Seventeen
‘How does a one-metre-tall stuffed rooster go missing?’ Bel asked Mrs Simpson.
‘It was a few weeks ago. I came in and found his case empty. He’d vanished into thin air.’
‘Did you report it to the police?’
‘Yes, but they didn’t really have much to work with. I don’t think it was very high on their list of priorities, to be honest.’
‘But he’s our town mascot.’
‘Yes, I know,’ Mrs Simpson sighed. ‘Unfortunately, no one really seems to care.’
‘I care,’ Bel said firmly.And who the hell would steal an old moth-eaten taxidermied bird?
‘Yes, well, apparently it was someone’s idea of a joke. Whoever took him left a note. They obviously thought theywere being terribly funny. I didn’t even bother mentioning it to the police. I could see they thought the whole thing was a complete waste of their time.’
‘A note?’ Bel repeated slowly.
‘A ransom note, dear,’ Mrs Simpson said. ‘It’s in the office.’ She bustled away before Bel could stop her, coming back a few moments later with a sheet of paper in a clear plastic sleeve. ‘I put it in this to preserve any DNA, in case the police ever came back and decided to take it seriously.’
Clearly, Mrs Simpson watched a lot of crime TV.
‘We have your rooster. Don’t call the cops or the bird gets it,’ Bel read the hastily scrawled, almost unintelligible writing, and bit back a mirthful snort. Okay, so it did seem that Elvis’s disappearance was some kind of practical joke. Still, he had heritage value, especially since there was now a monument erected in the middle of the main street for him. ‘You probablyshouldhand this into the police,’ Bel said, giving back the note.
‘There’s no point, it will only confirm what they already think: that it’s just a silly prank. They assured me Elvis would most likely turn up again soon. Probably a bunch of bored kids with nothing better to do.’ Mrs Simpson sighed. ‘I’m sure they’re right. He’ll eventually be returned. Anyway, have a good look around and call out if you need any help,’ she said, already moving off.
Bel took a photo of the empty case, feeling oddly disappointed. She’d been looking forward to doing the follow-uppost about her little town. Now she hadliterallynothing to show for it.
Sorry folks, Elvis has left the building … The king of roosters has been caught up in fowl play.
Earlier today I dropped into the Wessex Museum to visit the original Elvis, the cock who was the inspiration for the Big Rooster I posted about the other day. Elvis belonged to a local farmer and won theGuinness Book of World Recordstitle of biggest rooster, bringing much fanfare and notoriety to our town as shown here in the local gazette.
Sadly, I have just heard the disturbing news that Elvis has in fact been kidnapped. That’s right. Vanished without a trace, only a short and rather simple ransom note left in his place. I, for one, am outraged and demand a proper investigation! Come on #Police_NSW … we want #justiceforElvis. #bringbacktheking #WhereIsElvis
Bel added a photo of the empty case and one of an old newspaper clipping that was on the wall behind the display, then hit send. Okay, so she may also be guilty of making fun of the whole thing, but she felt like she owed it to Elvis to at least mention it. Clearly no one else had, which seemed strange. Though, she conceded, no stranger than the fact someone had actually broken in to a museum and stolen a dead rooster in the first place.
As she arrived back at Emma’s house, she noticed the four-wheel drive parked at the front.
Why is Dean here?
She walked around the back to find him dropping large timber posts onto the ground next to recently dug holes. He was wearing jeans and a blue work shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his mid-forearms.
‘Hi,’ she said as she approached him, and he glanced up to see her. ‘I didn’t know you were coming over to do this today.’
‘I had an unexpected breakdown that meant I had a few hours to kill while I wait for parts to arrive. I figured I’d get a start on the chook pen.’
‘You don’t waste any time,’ she said, observing how much he’d done already.
‘It won’t do itself,’ he said with a shrug.
‘Can I give you a hand?’ It was the least she could do when he was giving up his own time to make the kids’ surprise for their parents a reality.
‘Sure. Can you hold this upright for me?’ He positioned one of the posts for the pen in the ground and waited for her to take hold of it. He picked up a long, heavy-looking tubular metal tool and lifted it effortlessly. ‘So, what happened between you and the bloke from the wedding?’ Dean asked as he drove the post into the ground.
Bel used the loud banging to cover her surprise at his question. ‘It didn’t work out.’
‘I gathered that much. But what happened?’ he said, taking a break to lean his arm on the top of the post and look at her.
