Danny drove to Little Worthy through a thin mizzle of rain, which misted the windscreen and turned the sunny English countryside of a week ago into a study in dismal grey. Normally he'd laugh it off; he'd gotten used to the miserable British weather. Today, he really didn't need it.

They better not cancel this stupid boat race, because I ain't got no Plan B.

He didn't have to worry on that score. As he passed through the outskirts of the village and reached the high street, it was pretty clear that the sturdy peasants of Midsomer County weren't about to let a bit of damp in the air discourage them. Even if he hadn't been convinced by the all crazy costumes, any doubts in his mind would have vanished at sight of the small-scale Viking longboat which had apparently overturned on its way to the water, and now blocked the road right in front of the White Hart Inn.

Danny parked the car, half on the pavement, and got out to watch the crew's attempts to move their stricken vessel. The hotel proprietor, who had been standing in his doorway, came over to join him. "That's going to upset a few people," he remarked.

"The Vikings have some fans, huh?"

"Not particularly, but there's a lot of money on them to win it. I wouldn't be surprised if it turns out the pirates had a hand in this. They're generally up to no good." The man's long, gloomy face softened into a surprisingly pleasant smile. "Are you here for the race? It's due to start in a couple of minutes, so you might want to get down to the starting line. This end of the lake, just across the green." The hotelier gestured towards the lower end of the street, beyond the wreck. "Follow the penguins. They always know where they're going."

Danny wasn't convinced by the penguins; apart from the diving flippers on their feet and the cardboard beaks, they looked more like bedraggled waiters than any kind of sea bird. Nor was he impressed by the lake when it finally came into view; he'd seen bigger duck ponds back home. The rain hadn't improved it any; the ground on the near side had been trampled into dirt soup, which was scattered with straw to make it less slippery. The far bank would have been a better prospect if it hadn't been overgrown with reeds and densely planted with willows.

In spite of the weather, there was a good turn-out of spectators. Some of them had gotten into the spirit of things by dressing up as sailors, or old-fashioned bathing beauties. There was even one poor sucker in a duck costume, and an impressive red-haired female warrior bearing a spear and a shield; Britannia, ruling the waves.

The boats were lined up along the low footbridge which crossed the water, barely clearing the surface. The Vikings and the pirates were the least of it; Danny hadn't seen anything this screwy since he last made it to the Thanksgiving parade. He didn't like anyone's chances of staying afloat, especially the little Venetian gondola, which was already sitting pretty low in the water. The gondoliers were still bailing when the starting pistol went off.

The pirate ship took an early lead, hotly pursued by a bright green vessel crewed by what looked like an owl and a cat. The penguins barely got three yards before their ice floe overturned, earning them a resounding cheer from the onlookers on the bank.

Danny would have enjoyed the spectacle if he hadn't had other things on his mind. He couldn't see Brett anywhere. He hadn't expected to; they'd probably keep him and Miss Rose under wraps for as long as possible. Pargeter and Flynn didn't seem to be around either, with or without their mystery boss Snell. Of course, if they had any sense at all they'd be in the tea tent, out of the rain. As far as Danny was concerned, it was a pretty good idea.

He made his way across the mud towards the marquee, keeping his eyes peeled. He couldn't shake a feeling of uneasiness. There was something he'd forgotten; something he hadn't taken into account; something…

"Danny! You're here!"

Oh, yeah...that was it.

He put on a fixed smile and turned to face the reason he'd invited Brett here in the first place, before either of them even knew the watch existed. "Hi, Chrissie. Yeah, I made it. Just got here."

She took him by the arm, and snuggled in. "Did your friend come as well?"

"Uh – yeah. I'm supposed to meet him here. He'll be around somewhere." Danny looked around as though trying to spot his Lordship amongst the crowd. "How about your – your cousin, did you say?"

"Josie? She's a mermaid on one of the boats." Chrissie scanned the chaos on the water. "I think it's the one over there… oh." She broke off, and giggled. "Oops. She must have fallen overboard. That's her in the water."

"Seems like the right place for a mermaid." said Danny. There were a lot of people in the water by now, and he couldn't tell if any of them had tails. All the same, he grasped at the opportunity: "Why don't you go and fish her out? We can meet up later after she's dried out."

He tried to gently detach himself, but she clung on. "Oh, she'll be all right. You know I promised to show you the sights. You'll love the model village."

"Yeah, I'm sure I will." He really didn't want to see the model village. "You know what, though? Maybe we should save it for some other time, when it's not raining."

She giggled again. "It's better in the rain. We'll have the whole place to ourselves. Apart from the little model people, that is. And we don't mind them, do we?"

"Well, actually, they're kind of… let's put it this way, did you ever read Gulliver's Travels?"

Chrissie shrieked with laughter. "You're just the funniest man," she gurgled.

There had to be some way to let her down gently. If Flynn or Pargeter should turn up now…

They didn't, but someone else did. "Excuse me, sir. Might I have a word?"

Danny felt himself relaxing. The cavalry had arrived, right on time.

"Sure. What can I do for you, Mr… ?"

"Greenwood. Detective Chief Inspector Greenwood, Major Crimes." Greenwood displayed his warrant card. "We've been looking all over for you, Mr Wilde. Little matter of insurance fraud. Would you mind answering a few questions?"

