All language subtitles for The.Sheep.Detectives.2026.1080p.VOSTFR.HDTS.x264-FS

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By WiLLiAM BENDER
Contact : WiLLiAMBNDR2024@GMAiL.COM

Dearest Rebecca, I know you have many questions.

So do I.

After all, life is a mystery.

But if there's one answer to all the great riddles of the universe, one secret to happiness, I propose it would be simply this.

Sheep.

No, seriously, it really is sheep.

Okay, I'm coming.

In your last letter, you asked me if any of my sheep was special.

Well, they're all special.

That's why I gave each one a name.

For instance, there are these rowdy twin rams I've named Ronnie and Reggie, and a very proud and dignified Sir Richfield.

Cloud, the fluffiest.

Bit of a diva, that one.

Zora, the most curious.

Mopple, the most patient.

And Wooleyes.

Well, because I haven't thought of a better name.

And, okay, I know I said they're all special, but I have to admit that two of my sheep are the most special.

There's Sebastian, my biggest ram.

Like me, bit of a loner.

Sooner or later, he wanders away.

And sooner or later, he comes back.

And finally, Lily, my smartest sheep.

The one who always seems to know what I'm thinking in my head and feeling in my heart.

Above all others, she brings me the kind of peace that only shepherds know.

A peace that comes from taking care of the kindest creatures on earth.

Each day starts by tending to their health.

I keep them well-fed, well-groomed.

I do my best to keep them entertained.

When I wake up, I'm gonna feed them and I'll wake them next to you.

And I make sure they get their medicine, which I think they'd say they enjoy, if only they could speak.

Time for your medicine, mate.

There you go.

And when my chores are finished and the sun starts to sink low in the sky, I choose a book to read out loud to them.

Detective novels, mysteries, whodunnits, all my favourites.

I know when Rodney Hollingshead was murdered and I know who the real killer was.

I like to pretend that they follow along with the story, but I know in my heart that as special as they are, they're still sheep.

No, no more.

Go on, a lot of you.

I'll read the ending tomorrow.

Argh!

Why would he stop there?

He was just about to say who the killer was.

This is torture.

It was the maid, right?

Of course it's the maid.

No, no, no.

It was the gardener, always cutting the grass, but never eating any.

Yeah, suspicious.

Are you all nuts?

The doctor did it.

No way.

It was the creepy aunt.

The creepy aunt was three stories ago, genius.

How do we have the same parents?

Oh, here we go.

Right.

You're all wrong.

I figured it out two chapters ago.

The maid, right?

Not the maid.

The nephew, Bertie Hollingshead.

But Lily, didn't the detective prove all the evidence against Bertie Hollingshead had been forged by the real killer?

Exactly.

Don't you see?

To escape conviction, he forged the evidence himself.

Bertie Hollingshead was the real killer.

George is going to finish the story tomorrow.

You'll see.

I still think it's the maid.

Bertie knew all about the law that said a person cannot be prosecuted twice for the same crime.

And so, to escape conviction, he forged the evidence himself.

Bertie Hollingshead was the real killer.

Now, most of my sheep seem to spend their day either eating or thinking about eating.

But I have three rambunctious lambs with boundless energy.

Happy, carefree little creatures who were born in the spring.

Actually, almost all lambs are born in the spring.

And then there's my one lamb who was born in the winter.

Oh, hello.

I'm Daisy.

I'm Oliver.

I'm Pickles.

What's your name?

I don't have a name.

Do you want to play with us?

No, shoo!

You're not to play with that winter lamb.

He doesn't belong in this flock.

For reasons that only make sense to a sheep, a flock will often reject a lamb born in the winter,

just because a winter lamb is different.

I have a question.

Why is George always so nice to that lamb?

George isn't a sheep.

No one's ever taught him about winter lambs.

Oh, and one last thing.

If you accept my invitation, you should know that I live near a town called Denbrook.

It has its own special types.

For instance...

Good morning, Caleb.

Caleb, also a shepherd.

Good morning, ladies.

Don't like him.

Ham, the butcher, really don't like him.

Beth, the innkeeper, doesn't like me.

Oh, I could kill that man.

Tim, the policeman, an idiot.

And Reverend Hillcoat, who fancies himself a shepherd of men.

We have a complicated relationship.

And now today's reading, The Parable of the Lost Sheep.

George, have you come to join us?

All are welcome in the house of the Lord.

Even butchers, hmm?

I'm not here to join you.

I'm here to settle a debt.

Good old George.

Good old George.

But enough about the people.

I want you to meet my flock.

They're longing to see you.

And so am I.

Please come soon.

Love, George.

Cloud?

Mm-hmm?

I have a question.

Will dandelions make my eyelashes pretty like yours?

No, they do nothing for the lashes.

But they do wonders for the wool.

Just look at Wool-Eyes.

He eats nothing but dandelions.

Oh, is that what these are?

Okay.

We should save some of those dandelions for Sebastian.

He's been gone for days.

Who cares?

Ever since George brought him here from who knows where, he keeps wandering off into that town.

Let's let him go hungry.

Just because he doesn't care about us, doesn't mean we shouldn't care about him.

Sebastian's part of our flock.

Look, it's Caleb!

Caleb, over here!

Oh, I always love the way he smells.

It's his woolen sweaters.

Mm, they're so beautifully dyed.

Can I come in?

I'm coming in.

He's so new and beautiful and shiny.

Are you thinking what I'm thinking?

I want to bash it!

I want to bash it so bad!

Reggie?

Ronnie?

We've been over this.

We don't bash things unless...

Unless there's a legitimate cause for bashing.

There you go.

This is Caleb's third visit this month.

There's only one thing they could be talking about in there.

Combining flocks!

Combining flocks!

New sheep!

New fields!

Doggies!

I am thinking about it.

I gave you a chance and you lied to me, Callie!

And don't come back!

Oop, sounds like we won't be combining flocks then.

I felt so happy and now I feel sad and upset.

I want to forget this happened.

You're right.

It's too disappointing.

Okay, everyone, we will choose to forget Caleb's entire visit on the count of three.

One, two...

But what about Mopple?

He can't forget things.

Why not?

Poor Mopple.

He was born with a terrible affliction.

