Holidays

Case 1: The Case of the Missing Turnips (Part 7)

22nd June

courtesy of Drew Comika

Having a dead body lying around the house was not exactly a good thing, neither was a barking dog. And hiding it in mums antique suit of armour that stood on the landing wasn't going to solve the problem. I had got rid of the barking dog by dragging it back to the farm in the evening, and tying it to the front gate post. I can only assume Mr Johnson retrived it? I certainly wasn't hanging around to find out. I decided I needed to get out of the village and dispose of the body. I wasn't going to get the blame for a murder I hadn't committed. So dragging the body in the suit of armour down the stairs (past the broken cupboard, which still hadn't been cleared). I attached it to my back and cycled to the nearby village of Latimer. I had a few suspicious looks, most notably from Mr Johnson who was walking around calling out for Mrs Johnson and thankfully dragging a still barking dog. I peddled quicker to get as far away as quickly as possible, I didn't need a confrontation.

The village of Latimer had a deep well and was as good as any place to dispose of the late Mrs Johnson. Unfortunately it had been concreted in! I had to change plans. So I dug a hole in the local church graveyard (undercover of darkness of course). Having found a shovel at the church gates. I decided to stay on for a couple of days to try and make it look like I had been away on business. Which technically I had. Cycling home a few days later, I spotted our local policeman P.C. Bob Pig walking around questioning people. Again I cycled quickly to avoid having to explain my absence. On returning home there was a note pinned to the floor. I picked it up and half the carpet with it. Although it was hard to read I sort of got the gist.

Iff  yoo wan 2 see the oled laydi agin, it ill co2t ya...loads!!

Yors sinserely 

Kid napier 

Attached on the back was a stamped addressed envelope for the ransom demand, it was labelled c/o Mrs Wilcox. Strange I thought? Why address it to the person who had been kidnapped? And how much was loads? None the wiser I put it in my coat pocket and went out to have a think about what to do next. I was thinking so hard that I didn't notice the tree I walked into; causing great damage to the tree I may add. After recovering it had to be said that this tree wasn't one I was familiar with (what with me being a tree climber) and it soon transpired that I had wondered so far that I had no idea where I was. I was lost! I turned and aimlessly walked about for an hour or two, finally coming across a small hut. On closer inspection I discovered it was our outside toilet and mum was inside who upon hearing my footsteps asked where I had been. The smell was horrendous and telling her I had gone for a long walk, in which she replied "for three days!" I fled mainly because a minute longer with that smell would be enough to put me on a longer holiday in a hospital.

In the kitchen I slumped onto the chair, I was getting nowhere, no ideas, no clues and still no idea where the pigs, chickens, turnips and not forgetting a missing Mrs Wilcox. I picked up that mornings Leyhill Echo for some encouragement. The headline was about Mr Johnson wondering where his wife had gone? I skipped that one quickly and saw a small article that read;

Shock, Horror

Mrs Wilcox is still missing or so a letter from the kidnapper tells us. PC Bob Pig has however arrested Messers Kiln and Pickles, both councillors on the village commity suspected of the kidnapping. A press conference is to be held this afternoon at the village hall of St Georges. No tea or coffee will be provided so bring a flask.

I had to get myself down there and quick, I had no time to make a flask of tea this was an important development and I needed to hear the facts. Had part of the case been solved? Or was PC Bob Pig snorting about in the wrong mud bath?

To be continued......

Chickens off the menu then?

The Case of the Missing Turnips - Part 6

19th June

"Blooming heck" I thought as I read The Leyhill Echo the next morning. The leading article was about some train heist that had gone wrong due to unprepared planning. Apparently whilst organising the heist the gang leaders were rudely interrupted by some bloke asking about a cheap golden ring. The report stated that an elderly gentleman had vowed revenge! No idea what that was about and it was none of my concern really. I was just about to turn the page when into the kitchen stepped Mrs Johnson the farmers wife, she seemed flustered, as if she had forgotten something! She apologised and turned and walked out? Having no idea why she had come in, and how for that matter I got back to reading the newspaper. Suddenly she appeared again with a dogs lead trailing behind her. 

"Opps, I've forgotten the dog!" She said and was once again gone. Clearly the missing pigs business had turned her completely mad, so I carried on reading and noticed a significant story at the bottom on page 3.

Mrs Wilcox goes missing 

Leyhills very own super granny and life president of Leyhill cricket club, Leyhill bowls club, Leyhill Pensioners Ravers Club, the Bridge club, Leyhills flower arranging club and the Brownies; Mrs Wilcox has gone missing reports suggest today. P.C. Bob Pig (the local policeman) stated "it's a tragedy for the community. She's never been kidnapped before.'

