Poppy Pym and the Beastly Blizzard

by Laura Wood

  His words hung in the air for a moment as Ingrid and I absorbed them.

  “But there was a delay,” I said slowly. “The three of us stayed out there for a couple of minutes when everyone else went back in.”

  Kip was shaking his head. “Why would anyone here take food?” he asked. “They can all reach out right now and help themselves to anything they like.”

  He certainly had a point there.

  “So you think someone sneaked in and took the food while we were distracted?” Ingrid asked, puzzled. “But who?”

  “Not who,” Kip said and his face was pale. “What.”

  I felt my skin prickle as though dozens of tiny hedgehogs were scampering over me.

  “So,” I said slowly, “if it wasn’t anyone here, it might be one of the people who have been watching us, the ones who left the footprints in the snow?”

  “Well, one of them’s not a person, Poppy,” Kip said impatiently. “It’s a yeti.”

  “That still has to be determined,” Ingrid frowned.

  “But if it’s coming into the school then this … whatever it is, could be behind watching us and stealing the stamp,” I said.

  “Do you really think a yeti is sneaking into the building?” Kip asked, his eyes darting nervously from side to side. “That means it could be anywhere! Waiting to chomp us up in our sleep!”

  “I think it’s very unlikely that a yeti could come into the school unnoticed,” Ingrid said, “and it simply can’t have stolen the stamp. What about the other set of footprints? They looked human enough. Though how on earth would a stranger get close enough to my dad to steal the stamp out of his pocket without him even noticing?!”

  Ingrid was right about that. The Blammels might not be the most observant pair, but it seemed hard to believe that even they could have been pickpocketed by some kind of giant monster without knowing about it.

  “Something doesn’t add up here,” I said. “But I think Ingrid’s right. I’m sure there’s a human hand at work, and I even have an alternative suspect,” I said triumphantly. “…Professor Tweep.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  “Professor Tweep?” Ingrid repeated, doubtfully, looking over to the other side of the dining hall where the professor was chatting with Miss Susan. “A prime suspect?”

  “Think about it,” I said quickly. “We saw him admire the stamp, and he knew where it was kept. He was in the room when we think the stamp must have gone missing. Plus, he did say that he wished he had the money to go exploring right before your dad produced the stamp and told everyone it was worth a lot of cash – that’s motive.”

  “And he was a bit funny about letting the inspector search his stuff,” Kip added in a thoughtful tone.

  “I just can’t believe it.” Ingrid was shaking her head. “Professor Tweep wouldn’t do a thing like that.”

  “Well we’ve met quite a few criminals who seemed perfectly nice and normal,” I pointed out. “And they turned out to be very different from what we thought. I don’t want it to be him either, but he had means, motive and opportunity. We have to at least consider him.”

  “Poppy’s right,” Kip agreed. “We can’t dismiss him just because we like him. That’s not how being a proper detective works.”

  “Although, he was in the entrance hall with us when the food went missing,” I said, “so if he was the one who stole the stamp then there must have been someone else who took the food.”

  “Someone lurking in the woods?” Ingrid said.

  Kip made a small squeaking sound. “So, let me get this straight. We might have a yeti on the loose here at Saint Smithen’s, and it might be letting itself into the school and helping itself to food and who knows what else?”

  “Hmmm,” I said. “And we still don’t know if that person or thing is the same one who sent the beetles after us, and how that person is connected to my mum – who actually wrote an article about yetis!”

  “So what do we do now?” Kip asked, and he and Ingrid looked at me expectantly.

  “Ummm…” I cast around for a great idea. “I’m not sure,” I admitted. “Perhaps we should talk to Professor Tweep? Interrogate him?”

  But we were interrupted then by Boris, who had removed his Father Christmas hat and beard.

  “That’s strange,” he boomed.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked.

  Boris scratched his big, bald head. “It’s my bag of presents,” he said. “Can’t seem to find them. Must have put them down somewhere.” His glance flickered towards Letty and a look of fear passed across his face. “Don’t tell her!” he hissed. “I’m sure it will turn up.”