Unlike the rest of us, he cannot choose to forget things.

Oh yeah.

Mopple, once we've forgotten, please do not remind us that this happened.

Are you sure though?

It really wasn't that bad.

No, but it wasn't that good either.

So why bother?

Ready?

One, two, three.

Cloud?

I have a question.

Will dandelions make my eyelashes pretty like yours?

No, they do nothing for the lashes.

But they do wonders for the wool.

I'm fine.

I will be fine, I promise.

It's just...

I don't know.

Well, because I was hoping things would be different soon.

You don't have to worry.

You'll be okay.

And I'll be okay too.

Oh, hello, hello.

Anything exciting?

Not much post for Monday.

Just bills and junk.

George, who's he sending letters to?

Well, I shouldn't say anything.

But a Miss Rebecca Hampstead in America.

Whoever she is, they've been mailing back and forth for months now.

And go on, smell it.

Rose scented paper.

They're love letters.

Can you believe it?

Grouchy pants, George Hardy.

The corny old romantic.

Who knew?

Corny George.

Take care.

Yeah, you too.

Bye.

Hello.

Hi.

I'm just in from the city for the Denver Cultural Festival.

Oh, fantastic.

This is it.

Follow me.

This is what?

Welcome to the Denver Cultural Festival.

You're joking.

What?

This is our town's heritage.

What?

What is Return to Oz?

Yeah, that's the best film ever made.

And they shot it just 40 miles down the road.

Most people agree it's better than the original.

Never seen it.

Who hasn't seen Return to Oz?

Okay, I'm sorry.

Why would you make a huge banner for this?

I want people to come.

Hardly a festival without people.

Oh no, it's not a festival at all.

No, it's just some tables.

Are you telling me how to run my business?

No.

You're right, I'm sorry.

We got off on the wrong foot there.

My name is Elliot Matthews.

I'm a reporter for the Gazette.

Junior reporter.

Okay, fine.

I work on the obituary's desk.

But I've been looking for a real story for so long and my features editor gave me this.

The Denver Cultural Festival.

So, sounds like a dream.

That's pretty cool.

I'm not going to get a promotion writing about this, am I?

No.

Too bad.

10, cut.

For what?

Admission fee.

Admission fee?

Take all of it.

I'm just...

Waiter.

Oh, where's George?

Where's our nighttime story?

He should have come out by now.

Oh, that sound is nothing to be frightened of.

Sir Richfield?

Yes, it's time you were told, little lambs.

For this is the way of things.

All those clouds were once sheep, just like you and me.

And when they see the ground has become too dry, they begin to dance.

Big booming noises as they kick the rain out of the sky to make the grass and clover grow.

Do sheep become clouds?

Yes, Pickles.

All of us.

I'll become a cloud one day, just like my parents did before me.

Even though, for some reason, I can't remember what it was like when my parents turned into clouds.

Mopple, you remember everything.

That day must have been wonderful, right?

Well, yes, of course.

They said goodbye and joyously floated off into the sky, becoming two beautiful, fluffy clouds looking down upon us all.

With love.

Forever.

Thank you.

And there it is, just as it should be.

Yes, everything is just as it should be.

On the bright side, you picked the perfect day.

Perfect time to wind up here.

It's the Denbrook Cultural Festival.

You lucky thing.

Well, I went last weekend with my sister and we had some local cheese,

and it was much better than anything you could buy in those fancy cheese stores.

Did you see that?

See what?

Yeah, you're awake!

I've asked you a number of times not to do this.

We forgot.

We forgot.

Of course you did.

Look at that!

Wait, wait, slow down!

I think it's a game.

Don't move.

The first one who moves loses.

He's not playing a game.

Well, then what's he doing?

He's dead.

George is dead.

What?

What do you mean dead?

That's not real.

That's just in books.

It is real?

People die?

Will he turn into a clout?

No, only sheep do that.

Dead?

Dead?

That's a real thing?

It appears so.

Does that mean sheep can die?

No, Pickles.

We turn into clouds.

George can't be dead.

I need my medicine.

I have oaf.

What's oaf?

This is oaf.

I don't think any of you understand what I'm saying.

George is gone.

He's never coming back.

But George was our shepherd.

What will we do?

Yes, you're the smartest sheep in the world, Lily.

Tell us what to do.

There's only one thing we can do.

We have to forget George.

What?

But Lily, it's George.

We can't just move...

Remembering him hurts too much.

I can't do it.

She's right.

Sheep are not meant to feel such things.

We must choose to forget.

On the count of three.

But hold on.

One.

No, no, no, please don't.

It's George.

Two.

You'll forget nothing.

Sebastian.

Did you really think that I would let you forget my shepherd so easily?

He was our shepherd, Sebastian.

We all loved him.

It's too painful to bear.

And we're going to forget.

No, you won't.

You'll remember him because it's right.

Because it's just.

Just what?

No, not...

I mean justice.

Just us what?

Just dis.

Justice.

It means the good should not be harmed by the bad.

The weak should not be harmed by the strong.

And a friend should never be forgotten.

George showed me justice once.

He deserves it in return.

It's true.

George was always so kind to me.

To all of you.

It's why he raised you only for your wool.

Why else would anyone raise sheep?

No other reason.

Just the wool.

Only the lovely wool.

I have a question.

What's the meaning of human life if it could all just end one day in the blink of an eye?

In fact, why are humans here at all?

And who made them?

And who made us?

And what's inside a tree?

And where does the moon go during the day?

And why was George murdered?

Murdered?

What do you mean murdered?

In the nighttime stories, the dead people are always murdered.

No, no, Zora.

Those are all pretend.

This is real.

Isn't that right, Lily?

Yes, exactly.

There's no reason to think that George was...

His hat.

I came by to have him sign some papers.

I found them like this.

Would you like to say a few words?

No.

Caleb?

What's the butcher doing here?

Five.

Six.

He wants the sheep.

Fifteen.

Sixteen.

Lily, what are you up to?

It may be nothing, but I can't stop thinking about George's hat and raincoat.

What hat and raincoat?

Exactly.

He came out in a storm.

Why didn't he put them on?

Unless...

Boost me up.

What?

I said I wish I could forget this.

Do you see anything?

I see everything.

