by Ann Purser
“Just as well you’re still friends with your cop, Mum,” Josie said, trying hard to smile.
“No harm in asking Matthew Vickers to help, too.”
“Who’s he?” Greg said. He was looking alarmed, and Lois noted this carefully for future reference.
“One of Josie’s admirers,” she said quickly. “Just happens to be a young policeman. And my cop is a detective inspector, so should be able to help. But I expect you’ve been in touch with the police?” she added. “Being Rob’s brother, an’ that?”
“Of course,” he said. “Not that they are my personal friends, as it seems they are in your case.” His voice was definitely chilly, and in a couple of minutes he said he must go, as he had promised to see his friend in Tresham in half an hour.
“Sebastopol Street, did you say?” Lois asked. “What’s his name? I know quite a few people in Sebastopol.”
“Must go,” Greg said, not answering, and was gone, clattering down the stairs from the flat and out of the back door.
“Well, mother dear, and what do you make of that?” Josie said bitterly. “I’d say he got the wind up at the mention of police.”
Lois had to admit that she was right. “On the other hand,” she said, “it doesn’t mean what he said was all lies. After all, if Rob had kept all that quiet, he must have had a dodgy reason for doing so, and maybe Greg himself is not great pals with the police in Australia.”
“For God’s sake!” said Josie. “We shall be in the hands of Interpol next! Why can’t we just let poor old Rob rest in peace, and give me a chance to build a new life? You know this is all nonsense, Mum. That man is just hoping Rob had some money. He doesn’t even know if there was any. But I do! Rob was a great spender, and not always on himself. He was a generous man, and we lived from one month’s salary to the next, with the shop supplementing what he earned. Best go home, apologise to Dad, and forget the whole thing.”
“Sorry, love. I’ll be going now. And don’t worry. I’m used to making it up with Dad. United we stand, an all that.”
WHEN LOIS GOT BACK HOME DEREK HAD GONE TO THE PUB, AND she could hear the telly on in the sitting room. She did not want to face Gran’s questions just now, and so went quietly upstairs and began to run a bath. Squeezing some exotic-smelling bath stuff that Jamie had given her into the steaming water, she submerged most of herself and began to think. Uppermost in her mind was the possibility that this man, brother or no brother, would not bother with such an elaborate foray into lies and fabrications, if that’s what they were, unless he suspected it was worth his while. But if he’d been so anxious about finding his brother, why had he waited so long? Until after Rob was dead?
She reached out a wet arm and looked at her watch on the bathroom stool. It was still early by police standards. She did not need to look up the number, and dialled the direct line to Cowgill.
“Lois? Nothing wrong, I hope?”
“Only that the water’s getting cold. I’m in the bath.” Lois instantly regretted what she had said, and sure enough Cowgill replied that he would be along straight away with a kettleful of hot water to top her up.
“That’s quite enough of that,” she said. “Now listen.” She told him the whole story, from Greg’s first appearance to his hasty departure this evening. “Has he really been in to the cop shop?”
“I’m pretty sure he hasn’t, but I’ll check. This could be very important, Lois. What did he say his address was? Sebastopol Street? That’s an odd coincidence. Your office there, and Dot Nimmo’s house.”
“And Hazel’s friend who lives next door to the office. She’s been there for quite a while. Between them, they should be able to give us a clue to the friend. Also, Greg’s been around for long enough for one of them to have seen him in the street. Nothing goes past Dot’s house without her knowing!”
“Useful for us,” said Cowgill, who had a healthy respect for Dot Nimmo. “How is Josie?” he added. “You know my nephew Matthew is very fond of her? Do we think that is a good idea?”
“Take it from me, Cowgill,” Lois said, “it won’t matter what we think. They’ll do just what they please. And a spot of romance is exactly what Josie needs right now.”
Lois heard Derek’s footsteps in the hallway downstairs. “Must go now,” she said.
“Do you need any help? Someone to scrub your back?” Cowgill held the phone away from his ear. But instead of an explosion he heard a click. Dear Lois. Her timing was perfect.
FORTY-THREE
DOT NIMMO TOOK LOIS’S CALL NEXT MORNING, AND IMMEDIATELY assured her that if a man called Greg Wilkins was anywhere in her part of Tresham, she would locate him. “Me and the Nimmo clan, Mrs. M,” she said, “we can find needles in haystacks. Not that there are many haystacks in Sebastopol Street! Give us a couple of hours, an’ I’ll get back to you.”
Lois grinned and sat back in her office chair. What would she do without Dot? She had nearly had to, when a hit-and-run merchant knocked Dot down and landed her in hospital, nigh unto death. That had been another occasion when Lois had been involved with Cowgill on a case. Her grin faded. Maybe Derek was right. Each time she had helped Cowgill, there had been danger to herself and other members of the family. An awful thought struck her. Had Rob been attacked and killed because of something she had done in the past? A revenge killing for getting a villain sent to the nick?
“Mum!” Lois yelled down to the kitchen for a strong coffee to boost her spirits. She told herself to use her common sense. It was extremely unlikely, surely, that she would be the subject of a revenge killing. And why Rob? Why not Derek, or one of her sons? Or herself? No, it didn’t make sense.
“Thanks,” she said, as Gran brought her a steaming mug.
“What’s wrong with you, me duck?” Gran said. She knew the signs.
Lois shook her head. “Nothing much,” she said.
“Still no news from the police?” Gran handed her a short-bread, and said that she had heard something that might interest Lois.
Lois said dully, “What do you mean? Gossip from the girls?”
“Certainly not,” Gran said. “Something Nancy Brown said on the phone just now. She was supposed to be coming round for coffee this morning, but rang to cancel it. Said Mark was ill in bed. She could hardly speak, and I reckon she was crying. I caught the word ‘serious,’ and then she was gone.”