He could sure sound grim, when he wanted to. Danny glanced down at Chrissie, who was staring at Greenwood with her mouth slightly open. Greenwood's aspect softened briefly into kindly benevolence: "I'd suggest you run along, Miss. And if you don't mind taking a little friendly advice, you should really be careful who you take up with. There's some shady customers about. Now, Mr Wilde, if you'll step this way…"

With an apologetic glance at Chrissie, Danny allowed Greenwood to escort him to the other side of the tea tent. Only when they were out of her line of sight did he express his opinion: "Well, thanks for that. It'll be all over the county within a week that I'm a swindler."

"No more than a day or so, I expect. Still, you weren't planning to spend a lot of time in these parts, were you?" replied Greenwood calmly. "I wouldn't, if I were you. Lot of strange things go on down this way."

"I believe you." Danny had turned his attention back to the race. As far as he could see, none of the competitors were making any headway. The pirates had lost their early advantage, and appeared to be going backwards.

Greenwood chuckled. "Mind if I ask why we're here? Only it doesn't strike me as something you'd be interested in."

"That's pretty much what Brett said, first time I mentioned the place," observed Danny. "He said it didn't sound like my style. Long story short, I bet him a hundred dollars that I could get him here."

"Somehow that doesn't surprise me," murmured Greenwood.

"Okay, that wasn't the only reason I thought of it, but it helped." Danny's gaze drifted towards the bridge where the race had started. "Uh-oh. There's Flynn. You better get out of sight."

Greenwood glanced at the man on the bridge and uttered a soft grunt. "Righto. I'll wait in the tea tent. Just give us a shout if there's any strife."

Danny moved a little closer to the water's edge. He kept his eyes on Flynn, who was leaning on the railing, apparently less interested in the race than in a trio of young water nymphs, clad in fluttering strips of voile, who were cheering on the boat crews.

Trying to look casual, Danny made his way towards the bridge, but stopped as he saw Pargeter emerge from behind the willows on the opposite bank and stroll across to join his buddy. They exchanged a few words; then Pargeter caught Danny's eye and acknowledged his presence with a nod, before heading back the way he'd come. Flynn, giving the girls a final once-over, left the bridge and came towards Danny.

"Over there," he said, jerking his chin towards a large green umbrella which could be seen further along the bank. The little skinny guy beneath it must be Snell. He looked pretty harmless, but even at a distance something about him reminded Danny of the first boss he'd worked for, way back when he was still a kid. Old Mr Murray had always seemed pretty inoffensive too, right up until he wasn't.

The thug standing behind him was another matter, and Danny opened the conversation with a casual observation: "You know, if you don't want to attract attention, you shouldn't let your goons turn up at a regatta looking like bargain-basement mobsters. Still, I guess you don't hire them for their dress sense."

Snell gave a weary sigh. "I suppose you think you're being funny, but I don't care for it. I've already had quite enough witty comments from Lord Sinclair."

"Yeah, he can be annoying," observed Danny meditatively. "It just comes natural to him, I guess."

"I can't say I'm very happy with all of this," Snell went on. "It would have been so much easier to meet somewhere a bit more comfortable."

"You mean, less public? Yeah, I bet you'd have liked that." Danny stuck his hands in his pockets, and looked around. "Speaking for myself, I prefer having a few witnesses around during a hostage swap. You know, just in case either side forgets the ground rules."

Snell flushed. "How very cynical. I'm sure we've acted in good faith throughout… Did you bring it?"

Danny gave a vague, evasive shrug, and turned his attention back to the race. The last two boats had somehow fouled each other, and were now circling around in a kind of aquatic waltz. Since both of them were listing badly, it was a safe bet they would founder before long. Once that happened, the potential witnesses he was counting on would start drifting off.

"Well?" Snell's voice had taken on an edge. "Where is it?"

"You'll get it," replied Danny coolly, "but not till I've seen Brett and Miss Rose."

Snell gave him a reproachful look. "Ronnie's on his way with them. Flynn, did you work something out between you?"

"It'll be easy." Flynn jerked his chin towards the bridge, which now stood empty. "He'll bring them onto the bridge, and wait till you give him the nod."

"You see?" Snell turned back to Danny. "All perfectly in order. Once you hand over the watch, your friends will be free to leave, but not before. Agreed?"

Danny took a few seconds to consider. On the face of it, it looked straightforward enough. He'd have his friends in full view the whole time. But only a few days ago, he'd seen these guys snatch Brett right off a public street. They probably wouldn't stick at pulling another stunt of the same kind, even in front of so many witnesses. It would be easy enough, as soon as Snell had his hands on the watch, to grab Brett and the girl and disappear back into the willows on the other side of the lake; and that would be the finish for both of them. As for Danny himself – well, Flynn always seemed to have a gun handy.

The boat race was over. Nobody had won, since none of the craft had made it to the finish line. By mutual agreement, the crews and spectators were starting to disperse, seeking somewhere warm and dry. If this went well, in a few minutes Danny would be able to do the same. If not...

"Agreed," he said.


As previously noted, the village of Little Worthy features in an episode of Midsomer Murders, "Small Mercies" (series 12), which takes place roughly 37 years later. So there are no crossover characters as such, although I've assumed the proprietorship of the White Hart Inn will pass from father to son during the intervening years.