Secrets on Saturday Page 7

  “I don’t have any keys to Mr. Everitt’s house,” she said. Her voice was slightly stronger, and she added. “But I’ve got that gardener’s name and address somewhere. We thought of using him ourselves. You’d better come in a minute.” She removed the chain, and held the door open. Lois stepped in quickly, thanking her and apologizing again for wasting her time.

  She followed the woman into the room with the net curtains and waited while a desk was searched and a small address book produced. “Ah, here we arc,” the woman said. “Mr. Adams, that’s him. He lives down Church End. Number three. His wife’ll be there, if he’s not.” She returned the book to the desk, and just as Lois was about to venture a conversation about Herbert Everitt, a car drew up outside and a man rushed up the path. Evidently he had a key, because there was no knocking or ringing of the bell. Lois could hear the door opening, and as she turned, was confronted by a familiar face. It was Reg Abthorpe, and he did not look at all pleased to see her.

  Lois was the first to speak. She had every right to be there, doing her duty in keeping an eye on the Everitt house, and faced him with confidence. “Hello again, Mr. Abthorpe,” she said. “I’ve been trying to get hold of you.” She waited. He was obviously making a great effort to adjust his face, and made it with a mirthless smile.

  “I’ve been away a lot,” he said, and turned to the wispy woman. “Sorry for just walking in. I hope you don’t mind. I saw the door was ajar, and I was desperate for some help.” The woman appeared to be turned to stone. She stared at him, and said nothing.

  “I wonder if you could tell me the way to Round Ringford,” he said. “It’s not marked on my map.” He addressed himself to Lois, who replied that he could just follow the signpost on the corner by the pub.

  “You can’t miss it,” she said. Still the woman said nothing, and Reg Abthorpe turned as if to leave. “By the way,” Lois said quickly, “I wanted Mr. Everitt’s address. Local people would like to visit him. That phone number you gave me belonged to someone else, and she’d never heard of you.”

  “Oh God, sorry. Must have given you the wrong number. I’ll send you all the details. Uncle’s address, telephone numbers and everything. Can’t stop now, though. Late already. Thanks, missus,” he added, turning to the woman. “Sorry again if I alarmed you, bursting in like that. Cheers.”

  He was gone before Lois could reply, and the door banged behind him. She watched him drive off at speed, and then turned back. “Are you all right?” she said.

  The woman was pale, and her hands were trembling. She nodded slowly, as if waking up, and said in her whispery voice, “Yeah. I’m all right. Who was he? Never seen him before.”

  It was like an automaton speaking words that had been programmed in, and Lois knew without doubt that she was lying. She was absolutely certain that the front door had been closed, and only a key could have opened it from outside.

  “Can I make you a cup of tea? You look shocked. Was it him coming in like that?”

  “No thanks. And yes, I am a bit scared of burglars,” she said lamely.

  “Is that why you have the dogs?” Lois said, leading her on. She nodded again, and Lois said, “Funny they didn’t bark at him, isn’t it?” At this, the woman burst into tears, and Lois helped her to a chair and decided not to brave the kitchen and the two killer terriers. “Sit quietly for a bit,” she said, patting the woman on her heaving shoulders. “I’ll be off now, but you can always get me on this number.” She produced a New Brooms card from her pocket and put it on the coffee table. “Oh, and perhaps I should have your name. I’ll look in tomorrow to make sure you’re all right.”

  The woman scrubbed at her face with a tissue, and said quickly, “Oh no, thanks, that won’t be necessary. You’re very kind. I’ll be all right now. Can you let yourself out? I’m feeling a bit wobbly, but I’ll be OK in a minute or two. Oh, and I’m Mrs. Wallis. Frances. Bye.”

  Lois went back to Herbert’s garden shed and locked up. Thinking time needed. She looked up at the cloudless sky. She’d take Jeems for a walk. This morning had been very peculiar, and the more she pictured Reg Abthorpe’s face when he saw her, the more she was convinced he had something very dodgy to hide.

