by Anna Wilson
Dash sniffed at the muck on the clothes. ‘I – I think it’s compost,’ he said slowly.
‘Raphael said an animal had been through someone’s compost, didn’t he? Oh! Hang on a minute, what’s this?’ Pippa rootled in the bottom of the bag, trying to get her fingers around something. She brought out the object and put it on the floor. ‘A dog tag?’ she said, very puzzled now. Then she sneered. ‘Ha! Minx should put it on that stupid necklace she wears. I always thought it looked like a dog’s collar.’
‘What does it say on it?’ Dash asked.
‘It says “Polka”. Hey, that’s Minx’s surname,’ Pippa said, looking at Dash quizzically. She turned it over. ‘And there’s a phone number. It looks familiar.’ She closed her eyes tight and thought about the number she had dialled earlier.
9-8-6-4.
‘Got you,’ breathed Pippa. She opened her eyes and held the tag up to Dash. ‘This is the proof we need,’ she said.
‘Proof of what?’ asked Dash, puzzled.
‘Minx is the owner of the spotty dog,’ she said. ‘And she’s embarrassed because she’s lost control of it. She’s been hiding the evidence in this stupid bag as she goes. First the mechanic’s things, then the smelly compost, and now she’s removed the dog’s tag so that no one can link it to her. It’s running riot and scaring all the Crumblies and their dogs and she doesn’t know what to do. She’s hiding here at Chop ’n’ Chat, pretending to be a marvellous dog whisperer and getting everyone on her side so that they won’t put two and two together and realize the horrible hound is hers! I bet she’s training it with her “special powers” to do something truly evil, like, like . . . catch all the small fluffy creatures in Crumbly-under-Edge and take them away to be made into, into . . . fur hats or something!’ Pippa finished, with a sinister wiggle of her eyebrows.
Dash drew his head away from the door and looked at her questioningly. ‘I do think you’re going a little over the top, Pippa. Is it a crime to own a boisterous dog?’ he asked. ‘Plenty of people come here with their own doggy problems.’
But Pippa wasn’t listening; her turquoise eyes were shining in triumph. ‘Come on, Dash,’ she said, shoving everything back into the bag and jumping up. ‘That Minx Polka has got some explaining to do.’
15
The Missing Post Bag
Pippa and Dash walked into the salon to find Coral cradling Winston in her arms.
‘Poor Winston,’ Minx was saying. ‘He’s had an awful shock. I suggest we gradually reintroduce him to the outside, giving him a treat for every step he takes out of the door. He will soon associate going out with getting a treat, and then you’ll have a happy hound again who will do as he is told!’
‘Yeah, and what would you know about happy hounds?’ Pippa interrupted with a sneer, getting ready to show everyone her discovery. But Mrs Fudge stepped in between her and Minx and looked very stern.
‘Pippa!’ she exclaimed. ‘Minx is in the middle of a diagnosis. Let her finish, please.’
Pippa opened her mouth to protest, ‘A dia-what-nis?’ But Mrs Fudge glared at her.
Minx scratched her right ear and went on, ‘Er, yes. As I was saying, Winston just needs a bit of special attention, Coral – and lots of praise! He’ll soon be right as rain,’ she finished, shooting Pippa a nervous glance.
‘That sounds wonderful,’ Coral said, in a voice hushed with awe. ‘Thank you.’
Pippa’s hair was fizzing and crackling with indignation: she had an important announcement to make about this fraud of an assistant!
‘B-b-but she’s a hypocrite—’ she tried again, only to have Mrs Fudge shake a finger at her to be quiet while Minx carried on and on.
No one was listening to her!
‘And if Winston finds it all too much too soon, maybe for now you could take him out in one of those shopping trolleys on wheels, or a little bag, just until he’s ready to be let off the lead for a good run around?’
Even Dash choked at that. ‘A dog in a BAG? Whatever next . . .’
‘Yeah, like a BIG SILVER BAG,’ Pippa said loudly. She held up the bag as evidence for all to see.
Dash let out a sharp bark in agreement. ‘You’re right, Pippa. This girl needs taking down a peg or two.’
‘Eh?’ said Minx, finally looking up at them properly. Then, seeing what Pippa was holding, she went bright red and shouted, ‘What are you doing with my things?’ She pushed past Mrs Fudge and stormed across to Pippa, snatching her bag.
