by Rebecca Tope
Drew and Thea smiled at her fondly, and agreed with every word.
‘She knew who you were, right from the start,’ Drew picked up the Thyrza discussion over the washing-up. ‘So she would know you’d react to what she was saying on the phone. What did she expect you to do about it, I wonder?’
‘Nothing, surely? What on earth could I do?’
‘She might have been trying to alert you to something that’s going on. I mean – are you certain she really dislikes you? I didn’t pick that up at the time.’
‘You weren’t really there. The whole family found me extremely annoying.’
‘But they respected you at the end. They must have done. They’ll have followed your movements since then, with Stanton and Snowshill and all the rest, and read about us settling here. They probably see you as a solution to all sorts of problems.’
‘I don’t see how,’ she said.
‘You’re not seeing much, are you?’ he reproached her. ‘I don’t think you’re even trying.’
‘I’m too furious. She was pretty nasty. You should have seen the look on her face. Although she was quite friendly at times, as well. It was all very confusing.’
‘Hmm,’ said Drew, and shook dishwater from his hands. ‘I haven’t finished thinking about it, all the same.’
The children went to bed and the TV was switched on, and still Drew was on the case. ‘It seems such a coincidence that you were both there at the same time.’
‘She couldn’t have known I was going to come and sit at the next table. Even if she’d been following me before that – and I can’t believe she was – that couldn’t have been planned.’
‘Okay. So she thought quickly when she realised it was you. Maybe she did somehow initiate the phone call, with a signal you missed. After all, she was there first, and you didn’t notice her for a while. Let’s say she needed you for something. That’s my best guess. She dragged you in, knowing you’d be intrigued. There’s a connection with crime, you being famously nosy, all the stuff that happened in Cranham. She wants you to do something.’
‘Like call the police and tell them some nameless female is planning to kill a man?’
‘Exactly. She knows they’d listen to you, when they’d just laugh at anybody else.’
‘They’d laugh at me as well. Even if they did listen, there’s nothing to go on.’
‘Let me think a bit more,’ he said, and was quiet until bedtime.
In bed, he summarised his thinking. ‘What if the police did take you seriously, and went to Thyrza and asked to examine her phone? The number she was talking to would probably be in there. You can give them the time, more or less exactly.’
‘And where would that get them? Why not just ask her outright who she was talking to and what it was all about?’
He tutted. ‘Far too simple. They have to have hard evidence.’
‘Of what?’
‘At the very least, that she was getting at you personally. You could accuse her of harassment.’
‘Don’t be silly.’
‘You’re right,’ he apologised. ‘I got carried away. But it’s a nice little puzzle, just the same.’
Next day, Thea paid more than usual attention to the local radio station, half expecting to hear a report of a murdered man and missing wife, suspected of the killing. But there was nothing of the sort. She went over and over the conversation obsessively, trying to find any thread of logical elucidation that she and Drew might have missed. She tried to tell herself that such conversations were overheard every day and nobody worried about them. Then she decided that the whole thing was probably unreal anyhow, and that Thyrza might have been talking to herself, loudly attracting attention for some insane purpose that would be for ever obscure. Drew’s idea of getting the police to examine the phone gained in appeal, while at the same time being clearly impossible. Even so, the image of Detective Inspector Jeremy Higgins hovered at the edge of her mind’s eye. He was a patient man, benign and approachable. He trusted Thea’s judgement, most of the time, despite a few unfortunate exceptions in Stanton.
If she called him, he probably would at least listen.
But then she had a visitor. A small white car pulled up outside the house, catching Thea’s eye through the living-room window, where she was standing at the ironing board, dealing with an overdue pile of school shirts. Ironing the clothes of Drew’s children was a task she had failed to anticipate when she married him. He had readily assumed that he would do it himself, but Thea had, with absolute sincerity, assured him that it was something she would enjoy. Women, she had noticed, fell into two groups when it came to ironing. They either loved or loathed it. She was in the former group, savouring the hot smell and crisp results. Stephanie and Timmy were the proud wearers of the best-ironed shirts in the school.
Somebody wanting to arrange a funeral, she supposed, although it was almost unheard of for such a person to turn up unannounced. Perhaps they just wanted to make preliminary enquiries, which she could handle quite easily, after the few months of training she’d received.
But then she recognised the elderly woman emerging from the car.
Thea was at the door first, holding it open, her eyes wide with curiosity. ‘How did you find me?’ she asked. ‘You never even heard my name.’
‘Mrs Hastings sent me. That is, she told me your name and where you live, and I took it from there.’
Hastings! Aha! ‘Why?’ she said, completely at a loss.
‘You caught her making that phone call yesterday. That wasn’t supposed to happen.’ The old lady smiled. ‘Let’s start again, shall we? My name is Doreen. I live in Moreton. I first met Mrs Hastings six months ago, through my daughter.’
‘Wait a minute. Come in and have coffee or something. It’s so nice of you to take the trouble to come and explain. I’ve been going mad trying to make sense of it all.’
‘It’s not nice of me at all.’ Suddenly the visitor’s expression was much less friendly. ‘It’s purely self-interest, I assure you.’
