Chapter Two – The Case of the Missing Chutney Scroll
There was uproar in the Cheese Family household.
Lady Brie had dropped her knitting needles; a half-finished scarf for Babybel dangled sadly from her lap.
Sir Blue Vein’s monocle popped clean off, landing with a plink in his teacup.
Eddie Emmental let out a startled yelp and spilled his fondue across the tablecloth, leaving a molten puddle of goo that oosed its way to the edge of the table.
Clarabelle Cheddar gasped so hard she inhaled a Cheesy Puff, coughing wildly as crumbs flew into the air like confetti.
And Mini Mozzarella and Babybel both froze mid-wiggle, their disco moves cut short as if someone had pulled the plug on their music.
The family’s chutney recipe scroll… was gone.
This wasn’t just any recipe. It was a family heirloom, passed down through generations — the secret to the tangiest, zingiest, most foot-stompingly fabulous chutney the village had ever tasted. Sir Blue Vein had often said that chutney was the “heartbeat of a picnic,” and this scroll contained the very rhythm that had kept Cheese Family gatherings alive for decades.
Now, a suspiciously scroll-shaped gap was all that remained in the scroll cupboard — a cupboard usually guarded more closely than Lady Brie’s prized fondue forks.
“Could it be…” Clarabelle Cheddar began, still coughing.
“…the Disco Twins?” Eddie Emmental finished, raising an eyebrow.
The family gathered in the drawing room, their wedge-shaped shadows flickering in the fondue firelight.
Sir Blue Vein paced back and forth with his cane, muttering under his breath.
Lady Brie brewed what she called a “crisis fondue,” the bubbling pot of molten cheese sending thick, comforting aromas through the room.
Clarabelle Cheddar, ever practical, conducted a swift inventory of all other family treasures: the golden wedge trophy, Lady Brie’s ballroom medallion, Eddie’s special-effects toolkit. All were safe.
Eddie Emmental flipped open his crime notebook, already stained with past mysteries. “No signs of forced entry. No smudges. Just… a trail of crumbs.”
“Blue-veined crumbs,” said Mini Mozzarella, squinting at the floor with the seriousness of a seasoned detective.
Lady Brie’s face darkened. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I know those crumbs. Stilton crumbs.”
Gasps echoed around the room. Even Wensley whimpered, ears flat against his creamy head.
“You don’t mean—” Clarabelle Cheddar began.
“Yes,” said Sir Blue Vein, adjusting his monocle. “The Stilton Sisters.”
The room went cold. Somewhere in the distance — or perhaps only in their imagination — dramatic violin music played.
“The Stilton Sisters,” Lady Brie repeated, her tone sharp as a cheddar edge. “Known for two things: competitive ballroom… and competitive stealing.”
Memories flooded back. The Cheese Family had crossed paths with them before, most famously during the infamous “Fondue Flamenco Fiasco” of ’98, when the Stiltons had tried to swap Sir Blue Vein’s castanets for spoons mid-routine. They had been rivals ever since, sniffing around for secrets, trophies, or glitter whenever the chance arose.
“This is bigger than us,” Sir Blue Vein murmured. “If it’s a dance-off they want… we’ll need the twins.”
Clarabelle Cheddar’s eyes widened. “Monterey Jack and Halloumi Belle. Only they can match the Stiltons step for step.”
Lady Brie went to her writing desk, her hand steady despite the swirl of crisis. She penned a swift but elegant note in looping script. Folding it carefully, she tied it with golden ribbon and offered it to Wensley.
The faithful Wensleydoodle snatched it up in his jaws and bolted out the door, paws drumming against the cobbles.
Villagers looked up as he streaked past — a wedge-shaped blur with a mission — scattering flour dust from the bakery and sending a trail of glittery pawprints down the lane.
Back in the drawing room, Clarabelle wrung her hands. “I knew we hadn’t seen the last of them. They’ve always wanted our chutney secrets.”
“But why now?” asked Babybel, clutching her cheese rattle like a shield.
Mini Mozzarella’s eyes lit up. “Because the Village Dance Nationals are next month! What if they want to sabotage us?”
Eddie Emmental snapped his notebook shut and stood tall. “Well, then there’s only one thing for it.”
“Practice?” asked Sir Blue Vein.
“No,” said Eddie, dramatically. “A dance-off.”
Lady Brie narrowed her eyes, her voice steady with resolve. “To win back the recipe…”
“…and our honour,” finished Clarabelle, her voice strong.
The family nodded in unison. The battle lines were drawn — sequins versus sequins, rhythm versus rhythm, cheese versus cheese. And somewhere, the Stilton Sisters were already sharpening their steps.
Blind Man Makes 