"Is this the right place for the party?", added Mr Kiln a local councillor who happens to be deaf. A note was found pinned to her front door with a ransom demand of £5 and a years supply of booze. P.C. Bob Pig has stated that a reward has been issued to whoever can find the old dear or give clues leading to her safe return. Mr Kiln continued by asking what time the party was starting. More to follow...

I read the report again. A reward...wow I could do with some cash, although the report didn't state what the reward would be. I was about to get cracking with what seemed to be two cases, when you guessed it Mrs Johnson returned. This time the dog was on the lead, although it looked like it didn't want to be, and who could blame it?

"Mr Wilson" she cried right in my ear, which flipping hurt by the way. "All our chickens have been stolen". 

"No!" I replied in surprise.

"Yes" she stated matter of factly. "Are you doubting me? I should know they are our chickens!"
"No" I replied again.
"What do you mean no? They are our chickens, how dare you think I am a liar"
"No I don't doubt you" I stated.
"Well, thats alright then" she pronounced, still close to my ear.

"How? When?" I asked, trying desperately to move her away from my ear, but she wouldn't budge. 

"Last night, I went down to feed them this morning and they were gone, all that was left were the eggs!" 

"Oh well at least you can still make an omelette" I clucked with a chuckle.

 "This is very distressing Mr Wilson and not a good time for jokes".

 "Its not much fun for me either, I can tell you" I said as I finally managed to shove her away from my deafened ear.  She fell a little awkwardly and disappeared out of the kitchen for a brief moment, screaming as she went.

She eventually staggered back into the kitchen, looking a little pale it had to be said. I tried asking her a number of questions, mainly about how she had walked into our house without knocking! But it was becoming increasingly hard to hear her as the dog was now barking and she was standing in a strange way, as if she was about to collapse onto the floor. When I walked over to her I discovered the reason for the lack of answers and the weird stance; a knife was stuck in her back, she was infact dead. Funny place to leave a knife I thought. I now had an extra problem, where was I going to put the body of the once Mrs Johnson? And when would I be able to get back on the case to look for missing pigs, chickens and turnips? And not forgetting searching for Mrs Wilcox and working out who had just stabbed Mrs Johnson and why?  Being a detective was a lot harder than I first thought and my ear was still aching! Had I been framed so that I could be taken off the case?

To be continued.....

Vodka Tea, Little Old Ladies and Wardrobes

Case 1: The Case of the Missing Turnips  (Part 5)

17th June

Because of the revelation that the owner of the ring was my neighbour Mrs Wilcox I had to pay her a visit. First though I needed to dress, stripped pyjamas are not the most pratical of clothes, especially ones with a flap rather than a button or zip on the front! Eventually I strode to her house with a purpose in my steps. I knocked on her door, which fell off its hinges. Strange? So I moved cautiously inside, perhaps it was a trap? I was not cautious enough as I tripped on the fallen door a fell towards her small coffee table that had a priceless ming vase sitting pretty on its shiny surface. Hitting the table with considerable force, the vase flew into the air, I outstretched a gloved hand and just managed to....miss it. The crash could be heard from as far away as the kitchen, where Mrs Wilcox was making her homemade blackberry vodka (something she was apparently developing for Russian friend that she had got to know through her pal Mrs Blouse at the cricket club!) She peered around the kitchen door, but couldn't see a thing as her glasses had fallen off so was unaware of the broken ming vase or a suspious looking gentleman sprayed across her floor entangled with her front door. I said hi it's John from next door and she asked if I wouldn't mind helping her find her glasses. With pleasure I replied. An hour later they were discovered in her pinny pocket! She offered me a cup of tea. How could I refuse? And anyway I had to ask her about the ring and also needed to delay her from leaving the kitchen and discovering the devastation of a once priceless vase and a broken front door. Unless of course it was all an elaborate plan by her?

I showed her the ring, which she took from me, nearly pulling me finger off! It was my precious, I had decided and I wanted to keep it, but clearly wasn't going to get it back. She thanked me for returning it and proceeded to talk about some ladies club outing to Eastbourne and how the price of pork had risen so sharply in the supermarkets these days. All I wanted to do was ask her about the ring but she was cannily good at avoiding my questions and I was suddenly feeling a little light headed after the third cup of tea she gave me. I decided I was getting nowhere and thought that it was best to leave and try again when my head felt better. On turning away I felt a sudden blow to the head, not helped by a seemingly increasing headache I flopped to the floor, in an unconscious heap.

