Secrets on Saturday (26 page)

“Huh!” Gran grunted.

A world of disapproval there, thought Lois, but continued out into the rain and drove off in her van.

“Good morning, Mrs. Pickering! Can I come in for a minute?” She was welcomed warmly and once more refused politely the offer of coffee. “I’m just looking in briefly,” she said. “Now that you’re a regular client, I’d like to check that you’re pleased with Jean Slater’s work. I know it must seem silly to you that Floss lives here and could do the job without going outside! But I do have a reason. If there was something wrong, you’d never complain about your own daughter, would you?”

Mrs. Pickering laughed. “You’re right, of course,” she said. “And yes, I am more than satisfied with Jean. Such a nice person, as well as doing her job thoroughly. I believe she had a very unhappy time recently?”

Lois never discussed the team’s personal affairs, and said she believed it was quite a while ago. “Are you sure you won’t have a coffee?” Mrs. Pickering was persistent, but Lois once more declined.

“Morning, Mrs. Meade!” Now Philip Pickering had joined them and was shaking her firmly by the hand. “Don’t go before we’ve had a chat,” he said. “Haven’t seen you for ages, and so much has happened.”

Lois at once agreed to sit down and have a chat. What could possibly have happened that Floss had not passed on? “Nothing bad, I hope, Mr. Pickering. Has Floss told
you any more about that evening the two of them had been in the woods?” she said.

“No, no. And frankly, Mrs. Meade, I don’t expect either of them to come clean about that. No, this is good news … sort of. Floss has finally found herself a suitable boyfriend. A charming fellow, young Ben. But if the relationship looks like developing into something more serious, we would want him to be thinking about … well … Oh dear, this is difficult. How can I put it?”

“Like this,” said Lois bluntly. “You want to know when he’s going to get a proper job. Cleaning is no job for a man, and, for that matter, not really one you’d want to see your daughter doing for ever.” She smiled sweetly at him now, seeing his discomfort.

His wife rescued him. “That is exactly it, Mrs. Meade,” she said. “Thank you for putting it so well. We knew you’d understand, didn’t we, Philip?” He nodded, and was silent.

Lois looked at him. Surely there must be more to say? “I have to tell you,” she said, giving him time, “I do not know Ben’s plans, but I expect he’ll be off soon. He is still applying for jobs, I know that. As for Floss, you’ll know more than I do. She does enjoy the work, and has become a really good member of the team. Now, I must be going. Was there anything else?”

Philip Pickering put behind him thoughts of his beloved daughter being a skivvy for life, and said, “Well, yes. You remember that business with the cat? Nothing’s been done about that, and then those horrible crows on Ben’s gate.”

“And the dead rat on my doormat,” Lois added.

“What!” Mrs. Pickering’s eyes widened. “Are they on to you now? What are the police doing about it?”

Lois laughed. “Oh, they have it in hand,” she said. “Which means nothing much, I reckon. Still, it would do no harm to remind them. I’ll give them a call when I get home. I suppose you haven’t heard anything that might give us a clue?”

“Only something Floss’s father heard in the pub.
Nothing he saw himself, but … well, why don’t you tell Mrs. Meade yourself?”

She looked encouragingly at her husband, who said, “I don’t know if it’s relevant, but Sam Stratford was telling a couple of farming chaps that he was fed up with nasty-looking strangers invading
his
pub. You know what the locals are like. The pub belongs to them.”

Lois remembered her father telling her how he’d once gone into a pub in the country, and everybody had stopped talking and stared at him. He’d had a quick half, and left as soon as possible. Frozen out, he’d said. Now she asked, “Did Sam say he’d recognized them at all?”

“No, complete strangers, he said. Mind you, I’ve seen a couple of unsavoury-looking characters up near the woods lately. Still, that’s nothing to go on, is it. People can’t help what they look like.”

“Could be interesting,” Lois said. “Would you give me a buzz if you see them again? Nothing like a bit of do-it-yourself policing. I can do without dead animals on my doormat, and poor old Gran nearly collapsed.”

“Yes, of course,” said Pickering quickly. “It’s been nice talking to you. I must be off, dear,” he added, turning to his wife. “Back at the usual time,” he said, and left the room.

