The Mysteries of Brambly Hollow

Rushmore began cooing at it. Was she mad as well as anorexic? As the old woman’s bony rear began to emerge, Meli happened to glance at the other two women. They were watching her with interest, and extremely calmly. Maybe if you’d lived in the country all your life, none of this would have seemed strange, but she hadn’t, and it did!
    Mrs. Rushmore had fully emerged now, and with assistance from her two friends, was being hoisted to her feet, the dreaded rat clutched tightly to her flat chest! Meli felt the blood drain from her body as she took a tentative step backwards. Suddenly catching sight of her, Mrs. Barber began to laugh, her cheeks wobbling like two soggy mounds of dough.
    “Whatever is the matter?” she asked.
    Meli could barely believe her ears. “But, but that’s a rat,” she stammered, stabbing a finger in the direction of the ball of fur that quivered in Mrs. Rushmore’s arms.
    “Don’t be so daft,” Mrs. Barber rebuked her with a shake of her enormous head. “Don’t you listen to the silly woman,” she spoke consolingly to the rat, as though it might be offended. Reaching out, she grasped the critter in her hands and drew it away from an unresisting Mrs. Rushmore, who’s face had gone a shade of deep plum, from her excursion under the table. Mrs. Swindon guided her down onto her chair.
    Mrs. Barber held the ball out to Meli by its middle. Four legs unfurled, followed by a head, followed by a tiny pink tongue. Meli’s body, which had been on the verge of flight, almost collapsed with relief as her brain registered that the rat wasn’t a rat at all, but was in fact the tiniest Yorkshire Terrier she had ever seen.
    “Oh, but that is so cute,” she whispered, suddenly regaining control of her composure. Carefully, she took the dog from Mrs. Barber; if you could call it a dog, as in fairness to her, it really wasn’t much bigger than a rat. She had never held anything so fragile in her whole life, and cradling the bony frame, which buzzed in her arms like Cal’s electric Philishave, she prayed that she didn’t crush any of its internal organs, or snap any of its shell-like bones.
    “So, this is what you carry around in that bag of yours?” she grinned at Mrs. Rushmore, who’s complexion, she was pleased to note, was returning to normal now. Meli thought about the time she had tripped over the bag in the Post Office. What a close call for the dog.
    “Yes, he goes everywhere with me, don’t you Snuffs?” Meli guessed how Snuff’s got his name, as air, squeezed down his narrow nasal passages, emerged with a sound resembling a hedgehog snuffling around in undergrowth, looking for worms.
    Settling back at the table, Snuffs safely back in his holdall, Mrs Barber picked up the threads of their interrupted conversation. She seemed as eager as Meli to find the answer; after all, discovering the identity of the secret mouse breeder would keep her tongue viciously exercised for days. “Are you sure the twins said Finn?” When Meli nodded, she glanced between her friends, the fleshy proportions of her face twisting and rolling as the baffling question massaged itself over her expression. “There’s definitely no one in the village by that name, and I can’t even think of anyone who keeps pet mice.” The other two women gesticulated their heads frantically in agreement.
    “I expect you’ve already considered the possibility that the twins are covering up for someone? Maybe someone you might disapprove of? Or even possibly someone they don’t want to get into trouble?” Mrs. Barber was like a thawed block of ice out of her own habitat.
    Meli’s own previous suspicions sprang back into her mind: Elsa and Tim. She found herself nodding, although she refrained from elaborating on them.
    By the time her guests left, no doubt to prepare for tomorrows Thursday morning weekly pension and gossip gathering, Meli was feeling pleased that she had invited them. No, elated better described it. She felt she had gained a friend in Mrs. Barber, and contrary to all the unkind things she had said and thought about the Post Mistress in the past, she was confident that in certain circumstances Mrs. Barber could be trusted; a notion not necessarily extended to the other two. If Mrs. Barber was the trusty elephant, the others were mischievous baboons.
    Feeling more positive, and determined, than she had in days, she decided to sort the boys out, once and for all. Standing at the bottom of the stairs