Just because it's Twixmas...

I have a little Christmas story for you.  I hope you enjoy it...

A Tale of Snow and Sheep

Jack Frost, a shrewd and dour man, stretched his long, bony leg across the ice-blue seat of the Vespa.  His life-long friend and business partner Emmanuel Snow, Manny to everyone who knew him, concertinaed himself into the inadequately small sidecar.  Once settled, Manny looped his long scarf around his back, under his arms and tied it securely above his large, round head.  Jack was known throughout the town as something of a speed freak.

  “That son of yours needs to learn some manners,” said Jack as he set the vehicle’s engine running.

  Manny, unable to turn his head, merely shifted his coal black eyes to the right and stared.  “I don’t know what you mean,” he retorted.

  Jack pulled out into the traffic. “It’s not appropriate for Little Snow to ask a client on the other end of the phone out for a drink.”

  Had Manny been created with eyebrows, they would have shot to the top of his head and disappeared under his long stripy scarf.  “I’m sure he did no such thing.”

  “I was there,” sniffed Jack as he pulled up at a T-junction.  “I heard him.”  Jack took a left and headed down the lane towards Peep’s Farm.  “He’s fourteen,” continued Jack.  “His ice crystals are raging, and any cute passing female is going to get his temperature rising.”

  Jack pulled into the entrance to the farm and parked in front of the small farm shop.  “And by the way,” said Jack, removing his helmet and placing it on the seat. “Your son Little is now insisting that we call him Snow, and only Snow. He says it sounds cool.”

  Manny pushed himself out of the sidecar and untied his scarf.  “Well, I suppose we will have to indulge him on the name thing,” he said, throwing the scarf around his neck. “But I will have words with him about what being the face and voice of the detective agency means in practice.”  Manny stroked his round tummy and re-aligned the coals that ran the full length of his ample chest.

  Jack nodded his approval and strode into the farm shop.  “Jack Frost and Emmanuel Snow, Frost and Snow Detective Agency,” he announced to the young woman behind the till.  “We’re looking for a Miss Bo Peep.”

  “That’s me, Mr Frost,” said the young woman coming out from behind her counter.   She lead them across to a nearby table and sat down.  “My sheep have gone,” she blurted out as tears began to course down her face.  “I’m very worried about them.” Miss Peep dabbed at her eyes.

  “When did you last see your sheep?” Jack pulled a notebook out of the top pocket of his morning coat.

  “Yesterday,” sobbed Bo.  “In the top field.  I moved them into that field first thing yesterday morning.”

  “And did you notice anything unusual about the sheep?”

  Miss Peep frowned.  “Not really, no.  They all seemed quite happy.  Their food trough was full, and I’d already cracked the ice floating on their water.  When I went to check on them this morning, they were all gone.”  Another stream of tears trickled down her face.  Jack picked up one of the paper napkins set on the table and handed it to her.

  “OK, Miss Peep.  I know how upsetting this must be for you, but I need you to remain calm.  How many sheep were there, and can you describe them?”

  “Twenty-four, and they’re all fluffy and white.”

Jack let out a sigh.  “What about any distinguishing marks?  To help you identify your sheep from Farmer McDonald’s for instance.”

  “Oh yes, I see what you mean.  They all have a pink bow painted on their left flank.  It’s rose pink.  Such a lovely colour don’t you think?”

  Jack kept his eyes on the page as he scribbled a note.  Manny took up the questioning.

  “And, when you went to the sheep this morning was the gate to the field open or shut?”

  “Open.”

  “And the gate was shut before the sheep disappeared?”

  “Oh yes.  After I let the sheep into the field, I closed the gate firmly behind me.  I’m always most particular about that.”

  “Good, Miss Peep,” said Jack as he cast an authoritative eye at Manny. “That’s important.  Now, have the sheep ever gone missing before?”

  “No!  Never.”

  Not wishing to be excluded Manny leaned forward on the small table.  “But what about the sheep, Miss Peep?  They are curious animals, you know.  Can any of them open the gate?”

  “Umm, I… umm.  Well, no I don’t think so.  If they can I’ve never seen them try.”

  “This pink bow, can it be washed off?”  Jack waited for her answer, pen poised.

  “No.  It’s indelible, and it lasts until they are shorn in Spring.”

  “OK,” said Jack, snapping his notebook shut.  “So, we’re looking for twenty-four sheep, fleeces intact, with a pink decal, that have been missing from the top field since what time?”

  “It would be about eight-thirty this morning when I first noticed the field was empty.”  Fresh tears pearled in her wide blue eyes.

  “OK, Miss Peep.  Leave this to us.

An hour later, Frost and Snow had made a complete recce of the top field.

  “So what have we got, Manny?”

  “Look at this, Jack,” said Manny as he scrutinised the latch on the open gate.  “I’d say that’s a trace of blood.  Possibly animal, but could be human.”

  Jack bent double to see the evidence.  “Agreed,” he said.  “And that padlock has been cut,” he noted as he turned his attention to the large rusty locking mechanism that had been abandoned on the snowy entrance to the field.

  “And there are no traces of snow on the latch,” said Manny.  “If it was an inside job, and one of the sheep had escaped with all the others, I’d expect to see snow from a front hoof here and here.  But there’s nothing.  Just the trace of blood.”

  “Hm… Get that analysed,” said Jack.  Manny set about collecting the sample.

  “These hoof marks show the flock headed a short way down the lane towards town.  Ten metres further up there are cart tracks.”

