Lois Meade 14 - Suspicion at Seven Page 3

  Mrs. Weedon knew that if they said no, the two would debunk to Gretna Green and get married anyway. So they agreed, and in no time young Douglas had come along, then Josie, and finally the concert pianist, Jamie. Sometimes Gran looked at him and wondered if he was a cuckoo in the nest. But no, he would always be Lois and Derek’s baby, and success had not changed him. Nor had he tried to shove the others out! At times like Christmas, when the whole family gathered together, it was as if they had never left home.

  * * *

  At twelve sharp, the doorbell rang, and Hazel, who managed the office in Tresham, was first to arrive. The rest came in a bunch, all except Dot Nimmo, who was always last. Dot was special to Lois, having not only shined up many a dusty house, but had also helped out with ferretin’.

  Dot, who was the widow of a gang boss in Tresham, had connections with the underworld that proved to be valuable. She had lost both husband and son, and had gone downhill in her lonely terraced house up the street from New Brooms office. Finally, in an attempt to pull herself together, she had asked Lois for a job. Against all advice from Gran and other team members, Lois had agreed. Dot was brash, bossy and totally loyal, and would go through fire to rescue Lois in trouble.

  The other team members were Floss, young and newly married; Sheila Stratford, comfortable wife of a retired farmer; and Andrew Young. Andrew ran his own interior-decorating business alongside New Brooms, and had no qualms about scrubbing floors or polishing silver.

  After Lois had thanked them for coming along on a Saturday, one by one they went through the work schedules, and then Lois asked for any queries they might have.

  “It’s not to do with cleaning, really, Mrs. M,” said Dot. “But I just wondered if you’d heard anything about the goings-on in Brigham? Every house I’ve been to this week, there’s been someone talking about it. They all seem to think the jewellery bloke done it. And ain’t he coming to do one of his parties here in the village hall? Nobody seems to know if it’s safe to go along.”

  “What?” said Lois loudly. “Donald Black a mass murderer? I think with a roomful of feisty women he’d stand no chance. No, it is serious, I know, particularly for his wife. But he’s totally innocent. A watertight alibi, apparently. So I think you can all relax and enjoy an evening among the diamonds.”

  “So who did do it?” said Sheila. “Any ideas, Mrs. M? My husband said he knew what he’d do with the poncey idiot.”

  “Oh dear,” said Lois. “So he’s been found guilty by the gossips, has he? I’ve met him, of course, as has Floss when she’s cleaning there. I have always bought my bread from his wife’s bakery. But I really think we should leave this to the police. Now, can we get on with reports from clients? Andrew, would you make a start?”

  “My report is not unconnected with Dot’s contribution,” he said. “I’ve had a request from the Mill House Hotel to redecorate the entire interior of the bedroom wing. And after that, the dining room and reception.”

  “Wow! Well done, Andrew. You won’t have much time for New Brooms work, will you?”

  “Oh yes I will, Mrs. M. I explained that I divide my time working for you alongside interior decor. They said I could surely combine the two. We could prepare a schedule, they said, and as cleaners were always hard to come by, there’d be no shortage of work. I think they must have been anxious to get me, probably because I undercut other estimates for the decor work.”

  “More likely they recognised you as a good interior designer, Andrew. I’m very pleased for you. We’ll get together when you’re more familiar with how it will work out,” said Lois. She was anxious not to lose Andrew, since some of New Brooms clients, particular single lonely bachelors, could be difficult with her girls. If Andrew was not free, she usually sent in Dot Nimmo, who was a match for any overattentive male client.

  “I’m next,” said Sheila. “All my clients are happy, I hope. Nothing’s been said, anyway. There’s been talk of the Mill House Hotel affair of course, but I’ve not encouraged gossip.”

  Dot made a face. Gossip was meat and drink to her, and she regarded it as an essential part of her job, regardless of what the others thought. It was one of the rules of Brooms that they did not gossip, but got on with their work. Ferretin’ was different, Dot had decided.

