Granny Smith and the Deadly Frogs or The little old lady solves another crime Read online

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  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

  Publishers Note:

  This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places, and events are the work of the author’s imagination.

  Any resemblance to real persons, or events is coincidental.

  Cover design and photograph by Gary Dobbs

  Frog image licensed from iStock Images

  Granny Smith Silhouette © Tony Masero

  © Red Valley Publishing 2013

  Also available by the same author

  Granny Smith Investigates

  Granny Smith and the Deadly Frogs

  By G. M. Dobbs

  Bonus content is © 2013 Red Valley Books

  Publisher’s Note: Whilst we have taken every care in the formatting and production of this eBook, it is inevitable that the odd typographical error may have slipped through the net. Should readers notice any mistakes they are asked to contact us at [email protected]

  On the origins of Granny Smith

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  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-One

  Twenty-Two

  Twenty-Three

  There now follows several pages of bonus content.

  Q&A With Author G. M. Dobbs

  On the origins of Granny Smith

  Of course Granny Smith’s real name wasn’t Granny but everyone called her Granny. It wasn’t because she was a grandmother, though she was three times over, but rather because as a child she had loved apples, would take one to school for her lunch each and every day. It seemed that wherever she went an apple went with her and so associated with the fruit had she become that eventually some bright spark had nicknamed her Granny Smith after that popular Australian variety of apple.

  Granny was seventy two years old and her given name had been Mary Alice Davies, which meant that throughout her formative years she had the rather unfortunate initials - M A D, but she had never let that bother her and besides, she had often reasoned; when I marry I will have a totally different surname. Eventually she had married a local man who went by the name of Arthur Smith, Smith of course, like Davies, being a common enough name, and she did indeed get a new surname.

  In fact her nickname became her surname.

  And so she had become, as she had always been, Granny Smith.

  Granny Smith was thought by most to be an odd sort, altogether harmless but decidedly odd. She dressed, an unkind person would say, like a dosser. While more kindly souls would have to admit that her style of dress was, to say the very least, eccentric. She usually wore tight leggings that were better suited to a woman half her age and would wear these with a variety of T-shirts and a body warmer of navy blue fleece. She always wore that body warmer, zipped up in winter and open during the warmer months. And if all this didn’t make her look bizarre enough she topped it off with a pipe, which seemed to be permanently clamped between her teeth.

  One

  Granny sighed.

  This wasn’t getting them anywhere and they had strayed so far from the point of the meeting that they were in danger of losing sight of it all together.

  ‘Capitalism by its very nature exploits the working man,’ Mark brought a fist down on the table to illustrate his point.

  ‘And the working woman,’ Sue chimed in. ‘It’s not all about men you know.’

  ‘Right on, sister,’ Mansall punched the air and had to adjust his cap when it fell forward over his eyes.

  ‘I had the impression it was about frogs,’ Granny chimed in.

  ‘Right on sister,’ Mansall repeated, this time neglecting to punch the air but throwing his support behind Granny as well as Sue.

  ‘I really think we should get back to the frogs,’ Granny said and then used the pun she had been itching to use for the last ten minutes or so: ‘We seem to have hopped away from the point of this meeting.’

  Maud liked that and nudged Granny gently in the side as a token of her appreciation.

  ‘Indeed,’ Mark stood and leaned forward, his knuckles on the edge of the table. ‘But I used the word man as in mankind. I was referring to the species and not any specific gender.’

  ‘Womankind,’ Sue chipped in again. When she got something between her teeth she held onto it with the tenacity of a terrier. She also found Mark to be a pompous ass and took pleasure in annoying him.

  ‘Oh, give it a rest,’ Carol was sat forward on the table, her chin resting in her cupped hands. She looked bored and other than this one utterance was content to allow the proceedings to go on around her.

  ‘Please, please,’ Councillor Pipe stood and glared across the table at Mark. He didn’t say another word until Mark had sat himself back down, and then gave a tight smile before continuing. ‘You have stated your case and I have listened but please do not let this resort to petty arguments. If this meeting is to continue then I must insist on the correct decorum.’

  ‘Well what are you going to do, Dwain?’ Granny asked. She had known the councillor since he had been knee high to a grasshopper and would never, no matter what position he held in the council, address him by anything other than his Christian name.

  The councillor frowned.

  ‘I will arrange for a spokesman from your little group to put your concerns before a full council meeting,’ he said.

  ‘And when will this be?’ Mark asked, his tone aggressive. ‘The development is due to start in less than a month and I imagine someone in the council will benefit from things going ahead. This is nothing but typical bureaucratic stalling for time.’

  ‘I beg your pardon,’ the councillor once again glared at Mark. ‘What are you inferring?’

  ‘It is you that infers,’ Mark said, smugly. ‘I’m implying.’

  ‘Semantics,’ the councillor waved a hand as if to dismiss Mark.

