Secrets on Saturday Page 10

  The photograph was from a country magazine, and illustrated an advertisement for an animal rescue organization. On a surgery examination table lay a small white terrier. It was horribly damaged, and very dead. “SOME PEOPLE WILL STOP AT NOTHING!” the accompanying text shouted, and continued, “PLEASE HELP US IN OUR WORK.”

  Lois got the message. Reg and Victor and unknown others would stop at nothing.

  THE FIRST THING SHE LOOKED FOR AS SHE CAME INTO the kitchen back home, was, of course, Jeems. The little dog rushed to greet her, as always, and she picked her up and gave her a hug.

  “Well, I thought I’d never see it,” said Gran.

  “What?”

  “You being soft about an animal. Softer than you ever were with your own children.” Gran sweetened the criticism with a smile. “Mind you,” she added, “I reckon they couldn’t have turned out better, bless ‘em.”

  “In spite of me being so brutal?” Lois said sharply. She had had enough for one morning, and retired to her office, taking Jeems with her. She had replaced the sickening advertisement exactly where she found it. Maybe next time one of those villains went in to the house—she believed that at least Reg and Victor went in frequently—it would puzzle them. They would expect her to have torn it up and got rid of it. Well, if they wanted a battle of dirty tricks, they could have it.

  She listened to her messages. No complaints, but a short request from Mrs. Cullen, Ben’s mother. She needed help in the house, she said, now that she was starting a new job. An interesting place at the hospital in Tresham had come up, and she’d been offered it. She intended to accept. Would Lois ring her back?

  Lois looked at her watch. Nearly lunchtime, so Mrs. Cullen would probably be at home. She dialled the number. “Ah, thanks for calling.” Lois remembered that Gran had liked Mrs. Cullen at the WI. Always willing to do jobs nobody else wanted, she said. Lois arranged to see her on the way to Ringford, where she intended to visit Ellen Biggs. She needed to ask Ellen a few more questions about William Cox.

  T

  WENTY-O

  NE

  BEN CULLEN WAS DISMAYED TO HEAR OF HIS mother’s new job. He was used to having all his needs catered for, and the prospect of getting his own lunch, not to mention doing his own laundry, had shaken him up. If the house was going to be empty all day, he might just as well find any old job to do until a real opportunity came up. Or, to put it more realistically, until someone decided to give him a job in computers.

  “I might even ask you to do a bit of housework,” said his mother cruelly. “No reason why you shouldn’t wield a duster and hoover around the place.” His face fell, and she relented. “Well, as a matter of fact, I’ve been in touch with Mrs. Meade at New Brooms, and she’s coming to see me. At least I’ll know it will be done properly.”

  “You’ll probably get Floss,” he said gloomily. “I don’t want her doing my room, nosing into all my ghastly secrets.”

  “By which you mean smelly socks and sweaty T-shirts, I suppose? Well, there’s one remedy. You know where the washing machine is, and I’ll show you how to use it.”

  Ben groaned. “I can’t take any more,” he said, and announced his intention to go for a walk and ponder on his future.

  * * *

  AT THE EDGE OF COX’S WOOD, BEN HESITATED. HE couldn’t decide whether to go straight on and take the footpath across the fields, or plunge into the woods and find a shady place to sit down and think. He had to admit to himself that he wasn’t too keen on the woods option. That night when the mysterious man watched Floss and him having a smooch, was still fresh in his mind. It was the way the man had disappeared instantly, like a ghost into the thicket. Still, who’s afraid of the big bad wolf? He braced his shoulders and climbed the stile. Come to think of it, it’d be nice to have a big dog, perhaps a Doberman or an Alsatian, padding along beside him. He decided not to go too far, just far enough to find a mossy stump suitable for contemplation of his future.

