Threats at Three

by Ann Purser

  “Evenin’, Derek,” said Tony, as he came through the door, looking smart and neatly dressed for the meeting. Derek marvelled again at how the old boy managed with a disabled wife and all the household chores to do.

  “Nice to see you, Tony, and on time as always! Reckon we could show these youngsters a thing or two.” The rest came in ones and twos, and Derek was just beginning to wonder if Hazel Thornbull had forgotten, when she and husband John hurried through the door, apologising for having had to stay with a sick cow.

  “Not that blue tongue, I ’ope,” said Tony, and Gavin made a disgusted face.

  “Do you think we could start, Chairman,” he said. “I have some business work to catch up on.” He hadn’t, but he liked to create an image.

  “Right, let’s get to it,” said Derek briskly. “All here?” He looked around, and saw that Father Rodney was missing. Saying a prayer for the soul of the sick cow? Derek asked if anyone had heard anything from him.

  “I saw him in the churchyard as I was comin’ down,” Tony said. “Gazing upwards, he was.”

  “Lost in wonder, love and praise, probably,” said Hazel, who had a passion for hymns and knew all the words.

  “No point in waiting for him,” said Gavin Adstone. “I can’t think he’ll have much to contribute, anyway. Away with the fairies most of the time.”

  “Hardly,” said Derek dryly, and added that the vicar was a good and useful man, and he was sure he would not mind if they started without him.

  Good old Derek, thought Hazel, as she opened the minutes book ready to read her notes on the last meeting. “That’s put smartass Gavin in his place,” she muttered under her breath.

  The vicar turned up, and after the minutes had been read they got swiftly down to the main item. “The soap box grand prix,” said Derek. “First of all, we need to fix a date. Any suggestions as to the best time?”

  Various dates were considered, several of them clashing with other village events. The church fete, the WI outing, a couple of weddings arranged needing the church and a free run through the village for the happy couple and their guests. Eventually a date was agreed, and Derek shuffled his papers.

  “Lois has found out quite a bit about how the races an’ that are organised these days,” he said, “and I must say I hadn’t reckoned on something so complicated.” He saw Gavin draw a breath to speak, and so continued quickly. “Not that we would want to put on such a formal event,” he added. “Most of us were thinking of a few likely lads having a go at making some larky soap boxes and putting on a race or two to entertain the crowds.”

  “What crowds!?” burst out Gavin. “Think big, man, think big! If we do the thing properly, we could get hundreds of spectators, and with the right extra attractions organised by me, we could make a packet.”

  Derek raised his eyebrows, and passed Lois’s papers to Tony Dibson, who was sitting at the end of the row of chairs. “Have a look at these, everybody,” Derek said. “Then we shall know what we’re talking about. And while we’re doing that, perhaps Father Rodney will tell us about his plans for a flower festival in the church on the same day.”

  By the time Hazel had given her preliminary report on what other groups in the village might contribute, including an art and crafts marquee on the playing fields, the papers had reached John Thornbull, the last to read them, and he handed them back to Derek.

  “Thank you, Hazel,” Derek said. “Sounds very promising. Now, you’ve all had a chance to look through those details, so back to the soap box grand prix.”

  Recognising that his festival was once more receding into the distance, Gavin jumped in with an offer to take the soap box project outside into a wider world, resulting in a bigger potential crowd on the day. “I could take the details on how to make the soap boxes to the local tech college. They have an engineering department, and might be pleased to make it their big practical learning project for the summer term. As far as safety goes, we just have to liaise with our friendly cops and make sure we comply with the necessary regulations.”

  Talks like a politician, thought Tony Dibson. He whispered into Floss’s young and pretty ear that he bet her a shillin’ that Adstone would be MP for Tresham before long. Derek frowned at him, and politely thanked Gavin for his suggestion. Then he asked Floss what she thought would appeal to the young folk in the village.

  “It’s got to be fun,” she said straightaway. “We got to get them putting their own ideas into designing the soap boxes, and have as few rules as we can. I don’t see why we have to involve anybody outside the village. For Farnden, by Farnden. That’s what I reckon, anyway.”