Mrs Fudge put a hand on Minx’s arm and said sternly, ‘Pippa! I am disappointed in you!’
‘But, Mrs Fudge!’ she protested. ‘I think you should see this.’
‘I can’t believe you! Going through my stuff without asking! I’m not staying any longer, Mrs Fudge,’ said Minx, tears spilling over her long dark lashes. ‘I can’t work here if I’m not trusted.’
And with that, she ran from the salon, leaving Mrs Fudge staring after her, her face as pale as her snow-white fluffy hair.
Coral looked extremely uncomfortable. She cleared her throat and said, ‘I – I think we should go and, ah, leave you to it.’ She made sure Winston was comfy in the cardboard box, then she left with many embarrassed mutterings about how sorry she was and how she would see them soon.
Mrs Fudge sat down on one of her twirly-whirly chairs and stared vacantly after Coral.
‘Well, thank goodness for that,’ said Pippa briskly. ‘Now will you listen to me, Mrs Fudge?’
Dash jumped up and rested his paws on her shins. ‘Pippa,’ he said in a warning tone. ‘I don’t think this is the best time—’
‘What have you done, Pippa?’ Mrs Fudge cut across the little dog in a voice that was full of hurt. ‘How could you upset Minx like that? She saved me in my hour of need and now . . .’ She tailed off and shook her head sadly. ‘What will I do without her? I’ll be run off my feet again. I’m too old to work that hard, Pippa.’
‘But, Mrs Fudge!’ Pippa protested. ‘You have to let me explain! Minx is a fraud!’
Mrs Fudge’s face darkened and she was about to say something (thankfully she didn’t as she might very well have come to regret it later) when there was a SLAM! And a shout of ‘Oh my goodness to mercy!’ And a rattling of rollerblades, and an ‘Is anyone dere?’
Pippa thanked her lucky stars for the diversion and ran out into the hall to see Raphael, doubled over as he tried to get his breath back, puffing and panting and looking altogether very un-Raphael-like.
‘Oh, Raphael! What’s happened?’ cried Pippa. Her stomach dropped suddenly as though she was in a very fast-moving rollercoaster. She had a distinctly nasty feeling that the day was about to turn from bad to worse.
Mrs Fudge was calling wearily from the salon, ‘What is it?’
Raphael drew himself up to his full height and panted, ‘It’s terrible, Pippa sweetness. I is tellin’ you, notin’ dis bad has ever happen to me before!’
Dash scampered over to him and jumped up. ‘Calm down, Raphael. Come in and catch your breath and then you can tell us everything. Whatever it is, I’m sure we’ll be able to help.’
‘I don’t know if you can,’ Raphael groaned, his head in his hands. ‘You is not goin’ to believe it, but someone has stolen me post bag!’
Pippa gasped, her hands flying to her throat. ‘No!’ she said.
‘Yes, oh yes, oh yes!’ Raphael contradicted her, nodding vigorously. ‘All me letters an’ all me parcels. GONE!’
‘Raphael, I think you’d better have a cup of tea,’ said Mrs Fudge. ‘I’m sure there’s a logical explanation. Why would anyone round here want to steal the post?’
‘I know, I know!’ Raphael cried. ‘But somebody has. And now I is goin’ to have to tell ever-y-bo-dy, isn’t I?’
‘Raphael, you mustn’t worry,’ said Dash. ‘Pippa and I are tippity-top at solving mysteries. We’ll track down your post bag in no time.’
‘What about Minx?’ Raphael asked, blushing slightly. ‘I should tell her too, shouldn’t
I, sweetness? She is so good at solvin’ tings. I hear she has helped Mrs Peach and Mrs Prim and—’
‘Yes,’ Pippa butted in. She grasped Raphael’s sleeve and pulled him into the kitchen. ‘But Minx is out at the moment.’
‘And it doesn’t look as though she’ll be coming back,’ muttered Mrs Fudge.
‘WHAT?’ cried Raphael.
‘We don’t need Minx to help us,’ Pippa went on hastily. ‘After all, this doesn’t sound like a dog-related problem, does it? Start from the beginning. Tell us EVERYTHING.’
Mrs Fudge sighed heavily. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Dash and Pippa will help you. I’ll make that tea. I know I could do with some. And I think a slice of sponge cake would not go amiss.’
