The
THIRD PIG
DETECTIVE AGENCY
THE HO HO HO MYSTERY
BOB BURKE
To Ian, Adam and Stephen
For the inspiration
(and for keeping me grounded)
Contents
1 Lady in Red
2 Shop Till You Drop
3 Wondering in a Winter Wonderland
4 Ground Control to Harry Pigg
5 And Pigs Might Fly
6 The Soft Shoe Slingshot
7 Ice Station Santa
8 I Am Not Spock
9 Dashing Through the Snow
10 CSI: Grimmtown
11 A Rug with a View
12 Sleigh Belles Ring
13 A Run Across the Rooftops
14 Another Chapter in Which Nothing Unpleasant Happens to Harry
15 A Night at the Jazz
16 Get Behind Me Santa
17 Happy Christmas to All, and to All a Good Wrap Up
Acknowledgments
Copyright
About the publisher
The woman claiming to be Mrs Claus glowered at me, her face turning as red as her very Christmassy jacket. ‘Well,’ she demanded, ‘is there a problem?’ I considered the question carefully. There were a number of problems actually, but I wasn’t about to list them out – at least not to a very angry woman who seemed capable of doing me serious physical harm. I’d received enough punishment during my last case and I wanted this one – if, in fact, it turned out to be a case at all – to be as pain-free as possible. Diplomacy was clearly the order of the day.
‘Mrs Claus, please make yourself at home.’ She squeezed herself into the offered chair, which protested loudly at the intrusion. It looked like someone had tried to stuff a red pillow into a flowerpot. When she was comfortable (or at least not too uncomfortable), I asked her to tell me the story from the beginning; if nothing else, it would give me a chance to get my thoughts together – and these thoughts were currently so far apart they couldn’t even be seen with the help of the Hubble telescope.
‘It’s my husband, you see,’ she said, fidgeting with her cuffs. ‘He’s disappeared.’
‘And your husband would be …?’ I knew what she was going to say; I just wanted to hear her say it. This was obviously a very poor attempt at a practical joke and I needed to stay sharp to find out who the culprit was, although the finger of suspicion was pointing firmly at Red Riding Hood. This was just the kind of stunt she’d pull. More importantly, once I knew who it was, I could figure out a way to get back at them. No one got the better of Harry Pigg in the practical jokes department.
‘He’s Santa Claus, of course.’ Her face got redder with indignation. ‘Who did you think I was married to dressed like this?’
I had to admit she did look the part. If I had to buy an outfit for Santa’s wife, it was exactly what I’d have picked: fashionable red trouser suit with white fur lining and a very trendy pair of black high-heeled boots. Well, I’d have picked something red anyway.
‘OK, let me get this clear,’ I said, trying hard not to snigger. ‘You are married to Santa?’
‘Yes,’ she replied.
‘As in the jolly fellow with the white beard who says, “Ho ho ho” a lot and flies around dropping off presents to children all over the world on Christmas Eve?’
‘Is there another?’ she demanded.
‘Not that I’m aware of.’ I was now biting the inside of my cheek so as not to laugh hysterically in her face. ‘And he’s missing?’
‘Yes, as I’ve already pointed out to you.’
‘You’re sure he’s missing and not just away on a boys’ weekend with the Easter Bunny and the Tooth Fairy?’ I couldn’t contain myself any longer and burst into howls of laughter.
Seconds later I was pinned to the wall behind my desk with Mrs Claus’s forearm rammed firmly up against my neck. I felt my eyes bulge from the pressure on my throat and I was distinctly short of breath.
‘Do you think this is funny?’ she demanded. ‘My husband has disappeared; children all over the world are facing huge disappointment when they wake up on Christmas Day and find nothing under their trees except bare carpet and some pine needles, and you see fit to sit there making jokes at my expense?’ She pulled her arm away and I dropped to the floor gasping for air. I noticed that my two new ‘partners’, Jack Horner and the genie, had beaten a hasty retreat into the main reception area outside. Cowards! I might have to revisit this new working arrangement if this was going to be their attitude at the slightest hint of trouble.
‘Clearly I’m wasting both my time and yours, Mr Pigg,’ she said, with what I must admit was a certain degree of righteous indignation. ‘I shall take my business to someone who is prepared to take my problem somewhat more seriously. Good day to you.’
As she stomped to the door and made to leave, it occurred to me that she might actually be telling the truth; she was pushing it a bit for someone playing a joke. More to the point, if she was being truthful, taking her business elsewhere meant Red Riding Hood would get the case and the only way she was getting any case at my expense was over my cold and lifeless body. Then again, with my luck, that mightn’t be beyond the bounds of possibility either – I’d come close a few times on my last case, why would this be any different?
It was time for eating some pie of the humbly flavoured sort.
‘Mrs Claus, please accept my apologies for my behaviour.’ I walked after her and extended my trotter. ‘My last case has left me the worse for wear and I’m not quite myself at the moment.’ If you’ve been keeping up with my career, you’ll know this wasn’t entirely untrue. ‘Please make yourself comfortable and I will give you my complete and undivided attention and will personally guarantee the quality of service for which this agency is renowned.’
I was piling it on a bit, but, in my defence, I was getting desperate. I needed to keep this client. Apparently mollified, she turned and sat back down in the chair – which once more protested loudly at the strain.
I breathed a sigh of relief. ‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘It won’t happen again.’
‘Make sure it doesn’t,’ Mrs Claus replied.