  Mansall, wondering what apes had to do with anything, turned his head back and forth between the councillor and Mark like someone watching a tennis match.

  ‘And I imply that palms have been greased within the council,’ Mark wasn’t going to let this go.

  This time the councillor was speechless and looked to Granny for support, for it was she who had cajoled him into attending this impromptu meeting, which felt to the councillor like an inquisition.

  The focus of the meeting should have been the small pond on Graig Meadow, which was a known spawning ground for the extremely rare variety of frogs, and yet the amphibians had been all but forgotten and the meeting looked to be in danger of becoming a full-blown argument.

  ‘If the development starts and the pond is destroyed,’ Sue said, frowning. ‘Then it’ll be too late. It’ll be no use stopping things once the pond’s been destroyed. That would just be a waste of time.’

  ‘The pond goes,’ Amy said, offering Sue a smile of support. She noticed that Sue looked away as soon as they made eye contact, but she didn’t let it bother
her. ‘The frogs will have gone forever.’

  ‘I am aware of your concerns,’ the councillor started but he was cut short by a hostile “bollocks” yelled out by Mark.

  ‘That’s the point, Dwain,’ Granny said, quickly stepping in to defuse the situation. Mark seemed to be getting riled and Granny knew he had a ferocious temper. ‘The Lesser Crested Frog is a very territorial creature and if it’s habitat is destroyed then it will move on elsewhere and will miss the next spawning season. The frogs are rare enough as it is in this part of the world so time is of the essence. We can’t wait for a full council meeting,’ she pulled her battered pipe from her pocket and placed it in her mouth. She would have liked nothing better right now than to puff on a bowl of burley tobacco but the smoking ban meant that she would have to wait until she went outside.

  ‘The meeting will be arranged by the end of the week,’ Councillor Pipe said, firmly. ‘I’ll call an extraordinary meeting which means I only have to give twenty eight hours notice. You have my word that we will act quickly to get your concerns heard.’

  ‘There,’ Granny said. ‘That’s something at least.’

  ‘Excuse me,’ a short man wearing an oversized raincoat and clutching a tan leather briefcase to his chest said as he approached the table. His eyes went to each of them in turn before settling on the councillor since he was the only one wearing a shirt and tie and looked to be in charge. ‘I’m looking for a Terry Mansall.’

  Mansall looked up at the newcomer and once again had to adjust his errant cap. He was about to identify himself, but then his eyes clouded over with suspicion and he remained silent. He had learned from past experience that whenever anyone came looking for him by name it usually wasn’t a good thing. The small man didn’t look like a bailiff, Mansall had enough experience with that breed to know one when he saw one, but the man was carrying a briefcase and Mansall could see no good reason for anyone connected with himself to carry a briefcase.

  Mark was about to speak, likely pointing Mansall out, but Granny, noticing Mansall’s reluctance to make himself known, cut in.

  ‘And you are?’ she asked.

  ‘Forgive me,’ the small man said and had to put his briefcase down while he fished in his pockets for a business card, which he handed across to Granny.

  Richard Purser, PhD

  Herpetologist.

  Cardiff University, Zoological department.

  Granny looked at the card.

  ‘What’s a herpetologist?’ she asked, and wondered if Mansall had contracted some kind of sexually transmitted disease. She hoped not since she’d taken a swig from his Red Bull yesterday. Granny looked across at him and the cold sore in the corner of his mouth suddenly became far more pronounced.

  ‘Herpetology,’ the man called Purser said. ‘Is a branch of zoology concerned with the study of amphibians. I received an email from a Mr Mansall. Something to do with the Lesser Crested Frog.’

  Mansall’s sigh of relief was audible and he jumped to his feet, holding out a hand to the newcomer.

  ‘I’m Terry Mansall,’ he said. ‘You can call me Mansall. Everyone else does.’

  The man took the hand, smiled weakly.

  ‘Please, Granny said. ‘Please join us. Mark get the frog guy a chair.’

  Mark frowned at Granny but nevertheless went over into the corner and brought a chair from the stack by the door. He placed it around the table, seating the herpetologist between himself and Mansall.

  ‘Thank you,’ the newcomer said and sat down, placing his briefcase beneath his chair. He looked to Mansall, as if for guidance but all he received from the man was a wide smile and a thumbs up gesture.

  It soon became apparent that the herpetologist had only a basic knowledge of what was happening here.

  Granny took the lead and introduced everyone to the timid looking newcomer. She started with Mark, Sue, Carol and Amy before moving to Councillor Pipe and finally ending with herself and Maud. She followed this up by quickly explaining the situation that had resulted in Mansall contacting the herpetologist, an act that had surprised everyone present since Mansall was more often than not in a world of his own, no doubt provoked by the copious amounts of cannabis he smoked. He was, in the modern tongue, a stoner and it must have been during a rare moment of lucidity that he had contacted the herpetologist.

  ‘I Googled, ‘frog experts’,’ Mansall said after Granny had finished summing up the current situation. ‘And came up with you.’

