Scandal at Six (Lois Meade Mystery)

by Purser, Ann

  “Of course not,” Josie said consolingly. “I quite understand. Have you had any news about your father?”

  “No, he’s still hanging on. No change. It’s very hard for Mother, and I hope to be able to get up to see her again soon. I wish they were nearer, but that’s how it goes these days. Years ago, families all stuck together in the same place, especially in the farming community. I’ve let them down, poor old things.”

  “You couldn’t have been expected to stay in the middle of nowhere, after being sent away to school and university. Anyway, can I help you?”

  “Yes, have you got a Sunday paper left? Any one will do. The Despatch?” He laughed. A real rag, that one. “Yes, that’ll do fine,” he said, and retreated back up to the flat.

  His coffee was lukewarm, so he put it in a saucepan to heat up, and unfolded the newspaper. A picture of a snake, rising to strike, took up the whole of the top half of the front page. Underneath, a young girl smiled at the camera in a smaller picture. He read the text and discovered that the girl had been playing in a neighbour’s house, and ventured into a small, dark room with her friend. Apparently, the door had been left open by accident, and they had encountered the unfriendly creature, which immediately struck the girl on the arm, where she had put it up to shield her face.

  She was taken at once to hospital, and was being continuously monitored. The owner of the snake had been taken for questioning, and the snake confiscated by the police. There followed a strong warning by the paper about keeping wild creatures in the home as pets. Alarm was spreading about the increasing numbers of such accidents, and the local Member of Parliament was taking the matter up with the authorities.

  “Ye Gods,” said Justin aloud. “Not traceable to the honourable Pettison, I hope. His name had not been mentioned, so perhaps this was another case which apparently had nothing to do with him.”

  A nasty smell of burning coffee sent him running to the kitchen, where he ditched the contents of the saucepan and set about making a fresh lot. He supposed it was a matter of time before the investigations came close to the zoo once more. Then Pettison might find it hard to wriggle free.

  *

  “Delicious,” said Matthew, patting his stomach. “You’ll soon be as good a cook as your grandmother, Josie dear.”

  “As well as shopkeeper and general skivvy, mister policeman,” she replied.

  “A wonder of the world! Now, can you tell me, please, where I might find a designer-dress shop called Noelle Noelle?”

  “Never heard of it,” Josie said. “Why? Are you planning on buying me a present? Mum’s just given me a lovely jacket. Must be my birthday.”

  “No, sadly not. I cautioned your flat tenant this morning. Doing more than forty-two miles an hour through the village. I could have booked him, but had a stern word instead. We had a chat, and I noticed a white bag peeping out from under clothes in the back. ‘Noelle Noelle’ was written on the side of it, and the strange name caught my eye. Uncle Cowgill’s asked me to look out for anything odd about Justin Brookes, so I made a note. I can look it up. Now, what’s for pudding?”

  Thirty-three

  Dot was up bright and early, and took her breakfast to a little table by her front-room window. She had decided to keep a watch on Betsy Brierley’s house for as many hours as she could. There would be the New Brooms weekly meeting at noon, and she hoped maybe she would have something to report.

  Yesterday, she had seen the zoo van once more parked outside the Brierleys’, and Betsy had emerged out of it looking, in Dot’s opinion, like something the cat brought in. Her hair was set in tight little curls, and she had plastered on so much makeup that her face shone like a beacon. False eyelashes, falsies under her tight sweater, and jeans so sculpted to her bottom that she could hardly move, let alone bend down to pick up the front-door key.

  So she’s been off with the boss, thought Dot, and stood up, half shielded by the curtain. Betsy finally got the door open, and before she could go in, her husband had stepped out onto the pavement, and was having words with Pettison.

  “Poor little sod!” muttered Dot. “That zoo man could eat him for breakfast!”

  She could see Pettison laughing, and then he got into his van and drove away, leaving Ted Brierley, also laughing, standing on the pavement listening to Betsy, who, as far as Dot could tell, was shrieking at him about not being gentleman enough to pick up the door key from where she had dropped it. Eventually, the pair of them went inside, and the street was quiet.