She tottered off to the cupboards to fetch down a cake tin while Raphael recounted his morning. Dash sat quietly at Pippa’s feet and listened carefully with his head on one side.
‘I went to de post office early, just like I normally do,’ said the postie. ‘I gets me letters and parcels what has been sent from de main office and I starts to pack me post bag. Then what happens?’ He drifted off for a moment. ‘Oh, that’s it! The phone in the office rings. I get distracted, I runs to answer . . . and when I comes back – ALL DE POST IS GONE!’
‘That’s it?’ Dash asked, rather scornfully. ‘No clues? No trace of anyone creeping in while you were on the phone? Come on. There must be something you can give us to go on.’
Raphael accepted a cup of hot tea from Mrs Fudge and took a noisy slurp. ‘Aaah, that be makin’ me feel better already, my darlin’,’ he added, smiling gratefully at the little old lady. ‘It’s a miracle what a nice cup o’ tea can do.’ He took another quick sip and nibbled at a slice of cake and then continued. ‘Hmm, well, I am in a panic, so I race right here, don’t I?’ he said. ‘But let me tink a minute.’ He wiped his mouth on the back of his sleeve and looked up at the ceiling in deep thought.
Dash began to bang his tail impatiently against the floor, and Pippa drummed her fingers on the kitchen table. Raphael was usually so observant, she mused. He knew all the names of all the people in Crumbly-under-Edge and he was always such a good source of gossip. It was very odd that he had not noticed any clues before rushing away from the scene.
Eventually Dash coughed to break the silence and said, ‘What about footprints? Anything dropped on the floor? Any unusual smells?’
Raphael looked very miserable. He shook his head, and his hair, which was normally so bouncy, flopped woefully over his eyes. ‘I don’t know about any smells or such like. But I don’t see no clues, man.’
‘Never mind, Raphael,’ Pippa consoled him. ‘Dash will help by tracking any scents he picks up, and I can do a spot of detective work around the town on my skateboard. Is it all right, Mrs Fudge, if we go now?’
Mrs Fudge nodded. ‘Yes, you do that,’ she said. ‘I’ve got Kurt coming in a minute, but my other appointment has cancelled, thankfully, so I’ll be able to manage.’
Pippa felt a twinge of guilt at leaving her old friend alone. But, she told herself, this is an important crime that needs solving. And if I can crack it, I can remind Mrs Fudge that I’m a very useful assistant too. Then maybe she’ll forget all about Minx Polka and everything can get back to the way it was at Chop ’n’ Chat before that freaky fraud turned up on the scene.
16
Intruder Alert!
Pippa took her skateboard, and Dash balanced neatly on the end, his ears flowing elegantly in the breeze as the two friends zipped along behind Raphael on his rollerblades.
‘I’ll take you to the sortin’ office first, darlin’s,’ Raphael called out over his shoulder. ‘You’ll need a good sniff around there, won’t you, Dash?’
The dachshund barked in agreement, ‘Definitely!’
Although Pippa had promised the postie that Dash would assist them, she couldn’t help remembering how Dash had not been brilliant at using his supposedly sensitive snout the last time there had been unusual goings-on in Crumbly-under-Edge. But I can’t tell Raphael that, she thought. He needs all the encouragement he can get.
Once they arrived at the sorting office, things were worse for poor Raphael than any of them could have imagined. Not only was there no sign of his sack of letters and parcels for the day, but in his absence someone had clearly come back, and had ransacked his small fridge where he kept milk for his tea and food for his lunch and snacks. Empty wrappers littered the floor, a bottle of milk lay smashed, with a river of milk flowing and spreading into a small lake under Raphael’s desk, and the fridge door was hanging off its hinges as though whoever it was had swung from it like a monkey on a branch.
Dash was off round the office in a flash, pointy nose to the ground, feathery ears twitching for any unusual sounds. ‘I’m rather baffled, to be honest,’ he murmured, as he snuffled from one corner of the room to the other. ‘If I didn’t know better I’d say you have had a dog in here, Raphael,’ he said finally, sitting back on his haunches with his shiny little head on one side.
Pippa rolled her eyes. ‘Da-ash!’ she moaned. ‘He does have a dog in here – YOU!’
Dash cocked one ear and growled impatiently. ‘I know that!’ he snapped. ‘I mean another dog.’
‘So, what does this “other” dog smell like?’ asked Pippa.