  Several hundred yards along the well-trodden path, he heard whistling coming closer. He stopped and looked around for a hiding place. It would be quite useful to know who this one was, and in any case, there was no time to go back undetected. The broad trunk of an oak, twenty yards or so from the path, looked likely. He dodged through the wild garlic, and with the heady scent in his nostrils, he concealed himself behind the tree. The whistling was very close now. It was no recognizable tune, but a monotonous wandering across three or four notes. Then the whistler came in sight. Ben peered cautiously round the tree trunk, and was not happy to see the mysterious man, the man who was a ghost, with the clapped-out car and was a suspicious lurker in Blackberry Gardens.

  Suddenly the whistling stopped and there was silence except for the usual sounds of the woods. Ben had heard crunching footsteps as the man approached, and now they too had stopped. He held his breath. A low muttering came from the path, and to his horror the footsteps began again, coming precisely in his direction. He took one peek around the tree and saw the man staring at him. Best to stand his ground. He had no chance against this character who knew his way around the woods so well.

  “What d’ you think you’re doing?” The man frowned threateningly.

  “Come to that,” said Ben, “I could ask you the same question.” He was shaking, but determined.

  “I’ve been looking for foxes,” said the man, and Ben saw he had a gun in his hand. “All quite legal. No need to concern yourself about that. Now you answer my question.”

  Tell the truth, Ben said to himself. “I came for a walk in the woods. I have left college, have no job, and wanted to think out my next move. All quite legal.”

  A chilly smile crossed the man’s face, and he said, “I’ll leave you to think, then. But I advise you not to go too far in these woods. You can get lost for hours. I’ve known people who went for a walk in here and were never seen again …” He turned and went on his way, resuming the whistle, and as he disappeared through the trees, Ben noticed that though he moved quickly he had a slight limp.

  IN ANOTHER PART OF THE WOOD, TWO MEN SAT ON A fallen tree trunk and stared into the dark interior, where no sunlight penetrated and the underbrush was thick.

  “He told us to cover the tracks,” the thin one said. “Make sure there’s no trace.”

  “Easier said than done,” said the other. “How do we cover up footprints and bloody great holes in the ground?”

  “Fill ‘em in, I suppose. The holes, not the footprints. I don’t see what we can do about those.”

  “Except rake every single one until it’s gone.”

  “And then cover it with dead leaves? Sounds like bloody Hansel and Gretel. Perhaps he’d like us to lay trails of rice to lead the fuzz away from here? The man’s bloody mad.”

  “And dangerous,” said the bald, tubby man, getting to his feet. “We know exactly how dangerous the bugger can be, don’t we. That poor old man, never knew what hit him. Come on, we’d better get busy. Sooner we start, sooner we can get away from here. I hate these bloody woods.”

  “I hate him even more,” said the other, and picking up his spade, he brought it down viciously, halving an innocent worm making its way out of the turned earth.

  “That’s what I’d like to do to him,” he said, and they both began work.

  MRS. CULLEN SAW LOIS COMING DOWN THE ROAD, and opened the door. “Here we are!” she called in a welcoming voice. “Come on in. Would you like a cup of tea?”

  Lois shook her head. “It’s very kind of you, but no thanks,” she said. “Just had what Gran calls a light lunch. Goodness knows what she’d produce for a heavy one!”

  “She’s a good cook. I know that from the goodies she brings to WI.” Mrs. Cullen indicated a chair in the comfortable sitting room, and began to explain again why she needed help in the house. “I thought just once a week, to give the-whole place a good clean-up, if that’s OK with you?”

  “Fine,” said Lois. “And if you’ve got people coming to stay, or some special date, w
e can always give you some extra hours. Now, I’ve done some thinking, and have decided the best one of my team for you would be Floss Pickering. I know she’s Ben’s girlfriend at the moment, and if that bothers you, I can certainly think about sending someone else. But she’s shaping up very well, reliable and trustworthy. I expect you’ve met her?”

  “Well, no, actually we haven’t. Not formally, that is. I’ve seen her around the village of course, but Ben says she doesn’t want her father to know and so they meet secretly.”

  “Nothing’s secret in this village,” laughed Lois. “You can be sure the gossips’ network has been busy. Mind you, if Mrs. Pickering knows, she’s probably kept it from hubby. Though why Floss should worry about her dad, I don’t know.”

