Secrets on Saturday Read online

  “Lois? Thanks for ringing back.”

  “Well, what d’you want?”

  “And very nice to hear from you, too,” said Cowgill good humouredly.

  “Well, get on with it. I’ve got work to do.”

  She hasn’t mellowed, thought Cowgill fondly. “I just wondered if you’ve noticed anything amiss in the village lately,” he continued. “Any strangers moving in, or residents moving out unexpectedly … that sort of thing?”

  Lois frowned. She knew how Cowgill felt about her. After all this time, she would have had to be blind and deaf not to notice. And, although she would never admit it, even to herself, she quite liked the old fool. He never gave up, and on many occasions had turned out to be a very good policeman indeed. But she never gave him any encouragement, remembering how Derek had once decided the pair of them were having an affair, and her marriage had teetered unsteadily for a while.

  “Of course people have moved in and out of the village,” she said. “That’s what people do.”

  “Yes, Lois, but don’t pretend you don’t know what I mean. Has anything about the usual course of things seemed to you slightly askew? What about the new people in Homton House? Or rumours of lonely old people being taken advantage of?”

  “Ah,” said Lois. “So you know about that.”

  “About what?” Cowgill failed to make the question sound innocent.

  “Old Herbert Everitt from Blackbeny Close. That’s what. Gone away, and nobody knows where. Except a so-called nephew came round and said he’d taken Mr. Everitt to a very nice residential home, where he could be properly looked after. He engaged my cleaning services until it was decided what to do with the house. Oh, and he gave me a false telephone contact. Any use?”

  “As always,” replied Cowgill. “The empty house has come to our notice. At least, it’s not empty of furniture, but the old boy seems to have gone missing. Neighbours informed us. Worried about him and his little dog. Still, if he’s safe in an old folks’ home, that’s fine. Know anything else about it, Lois?”

  “Nothing, really,” she said. “The nephew is Reg Abthorpe—at least, that’s what he said his name was. Could be as phoney as the telephone number, I suppose. I’m going to do the cleaning myself for a bit. I’ll let you know if I find anything. Must go now. Bye.”

  “SHEILA?” LOIS HAD DIALLED SHEILA STRATFORD straight away. Sheila was one of her original cleaners, and although an incurable gossip, she was absolutely reliable. Her reliability was vital, but her knowledge of local goings-on was even more useful to Lois.

  “Do you want to change my schedule?” Sheila was also the most immediately available, and always ready to swap duties.

  “No, not at the moment,” Lois replied. “I’m still wondering about Mr. Everitt … can’t get him out of my mind and I’m going to work there tomorrow. I was … well, I remembered you said Sam used to meet him in the woods with his little dog. Did he talk to him or anything?”

  “I thought you were getting his nephew to tell you where he’d gone—for Enid?” Sheila said.

  “I tried. It was a wrong number. A woman answered, and she’d never heard of him. But she did say she was a Sudbury number.” Lois told her about the blank result from directory enquiries, and then paused. Sometimes Sheila had a sudden recall. She was getting on in years, was a granny several times over, and her memory sometimes needed a prompt.

  “Let me think …” Sheila said. “Oh, yes, wait a minute, it’s coming back. Sam said the old boy loved birds and often had binoculars with him. He knew a lot about nature of all sorts. Liked to talk to Sam about farming an’ that. But I tell you what, Mrs. M,” she added confidingly, “he never mentioned no nephew. And nobody I know ever saw him with anyone who wasn’t from the villages. You’d have thought if this nephew was his only relative in this country, he’d visit him now and then. Seems a rum do to me, Mrs. M.” There was a pause, and then Sheila added, “And I know one or two of his neighbours are worried. My granddaughter’s at school with little Donna from Blackberry Close, and her mother told my daughter and my daughter told me that they were worried about Mr. Everitt. It were so sudden, she said.”

  “Yes, well, maybe I’ll find out more when I go in tomorrow. But ask around, Sheila. I don’t like working on a job that’s not straightforward.”

  “What about money?” Sheila was a crafty countrywoman, with her priorities firmly in order.

