The

THIRD PIG

DETECTIVE AGENCY

THE CURDS & WHEY MYSTERY

BOB BURKE

Dedication

To my parents, Bobby and Nancy, from whom I got my love of reading

Contents

Title Page

Dedication

1 - Along Came a Spider

2 - There Was an Old Lady

3 - Follow the Yellow Brick Road

4 - Revenge Is a Dish Best Served with Bacon

5 - Jack Has a Bright Idea

6 - A Bit of a Drag

7 - Quiet on Set

8 - A Bluffer’s Guide to Polite Conversation

9 - At Midnight, All the Detectives

10 - Breakfast at Matilda’s

11 - A Secret Revealed

12 - Bean There, Done That

13 - Lots of Hot Air

14 - Cloud Kingdom

15 - Fee, Fie, Foe, Something-or-Other

16 - The Not-So-Great Escape

17 - The Axeman Cometh

18 - A Surprise Ending

Acknowledgments

Also in the series

Copyright

About the Publisher

1

Along Came a Spider

Sometimes being a detective isn’t all that easy. Actually it’s never that easy. Case in point, my current client: a small lady with a big arachnid problem.

‘Spiders?’ I said, ushering the very pale and very frightened Miss Muffet to the nearest chair.

‘Yes, spiders,’ Miss Muffet nodded faintly, lips trembling. She looked to be teetering on the edge of a complete breakdown – and I didn’t fancy being the one left cleaning up the shattered pieces from my floor afterwards.

‘Spiders,’ I said again, still trying to get my head around what she was saying. ‘As in small, scuttling things with eight legs that build webs in unswept corners?’

‘No Mr Pigg, spiders as in large, hairy creatures the size of poodles; spiders that eat small animals and build webs that fishing trawlers could use to haul in whales. I’m not talking about a few tiny money spiders here; I’m talking about thousands of these giant eight-legged monsters running amuck in my house. Imagine putting a breakfast on the table and then, when the guest goes to get his coffee, he comes back only to find that a tarantula or somesuch has made off with his bacon,’ she said. ‘And not only that, spiders terrify me; always have done. I hate them. I can’t even sleep there any more I’m so frightened. It’s playing merry hell with my business.’

‘And what business would that be?’ I asked.

‘Oh, sorry, didn’t I say? I do apologise. I’m the proprietor of the Curds and Whey Bed and Breakfast on Grimm Road. Maybe you’ve heard of it?’

I gave a rueful shake of the head.

‘Ah well, never mind. It used to be very popular with visitors and was very highly thought of. Until this happened, business was extremely good. I had full occupancy. 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 trickle. ‘The house has been in my family for generations,’ she said between sobs. ‘If I can’t get this sorted I’ll have to close down and sell it. I can’t let that happen. That’s 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 normally not one to refuse a pretty lady, but there was just one teeny problem; well, a fairly big problem actually: 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). Just the thought of one of those hairy creatures scuttling across my trotter sent shivers up and down my spine, along my arms and down my legs, where they stopped for a moment to catch their breath before running back up again for a repeat performance.

Miss Muffet’s dilemma meant I now had to do a careful juggling act: fear of spiders versus earning money to pay some long outstanding bills – and some of my bill collectors were of the type that had a baseball bat as part of their corporate uniform. After a brief, but brutal, mental struggle, earning money came out a clear winner, actively encouraged by blind greed and aided and abetted by sheer desperation – fear of spiders never stood a chance.

I stood up and extended my trotter. ‘Miss Muffet, the Third Pig Detective Agency would be delighted to take on your case,’ I said, trying not to show any hint of the anxiety that was developing into full-blown arachnophobia in my head.

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 funnel-web spiders start doing the tarantella up and down my back, I thought, but, of course, I didn’t say it out loud; I had an image to maintain, after all.

I walked my new client to my office door.

‘I think the first thing we should do is to go and have a look at your building,’ I said. ‘Maybe we’ll find some clues there.’ I didn’t really want to – for obvious reasons – but I had to start somewhere and the B&B seemed like a good place to kick things off, although if what she said was true I’d spend most of the time kicking off spiders.

‘An excellent suggestion,’ said Miss Muffet. ‘There’s no time like the present. 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 there was nothing I enjoyed more than eating my bowl of curds and whey on the tuffet in the back garden.’

Curds and whey? No, I’d never heard of it either. I wasn’t sure what it actually was, but it didn’t sound like something I’d like. Mind you, I had no idea what a tuffet was either.

Miss Muffet continued her story. ‘One morning I was busily tucking in as usual when I heard a noise beside me. I looked over and there was this enormous spider hanging down – 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, and curds and whey are so difficult to get out of clothes. After that, I never really liked spiders again.’

I nodded occasionally as she told the story. I could understand where she got her fear of spiders from – that much was obvious – 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.

I started asking the obvious questions.

‘Miss Muffet, do you have any enemies; anyone with a grudge or who might want to put you out of business?’

‘Oh no,’ she said, after thinking about it for a moment. ‘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 shown an interest in buying you out?’

‘Well, I have turned down offers over the years, of course. It was always a lucrative business and people were forever looking to buy me out, but I always resisted.’ 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. I do remember because he had a strange, squeaky kind of voice.’

Motive, I thought to myself.

‘And you have no idea who it might have been?’

‘I didn’t pay much attention, to be honest, and I never thought to ask for his name.’

She drove around a corner and onto a long street. ‘Here we are, Grimm Road. I’m at the far end.’

Apart from yellow construction vehicles in the distance and a few cars parked outside some of the houses, the street itself seemed very quiet. But as I looked out of the window 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 I should point out that this wasn’t just an ordinary shoe that someone had lost while running from the scene of the crime. This was a giant shoe; a shoe the size of the building my office was in. This was a piece of footwear that dwarfed all others into insignificance – a mega-shoe. 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 probably windows.’