  “I’d not change places with her for all the world,” Dot said to her parrot, now so old and mangy that it could hardly move. “Lost all the respect she ever had. Pettison don’t respect her, nor does Ted, and nobody in the street will speak to her. She pretends she don’t care, but I bet when she’s alone in the house, she cries her eyes out.”

  Dot could not have been more wrong. Betsy Brierley went upstairs, changed into more comfortable clothes, and set about berating her husband for making such a fool of them both. “You’re wasting your breath on him, Ted,” she said. “He’s a stuck-up fool, and one of these days he’ll get his comeuppance. Still, his money’s good, and I had a good feast for supper last night. A glass of champagne as a starter! That’s the life, Ted.”

  “It may be the life for you, and I know we got together as a cover for your sex therapies, as you like to call them. There’s nothing much between us, I know, never has been. But I won’t be made to look a fool, Betsy. That man makes me look a fool, and delights in it. People talk, and lately I’ve been taunted at the club about people whose wives flaunt their wares. We didn’t start that way, Betsy. It was all decent and undercover. Better get back to that, before we lose what respect we’ve got left.”

  “Long speech, Ted. I’m really scared!” she replied, lighting a cigarette and posing like a second-rate actress by the fireplace. “All I’ve got to say is, where would we be without Robert Pettison? He pays for me, and for when we hide his little animals. And if you’re not happy with that, I reckon we could split and I could blackmail him to marry me! Then where would you be?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” said Ted. “And go and take that muck off your face.”

  *

  Just before Dot was about to leave for Farnden and the New Brooms meeting, there was a knock at her door. To her surprise, when she opened it, there stood Ted from over the road. “What do you want? I’m going out now.”

  “A couple of minutes, Dot,” he said. “I think you’ll be interested.”

  She led him into her front room and turned. “I’m not asking you to sit down, because I really have to get going. What is it, anyway?”

  “It’s about Pettison, him at the zoo. You know my wife treats him for his rheumatism.”

  Dot chuckled. “I’ve never heard it called that,” she said.

  “Well, she sees him regularly, and has got to know a lot of what goes on there. I know you’re in touch with some clever chaps who operate, well, you know, sometimes the wrong side of the law.”

  Dot said nothing, and he carried on. “The thing is, I need some help. It’s confidential, like, an’ I need it to be kept that way. Do you know of one of your late husband’s colleagues who might be able to help?”

  “I can try,” said Dot. “But I’ll need to know a bit more about it, before I can get them interested.”

  “Right, well, it’s to do with the zoo and the rare animals he’s got there. And about the accidents there. I keep my ear to the ground, and I intend to make use of what I know.”

  “You mean blackmail?” said Dot bluntly. “Don’t even think of it, Ted. And my lot are old friends of Mr Pettison. Now I must fly, else Mrs M will give me the sack!”

  He turned and made for the door. “Thanks anyway, Dot,” he said. “If you do decide to help, I’ll see you right by it. Now to go and play dutiful partner to my lovely girl.”

  *

  Lois was talking to the rest of the team when Dot arrived, and she ushered her into the office
.

  “Sorry I’m late, Mrs M,” she said. “But I’ve got something to tell you about Ted Brierley. He just came round wanting help.”

  The business of the meeting carried on, and Lois sorted out who was going where, who wanted a change of scene, and which, if any, of her clients had complained about a member of the team.

  “One funny thing happened this week,” said Hazel, who ran the office in Dot’s street. “You know that Betsy Brierley, her who keeps open house to deserving customers? Well, she came running down the street once or twice during the week like she was being chased by one of them tigers in the zoo. She works for him up there, doesn’t she? Then, the final time, she shot straight into the office and sat down in front of my desk, back to the window.”

  “So what did you do?” said Lois.

  “Asked her if she wanted help in the house. She laughed in a raucous kind of way, and said no, she already had a man.”

  “And?”

