Well I’ve done enough talking about myself; it’s now time to show you what I really do for a living. Starting today and with updates every Friday, allow me to present one of my shorter cases. I’ve referred to it before, now you can read about me in all my detecting finery. And if you like it, make sure to tell me, tell your friends, tell your agent and tell your publisher!!!
The Curds and Whey Mystery
1
Along Came A Spider
“Spiders?” I said, looking at the very small, very pale and very frightened woman sitting across the desk from me.
“Yes, spiders,” she nodded faintly.
“Spiders,” I said again, still trying to get my head around it. “As in small, scuttling things that build webs in unswept corners?”
“No Mr. Pigg, spiders as in large, hairy creatures that eat small animals and build webs like fishing nets. I’m not talking about a few tiny money spiders here; I’m talking about thousands of these monsters running amuck in my house. It’s playing merry hell with my business. Imagine putting a breakfast on the table and then, when the customer goes to get his coffee he finds that a tarantula or somesuch has made off with his bacon. And not only that, they terrify me. I hate them. I can’t sleep there any more I’m so frightened.”
“And what business would that be?” I asked.
“Oh, sorry, didn’t I say? My name is Muffet – Matilda Muffet – and I’m the proprietor of the Curds and Whey Bed and Breakfast on Grimm Road. Until this happened, business was extremely good. Now, not too many people are keen on staying there.” Fumbling in her bag she took out a tiny white handkerchief and began dabbing her eyes just as the tears began to flow. “The business has been in my family for generations,” she said between sobs. “If I can’t get this sorted I’ll have to close down. I can’t let that happen. That is why I’ve come to you.” She looked up at me. “I need you to find out who’s doing this; find out who’s trying to put me out of business. Can you help me, Mr Pigg?”
Now I’m not one to refuse a pretty lady and this was a case after all – one that could even result in payment, which meant I was desperate to take it on as I didn’t have too much money just at the moment – but there was just one teeny problem: I didn’t like spiders either. Scratch that, I hated them. They were one of two things that really terrified me (and no, I’m not about to tell you what the other is; I don’t want you laughing at me). I had to do a careful balancing act: fear of spiders versus earning money to pay some long outstanding bills. After a brief but brutal mental struggle, earning money won, actively encouraged by blind greed, aided and abetted by sheer desperation – fear of spiders never stood a chance.
Oh, I’m sorry, I haven’t introduced myself, have I? I’m Harry Pigg and I’m the proprietor of the Third Pig Detective Agency – the best one in Grimmtown, even if I do say so myself. Where did the name come from? Well, I was the pig that built the house out of bricks while my two idiot brothers took the easy route and went for cowboy builders and cheap materials. One big bad wolf later and hey presto, I’m the third (and only survivig) pig. With nothing else on the horizon, I decided to become a detective. After all, someone can always use the services of a good detective. Besides, I thought the name was catchy.
But I digress, there was a lady in trouble and she needed my help. I stood up and extended my trotter.
“Miss Muffet, I’d be delighted to take on your case.” I said, trying not to show any hint of anxiety.
The look of relief on her face convinced me I’d done the right thing.
“Oh that’s wonderful, Mr. Pigg. I knew I could count on you.”
We’ll see how much you can count on me when tarantulas start running up and down my back, I thought but, of course, didn’t say it out loud; I had an image to maintain, after all.
I walked my new client to the door of my office.
“I think the best thing to do is to go and have a look at your building,” I said. “Maybe I can pick up a few clues.”
“An excellent suggestion,” said Miss Muffet. “My car is outside. Why don’t I drive?”
On the way to Miss Muffet’s B&B, she gave me some more background.
“Well, when I was a young girl, I used to enjoy eating my bowl of curds and whey on the tuffet in the back garden. One morning I was busily tucking in when I heard a noise beside me. I looked over and there was this enormous spider – a really big hairy one, looking at me as if I was going to be his breakfast. It quite frightened the life out of me. I was so scared my bowl shot into the air and spilled all over me. It made quite a mess. After that, I never liked spiders again.”
I nodded occasionally as she told the story. I could understand where she got her fear of spiders from but how did that connect to the sudden plague of them that was apparently infesting her business premises – if it was infested at all. If she was that frightened of spiders maybe she’d just seen one or two and overreacted. I know I probably would have. But if her story was true, then I needed to start doing some real detecting. After all, it’s what I was being paid for.
“Miss Muffet, do you have any enemies; anyone who might want to put you out of business?”
“Oh no,” she said. “I’m sure I don’t. Who could possibly want to do such a thing? I don’t think I’ve ever had any problems with anyone.”
“Has anyone showed an interest in buying you out?”
“Well, I have turned down offers over the years.” She frowned as she remembered something. “Mind you, there was one gentleman recently who did phone a number of times offering to buy the building. He was most persistent but I kept on refusing. Eventually he stopped calling. He had a strange, squeaky kind of voice”
Motive, I thought to myself.
She turned the car into a long street. “Here we are, Grimm Road. I’m at the far end.”
Apart from some building work in the distance, the street itself seemed very quiet. But as I looked out the window and a most bizarre sight greeted me. Turning to Miss Muffet, I pointed to what I’d seen.
“Is that a shoe?” I gasped in amazement.
Now this wasn’t just an ordinary shoe that someone had accidentally dropped on the street. This was a giant shoe; a shoe the size of the building my office was in. This was a shoe that dwarfed all other shoes into insignificance. As I gaped at it I thought I could see…”Are those windows?” I asked.
“Hmm, pardon. Oh, yes,” replied Miss Muffet with a complete lack of interest. “Those are windows.”
Considering I was looking at an enormous shoe, her response puzzled me. She was acting as if this was quite an ordinary event.
I nudged her gently. “You don’t seem particularly surprised at seeing what looks like a giant shoe at the end of your street.”
“Don’t I?” she replied. “Well, I do see it every day. It’s The Shoe Hotel. It’s been there for years. A little old lady lives in it. She runs it as far as I know.”
Now it began to make sense. I vaguely remembered reading about a series of themed hotels that had opened up over the past few years. This must have been one of them but, as themed hotels went, it was quite spectacular. More to the point, it was just possible that the owners mightn’t take too kindly to competition from a local B&B and might be only too delighted to see it close its doors. I made a note to speak to this “little old lady” on my way back.
As we drove past the shoe, I could see it was quite impressive. It had been designed to look like a sneaker – all white paint and blue stripes – and would never suffer from foot-odour. The huge entrance doors were where the (presumably very large) big toe would have been and the shoelaces were large plants that draped down along the walls. From the small number of cars in the car-park, business didn’t appear to be too good. That was significant.
“And you’ve never spoken to the owner of this hotel?” I asked.
“No, I don’t even think I’ve ever met her. Ah here we are,” Miss Muffet said as she pulled into the driveway of a large house. “Well,” she said as she stopped the car and we got out. “Shall we take a look?”
To be continued…..
Tune in next week, same pig time, same pig channel.
