Soft Landings: Watson's Detective Agency, #1

By Jim Fallon

Monty and Jenny are Watson's Detective Agency, operating from the heart of the Cotswolds. Although there is a shortage of serious crime, there is always plenty of minor crimes and misdemeanours to occupy the minds of the talented duo. This time they are searching for lost tigers, stolen jewellery and mislaid paintings - even an absent carrot cake. Will Monty have any time for lunch? Can anyone outsmart Jenny? And why is Monty reciting Macbeth? 

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jim Fallon
• Release date: Mar 3, 2021
• ISBN: 9781393453321

Book preview

To the many people who have struggled through my countless drafts, reworks, rewrites and attempts at humour. Thank you. Thank you for laughing. Thank you for being kind.

CHAPTER ONE

The Turf Wars

The phone was ringing as Jenny Jenkins let herself into the dilapidated office of Watson’s Detective Agency in Stourgate High Street. She ran to her desk to pick up the phone before it rang off.

‘Good morning. This is Watson’s Detective Agency. How can I help?’

‘Is Montgomery there, please? I want to speak to Montgomery,’ said the rather severe voice at the other end of the line.

Jenny paused before replying. Montgomery, or rather Monty, was her partner at the agency and he never arrived in the office until after ten, and as this was a Monday his arrival would probably be closer to eleven.

‘I’m afraid Monty - Montgomery - is with a client, but can I help?’ she lied.

‘Well, I suppose you’ll have to do,’ said the voice rather dismissively. ‘Anyway, I want to report a burglary and I know who the criminal is. So, if you can just take down this address and go and arrest him. It’s outrageous, I tell you. We let these people into our house, into our lives in good faith, and all they do is scare the birds, cut the rose-bushes to ribbons and tear up the ground with their infernal screeching engines.’

‘Who are they?’ asked Jenny beginning to feel that she should probably have left the phone ringing rather than pick it up.

‘They? They? The gardeners of course. Weren’t you listening? Could I speak to Montgomery, please?’

Meanwhile, in another part of Stourgate - well away from the hustle and bustle of the high street - Monty was at home contemplating starting the day, with the assistance of a cup of his favourite Kenyan coffee and a Gauloise Bleu cigarette. He was in reflective mood as he read the national newspapers outlining the latest stories of theft, murder and betrayal. Here I am, he thought, one of the world’s greatest detectives dealing with little more than minor mysteries; owners who have lost their cat or their dog, or maybe just their marbles’. He wanted to be searching for lost owners, not their absent pets. He put down the nationals and picked up the Stourgate Advertiser and smiled as he read the headline:

‘Rare Great-Crested Newts discovered in garden pond’

Montgomery ‘Monty’ Wade was the other half of the Watson’s Detective Agency. He ran the agency with Jenny - JJ he called her - in the busy but relatively crime-free town of Stourgate-on-the-Wold in the heart of the Cotswolds. It was a quiet little town where nothing much happened, apart from the passing of the seasons and the meandering of the river which cut through the centre of the town. There was certainly no murders or betrayals happening in Stourgate just at the moment.

But, maybe today was going to be different. Maybe today, the crime of the century would be committed right here in Stourgate and Watson’s Detective Agency would get the first phone call to investigate the case and achieve fame and notoriety by solving said case.

Monty leaned back in his chair, pulled slowly on his cigarette and as he inhaled he luxuriated in the possibility of just such a case landing in his lap this morning. A moment later, he was disturbed from his reverie by the phone ringing. That will be JJ, he thought. Perhaps, the defining case that we’ve been after for the past few years has arrived. Or, perhaps we’ve simply run out of instant coffee.

Despite it probably being the latter reason, Monty still felt a tingle of anticipation run down the back of his neck as he picked up the phone.

‘I think we’ve got something, Wade,’ said Jenny excitedly.

‘And good morning to you,’ said Monty - always a stickler for the start-of-day greetings protocol.

‘It’s a case of robbery. An old lady phoned this morning,’ continued Jenny, oblivious to Monty’s salutation correction. ‘Looks like there is a gardener operating in the area who is taking more than just hedge clippings away with him.’

‘Well, a gardener would take grass clippings as well and then there are rose-bushes to be pruned,’ explained Monty. He had a regular gardener and knew very well what type of rubbish they took away with them.

‘Sorry, I was speaking metaphorically,’ explained Jenny.

‘Oh, right. Gotcha. Yes, of course. You were speaking in metaphor. My apologies. It’s a little early in the morning. Old noggin’ is not at it’s best this time of the day you know. Another cup of coffee and I will be back to my pin-sharp best. Erm’ why don’t you carry on, JJ.’

Monty wasn’t the brightest star in the galaxy, but he was a hard worker. Well, just so long as hard work began at ten and lasted until no longer than three with at least a good hour and a half in between for lunch.

But before Jenny could continue, Monty thought it was a good moment to raise another minor greetings protocol issue.

‘But, before you continue, JJ. Could I just ask?’

‘Yes?’

‘Why don’t you call me ‘MW’, rather than simply Wade? ‘MW’ has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?’

‘Too many syllables,’ replied Jenny quickly. ‘Now, listen up. Here is what we know so far.’

Jenny gave Monty all the details about her conversation with the rather sharp-tongued lady. She had recently recruited a new gardener, called Reg Ponting. Last week, she left her house while Reg was still finishing off her garden and when she returned later she discovered that a silver necklace that she had left on her bedroom dressing table, had disappeared.

‘By the way’, said Jenny. ‘She seemed to know you. Asked for you by name.’

‘Really? What was her name?’

‘Lady Patricia Giddington. She sounded quite a formidable lady. I’m not sure that I would like to be caught in possession of any of her precious stones.’

‘Oh, that’s my old aunt - Auntie Trish. Don’t worry, she’s not as scary as she seems, just a little cantankerous sometimes. But if pushed, I could well imagine her being able to wrestle a charging rhinoceros to the ground.’

‘Ok, thanks, I think I am slightly more reassured’, said Jenny. ’We better get along to see what the gardener has to say for himself.’

‘Yes, good idea, JJ,’ said Monty. ‘Before she decides to implement social justice with her shotgun.’

Jenny could not hide the sense of shock in her voice.

‘Your auntie has a sh-shotgun?’

‘Yes’, said Monty. ‘She has, and I can tell you that she is not afraid to use it!’

Later that day, after Monty had finally managed to get himself to the offices of Watson’s Detective Agency, Jenny and Monty set out together for Reg Ponting’s house. It was only a short drive to the address they had for him, and it wasn’t long before they pulled up outside his house. Rather appropriately, Reg was out in the front garden laying waste to his hedge with a rather noisy electric hedge-trimmer.

‘Let’s go and see what he has to say for himself,’ said Monty. ‘I’ll do the talking and you can do the observing.’

‘You sure about that?’ asked Jenny, who normally did the questioning.

‘Yes, I’m feeling as sharp today as a new pair of secateurs. Ready to prune Ponting down to the ground if required, to get to the truth!’

Jenny smiled at the boyish exuberance of Monty. It was fairly typical of the cases they worked on. In a few hours, he would begin to tire of the investigation that had seemed so fresh and exciting a few hours earlier and would instead start to think about where to go for lunch, rather than how to solve the case.

They got out of their car and walked up the drive towards Reg. As they approached, Monty called out to him.

‘Excuse me, Mr. Ponting. I say, excuse me, could we speak to you for a minute?’

‘What?’ said Reg