Nanny Piggins and the Pursuit of Justice by R. A. Spratt Read Free Book Online Page B

here,’ said Mrs Hastings. ‘Plus you get an hour in the exercise yard every day. We’re never allowed out in the yard here; the neighbours complain we’re bad for local property prices.’
    ‘That can’t be right,’ said Derrick. ‘That food is better in prison than in a nursing home?’
    ‘Oh it is,’ said Mrs Hastings. ‘Doris from room 4B was the first to think of it. She got herself put away for attempting to murder the visiting library lady. I went and visited her in prison and she says they get pesto every Tuesday, chicken cacciatore every Wednesday and once a month they have Mexican night with as many tacos as they can eat!’
    ‘What are their desserts like?’ asked Nanny Piggins, wondering for a millisecond if perhaps she had made a mistake in agreeing to community service if there was secretly a brilliant catering regimen at the local women’s prison.
    ‘It’s mainly tinned fruit and custard,’ admitted Mrs Hastings.
    ‘Hmm,’ said Nanny Piggins. She liked custard.
    ‘But every Saturday, as a treat, they get carrot cake,’ added Mrs Hastings.
    ‘Carrot cake!’ exclaimed Nanny Piggins. ‘How dreadful! I didn’t know they were allowed to torture people in jail. Offering them cake, then purposefully tainting it with vegetables. It makes me feel sick just thinking about it. Still, I suppose if you break the law you deserve to be punished.’
    ‘You broke the law,’ Michael reminded her.
    ‘Yes,’ agreed Nanny Piggins. ‘And I suppose I should be thankful the judge didn’t think to give me any carrot-cake-related punishment.’
    Suddenly they were interrupted by a loud BOOM! The building shook and plaster fell from the ceiling.
    ‘Now that was a bomb!’ exclaimed Nanny Piggins.
    ‘Yes, that’s just the man in 12C,’ explained Mrs Hastings. ‘He’s new. He isn’t reconciled to being here yet.’
    Nanny Piggins and the children went to investigate. Nanny Piggins nudged open the door of 12C, more cautiously this time, calling softly, ‘Hello?’ She didn’t want to startle a geriatric armed with explosives.
    But when the door swung open she was again shocked, this time on coming face-to-face with her old friend, the Retired Army Colonel from around the corner (who was deeply in love with her). He was sitting in a wheelchair with his two legs in plaster casts sticking straight out in front of him.
    ‘Colonel!’ exclaimed Nanny Piggins. ‘What are you doing here? And why are you trying to blow everything up?’
    ‘I’m not trying to blow everything up,’ protested the Colonel. ‘I’m just trying to fine-tune my propulsion system.’
    ‘Propulsion system for what?’ asked Nanny Piggins.
    ‘My flying machine,’ said the Retired Army Colonel, whipping back a sheet to reveal a home-made helicopter crafted out of canvas and sticks.
    ‘That looks like something from the drawings of Leonardo da Vinci,’ said Derrick in awe.
    ‘It is based on the drawings of da Vinci,’ admitted the Colonel. ‘When I rang up the Air Force and asked for the specs on a Black Hawk helicopter they refused to give them to me. So I had to make do with this da Vinci postcard my niece sent me from the British Museum.’ He showed them a dog-eared slip of card.
    ‘But why do you need a helicopter?’ asked Nanny Piggins.
    ‘To escape, of course,’ said the Colonel. ‘When an officer is taken prisoner, his first duty is to attempt to escape.’
    ‘But couldn’t you just walk out the front door and catch a bus?’ asked Nanny Piggins.
    ‘I tried that,’ said the Colonel, ‘but I couldn’t get down the stairs with my legs like this.’
    Nanny Piggins looked at the large plaster casts encasing each of his legs. ‘And how did you do that to yourself?’
    The Retired Army Colonel blushed (which is something he usually only did after several glasses of the finest single malt whisky). ‘Um, I’d rather not say. Trifle embarrassing, I’m afraid.’
    Fortunately dear reader, I can tell you, as long