"Big Blogger is good at making cheese and pickle sandwiches" exuded Tarquin as the five bounded along the lakeside, swigging some ginger ale to wash down the remnants of the picnic "Funny name for a butler though..."
He stopped dead in his tracks as the horrendous reality hit him - Rusty the dog wasn't tugging at a stick in the reed bed, it was an arm. A very dead, slightly chewed arm attached to a very dead body.
"Cripes!" gulped Jeremy. Arabella was screaming and flailing wildly by now. "It's Uncle Benedict and he's been murdered....!"
Roger was already examining the corpse - she wasn't afraid of rotting, stinking cadavers and certainly wouldn't have let the boys know even if she was.
"I say chaps..." blurted Roger "- he's been brutally poisoned with an undetectable chemical compound found only in certain parts of the Amazonian basin!"
Later that night the five were huddled under an eiderdown in the boy's bedroom.
"I think it was Auntie Edith" whispered Tarquin wiping Garibaldi crumbs from his cheek "she's a husband murdering maniac if ever I saw one!"
"I agree!" spat Roger prodding Arabella awake with her torch. "Her eyes are too close together and she smells funny!"
"Steady on chaps" soothed Jeremy, always erring on the side of caution "we need to get some evidence!"
They agreed to meet at first light and investigate the crime scene thoroughly.
As the lights went out Tarquin sighed "I'm really tired - goodnight!" and went straight to sleep.
A gloomy mist was hugging the lake like a damp blanket. The air was heavy and the five were quiet and nervous. A twig snapped behind them and a figure loomed in the mist. The five span round - Roger braced herself for the attack, Tarquin screamed and Jeremy caught Arabella as she fainted. Rusty whimpered and scarpered into the fog...
"Who goes there?" challenged Roger.
The figure lurched and fell towards them, clasping it's chest and then crashed into the wet grass at the feet of the intrepid youngsters. Dead as dead could be.
"Auntie Edith!" gasped Arabella as she awoke and passed out again.
"She's been savagely stabbed with a five and half inch vegetable knife available in all good hardware stores" summised Roger "...but wait! There's something in her hand..."
They all leaned in as Roger prised open Aunt Edith's bony, wrinkled dead hand.
It was a small, crumpled piece of paper with one simple sentence....
"Big Blogger is bad."
Next week - the Diary Room murders (the case of Little Blogger).
As a child I devoured this sort of stuff...
Posted by: Cat | Wednesday, 04 July 2007 at 20:40
Yay, briliant!
Love it.
Posted by: Clare | Wednesday, 04 July 2007 at 22:32
Very well done.
Posted by: corinna | Wednesday, 04 July 2007 at 23:09
I was very scared.
If BB offers you spam sandwiches, be afraid ...
be very afraid.
Posted by: Daddy Papersurfer | Thursday, 05 July 2007 at 07:14
Cat - me too. Famous five, secret seven, the enthusiastic eight...
Thankyou ladies *closes book and turns off light*
Dad - I'll spam you if you're not careful...
Posted by: penfold | Thursday, 05 July 2007 at 07:36
I always wanted to smack the snotty brats in the face...
Still, this story was great. I always like a good Roger in the tale.
Posted by: Angelalala | Thursday, 05 July 2007 at 12:38
I agree - on both accounts. Smacking and Rogering... er... yup.
Posted by: penfold | Friday, 06 July 2007 at 17:54