Secrets on Saturday (11 page)

P
HILIP
P
ICKERING DECIDED TO TAKE A DAY OFF
work. He said to Floss for the umpteenth time that he hadn’t seen Sandy, but was sure he would turn up. Off hunting somewhere, he was sure. It was the best way, he had concluded. Floss wouldn’t forget him, but she would get used to his disappearance, and they could get her another kitten. Perhaps a black one. They were supposed to be lucky, weren’t they? Pickering felt as if he had a lump of ice in his chest. It was anger, and it would not go away. If the cat had belonged to anyone else but Floss, he would have shrugged his shoulders and blamed it on those itinerant yobs who regularly stole a car in Tresham and took joy rides around the villages at night. They probably bashed into poor old Sandy as he crossed the road, and thought it would be fun to string him up. This time, because it was Floss, he was determined to find them.

After breakfast, he went to the front gate to check there were no traces of the execution, and as he turned to go back into the house, he saw an empty cigarette packet under the hedge. Litter louts, too! he swore to himself. As he picked it up he saw something scribbled on the blank side. He could just make it out, and the message was nasty: “Keep out of the woods, else your father will be told.” Woods? Floss wouldn’t be in the woods. Perhaps it was meant for someone else.

He met Floss coming down the path on her way to work. With difficulty, he smiled at her and wished her a nice day. “Don’t forget to keep an eye out for Sandy!” she
said, her eyes full of tears. “He’s never missed breakfast before. I’m sure something’s happened to him.” Her father assured her he would have a good hunt, and encouraged her to concentrate on her work. Then she was gone, and he went into the house to think.

Mrs. Pickering was also on her way out. “Just going to the shop,” she said. “Shan’t be long.”

Pickering knew this meant he had at least twenty minutes to take some action, and he had a plan ready. He put down the cigarette packet, noticing that a blob of chewing-gum had fixed it—probably to the gate post—and had failed as the disgusting grey stuff had dried out. He checked the telephone book and dialled a number.

“Good morning. New Brooms.” Lois was feeling cheerful and efficient this morning, and looked forward to a productive day. When Mr. Pickering asked if she could spare him a few minutes, straight away, a small cloud crossed her blue sky, but she agreed. “It can’t be more than half an hour, I’m afraid,” she said.

“Fine, that’ll be fine,” he replied.

What on earth does he want? Lois hoped he wasn’t planning to take Floss away. She was proving to be an asset, and the others were fond of her, helping her out and giving her tips on how to deal with pernickety housewives. Lois knew Philip Pickering was not too happy with his precious daughter being a skivvy—as he saw it—and both her parents hoped she would decide on a proper job or training soon.

Gran opened the door, as always. “Mr. Pickering?” she said politely.

“I have an appointment to see Mrs. Meade,” he said.

“She didn’t tell
me
,” said Gran, holding her ground.

At this point, Lois emerged from her office, and smoothed things over. “Now, Mr. Pickering,” she said, “do sit down, and tell me how I can help you.” Lois could be professionally charming when she chose, and a disgruntled Gran returned to her kitchen.

“Right,” he began. “First of all it is nothing to do with Floss.” Lois smiled and said that was a relief, as his
daughter was shaping up very well. “Well,” he continued, “in a way it is to do with Floss,” and then he told Lois about the hanging cat and the cigarette packet, fumbling in his pocket to show it to her.

Lois read it, and stared at him. “What on earth is this about?” she said. “Have you any idea?”

“Yobs, probably,” he answered. “But I mean to find out exactly, and I wondered if I could ask for your help. I’ll come straight to the point, as I know you haven’t much time. I have heard that you often work with the police in clearing up crimes in this area. I reckon this constitutes a crime, don’t you? So, as you employ Floss, I thought I’d rather ask you than go to the police. They’d probably be very sympathetic and do nothing.”

“But what made you think I could …?” Lois looked innocently at him. He shook his head, and she saw that he was near to tears. Oh, sod it! she thought.

“Well …” His voice tailed off, and he started to get to his feet.

