Perplexity.....

"There's a bright side to everything!" Sister Heloise told herself, as she was serving up morning tea to her senior nuns in the retired teacher's convent. It was date loaf for nibbles. She regarded herself as a handmaid to the Lord, being good and kind. She had woken up a bit grumpy, but kept on smiling.

Their annual summer holiday at the beach was over, back to their routine in the slow news town of Old Blithering. Those lazy and hazy days of summer were winding down towards Autumn. It had still been so hot, until a thunderstorm had swept across the sultry landscape. The rain was clearing away, so Sister Heloise planned to cycle into their tiny town, to smile and bless the locals. She could return her books to the library, and borrow some new authors for a change.

Suddenly, old Sister Cecily looked up. "That does not sound good! What is going on?" The nuns collectively looked through the sparkling windows. "Yes, it's an ambulance, it's turning into Grieves Parade, heading towards the river. Oooh," Sister Cecily gasped, "There's the hearse to follow. Now that definitely does not look good. Any more tea in the pot?"

Puzzled, Sister Heloise poured her nuns yet another cup of tea. They all drank eagerly, might be them next up, as the Grim Reaper was waiting for everyone. Just in case, all the nuns were making sure they were well hydrated, leaving only crumbs on their plates.

"No one escapes from Planet Earth alive," Sister Heloise thought, offering silent prayers for whoever might have drowned in the flooding of Beyond River. Saying nothing, the amateur sleuth of Old Blithering carried on as normal. She placed her library books in a plastic bag in the basket on her trusty bicycle, and headed off.

But she detoured along Grieves Parade, aptly named, as the events were unfolding down by the riverside. At the popular swimming hole, all was action. Police constables were there, must have been summoned from the neighboring town. The hearse attendants were waiting, the ambulance was on standby, as the Search and Rescue were placing a corpse on a gurney.

It was fortunate for Sister Heloise that she had a strong stomach. She too caught a glimpse of a pale white large male, his clothes in tatters. His face had been nibbled by fresh water wildlife. No one knew who he was. No one could decide how long he had been in the usually sedate, sluggish brown river.

The local media journalists were soon onto this, a tale of perplexity. The deceased was named, "Grandpa Perplexity." The autopsy had shown he was ageing, his DNA did not match anyone in particular, no one had reported him missing. Even more puzzling, there was no water in his lungs, so he had not drowned. He must have been dead before he was cast into the water. No one could identify him.

The small town did not quite know what to do the remains of someone's old Grandpa. Was he a veteran? No one really knew for sure. Sister Heloise sat down in the recreation room, to reflect on any evidence. This was as good as some of her noir books she had read, from her land of Oz, or the USA. The days rolled past, hot and languid.

Perplexity, why had no one noticed their Grandpa was missing? Good, sound, rhetorical question. The convent telephone at her side rang. "Good afternoon, Sister Heloise? All well with the nuns today?" It was her platonic companion in Christ, Monsignor John. He had spent the day in silent contemplation, of his sermon for Sunday, and his housekeeper's enticing cooking aromas.

Sister Heloise mentioned the case of Grandpa Perplexity, an anonymous man. For some time, it had puzzled everyone. Monsignor John had a brainwave. "Have you checked Wilderness Farm? I haven't seen old Bobby Boy around town for a while, have you?"

"It's too far to cycle. Maybe we could travel there together, in your car. We could investigate, look for clues."

"Always the detective. You have got this!" Monsignor John agreed, as was soon at the front gate of the convent. The evenings at that time of the year were still light, the sun never seemed to set over Old Blithering.

Monsignor John drove the intrepid Sister Heloise along many a rustic back road, until they arrived at the entrance to Wilderness Farm. "Keep out! Trespassers will be shot!" All in keeping with old Bobby Boy, and his attitude problems. He had one son, the narcissistic Trevor. Trevor had horrified old Bobby Boy by becoming a female stripper. He had divorced his wife, or she had divorced him. Trevor had appeared one day at Mass, clad only in a brassiere and suspenders, with cherry red high heels.

Monsignor John had not reacted too kindly, rejecting Trevor at communion. Old Bobby Boy had never gone to Mass again, too embarrassed. The small town quickly had to get over it, as Trevor had emigrated, become a citizen of the USA. He made his career on the stage of drag queens, somewhere over there. Unfortunately, he had passed away, a soul with issues. Even his psychotherapist could not save him from his own demons. The bottle had done him wrong, not to mention substance abuse.

"Does anyone find what they are looking for?' Sister Heloise asked Monsignor John, as they ascended the dusty driveway to the Wilderness farmhouse, right in the middle of nowhere. Monsignor John knocked at the door. No response, all was silent, only the distant lowing of some of old Bobby Boy's beef cattle, away in the fields.

Sister Heloise hesitantly opened the door. This was a region where no one locked their doors. But she still did not want to be flattened by gunshots. The ancient timber door swung open. She called to Bobby Boy, "Pastoral care visit. Is there anything the church can do for you?" No answer, only a steady hum of flies.

"This does sound too good," Monsignor John echoed old Sister Cecily. The pair of religious cautiously entered the television, but there was no Bobby Boy. They searched the kitchen and bedrooms, all silent, empty. On the kitchen surfaces were busy streams of ants, and flies floating through an open window, buzzing over some rancid butter and moldy scraps of toast.

Yes, old Bobby Boy was missing. Sister Heloise noticed the stove. The gas jets were on, only slightly. Could this solve perplexity? Had Trevor crept in while Bobby Boy was snoring, and gassed his father? After all, Oedipus has many a chapter, of fathering issues, the church's influence, and a bitter divorce.

"We must look for the silver lining." Sister Heloise muttered to Monsignor John.

"Bless your heart," he said, "You never get tired of being an optimist."

"Too true," Sister Heloise told him of her theory. "I believe Trevor came over before he went overseas, gassed his father with the gas stove, and then dumped him in the creek. He must have been underwater for a while, until the flash flood washed him to the edge of town."

" You have no proof, Sister Heloise. But it is a brilliant deduction."

"We must seek Bobby Boy's grandson for a DNA sample. His name is Andrew, he was last heard of trekking the Himalayas, to get away from it all."

"His mother will know how to get in touch. Tough story this. RIP, Bobby Boy. " The religious pair both made the sign of the Cross, as Monsignor John vowed to devote his Sunday sermon to the Prodigal Son.

So that solved the case of Grandpa Perplexity. While he was sleeping, his son had disposed of his father, and hoofed off overseas. Sister Heloise believed they would resolve any issues in Heaven. Andrew's ANA did match the mortal remains. So, the Catholic ladies cooked up a storm. After the Requiem Mass, the tables in the church hall groaned under the weight of all those carbs, delectable.

Yes, Sister Heloise did believe there was bright side to everything. Young Andrew inherited Wilderness Farm, and sold it to a property developer from Big City. The suits had quickly replaced the rusted old ute with a luxury golf resort, accompanied by a spa center, set amidst the tranquil rolling emerald hills. Old Blithering became very popular with jaded city types, as yoga pants and designer grey blondes were soon seen in town. Old Blithering was suddenly on a tourist map.

The library was expanded. Sleuth Sister Heloise was in clover. New books, new authors, new life in town. In her traditional habit, she cycled on, her reputation treasured, for solving Grandpa's Perplexity.