Sleepyside Summer.

Sleepyside at summer again. Sister Heloise, the young one, had escorted the much older nuns to their summer retreat. They were on vacation, to relax on a sunny shore, rest, replenish, paddle in a sparkling bay. Their summer abode was the usual very old-fashioned timber dwelling, by now familiar. Sleepyside was a slow old place, only one store, with a petrol pump at the front.

People went to Sleepyside, off the beaten track, to replenish their wellbeing on a sedate type of holiday. Sleepyside was not yet trendy, a place where time passed, things rarely happened. The seaside convent had a faded air, a shelf of hymn books, another shelf of summer light literature, nothing at all risque, of course.

Sister Heloise did not mind looking after the older nuns, so benign. She was their 'good girl', batting at seventy years old, a silver senior. Her kindness was a blessing to her sisters in God. It was just as well, but she did wonder who was stepping up to the plate for her declining years. Still, she would cross that bridge when it happened. Sister Heloise believed folk were only as old as they felt inside, like the oldest teenagers on Earth. She was still alive and kicking.

"God wakes us up for a reason!" she told herself, as she carted a pile of deckchairs, placing them on the shores of Sleepyside Bay. Sister Heloise had a new novel as well, a bit of detective fiction, her personal favorite reading. The really senior nuns were soon dozing, enjoying sunshine, still free, fresh air, still free.

"We all need free Vitamin D!" Sister Heloise looked up from her book, Chapter One. Yes, her love for Monsignor John was still a well-kept secret. He too, was on holiday. It was part of his tradition, to guide his flock of Catholic clergy wherever they went.

"Ah, happy holiday makers!" Monsignor John's kindly eyes twinkled. "Enchanting!' Sister Heloise smiled back, trying not to still be blushing. She was now a reticent nun, after all those years of being an educator in Holy Romans, of all those lively young worshipers. Sister Heloise had found a rewarding focus for her retirement. As well as meditating on the blessings of Our Lord, Jesus, she aimed to cook healthy, nourishing well balanced meals.

Monsignor John was one of her brothers in Christ. Both of them, at a very young age, had been assigned by their Bog Irish parents to join the clergy of their church. Their folks had chosen one devout little prayer warrior to be a religious, one of their sisters to keep their parents at home and not in a nursing home. Their other siblings had been permitted to date and reproduce all those grandchildren, the apples of grandma's eye. The parents firmly believed they had made a trade bargain with great God up above, that they would proceed straight to Heaven, because one of their sprogs was part of the holy clergy.

Despite herself, Sister Heloise sighed, "Such is life," she told herself, reading on, as Monsignor John went wading along the shore. "I suppose we'll get our reward in Heaven, a gold star from the Vatican. Young love was never to be...."

She turned a page, becoming engaged in her riveting book. A new protagonist, a tale of unsolved puzzles, would she rather be reading after all?

Suddenly, this slow but pleasant day had its serene ambiance shattered by ear splitting noises, not far away. It sounded like a zillion helicopters around the bay, in Deadman's Cove. Police speedboats and other loud boats roared across their view, heading there too. Sirens blared, the ambulance air wing flew over. Car engines were heard, with shouting, much fussing.

Monsignor John put on his shoes on his sandy feet. Sister Heloise looked up, bemused. The older nuns were still slightly snoring, on the deaf side of midday.

"Come along, Sister Heloise, we must see what is going on. I do not like this emergency. Maybe some unfortunate souls shall need our prayers."

Agreeing, she too, put on her sensible shoes. The religious companions walked over the sandy slopes, down the steep dunes, to gaze at the drama and press contingent, gathering at Deadman's Cove. Was it aptly named? It was part of this area's history. Once, in the last century, right here, the noble land of Oz had 'lost' their own national leader. A mystery still unsolved, still missing after all these years.

Monsignor John queried a very fetching female journalist. "What is going on!" Yes, it was a truth stranger than fiction. In this modern day, before lunch was even mentioned, the team leader of Australia had vanished on exactly this same beach. There lay his beach towel, under it were his car keys, no security guard could find him.

As a keen student of all matters detective, Sister Heloise believed in observing patterns. Deadman's Cove was awash with very loud and ear shattering search and rescue marine boats, helicopters, Air Force One making flyovers. Monsignor John turned to Heloise, saying, "This must be another communist plot. We best take the older nuns back to the summer convent, before the Russian mafia kidnap them too."

"Is no one safe?' he continued, as they roused the senior clergy, collecting all the deck chairs. At the fading timber convent, Sister Heloise checked the letterbox, an envelope half seen. She opened this anonymous letter.

"Beware! Check for Reds under the bed!" She sighed again, what century was this anyway? She made everyone a light lunch, then encouraged her seniors to have a nun nap for refreshing their souls. But she did check under each bed, praying for the souls of both the national leader, and the rescuers.

Positive prayers work, and are an important job. "God is always at our side." She told herself. "I don't vote for those upper class twerps anyway. Maybe his wife isn't missing him at all. He's got a reputation, bless his soul." She pondered on, trying to rest while keeping an ear open for any sign of yet another missing politician. What was the pattern in this incident?

The evening meandered by, no news at Deadman's Cove was not good news. Sister Heloise said evening prayers in her devout manner, praying for a peaceful resolution. At the beach, paranoia was paramount. Eventually, tossing insomnia aside, she robed up in her habit, and went off to bless the emergency services.

Sister Heloise turned down the track, to stand on the headland. The calm shining moon seemed to smile at such mere human struggles. Sister Heloise just knew Oz would shortly get another leader, turn the page, unless they started shooting at Reds under the sea. A genuine mystery. Or was it? Behind all the night lights on the rescue vessels, she spied a dark fin, ominous, hungry.

In an instant, Sister Heloise could recognize the pattern, a solution, most likely scenario. Oz has some lovely pets, beautiful. They do like eating people for din-dins. Yes, dear detectives, at Deadman's Cove, sharks do be there! Great white sharks, or even other varieties. This was all so last century, she pondered.

Finally, under the beaming moon, Sister Heloise notified the chief police officer, and the head of security for Homeland Defense. There was the culprit. Their national leader was gone, and he was never coming back. Indeed, Oz turned the page. His equally merry widow soon remarried, her latest flame. A new leader was appointed. Soon no one ever went swimming or snorkeling at Deadman's Cove ever again, it was not a positive plan. The nuns and Monsignor John all said their prayers. No one does know the hour or the day, as our Good Book does say. Sister Heloise had solved the mystery of their holiday, one summer, in Sleepyside.