There he was sitting on a plane, fidgeting, and tired of the long flight. Sherrock Stones was flying from Scotland Quarry to Malibu, California on yet another intriguing case. Oh how he wanted to smoke his pipe, but he had given up smoking two months ago. It wasn’t really the smoking that he missed, it was just holding onto his elaborate, beautifully carved pipe, studying the figurines when he had nothing to say to anybody around. Which was often. Sherrock didn’t indulge in small talk. He preferred to listen. And on that flight there were interesting snippets of conversation floating all around him. Indeed Sherrock’s ears perked up when he heard tidbits of discussion about the very dilemma that he was brought halfway around the world to solve. It was making front page news, and all the television stations carried the story.
Sherrock was called in to help crack a puzzling case in California. There was something causing big problems in Malibu. Malibu, known for its beautiful beaches, expensive houses, canyon roads and movie stars, was facing a unique and treacherous situation. They even closed the scenic Pacific Coast Highway in both directions because the danger was just too great. People living in the area didn’t sleep at night; everyone was at wit’s end, nerves so tight you could feel it like static electricity making the hair on your arms stand straight up. Some residents were under mandatory evacuation orders and left their multi-million dollar homes in the middle of the night. Others just fled the area. The stress made everyone jumpy. News and camera crews were on the scene, their trucks parked facing out of the area in case of the need to make a quick getaway.
Sherrock breathed a sigh of relief as his plane landed safely at Los Angeles International Airport. He hurried through the maze of long corridors spilling into the customs and immigration lines. When he finally approached the immigration agent he was met with a cold hard stare. Evidently, his passport set off some kind of message because the agent asked if he was really the great detective Sherrock Stones, and if he was in the USA on business, and if so did he have the proper clearances. When the agent was convinced that all paperwork was in order, Sherrock went on to finally reach the baggage carousal. Alas, he still had to wait nearly 45 minutes for his green and black plaid luggage to finally make its appearance on the conveyor belt. He collected his bags and headed out the door.
He found his rental car, checked the map, and was soon on the 405 freeway. Arriving in Malibu, he checked in to the Quartz Motel and spread his notes out on the bed. He was after the lowest of the low. Yeah, Ricco was a dirty, slippery, slimy, low life, sedimentary guy. That’s right. Ricco Sandstone. Sedimentary rock, bad stuff, smart though. It was rumored that he can slip right through your fingers and you wouldn’t even know it. That’s why he’s never been caught, you never see him make a move until it’s too late.
Word has it that he’s been hanging around Malibu up on the cliffs. The authorities have closed Pacific Coast Highway just north of Big Rock Road. Ricco was up to no good. The little weasel was planning to take Big Rock out. And no one could stop him.
Sherrock drove up the Highway past the barricades and spoke to the officer in command. Big Rock was in trouble. He was down, fallen about halfway down the cliff. Nobody could reach Big Rock climbing down the cliff, so they tried climbing up to him. The fear was that the slightest movement of the ground around Big Rock would send him tumbling out of control down the hillside nobody could save him now. Thirteen tons of hard rock and all it took was that crumbly Ricco to dislodge him and put the entire community in danger. Course, all the rain didn’t help. It made everything slippery. Policeman, Sherrock, road workers, everybody was slippin’ in the mud. Sherrock called in the fire department to squirt fire hoses all around Big Rock in hopes that the ground would become more slippery and Big Rock could just roll down the hill inch by inch. But Big Rock was stuck hanging on the side of the cliff. The watery mud sort of held onto him like a giant suction cup. The predicament was baffling. The town was desperate. Just below the cliff where Big Rock sat glued to the hillside, was the normally busy Coast highway, and just beyond that houses. Not just ordinary houses. Houses that faced the white sand and blue Pacific Ocean. Not just million dollar homes, but multi-million dollar homes. Ex-pen-sive! And Big Rock was as big as a small house and weighed 5 times as much and capable of completely demolishing more than one house if it started to roll down the hill out of control.
The road remained closed for another night. The news helicopters circled around overhead all pointing their “night sun” spotlight on the poor pathetic Big Rock. The wind whipped around from the chopper blades and the ground vibrated with the echoing noise. Sherrock ordered the helicopters away. Anything could set off a violent landslide worse than any avalanche.
In the morning, Sherrock had another idea. He brought in giant jackhammers that chipped away at Big Rock, bit by bit. It wasn’t the ideal solution. Big Rock was turning into Many Little Rocks, and it looked like it was going to take all day. Indeed it did. Sometime around noon the next day Big Rock was gone. Large dirt hauling trucks scooped up Many Little Rocks and carried them away. Pacific Coast Highway finally reopened. The work crews went home. The news vans left. Sherrock packed his bags.
Ricco got away again. He caused this landslide, and nobody caught him. Even Sherrock was so intent in safely getting Big Rock down the sloping hillside that Ricco just slipped away. Like silt in a pond, Ricco was dirty, seedy, sedimentary and seditious
Dejected, Sherrock went back home vowing to get Ricco in the future. So until the next time, watch out for falling rocks; Ricco is nearby.
Interested in advertising with us? Click here to find out more on our Partner Program
There he was sitting on a plane, fidgeting, and tired of the long flight. Sherrock Stones was flying from Scotland Quarry to Malibu, California on yet another intriguing case. Oh how he wanted to smoke his pipe, but he had given up smoking two months ago. It wasn’t really the smoking that he missed, it was just holding onto his elaborate, beautifully carved pipe, studying the figurines when he had nothing to say to anybody around. Which was often. Sherrock didn’t indulge in small talk. He preferred to listen. And on that flight there were interesting snippets of conversation floating all around him. Indeed Sherrock’s ears perked up when he heard tidbits of discussion about the very dilemma that he was brought halfway around the world to solve. It was making front page news, and all the television stations carried the story.
road workers, everybody was slippin’ in the mud. Sherrock called in the fire department to squirt fire hoses all around Big Rock in hopes that the ground would become more slippery and Big Rock could just roll down the hill inch by inch. But Big Rock was stuck hanging on the side of the cliff. The watery mud sort of held onto him like a giant suction cup. The predicament was baffling. The town was desperate. Just below the cliff where Big Rock sat glued to the hillside, was the normally busy Coast highway, and just beyond that houses. Not just ordinary houses. Houses that faced the white sand and blue Pacific Ocean. Not just million dollar homes, but multi-million dollar homes. Ex-pen-sive! And Big Rock was as big as a small house and weighed 5 times as much and capable of completely demolishing more than one house if it started to roll down the hill out of control.
