Tragedy at Two (19 page)

LOIS HAD DECIDED TO SEE ALF SMITH AS SOON AS POSSIBLE, AND as Derek and Gran were both out early, she took her jacket and made for the door. Then the phone began to ring and she reluctantly picked it up. It was a man’s voice, saying he had some information about Rob’s accident. He described the house he lived in, on the road where it happened. Would she like to meet him there straight away?

Lois stiffened. “Not unless you tell me who you are,” she said. But the caller had gone, and she sat for a few minutes, wondering what to do. She could alert the police, but dismissed that idea. Whoever it was might be useful. She could go that way round to Alf Smith. That would be best.

The phone rang again, and this time it was Josie. She was feeling low, and wondered if Lois could go shopping in Tresham with her. Was Gran free to take over the shop?

“No, but I can get hold of Floss. She’s not cleaning anywhere at the moment. I’ll ring back.” She did not tell Josie about the anonymous caller. She would mention it in the car, and judge what to do by her reaction. The visit to Alf would have to wait.

Fifteen minutes later, with Floss behind the counter, Lois collected Josie and they set off. “Thanks, Mum,” Josie said. Lois said that she had been going out anyway, but nowhere important.

“Going where, Mum?” Josie asked, feeling guilty.

“Just down the farm on the off chance I could see Alf Smith.”

“I should stay clear of him! When Edwina brought some eggs in, she said he’s in a bad mood at the moment, an’ he had a real set-to in the shop with Sam Stratford. I nearly had to push ’em out. Putting off the customers, they were.”

Lois asked what the row had been about, but at that point Josie pointed at the roadside and said loudly, “They’ve gone! Rob’s flowers—they’ve all gone!”

Lois slowed down the car and said she supposed there were rules about leaving them by the road for too long. The council had probably taken them away.

“Hey, there’s one left! Over by the fence. Can you pull up, and I’ll get it.”

Lois stopped and got out quickly. It would be better if she collected the bunch. Josie was quite composed at the moment, but the slightest thing could change that. She stooped to pick them up, and noticed immediately that the flowers were fresh, and the card crisp and clear. She looked at the message and gulped. Oh God, what now? In black capitals, the message was blunt: IN MEMORIAM—LOIS MEADE, SUPER-SNOOP. REST IN HELL.

Her first reaction was to screw up the card and lose it. Then she knew this wouldn’t fool Josie. The scarlet flowers were newly placed there, not at all wilted, and there was no reason why the card should have been lost so soon. She got back into the car and silently handed the bunch to Josie, who read the card and turned on her mother, fear making her sharp and accusatory. Lois calmed her down, said it was probably a hoax, and decided to tell her about the anonymous caller.

Lois said they should really get on into Tresham, but Josie insisted on continuing to look for the man who’d called. She was intrigued, and said they couldn’t afford to ignore any leads that might help. And, she added, there were two of them, and both were big strong gels! They drove up and down the stretch of road where the house was supposed to be, but found nothing except a ruined cottage, with boarded-up windows and a pile of bricks in front of the door. Finally they gave up, did their shopping in Tresham and returned to Farnden, where Lois suggested they have a cup of tea before Josie returned to the shop.

“What d’you think’s going on, Mum?” Josie said when they were settled. Lois did not reply at first, and the sound of the shelf clock ticking filled the room.

“Not sure,” she said at last. “But one thing’s clear. I was set up. Whoever it was guessed I would drive up and down looking for the house, and almost certainly see the one remaining bunch of fresh, bright red flowers by the fence. He was gambling on my stopping to look at it, and succeeded.”

“You’ll tell the police, Mum, won’t you? You could be in danger.”

“Doubt it,” said Lois. “More likely it was a black joke. But yes, I’ll tell the police. And I’ll find out where the rest of the flowers went.” Then she reconsidered. Perhaps she would leave reporting it until later, after she had had a chance to speak to Alf Smith.

 

 

AS IT HAPPENED, JOSIE WAS THE FIRST TO FIND OUT ABOUT THE flowers. Next morning early, Matthew Vickers walked briskly into the shop and said he’d got something for her. “It’s about those tribute bunches of flowers at the roadside. I took them away so’s you didn’t have to see them wilted and dying. I’ve saved the cards and brought them in for you.”

“That was thoughtful,” Josie said, and wondered whether to mention the bunch she and Lois found. She decided against it. It was Mum’s concern, really. Although she suspected her mother would not report it, Josie reckoned she should give her the opportunity.

Matthew said it was the least he could do. Then he took advantage of being in favour, and asked her about the film. When she said she just had to check her diary, he left the shop walking on air, and nearly collided with Mark Brown, who was sidling in. He had seen the police car, and tossed up whether to go into the shop or keep walking. He’d decided to go in. After all, he was not exactly wanted by Interpol. He had a couple of job applications to send off urgently, and needed stamps.

“Now, Mark, what can I do for you?” Josie said.

“Two first-class stamps, please,” he said. He liked Josie. She always treated him like a responsible adult and looked him straight in the eye. Pity about her mother. After his session with Lois he had brooded on her attitude to him and put her at the top of his list of most hated people. And next came all those villagers who either looked away when he passed, or sent him looks of such venom that he felt like running home for sanctuary. Home to what, though? he thought to himself. Equally venomous looks from his father?

“I’ll take those letters, shall I?” Josie said. “They can go straight in the bag for collection.”