  “Oh, that’s all right,” Lois said. “Reg Abthorpe paid four weeks in advance, and said he’d set up a direct debit to come straight to me. No, it’s not the money I worry about. It’s the old man. Anyway,” she added in a brisker tone, “I won’t keep you. You’re at the vicar’s this afternoon, aren’t you?”

  “Yep. Better be off. Always does me good to go the vicarage,” Sheila said, and Lois could hear the smile in her voice. “Almost as good as going to church,” she said, and the conversation ended there.

  F

  IVE

  “TIME YOU TOOK THAT DOG FOR A WALK, LOIS.” Gran was throwing bread to the birds, and at the same time trying to stop the puppy eating it.

  “She’s too young to go for a walk,” said Lois. “Here, I’ll get her out of your way.” She picked her up and stroked her velvety ears.

  “What about that puppy lead Derek gave you?” Gran wasn’t to be silenced so easily. “Why do you think they sell puppy leads, if not to take puppies for walks?”

  “Oh, I give in.” Lois turned around and made for the house. “I’ll take her to the shop, on the lead, and see how she gets on.”

  “Good.” It was spitting with rain, and Gran began to take in the washing. “We need apples,” she shouted. “And baked beans!” she yelled. Sausages, baked beans and mash were a regular, and Derek said stoutly that baked beans were good for you, and, what’s more, great for emptying a room.

  Progress to the shop was slow. Jeems had little idea about walking in a straight line, but finally they stood at the open door of the shop, and Lois peered in. “Can I bring her in if I pick her up?” she said, but Josie replied that she couldn’t break the “no dogs” rule, not even for her soppy mother. “There’s a dog hook out there,” she said. “She won’t run away.”

  “It’s her first walk,” Lois said.

  “So what? Am I supposed to put down the red carpet? Come on, Mum, this ain’t like you!” Lois hadn’t the courage to persist, and so duly hooked up Jeems, who immediately tangled her lead into knots and began to whine.

  “Um, I’ll just have some apples and a couple of tins of baked beans,” Lois said quickly, hovering at the door.

  “Well, come in, for God’s sake!” Josie was losing patience. “You’re just as bad as old Herbert. When his dog was a pup, he used to tuck her inside his jacket when he came in, hoping I wouldn’t notice.”

  “And did you?”

  “Of course I did.”

  “And did you turn him out?”

  “Well … not every time,” Josie admitted, and her mother pounced.

  “There you are then,” she said, unhooked Jeems and tucked her under her arm.

  The apples and baked beans were produced in record time, and Lois and Jeems retreated triumphantly. On the way home, the little dog seemed suddenly to get the hang of going for a walk, and in five minutes they were back in the garden, where to Gran’s irritation, Jeems squatted down and performed, with a look of anguish on her hairy face. Looking at her abstractedly, Lois thought of Herbert Everitt and his beloved dog, and wondered if, wherever he was, he’d been allowed to keep it.

  LOIS WAS IN BLACKBERRY CLOSE FIRST THING NEXT morning. As she stood in Herbert’s porch, fumbling for the key, a sudden shiver made her look back to the street. There was nobody about, and she shrugged. But just as she was about to turn back, a movement in the window of the house opposite caught her eye. Net curtains were twitching, and she had a glimpse of a face. It was pale, with dark eyes staring at her. She could see the upper part of the person, but could not tell whether it was a man or
woman.

  Inside, the house was exactly as Lois had left it, except for a small pile of junk mail on the mat. Reg Abthorpe had said that all Herbert’s post would be redirected to the residential home, but some had slipped through the net. She would ask Josie about that. There was no point in her delivering rubbish to Herbert’s house. And it occurred to her that Josie might have been given instructions to redirect mail, in which case she would know where he had gone. But she would have said, surely? She couldn’t treat her own mother as a security risk, could she? Answer: Yes, she could.