Considering what I was looking at, 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 all around the country over the past few years. This must have been one of them but, as themed hotels went, it was quite spectacular. It had been designed to look like a trainer – 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. 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.

More motive.

I made a note to speak to this ‘little old lady’ on my way back.

‘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?’

From the outside the B&B didn’t look particularly frightening. It was a three-storey brown brick building with white lace curtains in all the windows. Very homely indeed.

But was there something odd about those curtains?

‘Miss Muffet, why do you have lace curtains on the outside of all your windows?’ I asked.

The look she gave me suggested she might be having second thoughts about utilising my services as a detective. ‘Those aren’t curtains, Mr Pigg, they’re webs.’

I took a second, closer look and, to my horror, I could see she was right. What I thought were curtains were in fact giant spider webs that covered all the windows from top to bottom. This lady hadn’t been exaggerating. If the webs were anything to go by, she did have a major spider problem and probably some major spiders causing the problem. I wasn’t at all sure I wanted to go inside now. In fact, I was thinking about turning around, running straight back to my office and hiding behind my desk until they went away.

Miss Muffet must have read my mind as she grabbed me by the arm and pulled me towards the door.

‘It’s okay,’ she said gently. ‘They tend not to be too active this time of the day. They mostly come out at night – mostly. We should be able to look around without being disturbed too much.’

I was disturbed enough already and I wasn’t sure that I particularly wanted to look around the inside any more but, for such a slight woman, she was incredibly strong; she propelled me through the front door and into the lobby before I could change my mind.

Inside, it was as if the whole interior had been redecorated by someone from Haunted Houses’R’Us. Huge strands of ghostly web hung over the stairs and all the furniture. Long wispy tentacles extended from the ceiling and drifted in the draught from the front door. One trailed across the side of my face. It felt like someone breathing gently on my cheek and I jumped in fright.

Miss Muffet laughed quietly. ‘After a while you just learn to ignore it.’

As I looked around I could see that, just like she said, there didn’t appear to be too many active spiders. I’d never heard of them taking afternoon naps before, but I was glad they did. Spider siesta meant they weren’t going to bother me – for which I was grateful. I could see large dark shapes huddled up in some of the webs but, understandably, I didn’t examine them too closely. The last thing I wanted to do was to wake any of them up.

Miss Muffet gave me a guided tour, but apart from all the webs there wasn’t much to see. The ground floor comprised a large dining room, a guest lounge, a small reception area, Miss Muffet’s office and the kitchen. The rest of the building was taken up by bedrooms. Other than the webs there certainly wasn’t anything obvious in the way of clues and I’m a very observant pig – I spotted the giant shoe hotel, didn’t I? By the same token, I was keeping a very close eye out for any spiders that might suddenly awake and decide they wanted to play with me.

As I wandered around the house a couple of things began to bother me – other than the spiders. Apart from the little ones that you’d find in any ordinary house, spiders weren’t too easy to come by. So where did the thousands of spiders that had taken over Miss Muffet’s house come from? Someone must have supplied them – and they were probably very specialised, so certainly weren’t picked up off the shelf from alongside the tins of beans and cereals in the local supermarket. That was certainly something to follow up. It was time to talk to my informant – although, if past history was anything to go by, he’d barely be able to inform me of his name let alone give me any useful information.

The other thing that nagged at me was Miss Muffet’s mention of guests. It meant she must still have had some staying in the house. So why exactly were they staying? Unless they were keen students of spiders there was no sane reason to stay in the B&B – especially with a lovely, shiny, shoe-shaped hotel just up the road.

‘How many people are actually staying here at the moment?’ I asked.

Miss Muffet did a quick calculation. ‘Nine, I believe.’

‘And they’ve shown no indication of wanting to leave because of your infestation?’

‘No, not at all. In fact, I haven’t received a single complaint,’ she said proudly.

Now that struck me as more than a tad suspicious. For someone to want to stay in a house infested with spiders, they’d need a particularly good reason – a reason that might just be connected with the case – especially when there were so many other places to stay.

‘Can I have a list of your current guests and all your employees?’ I asked.

‘Of course, but surely you don’t believe any of them are involved,’ Miss Muffet replied, a bit naively I thought.

‘At the moment I’m not ruling anything out,’ I said, grabbing for the usual clichés as she reached behind the reception desk and opened the register.

‘Here you are,’ she said. ‘Nine guests: Mr and Mrs Jack Spratt, Queenie Harte, John B. Nimble, Licken and Lurkey, William Winkie, Pietro Nocchio and, lastly, Thomas Piper.’

‘I’ll have to speak to all of them; can you arrange that?’ I said, then I focused on what she’d actually told me. ‘Did you say Licken and Lurkey?’

‘Oh, yes, indeed, they’re a rather entertaining team.’

She might have been a savvy businesswoman but her taste in entertainment was clearly lacking. Licken and Lurkey were a cabaret act that had been run out of every theatre in town – and in most other towns in the county as well. They marketed themselves as the WORLD’S most renowned and entertaining comedy DUO (their capitals, not mine, I hasten to add), but they were about as entertaining as having boils lanced. I also had history with them. Back in the days before becoming the WORLD’S most renowned and entertaining comedy DUO, they had toured the country as the WORLD’S MOST ASTOUNDING MAGIC ACT – which had been neither magic nor astounding. I’d been asked to investigate a series of dove disappearances and had discovered that they all coincided with a performance by the despicable duo. As their act included the standard ‘dove from a hat’ trick and as the dove escaped during each performance, never to be recaptured, they had to find new ones for every show. Did I mention they weren’t too bright? I hadn’t realised they were still in town, but they’d be first on my list of interviewees as, from past experience, they were a pair who weren’t too worried about getting their talons dirty.

