Theft on Thursday (11 page)

Lois shook her head. “But why me? There’s only one black family in Long Farnden, and they’re completely
accepted. Their kids go to the local school, he’s a pillar of the church.”

Cowgill smiled wryly. “An exception to the rule, Lois. No, the reason I’m talking to you is a report I’ve had of local undesirables, quite a mixed bunch, who are meeting regularly and targeting a particular victim. At the moment, it’s mostly threats, and they make sure the victim is too scared to shop them.” Lois stared at him in disbelief. “And before you deny any knowledge,” he said, “one name that’s come up as being associated with them is your Jamie’s new girlfriend, the aristocratic Annabelle Tollervey-Jones.”

“What!?”

“Not your Jamie, I hasten to say. Annabelle T-J has other friends, friends of her own class and a very unpleasant lot they are.”

Lois frowned. “Haven’t met her yet,” she said, “but Mum says she’s a nice enough girl.”

“Maybe so,” said Cowgill. “Anyway, you are perfectly placed to keep your ear to the ground. Brief young Jamie, if you like, in a casual way. We need to nip this in the bud before real harm is done.”

Lois had no intention of involving any member of her family in any of this, and she told Cowgill sharply that he’d better try some other snout, he reassured her quickly that she need not even mention it to Jamie, if that was what she wanted. If she would just keep her own ear to the ground, he was sure that would be extremely useful. “We need you, Lois,” he said.

“Oh, all right,” said Lois. “Though I can’t see much coming my way. Do I still get you on the same number?” He nodded, and put out his hand. She looked at it tentatively, and then shook it, feeling an unexpected warmth in his dry palm. “Can I ask you something?” she said.

He opened his eyes wide, and said, “You’ve never hesitated before.”

“Do you know anything about poisons?” Lois looked at him intently.

“Of course I do,” he said. “A policeman’s lot is a very broad one, you know. Poisons we know about. Why do you ask?”

“Oh, no reason. Just curiosity.” Lois could see no sign of special interest in her question, and decided he had had no ulterior motive for meeting, other than this black magic rubbish.

“I’ll be hearing from you, then,” he said. He dared to rest his hand on her shoulder for a second or two, and said, “Change your shoes when you get home—you feet will be sopping wet. Bring boots next time.” He tried hard to keep his voice light and unconcerned, but he knew he’d failed when he saw Lois grinning.

“Who says there’ll be a next time?” she said, as the footpath divided and they parted company.

T
HE SOFA IN THE VICARAGE WAS NOT REALLY LONG
enough for Sandy. He was half-sitting, half-reclining, and had a crick in his neck.

“Brian!” he yelled, and smiled as the vicar came running anxiously into the room. “Relax, relax,” Sandy said. “Just give me a hand, will you? This ruddy sofa is doing me more harm than good. I’d be better in that big armchair of yours.”

“Oh dear, well, I’m not sure. The doctor said—”

“Never mind what that idiot said. Here, pull me up.” A tottering Sandy made it to the armchair, and slumped down, breathing hard. “Blimey, that was some bug or whatever! Thanks, anyway.” Maybe he should cut down on the booze for a while. He’d had a fair bit of belly-ache lately, and the usual remedies hadn’t worked.

He looked at Brian, and felt an unaccustomed pang of compassion for his companion. Brian had lost weight and looked more cadaverous than ever. If it hadn’t been for this illness, Sandy had hoped to be out of the vicarage by now.
He hadn’t told Brian, but a flat had come up in the better suburbs of Tresham, just right for him. Ground floor, with a patio for barbecues in the summer. Two bedrooms, all mod cons of a decent standard. He could afford it, and looked forward with excitement to being independent. Would he keep on with the church choir? He’d thought a lot about it in his hours of inaction, and decided he would. One or two promising things developing there, mainly concerning the lovely Rebecca Rogers. It amused him to annoy Bill Stockbridge, to see that he was not enjoying singing hymns nor being teased about it in the pub. Being a housemaid was enough! But Sandy knew why Bill kept coming to practices. Keeping an eye on his beloved …

The telephone rang in the hall, and he heard Brian answer. “Hello, Mrs. Meade … Yes, he’s doing very nicely, thank you … How kind of you to think of checking, but I’m sure we’d be glad to have a good clean-up today. Sharon Miller? Late afternoon? Yes, that will be fine. I have a sermon to write, and shall have an incentive to finish it before she arrives! Yes, I had heard Sharon would be working for you now … Oh, certainly, a very pretty girl! Just what he needs? Well …” Brian’s voice tailed off, and then he put down the receiver.

A couple of minutes later, the telephone rang again, and Sandy listened intently. Not Sharon cancelling, he hoped. But no, Brian said in his jolly voice, “Hello, Rebecca! How nice of you to call … Yes, he’s doing very well … Difficult to keep him down, really!” Sandy’s spirits began to rise. Could be an interesting afternoon. “Of course you can, my dear,” continued Brian. “This afternoon? After school? Yes, I’m sure he’ll be delighted to see you … No, he’s got everything he needs. Just bring yourself! Goodbye for now, then.”

When Brian came in to tell him about the call, Sandy had already perked up. “Right,” he said. “No more of this
invalid stuff. I’m going to take a shower and a shave. Then I’ll get dressed and—”

“No, no, Sandy! You don’t realize how ill you’ve been. I promised to keep you quiet for several days yet. I shall put off Rebecca if you won’t listen to me. Your mother is coming tomorrow, and what will she say if you’re worse instead of better?”

Sandy sighed. “Look, Brian.” He was patient, making an effort. “I know it was serious. Nearly snuffed it. But I’m fine now, just a bit weak.” He smiled his “this-is-your-dream-home” smile. It usually worked. “You know, surely,” he continued, “that a cheery patient will get better far quicker than a misery? Well, here I am, getting better and with a lovely visitor this afternoon. Do me a power of good. Please, Brian, give me a break.”

