Pub Brawls and Fete Stalls

Case 2: On the Trail of the Yellow Fingernail - Part 3

The Next Day

After the meeting in the shed I was ordered to go home and start prepping. Wasn't exactly sure for what but still it was a chance to grab some extra sleep. The next morning I was rudely awoken by the alarm and after a sluggish walk down the stairs discovered Mr Kiln once again drinking a cup of tea in our kitchen. Without a moments hesitation he spoke, authoritatively.

"There is a meeting being held in the pub at 11am. All the village is invited. Make sure you are there and ready to start investigating. Some new evidence has come to light but I now feel the rest of the village should know. It's far worse than we first feared". And with that he was gone. I looked at Mother, who just shrugged her shoulders and went about her business. Must be serious I thought, and with that attacked my scrambled eggs with renewed velour. 

At The Swan

I arrived at the pub to find everyone already there; and in rather good spirits. Having it seemed, all been given free beer! A table was positioned in the centre which behind stood PC Bob Pig, Mr Kiln and the tramp Mr Partridge, clearly Mr Kilns new henchman. Whatever he was he still stank. A hush suddenly befell the room and Mr Kiln spoke, after clearing his throat and blowing his nose, rather loudly for many in the room.

"Ladies, Gents and others (looking at Mr Partridge, who had taken to eating some pork scratchings). Early this morning I found a note in my office". I could hear people mumbling, saying they thought his office was a shed. "All it states is that they have all the fetes stalls and its signed by someone called The Yellow Fingernail". Gasps filled the room, people took a swig of their beer. Mrs Bentley fainted, hitting a table as she did, spilling Mr Johnsons beer, who then accused Mr Kiln for the spillage. Others disagreed and a scuffle ensued. Meanwhile Mrs Bentley awoke to a battle royal between a number of key figures. Fearing she would be blamed she felt it better to pretend being unconscious, that way avoiding any further accusation. After what seemed an age the fighting stopped, probably because Mr Partridge had decided to join in. He really did stink. Mr Kiln continued "Mr Wilson over there", pointing to me, "is going to investigate this most heinous of crimes and shall try to retrieve our stalls and capture this criminal. The fete will go ahead".

Cheers rang around the pub and with that there was a further rush for the bar. Meanwhile Mr Kiln handed me an envelope and shoved me out of the pub. 
 "Go and restore honour to our village Wilson." 
And with that he went back in to have another beer. I opened the scruffy envelope and read the message. 

So Leyhill had finally given me the chance to prove myself. With a little skip of delight I headed for home, pulled out my dusty detecting blue coat and went out to my 50cc scooter. So they were headed for Hemel. I'd never been there (which wasn't necessarily a bad thing). It was one of those new towns, all modern buildings and no heart. I kick started my scooter and headed off towards this new town, which wasn't very quickly as the 50cc engine wasn't the most powerful. I'd probably get there quicker by walking. I passed the pub again, as it was on route. A small crowd had gathered and were waving me on my journey. It almost felt like they couldn't wait for me to leave! Putting this thought to the back of my mind I crawled away from the pub and so started my pursuit of the Yellow Fingernail. 

Coming soon: Part 4 - Lost in Translation. 

"Where's me coconuts?"

Part 2: On the Trail of the Yellow Fingernail

The sun was shining into my room the next morning and as I opened my eyes this horrendous vision greeted me. Beady eyes and strange curly things dangling from greying hair, bright red lips and bad breath. It was Mother shaking me rather violently for some reason.

"Get up, get up" I heard her saying. I rose quickly bashing my head into her chin. Get up, get up turned into words best not described in these pages. After she had recovered and given me a wrap around my head, she ask authoritatively for me to go down stairs as someone had come to see me. "Now." She finished and stormed out the room. 

Deciding to dress later I threw on my dressing gown and walked into the kitchen and was greeted by a smug looking Mr Kiln (head parish councillor) drinking a cup of tea. Without talking he threw the mornings edition of the Leyhill Echo at me. I looked down at the headline and then looked across at Mr Kiln.