  “Seems he welcomes boyfriends with open arms, and, according to Floss, overdoes the whole thing so stupidly that the boys get frightened off. Ben says he’s proof against that, but so far he’s not been invited up there.”

  Lois remembered her own rules about gossip, and said, “Yes, well, the private lives of my staff are their own affair, and should have nothing to do with the job. I’ll send Floss along next week, and if you have any concerns about her work, let me know at once.”

  She had not been entirely honest about her reason for sending Floss. It had quickly occurred to her that having Ben and Floss legitimately in the same house for a while might produce some more information about the encounter in the woods. Ross was a chatty soul, and if Lois contrived to see her on her own occasionally, useful details might emerge. She had denied many times that she used her staff to snoop, but believed that if interesting information turned up in the course of natural conversations, this was fine.

  “Well, thanks for coming, Mrs. Meade.” Mrs. Cullen ushered her out to her car, saying, “Off on your duties? I expect you have a lot to do keeping everyone in order.”

  Lois nodded. “But I’m off to see an old lady in Ringford. I’ve known her for years, and she’s fairly immobile now. She likes visitors, and to hear what’s going on. Bye, then. I’ll be in touch soon to see how Floss is getting on.”

  By the time Lois reached Ringford, it had begun to rain, and Ellen appeared at her door with a cautious look at the sky. “I knew it’d rain,” she said. “Red sky in the mornin’, shepherd’s warnin’.”

  “You’re right,” Lois said. “Are you going to keep me on the step getting soaking wet, or can I come in?”

  Old Ellen cackled. “Course you can, ducky. Mind you, I wasn’t expecting you. Have I got me days mixed up?”

  Lois assured her that her memory had not deceived her. “I was passing by,” she lied, “and thought I’d drop in and make sure you’re OK.”

  She sat down in the dark sitting room, and gave up protesting that she did not need a cup of tea. “I’ll not be accused of forgetting me ‘ospitality,” Ellen said, hobbling into the tiny kitchen.

  Settled with a cup of good strong brew, Lois steered the conversation round to William Cox. “I’m going to see him later,” she said. “Shall I give him your regards?” It was meant as a joke, and she was unnerved to see how it misfired.

  “Don’t you dare!” Ellen said vehemently. “And if you don’t mind, we’ll talk no more about William Cox. He’s bin enough trouble to me, without goin’ over it with you. Now, did I tell you what our Ivy said about the gyppos’ settin’ up camp in the bottom field?”

  Lois was puzzled. Ellen had had no qualms about discussing her brother-in-law on other occasions. There was no point in arguing with her, Lois knew that from bitter experience. But why was she clamming up now? Reluctantly, she listened to Ellen’s tale of Ivy Beasley and the gypsies. “They were up there in the woods, Ivy said, trappin’ rabbits an’ that. I reckon they’ll cop it if they’re not careful. Dangerous place, them woods. Still, serve ‘em right, I say. I expect we’ll get one of them funny-lookin’ women round, selling lace they claim is hand-made. Straight from a factory in Birmingham! I know hand-made when I see it, and it ain’t what them gypsies got!”

  Lois’s ears pricked when Ellen mentioned the woods again, but knew she couldn’t ask what she meant. For some reason, Ellen had closed the subject, and that was that. After offering help with washing-up, and being refused, Lois left, promising to come on her regular day, and licking her lips at the prospect of a dough cake spread thickly with butter.

  As she turned her car in the direction of Cox’s Wood, Lois felt uneasy. Had Ellen been told to keep quiet? Had her despised brother-in-law paid her a visit at last? At this thought, Lois was angry. If that nice old lady had been threatened, then William Cox would get the rough side of Lois’s tongue. And then, heaven help him.

