Secrets on Saturday (5 page)

“I
KNOW WHO
SHE
IS
,” J
EAN
S
LATER SAID
. S
HE AND
Lois were sitting in New Brooms’ office in Sebastopol Street, Tresham, with Hazel Thornbull at the desk, discussing business. Business, of course, was concerned with clients, good and bad, old and new, and the exchange of miscellaneous information which might be useful to Lois.

Jean was the latest cleaner to join the team, and Hazel one of the originals. They were talking about Herbert Everitt’s house, and the nosey neighbour. Josie hadn’t been much help to Lois, and had said she couldn’t place her, probably, she had added bitterly, because she did all her shopping at the nearest supermarket. But now Jean Slater seemed to recognize Lois’s description.

“They haven’t been there long,” she said. “Came from London … somewhere in the East End, somebody said … and there’s just her and her husband, who’s away a lot of the time. She’s a dim sort of creature, apparently.”

“No wonder she’s got those two nasty terriers,” said Lois. “She’s probably scared of being on her own a lot of the time.” She paused, and then said, “What’s her husband look like?” A thought had struck her, but was immediately dispelled.

“Big bloke, bald as a coot—you know the sort. Drives an HGV and annoys the other residents of Blackbeny Close by parking it in front of their houses.”

“How do you know all this, Jean?” Hazel said. Hazel’s husband farmed close to Long Famden, and she was
distinctly put out that a Treshamite should know more than she did about the village. She was also hesitant, as were the rest of the team, about being instant buddies with Jean, whose husband Ken was serving a long prison sentence for a nasty murder. Lois had been involved in sorting out a tangle of suspects, and most of the team considered amongst themselves that Lois’s judgement in employing Jean had not been as sharp as usual.

Now Jean laughed. “It just so happens,” she said, “that an old friend of mine lives in the same road. I pop in to see her now and then, and we gossip.”

“Not about New Brooms’ business, I hope,” Lois said quickly. She knew she was fighting a losing battle, but at every opportunity she stressed the need for the team’s vow of confidentiality. “But it is interesting, Jean,” she continued, “that nobody seems to know much about them. Josie usually has stuff on everyone. The shop’s the centre of what goes on in the village. Nothing much passes her by. And why should that woman be so interested in me?”

“Not enough to do,” Hazel said. “We know her sort only too well, don’t we, Mrs. M? They complain to their husbands that they can’t keep up with housework, and then spend the day watching the telly … or go to stupid coffee mornings to chew over the latest husband having it off with somebody else’s wife. Classic.”

Jean nodded in agreement. “But in this case, I don’t think there’d be much interest in Mrs. Wimp … A bloke’d have to be pretty hard up!”

“Any idea of her real name?” Lois said, but Jean shook her head. Lois stood up. “Well,” she said, “I must be going. And Jean’s in Farnden this afternoon.” She left Hazel answering the telephone, and watched Jean drive off towards Long Farnden. I need to think, she said to herself, and set off on foot up the street towards the pet shop to buy puppy biscuits. “Big bloke, bald as a coot,” Jean had said. So she’s not Mrs. Abthorpe. She walked on, frowning deeply, and failed to see a man waving to her from a dark-coloured car.

Definitely something up with Lois, thought Cowgill, feeling a jolt of disappointment that she did not wave back. I must arrange to see her. He was still being pestered by the neighbours of Everitt.

D
EREK HAD COME HOME FOR LUNCH
,
AND
G
RAN
dished up a nicely browned cottage pie with carrots and peas. “Huh,” Lois said grumpily. “If it was just me and Mum, we’d be sitting down to a bacon sandwich. You must come home for lunch more often …”

Derek saw Gran’s face fall, and reached across the table to take Lois’s hand. “Somethin’ wrong, gel?” he said. She snatched her hand away, and said she was perfectly all right.

Silence fell, and then she sighed deeply and put down her knife and fork. “All right,” she said. “I’m in a bad mood and I’m sorry, Mum. Whatever you make is always delicious, and your bacon sarnies are the best.”

“So why the bad mood?” said Derek. He had a sinking feeling that he knew why. All the signs were there. Lois abstracted, spending longer than usual in her office, being irritable with poor old Gran. She was up to something again, and no doubt that bugger Cowgill was part of it. Sod it! Why couldn’t she be happy with her business and family? He corrected himself. She was happy with her business and family, but she couldn’t resist a mystery. There was no doubt she was good at her ferretin’ around. Several times she had played a big part in solving nasty cases, and more than once put herself in danger.

“It’ll pass,” said Lois. “Maybe I’ll send someone else into that Everitt house. It is sort of creepy. Nothing changes, except for a layer of dust. Magazines the same, some clothes still in the cupboards. Shoes in a neat row in the bedroom. It’s like time’s stopped.”

“Surely it won’t be for long?” Gran said. “After all, if Herbert’s not coming back, they’ll sell it, won’t they?” She scratched her head and continued, “I wish I knew where he’s gone. Don’t like to think of the old boy on his own in some nursing home with a load of ga-ga old
people. And no visitors, very likely. Can’t you find out, Lois?”

“I’ve tried. That Reg Abthorpe seems to have disappeared too. Nobody round here has heard of him, his telephone number is wrong, and he never gave me an address. My fault—1 slipped up there.”

Derek was reluctant to encourage her, but said, “Have you seen any letters left lying about in the house? Might give you a clue … Or an address book … Is the telephone still working?”

Lois shook her head. “Nope. And there’s no letters, no address book, not even a message pad. There’s only this,” she added, fishing in her pocket for the tiny piece of blotting paper.

Derek took it, holding it as if it would explode in his hand. “ … such cru …” he read, peering at the smudged writing. “That ain’t much help, me duck,” he said, and passed it to Gran.