2

There Was an Old Lady

Having assured Miss Muffet that I was on the case and following a specific line of enquiry (yes I know, it wasn’t exactly true, but it got me out of spider central), I called for a taxi and made my way back into town. As we drove past the giant Shoe Hotel I asked the driver to pull in for a moment. No harm in asking a few questions, I thought.

Inside, the hotel was sparkling clean and, thankfully, there wasn’t a cobweb to be seen. I approached reception and asked to speak to the manager. The receptionist looked at me strangely – I suppose they didn’t get pigs in every day – but when I showed her my ID, she relaxed a little and ushered me into a small office. Behind a large desk sat a tiny old lady composed, it seemed, entirely of wrinkles. She looked like an elephant’s knee. As I entered she stood up and pottered around to me. She was so decrepit it seemed to take her hours.

‘Mr Pigg,’ she said in a wavering voice, ‘I’m Mrs Sole. How may I be of assistance?’ She spoke so quietly I could barely hear her. With what seemed like an enormous effort, she waved me to a chair and, several lifetimes later, pottered back to her seat once more.

‘Mrs Sole, I’m hoping you can help me. I’m investigating an infestation of spiders in the Curds and Whey B&B down the road, so I’m speaking to all other hoteliers in the area to see if they’ve been having similar problems.’ It wasn’t the most original of approaches and her reply confirmed that she’d seen through it straight away.

‘And you’re wondering if I may have something to do with it as I’m the only competition in the vicinity,’ she whispered, some of the wrinkles forming what might have been a smile. ‘Well, Mr Pigg, let me tell you about this hotel. We may not have too many cars in our car-park but you’ve probably noticed, being a detective, that they are all very expensive cars.’ I hadn’t, in fact, but nodded my head in agreement so as not to give the game away. ‘You see we cater for the more…ah…discerning client at the upper end of the market. At the present time, Mr Humpty Dumpty, whom I’m sure you’ve heard of, occupies the penthouse suite and some business partners of Aladdin’s have taken over the entire second floor. So, you see, that old building at the other end of the street really doesn’t offer anything in the way of competition.’

She was certainly making a convincing argument. If Grimmtown big-shots like Dumpty and Aladdin used this hotel, then Mrs Sole wasn’t going to worry too much about putting Miss Muffet out of business. Besides, she seemed like a sweet, kind old lady. Surely she wouldn’t have been spiteful enough?

‘Well, anyway, thank you for your time. You’ve been most helpful.’ As I stood to leave, the phone rang.

‘Excuse me a moment, won’t you,’ said Mrs Sole and lifted the receiver. It was like watching a weightlifter doing the clean and jerk. She was having so much difficulty I was almost tempted to hold it for her when she finally managed to get it to her ear. ‘Yes, this is she,’ she whispered into the mouthpiece. There was a brief silence, then Mrs Sole exploded.

‘WHAT DO YOU MEAN THEY’LL BE LATE?’ Suddenly she wasn’t such a retiring old lady any more. ‘IF THOSE FLOWERS AREN’T DELIVERED IN THE NEXT HOUR, YOU WON’T HAVE A JOB. UNDERSTAND?’ There was a brief pause. ‘AND YOUR BOSS TOO.’ Her voice rose a few more decibels. ‘AND I’LL HAVE YOU RUN OUT OF TOWN; YOU’LL NEVER DO BUSINESS IN GRIMMTOWN AGAIN. UNDERSTAND?’ Another pause then she changed back into ‘nice old lady’ again, as if by magic. It was terrifying to watch. ‘They’ll be here in ten minutes? Why, that’s wonderful. Thank you so much.’

She heaved the phone back in its cradle and turned to me, smiling sweetly once more.

‘You just can’t get good staff any more,’ she said.

I just nodded. I was shell-shocked and wanted to be out of the hotel before she lost her cool again – perhaps with me – and it wasn’t something I thought I’d particularly enjoy. Backing away towards the door I waved faintly at her and thanked her again.

‘Not at all,’ she whispered. ‘I’ve quite enjoyed our little chat. We must do it again sometime.’

Not in a million years, I thought, as I raced across the lobby and back into the taxi. Instructing the driver to get us out of there as fast as he could, I slumped down in the back seat and considered what I’d seen. Clearly, Mrs Sole wasn’t quite the demure lady she appeared. That having been said, she was probably right about not caring about Miss Muffet’s business. She may have been as nuts as a squirrel’s winter store, but I didn’t see her as the primary suspect in this particular case. It really didn’t make any business sense for her to see the Curds and Whey B&B as a threat.

I needed to do some further investigating and the spiders seemed like the next best thing to follow up on. Who could have supplied them? It’s not as if they were something you’d order every day. I could even envisage the conversation in the pet shop:

‘Do you sell spiders?’

‘Yes, sir. We do most species. Would you like one or a pair?’

‘Well, I’d like ten thousand actually.’

‘Well, I can manage about twenty – maybe thirty at a pinch.’

Eventually every pet shop in Grimmtown would have been emptied of spiders and they still wouldn’t have had enough – whoever ‘they’ might actually be.

It was the best (and only) lead I had right now.

Back in the office, I gathered my team (okay an ex-genie named Basili – who couldn’t do magic any more – and a little boy called Jack Horner) together and explained the current case. Jack seemed very interested in the spiders. He seemed to think that a house full of them was cool for some reason.

‘If I was looking for spiders, how would I go about it?’ I asked him.

‘Pet shop.’

‘Well, that much I’d worked out for myself. Now supposing I wanted a couple of thousand of the critters; tarantulas, black widows, all the big guys.’

Now I had his attention.

He mulled it over for a second. ‘Well, not too many of the local shops would be able to supply that many.’

I noted the use of the phrase ‘not too many’.

‘Best guy to talk to would be the Frogg Prince. He specialises in reptiles, spiders, that sort of thing. If anyone could do it, he’d be your man – I mean frog. I got my gerbil off him; he’s called Fred.’

