Blood ... no doubt in his mind. Not ink, nor dye or even spilled soup—blood. He rubbed the coagulated substance between his fingers as if feeling a fine wool coat. Mangled bits of hair were mashed in it as well; short tufts that could be from anything. Solid brown all the way through, but due to being mixed with the blood, he couldn't tell what sort of animal's coat. It seemed odd that no one heard or saw anything since it was a foot-wide puddle in the middle of the road.
"Did I do right by calling on you, Constable?" Mr. Bracegirdle asked him while wringing his hat.
He rubbed the material on the dry dirt and off his fingers. It stuck to them like week old pie to the pan. Standing up, he removed his handkerchief to wipe off the lingering remnants.
"I don't know, Welton," he scratched his head with the clean hand. "Could just be from a dead badger based on what's left."
Mr. Bracegirdle slapped his leg with the hat and made an exasperated sound. "There ain't no way it's from a badger! I'm telling ya that one of my cattle is missing."
Constable Brownfoot made a placating expression to keep him from flying off the handle. "It could be, is all I said. You have my word that I will make inquiries and keep an eye out for any malfeasance regarding your herd."
Welton straightened up and put his hat on to look somewhat presentable. He sighed. "Aye, I apologize, Constable. It's just the most upsetting thing to lose something and then have this greet you not but a stone's throw from your home."
The Constable nodded and legitimately felt bad for Welton. However, it remained unlikely he would find anything since folk rarely stole in Hobbiton, let alone the Shire. Last story he heard was from Mr. Bilbo complaining that Lobelia Sackville-Baggins tried to run off with his silverware. It was more likely that Welton had miss-counted or, due to his age, forgot how many stock he really owned.
He pulled out his ledger and jotted down a quick note on how many cattle Welton claimed he had. Ten Holstein Friesians, eight Angus's, five Shorthorns and three Jersey's—one of which was missing now.
"When something turns up, you'll be the first to know." he said, returning the ledger to his vest pocket.
He made his way back from the River Field by Hobbiton road. It was a little under a league to his home, but he preferred to walk rather than ride. This gave him time to clear his head and reflect on his present investigation. In this case there wasn't much: congealed blood left overnight with bits of brown hair that could be from a cow, to the old Hobbit's credit. The more likely scenario, it was from a rabbit that grew too confident and ventured out at night when predators prowled.
Coming to the fork in the road, the constable turned left instead of carrying straight. The Mrs. didn't expect him for another hour or so and he could use an ale at the tail end of a warm day. It would serve as both quencher of thirst and reward for catering to the suspicions of a cranky codger.
The usual sounds of cajoling greeted him as he stepped up to the door. He put on his most serious of expressions as he opened it. The first person to meet his gaze was Gaffer Gamgee. The Hobbit had just cheered with the others over something, but dropped his jovial appearance as he saw the constable. All the others around his table followed suit. The rabble died down and he could hear a lonesome cricket burrowed somewhere in the back of the room. All eyes drew to him as he stood akimbo and scanned the entire lot. He shook his head at the display before him.
"Ahhhh. They call him Mr. Brownfoot!" one of the Took's yelled.
"No it's Constable Brownfeet!" a Brandybuck retorted.
"You're all wrong!" Gaffer stood up and raised his cup with a smile like a toastmaster. "It's Mr… Constable… Brownfoot."
The Constable couldn't contain his false sense of seriousness as he burst in laughter. All the others did the same and threw back a swig of their respective drinks.
"Barkeep, fill it to the top with just a tad of froth!" he shouted with a nod and semi-salute.
It always surprised him how this place could elevate his mood in an instant. The walls had a soft and comfortable look to them—even though they needed a new coat of paint. The wooden posts at the bar, the beams that held the ceiling together and in select load barring spots could stand to get a polish. The floor creaked when a mouse ran across, which meant it needed to be replaced, but it all felt like a second home to him. Like a good marriage, he accepted the old gal as she aged and wouldn't have her any different.
He retrieved his mug and took an empty spot at the table with Gaffer and four others. There were two Tooks, a Brandybuck and a Chubb.
"So tell us what our fair Constable is up to on this fine summer day?" Gaffer asked with his usual jovial tone.
Mr. Brownfoot drew back a long swig that took half his ale with it. The golden liquid burned his throat just the right amount and had a touch of a bitter finish to balance out the sweetness of the malt. Letting out a satisfying yawp, he plopped the cup on the table. "I don't know if it adds up to anything interesting, gents."
"Oh come now. Anything is more interesting than what everyone else is talking about." Berter Took came back, sounding like he had been there for a while.
"What's everyone else talking about?"
His eyes widened in an exhaustive expression. "Mr. Bilbo's birthday party. What else?" The group let out a collective moan.
The constable chuckled and took a quick drink. "Well, to take our minds off that, I suppose I better tell you what I was up to. But no promises that you'll be happy I did."