B
Y THE TIME
R
EBECCA KNOCKED AT THE DOOR
, S
ANDY
was smartened up, and apart from a pallor in his cheeks and a reluctance to stand up, he looked very much his old self. “Mmm, chocolates!” he said. “Not allowed them yet, but I’ll save them up to make a pig of myself later on.” He turned to look at the hovering Brian. “Why don’t you get on with that sermon?” he suggested. “A good opportunity, now Rebecca’s here to keep me company.”

Oh dear, thought Brian, and left the room. He just hoped the excitement wouldn’t be too much for the lad. What excitement? he wondered. Rebecca was Bill’s girlfriend—almost wife—and Sandy knew that perfectly well. Sometimes Brian’s affection for the lad was mixed with a tinge of dislike. Sandy had his father’s looks, but not much of his character.

In the sitting room brightened with flowers from well-wishers, Sandy looked across at Rebecca and liked what he saw. Now that she was on her own, and had no reason to challenge him, her expression was soft and concerned. Her
eyes were warm, and her mouth generous and bright. He was absorbed in imagining how wonderful it would be to … Wow! His colour rose, and she asked anxiously if he was OK. “Oh, yes,” he said, “all the better for seeing you, my dear, as the old wolf said.”

They talked desultorily about local people and the latest gossip at the pub, and how the choir was managing without him. He asked about Bill, and saw her face change. “He’s fine,” she said abruptly. She didn’t add that Bill had no idea she was visiting Sandy, and would be far from pleased if he knew. At the one choir practice they’d had since Sandy’s dramatic exit that chaotic night, Bill had been helpful, helping to choose suitable hymns and find alternative tunes. He’d located old choir robes in a dusty cupboard and pulled them out to be cleaned and used by new members. He had complimented a blushing Sharon on her organ playing, and handled Mrs. T-J with tact. Rebecca thought it best not to mention any of this, but said they’d all be really glad to see Sandy back.

“Why don’t you take your coat off, Rebecca?” Sandy had had a tempting glimpse of a dress cut perhaps a little lower than was suitable for a schoolmistress. “It’s warm in here,” he added. “Brian’s turned the heating up … killing me with kindness, and all that!”

Rebecca stood up and removed her coat. Sandy watched her, and said, “Oh, while you’re up, could you pick up a book I dropped down here somewhere? I still feel dizzy if I bend down.” It was a lie, of course. There was no book. But Rebecca obediently leaned over him and looked into the dark corner behind the chair.

“Gotcha!” he said with a laugh, and put his hands gently round her face. “You’re beautiful,” he said, and kissed her on her shining mouth.

Oh my God, what a plonker, Rebecca thought, but allowed herself to be kissed.

At this inopportune moment, a figure passed close by
the window, stopped and looked in, and then ran back down the path. Brian, standing at his bedroom window above, saw that it was Sharon Miller and that as she wrestled with the iron gate, she appeared to be in tears.

W
HEN
B
RIAN
R
OLLINSON
’
S CALL CAME THROUGH
, L
OIS
was in the bath. After a long afternoon of visits, checking that clients were satisfied with New Brooms’ service, she had settled in to enjoy a soak before tea. Derek was home early, and when she heard the telephone ring, and then his footsteps on the stairs, she groaned. What now? Everything was in order, surely.

“Cor, any hot water left for me?” said Derek, handing her the telephone. She nodded, and indicated he should wait. “Hello? Oh yes, vicar. Nothing wrong, I hope?” As Derek watched, he saw her frown, then an expression of irritation flicker across her face. “Leave it with me,” she said. “I’ll find out what happened and get back to you. It’s probably too late to send anyone else now, but you shall have an extra half hour tomorrow morning to make up for the inconvenience. So sorry. Bye.”

Derek raised his eyebrows. “What’s up?”

“That stupid girl! Her first job on her own, and she ducked out of it. Got as far as the vicarage, and then turned tail and ran! What on earth’s the matter with her? No, don’t answer that. You said I shouldn’t take her on. Well, you might be right. Anyway …” She stood up, foamy water streaming down over her wonderfully soapy body. It was too much for Derek, and as a result, by the time Lois made an angry call to the Miller home, Sharon had gone to bed, saying she had a migraine and must be left alone.

“I’m going round there now,” Lois said, dressed and refreshed. “She’ll have more than a migraine when I’ve finished with her. Shan’t be long, Mum,” she added. “Back
shortly with any luck.” Gran protested that surely it could wait until tomorrow, but her words fell on deaf ears.

Walking quickly along the path to the Millers’ house, Lois saw a car pulling away from the vicarage. The light was going fast, but she could just see it was a girl driving. The girl waved, and Lois was almost sure it was Bill’s Rebecca. Yes, it was her car, no doubt about it. What had she been doing at the vicarage? Not too difficult, that one. Visiting the sick. Lois had not missed the signs at choir practice. Sandy looked very often at Rebecca, smiled especially for her, and complimented her on solos he’d asked her to sing. Lois had noticed Bill’s angry expression and wondered if trouble was brewing. Now it looked more than possible. Silly girl! Bill was worth six times that bouncy little … little … Lois waved back, and hurried on.

I
T WAS PAST MIDDAY WHEN
M
ARION
M
ACKERRAS
’
S
neat little Peugeot drew up outside Long Farnden vicarage. Brian was standing by the window, concealed by a curtain, and saw with a sinking heart that it was a good five minutes before she opened the car door and got out. Priming her guns, no doubt.

“Your mother’s here,” he said, turning to Sandy, who was lounging on the sofa reading the property pages of the local paper.