Threats at Three

by Ann Purser

  Matthew sighed. “I’m sure you’re right,” he said, “but we have to look into all these things. Wasting our time, usually. How are you doing? Want to come to the pictures tomorrow?”

  “Since you ask me so politely, I accept with thanks,” she said. “What’s the film, anyway?”

  “It’s a French film at the art cinema. Called I’ve Loved You for So Long.”

  She stared at him. “Are you joking?” she said.

  “Nope. Look in the local paper if you don’t believe me. I’ll pick you up about six?”

  He turned and strode importantly from the shop to continue his quest for the phantom arsonist.

  TWO MINUTES AFTER HE HAD GONE, THE TELEPHONE RANG. IT was Josie’s brother, Douglas. “Hi,” he said. “Busy?”

  “Not at this moment, but any minute now an evil character will come in and demand protection money, so make it snappy.”

  “Ho, ho,” said Douglas. “The thing is, I’m ringing to invite you to come along with us to the space centre on Saturday. Susie and Harry and me are spending the day there, and wondered if you would like to come along. Mum and Dad are coming, I hope.”

  Josie frowned. There must be some hidden motive. A day at the space centre with screaming kids and frazzled parents was not her idea of fun, and surely Douglas would know that?

  “Who else is coming?” she said, on a sudden inspiration.

  “Well, actually, I ran into Matthew Vickers and happened to mention it, and he said he had always wanted to go, but would feel a bit of a nerd going on his own. Jumped at the chance of coming with us. So how do you feel?”

  “Douglas, you are about as subtle as a steamroller,” Josie said. “But yes, I’d love to come, if only to see little Harry’s face when he sees his father blasted off into space.”

  “Good. Be ready about ten o’clock, then. Gran said she’d be happy to fill in at the shop.”

  “Wow! A family conspiracy!” Josie marvelled at Doug’s deviousness, and was not sure whether to be pleased or not. She knew they all thought she should clinch things with Matthew. He was clearly keen to settle down. He had a newly renovated cottage originally bought as a holiday place, but now he had announced his intention of staying in the area for as long as possible. He had made many friends, and being tall, dark and fairly handsome, had not been short of girl-friends. But he had made it quite clear in a man-to-man chat with Douglas that Josie was his first choice.

  But was she ready for the big commitment, as emphasized in all the advice columns in the women’s magazines she sold in the shop? Before Rob had been killed, he had wanted her to marry him, and she had consistently refused, not being at all sure he was the one with whom she wanted to spend the rest of her life. Ah, well, she would go along with the family plot and see what happened. After all, there was something very reassuring about being wooed by a policeman.

  “Morning, Josie,” said Lois, breezing in with a couple of politically correct hessian bags over her arm. “We’ve run out of everything.” She handed Josie a list, and perched herself on the stool in front of the counter. As Josie moved round the shop, collecting up her mother’s favourite items, Lois said casually, “Have you heard about some idiot trying to set fire to the village hall? Are people talking about it?”

  “By ‘people’ I suppose you mean my customers? As you know, I make it a rule not to gossip, and in any case I only just heard from Matthew that there had been a rumour from someone who thought they’d seen a sinister intruder with a barrel of gunpowder and a long fuse.”

  “You may joke, miss,” Lois said seriously. “But it is apparently true. Someone else has come forwards now. Tony Dibson, who keeps the grass and paths around the village hall tidy. Says he found traces of petrol in several places around the edge of the hall. O’ course, if it was fired it’d go up like a tinderbox.”

  “But why should anyone want to set fire to it? I thought we’d just decided to spend loads o’ money restoring it to its former glory?”

  “Exactly,” Lois said. “As you know, Dad is heading the fund-raising committee, and he says that by no means does all the village agree with the project. Money could be spent more wisely, they say. Some want a new-built hall, regardless of cost.”

  “Pie in the sky,” said Josie. “They’d never get the money. Especially now, when people are losing their jobs and money’s tight. Even charities are in the mire.”

  “Yes, well, that may be so. But you must know by now, there’s some pretty rum customers in Farnden. I can think of one or two who could well take matters into their own hands.”

