Death of a
Yorkshire Pudding
Albert Smith’s Culinary Capers
Recipe 5
Steve Higgs
Text Copyright © 2020 Steven J Higgs
Publisher: Steve Higgs
The right of Steve Higgs to be identified as author of the Work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988
All rights reserved.
The book is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.
‘Death of a Yorkshire Pudding’ is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organisations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living, dead or undead, events or locations is entirely coincidental.
Dedication
Pub in Yorkshire with stout and ale aplenty. Red faces sweating with alcohol's influence. Singing fine songs in reverie and ecstasy. Salivating at arrival of that succulent essence.
Tender juicy slices of beef covered with gravy. A splendour when touched by crispy bubbling pudding. Roast potatoes smiling that wicked grin for tongue's activity. Forks and knives clatter in haste for that delight of tasty supping.
Drowning that deliciousness with ale. Rhyming lyrics midst throng of patrons' happiness. Roast beef and Yorkshire pudding you made me hale. I will visit you often and celebrate tummy's warmth in merriness.
Table of Contents:
Chase and Bite
Cheating
Lost Dog
Humans in Uniform
Waiting
Who’s in Charge
Angry Competitors
Call the Fire Brigade
Bath Time
The Pudding Messiah
Poisoned?
Applause for the Benefactor
Dinner
Sneaking in the Dark
Murder?
Blood in the Air
Does Anyone Speak Dog?
Last Orders
Squirrels
Miraculous Recovery
Missing Button
Cracking Eggs
Smoking Hot Oil
All Frisbees Should Die
It’s a Fix, I Tell Thee!
Tears
Revolting Smell
Perfect Yorkies Every Time
Sniffer Dog
Aligning the Clues
Eavesdropping
The Winner
Dogs Cannot Climb Ladders
The Big Reveal
Rosie
Where Next?
Author’s Notes
History of the Dish
Recipe
Books with Patricia Fisher
The Blue Moon Series
The Start of This Series
More Books by Steve Higgs
Free Books and More
Chase and Bite
The shout made him spin around on the spot, yanking his human’s arm cruelly, which was unfortunate, but Rex recognised a cry of fear when he heard it. His human heard it too but wasn’t able to react as swiftly as his canine companion.
It was a bright and glorious day in York where they arrived late yesterday evening on the train from Biggleswade. Neither had ever been to York before, yet it was a beautiful city filled with ancient architecture. There were similar cities in Albert’s home county of Kent, but few he could name where the medieval walls of the city were absorbed so completely into the modern look and feel of what came after.
On their way to the station to meet Albert’s eldest son, Gary, the shout which distracted them so, came from the other end of a short alleyway running between two buildings. To the left of the alley was a haberdashery, its windows filled with colourful sheets of material artfully arranged. To the right was a franchise bakery selling machine-made pies and sausage rolls. Neither were a factor in the attack occurring less than thirty yards away.
A man in his early sixties, by Albert’s reckoning, his briefcase held high to protect his face, was fending off a young man. The victim wore a splendid sky-blue suit complete with waistcoat and pocket watch. On his face were glasses, the frame made from a brushed aluminium that complimented his greying hair. The attacker had startled him but failed in his initial assault for the victim was now facing his assailant and doing his best to protect himself.
The young man had a baton, the kind that comes with a small wrist loop at the handle end so it cannot be dropped or ripped away. His face was covered by a balaclava to make him look like a terrorist - if terrorists wore sportswear, that is.
In the half second between turning to see where the shout came from, and realising there was a mugging in progress, Albert watched the baton swing down from high overhead. It struck the raised briefcase with a whack, the sound echoing in the gap between the buildings.
Rex lunged. Seeing the attack, his natural defensive instincts kicked in. He was trained as a police dog and would be doing the job now were it not for his human handlers’ inability to deal with him knowing best all the time. He was held in check by the old man, who held on tight with both hands.
Albert had no way of knowing what might have caused the altercation he was now witness to, but a young man in scruffy sportswear with his face hidden, against one man in a splendid suit equalled robbery in progress in his head and that dictated it was time to intervene. He would have done it himself a few decades ago, but at seventy-eight, giving chase was no longer in his arsenal of possible responses.
Instead, he said, ‘Sic ‘em, boy,’ and opened both his hands.
The leather leash whipped through his open hands as Rex’s bunched muscles sprang forward like springs under tension. One moment the dog was stationary, the next he was sprinting down the alleyway.
Rex didn’t bother with any nonsense like a warning bark. There was a human to bite and he appeared to have carte blanche permission to get him. This was his kind of challenge and he would not be found lacking.