‘Well, it’s difficult to say,’ said Dash. ‘The scent is heavily masked by the smell of sausage rolls, milk, chocolate and many other things that have come from Raphael’s fridge.’
Pippa was tapping her foot angrily. ‘If it’s a dog, you must know which dog it is, you just don’t want to admit it,’ she said accusingly. ‘So you’re going to lead us on a wild goose chase, aren’t you? Just like that time when we went around the whole of Crumbly-under-Edge looking for clues and ended up back where we had started!’
‘Now, hold on a minute, young lady,’ Dash growled, his hackles rising. ‘There are a lot of doggy smells in here, actually. And it’s difficult to separate them all out.’
Raphael had been looking anxiously from the dog to the little girl and decided he should step in before a full-scale argument broke out.
‘I is sure Dash knows what he’s talkin’ about,’ said Raphael hastily. ‘The ting is, I have a lot of people comin’ in an’ out o’ here and some of them’s bringin’ their dogs too. Say, for example, if somebody is on holiday when a parcel arrives for them? I might put a little card through the door to say “Come and get your parcel from the office when you are home”. And then they come and they might be bringin’ their dog with them when they comes to collect it!’
‘Right,’ said Pippa crossly. ‘So we need you to look for more clues, Dash.’
But Dash was frowning, his ears flat, his tail low to the ground. ‘You don’t get it, Pippa. There is one scent in particular which is ringing alarm bells somewhere in the back of my mind. They are very faint alarm bells just now, but if I concentrate, I am sure I will be able to work out what this scent is trying to tell me.’
Pippa threw up her hands in exasperation. ‘Dash!’ she exclaimed. ‘Stop wasting time.’
Dash put on his most winning expression. ‘You know what I think this is, Pippa?’ he asked.
‘No,’ Pippa snapped.
Dash blinked appealingly and nuzzled his friend’s knee. ‘I think this is another one of those two-bone problems.’
‘Eh?’ exclaimed Raphael. ‘What on eart’ is a “two-bone prob-lem” when it is at home?’
Pippa rolled her eyes. ‘A two-bone problem is Dash’s way of avoiding admitting he cannot solve this mystery,’ she muttered.
Dash lowered his head to show how Pippa had hurt his feelings. ‘That is simply not true,’ he protested. ‘A two-bone problem is a particularly tricky puzzle which requires my total concentration. And for total concentration, there is nothing more helpful than a couple of bones to crunch on – calms the mind and gets the grey matter whirring, you know,’ he added with a raise of one eyebrow.
Raphael nodded wisely. ‘I
tink the little fella be right, Pippa darlin’. If it be bones dat work for him, den bones he shall have. For me it would be some good tunes and a nice hot cuppa, y’know?’
Pippa tutted impatiently. ‘Very well. I’ll get you your bones, but you had better crunch them pretty flipping fast, Dash. We need to find the bag before any of the Crumblies realize their post is missing! We can’t have you getting into trouble, Raphael. You might lose your job! And I for one am not going to stand by and watch that happen.’
17
A Three-Bone Problem?
Back at Chop ’n’ Chat, Pippa waited while Dash crunched his way noisily through his first bone.
‘So?’ she asked sarcastically, as he smacked his chops and looked around for the second one. ‘Any sudden flashes of brilliance? Any super-intelligent brainwaves?’
‘Er, I did say it was a two-bone problem, Pippa,’ said Dash, eyeing the second bone greedily. ‘So perhaps you should save your questions until I have actually had two bones?’
Before Pippa could think of a suitably cutting response to the cheeky little dachshund, a terrible commotion broke out in Liquorice Drive. Raphael was rollerblading at top speed towards them, hair flying around his head like a mass of angry snakes. ‘STOP! Stop!’ he cried. ‘No time for Dash’s two-bone tinkin’ time. Listen! I found me bag and all me letters but it’s happened again, sweetness, and this time it’s not just me who’s had me stuff pinched! This is turnin’ into a three-bone problem, if you ask me!’
‘Don’t give him any ideas,’ muttered Pippa. But out loud she said, ‘Where was your bag, Raphael?’
‘It was in the hedge in Marble Wainwright’s garden!’ he cried. ‘And de letters an’ parcels and tings were all over de road – all trampled and trod into de mud! But that is not the worst of it, I tell you.’