  “Who?” said Josie. She knew her mother’s tendency to overdramatise, but at the same time she was often right, seeming to know things before anyone else did. “Who’ve you been talking to?” she added. “Has Hunter Cowgill been in touch again?”

  He had, of course. But knowing Josie’s burgeoning relationship with Cowgill’s nephew, Lois decided to deny it. “Not yet,” she said. “But if there really is something in the rumour, no doubt he will be. So keep your ears open. Now, how much do I owe you?”

  Josie took the money, thanked her mother, and held the door open for her as she left with two heavy bags. If only everyone was as loyal a shopper as Mum!

  “See you Saturday, if not before!” she yelled, as Lois marched off up the road. “I’ve always wanted to go into space. . . .”

  FIVE

  LOIS GOT UP EARLY ON SATURDAY MORNING, AND SEEING A cheerful blue sky and jolly clouds scudding across in the fresh wind, decided to take Jeems, her little white terrier, for a walk before breakfast. Gran would be up betimes, and with luck, would have bacon sizzling in the pan before she returned. Derek could be relied upon to be ready for the expedition well in time, as always.

  One of Jeems’s favourite walks was down the lane to the village hall, with attendant good sniffs, and round the playing field, out beyond the football pitch and through a field to the Waltonby road, then back home through the High Street. Passing the shop, there was always a chance that Josie would see them and come out with a dog treat.

  As they approached the village hall, Lois saw that she was not the only one up with the lark. Tony Dibson was there, his back bent over the grass, scratching away with a small garden fork. He straightened up when he saw her and said, “Morning, missus. Lovely morning. Best time of the day, this is. Not many people realise that these days. When I was a lad—”

  Usually Lois loved to listen to his tales of the past, but this morning she had to keep going, and interrupted him with a question. “What on earth are you doing there?” she asked.

  “Cleaning up, as usual,” he said, his voice muffled as he returned to his scratching.

  “What is there to clean up? I can’t see anything,” Lois said, frowning. Tony looked for all the world as if he was hiding something.

  He straightened up, and held out his hand, palm up. Lois peered more closely, and saw two matches, unspent. “So?” she said. “Kids smoking substances again?” The rear of the village hall was a well-known haunt for a group of youths and girls to gather. The police periodically raided the spot, but the kids were a dab hand at melting into the night. So far, no serious damage had been done, except, of course, to themselves.

  “’ere, missus, smell this,” Tony said, extending his dirt-covered hand further towards her. She blenched, but leaned forwards and sniffed. “Petrol,” she said. They stared at each other in silence. Then Tony said, “So they was right, the ones who said there was a plot to burn down the village hall.”

  “Oh, my God,” Lois said, feeling sick. “So why didn’t it work?”

  “Damp matches,” Tony said flatly. “Otherwise the whole lot would have gone up. And with that wooden fence along the back of all them houses, God knows where it would have stopped.”

  “The police, then,” Lois said. “I’ll ring them straightaway. Can you keep those matches safe?”

  Tony nodded, and said that as far as the petrol was concerned, the ground was soaked in it, so tha
t wouldn’t go away. “You do it, missus. You can phone your inspector and get some action.”

  Lois was so used to people knowing about her association with Inspector Cowgill that she did not even notice his sly grin.

  “LOIS? TO WHAT DO I OWE THIS EARLY MORNING TREAT?” COWGILL beamed. He had woken feeling the old depression weighing him down. It had returned on and off ever since his wife died some years ago, and he knew the only remedy was to get out of bed, put on some old clothes and go for a run around the park. He had drawn back his bedroom curtains and was about to set off when his telephone rang. The moment he heard Lois’s voice he knew there would be no need for a run.

  “Early morning?” snapped Lois. “I don’t call this early morning. Now listen, Hunter. I’ve just come back from walking Jeems, and met old Tony Dibson . . . What? . . . Well, give me a chance and I’ll tell you who he is. He’s the old caretaker for the hall, has a blind wife and looks after her, has lived here for centuries and knows everybody and everything. What? Yes, a great source of information. Now, listen! I’m going out for the day and haven’t got much time.”