"Shock, Horror - Coconut Stall Goes Missing

Messieurs Kiln and Pickles are said to be disgusted at the latest crime to hit the streets of Leyhill." More to follow...

I stood contemplating the implications of the headline. He stood up, thanked Mother and just as he was leaving turned to me and said. "Get yourself dressed properly and come to the my office."

"What the shed at the bottom of your garden?" I replied. 

"Just be there", and with that he stormed out of the kitchen. I headed upstairs, slightly confused by what had just happened. 

I got changed and headed out, as I walked down the road towards Mr Kilns shed (office) I dumped into the local tramp Mr Partridge, who was also one of Mr Kilns henchmen. 
"You smell" he stated. Charming I thought.

"So do you" I replied, regretting the comment as he brought a smelly fist up to my throat. 

"Listen, if I say you smell, you smell. Got it?" 

"Ok, look I'm just off to see Mr Kiln as someone has stolen the coconut stalls".

"Yeah I've heard that, strange business if you ask me, something not right about that", he said lessening his grip.

"Why" I asked, thinking he was not telling me everything, what with him being one of Mr Kilns henchmen.

"Not telling you because you smell!" And with that he was away, dragging me for a moment until he realised he still had hold of me. He let go and I fell to the ground. He turned, shook his head and walked towards the pub. 

Strange I thought and with that I continued down the road. My only thought regarding the disappearance of the stalls was that the next village Latimer had stolen it as they didn't have a coconut stall, but why would they? Their Fete was in August, (it was June) so a bit early to go around stealing fete stalls. As I arrived at Mr Kilns shed, PC Bob Pig was standing outside, picking his nose. He opened the door and I was greeted by Mr Kiln sitting behind a makeshift desk of a plank of wood balanced on a lawnmower and a chair. He again threw a newspaper at me with a new headline (they print them quickly I thought). I looked at the latest headline and then looked back at him.

FETE TO BE CANCELLED - now reports suggest all the stalls have been taken. Messieurs Kiln and Pickles said to be utterly disgusted. More to follow....

This was shocking, truly shocking, but what did they want from me?

"Sit down Wilson. What we are about to tell you is confidential between me, you and Mr Pig out there. Pig stop picking your nose." he shouted. And with that he explained everything....

Find out what happens in the next installment ...On a Road to Nowhere 

On the Trail of the Yellow Fingernail - (Bored, Bored, Bored)

Case 2: On the Trail of the Yellow Fingernail - Part 1

Day 1

The Case of the Missing Turnips and the episode with the parrot had taken the stuffing out of me and since then life had somewhat slowed. I was a little older, none the wiser and had started to lose my hair, which wasn't helping with my already desperate appearance. Since those cases Leyhill had become a place of tranquility and I continued to be a jobs worth, mainly mucking out the pigs on the local farm. I had achieved some notoriety by winning the local "Muck spreader of the year" award, strangely there was only the judge in attendance and no other contestants, something to do with the smell? Mrs Wilcox still lived next door and there were rumours of her being behind a bung deal between Leyhill cricket club and Ashley Green cricket club to throw the final game of the season to allow Ashley Green to at least win a match. Muck spreading had prevented me from investigating. My mother had married Jock the Block, who had opened up a chain of underwear stores called Jocks Strap. And the only other excitement to have hit Leyhill was the proposed motorway extension that would have cut through the middle of the village, but when the contractors came to canvas the area they had mysteriously disappeared. Mrs Wilcox was spotted digging holes near the local chapel that very day but once again muck spreading had intervened and I was unable to substantiate those reports. I was bored. 

Today was the day before the day before Leyhill's annual summer fete. A big event in the annual calendar of the village which ran alongside the annual Flower Show. In fact the two committees rather despised each other and had wanted to move the shows apart, but both events attracted large volumes of villages and townsfolk, who came with pots of cash, so the committees decided to bite their tongues and keep things as they were. For now at least. Mr Perth (the village councillor) had announced the fetes and flower shows events a week before, so the hype was building. Various stalls and sideshows would take centre stage and the Leyhill dog club were going to do a obedience demonstration, something they did every year. Last time out they lost two dogs because they saw a cat and gave chase. Their owners still attached. They were all last seen heading over the nearby hill. None returned apart from a very sly cat. Everyone was assured that this wouldn't happen this year. Fat chance most people replied. The flower shows centre piece was to be Mrs Hardwicks cake demonstration. Last year she blew up the village hall having left the gas on after she had forgot to take out her scones! Let's just say the scones were burnt. 