Lois was quick to follow. Next stop, Miss Beasley at Ringford. The old dear is getting more and more deaf, thought Lois, as she knocked and received no answer.

She rang the bell, and could hear Ivy Beasley shouting. “All right, all right! I heard you the first time! I’m coming.” Lois stepped back from the door, and waited, knowing she’d be in for an instant raspberry. “Oh, it’s you,” said Ivy, opening the door a crack. “You of all people should know better. It takes time at my age to get to the door. What do you want, anyway? Not taking Bill away, are you?” She opened the door wider and glared at Lois.

“Certainly not,” Lois said. “He’d be heartbroken. You’re his favourite client.” May God forgive me, she said to herself.

“Good. Then what is it you’ve come about?”

“Can I come in for a few minutes? Just one or two things I wanted to check with you.” Ivy Beasley reluctantly stepped back and allowed Lois to enter. They sat in the kitchen, and Ivy’s cat jumped on to Lois’s lap. She stroked it absentmindedly, and it purred like a vacuum cleaner.

“Every few weeks I like to visit clients and check that they are satisfied,” Lois continued. “There can be some small thing that people don’t think is worth mentioning. So here I am, if there’s anythin’ at all.”

Ivy narrowed her eyes. “You’re not telling the truth, are you, Mrs. Meade,” she said. “You know perfectly well I am very satisfied with Bill. I know what you come for. To pump me for what I remember about William Cox. Am I right?”

Lois sighed. “Yes, sorry, Miss Beasley. I’m owning up. You are quite right. The estate agents selling the house are trying to interest me in buying it. I went in to their office just to find out how much they want. Lots of people do it just to find out what their own house is worth. Now they phone me up, pestering like they do.”

“So what can I tell you? Whether it’s worth looking at? Or if the price is too high? I don’t get out much and have no idea on such things. You’ll have to ask someone else.”

She made as if to get up from her chair, and Lois said quickly, “No, no. I wondered if you had any idea if the Cox family owned the farm, or were just tenants. There’s several farms around here belong to Oxford and Cambridge colleges, and some of them stuck-up farmers just pay rent like any other tenant.”

“Ah, let me think,” Ivy said. She was quiet for a few minutes, then pointed with her stick to an old desk across the kitchen. “Look behind the clock,” she said, “and you’ll find a key. It unlocks the desk. Open it.”

Lois obeyed, and inside the desk saw small piles of envelopes, yellow at the edges, and a clutch of photographs
secured with an elastic band. “What am I looking for, Miss Beasley?”

“In that little drawer at the back, there’s a few newspaper cuttings. Bring them to me,” she ordered.

Ivy took them, and began to sift through. “Ah, here it is,” she said, and handed a fragile cutting to Lois. “Read it out loud. I’ve forgotten exactly what it said.”

“There’s a picture, but it’s difficult to see …”

“It’s him, o’ course. William Cox. Read it.”

Lois began to read the fading print. “The headline says, ‘Local Farmer Takes College to Court’. Then it goes on, ‘Young son of the Cox family is accusing St Paul’s College of putting up rent ex … or … bitantly, and intends to take the matter to court’. So it
is
a rented farm! That’s worth knowing.”

“Give it here, then. Now, you got your answer, so I’ll thank you to put this back, lock the desk, and leave me in peace.”

“Just one more thing, Miss Beasley,” Lois said bravely. “Did the Coxes always give the impression the farm was theirs?”

“Oh yes. Old man Cox, William’s father, said at the time that it was just a small piece of the farm they rented from the college, and the rest was their own. But I’m pretty sure that I remember my father saying otherwise. Now, good morning, Mrs. Meade. You can see yourself out.”

As Lois got into her car, her mobile began to ring. “Hello? What do you want?”

“It’s Cowgill here, Lois. Just keeping in touch. Are you working?”

“Of course.”

“Fine. Keeping clear of those woods and Cox’s Farm?”

“Why? What d’ you know?”

“Oh, nothing. Just that although we’ve had no more reports of badger-baiting, that world attracts some very dodgy characters. Make sure you keep your eyes open. Anyway, anything to report?”

