Emily Organ [Organ - Murder in Cold Mud

Thats enough scraping for now, Pemberley. Come and have a jam tart.

But Ive just started on the s, Mrs Churchill, replied her thin, bespectacled secretary with scruffy grey hair.

Cant the s wait? Its been there so long that one more day is hardly going to bring about Armageddon.

Mrs Annabel Churchill was a large lady with silver hair so well lacquered that it didnt budge in even the briskest of breezes. Her crimson lipstick matched her twinset and she wore a string of pearls which she had proudly possessed for over fifty years.

If I leave it, it will look wrong, said Pemberley, frowning at the office door. It will say s Detective Agency. If I scrape off the s it will just say Detective Agency and thatll look far better.

I see your point, my trusty assistant. And call me over-sensitive, if you wish, but after a while the relentless scrape of scissor blade against glass leaves one feeling as though someone is hammering rusty nails into ones head.

Oh dear, you should get that seen to.

Its not serious enough to be seen to, Pemberley, its merely a common human reaction to an incessant and irritating noise.

Well, I dont know how were going to get the rest of the letters off then, said Pemberley, helping herself to a jam tart from the plate on Churchills desk.

Any idea what type of glue Atkins used when he stuck the letters onto his door?

He had a man come and do it.

Perhaps we can ask the same man to put the name Churchill on the door.

We could, but given that he has died he is unlikely to respond.

Oh, thats a terrible shame. Perhaps he was poisoned following a career of overexposure to extra-strong letter adhesive.

I think he was, in fact. Poison was definitely mentioned at the inquest.

Well have to find someone else then. In the meantime, Pembers, Im rather concerned about our empty-looking incident board. Churchill pointed at the map on the wall hanging next to the portrait of King George V. Only recently we had photographs and drawings and pins and lengths of string connecting everything up, and now it all looks rather bare.

Probably because were not working on any cases at the moment, Mrs Churchill.

Well done, Pembers, thats exactly what it is. Not a single case. I dont like being caseless; it makes my thumbs twitchy.

You never know when the next case is going to come in. Thats what Atkins always used to say.

Well, he wasnt wrong on that score.

But then he did have an extensive client base, so he was never without a case for long.

Thats what were missing, Pembers, an extensive client base. How does one acquire one of those?

Through years of hard work and reputation-building.

I meant quickly, though. How does one acquire an extensive client base in a matter of, lets say, a week?

You could advertise.

Oh no, I would never do that. Advertising has a cheapening effect on ones services, I find. I would prefer clients to find us through recommendation and word of mouth. I tell you what we could do with and thats an upper-class customer. Aristocratic, even, like my friend Lady Worthington in Richmond-upon-Thames. She once happened to mention, in passing, a favourite little haberdashery of hers just off Sloane Square, and you couldnt move in the place the following day! They sold out of every single button cover before lunchtime. Thats the sort of recommendation we need. In fact, we should try to ensure that were a little choosier in future. We should only service an upper-class clientele.

How can we be choosy when we dont have any clientele at all?

It wont always be like this, Pembers. Not once recommendation and word of mouth have spread themselves around the village.

Within a week?

I would certainly hope so.

The upper classes are riddled with criminality, so hopefully well have no shortage of cases once word gets out. Those large inheritances, priceless heirlooms and secret passageways practically encourage intrigue and murder.

They do indeed, Pembers. I pray that our next client is in possession of a generous fortune. She brushed the jam tart crumbs from her ample bosom.

S Detective Agency? called a coarse voice from beyond the door. Whats the s for?

Into the office stumbled a wide-framed, heavily bearded man wearing a tweed cap.

Dyou mean Sdetective? he asked.

No, we do not, replied Churchill haughtily. Are you lost?

Oh, I see whats appened, continued the man as he surveyed the door. It used ter say Atkinss Detective Agency didnt it? Only youve taken the Atkins off. No, ang about, youve taken Atkins and that little comma thing off an left the s on, so now it says Sdetective Agency! Haw, haw, haw!

The man sauntered further into the room and sat himself down in the chair across the desk from Churchill. He wore a sleeveless jacket and his trousers were held up with a length of fraying rope. A trail of earth from his muddy hobnailed boots lay on the floor.

Do I ave the pleasure of addressin Mrs Churchill? he asked, removing his cap deferentially.

Yes, she replied, her nose wrinkling at the amount of dirt on the man. And you are?

Mr Rumbold, thats me. Are thems jam tarts? he asked, eying the plate on the desk.

They are indeed. She paused before reluctantly adding, Would you like one?

I wouldnt say no.

Lovely jubbly. He picked one up with his fat, grimy fingers and took a large bite. Hows Atkinss widow? he asked with his mouth full.

Im afraid I cant tell you, Mr Rumbold. Ive never met the lady.

Crocodile, werent it? On some river in Africa, I eard.

Yes, the Zambezi I believe.

Cor! What a way to go!

Youre not the first to say that. How may I help, Mr Rumbold?

I almost forgot why Ive come ere for a moment! He pushed the rest of the tart into his mouth and wiped his face with his sleeve. Thats a nice tart that is. Now where was I? Oh yeah, Im ere cause someones speared me onions.

Your onions, Mr Rumbold?

Yep.

Speared?

Yep.

May I ask where your onions were when they were speared?

They was in the ground!

They were in the process of growing?

Yep, thats right. Enormous beauties they wouldve been too, only someones put paid to that.

And what were they speared with?

Prongs of a fork. Someones dug em all up an speared em with a fork.

And then what did they do with them?

Just left em lyin on the ground.

How barbaric.

Ruined! Me onion crops ruined.

And youd like me to find the person responsible for this savage attack?

Yep. Im worried me turnipsll be next.

We cant let that happen.

No, we cant. Someones already ad a go at me marrows fortnight last.

Oh dear, really?

Yep, but I still got three of em at a secret location. He tapped the side of his nose conspiratorially. Ive won the prize for the largest marrow in Wessex seven years on the trot.

Congratulations, Mr Rumbold.

Last years was eavier than the missis.

Thats quite an achievement. It sounds as though someone is attempting to sabotage your winning streak.

Youve it the nail right on its ead. Theres one thing people dont like in this village, Mrs Churchill. Do you know what it is?

Haggis?

Success. People cant abide success in others. An theres nothin what provokes another mans anger as much as an enormous marrow.

Is that so, Mr Rumbold?

Yep. Mark me words.

Consider them marked. Churchill picked up her notebook and pen. Now, what have you got for me to go on? Any idea who could be behind this?