I assumed he was talking about his pet and not the owner of the store.

‘And where is this Frogg Prince likely to be found exactly?’

Twenty minutes later I was talking to an enormous frog dressed in a grey pinstripe suit. Had I not been a pig myself it might have been a bizarre experience, but in Grimmtown you tended to meet all shapes and sizes – and creatures.

Theodore Frogg was the owner of Frogg Prince Pets and apart from a tendency to ribbit occasionally when talking, he was relatively normal – or at least as normal as a frog in a suit can be.

‘Ah, yes, Mr Pigg, we did ribbit get an order that exhausted our entire supply of arachnids and we still ribbit had to provide more.’

‘Arachnids?’ He’d lost me.

‘Spiders dear boy, ribbit, spiders. Yes, it presented us with quite a challenge I can ribbit tell you. But we managed it.’ He glowed with pride, but then again it might just have been the natural state of his skin – it was quite shiny.

I was getting that tingly feeling that I usually got when a case finally started to come together.

‘Who ordered the spiders?’ I asked.

‘Well, strange to relate, ribbit, it was a most unpleasant person indeed; very small, very green, extremely smelly and with a large wart on the end of his nose. Spoke in a kind of squeaky voice. He was somewhat bedraggled and quite offensive – but he did pay in advance so I ribbit didn’t ask too many questions. In any event, I didn’t want to refuse as he had two rather large creatures with him and I ribbit found them quite intimidating. I got the distinct impression they weren’t about to take “no” for an answer.’

This was getting stranger by the minute, but the reference to speaking in a squeaky voice hadn’t been lost on me. I’d have laid money that this was the same creature that had offered to buy the B&B from Miss Muffet.

‘Creatures? What kind of creatures?’

‘Large grey creatures dressed in ribbit, well, very little actually. They did ribbit rather frighten me, I must say.’

Large grey creatures; probably Trolls. Someone was certainly making sure the Frogg Prince wasn’t going to renege on this particular deal.

‘And they just instructed you to deliver them to the Curds and Whey B&B?’

‘Good heavens, no. I just had to organise the acquisition of the spiders. They said they’d ribbit collect.’

‘And you didn’t think that this was at all suspicious?’

‘Not at all, no. I just assumed they were scientists and needed them for research.’

That certainly wasn’t likely. One small, green, smelly person and two trolls were about as far from science as you could get. ‘And I assume they paid cash up front?’

Frogg nodded guiltily, knowing he’d been rumbled.

‘So once you had the spiders, how did you contact them?’

Mr Frogg rummaged around in his wallet. ‘They left me a number. Here it is.’

He handed me a piece of paper with some scrawled digits on it. It looked like a mobile phone so probably wouldn’t lead to anything, but I had to follow it up anyway. ‘And how did they collect the merchandise?’

‘They came in a big ribbit truck and loaded everything into it.’

I thanked Mr Frogg and walked back onto the street. As I did, a large transport truck, with an equally large bulldozer on its trailer, passed by. A yellow bulldozer, I noticed idly.

Yellow!

Construction yellow!

My mind began to make the connections and I finally began to do some serious detecting.

Construction workers – or more to the point, construction trolls – like the ones that tended to frequent Stiltskin’s Diner of an evening, and very like the ones I’d seen working near the B&B.

Small, green, smelly person! Could only be an orc. And who employed all the orcs in Grimmtown? Ah, now that wasn’t so good. That was someone I particularly didn’t want to upset if I wanted to keep all my body parts intact.

Things were beginning to make sense. Someone wanted Miss Muffet out of business all right – but that someone wasn’t running a rival hotel; oh no, that someone wanted her out because she was in the way of something much bigger. It was all becoming very clear. Now all I had to do was prove it. I needed to pay a visit to a building site – and make sure I wasn’t caught in the process.

3

Follow the Yellow Brick Road

Building sites are difficult to find your way around at the best of times. Add in some night, a sprinkling of rain, a generous helping of mud and not only are they difficult, but they become downright unpleasant. The ground that has already been excavated becomes very slippery. Pools of cold, dirty water lie in wait for the unwary pig and, if the pig is very unlucky, there are large holes in the ground just waiting for him to fall into.

This particular building site was about a mile from Miss Muffet’s place. Huge hoardings announced that a new motorway, coming soon, would provide access to Grimmtown for countless commuters, blah de blah de blah. It was the usual PR doubletalk. Of more interest was the name of the construction company involved in this wondrous feat of engineering: The Yellow Brick Road Construction Company looked to be doing this particular job. Then again, as it was owned by Edna, the Wicked Witch of the West Side, an old sparring partner of mine (to put it as euphemistically as I could), the YBRCC did most building jobs around Grimmtown. To an outsider, it probably seemed amazing how they always managed to get the big building deals. As any insider would tell you, they greased politicians’ palms, encouraged planners to ‘share’ any competitive quotes and generally bullied any other prospective contractor out of business. If they were doing this job and Miss Muffet was in the way, then chances were she wouldn’t be in the way long. More to the point, if the spider strategy didn’t work then they’d probably find something a tad more imaginative to encourage her to sell up.

I knew Edna of old and knew she wasn’t a woman to be trifled with, especially where money or power was concerned. She was also a woman who didn’t let much get in the way of achieving whatever her current objective was, so I had to tread very carefully indeed if I wasn’t to become a permanent part of the motorway foundations. Not that I wasn’t treading carefully already. Not only was I trying not to ruin my clothes, I was trying to make sure I didn’t break any legs, arms or other vital parts of my body by suddenly falling into one of those previously mentioned large holes.

I figured if there was any information about the building work, like plans or drawings, it’d be in the construction hut. I could just about make it out in the distance, a small, cheap prefab mounted on blocks. I squelched my way towards it, unsure of what was ahead of me. In order not to alert any security I had decided not to use my torch – a decision I was now regretting as it seemed that every large puddle on the site lay between me and my destination and I was stepping into each one in succession.

