbling water down her chin Tayla still looked cool. At twelve, she already wore 12A bras while I was straight up and down like a broom handle.

This better be good, I growled at Jack. We’ve been waiting half an hour for our fish and chips.

"It’s better than good—Patsy Turner found a body!"

"A what?" Tayla’s mouth went instantly into fly-catching mode.

I frowned in disbelief. Patsy Turner used to be my baby-sitter when I was a little girl.

"A real dead body?" I had to be doubly sure here. Jack loved nothing better than to play tricks on us.

Dead as a fish dinner!

Jack slid onto the picnic bench, all elbows, sharp knees and kicking legs. Once settled, he pulled out a white-papered parcel from his smelly bag of used footy-gear.

"Eeeyuggh! gagged Tayla, making sick noises. You put our fish and chips in with your stinking socks!"

I screwed up my nose and punched him on the arm. "You’re so gross, Jack."

I know. He grinned, the freckles over his nose running into each other. Patsy reckons the dead guy had a knife stuck in his back. When she kicked him, just to make sure he was dead like, he rolled over and the knife fell into the pansies. That’s when blood spurted out.

"Ooooh, eeeyuggh again! Wasn’t it enough the poor man was dead without Patsy kicking him?" Always a bit on the squeamish side, Tayla had gone a funny grayish green color.

I, on the other hand started to tingle all over. It was like hearing a strange noise in the middle of the night and waking up excited and terrified at the same time. In fact I couldn’t open my notebook quickly enough to list the key points of the mystery.

1. Male body found flattening the pansies on Patsy Turner’s front lawn.

2. Knife in deceased’s back.

3. Kicked after death by a brown Doc Marten boot. (Patsy wouldn’t be seen dead outside her front door unless she was wearing her Doc Martens.)

4. Knife fell into the pansies.

As Jack unwrapped the white paper parcel and spread the contents on the table, even the tantalizing smell of fish and chips smothered in salt and vinegar didn’t slow me down.

This thing with Patsy was way cool. Ever since reading about the Write-a-Murder-Mystery short-story contest in this month’s KidLit magazine I’d been itching to get started. For children under fourteen, the story had to be based on a true crime. First prize was five hundred dollars plus the winning entry would be published on the Internet.

Way to go!

I jiggled my biro up and down impatiently. Jack had grabbed a large handful of chips and his face had taken on this real blissful look as he ate them. Made me feel like putting a bomb in his jocks.

Jack! Forget the food! I yelled at him. What did Patsy do then?

Whaddya mean?

Well, did she kick him again or what?

Jack raised one questioning eyebrow. You’re going all weird on me, Chiana. I dunno. She’d be totally freaked out so she might have. He reached over, snagged the biggest piece of fish and transferred it to his mouth. Through noisy chomps he continued. I only just heard about it from Patsy’s brother, Josh. He was at the fish and chip shop. He said when his mum started screeching about Patsy being too young to rent and should’ve still been at home, he took off out of there.

But Patsy’s twenty-one.

The look on Tayla’s face seemed to agree totally with my thoughts. Twenty-one was old.

Tell me, I said, pen poised, head cocked towards Jack. Did Patsy know the dead guy?

Josh reckons she did.

"Patsy knew the dead guy. Wow!" I began scribbling again.

Suspect knew victim. Why was he at her house?

Where was Patsy when he was murdered?

Jack leant across to get a peek at my notes. Hey, he protested, grabbing my biro and holding it out of reach. Patsy isn’t a suspect. She was walking home from Laughing Class at the time the guy was killed.

Laughing Class?

Don’t ask. All I know is Josh said his sister went to Laughing Class for therapy. That’s where she met this guy. He acted like a real slime-ball so she told him to drop dead. Jack’s eyebrows scooted upwards while Tayla’s mouth went in the opposite direction. Of course she didn’t mean it!

Jack, my pen? I gave him my best imitation of Frosty, our year seven teacher at Star of the Sea school where we all attended. Her real name was Ms. Winters and one of her icy glares could freeze a kid at twenty paces.

He tossed the pen in the air, caught it in his mouth, and then with a circus clown grin, wedged it behind his left ear. Each time I went to grab for it he ducked away, his grin getting wider with every move.

I shrugged. Okay, keep it—I have plenty more.

Diving into my back-pack I pulled out a dark green biro with silver stars running down the length. Collecting pens was a hobby of mine. I had about two hundred and twenty five last count.

Now, go on, I said, taking a bite of my fish and chewing as though it was made of cardboard. When I become obsessed with my writing everything else takes a back seat. Even eating. What happened when the police arrived?

That’s the weird part. After making sure the guy was dead, Patsy stumbled inside to ring the police, but—by the time she came out again—the body was gone.

Wow! said Tayla. Gone? As in got up and walked away?

Hardly think so, Tay, I said, rolling my eyes. I think Jack means the murderer came back and collected him.

I turned to Jack. Right?

Guess so. Unless the garbage man drove past and thought the body looked untidy sprawled on the front lawn.

Jack’s jokes can be so sick. I just shook my head and made another note.

Body disappeared by the time police arrived.

What are you up to Cha? Tayla put both elbows on the table and studied me closely. Since when have you been interested in dead guys?

Yeah. You’re even starting to creep me out. To prove his point Jack shook his head when I offered him my second piece of fish, then quickly changed his mind, grabbed the fish and stuffed it into the rubbish bin he called his mouth. His next muffled comment sounded like ‘Wotjadoin’?

I’m going to write a murder-mystery.

"And enter the contest in KidLit?" Tayla asked, a frown creasing her forehead.

I nodded. The rules say the story must be based on a true crime…right?

Right.

"This is just so freaky, I explained. The judge wants a murder-mystery based on a true crime and a corpse is found just around the corner from my house. Coincidence or what?"

Understanding crept into Tayla’s eyes like a frightened rabbit. Oh, no…

So, all we have to do is find this missing body, interview witnesses, and ask leading questions—you know like private eyes do in the movies—then track down the killer. Simple.

Simple? Tayla’s voice squeaked, the chip she’d raised to her mouth totally forgotten. You’re crazy, Cha. We can’t like chase after a killer. What do we do if we catch him?

We could sit on him till the cops come, Jack suggested, scraping the last of the chip crumbs into