The Osgood Casebook: The Nurseryland Mysteries

By Herschel Cozine

Nathaniel P. Osgood III, Nurseryland's one and only private eye, makes his living by investigating and solving nursery rhyme and fairy tale mysteries as only he can do. Get the story behind the terrible fall of Humpty Dumpty, the brutal murder of Cock Robin, the attack of the blackbirds, and other mysteries surrounding Nurseryland.

This collection contains:

A Sheep's Tale

The Birds

The Porridge Incident

Who's There?

The Humpty Dumpty Tragedy

Mystery at Pumpkin House

The Cock Robin Conspiracy

The Shady Snow White

• Language: English
• Publisher: Untreed Reads
• Release date: Mar 17, 2014
• ISBN: 9781611876772

Book preview

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The Osgood Casebook

By Herschel Cozine

Copyright 2014 by Herschel Cozine

Cover Copyright 2014 by Untreed Reads Publishing

Cover Design by Ginny Glass

The author is hereby established as the sole holder of the copyright. Either the publisher (Untreed Reads) or author may enforce copyrights to the fullest extent.

Previously published as ebooks by Untreed Reads:

The Birds 2011

The Porridge Incident, 2011

Who’s There?, 2013

The Humpty Dumpty Tragedy 2012

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the publisher or author, except in the case of a reviewer, who may quote brief passages embodied in critical articles or in a review. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This is a work of fiction. The characters, dialogue and events in this book are wholly fictional, and any resemblance to companies and actual persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

Also by Herschel Cozine and Untreed Reads Publishing

Delinquency Report

Saint Nicked

The Stranger

I Yam What I Yam (The Killer Wore Cranberry: A Second Helping)

A Pig in a Poke (The Killer Wore Cranberry: Room for Thirds)

The Cinderella Caper (The Untreed Detectives)

http://www.untreedreads.com

The Osgood Casebook

Herschel Cozine

A Sheep’s Tale

Hi. Nathaniel P. Osgood III here. I’m not a big fan of sheep. For one thing I am allergic to wool. And I prefer pork chops to lamb chops. But when a case comes along that pays well, it makes no difference to me who or what is involved. This was one of those cases.

It was a gray Friday morning in late March when I had a visitor. She was young and pretty. But her eyes were red and swollen as if she had been crying. She was dressed in a gingham dress, with a bonnet and a shepherd’s staff. All in all she presented a rather picturesque sight. She could have stepped out of a nursery rhyme. As it turned out, she did.

I rose from behind my messy desk and waved her to a chair. She shook her head and remained standing.

May I be of service? I asked.

She nodded, took a handkerchief from her pocket and blew her nose daintily, if that is possible.

Are you Mr. Osgood? she asked.

I nodded.

My name is Peep.

Peep? I repeated. I wasn’t sure I had heard her right.

Yes, she said. Peep. First name is Bo.

Interesting, I muttered. How may I be of service?

Well, she said. I tend sheep for a living. It isn’t a very glamorous job, but the good ones, like queens and princesses, are all taken. She shrugged as she said this, then straightened her dress and went on.

My sheep have been stolen, she said.

I nodded and wrote this information in my notebook. Do you know who may have taken them?

No. But I’m getting tired of people accusing me of losing them.

I waited for her to compose herself. She dabbed at her eyes, then straightened her shoulders. Some of my well-meaning friends keep telling me to be patient, and the sheep will return on their own.

And? I asked.

She stuck her chin out and scowled. They won’t come back. It’s been over a week now. They never stay away that long. That’s how I know they were stolen instead of lost. Somebody has them penned up where they can’t get away.

I see, I said. I really didn’t see at all, but we’re expected to understand, so I keep up the image. Can you give me more information? When were they stolen? Where?

She held up her hand. One question at a time, please, she said. They disappeared a week ago Sunday night. The last time I saw them was about nine o’clock.

OK, I said. And did you see or hear anything out of the ordinary?

She shook her head. "I was watching Animal Planet, and wasn’t paying too much attention to anything else. But I should have heard a commotion if someone was bothering my sheep. She scratched her nose. That’s what makes me think it was somebody who was familiar with sheep. They knew how to handle them."

Well, that narrows the list a little, I said. Any suspects?

She scratched her nose again. It was a habit that I found distracting. I thought of a couple, but they’re both in the clear.

Who? I asked.

Well, she said. There’s my friend, Mary. She has one lousy little lamb. I thought maybe she wanted to start a flock of her own. But she didn’t do it. Bo smiled. She told me the school teacher would have a stroke if she brought a whole flock of sheep to school.

OK, then, I said. That takes care of Mary. Who else?

Well, there’s Boy Blue.

Boy Blue, I repeated, shaking my head. You people certainly have strange names.

Miss Peep frowned, and I held up my hand. No offense. What about Mr. Blue?

She waved an impatient hand. He’s not very good at his job, she said. His heart isn’t in it. He’d rather pose for paintings than tend his flock. The cows and sheep are running wild. He certainly couldn’t handle any more livestock.

I nodded and made a few more notes. Anyone else?

She shook her head. That’s why I’m here. You are supposed to be an expert. You came highly recommended. Help me.

I stood up. I’ll do what I can. I’ll need a description of the sheep.

Bo glowered. A description? If you’ve seen one sheep, you’ve seen them all. They’re woolly, they have short tails, and they don’t smell very good. She put a finger to her chin and thought for a minute or two. Well, there is one thing different about them. They have my initials tattooed in their ears. BP.

I made a note. In case you haven’t noticed, that’s a common trait of private eyes. They will probably never use them again, but it helps instill a sense of—what is the word—confidence that gives the client a warm feeling.

I held out my hand for her to shake. I’ll get right on it, I said.

She hesitated, a questioning frown creasing her forehead. Your fee, she said. What do you charge?

A hundred a day. Plus expenses.

She nodded so readily that I immediately regretted not charging more.

Where can I find you? I asked.

She paused with her hand on the doorknob. I live on Fantasy Lane, next to the big shoe with all the kids. She bowed slightly and left.

I sighed. Finding a bunch of sheep would not be easy. Not that there weren’t an abundance of them in the neighborhood. But it wouldn’t do to accuse their owners of stealing them, and I didn’t think it would go down well if I went around inspecting their ears for tattoos. I had to have more information. I decided to visit the scene of the crime.

I got to the meadow about midmorning. It had been more than a week since their disappearance, so the trail had gone cold. There was evidence, of course, and I tried to avoid stepping in it. But I saw nothing in the way of a clue to their disappearance.

The field where the sheep once were was now completely empty, and the grass was beginning to