Image description: A vintage-style illustration shows Lady Biscotti, a glamorous human woman with long platinum blonde hair styled in soft, feathered Farrah Fawcett waves. She wears a beige suit jacket, a sparkling necklace, and biscuit-shaped earrings. A camera hangs over her shoulder. Sitting beside her is Biggie, a large pale-coloured Labrador–Retriever cross, calm and alert near a ginger nut biscuit and a tin marked “BISCUITS.” The background is a warm, homely kitchen scene with no other characters present.
PART ONE: Crumbs in the Kitchen
It was a quiet afternoon in the kitchen. The air was thick with suspense—or perhaps just icing sugar.
Lady Biscotti—internationally renowned biscuit detective, connoisseur of crumb crimes, and always effortlessly fabulous—adjusted the sparkling necklace around her neck and gave a little flick of her biscuit-shaped earrings. Her heels clicked softly on the tiled floor. She wore biscuit-crumb beige with a touch of marzipan gloss, and her eyes were as sharp as a breadknife. A compact camera hung from a fine strap around her shoulder, always ready to capture evidence.
At her side, lying with calm authority, was Biggie—a large, pale-coloured Labrador–Retriever cross with a nose for finding biscuits and a heart of gold. Biggie’s reputation was legendary: if a biscuit went missing, Biggie would find it. Even the jammy ones.
Lady Biscotti sighed. “Another senseless snacking.”
Someone had eaten seven… no, eight… ginger nut biscuits in one sitting. And the worst part? The packet had been left open. Crumbs. Everywhere. The horror.
“Biggie,” she said, crouching to examine a half-nibbled survivor. She snapped a photo for the case file. “This was no accident.”
Biggie gave a gentle “woof” and began sniffing in large, thoughtful loops.
Lady Biscotti glanced at the biscuit tin residents. All looked shocked. None would meet her gaze.
The suspects: Custard Cream, trembling slightly. Digestive, dry but suspiciously bland. Jammie Dodger, jam half missing. Rich Tea, already falling apart.
Not one of them cracked.
But Biggie had already picked up a trail. Nose to ground, tail swaying, he followed the telltale ginger nut crumbs… across the kitchen floor… through the hallway… and into the living room.
There, curled up in a blanket, lay Indy—a fox red Labrador with a glowing reputation. His ginger-toned coat shimmered softly in the afternoon light. He was young, gentle, and famously polite around food.
Lady Biscotti knelt. “Biggie, report?”
Biggie sniffed once, then turned away with a firm snort—Indy was innocent.
Lady Biscotti raised a brow. “A frame job? Deliciously devious.”
She stood and flicked open her notebook. Case status: Reopened. Primary suspect cleared. Culprit still at large.
To be continued.
Blind Man Makes 