Excuse me.

Morning.

I'm sorry, what are you still doing in town?

This is car troubles.

Who's this?

His name's George Hardy.

He's a shepherd.

What happened?

Probably a heart attack.

Not much of a story for you, I'm afraid.

Unless there's anything out of the ordinary, right?

Nope, I've looked everywhere.

Around the caravan.

Underneath the caravan.

What about inside the caravan?

Worth a shot?

Or maybe...

What?

There's fingerprints, innit?

Right.

Forensics.

Yep.

Well, all looks in order.

Wait, hang on, hang on.

Why would a man having a heart attack just get up and walk outside?

Probably outside when it happened.

No, no, it happened here.

He knocked his chair over.

And he wasn't alone.

He wasn't alone.

Come on, mate.

It was a heart attack.

Seems to me that you're willfully ignoring the fact there is evidence to suggest otherwise.

What are you saying?

That I'm scared it's a murder?

Are you?

Please, I wish there was a murder in Denbrook.

I wish there was a murder a day.

Nothing would make me happier.

Look, I know you need a story for your big newspaper career, but I'm sorry.

George Hardy was not murdered.

George Hardy was murdered.

The policeman said it was murder?

No, the policeman said it was a heart attack, but he's wrong.

Ah, so it's not really murder.

It's just a wild guess made by a barnyard animal.

Okay.

George was visited by someone he knew well enough to offer a drink.

He then got sick.

The failure of his guests to alert anyone suggests that they were responsible, and the lack of visible injury suggests poison.

The grassy green stain on his hand points to a struggle.

The killer escaped.

George succumbed to the poison and died.

I never guess.

The policeman is completely hopeless, the way they always are in the nighttime stories.

That's why someone else has to come along and solve the crime.

Who?

George Vedas.

George cared for us.

George loved us.

We owe him everything.

What are you saying?

Our shepherd has been murdered, and we shall solve the crime.

What's so funny?

Oh, wow.

Well, to start with, you're sheep!

He's talking about you.

You all think you're smart enough to solve a crime.

Do you know what humans call stupid people who can't think for themselves?

Ducks!

Sheep!

And you, the smartest sheep in the world!

Where have you been in the world?

Over here?

And over there?

Please, just go back to your hay and your dandelions and your naps, and leave the murder cases to the humans.

So, shall we begin?

Look for clues.

Don't disturb any evidence.

And no eating the crime scene.

Wait, what is this?

Guys, I may be inside a clue!

Ow!

Oh, gosh.

Okay, let's just forget about the clues.

Did anyone see anything the night of the murder?

I did.

I saw you, Sebastian.

Sebastian did it!

Murderer!

Right, I did it.

I went in a door I don't fit through, sat in a chair that won't hold me, and I killed my own shepherd for no reason,

by delicately squeezing droplets of poison into his glass using this.

He has a point.

Did any of you see any people?

I saw George's ghost.

No, you didn't.

I did.

The ghost got up from his body.

I mean, I couldn't see it very well in the dark, but it smelled like George.

Please, Winter Lamb, this is not the time.

Bells?

But there were bells two days ago.

They use the bells to call town gatherings.

This is about George.

Of course.

In the nighttime stories, there's always a gathering to announce the murder, and the killer is always among them.

We need to be there.

You think you're brave enough to leave home?

None of you have ever left this meadow.

Your hooves have never touched anything but grass.

What's so hard about leaving home?

We're not scared.

Moppa, what is that?

I think it's a road.

But what is it made of?

Well, not grass, I can tell you that.

Lily?

Yes?

Are you coming?

I'm just, um...

You go on ahead.

Why are you yelling?

I'm only a few feet away from you.

But it feels so far.

All you have to do is cross the road.

Oh.

Oh.

No.

No, I can't.

It's impossible.

Oh.

It's not your fault.

We are who we are.

Maybe if you and I cross together...

For George?

For George.

Together.

I want to go back.

So do I.

Keep going.

We made it.

We left home.

See?

She can do things.

In fact, we can do anything.

Whoop-de-doo!

Just two more miles to go.

Not a problem.

And how many miles was that?

I'll admit, I'm impressed.

You won't solve the mystery.

But at least you're seeing a bit of the world.

Of course I'll solve the mystery.

I'll solve it by tonight.

George read us dozens of these nighttime stories.

They follow very simple rules.

Mopple?

Huh?

Oh.

One.

The killer always returns to the scene of the crime.

Two.

The police always think a drifter did it.

They're always going on about a drifter.

Three.

An unexpected person arrives and changes everything.

Four.

The victim is the most important clue.

Well, that is simple.

But you'll find the real world is a bit more complicated than a book.

Speaking of, welcome to Denbrook.

What is this?

This is the church where someone named God lives.

Who's God?

It's a bit confusing.

God is a shepherd.

So he could be our shepherd?

No, because he's also a lamb.

What?

And he's also invisible.

And he's made of bread.

And he damns things.

Damns things?

Like a beaver?

Yes.

So God is a big invisible lamb beaver made of bread?

Yes.

And they eat him on Sundays.

Poor God.

I know I was supposed to be back, but I may have stumbled upon my first small-town murder mystery.

I've got to go.

Come on.

They won't see us from here.

They already see you, and nobody cares.

For the 100th time, you're sheep.

Citizens of Denbrook, I know there are rumors that George Hardy's death was suspicious,

but I'm not allowed to comment on the poisoning until the investigation has concluded.

Wait, George was murdered?

Oh, crap.

Sorry, what kind of poison?

Look, George was poisoned by something called taxine.

It's found in the berries of the yew tree.

And these trees, do they grow around here?

Right there.

Then it was one of us who killed him.

No, no, no, no.

Please, it was almost certainly a drifter.

What's with them?

Officer Derry?

Officer Derry!

Yes.

I am that person.

Lydia Harbottle?

Harbottle and Bloom?

We spoke earlier.

I am the late George Hardy's lawyer.

Right.

And you are?

I'm Rebecca Hampstead.

I'm George's daughter.

George has a daughter?

An unexpected person arrives and changes everything.

That's your phone number right there at the bottom of the page.

That's how I knew to call you.

I'm always detecting.

You're not a detective, though, are you?

I know, but...