  She walked around the house, glancing in all rooms and seeing nothing different from before. Back in the sitting room, she began to dust and polish. It was strange, cleaning a house for nobody. With all her other clients, there was always a person, man or woman, for whom she did as good a job as possible. Here, nobody was going to run a finger along the surfaces, testing for dust. Nobody would have a chat while they had coffee, or look at the clock as she packed up and said goodbye until next week. Herbert Everiitt was not coming back, and there was nobody else to care. It was weird, she decided, and wondered whether she should have refused the job. But no, if she was honest with herself she had to admit that a mystery was more to her taste than the best kept house with the pleasantest of employers.

  She moved on to a small Victorian desk, where years ago genteel ladies had sat and written notes to their friends. It was a good piece, with pretty graining and a vase of flowers inlaid in different woods decorating the front. Lois noticed that direct sunlight had taken colour from one side, and considered moving it away from the window. But her instructions were to leave everything as it was, and so she polished it until it shone, and then idly tried the lid. It had a keyhole, but was not locked. She opened the lid, which formed a writing surface, and then decided a quick look in the small drawers would do no harm. They contained old postcards and paper clips, rubber bands and pieces of string, and an old fountain pen. Nothing interesting there. Lois shut the drawers, feeling a creeping unease, as if she was being watched. She looked around, but of course there was nobody there. Then she realized she was standing in front of the window looking out on the street. And, yes, the net curtains in the house opposite were moving slightly, as if in a breeze, but none of the windows were open.

  She shook herself. Imagination working overtime, Derek would say. She began to close the desk, but noticed a small hollow in the wood which, when pushed along, moved a sliding panel. At first she thought there was nothing there, but then she saw something white in a dark corner. It was a tiny piece of blotting paper, and she pulled it out. Holding it up to the mirror over the fireplace, she read, “ … such cru …” She could make out nothing else. Herbert’s ink had obviously run out. She took out the ink pen and tried it on another scrap of paper. It was empty, and made no mark.

  The curtains twitched again, quite obviously this time, and Lois quickly put both scraps of paper in her pocket and shut the desk. Just the usual nosey neighbour over the road, she reassured herself, and continued with her work. She left the kitchen until last, so that she could wash the floor and not have to walk over it again. The fridge was small, and still as empty as she had left it. She turned it off and left the door ajar. Was there a freezer somewhere, in a similar state? She finally located it, a large chest freezer in the utility room, but it was locked. Reg must have emptied it and taken the contents home. It occurred to her briefly that it was odd for an old bachelor to have such a large freezer, but she supposed he lived on frozen ready-meals, and had prepared for a siege.

  She finished the kitchen, and locked up carefully. The street was still empty, and she walked quickly down the path to the pavement, noticing that the garden was neat and tidy. Useful to find out who was doing that job. Her mind being elsewhere, a sudden outbreak of sharp barking from across the road made her stop dead. Two frantic terriers had appeared behind a slatted wooden gate, and were encouraging each other in a frenzy of noise. As she watched, a woman, small and thin, with mousy hair falling over her face, grabbed the terriers’ collars and dragged them into the house. It was all over in seconds, but Lois had caught sight of the woman’s face: pale and narrow, with rimless glasses. And somehow familiar. Well, why not? She could have passed her in the street many times in the village.

  “I’ve had enough of this place,” Lois said aloud to herself, and marched off down Blackberry Close and into the High Street. She intended to call on Josie with one or two questions, and was rounding the corner when a car cruised slowly to a halt beside her. The window opened and Hunter Cowgill looked up at her.

  “Morning, Lois,” he said breezily. “Been to old Herbert’s house?”

  Lois glared at him, and said, “None of your business. And no, I haven’t got anything to tell you. So if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got work to do.”

  “Oops,” said Cowgill, with a fond smile, watching her walk briskly away. “Not the right time.” But he had known Lois a long time, and was convinced that something had upset her. Something not quite right in Blackbeny Gardens. “I’ll be in touch later, Lois,” he said under his breath, and drove on.

  S

  IX

  “I KNOW WHO SHE IS,” JEAN SLATER SAID. SHE 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 h
ard 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.

  DEREK HAD COME HOME FOR LUNCH, AND GRAN 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.