Secrets on Saturday (3 page)

I
T WAS COSY IN THE STOCKROOM AT THE BACK OF THE
shop. Josie and Lois sat on stools either side of an electric fire, insulated by boxes and packages on shelves that reached to the ceiling. A small sink and electric kettle served for quick snacks during the day, and now with mugs in hand, mother and daughter chatted comfortably about the day’s events—which were small and unsurprising, and part of the everyday life of Long Farnden.

But there was one episode not so easily absorbed and forgotten by Lois. Her visit to Blackberry Gardens and Herbert Everitt’s house returned naggingly, and she finally opened the subject with Josie. “So what can you tell me about Herbert?”

Josie thought for a moment, and then said, “Not a lot. His name was Herbert and he never allowed anyone to shorten it to Bert. He had been married years ago, but his wife died early. They had no children, and he was sad
about that. But he had his little dog and I think he was happy. No, not happy, more resigned to being old and alone except for Spot. He liked it in the village, because people were friendly.”

“Did he go to the pub?” Lois could see that in fact Josie knew quite a lot about Herbert Everitt. Most village people liked Josie, and told her their life stories given half a chance. It had come in useful to Lois in the past, and now looked like being so again. Not, she told herself, that she suspected anything sinister in his going away, but some background information would be useful in the cleaning job. She deceived herself, of course, but it was early days.

“Oh yes, he liked a pint.” Josie smiled. “I think Spot had a sip or two. The old boys in the dominoes school welcomed him in, which, as you know, is the seal of approval in Long Farnden. He had some stories to tell, so he said. His dad had been a bit of a dodgy character, apparently. Not always the right side of the law. He seemed quite proud of him.”

“Did he ever talk about the rest of his family—sisters, brothers, cousins?”

Josie shook her head. “Nope. Always said he was alone in the world, and when he was depressed he’d say nobody cared whether he lived or died. I used to point to Spot outside the shop with his lead on the dog hook, waiting patiently. ‘He’d care,’ I’d say, and that’d cheer him up nine times out of ten.”

“He must have some relations,” said Lois, frowning. “That Mr. Abthorpe is his nephew, which means he had or has a brother or sister. Still, they’re all in Australia, apparently. Only Reg Abthorpe left here.”

Josie looked at her curiously. “Are you worried, Mum? Sniffed out something wrong?”

Lois stood up and took her mug to the sink. “Well, I went to Herbert’s house this morning. You saw me passing by. It was creepy, Josie. Not cold or damp or anything. In fact it was quite pleasantly warm, and everything tidy and clean. Well, a bit of dust here and there, but
nothing to speak of. There’s magazines on the table, and a newspaper folded neatly by the bed. The bed’s still made up with clean sheets. And the fridge! Still stocked up with instant meals, milk—sour, of course—and wrinkled apples.”

“What were the sell-by dates?” asked Josie the shopkeeper.

“Good girl,” said Lois approvingly. “I looked at those. All out of date about three weeks ago. And the newspaper dated around the same time. So that’s when he went …” Lois reached for her jacket. “I must be getting back. Nice having a chat. It’s closing time now, so you can lock up. See you tomorrow, love.”

Josie watched her mother disappearing up the street. She had that purposeful walk that meant only one thing. She suspected something out of kilter, and wouldn’t rest until she’d discovered what it was. Josie sighed. Poor old Dad! That cop Cowgill would be nosing around again. Oh, well, there was nothing they could do about it, except to help her mother and hope she didn’t end up at the receiving end of a gun … like last time.

“H
ELLO
? I
S
M
R
. A
BTHORPE THERE
?” L
OIS HAD
D
I
alled the Suffolk number he had given her, and a woman’s voice answered.

“Who?”

“Mr. Reg Abthorpe. He gave me this number to contact him.”

“Never heard of him,” said the woman, and rang off.

Lois sat frowning for a minute, then checked the number she had written down and tried again. “Hello, please don’t ring off. It’s Mrs. Meade from Long Farnden. Could you kindly tell me whereabouts you are? Is it a town or …?”

“What d’you want with this bloke? You after him or some thing?”