But you found this document sitting out in the open on a desk in a miniscule caravan.

That's just noticing, isn't it?

Well...

So you noticed this document the second time you went into Mr Hardy's caravan.

That's right.

So I had to go back there, give the scene a good searching.

I put up the police tape.

Stickier than I expected.

Don't care, nor would anyone ever.

Have you read it?

Have you even looked at it?

No.

Not my business.

It very specifically is.

I'll do a reading of the will later this afternoon.

The following people are named, so do make sure that they are present.

The Reverend Hilcote, Caleb Merrow, write this down.

The Reverend Hilcote, Caleb Merrow, Beth Pennock, Ham Gilead, Caleb Merrow.

And Rebecca Hampstead.

I'll be staying at the Partridge Inn.

We'll do the reading there at 5pm sharp.

5pm?

1700.

Now, I told you, Rebecca lives in America, and yet here she is, Eaton Denbrook, on the very day you told me that her father was dead,

meaning that she was already in this country the night he was killed.

But you didn't pick up on that, did you?

Yeah.

No.

Yeah.

Of course I did.

This is your first murder, isn't it?

What?

You think I killed him?

Oh.

Oh.

Yeah, you mean my first murder case.

Well, it's all on your shoulders now, Officer Derry.

I'll see you at 5.

I'll see you at 5, Miss Harbottom.

Madam Harbottom.

We have to get to that will reading.

This is the Partridge Inn.

I eat flowers here sometimes, although I don't know how any of this is meant to matter.

In the nighttime stories, there's always a will, and the people in the will are always the suspects.

Oh.

I need to see their faces.

Why?

Because humans often lie, and you can see it in their eyes.

Exactly.

Hmm.

Mopple, while we work on the window, look around and see if there's a better one.

On it.

Shall we?

What do you know about your birth mother?

In his letters, he said that she died giving birth to me, and that he was very young and very scared and very poor,

and he put me up for adoption. By the church, actually.

Uh, uh...

I have a question as well.

Sorry, mate.

Um, nice to see you.

Uh, I-I just realized, all by myself, that-that you couldn't have got here today from America, right?

Which-which means you were already in this country last night when George was murdered.

I'm not accusing you or anything, but that's...

is that right?

That's so smart, detective.

I'm-I'm not a detective.

I'm just an officer who is always detecting.

Well, I, uh...

I, uh...

I was in this country, but I-I've never been to Denbrook until today.

Follow-up question.

Do you have a boyfriend?

Oh, this is hard to watch.

Well, that's a standard question any investigator would ask in this situation.

Uh, so funny you asked that.

We just, uh...

We just broke up.

Oh, no.

Do you see what I see?

The daughter.

Her face is happy.

But her eyes are scared.

So-so what time did you arrive last night exactly?

I got in around 7 p.m., and...

I'm sorry.

That's all right.

I was supposed to meet him today, and I'm just...

I'm so overwhelmed.

Come on.

Oh, thank you.

Come on.

Thank you.

It's okay.

Thank you so much.

Window, window, window.

If I was a window, where would I go?

Ooh...

Vegetable.

Hello.

Just a little carrot.

Om nom nom.

Oh.

Oh, no.

Oh, no, no, no, no.

He also told me that I have a brother, a twin, actually, um...

who was sent to South Africa, I think.

A South African twin you've never met.

This...

This is gold.

And who are you?

Uh, I'm Elliot Matthews.

I'm covering this story.

I don't care.

Out.

Well, actually, as a journalist, I have...

Absolutely no rights whatsoever.

Get out.

Fine.

And no lurking.

I'll be in the presidential suite, basking in all the luxury's amenities.

Lolo!

Lolo, Sebastian!

Help!

Mr. Van Vuren, this is Lydia Harbottle.

Can you hear me?

Yeah, very good connection.

Thank you.

Mr. Van Vuren is Mr. Hardy's son, and he lives in South Africa, hence is joining us by phone.

Now, Mr. Hardy sent me a copy of his will some two months ago.

Ahem.

But this is not the will that I shall be reading today.

He wrote a new will.

I found that.

Shush.

Dated three days before his death.

Of course.

There is always a new will.

This is the last will and testament of Mr. George Hardy.

I have gathered the seven of you here because I have unfinished business with each of you.

I have done wrong to some of you, and some of you have done wrong to me.

Among you now, in this very room, is a fool, a bad shepherd, a spring lamb, a winter lamb,

a victim, and two murderers.

Two murderers?

Calling me a bad shepherd?

How am I supposed to figure that out?

Well, at least we know who the fool is.

These French sheep.

Finest breed there is.

And what's this about another victim?

So one of us is next.

One of us could be the murderer.

Tim!

Why don't you just shut up?

Ah, Scotsman!

This is one with my name.

Two murderers?

A winter lamb?

This is what I leave to you.

Hey, hey!

This is what I leave to you.

The knowledge that I saw you for who you really were, and for most of you, that's all you're getting.

What does he mean, that's all we're getting?

What am I doing here, then?

Sit down and shut up, Ham.

I will not.

No, that's the next line in the will.

Sit down and shut up, Ham.

It seems George knew you pretty well.

Have some class about you.

Shut your face.

You shut yours.

To my son, Peter Van Vuren, the 300 acres currently leased to Caleb Merrow.

Oh, that's very kind.

To my daughter, Rebecca Hampstead, the adjoining 300 acres which I call home,

including my caravan, my barn, their contents, and my sheep.

Now, in the prior will, Mr. Hardy left the remainder of his assets to a charity, the Society for the Protection of Animals.

In the new will, however, this paragraph reads as follows.

I bequeath the remainder of my assets to my daughter, Rebecca Hampstead.

You don't get too excited.

The man had nothing.

Well, actually, there is one non-operational muck spreader, three pre-purchased bags of fertilizer,

very useful, and one money market account in the sum of approximately $30 million.

Did she say 30 million?

So, we have our motive.

30 million, how?

Two years ago, George Hardy created a remedy for a sheep disease known as ORF.

ORF, ORF.

So, you're telling me that blue goopy was always mixing up, that was medicine?

He sold the patent to a large agricultural corporation for the sum of...

30 million?

For ORF?

Aaaah!

Hmm?