  I patted his arm. “I’m sure you’re right,” I said vaguely, my head spinning.

  I pulled Kip and Ingrid aside. “That bag had our presents from Penny in!” I whispered urgently.

  Kip rolled his eyes. “What a shame,” he mumbled. “I’ll have to do without my novelty festive cat jumper … oh no.”

  “No, you dummy,” Ingrid said.

  “What if whoever took the food took the bag as well?” I hissed. “That’s another thing that’s gone missing.”

  Kip’s eyes widened.

  Our conversation was interrupted again, but this time by Miss Susan clapping her hands to get everyone’s attention. “All right, everyone,” she said, “I know that today has been a difficult day. We’ve all been through a lot, but it’s time for dinner and I think we should try and enjoy this lovely spread that Hortence has provided.”

  A murmur of agreement ran around the room, and my rumbling tummy was certainly in favour of this plan. Plus, everyone knows that you think better when you’ve eaten your body weight in peppermint creams. It’s just a fact. With all these thefts to solve I needed to make sure that I was thinking as clearly as possible. With that in mind I reached for the jar.

  The grown-ups got busy bringing in loaves of crusty bread and slabs of golden butter as well as plates and cutlery.

  “I will just go and check on the Christmas puddings,” Great-Aunt Hortence said. “I’ve made three: one for tonight and two to take back to Burnshire Hall with us tomorrow.”

  As she bustled off to the kitchen and I slipped into my seat, I realized we were going to have to get cracking on this mystery. If we left the school without solving the crime, then the thief could get away with the stamp, and I couldn’t let that happen. I cast a glance down the table towards Professor Tweep. He was tucking a big white napkin into the front of his shirt. I felt a pang of doubt. Like Ingrid, I didn’t really believe that the professor could be responsible for the theft, but we really had been fooled by people before, and we didn’t really know that much about the man, except that he was a good teacher. Plus, if it wasn’t him I wasn’t sure who our other suspects could be. Looking around the table I tried to focus on other possible culprits, but the problem was that everyone here was someone that I trusted. Was it really possible that one of them was a thief? A sick feeling settled in my stomach.

  Despite telling Ingrid that we should keep an open mind I was absolutely certain that my own family would have nothing to do with such a crime. So who did that leave in the building? Well, there was Miss Baxter, Inspector Hartley, Mr Grant and Mei… Any one of them could have had the opportunity. I hated to even think about it.

  Miss Baxter and Mr Blammel returned to the dining room empty-handed and took their seats at the table. Their search had been a bust; it looked increasingly certain that the stamp had been deliberately taken. Fanella and the inspector were close behind, and I couldn’t imagine that their conversation had been terribly helpful. I cast a sympathetic smile in Inspector Hartley’s direction and he grimaced a little, which made me think my deductions had been correct. Everyone was here now except for Doris, who still hadn’t reappeared from the science block, but this was fairly typical behaviour when she had an experiment on the go … she tended to lose all track of time.

  Dinner was a subdued event after all the goings-on of the day. There was an u
ncomfortable silence hanging over the table, broken only by the odd super-polite murmuring of “Please could you pass the butter?” or “May I have another slice of ham, please?” In the end, I could bear it no longer and I dinged the side of my glass with my fork and got to my feet. A crowd of faces turned expectantly in my direction.

  “Ahem,” I cleared my throat, “I just wanted to say that I know today hasn’t … er … ended exactly perfectly, but thank you very much to Great-Aunt Hortence and Letty for putting this totally, completely delicious dinner together and making everything so pretty.” I gestured around at the beautifully decorated room. “I know we would all like to be celebrating the holidays at our homes, or wherever we were headed, but I’m really happy to be here with all of you.” I smiled at this funny collection of family and friends and teachers and students. “So…” I paused here, unsure how exactly you were supposed to end a toast. “Merry Christmas!” I cried, raising my glass.

  “Merry Christmas!” everyone echoed, and we clinked our glasses together. My speech seemed to have broken the tension a little bit and a gentle hum of chatter filled the air.

  “I’ll go and get the Christmas pud!” Letty exclaimed.