Eventually – cold, wet and muddy up to my knees – I arrived at the hut. I listened carefully at the door and, when I didn’t hear any obvious sounds from inside, very carefully picked the lock and slid in. Considering my history at picking locks, it was surprisingly easy. Ensuring the window blinds were closed, I was finally able to flick on my torch and a pencil-thin beam of light swept the room.

In fairness, it didn’t take much in the way of detecting skills to figure out what was going on – the plans were in plain sight, tacked to one of the walls. It would have taken a pretty poor detective to miss them. They confirmed the construction of a new ring road around Grimmtown and the road ran straight through where the Curds and Whey B&B currently stood. Was it any wonder someone wanted her out? If they had been foolish enough to start work on the road without ensuring beforehand that all the land could be built on, then I could understand their urgency. Every day that the road couldn’t go through Miss Muffet’s house was another day of unnecessary costs to the construction company and, if I knew Edna, she wouldn’t take too kindly to any unnecessary costs – or indeed any costs at all usually.

Now that I had the information I needed it was time to disappear. Unfortunately, that looked like it was going to be a futile wish as, just when I was getting ready to open the door, I heard noises from outside the hut. I could tell they were gnomes from the growling half-animal sounds they made, so it probably meant that Edna’s security had been doing their rounds and were coming back to base – a base I was currently occupying and didn’t seem to have anything remotely large enough to hide a pig in. I had a quick – and admittedly extremely optimistic – glance at some filing cabinet drawers, but had to concede that I’d barely get my legs into one of them, let alone the rest of my body. Once the gnomes opened the door they could hardly miss me and, stupid though they were, they would certainly have enough sense to realise I wasn’t supposed to be there. Heaving a long and resigned sigh, I knew there was only one thing for it. I braced myself against the wall opposite the door and waited.

I didn’t have to wait long.

‘Check hut?’ muttered the first gnome.

‘Yeah, we check,’ agreed the second.

‘Got key?’

‘No, you got key.’

‘No, me not got key. You got key.’

At which point there was a minor scuffle, during which one or the other (it was hard to tell which) found that they did have the key after all.

Seconds later peace had broken out and the door opened cautiously. Two unkempt gnomes entered, preceded by their smell. As soon as they were in view, I let out a loud roar and rushed straight at them. It was no contest; a fine specimen of prime ham landing on two weedy security guards, who were already terrified at finding a very large and very angry creature in a hut that had most definitely been empty the last time they’d looked.

The impact took all three of us back out through the door and into a pool of mud on the ground beyond. Fortunately, the gnomes broke my fall, so they took the brunt of the landing as well most of the mud. From the cracking noises I heard it was obvious that my fall wasn’t all they’d broken. As I struggled free, one of them sank his teeth into my leg and I roared in pain.

‘Pig,’ howled the gnome to his companion as he recognised the taste. ‘Not monster; pig.’

As I’ve already mentioned, gnomes are quite stupid. In this instance they were stupid enough not to realise they’d been injured, but not so stupid that they didn’t recognise that their attacker was a pig. Figuring I was easier meat (possibly literally) now that they knew I wasn’t a creature of the night, they seemed a bit more positive about chasing me. Staggering to their feet they lurched after me. Although I had the benefit of a fully working body, they had the advantage that they knew the terrain, so while I splashed my way across a sea of mud, they took drier, less slippery paths and slowly began to close in on me.

I have to say I was, by now, getting just a tad concerned as I was totally lost, had no idea where I was going and couldn’t see my way off the building site. Meanwhile, Tweedledumb and Tweedledumber were gradually getting nearer – moving towards me in straight and presumably dry lines while I blundered around in circles getting muddier and wetter.

‘That’s ’im over there,’ shouted one suddenly, and he scuttled in my direction.

I panicked and began to run. Heedless of where I was going, my only thought was to put as much distance between me and them as I possibly could.

Through the darkness I was just able to make out a small mound of earth. Maybe I could hide behind it. Figuring that it was a better option than wandering aimlessly around a building site in the dark, I dived over it. To my horror I found that, rather than landing on the ground beyond...well...remember those large holes I was talking about earlier? That’s what was at the far side of that little mound. Bracing myself for impact, I landed with a resounding splash into a large pool of dirty water that covered me from head to toe in cold, wet mud. No need to worry about keeping clean now, but from what I could hear of my pursuers I was now so well camouflaged that they had problems finding me. They probably figured I was just another heap of mud.

‘Where he go?’ said one.

‘Dunno,’ said the other. ‘Maybe he escape.’

‘No, he still here. Me heard big splash.’

Clearly my new muddy ensemble allowed me to blend in perfectly with my surroundings. It may have been freezing and mucky but at least it was keeping me safe.

After a half-hearted search, the two gnomes gave up looking for me, finished their patrol and headed back to the hut. Rather than continue to wander in confusion around a dark building site, I chose to remain hidden where I was – cold and wet – until daylight. As soon as the skies began to lighten and I could see my way, I sneaked out of the building site and made my way home for a long, warm and much needed shower.

4

Revenge Is a Dish Best Served with Bacon

Later that morning – clean, dry and smelling so much nicer – I considered my options. I knew who was trying to frighten Miss Muffet out of business and I knew why. Now all I had to do was convince one of Grimmtown’s most notorious criminals to back off and leave my client alone. I was more than a bit apprehensive as, even though I had something over Edna, she was a woman who didn’t like to be crossed, especially if it involved her losing money – and I was quite certain that, in this instance, it would.

I required a plan; I needed it to work and, above all, I needed it fast. But I was stumped. Yes, the great detective didn’t know what to do. As I sat at my desk waiting for inspiration, I had a quick read of the front page of our daily newspaper, the Grimmtown Times. The headlines were of the usual type:

Dumpty Wins Citizen of the Year for Third Year Running.

