7 Sorrow on Sunday (20 page)

“Where did you go? You didn’t tell me you were going out. First I knew of it was when I heard the car. Not very considerate.” He looked at her sternly over the top of his glasses.

“I felt like a drive,” she said. “You were asleep, and I didn’t want to disturb you.”

“Nonsense! I never fall asleep in a chair,” Horace blustered. “Where did you go, anyway?”

Blanche did not answer his question, but said, “I saw Darren with his mother. Stopped and had a little chat. I offered to take him for a spin, but he refused.”

Horace lowered his newspaper, and Blanche noticed that his hands were holding it so tightly that his knuckles were white. He frowned at her and said, “Why? He used to come with you sometimes. Did he say anything?”

Blanche shook her head. “No, but his mother says she thinks he is still shocked from that time he went missing.”

“Has he told her where he went? Did you ask her?”

Again Blanche shook her head. “She hasn’t bothered him, apparently. Glad to have him home safely. He got very upset when the police questioned him. Can’t blame her, can you? Though if I was her, I’d want to know.”

She noticed that Horace’s hands had relaxed. “Boy’s an idiot,” he said, and returned to his newspaper.

T
HE NEXT MORNING
L
OIS WAS ABOUT TO TELEPHONE
Cowgill to give him a fact or two, but he rang her first. “Morning, Lois,” he said briskly. “I hope you’re well?”

“What d’you want?” Lois replied.

“I’m glad you’re well, because I have a job for you. And no, don’t say anything until you hear what it is.” Lois said nothing. “Lois? Are you still there?”

“Yes,” she said, “but you told me to say nothing.”

Cowgill sighed. “All right. Now, this is what it is. I have reason to believe that a farmer called Joe Horsley—”

“Who lives at Willow Farm,” Lois interrupted.

“Yes, quite right.” Cowgill’s patience was running out. “Well, I understand from my sources that he and his wife are looking for a cleaner. I’d like you to get in there first. You can make up some tale about a recommendation.”

“No need,” Lois said smugly. “I’ve been in touch with them already—or, rather, they got in touch with me. I was sending Dot Nimmo to them, but unfortunately, as you know, she’s rather unwell at the moment.”

“I see. Then you are ahead of me, Lois. Let me know when you’ve allocated a replacement, and I’ll be in touch.”

“They don’t want a replacement,” Lois said. “They only wanted Dot. I wonder if you know why?”

There was a silence, and then Cowgill said, “If I do, then probably you do, too. Shall we meet?”

“Where?” Lois asked. “And when? I’m very busy at the moment.”

“Ah. Of course, policemen have oodles of time to spare. Name a time and place.”

Lois thought for a moment. Then she said, “You know
the road between Waltonby and Fletching? Just beyond the golf club there’s a small spinney. You get to it across a grass field. Tomorrow, ten o’clock sharp. I’ll be watching for you. And don’t look for my car. I’ll be parked somewhere else.”

“Yes, ma’am. Ten o’clock sharp.”

Lois signed off. She looked down at her papers, but could not concentrate on cleaning jobs and timetables. What did she most need to know? What did she know already?

First, that Battersby and Horsley were in cahoots about something. Probably illegal. Second, Battersby and the Nimmos had fallen out at some time in the past, and the Nimmos had caused the Colonel a good deal of trouble. Third, a young Nimmo had been killed, by a stray horse in dodgy circumstances. Fourth, Dot Nimmo had narrowly escaped death, and might still die, because of a hit-and-run driver.

Was it likely that Battersby was still out for revenge? Not unless he was unhinged. From what she knew of him, he was far from that.

What had she forgotten? Darren. He might have much more to say, and so far nobody had been able to coax it out of him. She could try another trip in the car, to see if he gave her a clue. It was worth a try.

At that moment, the telephone rang again. “Hello? Oh, hello, Floss. How are you feeling?”

“Much better, thanks, Mrs. M. I can start work tomorrow, the doc says. Is that all right with you, or are you fed up with me being off sick?”

“Rubbish!” Lois said. “Hold on, and I’ll tell where to go tomorrow morning. Ah, yes. Back to the Hall for you. Mrs. Tollervey-Jones has been asking, and she’ll be delighted to see you. Oh yes, and by the way, have you done anything more about the Battersbys’ horse offer? You could go there in the afternoon, but the horse thing should be settled first.”

“Dad’s fixed it. He took over, as you can imagine. All arranged, and I can go for a ride any time I like, or if I just want to go down and have a chat with Maisie, that’s all right too.
And
I’m well enough to do the mucking-out.”

“Fine,” said Lois. “In that case, could you be there at two thirty as usual? Good girl. Glad you’re better. Bye.”

So that was settled. Now, she could ring the Horsleys, grit her teeth, and suggest Evelyn Nimmo, sister of Dot. That would be neat, and might even be productive. Best to wait until after she’d seen Evelyn. She might be fine, but even though she sounded good on the telephone, you never knew. She would find out at three o’clock that afternoon. After that, she would ring the Horsleys.

*   *   *

L
OIS DROVE INTO
T
RESHAM, AND WAS IN
S
EBASTOPOL
Street at two. Hazel was taking details from a potential client, and Lois walked through to the kitchen to make two mugs of coffee. Then she perched on a stool until she heard the client leave with a grateful goodbye.

“Hi, Mrs. M,” Hazel said, taking her coffee. “Nice to see you here in our small but exquisite headquarters in Sebastopol Street, one of the best areas in town.”

“Ha, ha. So who was that?”

“Yet another Mrs. Evans from Chapel Cornyard. The Welsh must have colonized that village a hundred years ago. Now, seriously, how is Dot?”