‘Oh?’
‘I need you to be a witness, when I contact the police.’
Thea sat down at the untidy kitchen table, where she had gone to make coffee. Doreen had followed her, and was standing in the doorway. ‘So there is a murder being planned,’ said Thea.
‘That’s what I’m still trying to discover.’
‘Wait,’ begged Thea. ‘I’m completely lost.’
‘I really wish I didn’t have to tell you. Can I sit down?’
Thea waved at a chair, and half-heartedly pushed some papers and magazines aside. ‘Of course,’ she said.
‘Make the coffee, love, and I’ll see if I can explain. Mrs Hastings has behaved very badly, I can tell you.’
‘She never did like me much, but I always thought she was decent enough.’
Two mugs of instant coffee were produced, plus a tin of rather dull biscuits.
‘Is that so?’ said Doreen.
‘Didn’t she tell you? She must have said something when she told you who I was.’
The woman flushed. ‘Well, I fibbed about that,’ she admitted. ‘It wasn’t her who gave me your name – I heard enough in Moreton for me to track you down. Alternative undertakers are fairly thin on the ground. You’ve got a strong Internet profile, too. You and your dog. There are pictures of her on a number of websites.’
‘Heaven help us.’ The local press had included Hepzie in some of their reports, including photographs. ‘So, please explain. I’m dying to know what it was all about.’
‘She robbed me,’ came the stark reply. ‘She stole from me when I invited her into my home.’
‘Gosh!’
‘You might well say “Gosh”. She’d been sent by my daughter because we thought she might have some assistance to offer me. As it turned out, all she did was to steal from me.’
‘I don’t remember what she does for a living. I’m not sure I ever knew.’
‘Among other things, she’s a va
luer for an auction house.’
‘Is she? I didn’t know that.’
‘Well, the thing is, I was hoping you could arrange to meet her again, somewhere public, just for a chat. She did sound as if she’d welcome the chance, after all.’
‘She did,’ Thea agreed. ‘Although I have no idea why.’ She frowned. ‘There are two completely different things going on here, it seems to me. That girl on the phone, and your grievance against her for robbing you. Is there any connection?’
‘I think there might be. Let me explain.’
Thea listened in rapt fascination.
With Doreen’s help, Thea made an arrangement to meet Thyrza again, in Chipping Camden. It was a lot further from Cranham than Moreton was, but the woman made no objection. The day was dry, and they sat outside in the garden of the Eight Bells. ‘Expensive,’ groaned Drew, when she told him. But it turned out not to be as bad as feared. The building itself was as lovely as any other ancient Cotswold hostelry. Thea knew she would never tire of them.
Doreen was sitting inside, close to a window that looked out on the garden. ‘How come she didn’t recognise you in Moreton?’ Thea suddenly wondered.
‘She’s only seen me once, and I made a few changes,’ was the reply. It was increasingly clear that there was more to this woman than first appeared.
Thryza was prompt and lunch was ordered. She settled comfortably on the outdoor wooden seat, bag on her lap. Thea tried to broach the subject of the overheard conversation in Moreton. ‘I haven’t been able to get it out of my mind,’ she said. ‘I absolutely have to know what happened next. Was it as drastic as it sounded?’
The woman smiled broadly. ‘I knew it would hook you,’ she gloated.
‘You were right. So …?’
‘So I’m afraid I can’t tell you. It’s all very confidential.’
‘How can it be, when you were practically shouting down the phone in front of all those people?’
‘People who had no idea who I was, or who I was talking to.’
‘Except me.’
‘Exactly. Except you.’ The smile grew even broader.
Thea was sitting across the table, leaning forward eagerly. ‘Have you spoken to her again? Whoever she was.’
‘I can’t tell you that, either.’
As instructed by Doreen, Thea made a sudden grab for the bag on Thyrza’s lap. It was a long way to reach and her grasp was shaky. But she succeeded in overturning the thing, so that several items spilt out onto the ground.
Thyrza grabbed fruitlessly at the tumbling contents, while Thea, leaning down to intercept as much as she could, caught an odd cylindrical object, covered with printed paper and quite heavy in her hand. She tilted it curiously and it emitted the same gruff bark that had first alerted her to Thyrza’s presence at the Moreton cafe. She tilted it again, and it made the same sound. It was a toy of some kind, the picture on the outside that of a large brown dog with its mouth wide open.
She blinked, her mind stuck in thoughts of old-fashioned toys. Thyrza, with a sound like a hiss, reached out and snatched it from her. Thea looked into her face, and caught a flash of alarm. The expression then quickly changed to one that was half amused, half wary. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘It belongs to my granddaughter.’ She returned to gathering her scattered possessions.
When Thea’s thoughts finally began to fire up, they were to confirm the theory propounded by Doreen.
‘You’ve been playing with me,’ she accused loudly.
Thyrza said nothing, still crouching under the table and refilling her bag. Mobile phone, pack of tissues, purse, keys – the usual stuff. Thea waited impatiently. Finally, the woman straightened, again clutching the bag to her chest.
‘That wasn’t the ringtone on your phone, was it? It was this toy.’ She waved the object under the woman’s nose. ‘So what on earth was going on?’