I awoke to find myself inside a locked wardrobe, full of old bloomers which clearly had seen better days. I was a hostage, I had to get out of here. I bashed the door with my foot, rocking the wardrobe as I did so, the bloomers started flying into my face, all pinks and floral patterns. I bashed some more and eventually the wardrobe decided to fall over. Hitting the floor it shattered, myself and the bloomers being thrown onto the bedroom carpet, eventually ending up in the opposite corner to where the wardrobe had been. Brushing them aside I rose, not noticing the giant moose head that hung from the wall. Hitting it square in the jaw we ended up both entangled in a pile of bloomers and wood. I had had quite enough. Clearly I had been set up by Mrs Wilcox, I had to find out why she had done this, what she had put in my tea and also ask about that ring, which was the whole reason for visiting in the first place. Remembering that the front door had, like the wardrobe been shattered into a thousand pieces I raced down the stairs, about to leap to freedom. However the door had been mended (how long had I been with her bloomers?) And once again I found myself nursing an increasingly sore head, but clear that Mrs Wilcox was up to something and quite possibly had a hand in the case of the missing turnips and the pigs. Also she was nowhere to be seen, so letting myself out I walked into freedom unaware that events were about to take a major turn....

To be continued.....

The Golden Ring and Bikes and strange Criminal masterminds!

Case 1: The Case of the Missing Turnips (Part 4)

16th June

Woke up and got hit on the head. Something hard had struck me. Discovered it was the cricket ball belonging to that little squirt Clare Flynn, which had flown through my open bedroom window. Reluctantly, knowing the consequences after the cricket bat incident, threw it back at her. Luckily for my part I missed, although her fathers' greenhouse now had a smashed window. Decided I would  blame his daughter if I bumped into him again. It was time to get up and continue looking for clues and whilst walking out of the house I noticed a small shiny object lying in the grass. On picking it up, and half the grass with it, it turned out to be a golden ring. Wow..a clue. I needed to get an experts opinion to help shed some light on whose it might be, when it was made and if it might have any remnants of pig dung on it. That way I could link it to the case.

I ran back to the house, jumped on my bike; and missed. Picking myself up and dusting myself down I cautiously mounted the bike and rode towards the nearby town of Chesham. My journey was long and perilous, they had been re-tarmacking the road and I hadn't noticed. I did wonder why it was especially bumpy and having to mend four punctures wasn't exactly normal for a 2 mile journey to the town. Chesham had one jeweler's shop, KP Crips and Son, so with no other options available other than a pawn brokers, a high end diamond shop, a second hand craft store, a watch repair shop, a butchers and a vegetable store I went there. On entering I found Mr KP Crips and Son discussing business with an old gentleman, a certain Mr Van Winddycke-Schmidt (a local crime lord of Dutch / German decent it transpired). They seemed to be talking about a heist they were about to commit on a train that was coming to London. I wasn't particularly interested and as time was ticking I decided to push Mr Van Winddycke-Schmidt aside. I had pushed him a little too hard and he careered into the window display, there was a bit of a commotion, although with him being quite old it wasn't very quick in either the fall or the getting up and the attempt to attack me. This would allow me time to ask for the information I needed. I explained my situation and reluctantly Mr KP (his son was attending to the slightly shocked and increasingly angry Mr Van Winddycke-Schmidt) examined the ring.  Eventually Mr KP stood up, straightened his tie and then his shirt and trousers. He lent forward and said softly:

"It belongs to Mrs Wilcox, sir!" "Gordon Bennett" I replied. "No sir, Mrs Wilcox". "Yeah I know you have already told me that" I stated matter of factually. "How do you know" I continued. "Well her name is engraved on the inside of the ring if you had bothered to look. That'll be £5, please". Slightly surprised at the consultation cost I thanked Mr KP, reluctantly giving him all my pocket money. 

Making haste I picked my way through the mess on the shop floor and was confronted by Mr Van Winddycke-Schmidt. It must have taken him 5 minutes to get up?  I smiled, he frowned back. I then decided to scarper just as he was about to bring his forearm towards my face. Luckily he missed me but not both Mr KP and his Son. I'm not sure what happened next as I had already retrieved my bike, having again missed the saddle when attempting my escape. But I'm sure I heard Mr Van Winddycke-Schmidt cursing and Mr KP Crips and his Son stating they would be seeing their lawyers. I wasn't going to hang about to find out and I wasn't entirely sure if it was aimed at me or not. So Mrs Wilcox had dropped her ring outside our house, well that was at least something to go on, especially as I had forgotten to ask if the ring had any pigs dung on it. I had to confront her as to why she had dropped it outside the house, the case was clearly progressing.

to be continued....  