  I looked over the top of my glass to see that Pym was looking at me from across the table, her scrunchy right eye scrunched up even more than usual.

  “Is everything all right?” I asked.

  “Yes,” she said slowly. “I just thought…” She trailed off, and then, even though she couldn’t possibly have known what was going on in the kitchen, she called, “Careful, Letty! Mind that pan!”

  Too late. The sound of smashing china was already ringing out. “Oh no!” Letty wailed. Miss Baxter jumped up and went in to check on the situation.

  “Oh dear,” she said when she came back. “It seems one of the puddings has had an unhappy encounter with the kitchen floor. Would you mind if we served one of the ones you were keeping for later?” she asked Great-Aunt Hortence.

  “No, not at all,” Hortence said. “There will still be one left for Christmas Day. I’ll just come and fetch one,” she began, but Miss Baxter cut her off.

  “Please don’t worry,” she said, “Letty and I can manage!” And she whisked away back into the kitchen.

  Moments later she emerged, followed by a shame-faced Letty carrying an enormous, glistening dome of Christmas pudding, which she placed in front of Hortence. A rich, spicy smell filled the air, like delicious Christmas-scented perfume. A collective sigh swept around the table, and all the grown-ups who had moments earlier been saying that they “weren’t sure they could manage pudding” (the fools!) seemed to have changed their tune.

  Great-Aunt Hortence stood and poured a generous splash of brandy over the top of the pudding. She held out her hand and Letty passed her a small box of matches like a nurse handing a surgeon a scalpel. With a brief fizzing sound the match was struck and then the pudding burst into flames, blazing a perfect, flickering blue.

  “Ooooooooooh,” we all said in one big spellbound voice.

  “I want EVERY kind of cream,” Kip said when he was passed his helping. He eyed up the enormous selection that had been placed out on the table. “And brandy butter.” He set about putting dollop after dollop into his bowl. “For research purposes, of course,” he said seriously, his Dictaphone already on the table beside him.

  The pudding was perfect – juicy and sweet and meltingly soft. I dug in with gusto. Next to me, Kip was already scraping his bowl. “Sooooooo goooood,” he groaned, patting his rounded stomach. “Any chance of seconds?” He looked around hopefully.

  Then I noticed that Boris was coughing… Quite a lot, actually.

  “Are you all right, Boris?” Pym asked.

  “Bah! Boris! Stop all this coughing on me!” Fanella shrieked. “You are ill? Then I will be the Father Christmas! Hee! Hee! Hee!”

  But then Boris stopped coughing and looked around with panic in his eyes. He seemed to be struggling for breath. “He’s not ill,” I yelled, jumping to my feet. “He’s choking!”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Boris’s big face was turning a worrying shade of blue and he clutched dramatically at his throat.

  “THE PUDDING IS POISONED!” Fanella shouted, throwing her bowl to the floor with a smash, sending broken china and bits of pudding flying.

  “If that were true we’d all be choking,” Marvin pointed out quite reasonably.

  “Oh.” Fanella looked mournfully at the remains of her pudding, lying on the floor. Pym ran to Boris and, standing on a chair behind him, began slapping him hard on the back, right between his big muscly shoulders. Fortunately, for someone so small, Pym is very mighty and, after several heart-stopping seconds, Boris let out a particularly loud cough, and a small object flew out of his mouth, landing back in his bowl in front of him with a pinging noise. He gasped and his face began to return to a more normal colour.

  “My goodness!” Luigi exclaimed. “What on earth was that?”

  “It must have been the silver sixpence,” Great-Aunt Hortence said, “I always stir one in. The person who finds it is supposed to get good luck, but you’re not supposed to eat it, Boris!” she chided him.

  “Sorry,” Boris croaked, reaching for a glass of water.

  “It cannot be the sixpence!” Fanella exclaimed then, bending down towards her own destroyed bowl of pudding and then standing back up, triumphantly clutching something small and silver. “I have the money!” she crowed. “All the good luck is for me this year!”

  “So what did Boris choke on?” I asked, puzzled.

