24 August 2014

Bringing Home the Bacon

Case 1: The Case of the Missing Turnips

13th June 

Awoke to the smell of cooking bacon. Stood up to see mum finish the last bit off, was curious about why I had woken up in the kitchen? Couldn't think why and was annoyed that mum had had all the bacon. Cornflakes as always then. Sulking I sat and read the Leyhill Echo, our local paper. There was a story about a strange looking man; who smelt of bacon, was covered in muck and had no socks or wellies on. He was seen wondering around shouting it was a rash decision nicking his pigs and he'd fry them if he found out who had done it. Didn't make much sense to me so I thought nothing more of it and looked at the problem pages.

Suddenly there was a knock at the door. I ran to answer it, slipping on the doormat and hitting it full in the face. At the doorstep was Mrs Johnson, the local farmers wife. She was crying for some reason. Having just smacked my face in the door I felt it should be me crying. She let herself in...and her dog, two cats and various other creatures that seemed to have attached themselves to her. She went into the living room and settled herself, the animals dispersed themselves into the kitchen and any other place where food was available. After waiting for me to make her a cuppa, several hints were made before I realised, she began her terrifying tale. It was all a little confusing at this point.

"It happened at two this morning. Myself and my husband were asleep, he was snoring. I awoke to hear strange sounds coming from the yard. Slightly scared I woke up Mr Johnson, he was grateful for this as he had been having a nightmare about his wife."

There was a momentary pause and after picking her nose she continued. "Anyway, I told him what was happening. He climbed out of bed. Putting on his wellies and picking up his shotgun, he decided to head straight to the yard, telling me to be quiet, which was a bit of a cheek considering he snored so loudly. Bravely he walked down the stairs, treading on the cats tail. The cat bit him. He bit the cat. After a brief scuffle he walked outside and found footprints in the mud. So he followed them and eventually arrived at the pig sty, after a terrible journey. He fell into the water trough, walked into the tractor, tripped and landed in the cow dung, also losing both wellies in the process. At the pig sty he found the gate was open. Some swine had stolen the pigs! and upon further inspection our supply of turnips had gone missing." 

So that was what the Leyhill Echo had been rabbiting on about. Mrs Johnson had stood up at this point and was shaking me violently, pleading for my help. She eventually put me down, what with her being taller than me. I told her I would think about it, wondering why she had come to me in the first place. I mean I pretended to be a detective but had actually never done any detecting of note, apart from when I had lost my wellies and discovered through elimination of the shoes on the shoe rack that mum had borrowed them.

"You have PI on your front door" she explained. 

I gave her a puzzled look and after she had gone, and the various animals she had brought with her as well a trail of pig muck on the carpet I checked the front door. Sure enough it said PI, although upon closer inspection I found that a slug trail had turned the number 1 into a P. Thus my detecting days started. I ran back inside eager to get going. Gathering my bits and pieces together I ran for the door. Mum was leaving at the same time (some ale tasting afternoon at the cricket club!) and I tried to beat her to the door. She won, slamming it shut in my face. 

Fully recovered I got to the front gate meeting our neighbour Mrs Wilcox. She had a strange look about her, perhaps the balaclava was a bit of a giveaway, and she was holding a large amount of money. I knew that because the bag had swag in large letters all over it. I asked her where she had got the money from.

"Selling some animals and vegetables I had acquired" she replied rather sheepishly.

I didn't know she had a vegetable patch and found this a little strange. She walked off shaking her head and muttering under her smelly breath. Turning away from my house I suddenly got a wack to the head from a hard object. It was from our other neighbour, Clare Flynn, who had been playing cricket. Picking up the bat I threw it back, hitting her right in the stomach. She ran home crying, I had a case to solve, so little time for sentiment. I needed to find a clue as to who had stolen the pigs and why anyone would want to nick some turnips? The case was well and truly up and running. 

To be continued.......

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