  When she mentioned the arson rumour, she could tell he immediately snapped into professional mode and was quiet. “So I smelled the petrol for myself,” she continued, “and saw the matches. Tony says the ground was dry as a bone, so they must have been damp in the box.”

  “Going out for the day, did you say, Lois? What time are you going?”

  “We’re all leaving about ten o’clock.” She looked at her watch. “In about an hour’s time.”

  “I’m on my way,” he said briskly. “Can you meet me at the hall in twenty minutes? Good girl,” he added, and ended the call before she could reply.

  Derek was not pleased when Lois explained that because of what she had seen she had to be at the hall to meet the police. “By ‘the police’ I suppose you mean Hunter sodding Cowgill? Honestly, Lois, haven’t we had enough of all this? Why don’t you leave them to deal with some nutter who likes the idea of a good blaze? He’s obviously no real arsonist if he can’t even keep his matches dry!”

  Gran, putting hot toast on the table, nodded. “Quite right, Derek,” she said. “This is a special day out for all of you. Don’t spoil it, Lois.”

  Lois suppressed a strong desire to tell her mother to mind her own business, and said only that she would be back well in time for Douglas to collect them. “Are you sure you’ll be all right in the shop, Mum?” she added, in an endeavor to change the subject.

  Gran bridled. “No, of course not,” she said tartly. “I shall give out wrong change, make a mess of cutting the ham, annoy the customers and in general ruin the shop’s reputation.”

  “Okay, okay,” said Derek. “Let’s just concentrate on the day, shall we? Just be back here by ten, Lois. Otherwise,” he said seriously, “I shall have to come and find you and give Cowgill a piece of my mind.”

  “No need for that,” Lois said. “And anyway, with your new SOS responsibility, you’ll need all the mind you can muster, without giving away any pieces of it.”

  Escaping from the decidedly chilly atmosphere of home, she returned to the village hall to find Cowgill already there. How does he do it? she wondered. Half an hour ago he had clearly just got up, and now here he was, immaculate as always. And with no woman to look after him . . .

  Tony Dibson was also there, still clutching the matches, and he had already told Cowgill all that he knew. “Not usually a matter for the chief inspector, sir?” he said, with a meaning look at Lois.

  “Arson is a very serious matter, Mr. Dibson,” Cowgill said smoothly. “And we try to have as little rigid hierarchy as possible at the station, you know,” he added.

  What was the bugger talking about? Tony looked at Lois enquiringly, and said could he go home now, as his wife would be needing him.

  After he had gone, Cowgill walked round the hall and along the fence, prodding and sniffing, and then asked Lois if she would sit in his car with him for a couple of minutes while he made some notes. She said fine, so long as he didn’t have any etchings to show her, and ten minutes later she was on her way back to the house.

  “Where’ve you been, Mum?” Doug said, as he and his family cruised past her a yard or two before Meade House. The name had been suggested by Josie, who said that’s what everybody called it anyway, so why not regularize it?

  “Nowhere,” replied Lois, waving to little Harry. “We’re all ready, so I’ll just call Dad. Isn’t that Josie on her way? Good. That means we won’t have to stop again.”

  “Hi!” Josie called as she approached. “We’re off to see the wizard! The wonderful wizard of space!”

  Harry chortled and waved his hands about. He had no idea what his aunt was on about, but he loved her dearly. She slid across the seat to sit next to him, gave him a smacking kiss and said he was her favourite nephew. Doug did not fail with the ritual reply that he was her only nephew, so far.

  “Plenty of room,” Doug said, as Lois and Derek climbed into the seven-seater, and with cries of delight for Harry’s benefit, they got under way.

  SIX

  THE MORNING HAD NOT STARTED SO WELL IN WHAT WAS STILL known as Pickerings’ house, though the Pickerings had sold to a mysterious single man who had turned out to be a sinister people trafficker. Needless to say, he had been sent to jail for a long stretch, and the house had been put on the market again. A spry village character had bought it in order to rent it out. He had a deal with the local Social Services Department who needed accommodation for the deserving homeless. One such family were the Hicksons, and they had moved in under the watchful eyes of the villagers.