Huh?

There's someone out there.

Go get them.

Go, go.

Hey, hey, hey!

Hey!

Hey!

Oh, it's

back!

Get him out!

Out!

Billy, I found the window.

Here you go, good boy.

Here you are.

These sheep will keep running amok if they don't have a shepherd, all right?

Especially that big one.

George got him from a carnival.

It's practically wild.

Wait, Tim.

Would you like to make a statement?

No, no.

No comment.

And call me officer.

What about, what about leads?

Do we have any leads?

Yes, yeah.

I have a ton of leads and I'm completely on top of this.

Look, I need a story, you need an arrest.

Wouldn't it be nice to just have some respect for once?

Hey, people respect me.

If you solve this, you would be a hero.

We could work together.

I could help.

Last night, when my car was getting towed, I saw a flashlight around 9pm near George's field.

All right, all right.

That fits.

The coroner said George died between 8 and 11.

You took pictures of the body, right?

Because I really should have done that.

I took so many pictures.

I'll send them all to you.

What do you say, Officer Hero?

And then she said, a fool, a victim, two murderers.

I still think it's the maid.

There is no maid.

That was a story and even in the story it wasn't the maid.

No more maids.

Ah, sheep.

Caleb will be our new shepherd.

Won't he, Lily?

Of course.

We just need to wait for the mystery to be solved.

I have a question.

Why haven't you solved the mystery yet, Lily?

You solved them in the night time stories right away.

I know, but the real world is a bit more complicated than a book.

A book.

That might be the answer.

I just need to get inside George's trailer and...

Look.

Is that Rebecca?

Rebecca?

What is she looking for?

What's your name?

That's George's daughter?

She smells like him, but she doesn't look like him.

I'll bet she was born in winter.

That's why George didn't want her around.

Of course.

A winter lamb.

That proves it.

Rebecca did it.

Murderer.

We don't know that.

I knew that's what I was trying to say.

I was like, Rebecca, she's trouble.

I said it right from the beginning.

Sebastian?

Lily?

You were saying something about George's trailer and a book?

All right.

The last book George read to us was all about how to narrow down a suspect.

I need to find that book and bring it to the policeman.

If we're lucky, he'll read it and learn something.

Let me, let me, let me.

No, no, Zora.

I want to be the detective.

Let me.

Well, all right.

I just need you to find the book George had started reading to us with a chapter on means, motive, and opportunity.

I have a question.

What's a chapter?

It doesn't matter.

Just find the book with the train on the cover.

I have a question.

What's a train?

It's a long, skinny line of trailers.

I have a question.

Wait a minute.

Wool-Eyes, what are you doing?

Stand back, everyone.

I'll find this book using my keen sense of smell.

Oh!

Oh, there's some sabatos.

You can have those.

Come on, Wool-Eyes.

Everyone's counting on you.

No, we're not.

Is this the last book George touched?

Is it?

No, that's a carrot.

Oh, my word.

I'll come back for that later, actually.

Ha-ha!

Is this what you're looking for?

No.

Oh, what about this?

That's it.

Wool-Eyes, you found it.

Of course I did.

Lily, I expect, is it?

I am, after all, a sheep detective.

Oh!

Oh!

It's nice up here, but a bit lonely.

Oh, I gave a book to the policeman to help him solve the case.

What's a carnival?

It's nothing.

Go back to your flock.

Our flock?

It's music.

A carnival is music.

And rides.

Every day, children would come and pet me and feed me.

I loved that until I grew too big.

And then, when night fell, the men from the carnival would come and lead me into a circle.

And in that circle was a dog.

And they would make me fight.

Fight until I bled.

Then, one night, he found me.

He paid them and took me away.

And that's what a carnival is.

But how did you even end up in such a terrible place?

Why weren't you with your flock?

I thought Lily, the great sheep detective, would have figured that out by now.

So you were a winter...

Sooner or later, a winter lamb wants to leave.

There he is!

Yes!

Oh, I hope you're hungry, Tim.

Are we?

Hello?

Every time something interesting happens with this case, there they are.

You've lost it.

You've lost it, and you've done nothing, Tim.

Not quite nothing.

Who killed George?

Five suspects named in the will.

Whoever killed George needed three things.

Means, motive, opportunity.

It worked.

He read the book.

Let's take them one by one, shall we?

Means.

Taxine from the berries of a yew tree.

We've got yew trees all over the church grounds.

Everyone had the means.

Motive.

Why kill George?

Rebecca's got the clearest motive, but any of the others could have a reason.

What are they hiding?

Opportunity.

Do any of these people have an alibi?

Means, motive, opportunity.

Find the one with all three and catch the Denbrook Poisoner.

Tim, this is actually really good.

Yeah, well, it just sort of came to me in the night.

Okay, let's get started.

And which one are you from George's will?

Probably the murderer.

He was a vegetarian.

I can forgive that in a woman, but in a man?

Disgusting.

Death.

George's letter to Rebecca.

Why did you have it?

Maybe the postal service made a mistake for the first time in history.

And the day before George died, you told me you could kill that man.

I'm not the killer.

I'm the victim, and that's all I'm saying.

I know my rights.

Caleb.

And the morning you found George, you told me you were bringing him some papers.

Yeah, he just cancelled my lease.

You know, I was bringing him a proposal to reconsider.

So much for that.

Hold on.

George cancelled your lease?

Why?

You heard the will?

Apparently, I'm a bad shepherd.

Hillcoat.

George never set foot in your church, and suddenly he walks in on the day before he dies and makes a large donation.

Why?

Why am I always on the bottom?

Shh.

George came to me a while ago and told me about the church putting his children up for adoption.

But as soon as he got back on his feet, he started searching for them.

The church wouldn't tell him where they were.

Strict policy, apparently.

And so he asked what it would take for me to get the information for him.

And if the church found out, I could have been defrocked.

Yeah.

It means fired.

Mm-hmm.

But that money was never for me.

This church is in dire need of repair.

George came to me in need, and I took advantage.

Caleb is not the bad shepherd.

I am.

I'm Rebecca.

Miss Hampstead.

Enjoying the Denver Cultural Festival?

Yeah.

Very much so.

Easy, easy questions.