  The man smiled, and once again looked around the table.

  ‘And this development’s been granted planning permission?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes,’ Mark flashed an angry look at Councillor Pipe. ‘Rushed through it was. Tudor Lewis seems to have many friends in the council.’

  ‘Everything went through the correct channels,’ the councillor said. ‘The Tudor proposals where treated like any other request for planning permission. I can assure you of that.’

  ‘But some channels are deeper than others,’ Mark retorted.

  ‘Everything was correct and proper,’ the councillor insisted. He crossed his arms and sat there fuming.

  ‘Yes well,’ Granny, once again sensing an argument brewing, stood up and turned directly to Dr Purser. ‘Will you be able to attend the council meeting Dwain’s promised to arrange?’

  ‘Er, yes,’ the man said. ‘As long as the council allow my presence.’

  All eyes turned to Councillor Pipe who smiled weakly.

  ‘There’ll be no objections,’ he said. ‘As an expert advisor you’ll be most welcome.’

  Following the meeting Granny, Maud and the herpetologist had climbed into Mansall’s van, while the others, with the exception of Councillor Pipe who had gone onto another meeting, had gone to the pub.

  It was Granny who had suggested that they visit the pond and Dr Purser had been eager to do so, saying that if he confirmed it was indeed a spawning ground for the Lesser Crested Frog then he would have some powers to stop the development going ahead. The species was after all protected by government legislation.

  ‘The government think tank called it the biodiversity action plan,’ Purser explained as Mansall guided the van down a particularly narrow lane. ‘The Lesser Crested Frog is one of only five UK amphibian species that are recognised to be at risk.’

  ‘So you can definitely stop the development?’ Granny asked and puffed on her unlit pipe. She had filled the bowl with tobacco but would wait until they got out of the van to take a match to it.

  ‘I can,’ Purser said. ‘If this proves to be a spawning ground then all it will take is one phone call. I can use the habitats and species regulations to get a dozen environmental officers securing the site of the pond. It may take a legal battle to get the planning permission revoked but the development will be held back until the case goes to court.’

  ‘You’re sure of that?’ Maud asked.

  ‘Indeed,’ Purser said. ‘If the Lesser Crested Frog does indeed use your pond then the site will be protected.’

  ‘Well done Mansall,’ Granny said and reached over and squeezed Mansall’s shoulder. ‘You’ve done well in bringing Dr Purser here.’

  Purser smiled, gripped his briefcase tighter to his chest.

  ‘I’m not just a pretty face,’ Mansall said.

  ‘Not even a pretty face,’ Granny retorted and smiled around her unlit pipe.

  Granny sat back, feeling more and more like an environmental activist, and a successful one at that. She had little experience of this sort of thing, not like Sue and Amy who had both spent a number of years at Greenham Common back in the early Ninties. Carol also claimed to be an old hand at protests of one kind of another, as was Mark and Mansall who had taken part in the poll tax riots. Granny though, like Maud, was popping her protesting cherry with this movement against the Tudor development.

  ‘Slow down, Mansall,’ Maud said when they hit a pothole in the road, the vibrations being felt by everyone in the vehicle. Granny’s pipe jumped free of
her teeth and she had to pick it up from the floor, scooping tobacco up after it and pushing the rubbed leaves back into the bowl.

  ‘We’re here now anyway,’ Mansall mumbled and pulled the van to a sudden stop. He was heavy on his brakes and they all jerked forward as the van stopped.

  Granny was the first one out, immediately bringing a match to her pipe and taking in a mouthful of the pungent smoke.

  ‘Come on you lot, ‘ she said, speaking from within a cloud of thick smoke. ‘We’ve only got a little daylight left.’

  Two

  Sue frowned and took a sip of her Jagerbomb. She didn’t think that she had misunderstood the situation, which meant that Amy had blatantly made a pass at her. Stupid woman just couldn’t take telling.

  ‘Excuse me,’ Sue said and deliberately avoided eye contact with Amy as she pushed through the crowd at the bar and made her way to the toilets. She was furious with Amy and not for the first time, but all that stuff and nonsense between them was over.

  Amy watched her go and felt a stab of pain as her stomach churned. She looked across the table at Carol who was chatting away to Mark and seemed oblivious to what had just happened. This stuck in Amy’s craw and she felt her own mood blacken. It was obvious that Sue had a thing for Carol and that, as far as Amy was concerned, was the reason that she herself had been unable to rekindle her relationship with Sue.

  It was Carol who was standing between them.

  Amy saw Sue come out of the toilets and make a dash for the exit, obviously hoping to slip away without anyone noticing.

  ‘I think I’ll call it a night,’ Amy said but both Mark and Carol ignored her and continued with their conversation. She frowned and quickly dashed off after Sue.

  Once outside Amy had to push though several smokers who were sheltering around the doorway, before she caught sight of Sue as she made her way along Cambrian Avenue.