Grimmtown Goblins Reach Regional Finals.

Tuffet’s Historic Status Confirmed by Local Archaeologist.

Mother Goose Wins Libel Case. Ugly Duckling Must Pay Damages.

Troll Finally Evicted from under Bridge. No More Tolls for Locals.

As I scanned them, the germ of a plan began to formulate. The more I thought about it, the more excited I became. I might just be able to pull this one out of the hat after all. I could even see my own headline: ‘Third Pig Saves the Day – Miss Muffet Stays.’ I grinned to myself and called Miss Muffet. It was time to swing into action.

An hour later Miss Muffet and I were standing outside the front door of Edna’s massive mansion. It was a very impressive house indeed – more like a palace. Built completely out of white marble, it stood at the top of a hill overlooking the rest of Grimmtown. If I were rich, it was just the kind of house I’d like to have. Unfortunately, I had to make do with a grotty flat that gave a great view of the local abattoir. It didn’t really compare.

The massive door in front of us swung inwards and one of Edna’s personal bodyguards, a large silverback gorilla in a tuxedo, stuck his head out for a look. There was a short pause while it tried to figure out where it had seen me before, followed by a spark of recognition and a very impressive accelerated leap backwards, his eyes bulging in fear. Miss Muffet was visibly impressed. If I could scare a gorilla like that, I was clearly the right man for the job. I neglected to tell her that, as a result of my last encounter with Edna and her goons, I had a protective spell placed on me. Any time one of the gorillas approached me, it began to shrink. By the time it reached me it was usually the size of a puppy and not in a position to do much by way of damage. It was a kind of magical restraining order and was the only thing that was allowing me to brazenly confront Edna in her lair. Well, would you want to take on two fully grown gorillas with bad attitude, bad breath, bad posture and bad dress sense – and that’s on top of all the other representatives of the criminal brotherhood that hung around in Edna’s? I’d met some of them before, during my last visit here, and it hadn’t ended well for quite a few of them. I’m sure they’d relish the prospect of another visit from me.

While the gorilla disappeared – presumably to announce my arrival – another, less impressive denizen of the house came out to see who was at the door. There was a short pause while it too tried to figure out where it had seen me before, followed, eventually, by another spark of recognition. It seemed to be the day for them.

‘Pig here,’ he shouted over his shoulder.

‘Pig from last night?’ came a reply from inside.

‘Yeah. Maybe now we sort him out,’

The first gnome rushed at me and then goggled in surprise as he was suddenly grabbed by the neck and swung sideways. As his colleague ran out after him, he suffered the same fate. Both had failed to notice the two rather large creatures that stood on either side of the door. We hadn’t come unprepared.

‘Ah, you haven’t met my associates, Mr Lewis and Mr Carroll,’ I said, indicating the two massive ogres each of whom was dangling a gnome by the neck. Well, did you really think I was just going to walk into Edna’s unprepared – magic restraining order or not? I’m not that stupid.

Both gnomes gurgled something which might have been, ‘Please let us go, we are in considerable discomfort,’ or might just as easily have been, ‘We are delighted to make the acquaintance of these two large gentlemen you cleverly brought with you as protection.’ It was hard to tell, but one thing was for sure, they weren’t in a position to do anything threatening to either Miss Muffet or me. Mr Lewis and Mr Carroll had that kind of effect. Each was over eight feet tall and, when squeezed into a black tuxedo, looked very intimidating indeed. I had brought them with me exactly for this kind of situation.

‘Gentlemen, I think you can put them down. I don’t believe they will be too much trouble from now on.’

Both gnomes tried to nod their agreement – but it’s difficult to nod when your neck is being tightly clenched by a hand the size of a beach ball.

At my signal, both of them were dumped unceremoniously on the ground, where they lay in a gnomish heap, blubbering and trying to skulk away. I almost felt sorry for them – almost.

‘Okay chaps, let’s go find Edna.’ The ogres squeezed through the door after us as we entered the house. As we made our away across the wide lobby, gnomes and orcs scattered in all directions, clearly not wanting to engage our group in any form of physical contact. I can’t say I blamed them; my minders had that effect on people.

Edna’s office wasn’t too difficult to find simply because it was the room that the loud voice screaming, ‘Who the blazes is interrupting my telephone call?’ was emanating from. Looking a lot braver than I actually was, I took a deep breath and swung open the office door.

Edna sat behind an ornate desk with a phone to her ear. As soon as she saw me she told whoever was on the other end of the line that she’d call them back and hung up.

‘Well, well, well, if it isn’t Harry Pigg, the world’s greatest detective,’ she sneered. Then she saw Miss Muffet. ‘And look who’s with him: Little Miss Muffet. Hey darling, seen any spiders lately?’

I decided that cutting to the chase was the best option. ‘Okay Edna, we know what you’re at,’ I said. ‘And just so as you know, Miss Muffet isn’t selling, regardless of how you try to intimidate her.’

‘Why, Harry, I have no idea what you’re talking about. Why would I want to buy that tatty B&B? Tourist accommodation isn’t really my style.’

‘No, but building roads is,’ I replied. ‘I’ve seen the plans. Without Miss Muffet’s house, your construction company can’t complete that new motorway. It’ll be very bad for your reputation if you don’t; not to mention all the money you’ll lose if the work doesn’t finish on time. Maybe that’s why you’re trying to encourage her to sell up.’

To my surprise, Edna didn’t seem at all worried that she’d been rumbled; in fact, she seemed unusually calm. An uneasy feeling started to gnaw at my stomach – and it wasn’t because of what I’d had for breakfast. Something was very wrong here.

‘From what I hear, things aren’t too good in the local B&B trade. Strikes me that an infestation of spiders would be really bad for business,’ she said. ‘I could even see the health inspectors closing the premises down. Now that would be unfortunate. But if it did happen, I’d certainly feel for the owner. Losing your business is a terrible thing.’