Boiled Cabbage

Case 1: The Case of the Missing Turnips (Part 3)

14th June

     

Woke up and felt ill. It was either mums boiled cabbage or the punch to the stomach I got when collared by Clare Flynn's dad on the way home from a disappointing day looking for clues. I had decided to start at the end of the village which happened to be the park, saw that nobody was around and ended up playing on the swings. It gave me time to think, swinging backwards and forwards, without a care in the world. After some 3 hours of swinging, the kids that had been waiting for a go decided to take action and push me off. Slightly annoyed at this I thought about reclaiming the swing, giving up when a number of the kids mums decided to gather around me and vent their anger. I decided it best to get back to searching for clues, although coming up with nothing unfortunately. Getting hit in the stomach upon returning to our house certainly did bring some things up and it certainly wasn't clues about turnips or missing pigs. I tried to apologise to Clare Flynns dad, stating that I was deeply involved in an important mission but he was having none of it. So putting my ill health to this blow to the stomach and not mums boiled cabbages I decided to stay in bed and think about what to do next and also watch the paint dry on my newly decorated walls. Pink wasn't really my colour but I had no say in the matter. Jock the Block as he was known (him being Scottish and a bodybuilder) had done some decorating and being mums "friend" thought that pink would suit me. I just think it's their way of getting me to move out and having a laugh at my expense, thinking I wouldn't want to live in a pink coloured room. I'd show them. So I watched the paint dry, the case could wait.

Then shouting from downstairs shattered the silence. Forgetting to dress and forgetting the slippery carpet, I tripped and fell down the stairs. I flew towards the carpet below. It was a heavy landing, not helped because Jock the Block had been moving cupboards. That too decided it wanted to fall down the stairs at the same time; must have knocked it in the mayhem. We met at the bottom with a loud crash. It was a cupboard no more and I wasn't exactly in tip top shape either. The splinters would take days to remove. Moving all the broken bits of wood away I turned to see that mum was being held hostage. A short woman (well they were wearing a dress and a pair of female slippers so I assumed they were) was holding what looked like a plastic hammer and wearing a balaclava. She/they were struggling to hold mum but she still managed looked at me and in a terrible impersonation of a deep mans voice spoke.

"Sonny!" , she said. I told her my name was John. "John", she said. I congratulated them on getting it right. "Don't work on this case, otherwise you and your mother will be in great danger". 

Wanting to delay her I tried to make conversation.  I told her that mum was past it anyway. I got a stare from mum but that was probably more to do with standing there naked than the comment. The mystery person looked at mum and seemed to agree with her. Seizing her moment she dropped mum to the floor and fled shouting we had been warned. Leaving mum to pick herself up I gave chase. But by the time I reached the gate they had gone, they certainly moved rather swiftly for someone wearing slippers and anyway I needed to visit the loo and being naked didn't help. The days events had taken their toll not only on my body but my stomach, head, arms and toes and I needed to do some explaining to mum. The case felt like it was moving forward somewhat, but who was the mystery person? Were they the kidnappers of the pigs and thieves of the turnips? I was about to find out.

To be continued.....

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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The Adventures of John Wilson the Countryside Detective

Case 1: The Case of the Missing Turnips

12th June

Woke up and fell over. Had got my pyjamas in a twist, been sitting on the loo and dropped back into sleep, in a moment of panic had tried to pull them up. Lack of space and dreariness were contributing factors . There was a coldness about the place. Maybe that had something to do with it being 5am and the toilet being at the bottom of the garden. I stumbled back to my room, pyjamas still twisted, deciding that breakfast would be first on the agenda. The life of a detective was full of difficulties and tough decisions. I put on my tuxedo and shorts and then tiptoed down the stairs, trying to avoid those bits of carpet that are worn and slippery and can take you on a tumble downwards to the floor below. I got away with it this time. 

I moved swiftly towards the kitchen table, sliding onto a chair and nearly sliding off the other end. Suddenly I felt breathing behind me. Whoever it was had bad breath. Slowly I turned, picking the small water pistol from my array of weaponry concealed within my tuxedo. I was ready for the unexpected. Turning quickly I discovered it was Mum. 

"Your Brecky will be ready shortly, so be patient", she barked. 

I sat back, tipping the chair too far. Falling over was becoming something of a regularity it seemed. After my cornflakes I washed, which wasn't easy when wearing a tuxedo. Changing from my now soaking wet clothes into my more casual detecting gear; long dark coat and shorts. I set about the day in a positive frame of mind, all be it with a slight headache from the events of earlier. I had a feeling that today was going to be a good day, a day were my detecting skills would make me the talk of the village and it's surrounding areas. I'd be in the local paper, perhaps even the county news letter? I'd be a hero. 

I abruptly came back to reality, as a whiff of something horrible hit my nose. I had been daydreaming and found myself outside the toilet once again, mum was inside. Turning sharply to avoid any further stench from the toilet I returned to the house. I looked at my watch. It had stopped. In fact time seemed to have stopped and the day passed uneventfully as most days did. I went to bed that night unaware of the events that were about to change my life for at least the next week. The case of the missing turnips was about to begin.