  The house was one of the many old ironstone buildings in the village, and in bright sunshine it glowed a warm dark gold. The end wall had been built with bands of limestone alternating with ironstone, and on an otherwise perfectly plain family house, the pattern of stripes was a glimpse of a long-gone village builder’s unexpected flight of fancy.

  Inside the thick walls, it was warm and welcoming, and when Paula Hickson had first seen it, she couldn’t believe her luck. Her husband, Jack, had walked out after the fourth boy had been born, saying he couldn’t stand the racket, and she had no idea where he had gone. In a way, she knew they were better off without him, as any money coming in had, since Jack lost his job, gone out again rapidly to be spent on booze, and when he boozed he was violent.

  The house had four bedrooms and a decent bathroom, and downstairs a couple of big rooms and a largish kitchen. Paula was able to furnish the sitting room with stuff provided by Social Services, which was adequate, though she sometimes thought it looked a bit like a junk shop. Still, she told herself, beggars can’t be choosers. She would not forget in a hurry the bailiff’s visit to their old home.

  She decided the other main room, a dining room in the old days probably, would make a good playroom for the boys. A playroom! It was like a dream to a woman who had been living in two small rooms, one of which was a curtained-off bedroom for herself and the boys. Jack Jr. was now thirteen and at Tresham comprehensive. He needed private space for homework, if and when he got round to it, and now he could have one big bedroom to himself. The other two spares, much smaller, were for eight-year-old twins Jim and David, in the hope that separating them for sleep would give them all a bit of peace. Nine-month-old Frankie still slept in a cot alongside his mother.

  The morning had started badly because on going to wake Jack, Paula found he was not in his bedroom and had clearly not slept in his bed. This was the second time he had stayed out somewhere all night, and Paula groaned. He had promised that if she had gone to bed, he would let himself in, and it would not be too late. The previous time this had happened he had said airily that he’d slept over with his mate in Tresham. “Missed the last bus,” he had said, and added that if they had to live in a godforsaken village in the middle of nowhere with only two buses a week, what was he to do?

  “You could let me know! That’s what you could do!” Paula had
shouted at him. “Ever heard of the phone?” she had added, and then regretted it, because she could not possibly afford for him to have his own mobile.

  Now she gave the others their breakfasts, and prepared to send the twins off to a school friend’s house for the morning with stern warnings that they were to go straight there and not dillydally on the way. Thank God they had taken to the village school like a pair of ducklings to water. No complaints from them. In a small class with a cheerful young woman teacher, they had blossomed from their first day. They were identical twins, and Rebecca Stockbridge confessed they were a challenge in her class, but one she intended to enjoy.

  Paula sighed. She hoped that Jack Jr. had slept sensibly in his friend’s house in Tresham, and she would see him arrive home on the afternoon bus. She had little confidence in this scenario, and thought it much more likely that her firstborn would be wandering round the streets of Tresham, hood concealing his face, until he managed to thumb a lift back to the village.

  She stood at the gate, waiting until the twins were safely on their way, and her eye was caught by the sight of Douglas’s vehicle moving slowly down the village street. As it passed her, she could see it was full of happy smiling faces, and one or two waved to her. She recognized Josie Meade from the shop, who had been really helpful to her since she arrived. Must be her family, Paula supposed, and felt a stab of envy at their obvious togetherness. Then she shifted the baby to be more comfortable on her hip, and turned to go indoors. “No good feeling sorry for yourself, Paula Hickson,” she said aloud, and the baby smiled at her. Things could be a lot worse.

  BY THE TIME DOUGLAS HAD TAKEN A COUPLE OF WRONG TURNS in the outskirts of Leicester, and had shut his ears to all the varying instructions from his passengers, little Harry was asleep and Derek was desperate for a pee. Finally they pulled into the big car park, and as they looked out of the windows an awed silence fell. A bulging silver balloonlike structure stretched up into the sky, dwarfing the crowds of families making for the entrance.