Detective Lovely & The Case Of The Silver Lining Crimes, Chapter 4

 

          On the journey back from Kizmet O’ Gram’s treehouse perched upon the Lottolouto Gorge, Iggy - being a smart and civically-minded little car - proposed to Det. Lovely a detour both time-saving and community-serving.
        ‘Ahem, I’ve had a lightbulb, well, headlight moment, Lovely, my stalwart young mucker,’ he brummed.
         ‘Yes, Officer Iggy, what is it?’
        ‘Why don’t we drop by Mr.Smicks’s shop first and pick up Pinky’s bear-clock for him, seeing as he wasn't able to because Mr.Smicks was snoring soundly and didn’t open his shop on time?’
       ‘ That’s a huzzahworthy idea, Iggy, he he!’  beamed Det.Lovely, hee-heeing because she was excited at the thought of giving Pinky not one, but two two copacetic surprises, after the traumatising pink honey theft which had greeted him post-hibernation.   
          Iggy didn't have to make much of a diversion as Mr.Smicks’s goblin clock shop was more or less on the way - after all, Iggy did have a Satnav for a brain! Iggy's eco-friendly engine whooshed them along the road adjacent to the River Uzi, passing many of the sights of King Lindsey on their way. 
    Look, there’s the ferryboat station manned by the, well, ferryboatman, Mr. Donut Drown, whose life rings are decorated like the iced donuts which Mr.Drown used to scoff all day long, that is until the ferryboat sank and he had to go on a diet! 
    Look, there’s the diddicoy goblin camp where Lord Lottolouto was born! Look at the tethered zebras the diddicoys ride around on, all striped like a burglar’s jersey in a cartoon, tied rather slapshoddily to a slipdashing stile in a row! 
    Look, there’s Det. Lovely’s colleague, pongy PC Phewey chilllaxing on his day off outside his mudhouse, his 'pigloo' constructed with the dung donated to him by the silvertongued, basketball-playing secretary of the King Lindsey Farmers’ Union, Farmer Obama. 
    Look, there’s King Lindsey’s historic bridge extending over the River Uzi! It was here that, centuries ago, King Lindsey I and his ragtag army of upside-down-eared elves (with pointy earlobes instead of pointy ears) repelled a siege of the burgeoning township by the right-way-round-earred hobgoblin mercenaries of Little Wayne Eon, crafty goblin buccaneer and alleged tithe thief from a land far, far away, even further than Horsey Corner. 
    Look, there’s Mr.Smicks’s goblin clock-shop… Hang on, better slam on the brakes, Iggy!
          ‘Well done, Iggy, for getting us here in good time and good health, you’re the best partner a policewoman could have, he he!’ Det. Lovely praised Iggy before egressing from his homely (for a pandacar) interior.
           Det. Lovely entered the shop which Mr.Smicks had by now opened and stepped carefully over all the loose cogs, gears and other Health ‘n’ Safety infringements which littered the shopfloor. She heard Mr.Smicks muttering to himself at the back of the shop as he tinkered with a kaput clock.
         ‘Mr.Smicks! Mr.Smicks! It’s Det.Lovely here, I’ve come to collect Pinky Pawridge’s bear-clock as I’ve got to drop off a Slurpysloopcious Banananyummy treat for him,’ Det. Lovely explained breathlessly.
                ’Why, good day again, Det.Lovely, I don’t suppose there’s any news of my missing clock-hands? I know it’s only been a few morries since you left, but you are the most competent police-lady in King Lindsey, so it wouldn’t surprise me if you’d cracked the case already.’
               ’No, I’m sorry, Mr.Smicks,’ replied the most competent (and lovely) police-lady in King Lindsey, ’There’s nothing to report on that front yet. I’ll let you off with a warning this time, but you really have to clear the floor of all this horological debris. One of your customers is liable to impale their toe on a gikklejaz-hand, sir.’
            ’Please accept my apologies, Det. Lovely, I’ll do some picking up and give the place the once-over with the goover (goblin hoover) the minute you leave. Now, didn’t you say you were here for Pinky’s clock?’ 
             The mushy-pea-coloured clockmaker with the blue mutton chops doddered over to a table chock-a-block with so many clocks that it looked like a model of a city populated entirely by clocktowers. He took a chunky clock from the table and brought it over to Det.Lovely, handing it to the loveliest detective in the Virgo Supercluster, where the (nominally) Local Group of galaxies are to be found.