“No, no, sit down,” Lois said. “There may be something in what you say. And I’d like to help you for Floss’s sake. Does she know the cat’s dead?” Lois had a mental picture of another hanging, and shivered.

“No, I buried it before she got up. And I haven’t told my wife, either. I thought it best if they both think he has just gone missing. Cats do sometimes. Then I can find another kitten for Ross in a while.”

Lois sighed, and was silent for a few seconds. “All right, then,” she said, “I’ll see what I can do. But try to think why they should threaten Floss. It seems as if the message was meant for her. Ask her gently if she ever goes up to the woods. And don’t sound angry or suspicious, else she won’t tell you anything! I’ve got a daughter, and I know what they’re like at that age. Now, I must be going, so I’ll be in touch. And if you have anything to tell me that might help, however small, ring my mobile.” She gave him the number, and saw him to the door.

“I’m off now, Mum!” she shouted, and without waiting for an answer she set off for Blackberry Close.
Frances Wallis could not hide from her for ever, and now Lois had an added incentive for finding out just what those terriers did for a living.

I
N AN IMMACULATE BACK BEDROOM IN THE CRUMBLING
farmhouse, William Cox shook the shoulder of an old man fast asleep in a comfortable armchair. “Bert!” he said. “Herbert! Wake up. Time to go for a little outing before lunch. A nice walk in the woods with kind Mr. Abthorpe. Come on, shake a leg!”

The old man opened his eyes, and for a minute looked around him in drugged confusion. “Where is this …?”

“Never you mind,” William Cox said, and sighed. “A luxury hotel, that’s what it is, and you’ve got salmon for your lunch. I’ve asked the chef to cook it just as you like it.”

Herbert Everitt shook his head, as if clearing the mist from his eyes. “Don’t I know you from somewhere?” he said.

“Should do,” Cox replied. “I’ve been assigned to look after you for a while now. We like to take care of our guests, so if there’s anything you want, you only have to ask. I’ll leave you to wake up properly, and then come down with your coat on, ready for your walk.”

Cox frowned as he went down the narrow stairs. He was not enjoying this pretence, and greeted Reg Abthorpe with a scowl. “Nearly ready,” he said.

“Does he suspect anything?” the grim-faced man asked.

Cox shook his head. “Nothing. He’s seriously confused, poor old bugger. Don’t worry. He knows nothing.”

“C
OME IN
,
DEAR
,
DO
.” O
LD
E
LLEN HOBBLED IN
front of Lois and pointed to her usual chair. “Sit yer-self down, and I’ll bring in the tea.”

“But I can do that!” Lois protested.

Ellen shook her head. “While I can still put one foot in front of the other, I like to be mistress in my own house,” she said firmly. Lois sat down.

“It’s a nice gingerbread today, for a change,” Ellen said. “Hope you like gingerbread?”

“My favourite, along with chocolate,” said Lois diplomatically. In fact, she loved anything with ginger flavour. Her own grandmother used to make a wonderful dark, sticky gingerbread, and she had never forgotten the taste. “Mmm!” she said with her mouth full. “Best I’ve tasted since my granny’s. Was your sister Martha a good cook like you?” Lois had got around to the loaded question sooner than she’d hoped.

“Not bad,” Ellen said. “Mind you, she had to learn a lot of fancy recipes. What was good enough for me and them up at the Hall, weren’t good enough for the Cox family. And the Standings at the Hall are real gentry. Them Coxes were a jumped up lot. Poor old Martha. I reckon they broke her spirit. She was a lively girl, pretty, too. I watched it gradually fade, until she looked like one of them dreary sheep she had to help look after. Just a drudge, she was. Lost interest in how she looked, and everything. Made me feel bad. She lost the will to live, I reckon.”

“Poor girl,” said Lois sympathetically. “Did you have much to do with them? What was William Cox like? He must have loved her to marry her, when his family disapproved.”

“He was a good-looker,” Ellen said grudgingly. “Wouldn’t think so now, would you!” Ellen cackled. “Still, as Martha found out, good looks aren’t worth much in the end. He used to boast in the pub that he’d tupped every girl in the village before he married. An’ I don’t reckon he changed his ways all that much after the weddin’.”