“No,” said Lois patiently. She explained about the cleaning job and Abthorpe’s uncle.

After a pause, the woman said, “Oh well, I suppose it won’t do no harm to tell you. This is Sudbury in Suffolk. An’ I still don’t know no Mr. Abthorpe. G’bye.”

Sudbury. Lois dialled enquiries, and asked for a Mr. R. Abthorpe of Sudbury, Suffolk. The helpful young man could find no trace. “No R. Abthorpe in the Sudbury area,” he said. “No Abthorpes at all. Sorry I can’t help you.” Lois felt a growing sense of unease. She was also irritated at wasting so much of her time. Then she heard Derek’s van outside, and shut her office door with a bang and went through to the kitchen.

“Hello, me duck,” Derek said, giving her a hug, and leaving dirty smudges on her face. “Good day?”

“Not bad,” Lois lied. Derek musn’t suspect she was even thinking of ferretin’ about. He was a man who liked a quiet life. And much as he loved her, he dreaded her involvement with another of her mysteries—and even more, a renewed acquaintance with that bugger Cowgill!

He pecked Gran’s cheek and started towards the door. “Got a surprise for you, Lois,” he said. “And don’t say anything ‘til you’ve thought about it.” He disappeared out to his van, and when he returned he was carrying something small and white and furry. “Here,” he said. “In need of a good home. Named Jemima at the moment. Mother a pedigree Cairn, and father an old farm terrier who should have known better. I said we’d have her …”

Lois closed her eyes and took a deep breath. They had no pet animals now. The cat, Melvyn, had died a couple of months ago, and old Cyril’s dog that they’d taken in temporarily, had been claimed by his sister in Tresham. Lois opened her eyes again, and Derek advanced and held out his bundle. Lois reluctantly cupped her hands, and the small, shivering puppy fitted exactly. She was not entirely white, but had grey ears and patches on her cheeks. Her enormous brown eyes looked up anxiously at Lois, who hesitated, then melted and buried her face in the soft fur.

“Oh God,” said Gran. “Another job for me, no doubt. And isn’t it dirty, Lois? You don’t want to catch anything.”

Lois shook her head. “Smells of disinfectant and
puppy,” she said. “Still, I think I’ll just take her outside and see if she’ll perform.” On her way to the door, she kissed Derek’s chilly cheek, and said, “Thanks, love. She’ll fit in nicely. Jemima? Bit much for a tiny thing … I think I’ll call her Jeems until she’s bigger.”

Derek looked across at Gran, and she stared back at him. “All right, Gran?” he said, when Lois had gone into the garden.

She shrugged. “Nobody asked my opinion,” she said, and then added, “still, it’s quite a pretty little dog. Our Lois’ll make a fool of it, I daresay, but we’ll manage.” She sniffed, and returned to the oven.

T
HE NEW PEOPLE IN
H
ORNTON
H
OUSE WERE FOREIGNERS
, according to the village. A family with two children in their late teens had arrived not so long ago, and were, of course, treated as foreigners, though they were as English as Mrs. T-J.

“What’s their name again, Mum?” Lois asked, finishing her toast and marmalade.

“Pickering. Why d’you want to know?”

“Sheila said their daughter was looking for a part-time job, and had asked about New Brooms. I thought I’d call and see what she’s like. I need a willing girl for a few more hours.”

“Willing to do what?” said Derek from behind the morning paper.

“Ignore him,” Lois said.

“Know anything about them, Mum?” Gran was a WI
member, went to church, and belonged to the Darby and Joan Club. Not much in the village escaped her notice.

“They’re townies,” she said. “Come from Birmingham, apparently. He works at the brewery in Tresham, and she’s an ancillary at a school there. The boy’s going to university, and the girl doesn’t know yet what she wants to do. I expect that’s why she wants a little job.”

“Bhimey,” said Derek. “You don’t really need to call on them, me duck. Gran’s covered everything!” He got up and shouldered his canvas bag.

“Cheese and pickle in there,” Gran said fondly. “Your favourite.”