Gaffer grinned and motioned for him to get on with it.
"Down by old Mr. Welton's place he had a blood patch about yay big." He held his hands out about two foot or so wide. "Startled the old timer silly this morning when he stepped right in it not but a hop, skip and a jump from his front gate."
"Blimey! What do ya supposen it was?" the youngest of the group, Tincy Chubb asked.
"Welton's convinced it was from one of his cows that some brazen bastard took from him last night."
"That'd be a hard feat with how large and loud those things are." Gaffer chimed in.
The Constable shook his finger in acknowledgment. "Not to mention how clumsy they are and the fact they all had bells on them. I don't know what to tell the codger other than that he probably miscounted his herd and some poor rabbit met his demise there."
"Rest his soul." Gaffer said while clutching his pint close to his heart and comical expression.
"Well, probably best for you to humor him for a few days and come back with that explanation after he's had some time to figure that out for himself." Tincy said.
"Couldn't have said it better myself, Tincy." The Constable winked at the young lad.
"It was an interesting story until you solved it in five seconds." Gaffer said, rolling his eyes sarcastically.
They all laughed and shook their heads. Returning to his ale, he could have finished in one gulp, but wasn't ready to go home yet and didn't want to buy a second round. His stomach grumbled as the ale settled in its emptiness. He thought to partake in some of the bread, cheese and olives the others had let sit at the middle of the table—he knew his wife would have something ready by the time he got home. Besides, the townfolk had voted her best cook in the Shire four years running and it would be a punishment to curb some of his appetite with pub snacks.
"Speaking of cases you can solve in a haste. Did you here young master Dowry Bolger ran off after telling his mother that he wanted to fight a dragon?" Gaffer broke the comfortable silence.
They all shook their heads.
"The young sprite does this on occasion and always goes to the same spot in Binobole Wood. After a day or so, famished and bitten half to death by skeets, he comes home." Gaffer laughed as he seemed to be picturing the young Hobbit in his mind. "Apparently he's been out there two days now and his mother comes to me worried sick. I told her the spot, because supposedly she didn't know, but she won't go see for herself."
"Why not?" asked the Constable.
"She went on and on about how he shouldn't be doing this to her, that he should know better and to come home without her having to dirty herself up by meandering through that wood."
All of their eyebrows jumped up and returned quickly, clearly antagonizing the silly situation.
"Between Dowry and old Mr. Welton we certainly have a fair amount of nefarious behavior in the shire." Japin Took said while twiddling with piece of cheese.
"I'll take those any day over anything that I hear about happening beyond the borders of the Shire." Tincy came back with, seeming argumentative.
Gaffer nudged him in the side with an irritated look. "It was a joke, Chubb."
The Hobbit looked to each of them for confirmation and his face got redder as it became apparent he wasn't as quick on the uptake as the rest. Gaffer slowly slid Tincy's beer away from him and he didn't protest. "There we are. Just give a little time before throwin' back another one."
The Constable took his own ale and finished off the last gulp. It was as satisfying as the first and he thought to have another, but his wife would be expecting him.
"Gents." he stood up and tipped his cap, which was greeted by a chorus of boos from the others because they knew what that meant. "It's been a pleasure as always."
"There he goes… Mr. Constable Brownfoot being all responsible and shaming us drunkards in the process."
"No… no. I ain't brought no shame that you hadn't carried in here in the first place, Gaffer." he said with a smile.
Gaffer and the others burst out in laughter while holding their mugs in the air. Their laughter soon turned to a song as the Constable made his way through the door. As he exited it sounded like several more tables joined in. He didn't recognize the tune, but like all tavern songs it wouldn't be hard to catch on.
Making his way back to the road home, he had to stop to admire the Water. No matter how many times he saw it, he always thought it was beautiful. Especially now in the low light of dusk. The subtle reflections of trees, grass and birds flying over calmed him in the night. The pleasant aromas coming from the bakery and other establishments next to the Green Dragon made this walk his favorite. A gentle breeze blew past, cooling him just the right amount in the summer evening. It remained until he made it the front gate of his home were a more pleasant aroma greeted him.
Passed down from his mother's father, the home was a bit large for his wife and him. When their sons were growing up it was perfect—just enough room. Now that both lived on the borders of Buckland, they had hardly enough furniture to fill the spare space. His recently painted fence reflected the moonlight. The garden, his responsibility, had reached its full potential several weeks ago. Roses, tulips, daisies and more were arranged just the way he liked them—in long meandering patterns around the whole of their home. Last year he had set new stones for their path and they had finally started to look settled. A pair of circular windows were on opposite sides of their door of the same shape.
Stepping up to his door, he turned around. The torchlight on every home, the fireflies, and the moon illuminated the town just enough for his aging eyes to make out every establishment. Being on the hill, he could almost see down to the River Field where he'd been earlier today. A hearth-like warmth traveled through his chest, making him shudder. Tears tugged at the back of his eyes. He smiled as memories from each home, business and field weaved through his thoughts. There was no denying—he loved the Shire and everyone who called it home.