‘Indeed, but, of course, if it did close and you did buy it, you couldn’t knock it down so your motorway could go through.’

‘Sorry, Pigg, I have no idea what you mean.’

‘Come on Edna, cut the nonsense. This is me, Harry Pigg, you’re talking to. I know exactly what you’re at.’

‘No, I don’t think you do,’ Edna said, with the faintest of smiles beginning to smear her singularly unattractive features.

I decided to play my trump card so as to avoid an unnecessary ‘oh yes I do’, ‘oh no you don’t’ conversation.

‘Look, let’s not play around any more. You want Miss Muffet out so you can build your road; she’s not moving, so you’re trying to scare her, but I’ve discovered that no matter what you do, you won’t be able to demolish her house because…’ – I whipped a copy of the day’s newspaper out of my pocket like a cheap magician pulling a rabbit from his hat – ‘tuffets are protected under Grimmtown bye-laws. They won’t let you touch that house.’ I was almost tempted to follow it with a ta-dah and a cheesy bow, but I figured Edna mightn’t take too kindly to my theatricals.

To be honest, her reaction left a lot to be desired. Instead of gnashing her teeth and raging around the room in frustration at her scheme being thwarted, she sat at her desk looking at me as if I was a particularly interesting specimen of insect. The feeling that she knew something I didn’t grew stronger.

‘Tuffets, eh? Now that’s a bit of a nuisance and no mistake,’ she said. ‘What specific tuffet are you talking about?’

‘The tuffet in the back garden of the B&B; the one that Miss Muffet’s family have been sitting on to eat their curds and whey for generations. Surely you’ve heard the song ‘Little Miss Muffet sat on a tuffet...’ and so on. Tuffets are considered to be of immense historic importance, so they cannot be dug up, built over or altered in any way. It was in the paper. So even if you get the building, you still won’t be able to build your road through it. Or if you do, I suspect you’ll be neck deep in lawyers, archaeologists, environmentalists and politicians, all of whom will tie you up in enough red-tape to stall the building work for years.’

Edna grinned – the ‘I have you now and you’re not going to like it’ grin. She slumped back into her chair and pressed a button on the desk. Seconds later a well-dressed and superior-looking gentleman entered the room carrying a folder. He had bureaucrat written all over him. ‘You rang, ma’am,’ he said, nose in the air.

‘Tuffets, Laurence. They are protected, aren’t they?’

‘Yes, ma’am,’ he replied. He was very well spoken.

‘And that includes the tuffet in the Curds and Whey B&B?’

‘Why, yes, ma’am.’

‘The tuffet that we investigated when we were planning the motorway?’

‘Why, yes again, ma’am.’ He seemed to be enjoying this almost as much as Edna. I could sense she was about to spring her surprise and I knew it wouldn’t be pleasant.

‘The self-same tuffet that we agreed not to disturb and altered our plans so the motorway would go over and not through the premises?’

‘Ma’am, you are, of course, correct once more.’ And he looked at me and smirked.

Over the B&B?

Not through? Over?

Edna slapped the desktop and howled with glee. It was as if she could read my thoughts – which probably wasn’t all that difficult as the expression on my face gave them away.

‘Yes, Harry, over the B&B. So you see, we didn’t need to put Miss Muffet out of business at all. In fact, she was never going to interfere with our plans. I do believe you’ve had a wasted journey – at least from your perspective. From my point of view, I don’t think it’s been wasted at all. In fact, I’ve quite enjoyed our little tête-à-tête. It certainly makes up for the last time we met.’

I didn’t doubt it. Our last encounter resulted in her losing out on a very valuable antique and having a spell placed on her bodyguards. It was payback time.

Happy that he’d been both of service to his mistress and had helped in the humiliation of one of her most hated foes, Laurence slimed out of the room, leaving me to face a gloating Edna.

‘So you see, Pigg, you were wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong. Just wait until word gets out, and, trust me, word will get out.’ She was taking great pleasure in my discomfiture.

I decided that a dignified withdrawal was in order. Gesturing to Miss Muffet to follow, I stuck my snout in the air and strode purposefully out the door of Edna’s office, her raucous laughter, the howling of orcs and roars of her gorillas all echoing around my humiliated head as I left.

I wasn’t let be humiliated for long. We were no sooner out the door when Miss Muffet turned on me. She was, understandably, a bit miffed that things hadn’t gone entirely to plan and, despite my (now battered) confidence, we were no further down the road to solving the case.

‘Please, Miss Muffet,’ I said in my most soothing and placatory voice (it was something I was actually good at – I regularly had to placate disgruntled clients). ‘This was only the first step in solving the case. At least we’ve eliminated Edna and her construction company from our enquiries. Prior to this she was our main suspect.’

‘Our only suspect,’ Miss Muffet pointed out, somewhat miffed.

‘Our only suspect for now,’ I replied. ‘Trust me; by the end of the day, I expect we’ll have loads more.’

I didn’t realise at the time exactly how prophetic that comment was going to be.

5

Jack Has a Bright Idea

I was back in the office once more. I seemed to be spending an awful lot of time there, which was probably a good indication that the case wasn’t going too well. All my leads had turned out to be useless and – reluctant though I was to admit it – I was stumped. This case seemed to have more red herrings than a communist fishmonger and, to add insult to injury, even Edna had got one-up on me. Now, as if to mock my incompetence, I was depending on my two ‘partners’ for assistance – and that was something I never thought I’d hear myself say.

To be fair, both of them were taking the case seriously and were coming up with ideas, even if most of them were either useless or wildly impractical.

‘That is most strange,’ Basili mused when I told them about my visit to Frogg Prince Pets. ‘I would have been most certain that a vile orc person would have been belonging to Edna.’

