Wednesday, 9 July 2008

The Mystery of the Sign or The Sign of Mystery?

Looking more like a troglodyte by the minute with damp, wind matted hair, wild eyes, and wearing wet-at-the-knees track pants (belonging to the Machinist) and a baggy corduroy, fur lined jacket (owned by Number one son), I trudged towards the sign.

I could hear voices, coming from beneath the awning. It was the Machinist talking with a delivery guy. I could only see the Machinist from where I was standing and he could see me. He gave me that "what are you DOING up there?" look, and was just short of giving me the head flick, (indicating that I should disappear - quick smart), when I noticed a pair of feet, then legs, then a waist ..... then....

I was outta there, baby!

Prefering to resume my quest and actually touch the sign (rather than being seen by the delivery guy in my raggedy state of disarray), I tip-toed over a network of 'I' beams, with the skill of a trapese artist. There was a gap between the 'E' and the 'S' of 'RESTAURANT'. I pulled the 'S' (perspex) panel out a little to peer inside the (non-working Neon) sign. I've no idea what I expected to find, but I did, in fact,find something. A screwed up bundle of clothes was wrapped around the inner framework. The only reason I actually PUT my hand inside the sign was because it was daylight and I could see that there were no creepy insects, vermin or reptiles.

The panel bulged as I pulled the items of clothing from their harbinger of who-knows how many years. The first item was a navy blue ladies tracksuit top. Size medium. The second item was a navy blue ladies tracksuit pants. Also size medium. I left them - crumpled and forlorn on our wet tin roof. I knew what I had to do....

"Hello, Constable ----. How can I help you?"

"Oh, hello, this may sound strange, but I've just found a complete ladies tracksuit stuffed into the roof sign on the old Roadhouse..."

A policeman called around to our Shop later that day. He even climbed up the ladder onto the roof to inspect the clothing and confirmed that the dirty streaks on each item of clothing were definitely not blood stains. He promised to speak with his detectives about missing persons in our area, and call back to let us know whether to keep the 'evidence' or dispose of it. Early the next morning, he phoned and spoke to the Machinist.

We are to dispose of the evidence.

The mystery still remains, however.

Signing out,
Miss Marple.

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