  Now she raised her eyebrows and said that she had only one client in Brigham, and she was deaf and nearly blind, and though a dear old soul, did not get about much and so did not mention the murder.

  “It’s odd, don’t you think, the way we all assume it was murder?” said Floss. She was a sensible girl, not long married, whose parents and husband thought she was too talented to be a cleaner. She ignored their criticism, however, and explained that she loved the job. There was great satisfaction to be gained from leaving a tidy, sweet-smelling house behind her when she had finished. Clients were a varied lot, and always interesting.

  “There was a small paragraph in the evening paper, saying she had been found strangled, so I suppose that clinches it,” said Andrew. “Maybe when I start at the hotel, I shall hear more details.”

  “Keep your ears and eyes open,” said Dot, and caught Lois’s eye. “But don’t gossip, Andrew; there’s a good lad.” Her wink was obvious to all present, and Lois was unusually pleased when, with a tap on the door, Gran brought in coffee.

  * * *

  The news of Andrew Young’s commission had spread quickly around the Mill’s employees. Some were pleased, and claimed they had suggested refurbishment long ago. Others were depressed, foreseeing disruption everywhere, with rooms out of action and notices of wet paint in all the narrow corridors and stairs.

  “I hope he leaves my reception until last,” said an attractive blonde German girl, whose English was better than most, and who had a gift for making guests feel welcome the moment they entered the doors. “Then I shall take a holiday and leave it all to a temp.”

  SEVEN

  Next morning, Lois slid out of bed without disturbing Derek, and tiptoed to the window. The spring sunshine had gone, and rain was lashing the daffodils. So much for dancing daffodils, she thought. They look ready to go into retreat. Never mind; a rainy Sunday would be a good day for catching up on paperwork.

  “Hey, missus,” said Derek from the bed. “Haven’t you forgotten something?”

  “What?”

  “Happy birthday, gel! Come back to bed and celebrate.”

  Lois smiled. “Derek!” she said, and took a flying leap, landing on top of her protesting husband.

  “Careful! Don’t spoil the surprise,” he said, and put his arms lightly around her.

  * * *

  When Josie had been on the way, Lois had really wanted to share her own birthday, and had very nearly got her wish. But her baby girl had waited one more day before emerging into a waiting family. As a result, Lois had never wanted to do much about her own celebration, avoiding upstaging her daughter. This had become a custom over the years, and now Lois had for the moment forgotten today was hers, though she knew the family had decided otherwise.

  “Bacon’s like crispy leather, eggs are rock hard and I don’t mind one bit,” said Gran, with unusual sweetness. “Never mind, you two. We’re having a good lunch, as discussed, but not here. So don’t fill up too much now.”

  Breakfast had been over for some time, and Douglas had rung to say they would all meet at the Mill House Hotel at twelve. A table had been booked, and Matthew and Josie had confirmed that they would be there.

  “And you are forbidden to talk shop with the management,” said Derek to Lois. “No sneaking off for a ferretin’ meeting with the cleaners.”

  “No cleaners there on a Sunday, surely,” Lois said. “Though I suppose they have to make up clean beds an’ that when guests go and new ones come in. Weekend shifts, there’ll be.”

  When it had sunk in that her surprise was lunch for all the family in a posh hotel, and not just any ol
d hotel, but the Mill, her brain began to work overtime. Who actually found the woman who had died there? Might be a chance to have a chat.

  “No, Lois, no! I can see from your face you are plotting something! If necessary, we shall manacle you to your chair.”

  “Don’t worry, Derek; I’ll behave,” she said. “I think I’ll go for a quick dog walk now. I can put on rain gear, and Jeems doesn’t specially like getting wet, so we won’t be long.”