  “So I said I was busy, and if she didn’t want our help, I’d see her on her way. She looked furtively round at the window, and then got up. ‘Thanks for the shelter,’ she said, and left before I could tell her that it was not, nor had been, raining.”

  “Losing her marbles,” said Dot. “Caught something from one of her clients, I reckon. They say it softens the brain.”

  Lois did not know what to make of all this, but hoped that Dot’s promised revelation would make all become clear. “Right,” she said. “If there’s no more business to deal with, let’s call Gran in, and have coffee before you go. Thanks, everyone.”

  “You don’t think I should worry, then, Mrs M,” said Hazel, not quite satisfied. “They’re a rough lot up that end of the street. I do sometimes feel vulnerable, sitting there.”

  “Not so much of the rough lot!” said Dot. “Don’t forget I live up that end. Mind you, come to think of it, there’s one or two would risk their all for a couple of quid. Keep the safe locked, dearie,” she added. “You can always give me a bell if you’re worried, an’ I’ll come down and rescue you.”

  “Thanks, Dot,” said Hazel. “I’d do the same for you. But do you have any idea what she might have been doing?”

  “I reckon the worm has turned in that house. Old Ted has had enough, according to what he told me. He’s not much of a man, but even he is finally fed up with being made to look such a fool. Did you see him? Or had he gone back home after chasing her with an axe?”

  Hazel’s eyes widened. “Do you mean that?” she said.

  “No, only joking! But I have seen him push her out and lock the door behind her. Now then, Mrs M, I should be going to Waltonby. Any more instructions?”

  “I thought you had something more to tell me,” Lois said.

  “Yeah, well, coffee first.”

  After the others had gone, Dot asked if now was a good time to tell about Ted’s request.

  “Fine. Fire away,” said Lois.

  “Seems he’s planning to blackmail Pettison. At least, I think that’s what he meant. Wanted me to ask one of my less-than-reputable family to help him. I told him he was wasting his time, and that my lot were well in with Robert Pettison. I advised against it, but it’s obvious he’s had enough, poor devil. I said if he was really serious, I might try to help. Did I do right?”

  “We shall see, Dot. Thanks, anyway,” answered Lois.

  Thirty-four

  Robert Pettison was beginning to feel threatened. The police were still circling like vultures, every day turning up with some trumped-up reason to inspect everything, from the house to the zoo to the gardener’s shed. Up to now, and with Justin’s help, he had managed to conceal animals which could be construed as illegally obtained straight from the wild. He now concentrated on small creatures that were easy to hide, and so far none had been visible to nosy policemen. All such animals he bought for resale, and mostly on commission, with regular customers around the country.

  But now there were other people bothering him. Dot Nimmo, for one. It had probably been a mistake employing her, knowing she worked for the celebrated Lois Meade, with the latter’s close association with Inspector Cowgill. Dottie was always nosing around, asking about the locked room and announcing that she intended to turn out the cupboards in his office. “Full of rubbish,” she had said. Maybe she would call it rubbish, but those locked cupboards were full of records that were highly incriminating rubbish, going back years. He had forbidden her to touch them, of course, but Dot Nimmo had never obeyed orders and, he suspected, she was not about to change.

  Perhaps he would give her the sack. But that would bring him face-to-face with Lois Meade, whose eyes were everywhere, and who would inevitably ask questions he would rather not answer. So, he would have to find a way of dealing with Dottie. He thought of several ways, but the one he liked best was already tested and tried. Several of his animals had poisonous bites, and he could easily arrange for one to escape, blaming it on the keeper, or Margie Turner, when she was filling in.

  Then he thought again. No, maybe not poison. One more poisoning would be a death too far. He would have to think of another kind of accident that would not necessarily kill Dot, but render her unable to do any cleaning for the foreseeable future. Yes, that would be best.