Um, where were you between the hours of 8 and 11 on the night of the murder?

Uh, at the hotel near the airport.

I, uh, checked in and then was watching TV.

Couldn't sleep.

Jet lag, you know.

What were you watching?

24-Hour News Channel.

24-Hour News Channel.

All right, that answers that.

Have a lovely day, Miss Hampstead.

You, too.

Bye.

Or should I say, Miss Cramps?

Chastity Cramps is your real name, isn't it?

And could you think of any reason why someone would want to change their name from Chastity Cramps?

Fair enough.

But I did run a background check and it turns out at one point you were associated with a known criminal.

Multiple counts of forgery.

Even shared a bank account with him.

Okay, I don't know anyone who doesn't regret a relationship and I didn't even know and it was three years ago.

Oh, so not a recent breakup then?

Not a real name.

Bit of a pattern.

Bit of a pattern emerging here.

So, tell me, have you ever been near the Yew tree on the church grounds?

No, absolutely not.

And what about George's farm?

Ever been there?

Never.

Caleb had the lease of...

Oh, but then Bess said, why is Rebecca lying?

And what's a vegetarian?

How does it all fit?

Think, you stupid sheep, think!

Stop thinking so hard, Lily.

The daughter clearly did it.

Of course it was Rebecca.

She's right.

No, she didn't.

You don't know her.

She's good.

She smells just like George and George loved me.

Loved you?

No one loves a winter lamb.

One winter lamb sticking up for another, that's how it is with them.

Wait, what did you say?

I said George loved me.

No, before that, you said Rebecca smells just like you.

Someone said that before.

The wrong someone.

Oh.

You.

What, me?

What, what, what do you mean, me?

Cloud did it.

No, but she has been keeping a secret.

Haven't you, Cloud?

Last night, you said Rebecca smelled just like George, but she was so far away,

you couldn't have known what she smelled like unless Rebecca had been here before.

But it's so beautiful.

What is so beautiful?

The thing with no end.

You see, it's so beautiful, and it just never ends.

I've looked at it for hours, going around and around and around.

Cloud, Cloud, where did you get this?

Rebecca was here that night.

The night George was killed.

I woke up, and I felt hungry, so I wandered into the meadow, and there she was.

And she saw me, and she said, aren't you pretty, because I am.

I mean, I am the most beautiful.

And she stroked my wool, and the thing slipped off, so I decided that it should be mine.

So we're having things now.

Sheep don't have things.

I know, but it has no end.

And so it's solved.

Rebecca did it.

Murderer.

A bit of shiny metal doesn't solve anything.

Of course it does.

It's evidence.

Evidence, huh?

Evidence of what?

She told the policeman she'd never been here, but she was here last night, and the very night George was murdered.

She's a liar.

She's a fake, and she's a wimp.

She's a what?

Say it.

You've hated her from the start.

All of you.

Why?

Because she happened to be born in winter.

Oh.

The worst crime imaginable.

Haven't you heard?

No one wants you.

You deserve nothing.

That's what a winter lamb hears over and over until one day he starts to believe it's true.

Sebastian.

She didn't do it.

But how do you know?

Because I looked in her eyes.

Because it's obvious.

But not to you.

No.

Not to some flock of sheep.

We're your flock of sheep.

I told you.

I don't have a flock.

I never have.

Lily.

What should we do about the thing with no end?

Of course.

The chauffeur.

What?

What?

What?

Hey.

Come on.

Hey.

Hey.

Get back here.

That's my hat.

Stop.

Stop it.

Stop it.

Thanks.

Thanks for this.

Thank you all.

I think I found something of yours.

Matches your other ones.

It must have slipped off.

Thank you.

I found it in George's Meadow.

You know, where you've never been before.

I have a warrant to search your room.

What are you looking for?

I don't know.

Never been here.

You knew the uterus, eh?

I knew it.

I haven't.

I wouldn't.

Tim, Tim, you have to believe me.

Officer Derry.

Officer Derry.

I swear to you.

I didn't kill my father.

Rebecca Hamstead.

You're under arrest for the murder of George Hardy.

Suspect interview, Chastity Kramps, aka Rebecca Hamstead.

Miss Kramps, will you confirm you're waiving your right to have a lawyer present?

Yes.

I don't care.

I'm ready to tell you everything.

Right, then let's start with this.

Were you on George Hardy's property on the night of his murder?

Yes.

All right, so all those pretty smiles and, oh, you're a very smart detective, that's all been an act, hasn't it?

Fact is, you haven't said a single true thing since you showed up.

The letters, that part was true.

He wrote that he had been looking for me for over 20 years and he was starting to get things in order.

And he even sent me a copy of his will.

The will where you get 30 million or the will where you get a bunch of sheep?

No, the one without the money.

He said that he wanted to meet me.

So, you fly in and then you drive to his farm on the night of the murder.

And then what happened?

We talked.

About what?

Sheep.

We talked about sheep and their names.

He said every sheep should have a name and he picked each one by looking in their eyes.

And he wanted me to have them someday.

He picked me.

But look, I'm not stupid.

I was alone with him the night that he was murdered and the new will and all of that money,

and everything that's happened in my past, my only choice was to lie.

You have to believe me.

I lied, so believe me.

Is that right?

In the morning,

you'll be taken to the county court and officially charged with the willful murder of George Hardy.

So, it was her.

Money, what people won't do.

Apparently, George Hardy picked the wrong lamb.

Oh, speaking of which, Van Buren has agreed to sell his sheep and land to Caleb Merrow,

so we'll do the paperwork for that tomorrow at noon.

Good.

I misjudged you, officer.

I did.

It seems you're not the fool after all.

Well done.

Lily?

Lily?

What are you doing out here?

Are you okay?

Yes, I'm more than okay.

I'm happy.

They arrested Rebecca.

Tomorrow, Caleb will become our new shepherd.

That's wonderful.

She denies it all, of course, but I'm right and Sebastian's wrong.

Rebecca did do it, right?

Of course she did it.

Thank you.

Because you said she did it.

What?

Well, you always figure out how the stories end before the end.

I trust you.

But those were just stories.

This is a real person.

What if I'm- Lily, look.

Caleb's meadow is just on the other side of that fence.

Why don't we go over and meet our new flock?