As I sat at the dining table eating my porridge I had the realisation that all was rather to good. The weeks preparation for the fete had gone very smoothly. I hoped that something would happen at the fete to release the boredom. Perhaps an accident at the coconut shy or one of the dogs would disobey their owner and bite Mr Perth or PC Bob Pig? Or at least something that would allow me to put my muck spreading spade down and get back to investigating. And do you know what? Something unexpected did happen and it would take me on my greatest adventures yet and introduce me to a new master criminal, The Yellow Fingernail.

Find out what happens next time in Part 2 of On the Trail of the Yellow Fingernail - "Where's me coconuts!" 

"I Saw Three Trucks Go Driving By" or The Christmas Tree Debacle (Part3)

Previously: Our hero has seen some strange going ons in a house a few doors away. Christmas trees are being loaded into a truck and driven away at high speed. Upon investigating he gets collard into joining the carol singers and drinking mulled wine with a deaf old man. After going back to the house he finds it full of fake Christmas trees and has a run in with a parrot that is constantly repeating his name. We join our hero and the enraged parrot trying to escape as more and more Christmas trees catch fire. 

With the parrot in a blind panic and the Christmas trees continuing to go up in smoke and what with  the gas from the stove adding to the mix. It seemed I was about to become an ex-detective. I cared little for the parrot now and although regretting giving it the helium from the balloons I had at least some idea what was going on with the loading of the truck from yesterday. Looking for an exit route was proving difficult. The back door was too dangerous to approach and the front door was blocked by the now fully ablaze Christmas trees, I had no desire to be fried along with the parrot. Looking around the kitchen window was my best bet and so I clambered onto the sink and forced the window open, diving out just as the manic parrot came for one last attack before he was I presumed, burnt to a cinder. I thought about going out the front way and then thought better as someone might see me. So I ran up the back garden, the effects of the fumes, helium and mulled wine were all too much to take and as I ran I started to loose balance and consciousness. I tripped on something hard and collapsed into a heap in a shed and knew nothing more of the nights events. 

Meanwhile

The house was now fully engulfed with flames. Fake Christmas trees and I presumed a parrot were no more. As was the house it seemed, as it then exploded, giving the now sleepy village of Leyhill a rather spectacular if unusual display of flying Christmas trees and decorations and flames reaching into the cold night sky. Within minutes a second truck had come down our road (the fire engine) as had half of the village, who it had to be said were rather enjoying what now was quite a pretty bonfire and had decided to turn the situation into something of an event. The carol singers who seemed to have brought along the mulled wine for everyone to keep warm also saw an opportunity and broke out in song. Others clearly felt the burning house was the perfect oven to prepare the Christmas turkey and didn't waste the opportunity to place their foil wrapped dinners as close to the fire as they could get. Others just enjoyed the spectacle.

"Jolly decent of whoever to put on a display like this so close to Christmas." Remarked old Mr Perth.

"It's someone's house you fool." Replied PC Bob Pig, who had arrived on the scene to control the growing crowds. 

"Pardon" came Mr Perth's reply. It took PC Bob Pig the next 20 minutes to try and explain, but with him not knowing that Mr Perth's hearing aid wasn't working his conversation was falling on deaf ears! 

Just then there was another explosion and it was later reported from a number of drunk on mulled wine carol singers that they thought they heard and saw a laughing but slightly demonic parrot get blown hundreds of feet into the air.  

"Quite extraordinary" came most people's reply as they dodged the flying fake trees. Not long after Mr Van Winddycke-Schmidt had turned up in his truck (that would be the third one then.) And was reportedly completely bemused as to the carnage he was witnessing and that was just the ever increasing drunk carol singers, who seemed to be putting new meaning to the song Mistletoe and Wine! Order was finally restored and the crowds watched as the house and flying trees were put under control. 

