A Confection Detector Calls by Neil K. Henderson. a cup of tea

It seemed like an ordinary evening meal for the Jermond family. One by one they pushed back their empty plates, satisfied yet also expectant. Daughter Fritabulon enquired about the pudding, but Punfrot Jermond, head of the household, ominously cleared his throat. “There isn’t going to be any pudding,” he announced. “Why not?” came the chorus. “It hasn’t turned up, that’s all.”

            Just then there was a knock at the door, and a man in a trench coat was shown in. “Inspector Nodsnorby of the Confection Detection Division. I’m afraid there’s been an accident at the Pud ’n’ Cakery bakery. Your pudding has been... destroyed. It seems the assistant, Mona Cranberry, tripped bringing it out for delivery and landed right on top of it. There wasn’t any hope of recovery. We can’t be certain at this stage what she tripped on, but it seems her knicker elastic may have come loose.”

            “I didn’t think that hussy wore any!” Mrs Jermond let fly.

            “And where were you around three o’clock this afternoon?” queried Nodsnorby. “Er... actually, I was in the Pud ’n’ Cakery.” A hush descended. “And might this undergarment belong to you?” The inspector held up some voluminous drawers. “I had one of my hot flushes near the Bakewell tarts,” blustered Mother. “I had to get out of them quick.”

            “So she may have tripped on yours, and dropped the pudding?” The Inspector turned to the others. “And then there is your son. I believe he made a complaint this morning.” Son Crumholt jumped to his feet. “All I said was, I’d found a brain tit in the doughnuts. Then I joked, ‘Who says I’ve got no brains?’ ” Nobody laughed. The Inspector went on. “I believe Miss Jermond created quite a stir herself.” Daughter Fritabulon flushed. “I’m afraid I was rather ill on the muffins after a moderate intake of baps. I couldn’t help blaming the staff.”

            “Small wonder Mona Cranberry should drop the tray, with these things going on. As for you, Mr Jermond, weren’t you in love with the sticky fudge yum-yums? Wasn’t it likely that your long-accustomed pudding felt neglected and abandoned? Isn’t it possible it may have thrown itself from Ms Cranberry’s grasp and dashed itself to the floor?”

            “You mean, I – we – killed our pudding?” The family eyed Mr Jermond, aghast. When they turned back, the confection detector had gone. At the spot where he’d stood lay a stain on the carpet like the mangled outline of a family-sized pudding. They exchanged guilty looks, but said nothing.

            “Well,” sighed Mrs Jermond at last, “I’ll just have to open a tin of biscuits, that’s all.”

 

About the author 

 

NEIL K. HENDERSON was born in 1956 in Glasgow, Scotland. Neil's idiosyncratically humorous works have been appearing in magazines in the UK, USA, Canada, Australia, India and Cyprus since 1987. He has also written several novels, as well as scripts. He is currently writing flash fiction. Did you enjoy the story? Would you like to shout us a coffee? Half of what you pay goes to the writers and half towards supporting the project (web site maintenance, preparing the next Best of book etc.)