Lois Meade 14 - Suspicion at Seven Read online

  Titles by Ann Purser

  Lois Meade Mysteries

  MURDER ON MONDAY

  TERROR ON TUESDAY

  WEEPING ON WEDNESDAY

  THEFT ON THURSDAY

  FEAR ON FRIDAY

  SECRETS ON SATURDAY

  SORROW ON SUNDAY

  WARNING AT ONE

  TRAGEDY AT TWO

  THREATS AT THREE

  FOUL PLAY AT FOUR

  FOUND GUILTY AT FIVE

  SCANDAL AT SIX

  SUSPICION AT SEVEN

  Ivy Beasley Mysteries

  THE HANGMAN’S ROW ENQUIRY

  THE MEASBY MURDER ENQUIRY

  THE WILD WOOD ENQUIRY

  THE SLEEPING SALESMAN ENQUIRY

  THE BLACKWOODS FARM ENQUIRY

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  Copyright © 2014 by Ann Purser.

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  eBook ISBN: 978-1-101-58983-0

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Purser, Ann.

  Suspicion at seven / Ann Purser.—First edition.

  pages ; cm.—(Lois meade mystery ; 7)

  ISBN 978-0-425-26178-1 (hardcover)

  1. Meade, Lois (Fictitious character)—Fiction. 2. Murder—Investigation—Fiction. 3. England—Fiction. I. Title.

  PR6066.U758S87 2014

  823'.914—dc23

  2014031990

  FIRST EDITION: December 2014

  Cover illustration by Griesbach/Martucci.

  Cover design by George Long.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Version_1

  Grateful thanks to Sally, who grew up in a bakehouse, and has many wonderful memories, and to Lydia, who is an expert on many things including pyramid selling.

  Contents

  Titles by Ann Purser

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  CHAPTER FORTY

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

  CHAPTER FIFTY

  CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

  CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

  CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

  CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

  CHAPTER SIXTY

  CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE

  CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO

  CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE

  CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR

  EPILOGUE

  ONE

  Lois Meade, businesswoman and unpaid amateur detective, sat on the low wall of the millpond and watched the flow of water in the tailrace, where ducks and drakes were flapping about in the antics of courtship. It was spring, and love was in the air. Oddly enough, murder was also in the air.

  Murder in Brigham, a small picturesque village, was shocking for all its inhabitants, and especially those near to the scene of the crime, the Mill House Hotel, a beautiful restoration of the old mill house and working machinery.

  Lois, living in nearby Long Farnden, was particularly concerned, as her long-term interest was working with the legendary Inspector Hunter Cowgill in solving crime puzzles that took her fancy. She and Cowgill had a good working relationship, and though Cowgill was smitten long ago with her lovely smile, sharp tongue and long and shapely legs, Lois kept him at a suitable distance with ease.

  Occasionally, Cowgill would wonder what he would do if Lois returned his passion, but acknowledged to himself that common sense would prevail and it would be he who backed off.

  Lois was happily married, had three grown-up offspring and ran her own cleaning service, nattily entitled New Brooms, with “We Sweep Cleaner” added on the side of her van. Now she looked over at Brigham Bakery, still with its old bread oven and flour bins lining the bakehouse walls. Here Aurora Black made bread with flour from the mill, and in the old way baked beautifully crusty loaves for sale to customers, some from the Mill House Hotel, and most to the locals who knew a good loaf when they tasted one.

  She and Lois were good friends, both of an age and both successful businesswomen. New Brooms cleaned the bakery, and Lois bought all her bread from Aurora.

  Aurora’s husband, Donald, dealt in jewellery, costume jewellery of little value but plenty of sparkle, which he hawked around the country and sold in pyramid parties, including one or two a year in the Mill House Hotel.

  Donald was small in stature and wore built-up shoes to give himself extra height. He was inordinately proud of his glossy black hair. Blacky had been his nickname at school, but, fortunately, he was stocky and strong, and could fight his corner with total success.

  Aurora, now punishing a large crock full of bread dough, was a natural blonde, and several inches taller than Donald. B
eing a sensitive soul, she did not possess a single pair of high-heeled stilettos in her entire wardrobe.

  Her arms and hands were beautiful in the powerful action of kneading, and now, catching sight of Lois by the pond, she decided the dough had the necessary elasticity, and she put it aside to prove. “Bread Baked by Hand” was her shop’s slogan, and as a result, her output was not huge. She had a long waiting list of potential customers wanting to join her orders list.