  The rain had stopped now, but the woods were dripping. After the storm thrush’s solo, birds had begun to sing again, and Lois strode purposefully through familiar footpaths. Farnden woods had once been a spinney, now overgrown, behind the big house where Lois’s ferretin’ assistant, Mrs. Tollervey-Jones, had lived for most of her life. She had moved into a smaller house in the village centre, only a few paces from the Meades. The new people had turned the whole estate into a moneymaking enterprise, and Lois averted her eyes from signposts along the path such as “Piglet’s House” and “Hedgehog Hollow.” She thought about Aurora Black, and wondered how she and Donald were coping, with him under such unjust local suspicion. The poor woman must be reluctant to face her customers, knowing what the gossips had been chewing over. With luck, seeing Milly again would do her a power of good. She wondered if Donald’s jewellery parties would be affected. Fewer customers, perhaps. Or maybe a larger attendance of curious women. Safety in numbers, possibly?

  “Penny for ’em, Mother-in-Law!” It was Matthew Vickers, Josie’s husband and Cowgill’s nephew, being pulled along by a very young and sprightly terrier of mixed origin.

  “Matthew! What are you up to in these woods? Not on duty, I hope. Keeping an eye on Mrs. Tiggywinkle’s ironing? Honestly, aren’t these signposts awful! And how’s the new pup? He’s very sweet, and Jeems loves him. I know we’re meeting you later at the Mill House Hotel and I’m really looking forward to it.”

  “So are we, and happy birthday to you. I love family get-togethers, and I know Uncle Hunter is delighted to be asked.”

  “Is he asked? Well, that’s a turn up. Must be hands-off day for Derek and Gran, who are always pushing me to give up ferretin’.”

  “That was Derek’s word, wasn’t it? Should go into the policeman’s standard dictionary.”

  “Better get on, then. We shall be wanting to look our best for the Mill House Hotel.”

  “You are always at your lovely best,” said Matthew gallantly. “You know what they say. Always look at the cat before you look at the kitten. I did, and managed to snatch Josie from an unsuitable match.”

  “So, following that to its natural conclusion, do you think Derek took a good look at Gran before rescuing me from Woolworths?”

  Matthew walked off, still laughing, and Lois continued on her way.

  EIGHT

  Inspector Cowgill was the first to arrive at the hotel, and on checking in, showed the receptionist his police badge and said he would like to have a wander around, if that would be convenient. “Not on duty, of course. This is a special birthday party for mother and daughter. But while I’m here, there are one or two things. I shall be as inconspicuous as possible.”

  The receptionist was smitten by his charm, and directed him to the restaurant as and when he was ready.

  Next through the double doors was Jamie, with Douglas and Susie and the grandchildren, then Josie and Matthew and Gran, making up the whole party, except for Lois and Derek.

  When they were all seated, Gran said there was an empty chair, and had the staff got the numbers wrong?

  “No,” said Josie. “That’ll be for Uncle Hunter. He’ll be here in a minute. Reception said he was looking around for a short while.”

  “Cowgill?” said Derek, frowning. “What does he have to do with Lois’s birthday?”

  “He’s family now, Dad,” Josie said quietly. “Don’t make a scene.”

  Derek subsided, muttering.

  After much deliberation over the menu, all were finally served, and Derek, lifting his glass, called for a toast to Lois. “To my wife,” he began, “mother and grandmother, the lovely and talented Lois Meade. And to my daughter, Josie, who had the good sense to marry a policeman, I ask you to raise your glasses. Happy birthday, Lois and Josie!”

  He bent down and gave Lois a smacking kiss, and then sat down in a storm of clapping.

  “Speech,” cried Jamie, and all joined him. “Speech!”

  Lois rose to her feet. “On behalf of me, and Josie tomorrow, thank you all for this lovely surprise,” she said, “and especially Derek, who is no good at keeping secrets!” More clapping. “And also, I must say how pleased I am to see Uncle Hunter among us. Welcome, Hunter.”

  More clapping from all except Derek and Gran.

  * * *

  When they were on to coffee and chocolates, Lois excused herself to go to the ladies’ room. She left the dining room and asked a passing waiter to direct her. After she had freshened up, she left, and instead of going back to the restaurant, she turned in the opposite direction and headed for the bedroom wing. There was nobody around, and she had no idea which room had been the one where the unfortunate Fountain woman met her end.

  “Can I help you?” a voice behind her said.