Another vile person, I thought. ‘Well, if what she said is true then she is really out of the equation and I’ve no reason to doubt her. Her story is too easy to check out. And if he’s not Edna’s then whose is he? I thought she had the market cornered in cheap orc labour.’

‘The orc is one thing, but if it’s not Edna and it’s not that mad old woman who lives in the Shoe Hotel, then who’s doing it?’ said Jack.

‘That’s the question, isn’t it,’ I replied. ‘If we knew that, then we wouldn’t be here, would we?’

Then Basili asked the question that set the wheels spinning – or at least rotating slowly – in my mind once more.

‘Why are all those people still staying in this place?’

I know the same question had crossed my mind when I visited Miss Muffet’s earlier, but I hadn’t given it much thought since. Basili did have a point.

‘I don’t know, but it would want to be a very good reason, wouldn’t it?’

‘Indeed, many people are being most scared of spiders and they certainly would not be staying anywhere where creatures like that are in such large numbers.’

‘If I was them, I’d have moved out ages ago,’ said Jack. ‘I don’t mind creepy-crawlies, but it can’t be a lot of fun staying there with webs and stuff.’

‘That’s why I intend to go back there and talk to them. If they have a reason then I need to know what it is. Maybe then I can get some idea of who’s responsible for the spiders.’

‘Oh, yes, once more we are doing the interviews,’ exclaimed Basili, clapping his hands in excitement. ‘I love when we are talking to our suspects.’

Jack raised his hand. ‘But won’t that sort of give the game away. If they know we’re investigators, won’t they just lie to us? We won’t find anything out that way.’

‘You know Jack, you’re right. There must be another way, one that won’t make it obvious who we are.’

Jack’s hand was still in the air. ‘I’ve got a great idea, Harry.’

I doubted it, but I indicated for him to continue.

‘Remember when we were at the North Pole and we needed to get information from that bogus elf?’

I nodded. ‘Why is that relevant?’

‘Disguises.’

‘Excuse me?’

‘We could disguise ourselves as guests.’ Jack waved his arms in excitement. ‘No one would know who we are and we could mingle, talk to everyone and make them reveal something.’

I was about to point out how difficult it would be to disguise a pig, a fat ex-genie and a small boy as anything that would successfully pass muster when Basili chimed in.

‘Oh, that is a most excellent idea, young Jack. We are going undercover in a secret mission. How exciting.’

And how stupid, I thought. We’d never get away with it. We wouldn’t last ten minutes in the B&B. But the more I thought about it, the more the idea refused to go away. Maybe it could work. Our cover would have to be spectacular if we were to avoid discovery, but it might be the only way to find out what was going on. At least that was my justification when I agreed to it. In fact, I was so desperate and unable to come up with any other idea that, really, I had no choice.

‘Okay then, we’re going undercover.’ I said.

Jack jumped up and down in excitement.

‘But not you,’ I said to him. ‘It could be dangerous.’

‘Yes, but you didn’t say that when I was disguised as the elf, did you?’ His disappointment was obvious.

‘But this is much more dangerous. We won’t be able to keep our eye on you like we did then and there’s always the danger of blowing your cover.’

‘May I be making a suggestion,’ Basili interrupted.

I waved at him to continue.

‘Mr Harry and I will be talking to the guests, yes?’

I nodded.

‘Well, will we not be needing a someone to be keeping an eye on the people who are working there too?’

‘Yes,’ Jack shouted. ‘I could be in the kitchen, helping out and stuff and, at the same time, keeping my eyes open.’

It made sense and he’d probably be safe enough there. After all, what harm could come to him in a kitchen?

‘All right then team, it’s agreed. Now what shall we go as?’

6

A Bit of a Drag

‘Are you guys really serious about this?’ Gloria, my receptionist, had offered to give some tips on make-up and clothes, but seemed to be having second thoughts now that she’d actually seen our disguises. At that moment she was touching up my face with mascara and gloss – whatever they were – and seemed to be finding it tremendously difficult to refrain from smirking – if not guffawing loudly. ‘There,’ she said, putting her magical make-up kit away. ‘You’re done, but I have to say it: even if you put lipstick on a pig, it’s still a pig.’

With as much dignity as I could muster – which wasn’t a lot considering I was wearing a long blonde wig, high heels and a black minidress – I pointed out that, as ideas went, our one had legs (and probably better ones than mine) and, if it came off (insert whatever gratuitous pun you like here), would probably help hugely in breaking the case.

I stood up and tottered around the office, teetering from side to side as I tried to keep my balance. ‘How do women stay upright in these heels,’ I asked. ‘Is tightrope walking a genetic trait that all women have, or something?’

‘You’ll get used to it eventually, though I’m not sure you’ll be ready by the time you go undercover.’ Gloria paused for a second and looked even more closely at me. ‘Remind me again, who are you supposed to be exactly and, more to the point, why are you going in that ridiculous outfit?’

‘I am Harriet du Crêpe and I am the personal assistant and general dogsbody for that well-known foreign movie-director Alain Schmidt-Heye, and I’m dressed like this as there’s a distinct possibility someone may have noticed me earlier when I visited the B&B and I don’t want to be recognised. If they know I’m a detective then the game will be up.’

Gloria began to erupt into gales of laughter. ‘So let me get this right. You, a large male pig, are going undercover as a female PA to an international movie-director who can only be—’ She never got to finish her sentence. Before she could say any more, the door from my office, where Basili had been changing, opened and he entered the room. His entrance certainly had an impact, although not, perhaps, the one we might have expected. Gloria collapsed on the desk, laughing uncontrollably, tears of hilarity streaming from her eyes.

‘Is your lady assistant being most amused at my outfit?’ said a somewhat indignant Basili. ‘I am thinking that, after studying pictures of many famous directors of movies, that it is perhaps a most accurate representation.’

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