“Only that nothing seems to have been done about very dead animals frightening our residents. Not a sniff of a policeman anywhere.”

“We are well into our investigations, Lois, and if you know anything else relevant to the matter, I’d like you to tell me. I rely on you, you know.”

“Well, I can’t rely on you, can I? Word gets round in villages, you know, and some of the older ones are dreading opening their front doors in the morning.”

“We are almost sure there will be no more of this in Farnden. And I promise you we’ll be there the minute another dead creature is used in a threatening manner.”

“You sound like a policeman.”

“I am a policeman. Goodbye, Lois.”

F
LOSS UNLOCKED THE BACK DOOR OF THE
H
ALL AND
looked around the kitchen. Everything looked exactly the same, except for a thin layer of dust, which was always there. Mrs. T-J had invested in a new Rayburn cooker, which heated water and radiators as well. Only the cooker was left on, turned down very low. In spite of it being oil fired, it seemed to create dust.

She began to work. As she dusted every surface in the kitchen, she came to an old polished oak table. If this place was hers, she thought, she’d chuck out everything in this kitchen and have it completely redesigned. Slate work-surfaces, those new Shaker-look units, painted a nice light-blue, a wood-block floor … Her thoughts were interrupted. She looked more closely at the oak table. O Lor, now what? There in the dusty surface was a
handprint, a large handprint with long, thin fingers. Somebody had been in the kitchen since she was last here.

She told herself it could easily have been when Mrs. T-J returned for a day or two. But her hands were small and ladylike. Well, she could have had some man with her. Her bodyguard, maybe? Floss giggled, and dusted the print away, putting alarming thoughts from her mind.

The chequered floor in the Hall was unmarked. Floss was tempted to flick a dry mop over it and leave it at that. Who would know? Mrs. T-J would. And she would tell Mrs. M, and Floss would be in trouble. She fetched the mop and bucket full of soapy water, and began to clean the black and white tiles. As she approached the wide stairway leading to the upper floor, she looked more closely. So it wasn’t completely clean, after all. On the white tile nearest the stairs, she saw a faint muddy mark, as if from a ridged shoe sole. So the bodyguard didn’t wipe his shoes. Must be someone close to the old dame, who knew he could get away with it.

Floss began to hum a cheerful tune. She wasn’t frightened, but she’d be glad to get through the job and out into the sunshine again. Upstairs in the bathroom, she decided to open a window. There was a musty smell in the house, and a fresh wind blowing through would do a power of good. But she must remember to shut it again. She leaned out and took a deep breath. Mm, that was better. Then she saw him. It was that man, the one from the woods. Her heart thumped so loudly she was sure he must hear her. She backed quickly away from the window, not daring to shut it and make a noise. She heard heavy footsteps on the cobbles outside in the yard, and doors opening and shutting. Then his unpleasant laugh. She shivered. More footsteps, and then silence. After a few minutes, she dared to take a quick look. Nothing there. The yard was empty, except for her own small car, and everything looked exactly the same as before.

She sat down on the bathroom stool and tried to relax. He was gone, so there was nothing more to worry about,
was there? She took some deep breaths and began to feel better. Whatever he was up to, he had obviously decided not to come into the house, in spite of her car being very conspicuous. That meant he knew she was here, and his business was not with her.

The rest of the house was cleaned in double-quick time, and Floss locked up the house and got into her car. Then she looked up, and saw the bathroom window was still open. With great reluctance, she went back in and climbed the stairway. She shut the window, and began to make her way along the landing to the stairs. It was a gloomy corridor between bedrooms, and as she approached the head of the stairs, she drew in her breath sharply. A dark shadow had moved across the end of the passage, very swiftly, and almost instantly vanished. Floss had had enough. She rushed down the stairs, two at a time, and jumped the last four. Out in her car, she started the engine and was away down the drive in seconds. What the hell was going on? As she drove into the village, she passed Mrs. M’s house. Maybe it was time she told her all. The night in the woods when she and Ben were threatened. That same man up at the Hall, and the shadow in the corridor.