  There was a small round of applause, with Gavin noticeably failing to join in.

  “For Farnden, by Farnden!” echoed Tony Dibson. “That’s it, gel. You got it!”

  TWELVE

  SO HOW DID IT GO?” LOIS SAID. SHE SOMEHOW MANAGED TO concentrate on her favourite quiz show and listen to Derek at the same time. At least, he hoped she was listening, as he gave her an edited version of the meeting’s reasonably pleasant beginning, and far from pleasant end.

  “So anyway,” he said, “we all more or less agreed on Floss asking if she could go down there next week and talk to the kids, fill ’em in on what we’re planning, and see what their reaction is.”

  Lois nodded, not taking her eyes off the screen. “Sounds good,” she said. “And you could try one of you going down the Youth Club and asking the kids what they think.”

  Derek marched across the room to the television set, stood in front of it, and told Lois that she hadn’t listened to a word he’d said, and if she wasn’t interested, he might as well save his breath.

  Gran, who up to that moment had kept silent, roared with laughter. “You tell her, Derek!” she said.

  Lois’s face was stony. She reached for the remote control, and with great solemnity switched off the set. She turned to Derek. “I do apologise, Mr. Chairman,” she said. “I wonder if you’d mind repeating what you just said.”

  “Bollocks!” said Derek, and asked if anyone wanted a coffee, because he was parched with talking too much. He marched out of the room, and Lois hastily followed. As she went, she winked at Gran. “A little lovin’ will put it right,” she said, and shut the door behind her.

  When they returned with coffee all round, Gran could see equilibrium had been restored. She decided to take up where Derek had left off, and asked why the meeting had ended unpleasantly.

  “Yeah.” Lois nodded. “Did Father Rodney suggest an evenin’ of lap dancing, or what?”

  Derek gave her a warning look, and said it happened after the meeting had closed and they were all walking through the village together, having agreed that a pint in the pub would be a good idea. “Then Hazel stopped dead in the middle of the road, and said she could smell smoke.”

  “What, a chimney on fire?” said Gran.

  Derek shook his head. “No. At first none of the rest of us could smell it, but then Floss said she could, and it smelled like petrol or something oily.”

  Lois sat up straight, all attention. “So what was it? Did you investigate? We haven’t heard no fire engines, have we, Gran?”

  “Guess,” Derek said flatly.

  “The village hall,” Lois said. “Go on.”

  “Well, we all rushed round there, and we could see smoke. Not much, but then Gavin found a bit of smoldering wood shoved in under the porch. You know that wooden roof bit, where it shelters the main door. He grabbed it out, and stamped on it. We could all smell the petrol smell then, and went round the whole building to make sure there weren’t no more places where it’d been fired.”

  “So you told the police?” Lois said.

  Derek shook his head. “No point in getting them this late,” he said. “We agreed I’d phone them in the morning and report it. In fact,” he added, with a look at Lois, “I thought our own village sleuth might like to talk to her cop. You can’t beat going right to the top, as I told the rest.”

 
; There was silence for a minute or two, and then Lois said quietly that she would be pleased to give Inspector Cowgill a ring, especially as she knew the police were aware of the previous attempt on the village hall.

  “Did the others have any idea who might have done it?” she asked Derek.

  “Well, Gavin Adstone was full of possible suspects, mostly gypsies and passing tramps, but mainly the others seemed to think it was the kids who meet up round the back of the hall. Tony Dibson said he reckoned the new woman in Pickerings’ house has a teenage tearaway who’s been in trouble before.”

  “Jack Jr.,” said Lois, with a sigh. “Young Jack Hickson. His mum, Paula, is coming to work for me. She’s joining the team. And yes, I’ve heard she’s had one or two problems with her son Jack.”

  Derek groaned, and Gran nodded in sympathy. “So we’re right in it, Lois, once more,” he said.

  “Trust you, Lois,” Gran added. “All the nice women there are around needing jobs, and you have to take on a single mother with four sons, living on Social Services, abandoned by a violent no-good husband who could turn up any minute. Great. Well done, Lois.”