  Lois, who was early for an appointment to see a new client for her cleaning business, walked across the road and into the bakery shop to say hello.

  “Morning, Aurora,” she said, kissing her floury cheek. “Any bread left?”

  “Your usual, yep. Did you want extra?”

  “If you’ve got a large stone-ground wholemeal, that would be great.”

  The bread was fresh out of the oven, still warm, and Lois resisted the temptation to break off a crust and eat it then and there.

  “Donald doing all right?” she said, hoping Aurora would say he was out. She had never been able to like her friend’s husband, finding him shifty, flirty and too anxious to please.

  “Yes, thanks. He’s got a jewellery party in your village next week. Six thirty in Farnden village hall. Spread the word.” She pulled a small poster from under the counter. “Would your Josie put this up in her shop?”

  “Natch,” said Lois. “And how’s your Milly? She must be nearing her finals, isn’t she?”

  Aurora nodded. “She’s on the heart ward at the moment. All drama is there, according to her!”

  “She’s a lovely girl,” said Lois. “Deserves to do well.”

  Milly was the only child of Donald and Aurora. She was small, with large brown eyes and an almost permanent smile for everyone. She had wanted to be a nurse since she was five, when Aurora had rummaged in the attic and found a nurse’s uniform from her own childhood.

  “She hopes to come home for a weekend very soon, so perhaps we’ll come over and cadge a coffee. And what’s new in Farnden?” said Aurora. “This village is buzzing with the latest here. A poor woman found dead in the bed in the hotel. Cause not yet known. A nasty business on our doorstep, and many of my customers are upset and nervous about what might happen next. Anyway, rumour is rife, as they say.”

  * * *

  The fresh green of new leaves gladdens the heart, thought Lois, and as she drove home from Brigham, through dappled sunlight in tree-lined lanes, she thought how lucky she was to live here in the middle of England in a county as yet undiscovered by colonies of London commuters.

  Long Farnden and Meade House were eight miles from Brigham, and Lois meant to call in at her daughter’s village shop back home. Josie and her husband, Matthew, along with her brothers Douglas and Jamie, completed Lois’s family, not forgetting her husband, Derek, and mother, Elsie “Gran” Weedon.

  Meade House in Long Farnden had belonged to a village doctor, long since retired, and though the young ones had all flown the nest, Lois’s mother, known by most as Gran, lived with them and regarded herself as indispensable to the running of the household.

  * * *

  “Morning, Mum,” said Josie, as Lois climbed the steps into the shop and picked up the local paper. “How’s everything?”

  “Everything’s fine,” said Lois. She handed over the flyer advertising the jewellery party. “Would you put this up for Aurora Black’s husband? It’s one of his bling parties.”

  “Bling, eh? What a modern mum!”

  “What I really mean is sparkly rubbish. Still, I hope he does well for Aurora’s sake.” She did not add that Donald Black was a charmer who could sell his own grandmother, and had a reputation for using his away parties as excuse for carrying on with a pretty woman.

  Lois opened out the newspaper and scanned the columns.

  “What are you looking for?” said Josie.

  “Something Aurora said this morning. Some woman apparently found dead in bed in the Mill House Hotel, opposite the bakery.”

  “And you thought it might be a juicy one for Lois Meade, private detective?”

  Lois shrugged. “Who knows?” she said. “You might hear something from Matthew, anyway.”

  Cowgill’s nephew, Matthew Vickers, a young policeman and Josie’s new husband, had been useful to Cowgill on a number of cases.

  “What’s the woman called, or don’t we know? Police making enquiries an’ all that?” asked Josie.

  Lois nodded. “Aurora didn’t have any details, so I thought it might be in this week’s local newspaper. Yes, look, here’s something on it.” She turned the paper round so that Josie behind the counter could also see it.

  “‘Woman dead in bed,’” read Josie. “Sounds like the title of a book. No, there’s not much here. She arrived the day before, apparently. Why don’t you ring Uncle Hunter and then we can all know the gory details from the horse’s mouth?”

  “You know perfectly well,” said Lois stiffly, “that anything I learn from Inspector Hunter Cowgill about police work is strictly confidential. You know that from your Matthew. And anyway, she might have died from a stroke, or something equally innocent.”

  “Well said, Mum,” said a deep voice at the open door of the shop. It was Douglas, Lois’s firstborn, and a solid citizen of Tresham.