  We all turned expectantly in his direction. Pym walked around and picked up his bowl, peering inside.

  “Oh!” she exclaimed, grabbing a napkin and gingerly picking up the object. When she opened her hand, a gasp ran around the table.

  “IT’S THE STAMP!” Mr Blammel yelled, running over and wrenching the small plastic block containing the stamp from Pym’s fingers. “How can this be possible?”

  Everyone was on their feet. Ingrid’s mum was crying happy tears into Miss Baxter’s shoulder. “How lovely,” she said in her dreamy, distant voice.

  I glanced over to where Inspector Hartley stood, his brow furrowed. I saw his grey eyes move towards Great-Aunt Hortence, who was frozen in her seat.

  “Oh,” I murmured, sinking into my chair as I realized what was going through Inspector Hartley’s head. Unfortunately, Ingrid’s dad was only seconds behind me.

  “You!” he thundered, pointing an accusing finger at Great-Aunt Hortence. “You did this!”

  “Nonsense,” Hortence bit off, looking as imperious as ever, but I thought there was a little wobble in her voice.

  “You’re the one who had access to the puddings!” Mr Blammel continued.

  “Now hang on just a minute there,” Luigi huffed, flinging his napkin to the table. “How dare you besmirch my family name in this manner? The old dragon… I mean, Great-Aunt Hortence would never…”

  “Yes, thank you.” Great-Aunt Hortence cut Luigi off with a wave of her hand. “I do not need anyone to defend me; the accusation is, of course, preposterous.”

  “It is not!” Mr Blammel continued. “You were admiring the stamp, you wanted it for yourself, but we wouldn’t sell you our precious baby, so you took matters into your own hands!”

  “And then put it in the pudding that I was going to feed you for dinner?” Hortence asked. “What a ridiculous suggestion.”

  “But you weren’t going to serve it, were you?” Inspector Hartley said quietly. “As I understand it, you were planning to take this particular pudding home with you. If Letty hadn’t dropped the original pudding, the stamp would still not have been found and we would be none the wiser.” He was looking closely at Hortence’s face.

  Great-Aunt Hortence remained silent, but her mouth was set in a thin line.

  “You see, it was her!” Mr Blammel said, turning to the rest of us. “All the evidence points in her direction.”

  “And you be
lieve this?” Great-Aunt Hortence turned stiffly towards Inspector Hartley.

  “I do not believe the evidence is conclusive,” Inspector Hartley said carefully, “but I will need you to come down to the station to answer some questions if we do get out of here tomorrow.”

  “I see,” Hortence said, and she got to her feet. “In that case I think I had better go and get some rest.” Her voice was cold, with a bite of anger in it. “Thank you all for a lovely evening,” she finished, and as she left the room in a dignified silence I thought, for the very first time, that she looked like a little old lady.

  Once again the room exploded into arguments as my family jumped noisily to my great-aunt’s defence. They were never ones to do things by halves, and Luigi had plucked his napkin from the table and briskly struck Mr Blammel across the cheek with it.

  “I challenge you to a duel, sir!” he cried. “The honour of my family is at stake and I will lay down my life before I allow such slander to go unchallenged! Name your weapon!”

  “You should choose the swords,” Fanella said earnestly to Mr Blammel. “Is very much more dramatic and exciting. We can have a sword fight in the garden.” Her eyes gleamed ghoulishly. “All the blood will look excellent against the snow,” she added with great satisfaction.

  Mr Blammel looked very pale, and Luigi’s colour wasn’t much better. “I say,” Luigi muttered, “steady on. No one said anything about blood.”

  “Bah!” Fanella flung her hands in the air. “What is the point of a duel without any blood?”

  “I think we have some fake blood in the drama cupboard?” Letty volunteered.

  “There, you see!” Luigi sighed with relief. “Problem solved. Everyone wins. We can splash plenty of the stuff around for effect.”

  Fanella didn’t look pleased. “It will do, I suppose,” she grumbled.

  “But I don’t want to have a duel covered in fake blood!” Mr Blammel exclaimed.

  “This isn’t about you!” snapped Fanella.