Ellen looked sad, and Lois tried to cheer her up. “Water under the bridge now, Ellen. What d’ you think of him now, now he’s fallen on hard times? Does he ever come to see you?”

“Does he hell!” Ellen said. “And don’t believe all you see. I’m told he’s let everything go. Farm, woods, himself. All he cares about is that dog. Well, I reckon he’s got a pile hidden under the mattress, so to speak. There was money in that family, an’ they’re all gone now. If you ask me, he’s got it, crafty devil. Still, let’s talk about something more interesting,” she added, pouring out second cups. “How’s Josie getting on in the shop? Not easy taking over from somebody else, I know.”

Lois abandoned efforts to bring the conversation back to the subject of William Cox. She’d heard quite a lot to be going on with, and told Ellen the latest gossip from Long Farnden. As she said goodbye, Ellen said, “And if you’re thinkin’ of calling on Cox again, just you be careful. Nasty friends, he’s got. Always did have. Cheerio, then, dear! See you next week.” She shut her door and Lois drove off thoughtfully.

She decided to go home via Cox’s house, and coasted to a halt at the first entrance to the woods. She looked at her watch, and reckoned she could spare half an hour. The woods were silent at first. There was almost no wind stirring the trees, and Lois, still at heart a town girl, was not listening for the rustles and whistles in the undergrowth, as small creatures scurried to safety. She followed
what she assumed was a footpath, though thought it narrow for tramping feet. Not far in, where the trees were still at some distance from each other, she noticed an earthy mound, peppered with three or four holes, and thought confidently of rabbits. But the holes were huge, much bigger than a rabbit would need. Here and there were small hollows, filled with what looked like turds. Ugh! It was like a miniature camp site, with tunnels instead of tents, and small latrines neatly dug by a tidy-minded camp leader.

Badgers! Derek would have known straight away. She knew they came out to feed at night, and wondered if this was where Floss saw the lights. She doubted it. It was really quite close to the road, and easy for a cruising policeman to spot. Still, the badgers were probably spread out all over the woods. She glanced at her watch again. Not time now to go further, but as she turned back, she heard a voice, a man’s voice, faintly in the distance. Now there were two voices. She certainly did not want to face them by herself, and retreated rapidly. Back on the road, she looked around, but there were no cars parked. Everywhere was quiet and still. Those voices could have carried a long way. But as she got into her car, she heard a shout of anger, much closer, and drove off at speed. She was almost certain the angry voice was that of William Cox.

“I
THOUGHT
I
TOLD YOU TO KEEP AWAY FROM THOSE
woods!” Derek was shouting, and Lois assured him she could still see the road from where she found the sett. “Of course it was badgers,” he said. “Those are the lucky ones. Too near people passing by to be tormented by them killers. But the voices could easily have been men keeping a lookout.”

“But it was broad daylight,” Lois protested.

“Don’t make any difference, me duck.” Derek was calming down. “They bring terriers and send them down the tunnels to pick a fight. Then they dig ‘em out and kill
’em when they’ve had enough sport. Sport! If I got my hands on ‘em …”

“There weren’t no cars parked. They’d have to have cars to get there.”

“Probably hidden. There’s plenty of places to hide a car. Old Cox’s yard, for a start.”

“He doesn’t like the badger diggers. They wouldn’t have hung a dead badger on his gate if he was one of them.” Lois wished she hadn’t told Derek about the voices. She hadn’t expected him to be so furious, but now he was, and that confirmed the warnings she had had already.

“Just forget all about it, Lois,” Gran said anxiously. She knew from long experience that her daughter seldom took notice of advice that didn’t suit her. Even when she was a little girl, the way to get her not to do something, was to tell her to be sure and do it. Contrary Mary, her dad used to call her.

“That Mr. Pickering phoned,” said Gran, changing the subject. “I said you’d ring him back. Wouldn’t tell me what he wanted. Probably found a proper job for Floss to do.”