  Lois stood up. “Have you finished, both of you?” she said coldly. “Then I’m off to bed. I’ll make the call first thing in the morning, Derek. And for your information, Paula Hickson is a very good, responsible mother, desperate to earn a bit of extra and not be a total drag on the state. And, unless I’m a lousy judge, she’ll be a reliable, honest member of my team. Don’t wake me up when you come to bed,” she added, barely suppressing her anger. She left the room, leaving Derek and Gran looking at each other in dismay.

  “The end of a perfect day,” Derek said gloomily.

  “She’ll come round. She always does.” Gran knew she was on thin ice here. Living with your daughter’s family was not always a cushy billet.

  THIRTEEN

  DON’T FORGET,” DEREK SAID NEXT MORNING, AS HE PULLED on his boots ready to go up to the allotment.

  “I don’t need reminding,” Lois said. “I reckon something very nasty is going on, and I don’t mean gypsies and passing tramps. You go, and I’ll tell you what Cowgill says at lunchtime. He may not be in his office yet, but I can get hold of him anyway. Cheerio, love. See you later.” She smiled sweetly at him, and he went off to start his van, pretty sure he was forgiven.

  Around nine o’clock, Lois dialled Cowgill’s number, and he answered with a brisk, “Good morning, Lois. How are you and the family?”

  Must have someone with him, thought Lois. His opening words were usually something silly, like “how’s the light of my life.” She always snapped at him, but now missed the affection in his voice.

  “There’s been another go at firing the village hall,” she said, and told him what had happened.

  “Why weren’t we told straightaway?” he said, and then obviously turned away from the phone to say goodbye to someone. After a pause, he said, “But before we start, how’s the love of my life?” he added, his voice softened in the daft way that immediately triggered a sharp reply from Lois.

  “Why don’t we just start again, instead of all that rubbish?” she said. “It was Derek’s decision to leave it ’til today, and the others backed him up. They made sure the hall was safe, then went home. Derek said they agreed it should be me phoning you. Can’t think why.”

  “I can,” he said. “I am taking this seriously, Lois. Arson is a very nasty thing. It doesn’t necessarily stop at destroying a building. People can be involved, too. Remember the fire in the gypsies camp? A miracle nobody was hurt. No, I’ll get the best men for the job to look further into it. One attempt may well be a kids’ prank, but this second go at it nearly succeeded. If Derek and friends hadn’t noticed the smell of smoke, the fire could have taken hold and then God knows where it might have spread. Can you meet me down there at ten o’clock. I’ll have Chris with me.”

  “Chris? Who’s he?”

  “She,” Cowgill said. “Chris Botham is my new assistant. You’ll like her. She’s not unlike a certain dear girl who runs a cleaning business. Bright and quick. Not bad looking. Doesn’t tolerate fools gladly. Sharp tongue at times . . .”

  “Ah, you can’t mean she’s like me, then,” said Lois. “I’m known for being a soft touch.”

  “Ha!”

  Lois could hear Cowgill chuckling, and then he said, “See you in a while, then.”

  THE ANONYMOUS-LOOKING CAR DROVE INTO THE VILLAGE HALL car park, and Lois watched the tall figure of Cowgill get out, then a slim, dark woman wearing a grey jacket and skirt that revealed a pair of well-shaped legs and sensible shoes. The two of them headed across to join Lois in the hall porch, and after the introductions were made, she showed them the charred beam where the smoldering stick had been shoved in behind.

  A burst of loud, jolly music came from inside the hall. “Aerobics,” said Lois.

  “Very good for you,” said Chris Bowler.

  “Not for me,” Lois said. “Tried it once an’ it nearly killed me. Anyway, I get exercise enough in my job. Scrubbin’ and cleanin’ and—”

  “—washing and ironing, not to mention gardening and cooking,” finished Cowgill, and he put his hand on Lois’s shoulder. “She’s a wonder,” he said, turning to his new assistant. “I couldn’t do without her,” he added, and to Lois’s embarrassment, his voice was husky.

