The Curds and Whey Mystery. Bob Burke

       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

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