Wilma Tenderfoot and the Case of the Putrid Poison Read Free Page A

we’d better go in. I hope they’ve got pencils. I haven’t brought one with me.”
    Pickle shook his head and made another smell. Generally speaking, small dogs don’t do well under strict examination conditions, which is why they never try to learn to drive. Or become garden designers.
    Wilma stared up at the Academy. The same crest that had been on the letter she was sent hung from two copper hooks above her. It was a curious box-shaped building, jet black with no windows and, even more puzzling, no front door. “Well, this is odd,” said Wilma, looking at the blank wall in front of her. “How are we supposed to take the entrance exam if we can’t get in? What did the letter say? ‘It’s obvious, when you think about it.’ Well, I’m thinking as hard as I can, Pickle, and it’s not obvious at all. How can I take the entrance exam if I can’t find the entrance?”
    Pickle gave a gentle whirrup and turned around on the spot. Wilma frowned and put her hands on her hips. “Just because I don’t know what I’m doing,” Wilma said, holding a finger aloft, “is no reason to give in! Pickle! I have made my mind up. It is obvious. The entrance exam is finding the entrance. Start sniffing!”
    As the tatty-eared beagle put his nose to the ground, Wilma stood very still. “When Mr. Goodman is contemplating and deducting,” she pronounced, “the first thing he does is remain in a quiet repose and look around him. He’s always telling me that. I think this is reposing. So all I have to do now is look. Don’t make a sound, Pickle. It’s very important that we’re practically silent.”
    Pickle, unsure how to snuffle the ground without making a noise, froze and hovered his nostrils over a discarded red brick in the hope that any incriminating smell might simply waft itself up. There was something, but without a deep, loud sniff he couldn’t quite be sure. Wilma, eyes darting to the left and right, scanned the exterior of the Academy for clues.
    The black expanse of the building’s front wall rose above her. Intricate carvings adorned the exterior, and a few ebony gargoyles of Cooper’s greatest detectives through history stared down from every corner. Frowning, Wilma could see nothing to help her. She gave a frustrated groan. “It’s no good,” she said, shaking her head. “I can’t work it out. And you’re being no help, Pickle. Stop fussing over that red brick! Wait! What’s a red brick doing by a black building? Pickle! You’re a genius!”
    Wilma bent down to pick it up. The brick was heavy in her hand. “Well I never,” she laughed, rubbing the dust away. “Look at that! Carved into the top! Oh, Pickle! This is thrilling!”

ALL BUILDINGS DEPEND ON THEIR FOUNDATIONS
    â€œFoundations? Those are the things underground. The bits you can’t see. Perhaps the entrance is somewhere beneath us? Like a tunnel?”
    Wilma approached the front wall and began to look along the bottom of it for an underground opening. “Nothing,” she murmured. “Wait! There’s a sign down here. At the base of the building! What does it say, Pickle?”
    Pickle stared at the tiny bronze plaque in front of him, but as much as he would have loved to help, there was nothing he could do. He’d forgotten his reading glasses. So that was that.
    Wilma got down on to her hands and knees and peered at the wall.

ALL DELIVERIES PLEASE GO TO REAR OF BUILDING
    â€œOh! Well, perhaps there isn’t a tunnel. Perhaps there’s an entrance there. Come on, Pickle, let’s check.”
    Following a large stone finger that pointed toward “Rear of Building,” the pair scampered to the left and found themselves running alongside the building down a narrow alley. The alley twisted around to the rear, and Wilma scanned the back wall of the Academy for a door.