  T

  WENTY-T

  WO

  HAZEL THORNBULL WAS LATE FOR WORK AT THE OFfice of New Brooms in Tresham. Her small daughter, Elizabeth, had produced a high temperature in the middle of the night, and it was still high when she woke up this morning. Hazel’s mother, Bridie, had said on the telephone that children must come first, and Hazel should take her in to the surgery at once. Hazel needed no persuading, and after she had argued with the doctor’s receptionist who had offered her an appointment in three days’ time, she went in to Tresham, “Just one of those little bugs children pick up,” the doctor had said. “Keep her warm and give her this to keep the temperature down. She’ll be as right as a trivet in a couple of days. Is your mother looking after her? Fine. Nobody better.” And she pressed her button for the next patient.

  Hazel took Elizabeth back to Bridie, and was late for work in Sebastopol Street. Her mind was still on little Lizzie as she parked her car fifty yards away from the shop. As she walked towards it, she saw a small crowd of people outside. Oh no, not a queue! She quickened her step, and as she drew up to them, saw the reason why they stood there. Not a queue, but a crowd of shocked observers. The big plate-glass window, always sparkling and clear, was shattered, and glass had spread everywhere. “Oh my God!” gasped Hazel, and pushed her way through to the door.

  “We’ve sent for the police, me duck,” said a fatherly man, taking her arm. “You got the key? Right, let’s open up, but we mustn’t touch anything for the moment.”

  “When did it happen?” Hazel said. She was not in need of the man’s support, and began to shake with anger. She glared hard at all the bystanders, who, unwilling to be implicated in any way, began to melt away.

  “Not sure,” said the fatherly man. “But the man in the video shop over the road said he heard something in the small hours. Lives over the shop, since it changed hands.”

  “Right,” Hazel said. “I’d better ring the boss now. Thanks a lot for your help.”

  “Sure you’ll be all right, me duck? I’ll stay until the police come, if you like.”

  “No, I’ll be fine, thanks.” She dialled Lois’s mobile, and filled her in with the details. “No need for you to come beetling over,” she assured her. “I can handle the police and organize replacing the window. I’ll keep you informed. Have you got a busy day?”

  “Yeah, as always,” Lois said. “Just off to the Hall, to check Mrs. T-J is happy. But give me a ring any time if you want help. I expect the cops will want to see me anyway. I’ll leave it to you for the moment.”

  She had pulled over on the hill up to Cox’s Farm to answer the call, and now sat motionless for a few minutes, considering who had smashed the window, and why. So they were after her, she decided. A campaign to warn her off. Strange that they should risk alerting the police, but maybe the job was done by a known gang, roving young villains who plagued the lives of people in Tresham. Probably breaking windows was run-of-the-mill for them. Still, enquiries would be made, interviews carried out. It was risky, even though they had covered their tracks.

  She set off again towards Cox’s Wood and the farmhouse. As she got out of the car, she at once missed the barking assault of Rosie, the sheepdog. Perhaps William was out with her, checking his land. Unlikely! She opened the collapsing gate and walked in. Nobody around, and
no one answered the door when she knocked. Then she peered through the windows and was startled to see a completely empty house. Not a stick of furniture, no curtains, everything gone.

  Lois glanced around quickly, feeling eyes upon her. But there was nobody in sight. A couple of chickens wandered up and looked at her hopefully. Had they been fed? They certainly looked hungry, and Lois thought maybe she should find something to give them. In a small barn across the yard, she found a bin of corn, and threw the anxious birds several handfuls. They ate furiously, and Lois reckoned they had not been fed for some while.

  Then she heard a sound in the barn behind her. It was a whining sound, a dog’s whine. She whipped round and went forward nervously. In the far corner, behind sacks piled up, Lois found Rosie, shivering and whining, and clearly unable to stand. Frantically pulling away the sacks, she found the dog lying on straw, wagging a feeble tail. When Rosie struggled to get up, Lois saw her legs buckling under her, and the dog screamed in pain. No! Not a defenceless dog, too! Lois picked her up with difficulty, and got her into the back seat of her car. Next stop, the vet.

  As she went round to the driver’s door, a flashy car drew up and the window slid down. “Excuse me, is this Cox’s Farm?” The young man grinned winningly at her.

  “Yes, it is,” Lois said. “But there’s nobody here. Except an injured dog, and I’m taking it to the vet before it snuffs it. You’ll not find anyone at home.”