But we've never gone into Caleb's meadow before.

Well, we never used to cross roads before either.

Come on.

It's like we're in a cloud.

Do you think we're in the wrong place?

I don't think so.

Hello.

Hello.

My name is Lily and this is Mopple.

We're from the other part of the meadow.

Caleb's going to be our shepherd too.

Coorie.

What?

Coorie?

Run.

What?

I don't know.

Maybe we shouldn't have come over here, actually.

We should go.

Okay.

Which way is back?

I think over there.

Look, there's a light.

This must be Caleb's barn.

We'll be safe in here.

I don't think this is a barn at all.

Maybe we should- Wait.

What is this?

Lily, don't.

We should go.

Why is that sheep like that?

What are they doing to them?

Caleb?

He...

He...

Oh, hello doggies.

Dog barks.

What's wrong with him?

We're not supposed to be here.

Run!

Run!

Faster, Lily!

I can't.

I'm not gonna make it.

Sebastian.

Oh, no.

Sebastian.

Oh, thank goodness you came.

I thought we were gonna- Sebastian?

Sebastian, get up.

Lily.

I can't.

Why not?

I don't understand.

Lily.

He's dying.

What?

No, sheep don't die.

We turn into clouds.

Turn into a cloud, Sebastian.

Turn into a cloud.

I wish I could.

You shouldn't have come back.

Why did you come back?

I had to.

You're on my flock.

I see him.

I see George.

No.

It's Caleb.

We have to go.

Now, Lily!

Wake up!

Everybody, wake up!

Wake up!

Wake up.

Wake up!

Wake up!

Follow me!

Stop!

Don't stop!

We need to leave!

Now!

Leave?

What are you talking about?

Sebastian is dead.

But you said we'd turn into clouds.

I was wrong.

We die.

I saw Sebastian die.

And if we don't leave tonight, we're all gonna die too.

Caleb turns sheep into food.

Stop it!

Stop saying these awful things!

I'm forgetting this happened.

Right now.

No, you can't.

Why?

Why would I want to remember something so terrible?

Because it's true.

It's not true if I don't remember.

One.

Wait!

Two.

Ronnie, ready, please.

Three.

Three!

Oh, hello, Lily.

I have a question.

What are we doing out here?

I don't like it.

Back to the meadow.

Back to the meadow.

No!

Don't!

Please don't!

Oh, Sebastian was right about us.

We're just stupid, frightened sheep.

Tonight isn't the first time I saw a sheep die, is it?

No.

How many times have I forgotten?

More than I can count.

You've carried this all alone?

All this time?

Yes.

I remember every bad thing.

But I remember good things, too.

I remember my mother's face.

I remember old friends and how they loved me.

And you will remember Sebastian.

It hurts.

Remembering hurts.

I know.

But if you forget, you can't save the others, and Sebastian will have died for nothing.

Caleb will come for you tomorrow, and you'll follow your new shepherd just like the other stupid, frightened sheep.

And we'll all die.

I'm sorry, Lily, I am.

But it's our memory that keeps the ones we love alive.

I'm sorry, Sebastian.

I'm not as strong as you.

One.

Two.

You may be the smartest sheep, but Mopple's the wisest.

I lost someone once.

I know it hurts.

But in time, all that's left is all that's good.

Are you...

are you really here?

Of course I am.

Because you didn't forget me.

See how that works?

Well, yes, but it doesn't matter anymore.

Caleb is gonna...

Caleb isn't gonna do anything to my flock because you're gonna save them.

But how?

You already know how.

If you figure out who really did it, Lily, Rebecca will get the flock, and you'll all be safe.

But what if I don't know who really did it?

Honestly, I've read you dozens of these stories.

They follow very simple rules.

But the rules haven't helped.

The police know it wasn't a drifter.

Anyone could have returned to the scene of the crime.

Rebecca was the unexpected person, and...

And?

The victim is the most important clue.

Grassy green stain on his hand.

So beautifully dyed.

Picked the wrong round.

I saw Georgie's go.

Atta girl.

Rebecca didn't do it.

Lily, slow down.

I know who did, and if I can prove it...

Prove what?

It wasn't a grass stain.

And how am I supposed to?

Wait, wait, wait.

Unless...

Yes!

Oh, but I'm too big.

I can't fit.

I can fit places.

And I didn't forget.

Put your whole leg in.

Now put your other leg into that one.

Okay, it's time to go.

That's it.

Through there.

This is

such a weird town.

Do you think it will work?

I don't know.

All we can do is wait.

What did George say to you...

The morning before he died?

I saw him whisper something in your ear.

He said...

The winter lamb is the best lamb.

Hey, Ronnie.

Yeah?

Do you ever get the feeling like you've forgot something?

You mean something that Lily tried to tell us last night...

But then we chose to forget it because we were, you know, scared?

Well, not scared.

Definitely not scared.

But yeah, that's it.

What should we do, brother?

I have no idea, but we can't do nothing.

So we've got to do something.

That's genius.

Well, come on then.

Are we lambs or are we rams?

Who did this?

A lamb came in through the transom.

A lamb came in through the transom?

It gets worse.

It can't get worse than a transom lamb.

I'm pretty sure...

The lamb was taking orders from another sheep.

Right.

What does it mean?

It means...

Nothing.

Nothing.

They're sheep.

They're sheep.

If you decide to transfer, we'll be off.

Alright.

It didn't work.

Give him a moment.

Officer Derry.

Form.

Don't do it.

Stop!

Stop!

She didn't do it.

She didn't do it.

But I know who did.

I know who killed George Hardy.

Mrs. Harbottle.

No, no, no.

It turns out I was the fool.

But maybe not anymore.

From the moment Rebecca Hampstead arrived in Denbrook, she was the prime suspect.

She had the strongest motive.

Plus, she lied.

She was at George's farm on the night of the murder.

Exactly what the killer was counting on.

A killer we never considered.

Because they weren't even a suspect.

The only person named in George's will who had an alibi.

A perfect alibi.

A not-even-in-the-country alibi.

You don't mean...

Yes.

Peter Van Vuren of South Africa.

Rebecca, you said George sent you a copy of his will.

But I'm betting he also sent one to your brother.

