Secrets on Saturday (16 page)

“So, are we telling Derek about your finding that dog?” Gran had been thinking, and had decided to take a firm line.

Lois stared at her. “Of course,” she said. “Why not?” This took the wind somewhat out of Gran’s sails, and she replied that she was well aware that Lois kept a number of things to herself and she didn’t want to put her foot in it.

“Lovely flowers,” Lois said, with an obvious change of subject. “Where did you get them?”

“Flower Show, of course,” Gran said. “They had a stall selling them. I think these came from the Hall.”

“Should be the best, then,” said Derek, coming into the kitchen with a cheerful smile. “How’s everybody?” He looked at Lois, and added, “No, don’t tell me. Not until I’ve had a cup of tea.”

When he’d washed and changed, and they were sitting down to tea, he said to Lois, “All right then, let’s have it.”

“It’s just a little hiccup,” said Gran desperately.

“Don’t be daft,” Lois said. Then she gave Derek an account of her day, and he raised his eyebrows.

“Poor old love,” he said. “I hope they catch the buggers who done it. Old William was fond of that dog, even if he did yell at it a lot. And what’s this about the farm being for sale? I’ve just come by, and saw the sign. No sign of old Cox. Nothin’ going on there at all, except for a couple of chickens wandering in the road. Nearly squashed ‘em.”

“There was something else,” said Lois, and she told him about the badger.

“Don’t worry, gel,” he said. “I’ll ring old Fred Watts. He’ll go out there with his gun and put it out of its misery. He does a good job.”

Lois suddenly felt very tired. She smiled at Derek with difficulty. “Thanks,” she said. “I’ll go and put the telly on, shall I, and we’ll catch the news.” She would try to push the whole dismal day from her mind until she saw Cowgill tomorrow.

Gran looked at them both. “Telly news is always bad,” she said. “Why don’t we wash up and then have a nice game of Scrabble? Forget the telly for once?”

They stared at her. “Are you mad?” they chorused, and Lois went to switch on the television.

T
HE SUPERMARKET WAS CROWDED
,
AND
L
OIS WAS
glad. She acknowledged that the meeting place was a clever one, and once in the little room at the back of the bakery section, she felt quite safe from prying eyes. But getting there was different. She always met someone she knew, and had to make sure they weren’t watching her. This time she was lucky. The supermarket seemed full of complete strangers, and she went straight to the bread counter.

“Four iced buns, please,” she said. “And a wholemeal loaf.” As she took her purchases, she made her usual request. “Um, I need to go to the loo urgently,” she whispered to the assistant. “Bladder trouble … you know …”

The girl nodded sympathetically. “Through there,” she whispered in return. “Second on the right, end of the passage.”

At the first door on the left, Lois knocked. Cowgill opened it, and she walked in.

“Morning, Lois,” he said, his eyes shining. “How are you and yours?”

“Fine,” she said. “I’m just supposed to be having a pee, so it’ll have to be quick.”

“Fire away,” he said, and she gave him a succinct account of most of the developments, leaving out her visits to Ellen Biggs in Ringford. She was not having blundering policemen upsetting the old thing. Nor did
she mention Pickering’s concern about his daughter, as he’d specifically said he didn’t want the police involved.

When she had finished, he nodded gravely and said, “I knew you’d be in touch. We had a call from the vet yesterday. Dreadful business. It’ll have to be investigated. And this apparent disappearance of William Cox—well, maybe the old man has gone to a relative, or an old folks’ home. Until somebody gives us evidence for real concern, there’s not a lot we can do.”

“Same as Herbert Everitt?” Lois snapped. “How much concern do you need? That old man’s got no relatives, except a dodgy bloke who says he’s his nephew.
I’m
concerned, and so’s my mother. And so is Enid Abraham. Have you contacted Reg Abthorpe yet?”

“Lois,” Cowgill said patiently, “I’m not making excuses, but …”

“But Herbert Everitt is low on your list of priorities? An old man apparently taken into a nice comfy home by his loving nephew. No real complaints? Just a general feeling that something’s not quite as it should be? Right at the bottom of the queue.” Lois was scarlet with rage, and turned towards the door.

“Lois,” replied Cowgill, smiling desperately at her, “I was going to say that we’re almost sure his name is not Reg Abthorpe. We have several leads, and are on his trail.”

“In other words, you’ve got nowhere. Any more thoughts about retiring?” she added, and immediately wished it unsaid.

His smile vanished, and he was every inch the policeman. “All right, that’s probably enough for today,” he said. “Do you need my help at all?”

“Yes,” she said. “I need to know what to do next.”

“Just carry on in the way you know best,” he said. “I wouldn’t dream of giving you any instructions. But I will say this, Lois. Be very careful. It begins to look like something more dangerous than a few locals carrying on a traditional village pastime. We’ll be getting round to that. You’re right, I’ve not given it enough thought. For
reasons which I don’t have to spell out. Leave it with me, and I’ll be in touch. Thanks for coming.”

Lois walked away through the supermarket, cursing herself for being so unthinking. Poor old sod had not long lost his wife, and she had attacked him mercilessly.

“Hey! Penny for ‘em!” She looked up and saw Bill, basket over his arm.

“Oh, hello,” she said. “Sorry, I was miles away.”

Bill looked at her and wondered exactly how many miles away. “Just doing a spot of shopping for our nice old thing at Hall Cottages. She’s very grateful for our help, and finds it difficult to get out.”

“Well done,” said Lois, making an effort. “But next time, it’s in your contract that you use Farnden village shop whenever possible …” She managed a smile, to show it was a joke, and they parted.