‘Revenge,’ said Thyrza. ‘When I saw you arrive at the cafe last week, I just couldn’t resist it. I wanted to teach you a lesson.’
‘It was clever,’ Thea acknowledged. ‘But pretty childish. And I’m afraid it’s going to rebound on you in the long run.’
She beckoned to the watching Doreen, who was at their table in seconds. She took hold of the barking toy that was still in view. ‘Oh!’ she said. ‘I had one just like this, as a child.’
Thyrza gave her a sharp look, evidently realising who this sudden interloper was. ‘It’s you,’ she said.
‘I’m afraid it is. And I am surprised you were such a fool as to carry this around with you, once you’d stolen it from me. You used it in public to deceive this poor young lady.’
‘You were there?’
‘Unluckily for you, I was. But it was no coincidence. Having nothing better to do, I followed you that day. It wasn’t the first time. I had a feeling I might catch you out eventually.’
‘Hang on,’ said Thea. Doreen had told her only the barest facts, enough to convince her to arrange this lunch. Several details were still obscure. ‘You were following her?’
‘Didn’t I tell you? But I had no idea she’d got one of my most precious possessions in her bag.’
‘But you did think she might incriminate herself somehow?’
‘Not even that, really. I don’t really know what I was doing. Possibly preventing her from robbing anybody else.’ She looked almost benignly at Thyrza. ‘I have read Crime and Punishment, you’ll be pleased to hear.’
What an adorable old lady, thought Thea.
It was all determinedly civilised. There was no sense of danger, no hint that anybody would behave with violence here at the respectable Cotswold pub. And that made it unreal. Thea had in recent years witnessed the worst of criminal acts – or at least their consequences. She had cradled a dead child in her arms and been terrified more than once. This was nothing – a silly game played by a woman with a grudge.
‘Well, please yourself,’ she said. ‘I’ve had enough of this. Whatever you meant to do to me hasn’t worked. It’s all too convoluted for my simple brain. Thanks for the diversion, but I’d like to finish my lunch in peace from here on.’
Thyrza narrowed her eyes. ‘Hoity-toity,’ she said.
The elderly Doreen made a clucking sound of disapproval. ‘You have been a very wicked woman,’ she accused. ‘Not just stealing valuable antiques, but teasing this harmless young person.’
Thea laughed at that, despite a certain turbulence in her insides. Thyrza had gone to considerable trouble to upset her, after all – and it had worked. The fictitious telephone conversation had occupied her thoughts for far too many days.
‘A wicked woman, indeed,’ she said. ‘You deserve to be prosecuted.’
But Doreen was apparently of a different opinion. ‘I’m just glad to get this back,’ she said. ‘As far as I’m concerned, we can just leave it at that.’
And Thea could hardly argue with her.
Humiliation
Thea had not anticipated the extent to which her social life would expand once she was living permanently in the Cotswolds. People made contact – people she had met so fleetingly during a house-sit in one or other of the small villages that she had quite forgotten them. Others came with painful or embarrassing associations. One or two had been strongly suspected of having committed murder. They phoned and emailed, and even showed up at the house. The establishment of a new natural burial service in Broad Campden had received a lot of publicity in the local media, making the Slocombes all too easy to find. Their new home was on the northernmost edge of the region, making places like Minchinhampton and Painswick seem a long way off. And yet here was a barely remembered voice from that area, phoning to invite her to lunch.
‘You’ve probably forgotten me,’ came the undisguisable London tones, with a metallic ring to them. ‘Valerie Innes, from Frampton Mansell.’
‘Oh.’ Frampton Mansell, where Thea’s sister Jocelyn had joined her and a boy had been killed, and people had felt strongly about the abandoned canal. ‘Yes. Go
odness me, that seems a long time ago.’
‘It is, I suppose. A lot has happened, anyway. I read about your new venture. I have to tell you, I most heartily approve.’
‘Oh,’ said Thea again. ‘Good.’
‘So, listen. Would you like to come over for lunch one day? Is Friday any good for you? It’d be nice to talk over the old times, and now you’re living here permanently, I thought we might see something of each other. What d’you think?’
‘I …’ Had she ever regarded this woman as any sort of friend? If so, she could not recall it. She had felt no inclination to send a card at Christmas or exchange emails or establish some sort of Facebook connection. As far as she could remember, she had rather disliked Valerie Innes.
‘I was hoping to talk something over with you, actually. The thing is, I thought you’d be able to give me some advice. I remember how cool and objective you were when there was all that trouble. I don’t want to sound mysterious, but it does need something more than a phone call.’
Must be a funeral, Thea supposed. A tentative exploration into what the burial ground could offer. Probably for an aged parent, given the woman’s age.
‘All right,’ she said, trying to sound accommodating. ‘I mean, yes, Friday looks more or less free. I’m not sure what Drew’s doing, though. I might have to be back for when the kids come in from school.’
‘Kids?’
‘Yes, Stephanie and Timmy. They’re going to school in Chipping Campden now, and we’ve managed to get them onto the bus. But someone has to be here when they get home. They’re still very young.’