Information.

It was before dawn, as normal. "Foggy morning again," Sister Heloise nodded at Sister Cecily. Autumn had crept in to Old Blithering, , Back of Beyond. Now the days were starting foggy, the sunshine would emerge, the nights were drawing in. Curtains were closed early, lamps were turned on, the convent sisters had their usual debate about when to turn on the heater.

Russet leaves were piling up across the front lawn, weeds were flourishing. "A gardener's tasks are never done." Sister Heloise commented. "Sunny days are good for gardening. It is a good day for praying too."

So, like the good sisters at the retired teachers' convent, she arose early for a good reason, like the other holy clergy. They joined in their morning rosary. While Sister Heloise prayed, she reflected on her daily world of the rundown town of Old Blithering, Back of Beyond.

Back of Beyond had now made it to some part of a tourist guide to the rustic regions of Oz. The golf resort and luxury spa center had brought visitors. They all expected something locally. Now some of the old vacant shop premises had been renovated, organic cheese with wine tasting was popular. Not so much with the older original residents ,but progress was creating change. One very trendy cafe lately had daily specials on salted caramel lattes, with soy milk.

Sister Heloise had decided that she much preferred a hot cup of tea, white, sweet and strong. She prayed to Our Lady, while exploring her stereotypical attitudes to other not so welcome changes in town. There were indeed, lots of gossip about the fact that drug abuse was currently a factor among the teenagers and youth somewhere in the Back of Beyond.

The nearest police station was only about 50 miles away, too far. There seemed to be no one controlling the young ones, disinterested in anything but parties with lots of booze and wacky tobacco, grown locally. Sister Heloise believed in supporting local businesses, but she totally did not support drug abuse.

The nuns prayed on, society had changed in Back of Beyond. Why, only the other day, their male counterpart had complained that he had to collect used syringes from the grotto of Our Lady at their beloved church. Time changes everything, and so it was lately in the small town, long established, surrounded by their dairy cattle industry, and now by a growth industry in drugs.

The mists and fog swirled, amidst their holy devout prayers, the nuns suddenly gasped. Gunshots! Screeching of tires, roaring of a car exhaust.

"That sounds as if it's at the church. Quick, Heloise, ride around to see if Monsignor John is all right. Let us pray for repentance of these young! We taught them all!"

Sister Heloise did as she was told, wondering what the nuns had taught such idle lads and lassies. She did not have time now to ponder on discrimination. Monsignor John, her secret flame, might be in danger. She imagined him lying next to a holy plaster saint, bleeding and breathing his last.

As she pedaled her bicycle, her full habit billowing, she prayed as hard as she could. She arrived at the church, where she was relieved to find Monsignor John was not shot. But there was a body lying there, dead as mutton, as her old father used to say.

"Who is it?" Sister Heloise asked, as Monsignor John was blessing the corpse, and his housekeeper was on the phone to the nearest police station.

"That I do know," Monsignor John replied, "here lies young Jake, my once proud and husky captain of the football team. Drugs are Satan, RIP."

"You never said a truer word," Sister Heloise agreed, praying yet more of her rosary. "Did you see the car?"

"No, I was indoors, waiting for my porridge, reading my missal."

A mystery. Sister Heloise did fancy herself as the latter day Miss Marple of Back of Beyond. She used her powers of deduction.

"Must have been a local, to know Jake and meet him here, under this statue of Our Lady."

"The police and ambulance are on their way," the housekeeper told the clergy. Sister Heloise just knew the police would need information, something more definite than suspicions and rumors about the rustic lads of their community. She paced the crime scene, and found a stray bullet, half hidden in the garden bed. She believed in her powerful God, that she could work undercover for truth, justice for all, in the great, traditional Oz way. Could she again be a super sleuth?

But Sister Heloise through the fog now lifting, noticed a lace curtain twitching in the neat heritage timber cottage across the road from the church. Sister Heloise was well aware of the resident there, old Mrs. Birch. Mrs. Birch was long widowed, her sons living in Big Smoke, in the corruption of a city.

