The Case of the Parma Violets A Ginny Greaves Short by Sarnia de la Mare

Ginny Greaves: The Case of the Vanishing Violet

I was three fingers into a neat whisky and one finger into a thoroughly bad mood when they approached me—two slabs of man, all brow ridge and bad life choices, like someone had built a pair of knuckle sandwiches and taught them how to walk.

I'd been stood up again by the barmaid. Nice eyes, dodgy taste in women, said she'd meet me after her shift. She didn’t. I’d even worn my best lipstick.

© 2025 Sarnia de la Mare



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Episode Transcript

Speaker 1 (00:00):
Jinny Greaves the case of the Vanishing Violet. I was
three fingers into a neat whisky and one finger into
a thoroughly bad mood when they approached me. Two slabs
of man, all brow ridge and bad life choices, like
someone had built a pair of knuckle sandwiches and taught
them how to walk. I'd been stood up again by
the barmaid, nice eyes, dodgy taste in women, said she'd

(00:22):
meet me after her shift. She didn't. I'd even worn
my best lipstick. The taller of the two, who had
the look of a boxer that lost all of his fights,
cleared his throat for a speech, you, Ginny Greaves. I
looked up slow, without turning. I could see them in
the bar mirror. Standard private eye technique depends, I said,
Am I being served or seduced? Neither? Said the other,

(00:46):
who had a tattoo of a broken heart on his
neck and all the charm of a wet sock. We
need your help. Our mum's gone missing now. I don't
normally take jobs from men who look like they keep
their valuables in the boot of a stolen Vauxhall. But
they weren't lying their lower lips trembled every time they
said Mum, like children on the brink of a tantrum.

(01:07):
She left a note. One said, we didn't know she
could write that well, said the other. She left her
dentures behind the tall one added solemnly, as if that
sealed the doom. It was a quiet monday. I figured
I could clear this one up by the afternoon evening.
At a push right, I said, finishing my drink, let's

(01:28):
go find mummy. First stop was the Bingo Hall. She
wasn't there, but I found a mauve cardigan that smelled
of Parma violets and carbolic soap in lost Property, I
watched the CCTV. It was hers. I could at least
give it to her human rottweilers to help them sleep better.
It was in a launderette behind a butcher's in Hackney
where I struck gold or more accurately boiled sugar, a

(01:51):
crumpled paper bag of Parma violets, the kind of sweets
that taste like church pews. Her sons confirmed it. She
eats them when she's anxious or or flirtin' intriguing. She
didn't look like a flirter. More the memories type. The
trail twisted like a politician's promise. All the way to Cornwall.

(02:13):
I roped in a mate in the police department who
owed me. But this woman had a knack of looking invisible,
so it took some time. She had bought a new
cardigan on her credit card at a charity shop. It
was close to a caravan park with views of the
sea and the strong smell hot surfers. There in a
deck chair, wearing a floral kimono and sipping something fizzy
out of a plastic flute was Mavis, renowned mother of muscle. Ah,

(02:36):
she said, spotting me, you must be a detective. Took
you long enough? Fancy a baby cham. She wasn't kidnapped,
she wasn't depressed. She wasn't even menopausal, though she claimed
she might fake it for attention. I met Derek, she said.
He's twenty five and plays the ukulele. He calls me
goddess and irons. I nodded, checks out. But the teeth, ah, yes, well,

(02:59):
I have a spare set for special occasions. What now, Mavis,
I'm not sure they can boil an egg at home.
What did I care? But I like a happy ending.
And I guess Derreck did too. She came back of
her own accord skin, tanned hair and beechy waves, and
a slight spring in her step. Her boys met her
at the station with a bunch of daffodils and tears
that could rust a lamp post. We won't take you

(03:21):
for granted again, Mum. You'd better not, she said, or
I'll shag another busker. As for me, well, I caught
a train back to London with a flask of gin,
a pocket full of Parma violets, and a renewed belief
in the power of family ties. I'm Jinny Greeves and
I'm always on the case. Twenty twenty five, Sarnia de Lamar.

(03:42):
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