The next morning was the day before the day before Christmas, all was calm and actually quite bright as well. Blue skies greeted the now ruined house. The fire had been put out, the burnt Christmas trees gathered and the partial wing of a once talkative parrot was found. I stumbled out of the shed. My head as sore as it had ever been and I had little recollection of what had happened the night before. Confused and dazed I walked past the remains of the house and back home. Upon arrival mother was sitting in the kitchen wiping the brow of a very disconsolate Mr Van Winddycke-Schmidt.

"Where have you been?" She asked.

"Last thing I know I was carol singing." I replied. "Why?"

Mr Van Winddycke-Schmidt piped up "Some idiot has blown my house up and the Christmas trees we were storing for the annual Chesham Christmas Tree Festival. Ruined, ruined" he mumbled as mother vigorously shoved a towel in his mouth to wipe out the soot. He clearly wasn't finished. "And my parrot, gone and wingless. It was only there because it was a surprise gift for my niece. She adores parrots. If I ever get hold of who did this they will be very sorry."

Things started to dawn on me and I felt a sudden panic come across my face. "Oh dear" and with that I headed to my bed hopeful that I had given nothing away.  

Christmas Eve 

Having clearly got away with the events of previous days I sat by the open fire and contemplated the Christmas to come. I had rather enjoyed the carol singing and thought I might give it a try again next year. And with a little chuckle I raised my glass of wine and bit into a rock hard mince pie. "Merry Christmas everyone." I mumbled between crumbs and watched the snow fall gently to the ground.

The Adventures of a Countryside Detective will return in 2015 with On The Trail Of The Yellow Fingernail

Authors note:  May I take this opportunity to thank everyone for reading these tales, I'm truly blown away by how many have looked, read and commented. I hope you will continue to enjoy the future stories to come. So may I wish everyone a very Merry Christmas and a Happy and Peaceful New Year. 

"I Saw Three Trucks Go Driving By" or The Christmas Tree Debacle (Part 2)

The adventure continues with our hero currently slip, sliding his away towards an abandoned houses front door. A door that had earlier been the scene of strange going ons. With three men loading a van full of fake Christmas trees.  

As I was heading for the front door I somehow managed to do a triple salchow and land perfectly with a little twirl of the hands to add a certain flair to the move. I was rather proud and this and was suddenly aware of clapping.

"Bravo", "splendid move", "really very graceful for such a gangly fellow" called some voices. Another said "Rubbish". Clearly I hadn't managed to get rid of the carol singers but their words of praise were rather pleasing to the ear, apart from the rubbish comment. "Come on we need a lead vocalist for 'Away in a Manger'. Your vocal talents seem to be, how should we say, a little immature. So you rather fit the bill for the classic children's song." one of the carol singers suggested.

"I can't sing! " I explained.

"Exactly, as I said, just what we need, someone with a high pitched voice that doesn't sound very good."

"But I...." Before I could finish I was dragged away by the carol singers and thrown into singing verse two and the finale of 'Away in a Manger'. It soon became apparent they had made a rather bad decision and hurried me through the second verse and drowned me out completely in the final verse. Clearly I would be unable to get myself away until the end of the evening, so the house investigation would have to wait and mince pies beckoned.  

After a few more attempts at singing and them drowning me out even more, we arrived at the village hall where mince pies, mulled wine and some lovely nibbles were being served. I ate royally and drank rather a lot of the mulled wine. I ended up having to talk to old Mr Perth, who spoke gibberish for a hour, mainly about his colonic irrigation treatment he was currently having. Also his new hearing aid clearly wasn't working because he couldn't hear a word I was saying in return. Eventually I prised myself away, made my excuses to the carol singers and a little gingerly I headed back towards the house. The mulled wine was clearly going to my head but I was determined to accomplish my mission, whatever state I was in.

