The female of the species is more deadly than the male.
Rudyard Kipling.
Whodunit
Whodunit? That was the question, and freelance investigator Henry Periwinkle needed to find the answer. Henry or H P as he was know, had been retained by the Abbot of Barnsley William Heinz.
‘What’s that you say? A right saucy pair.’
‘Ha, bloody, ha. Listen mate I’ve heard that one before and a few more besides. So if you wouldn’t mind putting a cork in it, I’ll get on with the story… Now where was I? Oh yes.’
The Abbot who ran a wholesale grocery business on the side, was all of a dither. Someone had broken into the abbey kitchens, murdered Brother James and stolen his latest recipe. Now Henry had been given the job of identifying the guilty party, or parties.
After a long and dangerous journey, H P had tracked down the suspects to their lair, a large hall set deep in Hairywood Forest. It was late evening just as the light was fading when he walked up to the great wooden door of the hall, pressed the bell and waited. Five minutes later he was still waiting. Isn’t that typical? People fit bells to their doors and either they don’t work or if they do, they have the television turned up so loud that they can’t hear them. He reached out again, placed his finger on the bell push and held it there while he counted to sixty, like you do. When there was still no response, he reached for the knocker. It was one of those great antique wrought iron rings. In fact it was so big that he couldn’t lift it with one hand, so he grasped it firmly with both hands, raised it as high as he could and that was when he heard a voice from inside, ‘Alright, alright, keep your hair on I’m coming!‘ and before he could release his grip, the door swung open dragging him with it.
From his position on the floor H P looked up at the red-haired, red-bearded, barn door of a man who stood over him. The man looked down and said, ‘Yes?‘
‘Good evening,’ H P said as he stood and dusted himself down, ‘Is the master of the house at home?‘
‘We don’t want any.’ stated the giant in a deep rumbling voice.
‘What?’
‘Mobile phones, double glazing, a conservatory, a new kitchen, or whatever else you’re selling.’
‘I’m not a salesman, I represent The Society for the Preservation of Ancient Oaks.’
‘A worthy cause. However, we don’t do subscriptions either.’
‘Oh, I’m not collecting subscriptions, I was doing a survey in the forest, became lost and I was wondering if you could put me up for the night?’
‘In that case, come in, Mr…?‘
‘Henry Periwinkle, but it’s H P to my friends.’
‘Nice to meet you H P. My name is John, Big John, come. Walk this way and I’ll introduce to the gang.’
Despite this strange request, HP complied, and after lengthening his stride found himself quite exhausted by the time they reached the dining hall, where the rest of the gang were feasting.
‘What ho! Big John, who’s this you’ve brought us?’ The speaker, the spitting double of the action hero Berrol Phin, was dressed in a green tweed suit, and despite it being the height of bad manners at the table, wore a rather natty deerstalker hat with a feather in it.
’This is H P, Boss, a lost tree-hugger, who requests a bed for the night.’
‘Welcome H P,’ I‘m Rob the Hod, Plasterer Extraordinaire, pull up a pew and I’ll introduce the rest of the gang.’
H P did as he was bid, with a struggle. The pew, made of solid oak with a neat little mouse carved on one end was rather heavy but eventually he manage to drag it to the table and sit down.
Rob waited until he was settled and then turning to the blonde sitting next to him said, ’This is my lady, the fair and beautiful Marilyn.’
H P was be-dazzled by the vision before him, the blonde-haired, blue-eyed lady had a peaches and cream complexion and wore a white silk dress that did nothing to hide her voluptuous figure. Almost robbed of speech he bobbed his head and managed a breathless, ‘My Lady.’
Rob, obviously aware of Marilyn’s effect on others, simply smiled and continued. ‘This is Willy the Pink, teller of tall tales and bookies runner.’
‘Like the tights, nice shade of pink,’ said H P.
Rob turned to a plump cherubic-faced man, ‘And this is Fryer Tuck, the best chip man in the business, he can do wonders with a PC. When he’s not feeding his face, that is.’
H P gave Fryer a nod, and Rob motioned to the next man, ‘Meet Much, McDougall. Much comes from Binding in the Marsh, a village on the edge of the forest.’
H P flashed a smile and the pasty-faced youth gave him a wink in return.
‘And lastly,’ said Rob, ‘The guy wearing the Led Zeppelin T-shirt is Allan a Diddly, roadie to the stars.’
H P watched the others as they ate. They were certainly a mixed bunch, but which of them had committed the foul deed? He was spoiled for choice - a ginger giant, a dandy in green or even an angel in white, surely not the angel? Then there were the others. Pinky, Porky, Doughboy and the Zeppelin roadie. He studied them all evening and apart from the niggling feeling of having missed some small clue, was none the wiser when they bade him goodnight.
Unable to sleep at first, he tossed and turned until the answer came to him and then he slept. In the morning he arose full of beans. Now that he had the answer, the next step would be the arrest. Taking Lady Marilyn to one side he had quick word, then gave the signal and the sheriff and his swat team burst into the hall.
On H P’s orders the whole gang; saving Marilyn, were hauled off to the dungeons. Under torture the gang admitted to stealing the recipe but denied killing Brother James, claiming that he had slipped, fallen into a vat full of tomato sauce and drowned before they could pull him out. Despite the best efforts of the inquisitor and the sheriff, the gang - much to the chagrin of the Abbot - refused to reveal the whereabouts of the missing recipe.
As to H P, After collecting his fee from the Abbot, he change his name to Herbert Penndel ran of with Marilyn and gaining a grant from the local council, set up in business as, H P Purveyors of Fine Foods. Their main product? That’s right, their soon to be famous, baked beans in a special sauce.
