6. A TREASURE HUNTER

Two newcomers introduce the subject of treasure hunting

“That,” said a grinning Sergeant Green, “was the best cup of tea I’ve had in a long time!”

They had returned from examining the van in the woods and Rosie had boiled the kettle and mashed a pot of tea.

“Things often taste better out of doors and in the open,” smiled Rosie. “What are your immediate plans, officer?”

“We’re back to out station, Constable Allsop and myself,” replied the sergeant, “and my boss said he’ll be out some time early this afternoon. Meanwhile I wonder if you could keep any passing strangers away from the old caravan? I’ve put a tape across the entrance we used, but it’s not the only way in, I fear, and I can hardly enclose the entire woodland with expensive tape! It may or may not be a crime scene, but whatever it turns out to be it doesn’t want to be interfered with before we’ve had a good look at it.”

“I’ll do my best,” promised Rosie, “even though I am on an already interrupted holiday,” she added pointedly.

“It’s the joys of being a copper,” sighed Tony Green, “never expect life to be straightforward.”

The two local officers drove off leaving Twelve Trees Park as quiet as it had been before their arrival.

Rosie had just erected her reclining chair where she might have a chance of catching the sun and was deciding that there was still too much of a chill in the air for her to enjoy the naturist’s way and that her tee-shirt and shorts would be fine when a shining new caravan was towed behind a Landrover onto the park.

It was pitched close enough to her van to be easily spied on … though she didn’t look upon the casual glances she gave it as a young couple started setting it up as actual spying … but the twins managed to manouvre their play until they were almost indecently close to it.

“Jack! Jill!” she called, “don’t be so nosey!”

“They’re all right!” called a youngish man (possibly, thought Rosie, just about in his thirties), and the woman with him, similar age and, thought Rosie, very attractive with brunette hair and a slim figure, offered them a sweet each.

Jack took one and, grinning, said “mum says we shouldn’t accept sweets from strangers,” before popping it into his mouth.

“Then you should take notice of her,” the young man told him, and he walked over to Rosie.

“I’m Jerry,” he said, “and that over there, doing all the work, is my wife Cat,”

“Rosie,” replied Rosie, “and the pests might become a nightmare if you have a bottomless pit of sweets to throw at them!”

“Then we’ll be warned,” laughed Jerry. “What’s that police tape doing over there?” He pointed towards the narrow pathway that led into the old forest.

“It’s to stop anyone going too close to a deserted caravan and its dead occupant,” replied Rosie, not wanting to go into too many details.

“It’s a skellington,” put in Jill, and she produced her phone. “Look!” she added, showing him one of her images. “And look at the skellington,” she added, flipping to her second image.

“My goodness!” exclaimed Jerry, “then I’d best steer clear of it! The last thing I want to meet in a mysterious dark forest is a wild and wayward skeleton!”

“You won’t meet this one ‘cause it’s dead,” Jill told him.

“Like a corpse,” confirmed Jack.

“And to think I was hoping to take a look in that old forest with my metal detector,” sighed Jerry. “Both of us were,” he added, indicating his wife who was struggling with a full water barrel. “Hold it, Cat, I’m coming to help!” he called, and “excuse me,” he said to Rosie and the twins.

“I like him,” decided Jill, “most caravan people are peculiar, but he’s not.”

“Not if he likes searching for treasure,” enthused Jack. “If he does then I might offer to help him. I’m good at digging.”

“Not when I need you to help in the garden,” Rosie reminded him, “when I’m tidying up the back garden you’re never anywhere to be found.”

“But treasure can make you rich,” Jack told her, “then you wouldn’t have to go out to work all the time and you’d stop being a policewoman and the kids at school would stop reminding me what you do when they’re about doing crimes!”

“They go about doing crimes, do they?” grinned Rosie, “tell me about some of the crimes they go about doing?”

“I’m not a grass!” exclaimed Jack.

“But I am, and that nasty Rebecca Pewitt’s always doing bad things,” said Jill seriously, “last week she put a drawing pin on teacher’s chair and he sat on it and leaped in the air. There was even a drop of blood on his trousers! That’s a crime, isn’t it?”

Rosie nodded, “She could get ten years for that sort of thing,” she said seriously, “at least,” she added.

“He got a septic bum,” grinned Jill, “and had to go to the doctor’s, and he told us his wife had to rub cream on it twice a day. Fancy that! Twice a day, and on his bum.”

“At least he’s got a wife to do it for him,” murmured Rosie, “if he didn’t it might be awkward.”

“He might need to collar a stranger in the street and get her to rub cream into his bum,” giggled Jill, “excuse me madam who I’ve never met before, but kindly take this tube of ointment and rub my bum with it!”

“That would get him into more trouble than the girl what’s her name?” laughed Rosie.

“Rebecca Pewitt, and I’ll stand up in court and say it was her,” said Jill, “nobody likes Rebecca Pewitt,” she added, “least of all me.”

“Sorry about that,” called the newcomer Jerry, “but she’s a three stone weakling and needs help with the heavier stuff.”

“Tell us about treasure hunting,” begged Jack, “all we’ve been talking about is sitting on drawing pins and needing cream rubbed into your bum.”

“My, who’s done that?” asked Jerry.

“Jill’s friend,” said Jack, “how much gold and silver and jewels have you found?”

“Not much,” admitted Jerry. “But there’s always a first time when it comes to hoards of treasure.”

“We want to find some then mummy can give up being a copper and us two might get a bit more peace at school,” Jack told him.

“You’re in the force, then,” asked Jerry, “mind me asking where abouts?”

“Brumpton,” said Rosie, “but I’m on holiday at the moment and try not to remember it.”

“I understand,” nodded Jerry, “I’m a constable in Rugby and also on holiday. With my wonderful wife and our metal detector. Looking for untold wealth so that we can buy a mansion and retire to an island in the sun.”

“Pity it’s not guaranteed,” sighed Rosie, “because if it was I’d join you.”

“No you wouldn’t, mum,” Jill told her, “you’re too fond of solving murders to want to give it up.”

“I tell you want … tomorrow, if it’s fine, I’m aiming on going a few miles down the coast to the beach and seeing what I can find there,” said Jerry, “and if you promise not to keep me and my good lady up half the night with scary stories of ghosts then I might invite you to come with us.”

“Mummy?” asked Jack, suddenly excited.

“As long as I’m included in the invitation,” said Rosie, sighing at the prospect of having something to do that didn’t involve keeping an eye on the path into the woods. “I’d love it,” she added.

TO BE CONTINUED…

© Peter Rogerson 25.03.17