When I eventually got back to the house I creeped to the front window and peered inside. In the room was stacked dozens of Christmas trees, and on the floor were balloons, and lights. It all seemed a little strange. I decided to investigate further so went around the back of the house and noticed the back door was slightly open. The mulled wine had really taken effect and I was feeling a little giddy now. Unperturbed I entered what was the kitchen and found that there were more Christmas trees stacked up. All very odd. As I crept through the house it was the same, stacks of fake trees, decorations and balloons. What was that old man up too? As I walked into the living room I was greeted by a squawking voice. I jumped back out of sight, quick enough for whoever it was not to see me.

"Who's that?"

Rather hastily I replied "John Wilson."

"John Wilson, John Wilson, John Wilson." They kept repeating. 

"Yes that's me. Who's that?" 

"John Wilson"

"No I'm John Wilson." This conversation continued for a few minutes until I plucked up the courage to enter the room, mainly because I had had enough and with my head spinning even more from the mulled wine I needed to sit down. When I entered the room there in the corner was a parrot, surrounded by more stacked Christmas trees. Strange kind of guard for a house I thought. Until it hit me. It knows my name! It'll tell Mr Van Winddycke-Schmidt the next time he visited and he'd know who had been snooping. I had to shut it up. I looked around the room. Nothing but the Christmas trees and decorations. Then in the corner I noticed a bunch of what must have been helium filled balloons. I hoped that with enough gas inside it the parrot would eventually be knocked out long enough so that I could remove it and hide it somewhere. So grabbing the balloons I raced across the room got hold of the parrot who was still repeating my name, used its beak to make a hole in the balloons and tried to get the helium down its throat. After a bit of resistance it felt like my plan was working as the parrots voice rose in pitch sharply, however in the ensuing struggle some of the gases must have escaped and my voice also rose in pitch. I started laughing at my now comical voice, as did the parrot. After a brief exchange of pleasantries the parrot seemingly had had quite enough. The gas took effect and it went floppy. It had worked, although my head was in a right state. 

I stumbled back into the kitchen. Putting the floppy parrot on the table. I needed to sit down and think of my next move. Noticing a kettle on an old gas stove I thought a cuppa would do me the world of good. I found some matches and a tea bag, filled the kettle and had just lit the gas when the parrot, who had clearly been faking its comatose state started to attack me again, still squeaking in a high pitched voice. I managed to get a hold of one of its wings and in the ensuing struggle the parrot passed over the naked gas flame and suddenly caught alight. It panicked and was flapping manically, flying into a number of the Christmas trees lined against the wall. They too caught fire. The parrot, now in a state of shock and looking for an escape flew into the hallway making sure that more Christmas trees caught fire. What with the gas still going it all added up to a recipe for disaster. With the fire spreading throughout the house and the parrot now in a blind panic I had to get myself out but the smoke and flames hampered my path to the door. The mulled wine and helium hadn't helped my cause and I had no idea what to do, other than snigger occasionally at my continued high pitched, panicky voice. 

Could I get out? Would I become as burnt as the helium filled and slightly overcooked parrot? Had I sung my last Christmas carol? (Well probably yes but that's not the point.) 

Find out in the final part of The Christmas Special - "I Saw Three Trunks Go Driving By" next week.

Authors note: No real parrots were harmed in the making of this story. Also can you guess the ending? Please leave your comments as I'd love to know what you think.  

"I Saw Three Trucks Go Driving By" or The Christmas Tree Debacle (Part 1)

It was a cold, crisp day before the day before the day before Christmas. I was sitting in the kitchen munching on a rock hard mince pie that mother had made. Since The Missing Turnips Case I had been muck spreading but also keeping an eye out for any wrongdoings in the village. Which there hadn't been. Mrs Wilcox's farm had been a success, Parish Councillors Kiln and Pickles were stamping their authority on village matters and seemingly everyones money with the help of Mrs Wilcox it seemed. I only knew that Mrs Wilcox's farm had been a success because she would tell me every day, giving a little wink as she said her goodbyes. There was something very suspicious about her actions but I couldn't quite put my finger on it. For now at least. She was trying to turn the farm into a Zoo but was refused permission due to an outbreak of foot and mouth. I laughed at that, small revenge for her continued mocking of my muck spreading duties. Other than that it was a little too silent, night and day in and around the village. Until that was I firstly heard and then saw a large truck drive at high speed down our road. Funny that I thought, don't see trucks coming our way much, if at all. I dropped the mince pie, which created a small dent in the table and decided to go out investigate. 