“Right-o, then,” he said, and blew Lois a kiss. “See you later.” And as he went out of the door they heard him mutter, “Wish
I
worked in a brewery.”

L
OIS STOOD OUTSIDE
H
ORNTON
H
OUSE AND LOOKED
up and down the street. Nobody in sight, except a car approaching slowly. Then, quite suddenly, it quickened up with a rasp of acceleration, and she instinctively drew back. As it sped past her, she noticed that the driver had turned his head away, as if to look at the shop opposite, but Lois knew there was something familiar about him. And the car: she had seen it before. But where? She shrugged, and walked up to the Pickering’s front door. Her finger had scarcely left the bell when the door opened and a pleasant-faced woman appeared.

“Good morning,” Lois said. “I am Mrs. Meade from New Brooms …”

“I know you are,” the woman said with a smile. “We’ve been telling Floss to come and see you for weeks! Did Sheila mention her?”

Lois nodded, and followed the woman in to a room where the atmosphere was warm and smelled pleasantly of polish and flowers.

“I’ll just call her,” Mrs. Pickering said. “She’s upstairs. Spends a lot of time at her computer, like they all do.”

She disappeared and Lois heard her call. Then both she and her daughter came in, and Floss was introduced. She was conservatively dressed for her generation, thought Lois. Jeans, of course, but with a cheerful red jersey that showed no hint of bare midriff. That was a point in her favour! Her blonde hair was cut in a long bob, parted in the middle and tucked smoothly behind her ears. In all, she made a good impression, and Lois smiled.

“Perhaps I could have a word with Floss?” she said. Mrs. Pickering left tactfully, and Lois said, “Now then, just a few questions. First of all, why do you want to work for us?”

“I’ll be honest, shall I?” Floss offered.

Lois looked surprised, and said, “Of course.”

“Well, I can’t say I’ve always wanted to be a cleaner, or that I’d do it for ever. But I didn’t get very good GCSEs, and can’t decide at the moment what I really want to do next.”

“So you’d just be filling in time?”

Floss nodded. “But I’d take it seriousiy, and work hard,” she said. “Mum’ll tell you I’m good around the house. And I’d give you plenty of notice if I finally decide what my career is going to be,” she added ruefully. “Dad is a bit fed up with me,” she continued, “but Mum understands.”

Do I really want a pleasant but dim girl with a pushy father? Lois asked herself. Well, why not? She wouldn’t need starred As to clean Mrs. T-J’s mansion, or tidy up behind the vet’s totally spoilt brats.

They chatted for a few more minutes, and then Lois got up to go. “I’ll let you know tomorrow,” she said. “You’ll not have references yet, but perhaps I could see your last school report. That’ll do for the moment.”

Mrs. Pickering and Floss showed her out, and she walked home thinking the girl could well be a useful addition to the team. Halfway there, she stopped suddenly. That car! It was Reg Abthorpe’s, of course. And it had been the back of his head she recognized. Thinning hair, something one-sided about his shoulders. Yes, that was
Reg Abthorpe. So why was he in Farnden, a long way from Suffolk? Had he been to Blackberry Close? And if so, what for? He had said he wouldn’t need to be back, but would leave everything to Lois.

“That man,” Lois said, as she met Gran coming down the pavement on her way to the shop, “that Reg Abthorpe … has he called on us?”

Gran shook her head. “There’s been no callers this morning,” she said. She looked curiously at her daughter. “You all right, Lois? You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”

“I’m fine,” Lois replied. Before Gran could ask more questions, she said she had a couple of phone calls to make, and continued on her way. She was absolutely certain it had been Abthorpe, and decided she would start work on Herbert Everitt’s house tomorrow.

T
HERE WAS A MESSAGE ON
L
OIS
’
S ANSWER PHONE
. A man’s voice, asking her to call a familiar number. Chief Inspector Hunter Cowgill. What did he want? There was only one way to find out, but Lois was well aware of Derek’s mild objection to her ever working for that cop again. She hesitated. It wouldn’t necessarily mean another job for her. He might have some small enquiry, a point to clear up from last time. She dialled the number.

“Lois? Thanks for ringing back.”

“Well, what d’you want?”