Hailing End was one of those villages were time stood still or so it seemed until six months ago. The arrival of a new vicar generally does not cause too much of a stir but when the ‘he’ turns out to be a ‘she’ families who have lived amicably side by side for generations were galvanised into action.

Dot Snudbury avoided any confrontation with her neighbours; she was considered by most to be ‘a sandwich short of a picnic’, she was aware of what others said and this seemed to provide her with more freedom to do exactly what she liked. When the Reverend Sheila Watson arrived she was the first to greet her and welcome her to Hailing End. Dot laughed when she saw the look on Mrs Dunton’s face, a staunch advocate against lady vicars. Gradually there were rumblings in the village and the Black Dog was awash with suggestions and theories of how to get rid of the Reverend Watson. The landlord hadn’t heard such animated talk since the declaration of World War II.

Dot loved her morning walks. She would take her two dear dogs, Brit, a small Yorkshire terrier and Lunn an old sheep dog nearly blind in both eyes, for a walk across the village green, through the woods and on down to the river. Dot rarely if ever met anyone on her walk. As she crossed the green this morning she noticed the vicarage door was open.

‘Strange!’ She exclaimed to Brit, ‘Never seen the vicarage door open at this time of day. You stay here with Lunn and I’ll go and investigate.’ Lunn slumped to the ground glad of a rest and Brit stood guard over him. Dot knocked on the open door but got no reply.

Reaching the small drover’s bridge Dot stopped for a rest. The normal swift flow seemed to be impeded by some obstacle. ‘Well look at that, somebody has dumped something in the river. Disgraceful, absolutely disgraceful.’ She climbed down onto the lower path to see if she could drag the obstacle to the edge . Brit ran on ahead and was suddenly barking frantically. ‘Stop it Brit! Stop it.’ Dot saw what Brit was making all the fuss about. The obstacle was non-other than the vicar; her face was head down in the water. Dot couldn't help laughing at the way the vicar bobbed up and down in the water. Although a reasonably fit woman she was completely out of breath when she reached the pub. She bashed at the door until she roused George.

'What's all the fuss?'

'George get yourself down here and phone the police,' shouted Dot.

'Why? Has someone died?'

'Yes!' She said bluntly.

'I'm right down.'

Later that morning the village was awash with police cars; more activity than the village had seen for years. Dot was standing at her cottage gate observing the toing and froing. Several officers entered a cottage on the opposite side of the Green, minutes later a man was bundled into a police car. Mr Jackson was an incomer but he never struck her as a murdering kind.

The television reported the events in the village and it mentioned one man was helping with their enquiries, a former lover of Sheila Watson. Dot looked down at Brit 'Well I never, who would have thought it? Our vicar with a background!'

Dot sipped her tea and settled down to read her latest book 'Fifty ways to murder' she smiled to herself and then nodded at Brit 'Perhaps we'll try strangling next.'