Who did some digging and found out what George was really worth,

and decided he was going to get that 30 million even if he had to kill for it.

But he had one massive problem.

Motive!

I wanted to say that.

Well, you just made it seem like I was the murderer.

Motive!

If a murder victim leaves you a fortune in his will, then you're the prime suspect.

But if he leaves it to your sister and she goes down for the crime...

The money automatically goes to the next of kin!

Would you please?

I'm having a moment here.

I'm so sorry.

The next of kin!

The only question left is where is he hiding?

Who am I looking for?

Someone hiding in plain sight?

Someone who'd changed his name?

For example, Chastity Cramps became Rebecca Hampstead.

And Peter Van Vuren...

And Peter Van Vuren...

became Elliot Matthews.

No!

George's ghost?

I never guess.

Tim, you're embarrassing yourself.

I don't live in South Africa.

I live in this country and I work for a newspaper.

I know.

I assume you've been living in this country for some time now as Elliot Matthews.

Putting on an accent.

George told you Rebecca was coming to visit, didn't he?

A perfect opportunity for you to frame her.

All you needed was some reason to come to Denbrook like a cultural festival.

Your plan was simple.

First, make a big show of leaving Denbrook.

Then, some convenient car trouble brought you back.

Later that night, after Rebecca left, you did what you came to do.

You poisoned your father and planted the new will.

But your father was stronger than you expected.

It was a struggle.

But you won out in the end.

All that was left to do was make sure your sister took the fall.

You were clever.

The day Mrs. Harbottle read the will, you knew she'd kick you out.

Yeah.

Very good connection.

Thank you.

As for the ewberries, planting those in Rebecca's room was a cinch.

Small town inn.

Easy to pick locks.

It was nearly perfect, Elliot.

But what you didn't know and what I didn't understand until now is that you left behind a clue.

George's hands.

George's hands.

One was blue.

One was green.

The blue made sense.

The stuff that made him rich.

But green?

Why green?

And then, some friends, some friends who are very good detectives,

made me think.

Blue and yellow.

Blue and yellow mixed together make green.

Like the green stain I saw on George's hand.

Like the green stain I saw on a blue pillowcase at the inn that you slept on the night you murdered George.

Both of George's hands were stained blue that night from the medication, but then he grabbed someone's hair.

Someone who used the kind of quick, cheap, yellow hair dye that runs a little in the rain, turning George's hand green.

Someone who hastily went blonde before coming to Denbrook because he didn't want anyone to think,

even for a second, that he looked too much like his sister or his father.

Isn't that right, Peter?

Yes.

No.

No, it's nuts and completely unprovable.

Then you won't mind if I take this.

Not at all.

I must admit, I'm not a natural blonde.

Though I suppose I must also confess that I bleach my teeth and wax my chest.

I bet he's a vegetarian.

So if you have the gall to charge me with murder because there's dye in my hair, you won't be taking me to court.

I will be taking you.

You misunderstand.

It's not the dye in your hair I want.

It's the DNA.

If you are George Harvey's son, then you are Peter Van Buren, and you are the real killer.

Gotcha.

Gotcha.

Bravo, Tim.

Lily!

Ronnie!

Reggie!

You came!

Yes!

Why?

Hey!

Stop!

Stop!

Because there's a legitimate cause for bashing.

Thank you.

Finally!

Justice?

No.

Just us.

Yeah!

We have millions, do you hear?

Millions!

I'm his son.

Those millions should have been mine.

Look, on behalf of the entire Denbrook Police Department, our sincerest apologies.

Is that anyone besides you?

No.

I'd like to apologize.

Thanks.

Look.

Transom lamb?

Transom lamb.

Think you'll stick around for a little while?

You know, I just got out of prison, so I might just kind of just need a moment.

I hope you do.

Maybe.

On the house.

Thanks.

Wait.

I'm sorry.

I saw this.

It was in the mailbag, and I mean, I didn't know you were his daughter,

and I bought him that rose-scented paper, so you can imagine.

You were in love with him?

Oh.

And was he in love with ?

He tried, but George loved your mother, and there was no place in his heart for someone else.

I used to wonder what she looked like, but now I don't have to.

I wish I asked him more about her.

I don't even know her name.

Lily.

Her name was Lily.

Lily.

Now, of course, the forged will is not valid, but you will still get his sheep and all his land.

So that's nice.

Sorry to bother you.

See, Ham and I, we've been trying to get this new business going.

We've got a good bank behind us.

Yeah.

And basically, we want to buy your father's sheep from you.

Two murderers.

Excuse me?

My father found out you were slaughtering sheep on his land.

You're the two murderers.

I was a two business man.

They're offering a good price.

Do you even know their names?

Who?

He told me their names.

There's Lily.

And Mopple.

And the big puffy one is Cloud.

He says she's such a diva.

And the one with wool on his eyes, he named Wool-Eyes, which I thought was a bit obvious,

but he said, hey, I've never heard any complaints.

Yeah, look, Miss Hamstead.

Hardy.

Rebecca Hardy.

I'm changing it.

I don't do name changes.

So sorry, Miss Hardy, but good luck.

Wait.

What if I wanted even more sheep?

Could I get a good bank behind me?

Lily, how did you manage to solve it?

Of course she solved it.

She's the smartest sheep in the world.

Oh, well, I used to think I was, but I'm not.

I made mistakes.

I should have listened when the winter lamb said he saw George's ghost, but instead I...

What's your name?

Japanese sick bait.

How long has he been here?

I have a thousand questions.

Oh, excuse me.

Excusez-moi.

Where is your face?

You have oaf.

I have oaf.

Lily.

Chapter one.

It's a commonly held belief that of all farm animals, sheep are by far the stupidest.

But in fact, that is not true.

Sheep are not only intelligent, but inspirational.

A nursery rhyme from centuries ago begins.

Little Bo Peep has lost her sheep and doesn't...

It's nice up here, but a bit lonely.

George, that's your name.

Every sheep should have a name.

George.

George, that's right.

My name is George.

Am I George?

Frequently represented in folk language and imagery as symbols of love, innocence, and peace.

For like humans, they cherish belonging above all.

They allow themselves to belong to us, and so we find we belong to them.

FRENCH-STREAM

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