L
ATER THAT DAY
, F
LOSS RECEIVED A CALL ON HER MO
bile. “Hi, Ben here. Are you better? Doing anything tonight?”

“Yes, I am better. It was a migraine, as usual. And yes, I’m going out with Prince William,” she replied.

Ben was indignant. “Why, when
I’m
around? Anyway, ditch him and meet me at the end of the village as usual. Six o’clock? Or you can bring His Princeship with you, if you like. Seems like a decent sort. Bye, beautiful. See you soon.”

At ten to six, Floss walked up the village street and met nobody. The only activity was round the pub, and that was in the opposite direction. Even so, she was aware of eyes behind lace curtains watching her as she passed. God, I wish I lived in a big town, she thought. Then I could live my own life without the watchers. She didn’t really mind being watched, if it brightened their pathetic lives, but objected strongly to having her every move misinterpreted and relayed by devious routes to her parents.

Ben was waiting for her, and they walked away from the village arm-in-arm.

“Well,” said Ben, “where’s Himself?”

“I dumped him,” said Floss. “Said I had better fish to fry. Satisfied?”

Ben laughed and kissed her. “Sensible girl,” he said patronizingly, and she thumped him on the upper arm where it hurt. In this fashion they walked on, and when they came to the lane that led to the woods, Ben steered her into it.

“No, Ben!” she objected. “Not up there. Let’s go straight on and across the fields.”

“Boring,” said Ben. “And anyway, there’s something I want to check up there. Come on, Flossie, you’ve got me to defend you.
Courage, ma petite!
”

“Blimey, I don’t know what I see in you,” she said, but walked obediently beside him up the hill. It was a dull evening. Rain had been threatening all day, and now a huge bank of black cloud approached over the woods. “I wish I’d brought an anorak,” Floss said.

“Any more complaints?” Ben said, and this time he sounded genuinely irritated.

Floss pulled herself together, and said she’d be perfectly all right. There were plenty of trees for shelter, and anyway, she was sure he’d lend her his jacket. In this rather less than harmonious atmosphere, they came to the woods and Ben stopped.

“We’re going in. It’ll be quite safe. Men were in here this afternoon, so they wouldn’t come back so soon. I’d like to see what they were up to.”

“What makes you so sure they won’t come back?” Floss stepped reluctantly over the stile, and followed Ben closely along the path. “What were you doing up here this afternoon, anyway, when I was slaving away on my hands and knees with a scrubbing brush?” She paused, but Ben did not reply. “Hey!” she continued. “I’ve had an idea! Would you like me to suggest you join the New Brooms team? Just until you get a proper job? You could be a sort of spare—”

“Sssshhh!” Ben stopped in front of her, and she cannoned into him. As they listened, Floss could hear quite clearly a liquid whistling tune not far away.

“Blackbird,” she whispered. “They often sing at twilight. Isn’t it great?”

Ben exhaled loudly, and resumed walking. “I was thinking,” he said. “Sitting on a log and thinking for a long time. Then I went exploring further into the wood, and found something which I’m going to show you. Very interesting.”

“Is it nasty?” she said nervously.

“Not exactly,” he replied, and said no more. Best not to mention talking to the mysterious man, he thought.

After ten minutes or so, they came to a clearing and Ross gasped. “What’s been going on?” she said, still in a whisper. “Looks like someone’s been making a garden.” The sandy soil in the cleared patch had been newly dug and smoothed over, as if with a rake. They crunched on a thick layer of leaves to the edge of the patch, and Floss grabbed Ben’s arm. “Look!” she said, pointing to a roughly-made flag on a knobbly stick pushed into the fresh earth. The flag was made of white material, a piece of old sheet, with a black skull and crossbones crudely drawn on it. Floss turned to run, but Ben held her back. She was astonished to see that he was chuckling. “For God’s sake!” she hissed. “What’s funny?”

“It’s kids,” he spluttered. “Kids playing pirates. Couldn’t be further from the sea, but still … And I thought it was something sinister going on!”

He turned with Floss and began to walk away. “Sorry, love, to drag you in here to see the remains of kids’ games,” he said.

“Not kids,” said a voice from the shadows. “You’re trespassin’ ‘ere. Bugger off, the pair of ya. We got work to do. Go on, clear off, and don’t come back. Else you’ll be dealt with … An’ no blabbin’! We always know when there’s bin blabbin’. Now sod off!”

Floss did not need telling twice, turned and ran.
Reluctantly Ben followed her. As he went, he heard raucous laughter. Two men laughing, he was sure.

L
OIS AND
D
EREK WERE BOTH ASLEEP IN THEIR ARM
chairs, and Gran’s eyelids were half-closing. Her knitting slipped to the floor, and then she too was asleep. The television flickered on, but nobody watched. After a while, Derek began to snore.

“What the hell!” All were rudely awakened by a frantic hammering at the front door, and Gran was first out of her chair. Lois rubbed her eyes and stood up, and Derek swore under his breath and hunted for his slippers.

“Mr. Pickering!” Gran said at the door. “What on earth’s the matter?”

“Floss,” he blurted out. “Floss is the matter. She went out to see her girlfriend, and she’s not come home. Her friend hasn’t seen her—we phoned—and has no idea where she is. My wife can’t stop crying, and I need to see Mrs. Meade. At once, please.”

Lois appeared, tactfully thanked Gran, and led Mr. Pickering into her office. She suggested Gran might make some coffee, asked her to explain to Derek, and shut the door. “Right,” she said. “Sit down, and begin at the beginning.” He had barely begun his story, when there was another knock at the door. This time it was a very irritated Derek who went to open it. His irritation melted away when he saw a white-faced Floss holding tight to young Ben Cullen.