"Well, well, Mr. Brownfoot. Fancy seeing you on my doorstep at this late hour," the all too familiar voice said behind him.
The Constable turned to see his wife wearing a knitted green frock and a subtle smirk. She was far too beautiful for a hardened looking man like himself—at least he and the rest of the folk in Hobbiton thought so. Her hair curled gently on her shoulders was usually brown, except this time of year when the sun dyed it a more auburn shade. The pale skin of hers gained a slight golden hue and would return to its snowy complexion in winter. She maintained the shape of a younger woman and one of whom could give birth well into her eighties if it were possible.
He took a step back and straightened up to a gentlemen's stance. Slowly bowing, he met her gaze. "Might I trouble you for hot meal and pleasure of your company, madam?" He smiled from ear to ear. "You won't have to waste a word on a dolt like me—just the sight of you is all a Hobbit could ever ask for."
She hesitated for a moment, wearing the same smirk. Taking a deep breath, she motioned him in with a slight teetering of her head. "I suppose I could spare a plate for a dolt like you."
He leaned in and kissed her on the cheek and the warmth returned to his chest. She whapped him on the side of the hip as his kiss lingered too long. "Get in here before I sick the dog on ya." She snorted, unable to keep up the charade any longer.
"That mutt ain't moved in seventeen months," they both laughed and returned to their normal demeanor with each other.
Shutting the door, he removed his vest and hat as she went to the kitchen to set their table. He stretched up toward the sky and felt a tightness in his left leg. Must have been the combination of the heat and walking—he hadn't traveled that far by foot in one day for a very long time. Looking over to his favorite chair, he spotted that she had already packed his evening pipe; Old Toby—his favorite in fact. Both his slippers and evening coat had been cleaned and laid out as well. Curious, he thought. She knew his habits, but it was uncommon for her to have them prepared.
He made his way through their common looking Hobbit living room and foyer and into the kitchen. Annavelle, his wife, moved past him with a plate of asiago bread, another one of his favorites. A delightful smell, trailing her, caught him quick—not the food—perfume. One of lilac and spring rain. She rarely wore the stuff because she didn't need to, yet for special occasions.
He sat down at their table for four with only two place settings, which meant no guests were coming—so why all the trouble? A new aroma caught his attention. This time it was the food. She removed the lid to his dinner. Mincemeat pie. Another one of his favorites. She topped off his cup with a golden ale and sat down in the seat next to him. She started to eat while he just looked at her suspiciously. He could tell she knew he stared at her and was doing a good job of avoiding his glance. After almost a minute, he cleared his throat. She turned to him with the most innocent look he had seen from her in years. He raised his eyebrows and shook his head as if waiting for her to say something.
"What?" she asked looking as befuddled as she could manage. "Do you not feel like mincemeat tonight? I could cook something else for you."
He chuckled and leaned back in his chair impressed with her stamina to withhold whatever she held from him.
"What on earth is the matter, Padder?" she exclaimed, holding onto her exasperated look as well as she could.
"You know I'm a Constable for a reason, dear." he said, patting her hand.
She let out a sigh with a rolling-the-eyes like smile. "You win…" She gave in. "I suppose you noticed the perfume, pipe and slippers did you?"
"The coat too. All very nice touches, my dear." He padded her hand again—this time poking a little fun at her.
"Now that I've made a fool of myself, I suppose I should just ask you now." she said, sounding genuinely irritated about being found out.
"Ask away, my dear." he replied while digging into the mincemeat pie.
Her smile dissolved into a serious look. Catching her tone, he put down his spoon.
"I spoke with Elnie Bolger today. I should say, she spoke with me. I couldn't get in a word edgewise."
Padder rolled his eyes as he knew Elnie and most likely where this was going.
"Apparently young Dowry has been gone for two days and hasn't been seen by a soul."
He shook his head and looked away.
"Why aren't you taking this serious, Padder?"
He looked back at her and raised both hands in a reassuring gesture. "I know all about the boy and Ms. Bolger. He's simply having a bit of fun out in Binobole Wood."
She raised an eyebrow. "You know where he is?"
He nodded. "She even knows where he is."
"If she did, she didn't say anything about it today."
"It's just a game of adventure he plays."
She looked befuddled for a second. The fact that he was playing a game, his mother knew where he was must be challenging her powers of reasoning.
"He'll be back in a day or so. You'll see." he said as he went to take another bite.
She rubbed his hand softly, halting him. He met her gaze. She gave him those tender eyes and hopeful smile she was fond of giving.
"You want me to go trapesing through that wood looking for that boy?" he said, knowing the answer already.
Her same expression and hand rubbing remained. It worked as he felt his resolve crumble like a grass fort. "You know loving you is the easiest and most difficult thing of my life."
She smiled and kissed his hand. "Thank you, Constable."