  Feeling cheered, he got up from his chair by the fire, put out the lights, made sure everywhere was safely locked and bolted, and went upstairs to bed, a glass of whiskey in one hand and a hot-water bottle in the other. Two steps from the top, he tripped on the worn carpet and went flying down the stairs, bumping from one step to another and yelling as he went. His glass of whiskey broke into pieces around him, and the hot-water bottle burst, spraying his face with boiling water.

  He reached the floor headfirst, and there was a dreadful cracking sound as bone hit ceramic tile. His last thought before he blacked out was that now he knew how to deal with Dottie Nimmo.

  *

  In the warm flat above Farnden shop, Justin Brookes had fallen asleep in his chair, while the television churned on to a snoring audience. He finally awoke to the sound of the telephone, and fumbled around until he found it.

  “Hello? Oh Mum, it’s you.” His stomach lurched, and he gripped the receiver more tightly. “Mum? Don’t cry, Mum; take your time. When was it? Oh, nice that you were with him. It was kindest, really. And he’d had a good innings. Is anyone with you? Oh yes, that nice post lady. Well, I’ll leave first thing in the morning, and should be with you in a couple of hours. Then I’ll organise everything. Now you’re not to worry. Try to get some sleep. Bye-bye, Mum. Love you.”

  He put the phone down, and was suddenly hit by huge, wrenching sobs. His father was dead. A father who had been steadfast, always defending him against criticism and doing his best to keep a wayward son on the right path. Oh God, please give him rest, and help me to lead—what is it?—a righteous and sober life. In the future. Somehow.

  *

  The following morning, Justin was as good as his word, and left Farnden after an early breakfast. He took his good businessman’s suit with him, intending to stay in Lincolnshire until after the funeral. He could help around the farm and, in talking to his mother, get some idea of what to do next. He had to face the fact that his uncle and the zoo were going to be closed down in the near future. Uncle Robert thought he was bombproof, but Justin was well aware that the net was drawing tighter. Should he stick by the old idiot, or leave while the going was good?

  As the miles sped by, he tried to add up the respective pros and cons. If Pettison should end up in jail, then there would be the perfect opportunity to clean up the zoo, get rid of illegal animal immigrants and run the place as one of the best private zoos in the country. He liked the animals. Not in the stupid “people” way of his uncle. But the chimps and the other captivity-bred monkeys were fun, and he might even build an elephant house, and give kids rides around the grounds. A small elephant, it would need to be.

  He laughed. He really knew nothing about keeping animals. But he could learn, and
it would be fun doing it.

  The other course of action was clear. He could do what his mother dearly wanted, take over the farm, get married and have a family, and they could all live happily ever after. But could he change his present way of life so abruptly? His mother and the farm could tick over for a year or two, to give him time to decide. In any case, now was not the time to worry her with his indecision! He could stay with her for a couple of weeks, and help her to sort out solicitors and all the trappings of the law. He was fairly sure that his father had willed everything to Mum, so it shouldn’t be too complicated.

  Back in the shop, Josie was opening up when she saw a note put through the letter box. It was from Justin, saying his father had died and he was away to Lincolnshire, and did not know when he would return. He left two telephone numbers, and a cheque for the next installment of rent.

  Poor fellow! thought Josie. But perhaps it was all for the best. The old man had been hanging on for so long, in a more or less zombie state, and now Justin and his mother could move forward. She wondered whether to send a card, and then realised that she did not have the address.

  Lois appeared, having run down from home to buy milk. “We never seem to have enough,” she said. “How’s everything, Josie?” she asked, seeing her daughter’s solemn face.

  Josie explained about Justin’s father, and said she was thinking about tidying and cleaning the flat, so it would be nice for him to find on his return. “He didn’t mind a bit, last time I went up there. I might tackle the shed, too. I know he cleared one end of it, but there’s still a lot of our junk out there.”

  “Good idea, so long as you’re sure he won’t mind. I’ll give you a hand with the shed, if you want. I’m free this afternoon. Any use?”

  Josie said the two pairs of hands were always better than one, and accepted gratefully. She offered Lois a coffee, and was about to go into the stockroom to make it, when her phone rang.