But she shook her head and wouldn’t take it. “No,” she said firmly. “I don’t want anything to do with it. Just leave the cooking and washing and ironing to me, and you two can get on with playing at detectives.”

“It’s not playing, Mum. Could be serious,” Lois said shortly, and left the room.

Derek looked at Gran. “So she’s at it again,” he said sadly. “Best do what we can to help, and hope it’ll be over quickly.”

“For Herbert’s sake, if nobody else’s,” snorted Gran. She took a jam sponge pudding out of the oven and yelled loudly that if Lois wanted any she’d better come back straight away. “There’s some nice custard here,” she added, pushing a jug towards Derek. “Help yourself.”

“Crude … crucify … crux …” Derek muttered, and Gran looked at him witheringly.

“Cruelty,” she said. “What else?”

“R
IGHT
,
TEAM
,” L
OIS SAID
,
IN HER BEST FOOTBALL
manager’s voice, “we have a new member today. Some of you may know her … Floss Pickering, welcome.”

Sheila nodded, and spoke up. “We’ll give you any help you need,” she said encouragingly to the girl sitting at the end of the row in Lois’s office.

“Thanks,” Floss said, not looking in the least nervous. She’d set off up the street this morning, her head full of strictures from her mother not to be too know-all or casual. “Cleaning is Mrs. Meade’s business,” she had said, “and she runs it very efficiently. Got a good reputation. So mind you don’t besmirch it …”

“Be-what?” Floss had answered, and left for work.

Now she listened to the team discussing schedules and giving reports, and realized the whole thing was not quite such a doddle as she’d thought. Lois suggested Floss should accompany Sheila Stratford for a couple of weeks, and help out while learning what she needed to know. “More than you thought, probably,” said Lois, reading Floss’s mind. “But you’ll be fine. And think how useful it will be when you’ve a home of your own!”

There was a general laugh, while Floss protested that that was a very long way off in the future. “Mmm,” said Lois, “that’s what they all say. Mind you, our Bill here took his time. And how’s Rebecca this week?” she added to the reddening Bill.

“Fine,” he said, and then hesitated. “Um, that is, she’s really fine, but … er …”

There was a pause, and then Hazel said with a delighted shout, “She’s sick in the mornings? Come on, Bill, tell us—are you going to be a dad?”

Bill nodded proudly. “It’s quite a way on,” he said. “We thought we’d leave it before telling people, what with Becky being at the school and all the children getting excited. She’ll be stopping work soon.”

After that, not much more business was achieved, and Lois disappeared to open a bottle. “Wonderful news,” she said, returning with a tray of glasses. “Here’s to you both,” she smiled, “and to the little Stockbridge on the way.”

T
HE AFTERNOON WAS FINE AND SUNNY
,
AND
L
OIS HAD
no urgent calls to make. She looked at Jeems chasing her tail in the garden, and thought maybe a short walk might be a good idea. After all the excitement of Bill’s announcement, she needed to quieten down and let her thoughts settle. She found the lead and went to call the puppy. Growing bigger already, she noted. But it was a terrier, mostly, and wouldn’t get huge, she hoped.

Gran had gone into Tresham on the bus, and Derek was at work, so Lois locked up the house and set off up the road out of the village. The countryside around was undulating, with smallish fields and occasional prairielike vistas where in the past a modern-thinking farmer had decided to grub up hedges. Now several new hedges had been planted, and Lois recalled Derek grumbling about subsidies for farmers. “They get paid for going to the bog,” he’d said tetchily.

She strolled on, and on a quiet stretch of road, unfastened Jeems’s lead and let her run on. Then she called her back, and was delighted when the puppy obeyed. Once more she gave her a free run, and called—and this time the dog did not come back. She was hunched over something big and dark lying at the roadside. Lois began to
run. As she reached the pup, she yelled, “Jeems! Come here at once!” On closer inspection she saw the dark heap was a badger, familiarly striped, and with its jaws open in a silent scream, showing its long, sharp teeth and a lolling tongue.

“Ye Gods!” Lois felt sick, and quickly fastened the lead. She walked to the other side of the road, pulling the puppy behind her. Then she stopped. Her nausea had subsided, and she was curious. Picking up Jeems, she went back for another look. The badger must have been run over by a vehicle, but she could see no marks on it. Perhaps it had a glancing blow on the head. Flies were beginning their demolition work, starting on the eyes, and she shuddered. Poor thing, she thought. Maybe I should tell someone. She walked on now, still dragging the reluctant puppy. A large tractor and trailer came in sight, fast towards her in the middle of the narrow road, and she hopped on to the verge. It slowed down to pass her, and she waved at the driver. He pulled up, and looked at her enquiringly. “Down there,” she said, pointing back along the road. “There’s a dead badger. It’s big, and it’s beginning to rot. Can you get rid of it?”

The driver was young, dark and handsome. She recognized him as the son of a farmer who owned land a mile or so away. He laughed at her unpleasantly. “Let it rot!” he said, and drove off before she could reply.

Lois walked on into a different landscape, with overgrown hedges, choked ditches and patched-up gateways. She passed a rundown farmhouse with a sheep dog straining at its chain and barking sharply at Jeems. The puppy stared at it, and then released a stream of sharp yelps. “Good gel!” Lois bent down to pat her head, and at that moment the sheepdog’s chain broke and it charged full pelt towards them. Lois snatched up the puppy and faced it. A couple of feet away from her it suddenly stopped and looked back to where an old man with a stick hobbled towards them, cursing and swearing at the top of his voice. “Come ‘ere, y’ bugger!” he yelled, and the dog turned and slunk off into a barn.