  F

  OURTEEN

  INSPECTOR COWGILL WAS THINKING ABOUT LOIS. Since his wife died, he had felt numbed. Nature’s way, his daughter had said. Protects you from unbearable grief. Now feeling was beginning to return, and it was like freezing cold hands beginning to thaw. His brain throbbed, confusion reigned, and he wondered again if he should retire. He had a few years to go, but his pension would be adequate, and he’d put a bit by for a rainy day. His wife had insisted on that, but now she’d not get the benefit. He sighed deeply. How many times had he wished he was a single man? His wife had not been easy to live with, but they’d been married for so long, he had no real picture of life without her.

  Now he was thinking about Lois, and the old surge returned. She had been nice to him that day in the café, and when he remembered her sympathetic smile he realized it was the sharp-tongued Lois that attracted him. Masochism? He thought not. Although she could be brusque to the point of rudeness, there was always warmth behind it, and it was warmth that had vanished from his marriage. He decided to go over to Long Farnden and hope to see her. The whereabouts of Herbert Everitt was still a mystery, although his boys had been working hard on it. Nor had he had any luck tracing the man who employed Lois, Reg Abthorpe. Cowgill was aware that he had not treated the case with any urgency. In the first place, he could see no hard evidence for disbelieving the retirement-home story, and second, he had not been functioning as he should. But all the usual avenues had been explored, and so far nothing had turned up. Still, sooner or later Abthorpe would be flushed out, and the old man found. Meanwhile, he would try to see Lois. She might have made some progress. He hoped she had forgotten about pitying the bereaved.

  IN THE VILLAGE SHOP, FLOSS PICKERING WAITED PAtiently to be served. It was lunchtime and a number of customers had rushed in to buy sandwiches and filled rolls. She was last in the queue, and Josie smiled at her. “Hi, Floss,” she said. “Hope you don’t mind me using your nickname. I know you work for Mum. Enjoying it?”

  “Floss is fine,” the girl said. “Anything’s better than Florence. My grandmother was Florence, and so I have to suffer! And yes, I love working for New Brooms.”

  “What can I get you?” A couple of stamps, I expect, Josie thought. But she was wrong.

  “I want a present for someone. I know you have those expensive Belgian chocolates, and he’s got a very sweet tooth.”

  “He’s a very sweet lad,” laughed Josie, “if your someone is Ben Cullen from Blackberry Close. Yep, I’ve got a new lot in. Here we are.”

  “How did you know about me and Ben?” Floss looked alarmed. If Dad knew she’d been up in the woods with a boy and had seen something mysterious, he’d be apoplectic.

  “Shopkeepers know everything,” Josie replied. “It’s like a clearing house for gossip in here. Nothing escapes my notice, but I’m the soul of discretion. So you needn’t worry. Anyway, you’re old enough to have a boyfriend, surely?”

  “Course I am,” Floss said quickly. “It’s just that my dad’s …”

  “ … a bit old-fashioned,” finished Josie. “Well, now, which box d’ you want? This one’s got a gold heart on it. A selection of milk and dark chocs. Cor, makes my mouth water just looking at them!”

  Floss paid for the chocolates, and smuggled them back into her bedroom. She was meeting Ben that evening—his birthday—and looked forward to sharing her present. Not much money left for her savings, but so what? No one need know.

  IN HER OFFICE, LOIS SAT IN FRONT OF THE COMPUTER, surfing the web. She was more than competent now with the new technology which Derek had said she’d never master. Now she was searching for sites on badger-baiting, and was surprised at the long list which came up. She read carefully, and after an hour or so, knew a great deal about the whole sordid busines
s. Now she had come across records of cases up in court. Names were named, and addresses, and the sentences the guilty men received. They were all ages, and were from all over the country. A thought struck her and she checked for Abthorpes on this site. None. There was a Reginald Tompkins, with a London address, but Lois passed over it. Reg was a common enough name. And Tompkins was nothing like Abthorpe.

  She looked at her watch. It was time to get going. She had promised to look in on Frances Wallis, and could do it before setting off to the Tresham office.

  Cowgill met her as she emerged from her house. She had driven her car on to the road and was shutting the garden gates. He lowered his window and waved, pulling up by the kerb. She hesitated, then, remembering his bereavement, walked up to his car. “Is this a good idea?” she said, and added quickly, “Oh, and how are you now?”