  “Oh yes, I am a bit lost,” said Lois. “I need to find my friend’s room. I think she said it was the one next to the murder scene.”

  “Oh crumbs,” said the cleaning girl. “I’ll point you in the right direction.”

  After two fire doors, Lois came to a room with the familiar police tape still covering the entrance to number 12. The next room, Lois saw, was number 14.

  “Superstitious?” she said quietly. She tested the tape, and found it was insecurely fastened. One quick tug, and it was free. She opened the door softly and tiptoed inside. There was nothing untoward to see. The bed had been stripped down to the mattress, the cupboards were empty, and in the small bathroom, everything shone, clean as a new pin

  Hearing voices, Lois quickly looked around but could see nothing untoward. The voices were still in the distance, and she retreated, refixed the tape and walked purposefully back the way she had come. Once more she met the cleaning girl, who now was chatting to a workmate.

  “Afraid my friend is out,” Lois said cheerfully, as she passed, and in no time was back at the table with the others.

  “Why don’t we do that party thing, where we all change places and have someone new to talk to?” said Douglas. His children had vanished to play with another pair from a nearby table. They had been strictly warned not to go near the millpond or the streams running through and turning the great wheel. This had been renovated and spotlit, then glassed in, so visitors could stand and watch safely, mesmerised by the tipping buckets spilling water through the channels and into the pond.

  “Don’t be a nuisance!” shouted Douglas. “And do what the big girls tell you.”

  A waiter, hovering to take away dishes, said they shouldn’t worry; all the dangerous places had been made secure, and no harm could come.

  “I tell you what, Douglas,” Lois said. “I’ll go with them. I’d love to explore a bit. Then I’ll bring them back soon.”

  She followed where the children had gone, and found them, noses pressed to the glass, staring at the slowly turning mill wheel, dripping with yellowish-green weed.

  Lois joined them. It was so beautiful in its peaceful progress, and yet in former days, it had turned great machinery in the mill, powering it in its grinding of flour to make bread, the staff of life. And now, in one of the hotel’s small anonymous bedrooms, a life had been taken away.

  * * *

  “Dreaming, Lois?” It was Cowgill, Uncle Hunter, and he stood close to her, watching the wheel.

  “No, not really. Are the others going? Better be going back to say cheerio and thanks to my family. It’s been a lovely treat. Come on, kids. Back we go.” She turned to Cowgil
l and said, “I’m so glad you came, you old fraud.”

  They all left the Mill in excellent mood, Douglas and family to go back to Tresham, Josie and Matthew with Uncle Cowgill to their small cottage, and Jamie to return with Derek, Lois and Gran to Meade House in Long Farnden.

  NINE

  “Did you see it, Derek?” Lois said. She was sitting with her feet up on the sofa, drinking a cup of tea and had just finished watching her favourite detective series.

  “See what?” Derek had been sleeping off a good lunch, and now surfaced.

  “The cat. Dead. Discovered under the floor at the Mill. Dried with age and hideously stretched out under a glass cover. It was found when they converted the mill to a hotel. They’ve got a label next to it, telling its history.”

  “Witchcraft,” said Gran. “The old superstition that a dead cat, walled up alive sometimes, would keep evil spirits at bay. It would have been put there when the building was first erected. That mill is very old, you know. I think it’s very creepy, and I always walk well away from it if I’m in reception. They say the cat was moved in the recent renovations, and now would bring bad luck. Shouldn’t have been moved, they say.”

  “A load of rubbish!” said Derek, fully awake now. “They should have given the thing a decent burial and forgotten about it. To change the subject, did you really enjoy your party, me duck? The kids did most of the organising. I was really proud of them.”

  “And we were certainly safe from gate-crashers with two policemen in the party,” said Lois, smiling broadly.

  “Very nice to see Matthew looking so handsome,” said Gran. “Can’t say the same for Cowgill.”

  Lois knew this was said to annoy her, and didn’t answer.

  * * *

  Next morning, soon after breakfast, the phone rang, and Lois went to her office to answer it. It was Aurora Black, and she was in tears.