“Thanks,” Mark said. “And a packet of Rizlas, please.”

“Sold out. Sorry.”

Mark could see a box with several packets of cigarette rolling papers clearly visible. But he turned tail and left the shop with his head down. Everything and everybody conspired against him.

Josie picked up the letters and was about to put them in the postman’s bag, when Mark’s handwriting caught her eye. She had seen it before, very recently, but not on an envelope. That curly
R
and looped
L
were unmistakable. She picked up the phone and dialed her mother.

“Mum? Have you still got that horrible card? Can you bring it down straight away? I’ve got something to show you.”

IT WAS SATURDAY, DEREK’S DAY FOR THE GARDEN AND FOOT ball. Tresham United were playing away up north, and although a pub group were going in a minibus, Derek had decided not to join them. His son Douglas had asked him to go over to Gordon Street and help fix a new television aerial, and Lois said she would go, too, and do some shopping. She had, as always, an ulterior motive, and was hoping to spot Mark Brown with his unsavory mates.

“He’s a good liar, Mum,” Josie had said. “If I were you, I’d start from a position of not believing a word he says.”

Gran had decided to stay at home, and when she had stacked the dishes after lunch, she put her feet up in the sitting room and turned on the television. She was asleep in minutes, and as the sunshine poured through the windows, and a mindless quiz game chuntered on, Gran in her dream walked beside the river with her late husband, planning with him an uneventful retirement.

She was awoken by an insistent tapping sound. Fearful at once of burglars or violent tinkers, she sprang up and stared at the window. A stranger stood outside, smiling and beckoning to her. She was certain she had never seen him before, and wondered what to do.

“Mrs. Weedon!” he shouted. “Let me in!”

So he knew her name. But that didn’t mean anything. She walked to the front door and saw with relief that the chain was on. With great care she opened the door a crack and saw the man already standing there.

“Who are you and what do you want?” she said fiercely.

“I’m Greg, Rob’s brother. Can I come in?”

“How do I know you’re Rob’s brother?” Gran said. “He never said nothing about a brother.”

“Well, we didn’t get on all that well, and I’ve been in Australia for a long time. Please let me in. I didn’t know he’d died until I decided to look him up while I was over here. I went to the vicarage first, and the reverend told me.”

“Well, I don’t know,” Gran said. “I promised my daughter I’d not let anyone into the house. We have to be so careful these days. But they’ll be back about six this evening. You could try again then.” She shut the door firmly, and waited until she heard the footsteps retreating down the drive. Then she rushed to the back door and locked it quickly.

Josie! She took up the telephone and dialled the shop. Josie answered, and said she’d be wary of a stranger looking nothing like Rob but claiming to be his brother. She agreed with Gran that it sounded suspiciously dodgy. But by the end of the afternoon, no such stranger had come in, and Josie relaxed. Maybe somebody playing a joke on poor old Gran. She remembered the threatening tag on the flowers, and thought bitterly that if it, too, was a vicious joke, then Mark Brown was even more dangerously disturbed than they had thought. But the stranger could not have been Mark. Gran would have recognised him immediately.

She locked up the shop and feeling unsettled, she went upstairs to the flat and turned on the television. The news bulletin was full of catastrophe as usual, and she turned it off again. Perhaps it would be a good idea to walk up and see Gran. Maybe Mum and Dad would be back by now.

 

 

FATHER KEITH WATCHED FROM HIS WINDOW AS HIS WIFE DROVE in. She had been over to Fletching to recruit another market stallholder—hand-thrown pottery this time—and came in looking triumphant.

“She’s keen,” Marjorie said. “Nice stuff, too. Look—I bought a little bowl from her.”

She handed him a grey blue bowl, not quite perfectly circular, and he said should he hand throw it now, or leave it until later?

“Ha-h a,” Marjorie said. Sometimes she could strangle him. “Anyway, how was your afternoon? Any messages? Visitors?”

“No messages. One visitor.”

“Interesting?”

“Not sure,” Father Keith said, his face serious now. “A youngish man came to the door claiming to be Rob Wilkins’s long lost brother from Australia. Said he was looking for Rob, so of course I had to tell him he’d been killed in an accident. I didn’t elaborate, and when he asked who he could see who might talk to him, I sent him up to Meades’ house. I was rather anxious that he shouldn’t catch Josie alone in the shop. He obviously knew nothing about her, but had been told somewhere that Rob lived in Long Farnden.”

Marjorie put down the bowl and slowly took off her jacket. “Mm,” she said thoughtfully. “Maybe we should mention it to Josie?”

Father Keith shook his head. “I think I’ve done all that is necessary,” he said. “I’m sure Mrs. Meade will get to the bottom of it.”

“HI, JOSIE!” DEREK SAID. HE AND LOIS HAD RETURNED FROM Tresham, where he had done a good job for Douglas. He was now looking forward to Gran’s newly baked jam sponge and a cup of Sergeant-M ajor’s tea. Susie’s brew was, not to put too fine a point on it, like cat’s pee.

Gran was unsmiling and as soon as she had the tea on the table, said, “Sit down, all of you,” she said. “I want some advice.”

“
You
want some advice?” said Derek, laughing heartily.

“It’s not funny, Derek,” Gran said. She told them about the man who said he was Rob’s brother returned from Australia, and added that she had not let him in. “I said he could come back around now,” she added, looking up at the clock.