  He nodded firmly. “Fine, thanks. This is an official call. Have you turned up anything interesting on Everitt?”

  “Look,” said Lois, “my mother and husband both suspect I’m what they call ferretin’ again. If they see me talking to you …”

  “Surely you can spare a minute or two without being rushed inside by Gran playing bodyguard?”

  Lois’s sympathy vanished. “Oh, very clever,” she said. “I’ll give you a ring. Now bugger off.” His smile was broad, and he chuckled as he drove off. That was more like it!

  FRANCES WALLIS DID NOT ANSWER THE DOOR. THE TERRIers were behind the side gate, frantic and deadly. Lois rang the bell again, and peered in the window. But the net curtains were a match for prying eyes. There was not even a shadowy movement inside the room. Ah well, she must have gone out, thought Lois. And I’m certainly not opening that gate! If she’s out, she’s feeling better, like as not. She turned away, and was suddenly aware that the terriers had stopped barking. She whipped round, but too late. No dogs, no woman, nothing. But somebody had taken them in.

  F

  IFTEEN

  “WHERE ARE YOU GOING, FLOSSIE?”

  “Out.”

  Floss’s father sighed. “You’re too old for that sort of cheek,” he said. “We only want to know so that—”

  “So that if I get kidnapped and never seen again, you’ll at least know where I was going?” Ross had flushed, and wished she didn’t have to deceive her parents. But really, Dad was too much.

  “It happens, Floss,” her mother said gently. “Is it the usual get-together with your friend?” And then, knowing exactly where Floss was going, she added to her husband, “I’m sure she’ll be fine and safe with her, dear.” She kissed the top of his head, winked at Floss, and went out to the kitchen to make a soothing cup of coffee.

  Ben was waiting for Floss at the edge of the village, and they walked quickly away, up the hill towards the woods. “Don’t worry, babe,” he said. “Maybe I should come to your house more often, and your dad could get to know me. Find out that I’m not a serial rapist or worse.”

  Floss shrugged. “Doesn’t matter, anyhow. Mum knows about us, and she can keep Dad at bay. But I don’t like to lie to him. He’s been a good dad … on the whole.” Then she laughed and Ben hugged her, and she yelled, “Careful!” As he stepped back in alarm, she reached inside her fleece jacket and presented him with a parcel, birthday-wrapped.

  “Happy birthday, Ben,” she said shyly.

  He took the parcel, placed it on a handy milestone, and held her face in his hands. Then he kissed her sweetly, and said, “Thank you, darling Floss. It’s the nicest present I’ve had today.”

  Floss swallowed. “Um, well, how do you know, if you haven’t opened it?”

  Together they sat down on the milestone, and Ben unwrapped the chocolates. “I was right,” he said. “Much the nicest present. Shall we indulge?”

  They opened the box and indulged. Eventually, Floss closed the lid and stood up. “We’d better leave a few for tomorrow. Come on, let’s walk up the hill and see if anything’s going on in the woods.” She was not eager to discover more scary lights, but was sure they would be more safe from the eyes of prying passers-by. They wouldn’t have to go far into the woods for a bit of a cuddle …

  They wandered slowly up the hill, and at the first turning into the woods silently climbed the stile and, closely entwined, found a path that led away from the road. It was well-marked, and Ben said, “People do come this way, Floss. See the footprints? Big ‘uns.”

  “So you were a Boy Sprout! Got your tracking badge, did you?” She laughed and tickled him. “ ‘You’ll never go to heaven, with a fat Girl Guide,’ ” she sang, “ ‘ ’cos the pearly gates, ain’t quite that wide ….’ ”

  Ben put his finger to his lips. “Shush!”he whispered. “Could be some others in the woods, like the other night. An’ I don’t like the look of those footprints.” His face was serious, and Floss sobered up immediately. Now they walked quietly and silently, until Ben stopped. “Come here,” he said. “I want to give you a thank-you kiss.” He gently moved her until her back was against the broad trunk of a tree. The silence was broken only by a nightingale, trilling a lovely song right on cue.

  * * *

  IN ANOTHER PART OF THE WOOD, REG ABTHORPE frowned. “Listen!” he said.