Peering around the gate post, so not to be seen I noticed the truck was parked at the disused house a few doors away. There were three men milling around the truck, loading Christmas tree into the truck. There was also an old man with a white beard who looked suspiciously like Mr Van Winddycke-Schmidt. I thought he was in the slammer? (See the Case of the Missing Turnips for more details about him.) Clearly he wasn't in the nick and it seemed he was up to something. Probably no good. So I slide back into the shadows a little, not wanting to be seen.

"Boo". I jumped, throwing my arms in the air and smacking whoever it was right in the face and nose. "That hurt" they continued. I turned to see my pesky neighbour Clare Flynn, who had just delivered our Christmas card. "What are you doing?" She continued rubbing her swollen nose.

"Spying" I replied, and shoved her in front of me to show her.

"So what?" She stated.

"Bit suspicious don't you think?" 

"Not really its a Sainsbury's* van. Must be delivering some food or presents?". 

"What with 3 men and an old criminal. And anyway they're loading up some christmas trees". 

"Want me to go and ask them why?" She said as blood started to pour out of her nose.

"No, you need to get that cleaned up and anyway we need to approach this with caution. I'm going to find out what they are up to, but in a stealth like fashion. Like a Ninja". Pushing her some more in the direction of her house. 

"Idiot" she shouted as she ran home. That wasn't going to help her nose I thought and she was leaving a trail of blood and tears behind her. Suddenly the van sped past and vanished down the road towards the town of Chesham. Hopefully I hadn't been seen and I would wait until nightfall to investigate further. Well I didn't want to raise suspicion, not just yet anyway. It just so happened  The local carol singers were visiting our part of the village tonight. The perfect cover I thought. 

That night, dressed as carol singers do; bobble hat, warm jumper and gloves. I joined the back of the group as they worked their way down towards the house in question. I sang impressively for the first note and deteriorated somewhat thereafter. When they had walked past the dark house that was my destination I made my move. Slipping away at the back of the group, moving a bit too quickly for my liking and on the icy pavement slipped and pirouetted all over the place, like an Olympic ice skater towards the front door! Would I stop in time? Would the door feel the full impact of my ice skating routine? Would I get a good score for my rather excellent skating skills? Would the choir hear me and come and investigate to see who had made the noise? Would I be charged for being a fake carol singer? Or would they carry on until they were given a warm mug of cocoa and a nice mince pie at the village hall? Whatever was about to happen it wasn't going to be pretty. 

Authors Notes:
* A UK based supermarket chain

Find out what happens next week or if you think you know what might happen then please leave a comment. 

Coming next week: Part 2 of I Saw Three Trucks Go Driving By

A Summers Fete (fate) or How not to Capture a Kidnapper

Case 1:The Case of the Missing Turnips - The Conclusion (sort of) 

Late June

It was the day of the annual summer fete, Leyhill's biggest annual event, the day I was going to finally ensnare the kidnapper. Before setting up my stall I had to complete a number of forms allowing me the privilege to be part of the event. Why? No idea to be honest, clearly bureaucracy in Leyhill was strictly controlled by Mr Kiln and Co, who seemed to pocket most of the received fees. I had to pay Mr Kiln a fiver for the pleasure. which he duly pocketed in his expensive jacket. The plan was to set up a stall that would catch the kidnapper red handed, it went something like this..

The game was an impersonation game called "Can you be a kidnapper?" I would ask them to take on the role of a person trying to steal some pigs or goats or even turnips. And I might throw in role plays of the stabbing of Mrs Johnson or the kidnapping of Mrs Wilcox, if I felt the need. The one who was the most convincing would surely be the one who had done all these crimes and I would have solved the case. I was rather proud of my idea and just a little excited with the anticipation of putting my plan into place, hence the nervous farting again! 