           Det. Lovely had a dekko at the bear-clock, which instead of numbers had a small picture of the sun, each with a differing number of sun-beams to symbolise the gradual arrival of spring so bears would know when it was the right time to wipe the crusts of hibernation from their eyes. Tho' they wouldn't, for bear clocks boasted the intentional design fault of jettisoning their hands as Pinky had informed the detective earlier at the cave.  However, there was something else that caught her attention, something that wasn’t quite kosher about this bear-clock.
         ’Erm, Mr.Smicks, how many arms is a bear-clock supposed to have?’ consulted Det.Lovely.
          ’Why, just one, one big one! It’s all bears need to know when spring’s coming up,’ answered the grandfatherly green goblin horologer.
          ’Well, Pinky’s clock has three hands and they look somewhat oversized to be honest!’
           Mr.Smicks pushed his pince-nez specs higher upon his acicular goblin nose so they were directly over his old rheumy eyes and inspected Pinky’s clock, then raised his blue eyebrows whilst sort of squinting, rolling his eyes inwardly at himself as if to say ’What an old wallybrain I am!’
         ‘Why, you’re absolutely right, Det.Lovely, and you know what? These are the morrie, gazjikkle and gikklejaz hands from my grandfather clock! How did that happen?’ declared Mr.Smicks with bamboozlement before his rheumy peepers lit up with a sudden realisation. ‘Oh, I remember now! I was up very late a few nights ago and decided to experiment with a new type of ursine timepiece so Pinky could specify exactly when he wanted to wake up without the hand falling off. My shop was such a tip that I couldn’t locate a spare set of multi-purpose clock-hands to attach to Pinky’s, so I improvised and used the grandfather clock’s hands just to see if goblin-time could prevent bears oversleeping.  I must have plumb forgot I had done that the next morning. What a senile old celadon sausage I am!’
         ’ Don’t berate yourself, Mr.Smicks, it’s easily done. Even police-officers can be forgetful, tho’ we have memory training to help with all the data we need to retain, he he,’ comforted Det. Lovely. ’As a lawwoman, I’m just pleased that the mystery has been resolved and that this was a case of absent-mindedness, not naughtiness.’    
          ‘ Well, I’ll tell you what I’ll do to make it up to you and Pinky, Det.Lovely. I’ll give this place a thorough spring clean and find a set of universal clockhands to improve Pinky’s bear-clock, free of charge. Again, please accept my apologies for wasting police time, Detective. When you see Pinky, could you tell him his clock will be ready first thing tomorrow?’
          ‘I’ve got to drop something off at Pinky Pawridge’s on my way back to the station, so I’ll be sure to let him know, Mr.Smicks. Well, good day to you and I hope you’ve learned a valuable lesson about how tidiness is paramount when running a business - cleanliness should be next to gob-liness, he he!’ And with that bijou of a pun,  Det.Lovely bid Mr.Smicks farewell and exited his chaotic, mechanical pig’s sty of a clock shop.
          Det.Lovely installed herself back in Iggy and confided in that ebony automobile officer she adored, ‘Iggy, it’s been a very strange day. I’ve been called out to three crime-scenes and it turns out two of them weren’t crimes at all! Sigh, it's most curious...’
        ‘ Sometimes the lot of a police-lady is a perplexing one, Det. Lovely, I guess that there are some mysteries that do not require nefarious deeds to be afoot,’ the car consoled. ‘But might I be so bold as to suggest we get our skates on. I fear that Kizmet O’ Gram’s Slurpysloopcious Bananayummy Sundae may end up dripping all over my upholstery, so that any naughties we arrest will be the recipients of a wet sugary bum (not bun!) should we have to detain them upon my backseat.  And an ice-creamy Khyber isn’t a punishment on the statute books now is it, Lovely?’
        ’Well said, Officer Iggy, we don't want to pay for a naughtydoer's drycleaning, he he! Okey-dokey, let’s high-tail it to Pinky Pawridge’s so we can keep your seats pristine, unlike Mr.Smicks’s shop, he he!’
          And with a beep-honk and a honk-beep but not a bonk-heep, Iggy’s engine softly roared into life like a friendly, man-licking lion awaking from a Sunday nap upon the Savannah with a roar-like yawn.