Lois told her all she knew, including that Evelyn would be coming in shortly to be interviewed as a temporary stand-in for Dot. “Sounds a nice woman on the telephone,” she said, “but I’d be glad if you’d sit in. Two heads are better than one.”

“So there’s still a chance that Dot might make it? Funny thing, isn’t it, but I was really sorry when I heard. Awful as she is—sorry, Mrs. M—there’s still something likeable about her, and I reckon if you wanted a job done she’d be solid as a rock.”

“What kind of job?” Lois asked suspiciously. Hazel sat in this office all day most days, and with her friend living next door she heard a great deal about the goings-on in Sebastopol.

“Well, you know the day Dot was run over? Nobody has come forward as a witness, have they? Yet I know of at
least two people who might have seen the whole thing. Two tearaways who were hanging around the video shop opposite, lounging against that fence. They were there for quite a while, Maureen says. She was watching them out of her window next door, but had to go out before the accident.”

“And
I
didn’t see anything until I heard the bugger brake. But, Hazel, surely
somebody
saw them?

“Yeah. It was one of these somebodies who told Maureen there’d been two of them in the car. But none of them would talk to the police in a million years, and they’d fix anyone who did.”

“Who’s ‘they’?”

“God knows. There’s several gangs around here. I keep my head down. It’s safer that way. See no evil, hear no evil, get no evil done to you. That’s why nobody comes forward.”

“But what’s all this got to do with Dot being solid as a rock?” Lois looked at her watch. Evelyn would be here in five minutes.

“I reckon if she gets well, she’ll take on the job of finding out who ran into her, and won’t rest until it’s settled—one way or another! Perhaps ‘ruthless as an old terrier’ would have been a better description.”

The door opened, and in came Evelyn Nimmo. There was little or no resemblance between the sisters. Where Dot was blonde and flashy, Evelyn was mousey and understated. She had a neat brown skirt, with good brown shoes and a cream-coloured jersey—cashmere?—long-sleeved and with a polo neck. Ninety percent of Evelyn was discreetly covered.

Lois introduced Hazel, and indicated a chair. “Now, first of all,” she said, “what news of Dot?”

“No news, really.” Evelyn shrugged. “But at least she’s no worse, and still holding on. It’s creepy, seeing her there, alive but not alive, if you know what I mean.” She bit her lip, and Lois said that every day she held on was more hopeful. She had no idea if this was true, but Evelyn’s face brightened.

They talked for ten minutes or so, and both Lois and Hazel asked a few questions. It quickly became clear that Evelyn was more than suitable for the job. In fact, Lois was worried that she might consider cleaning beneath her. “Are you really sure that you will like this kind of work?” she asked.

Evelyn shook her head. “Not permanently,” she said. “But if it helps you and Dot, then I shall tackle it with a will. You’ll not find any fault with me. Nimmos pride themselves on being reliable, you know.”

“Even Nimmos by marriage?” said Hazel.

Evelyn laughed. “Especially us,” she said. “Dot and me have been good pupils. We know what’s best for us.”

Lois looked at Hazel, who gave a small nod. “Righto, then, I am sure you will do very well, and I’m grateful for your offer. We’ll take some details now, and tell you how we work and all the rules and regs. Then you can start more or less straightaway. I’ve got likely clients, the Horsleys, who are desperate for some help.”

She watched Evelyn’s face closely, but saw no flicker of recognition of the name. But then, as Evelyn said, she and her sister had been good pupils of their Nimmo husbands.

“G
OOD MORNING.
L
OIS
M
EADE HERE.
I
S THAT
M
RS.
Horsley?” Lois had decided to make an early start on her telephone calls. Nothing more frustrating than: “Please leave a message, etc.”

There was a pause, and she heard a whisper. “It’s for me, Joe.” Then Margaret Horsley said, “Hello, Mrs. Meade. Have you got news of Dot Nimmo?”

“Nothing much, I’m afraid, but she is still holding on, and we’re all hoping against hope. No, I’m ringing to ask if you still want some help, because Dot’s sister Evelyn has kindly offered to fill in for her. She’s a very nice woman, and, of course, also a Nimmo.”

“Married Handy’s brother,” Margaret said. “Yes, I’m not sure I’ve ever met her, but I know her name. Could you hold on a minute?”

Lois said of course she would, and waited. She was sure that Margaret was asking Joe what he thought. Was one Nimmo as good as another for their purposes? Snooping purposes? Finding out more about Lois Meade?

“Are you still there, Mrs. Meade? Well, I think that would be fine. I’m sure Evelyn would do a good job, if not better! When can she start?”

Lois made the arrangements, and said goodbye. Now it was all set up. She was spying on the Horsleys, and they were spying on her—and probably on several other persons unknown to Lois.

The telephone rang, and it was the tenant of the house in Tresham that Lois and Derek had ended up buying with some of the lottery money. The woman was fuming. “I can’t stand it any longer,” she said. “All day and every day,
from five o’clock in the morning. Bloody thing crows non-stop, and it’s right under our bedroom window! And don’t say it’s up to your agents, because they told me to ring you.”

“A cockerel? In that little back yard? No wonder you’re fed up. We’ve got a couple over the fields from us, but we tolerate that. Nice sound at that distance. Country sounds, and all that. Have you asked the neighbours to get rid of it?”

“Several times! They say it is the old man’s pet. He’s had it for years, and he’d be heartbroken if they got rid of it. They’re lying, o’ course. It only started up a couple of weeks ago. We tried ear plugs, shutting all the doors and windows, putting on our radio to drown it out. But it pierces everything. So, Mrs. Meade,” she added in a forthright voice, “unless it goes, we do. We’ll pay up any rent owing, and I reckon you’ll have trouble getting another tenant, unless the agents show them round in the middle of the night! Goodbye!”