Later that day

The fete was opened by old Mr Perth, a parish councillor, who seemed to be completely unaware of what was going on and kept complaining about the noise. Apparently the local celebrity Paine Delight (real name Stan Partridge) a singer was on a tour of Bedfordshire, so wasn't available. The whole village had turned out and I knew so had the kidnapper. I had set up my stall and waited. And waited some more. I waited a bit longer and a bit more after that for at least one person to try, alas nobody. The fete was going extremely well; for everyone else and I was just about to give up when someone came to the stall. They seemed a little suspicious in their attitude, always looking around to check that nobody was watching. Was this the moment? I told them the instructions, which seemed to puzzle them a little but they were willing to give it a go and were all too convincing in their interpretation. So the moment had come;

"You are under arrest for being all too convincing as a kidnapper" I stated.

"Are you barking mad?" Came the reply. "I'm PC Bob Pig you fool, out of uniform. See." He took his cap off to reveal his rather portly face. "How dare you even insinuate that I would be a kidnapper. You're nicked." He paused momentarily and then rattled through his list. "One, making ME, a police officer impersonate a kidnapper. Two for setting up an illegal stall, I've seen your papers and I can hardly read the writing." I had to admit I did rush them a little. "Three for not making any money on the stall and four we've already solved the case and the councillors were found not guilty as Mrs Wilcox returned this morning. Apparently she had gone away on business."

"When did that happen?"

"Yesterday." 

"Must have missed that, was trying to catch the real kidnapper up at Tyler's Hill. So really you haven't solved the case of Mr Johnsons animals at all. So whoever they are is still at large!" 

"Well yeah, but at least it wasn't the councillors. They paid me a handsome fine, which I've um pocketed for now and will eventually put in next years Fete fund. Anyway come with me, Oh thought of another reason, so that's five things now."

"Why five?"

"For making me waste my time and the 50p I've paid. Which I shall reclaim for the stress of the situation."
"Oh" came my reply. "Look I'm trying to catch the kidnapper. They left me a note saying they would be here. I'm so close to solving it".
"That's six reasons now."
"What, for not solving the case?"
"No for making me miss the fetes raffle. I could have won the new petrol lawnmower they were giving away. Could have done with that."

And so I was dragged away cuffed like a criminal. I was sure I saw Mrs Wilcox hiding in the shadows laughing at me but I couldn't be certain. And my dreams of catching the kidnapper in tatters. That evening in the village hall I was put on trial.  PC Bob Pig, Mr Kiln and Pickles and old Mr Perth; who was still complaining about the noise, were in attendance as was the local hack for the LeyHill Echo, Mum and Jock the Block (both crying), Clare Flynn and her dad (both laughing) and a mysterious person who looked like an old lady who was wearing a balaclava (clapping). I was charged with wasting everyone's evening and for the six charges as laid out by PC Bob Pig! My sentence was to work on Mr Johnsons farm as his muck spreader and do all the other farm jobs his now deceased wife used to do. I tried to protest my innocence, keeping quiet about the disappearance of Mrs Johnson (which to this day remains unsolved, thankfully). However it was to no avail and so the case was closed on my time as a detective and the case of the missing farm animals and the turnips. 

I was to start work the following morning and after that they all left to go to the pub for a pint. I sat thinking about the events of the day and the case overall. Ok so I had failed to find and trap the kidnapper, even if they were right under my and the rest of Leyhills nose. But I had found the career for me and I was sure that eventually my fortunes would change and I would show them all that I was a good detective. So I made my way home defeated and a little downcast but also knowing that The Case of the Missing Turnips was only the beginning, new adventures awaited that was for sure.

The End?............
Well not quite.......

Postscript
A few weeks later Mrs Wilcox had opened up a children's farm for visiting city kids in Tylers Hill. Funnily enough the farm had pigs, goats, cows and also a vegetable patch which grew amongst other treats; turnips! However I was keeping my nose to the floor for now (although not too close, especially being a muck spreader!) The kidnapper was still out there and I would be ready to catch them when they made their next move. Although a good wash would be required first. 

Coming soon (A Christmas special - "I Saw 3 Trucks Go Driving By")