  One of his companions said, “Listen to what?”

  “Thought I heard voices. Over there.” He pointed to the far side of the wood, back along the path they had used an hour or so ago.

  “It’s that bloody bird. Nuthin’ else.” The man turned back to the business in hand.

  “Shut up!” Reg said. “Lie low until I get back. I’m goin’ to check. Can’t take any risks, y’ fool. All of you, find some cover and keep shtum.” He watched them until they were hidden in the underbrush, and then set off back along the path.

  Not far from the stile, Reg stopped. He could see a dark shape against a tree that had not been there before. He moved forward, and his foot caught in a snaking bramble, throwing him forward on to his face. He was on his feet in seconds, standing motionless for a fraction of time, and then running like a demon back along the path. But not before Ben and Floss had seen him. He could hear footsteps behind him, and knew they were following. Just as well I know these woods like the back of me hand, he said to himself calmly, and dived off into what looked like impenetrable thicket.

  “Lost him!” said Ben, pulling up in front of Floss. Both were panting and scarlet with effort.

  “Who was he?” Floss gasped.

  “Not sure,” Ben said, “but I think I’ve seen him in our Gardens. Visiting Mr. Everitt. Not lately, but I’m sure it was him.”

  “Was he a—oh, what d’ you call them—voy …?”

  “Voyeur? Peeping Tom? Shouldn’t think so. How would he have known we were coming? No, he was up to something else, though God knows what.”

  “D’you think he knew who we were?” Floss was beginning to tremble, and Ben took her hand.

  “Course not,” he said, but he was pretty sure the man had recognized them both. He had stood and stared before taking off, no doubt committing their faces to memory.

  “Come on, love, let’s go back. Quite a birthday adventure!” He made a big effort, and by the time they reached the road, Floss had stopped trembling and was smiling at Ben’s attempts to cheer her up.

  As they parted at the edge of the village, Floss said, “Ben, can I ask you to do something?”

  “Anything,” said Ben.

  “Can you keep quiet about tonight? Not tell anyone at all? If my parents got to hear of it, they’d chain me to my bed.”

  “Trust me,” he said. “Not a word to anybody.”

  “Promise?”

  “Cross my heart and hope to die,” Ben replied.

  “Night then, Troop Leader,” said Floss, and walked away.

  EARLY NEXT MORNING, WHEN FLOSS’S DAD WENT OUT to put the wheelie-bin on the pavement, his eye was caught by something hanging from their gate post. He closed his eyes in disbelief, then retched. God, he must get rid of it! With his hand over his mouth, he approache
d and unhooked the limp body of Floss’s ginger tomcat, and with a glance at her curtained bedroom window, crept round to the back of the house. Armed with a spade, he went to the bottom of the garden, dug a hole, and dropped the corpse into it. Poor old Sandy, he was nearly thirteen, and weighed very little. When the hole was filled in, and leaves scraped across it, Pickering replaced the spade, took a deep breath, and went back into the house.

  S

  IXTEEN

  PHILIP PICKERING DECIDED TO TAKE A DAY OFF work. He said to Floss for the umpteenth time that he hadn’t seen Sandy, but was sure he would turn up. Off hunting somewhere, he was sure. It was the best way, he had concluded. Floss wouldn’t forget him, but she would get used to his disappearance, and they could get her another kitten. Perhaps a black one. They were supposed to be lucky, weren’t they? Pickering felt as if he had a lump of ice in his chest. It was anger, and it would not go away. If the cat had belonged to anyone else but Floss, he would have shrugged his shoulders and blamed it on those itinerant yobs who regularly stole a car in Tresham and took joy rides around the villages at night. They probably bashed into poor old Sandy as he crossed the road, and thought it would be fun to string him up. This time, because it was Floss, he was determined to find them.

  After breakfast, he went to the front gate to check there were no traces of the execution, and as he turned to go back into the house, he saw an empty cigarette packet under the hedge. Litter louts, too! he swore to himself. As he picked it up he saw something scribbled on the blank side. He could just make it out, and the message was nasty: “Keep out of the woods, else your father will be told.” Woods? Floss wouldn’t be in the woods. Perhaps it was meant for someone else.