  Manny followed his partner down the lane. “But have you noticed the front left wheel of the cart?”

  Jack swiftly moved to where Manny was stood.

  “Look,” said Manny.  “There’s a burr on the iron rim.  I’ve made a cast of the indentation, so we should be able to match that exactly.”

  “So there is.”  Jack squatted down to examine the cart track closely.  “If we can find the cart we have a chance of finding the sheep if they are still in the area.  We’ll start with Miss Muffet’s farm and gradually work our way around the others.”

Just before lunch, Jack and Manny pulled up outside McDonald’s Farm.  Jack cut the engine.

  “This is the last one,” he said as he stowed his helmet.  “I’ll go to the house and you check—”

  “MacDonald’s cart is just there, look.” Manny was already on his way to the open barn.  Jack waited by the Vespa as Manny disappeared inside the wooden building.  A few moments later he emerged.

  “It’s definitely a match, Jack.”

  “Right.  Let’s go to the house.  Leave the talking to me.”

  A sharp rap on the door brought Mrs MacDonald to the threshold.

  “Morning, Mr Frost.  What can I do for you today?”

  “Morning, Mrs MacDonald,” said Jack.  “I’m here on official business.  Is your husband in?”

  “No I’m afraid he isn’t.  He’s down in Low Field with the vet’nary.  I’m not expecting him back for another couple of hours or so.”

  “Maybe you can help me Mrs MacDonald.  Your cart Ma’m.  Was your husband or anyone else in the family using it yesterday?”

  “Errr… No… I don’t think so.  Oh no, wait a minute.  Yes.  Sweeney Todd.  He came and borrowed the cart on Monday evening and brought it back around two yesterday afternoon.  So no.  We didn’t use the cart yesterday.  Well, we couldn’t have could we?”

  “Sweeney Todd?”  Jack cast Manny an anxious glance.  “Did he say what he needed the cart for?”

  “Not to me.  He might have done to my husband.  He just rolled up, as cheery as you like, poked his head round my backdoor, and said ‘Farmer MacDonald says I can use your cart’ and off he went.  Never a bye nor leave!  That young man thinks too much of himself if you ask me.”

  “And you are sure this was Monday evening?”  Manny asked.

  “That’s right.”

  “About what time?”  Jack asked.

  “I was taking my apple pie out of the oven, so it would be about five or just after.”

  “You say he returned the cart yesterday afternoon at about two.  Are you certain about the time?”

  “Oh yes.  I’d just sat down to listen to my favourite radio program when I saw him through the kitchen window driving the cart down towards the big barn.”

  “Thank you, Mrs MacDonald.  You’ve been very helpful.” Jack nodded and strode across the yard towards the bike.

  “I’ve got a nasty feeling about this.”  Jack strapped his helmet on and started the engine.

Pulling up outside Todd’s shop, Jack could feel the blast of heat as a customer left, a bag of baked goodies in his hand.

  “We know Todd had access to MacDonald’s cart.  And we know it was MacDonald’s cart in the lane and that the cart is large enough to transport twenty-four sheep.  Manny, go round the back of the bakery and see if you can find any evidence that he might have brought the sheep here.”

  As Manny slipped into the narrow alley between the bakery and the butchers, Jack yanked open the heavy wood and glass door and marched in.

  “Mr Frost, what can I do for you today?”  An obsequious smile crept across Mr Todd’s face.

  “I’ll have a couple of your famous pork pies please.”

  “Only mutton today I’m afraid.  Baked fresh this morning they were.  Would you like me to put them in the blast chiller for you Mr Frost?”

  Jack glanced over his shoulder, Manny was nowhere to be seen.  “Yes please,” he said, running a finger around his shirt collar.  “It’s a tad too warm in here for me.”

  “Of course Mr Frost.  I’ll be back in a moment.”

  As Todd disappeared, Manny came in through the shop entrance.  “We’ve got him, Jack,” he whispered.  “I found this sheep’s tail in the alleyway and there are chunks of wool in the bin.”

  “But are they Miss Peep’s sheep?”

  Manny nodded and held up a chunk of wool with a bright, pink hue. “And, if you put your ear to the wall of the abattoir at the back of the Russian butcher’s shop, you can hear the faint sound of bleating.  Rostov and Todd are in on this together.”

  “Those conniving, evil, festering—”

  “Careful, Jack.  This is Facebook.”

  Jack sniffed.  “Get next door and arrest Rostov and I’ll do the honours here.”

  As Manny disappeared the baker returned.

  “Here you are, Mr Frost.  I’ve even chilled the bag for you.”

  Jack clapped his ice-handcuffs on Todd’s wrist as he reached over the counter.  “Sweeney Todd, I’m arresting on suspicion of sheep-rustling and murder.  Anything you have to say will be…”

Much later that afternoon, Jack and Manny returned to their office on Winter Road.  Little Snow was manning the phone, his conversation coming to an end as his father came through the door.

  “Case solved,” said Manny.  “Miss Peep knows of the tragedy that befell two of her sheep and we managed to save the rest from a fate worse than death.  That’s a good result, Little.”  Manny clapped his hand on his son’s shoulder.

  “It’s Snow, Pa.  I’m called Snow, now.”  The boy jumped up and stormed off towards his freezer.  “And the King’s men have found a body,” he shouted over his shoulder.  The slamming of the freezer door put an end to any further discussion.

This story first appeared on the UK Crime Book Club Facebook page on December 11th as part of the #SantasShorts story extravaganza for 2025.  If you want to read more, join the UK Crime Book Club...