The Mysteries of Brambly Hollow

head. What if Elsa had died in the barn (this theory was strongly supported by the blood) and somebody had moved her body to the house? Was that possible? But Elsa had been dead for a few days, so any blood in the barn would have dried up. But it had been pouring with rain that day, and the roof was leaky. It wasn’t beyond the realms of possibility that the rain had re-hydrated the blood. She found she was trembling. Had Elsa been killed? Had somebody murdered her? From the little she knew about Elsa, she knew she had few friends, but did someone hate her enough to cold-bloodedly kill her?
    By the time Meli was letting herself through the door to the lodge, she had made up her mind to re-open her investigation: digging up the dirt on Elsa, and searching out all those crusty old skeletons she suspected lurked in certain villagers closets.
    Slipping into the living room, she made her way straight to the bureau, and scrabbling around in the top drawer for a moment, she retrieved her note book; the one she’d been using to record everything she learned about Elsa; the one she’d secreted behind the photo album that rarely saw the light of day. Settling at the table, thankful that she hadn’t made the mistake of burying it with Elsa, she opened to the first page. This was the first time she had revisited it since Elsa’s death, and it made interesting reading. It was a bit like a maze, clues branching off in one direction, only to lead to a dead end, or a choice of further pathways. Like - what accident had Tim been referring to, when he said Elsa thought Bill would go back to her, rather than stay with the Countess? She avoided trying to understand how three women could all fancy an embittered, miserable rat like Bill. Sometimes, there was just no accounting for taste. Reaching the end of her notes, she tapped her pen absently on the open page as she mulled over all the information. She would have to tread warily if she was going to re-open her investigation, so as not to alarm the murderer. If indeed there is a murderer, she had to firmly remind herself.
    Carefully concealing the notepad again, Meli decided to pay a visit to the Post Office, to see Mrs. Barber, or Marigold as she now knew her (the name still made her snigger. No wonder everyone called her Mrs. Barber). If she could get her to break; well, the font of information would truly run over. Popping up to her room, to change her shoes, something odd caught her eye. Tucked down inside a four inch gap between her wardrobe and the wall, something was just visible. Getting down onto her hands and knees, she pulled out a crumpled ball of clingfilm. There was more, just out of reach. Something had been stuffed into the gap. What on earth could it be? She couldn’t quite reach it with her fingers. Returning to the kitchen, she selected a pair of metal tongs, and hurried back to the bedroom. Prodding around in the dark crevice, she managed to grip something. She pulled it out, and then sat back on her haunches in bewilderment. It was a part wrapped sandwich, or rather what was left of a sandwich after it had been stuffed down the side of the wardrobe weeks, if not months ago. She frowned deeply, before scavenging around in the opening, and producing more of the same. Now they were disturbed they were giving off a nasty whiff, and there was something else mixed in with them. Separating one on the carpet with the tongs she examined it. It looked like an oversized grain of wholemeal rice, only it was hollow. Fly larvae?
    Shooting to her feet she marched down to Cassie’s room. Flicking her eyes around the room, she quickly selected the chest of drawers as being the most likely hiding place if you wanted to stash something quickly. An initial prod underneath confirmed her suspicions. Cursing under her breath and then out loud, she struggled to pull out the unit. There must have been at least a dozen sandwiches there; most wrapped loosely in cling film, some so black that they were almost liquefied, some crawling with maggots. It took all her effort not to throw up. Those boys were in for it when they got home. At least this solved the mystery of the flies in the two bedrooms. The boys hadn’t been eating their sandwiches, they had been hiding them! She had never been so angry with them.
    How could they? Her feet stomped noisily down the stairs. Why hadn’t they just thrown them in the bin? She forgot all about her plan to visit Mrs. Barber. Collecting the dustpan