Now Mrs. Birch was the community sticky beak, monitoring all the hatched, matched and dispatched, spying on all and sundry. Like many older ladies, she was on fluid tablets, and sat there in the night, noticing everything that happened in the passing parade of Old Blithering. Sister Heloise had another great brainwave.

If anyone had information about this drive-by shooting, Mrs. Birch would have made it her business to need to know. The old widow and her tabby cat were the source of all details, mostly real. The lace curtain twitched, and twitched again, as Sister Heloise wheeled her bicycle over the road. She left it at the front gate, venturing past the tidy garden. Not a weed dared to flourish here, even the late roses were color coordinated.

"Good evening, Mrs. Birch,' said Sister Heloise, "I've been admiring your impressive garden. Mind if I visit for a while, despite this early hour?"

Mrs. Birch was only too glad to vent to the clergy at any given opportunity. Tea and stale biscuits were offered. Sister Heloise had not had any breakfast, so sipped eagerly.

"Ah," she said, "Your cups of team and company always welcome. Tell me, I do need your opinion on this latest community tragedy. Young Jake is no longer this side of the living. God has taken him home. Bless his heart!" She made the sign of the cross, looking devout. She was also aware she was covered in cat hair, sitting next to the glaring tabby cat, who did look like his owner. Funny that, even their hair and beady eyes matched.

" I was sitting here, saw the whole shooting unfold." Mrs. Birch began, "It was Jake's best mate, and that floozy Tiffany. They lived all shacked up together, in Handsome Nick's old family home. They met some stranger, bought some drugs as normal at Our Lady's grotto. Then Jake and Handsome Nick had a loud argument. Handsome Nick drove off. As he drove away in his white ute, he shot Jake with his rifle. Look, I wrote the car registration number." She handed Sister Heloise a page of her notebook, with the details.

Information. Evidence! Sister Heloise was stunned, very disappointed. She had taught these rebels in her catechist years. "Right," she told Mrs. Birch, I shall confront them. Keep the faith! Thank you so much, keep it up. Your assistance is vital."

Determined, she headed off, in the awakening day. She, too, knew exactly where Handsome Nick was living, the old homestead. His parents would be ashamed that their son was harvesting and manufacturing drugs, and shooting his mates. Sister Heloise had spent some formative years of their youth, terrorizing them. She was going to get a confession from some of God's junior creations.

As she was toiling up the final hill, the latter day cycling club zoomed past. "Out of our way, you old grey!" the older 'boys' in their lycra shorty shorts yelled, very rudely. No one had any respect any more, more progress.

"God bless!" said Sister Heloise, ringing her bicycle bell. "Zip those lips!" she thought, but did not waste the powers of her talents on such nonsense, their male menopause.

She arrived at the right property, and pounded on Handsome Nick's door. "Repent and believe the Good News. Here's your old teacher, and I am very cross with you two! Open this door right now!"

Tiffany did the walk of shame, and flung open the front door. She realized that Sister Heloise was not there for scones with jam and cream. The nun marched right on in, and confronted Handsome Nick, sitting on the couch.

"Right, you two. I have valuable information. There is a witness. You are sprung bad, as the old saying goes. The police are heading here. God does not make junk, pray for the Lord to be at your side. You shall get through this clean and strong. I taught you to good Christians. It is never too late, Our Lady says. No one ever walks alone!"

Tiffany burst into more tears, always a flighty one. Handsome Nick looked suitably ashamed, regretting that impulsive argument and response. The wail of the police siren was heard, Mrs. Birch had made sure of that.

Eventually, more than hungry by now, Sister Heloise cycled home to her convent, still thinking about her attitudes to progress. Porridge awaited. In Old Blithering, like much of society, it was not what you know, it is who you know. Always true, when a sleuth seeks vital information.....