  “Hi, Doug,” said Josie, and Lois gave him a peck on the cheek. “What brings you to Farnden this morning?” she said.

  “Oh, nothing much. I was on my way to Waltonby and thought I’d stop by and say hello.”

  “Come up to the house and have a coffee with me and Gran. Your father may still be at home.” Derek was an electrician, and his own boss.

  Douglas nodded, and as another two customers had arrived, Lois waved to Josie, shouted to her that Aurora and Milly might be over at the weekend, and started off with Douglas up the rise to Meade House.

  TWO

  Gran, standing at the Rayburn and testing a cake with a skewer, saw Lois and Douglas go by the window and waved, delighted to see her grandson.

  “Give your old gran a kiss then,” she said, as they came into the kitchen. Douglas gave her an affectionate hug, and sat down at the large table.

  “You staying for lunch, boy?” she said.

  The three sat around the table and talked of family concerns for a while, and then Lois asked if Douglas had heard anything about the woman found dead in bed at the Mill House Hotel.

  “Only what you mentioned in Josie’s shop,” Douglas said, and Gran shook her head.

  Lois showed them the newspaper, and Gran tut-tutted. “Sounds like a crime of passion,” she said. “Or she could have forgotten to take her pills,” she added. “I know if I were sleeping in a strange bed, which, God forbid, I would be out of my usual routine and probably even forget to wash me face.”

  The phone rang, and Lois jumped up quickly to answer it in her office. New Brooms was a busy concern, and with six cleaners and at least forty regular clients, the office was a hive of activity.

  * * *

  “Hello? Who’s that?”

  “Inspector Cowgill for you, Mrs. Meade. Just putting you through.”

  “Lois, my dear, how are you this bright day?”

  “Fine, thanks. What do you want?”

  Cowgill resisted the impulse to tell her that she was the thing he wanted most in the world, and said that he had a new case which might interest her. He would appreciate her help.

  “That poor woman found dead in bed in the Mill House Hotel?”

  “Exactly,” said Cowgill. “It’s not as bald and straightforward as it seemed at first. Could I call and have a talk?”

  “Police business?”

  “Of course, Lois dear. I’ll be with you at five.”

  Lois put down the phone and smiled. Good old Cowgill. He was semiretired, but seemed to do as much as he always had. He had a terri
fic reputation with the force, and they were happy to keep him on. His nephew, Matthew, was rising through the ranks, but Cowgill was careful to avoid any suspicion of nepotism.

  Back in the kitchen, where Gran had made coffee, Lois said it had been a New Brooms call, and she would be having a visitor this afternoon. She hoped to get to the front door before Gran, but it was a forlorn hope.

  “A new client?” said Douglas.

  “What visitor?” asked Gran.

  “Oh, all right then. Not New Brooms. It’s Inspector Cowgill, wanting to talk about that woman dead in bed at the Mill House Hotel. Now, let’s change the subject. How’s the tiddlers, Dougie?”

  “Fine, Mum. They’re good little chaps, and Susie knows how to handle them.”

  “Love ’em and leave ’em alone; that was my policy,” said Gran.

  “Mum! It was ‘Spare the rod and spoil the child,’ if I remember rightly!” said Lois.

  “Must be off now,” said Douglas, sensing an argument. “Let me know, Mum, if you need an assistant.”

  “She already has one, though God alone knows why she has to choose a batty old woman. Mrs. Tollervey-Jones, of all people!”

  “I’m already used to batty old women,” said Lois with a smile, and added she would see Douglas to his car and give her small white terrier, Jemima (aka Jeems), a bit of a walk.

  * * *

  “Hello, Uncle Hunter! How can I help you?” Josie greeted Matthew’s inspector uncle with a peck on the cheek. “Business call, or an afternoon off and here to see the family?”

  Cowgill looked at her, so like Lois and equally lovely. “I’m here to see your mother, but couldn’t pass without saying hello. And, of course, to ask if you’ve heard any useful talk in the shop.”

  “About the woman in the Mill House Hotel? Oh yes, most of the old tabs who congregate in here on pension day, they had plenty to say this morning. One of them said she was a high-class fancy woman who usually turns up with a man. The same man every time. But this time she was on her own.”

  “How did this woman know that?”

  “Son works for the hotel, in the bar. You lot have already interviewed him, so I’m not telling you anything new. Though there was one other woman who said she thought she knew who the man was, though it was all highly confidential. She looked embarrassed, as if she wished she hadn’t said anything.”