  She changed the subject, said they should go inside. She added that Inspector Cowgill might like to see aerobics in action. He’d certainly get an eyeful of the female form, she said innocently.

  Once inside, Lois was interested to see Kate Adstone with a sleeping baby in a pushchair. And there was Floss, waving to Lois from behind the rest, a surprised look on her face.

  Cowgill walked up to the instructor, a trim-looking woman, blonde hair tied back and not an ounce of fat on her. Lois could see the old charm working its magic on her, and then a break was announced. Cowgill signalled Lois and Chris to go around the edges of the hall with him.

  “How’s your sense of smell, Lois?” Chris said.

  “Good, more’s the pity sometimes.”

  “Great. Any whiffs of smoke or petrol, call me over.”

  “I’ll go into the kitchen,” Lois said. “That’s where the villain would be most likely to break in, if he wanted. Mind you, I reckon they planned to set the fire going from outside, without bothering to come in. Quick getaway, an’ that. After all, this old wooden building would go up like bonfire night, once the fire took hold.”

  Chris nodded. “Still, worth checking,” she said.

  Lois stood in the kitchen and sniffed. Instant coffee. Damp. Mice. Drains. Nothing unexpected. She walked into the toilet, which was old but clean. Disinfectant and air freshener. And then, yes, petrol . . .

  She looked up and saw that the small window was unlatched. She followed the sniff to the corner of the cubicle behind the lavatory brush, where it became strong. Oh no, was that a small puddle on the floor? Pee? She couldn’t smell pee. A small wad of toilet paper was enough to dip into it. Petrol. Through the open door she called out to Cowgill, and he came quickly, with Chris at his side.

  “Here! Smell this.” She held out the toilet tissue, and he took it gingerly.

  “If this is some kind of a joke, Lois, I shall be forced to . . .” He sniffed, then held it out to Chris. She nodded. “So we need to lock up the place and get the chaps down.”

  The aerobics instructor was not pleased, but dismissed the class and said she sincerely hoped she would see them the same time next week.

  BY THE TIME LOIS REACHED HOME, GRAN HAD LUNCH WELL ON the way and Derek was back from the allotment, his feet up on the kitchen table, reading the local paper.

  “D’you mind!” Lois said. “We have to eat off that table, in case you hadn’t noticed, Derek Meade.”

  He grinned at her, and didn’t move.

  “Any luck with your tame inspector?” he said. He had now come to think that the two attempts to burn down the village hall had been made b
y the same person, and he was fairly sure he knew which person. A swift and strong warning from the police was all that was needed, he was certain, to stop the young fool. No doubt he’d find other places to vandalise, but as long as it wasn’t in Farnden, Derek could put it out of his mind.

  “Three of us met down there. Cowgill, his assistant and me. And I got the lucky break. I found the toilet had been broken into, through that dodgy window, and there was a strong smell of petrol.”

  “Did you find the can?”

  Lois shook her hand. “Just a puddle,” she said. “But I reckon there must’ve been more than one person. It’d take a skinny bloke to get through the window, an’ he wouldn’t have a hope in hell if he tried carrying a petrol can. Must’ve been handed to him once he was inside.”

  “So why didn’t he set fire to it there an’ then?” Gran said, beating eggs as if they had insulted her.

  “He’d got to get out first,” Derek said. His attention was now fully on what Lois was saying. “Probably frightened off—maybe by us—before he could throw a match in. Ye Gods, Lois,” he added. “It don’t bear thinkin’ about, the damage they could’ve done. Is Cowgill taking action? You told him about the Hickson lot, I hope?”

  He could’ve bitten his tongue out. Lois’s face darkened, and she turned on her heel and stalked out of the kitchen.

  “Oh, dear,” Gran said. “I should lay off that one, Derek, if I were you. Let’s wait an’ see what the police find out.”

  Derek sighed. “I wish we’d never heard of the bloody police,” he said.

  “Language,” Gran said automatically. “Go on,” she added, “go and make your peace. And don’t forget that I’m on your side, as well as Lois’s.”

  At this piece of lousy logic, Derek burst out laughing and went off to find Lois.