“Oh my God,” Lois said. Here it was, happening again. Mark involved on the fringes of Rob’s case, or even in the middle of it, writing that card, and now he was seriously ill. She must find out why, and check out Sally T-J, in case she was in on it, too.
“Not good news, Mum,” she said, and drained her coffee mug. “I must make a call or two. I’ll let you know, if you’re thinking of supporting Nancy Brown at all.”
“I tried ringing back,” Gran said. “But there was no reply. Father out and mother sitting with Mark, I expect.”
SALLY T-J HAD ARRIVED AT THE SURGERY EARLY. SHE WANTED to give Mark every chance to turn up and join her. Her aunt had offered to accompany her, but she had assured her she would be fine, and Mark would be with her. Well, maybe he would be. She reckoned that in spite of all his troubles, he was a nice kid underneath. Just as well, really, if he was the father of this squiggle she had inside her. She looked at her watch. It was nine thirty, and there was no sign of him. The surgery list was running late, as usual, and she picked up a magazine to pass the time. The pages fell open at a photograph of a half-n aked model, and she was very pregnant indeed. Sally had a moment’s panic. Would she really look like that?
Oh, where was Mark? She wished now she had let her aunt come with her. She had been to the surgery on her own many times before, with coughs and colds and a sprained ankle when she fell off her aunt’s horse. But this was different! This was going to change everything for her. And for Mark! Where the hell was he?
NANCY AND JOE BROWN BOTH SAT IN MARK’S BEDROOM ON chairs placed close together. They could have been miles apart. No word had passe
d between them since they had discovered Mark this morning. They had sent for the doctor and been told the situation. It was not a matter of life and death, but the lad was going to feel terrible when he woke up. He would need support, sympathy and a listening ear to find out why he had made a suicide attempt. It was often a cry for help, the doctor said. It seemed like hours had passed since they started their vigil, and by tacit agreement they had not moved. Nancy stood up. “Have to go to the loo,” she whispered to Joe, and he did not look at her, but nodded.
Joe wondered if that little slag from the hall might know why his son had decided to take a handful of sleeping pills last night. Joe had strong suspicions that she was behind it. He knew the two of them had been spending a lot of time together, and if ever a pair was unsuited it was those two. His thoughts wandered on to when he and Nancy had found Mark seemingly nearly dead this morning, when his mother had taken him a cup of tea. A nagging voice told Joe that he should have known. He should have said good night to his son, made an effort to check that he was all right. But the lad often stomped in and went straight upstairs to his room, where he would lock the door and refuse to answer any approaches from his parents.
Thank God he hadn’t taken enough to end it all. Maybe he hadn’t intended to. Perhaps he just wanted somehow to draw his father’s attention to the fact that he was desperate and needed help? Joe slumped further into his chair and covered his face with his hands.
FORTY-FOUR
DOT NIMMO STOOD IN HER SMALL BACK GARDEN AND LOOKED up at the sky. It looked like rain, and she remembered she had left her brolly at a client’s house in Waltonby. She had been thinking about Mrs. M’s call, and was glad she had a free morning. This afternoon she was due to clean for Mrs. Parker Knowle, who lived in Tresham, and was only fifteen minutes away from Dot’s home. So that gave her plenty of time to think about the mysterious Greg Wilkins. Was he around here, for a start? He could be miles away, she told herself. But Dot had a nose for these things, and her instinct told her he was not far away. It was Dot’s nose that had been so useful to Lois in the past.
Dot wondered if Hazel at New Brooms’s office had been alerted, too. Perhaps she would pop in there first. No sense in the two of them going down the same route.
Hazel greeted Dot cheerfully. “What brings you out on the streets this morning?” she said.
Dot raised her eyebrows and said she’d be glad if Hazel would refrain from suggesting Dot had been out on the streets. “We Nimmos may have done some dodgy things,” she said, “but I ain’t never been reduced to goin’ on the streets!”
“Come on in and calm down,” said Hazel. “You know perfectly well I didn’t mean that. Give me a minute to check the phone, then I’m all yours.”
“Don’t need that,” Dot said. “Just wanted to ask you if you’ve spoken to Mrs. M this morning.”
“No, I haven’t. Why? Is something wrong? Nothing to do with Lizzie?” Hazel had left her small daughter safely with her mother-in-law, but you never knew these days.
Dot hastily assured her it was nothing to do with Lizzie. “Just checking. I have to call her myself later on. Thought she might have left a message for me on the office phone.”
“Highly unlikely, I would say,” Hazel said, “but I’ll check.”
There was no message, and Dot slipped out of the office and away before Hazel could ask any more questions. So it was just Mrs. M and herself on the trail of Greg Wilkins. That was how Dot liked it.
LOIS WORKED ALL MORNING IN HER OFFICE, AND WHEN SHE BEGAN to feel hungry she shut down her computer and made for the kitchen. Unusually, there were no good smells of cooking emerging.
Gran’s face was stern, and as soon as Lois came in, she went on the attack. “I suppose you don’t care that you’ve upset your long-suffering husband, Lois Meade,” she said angrily, and continued without a pause. “He was in a right mood after you’d gone down to Josie’s last night. If you ask me, which you haven’t, that so-called Greg Wilkins is up to no good, and the best thing you could do would be to send him packing, if necessary with help from your policeman chum. I agree with Derek. It’s a good thing someone round here has got some common sense. Now, what d’you want for lunch?”
“Blimey, have you finished, Mum? Are you sure I’m allowed lunch?”
Gran sighed. “It’s no good making light of it, Lois. You know you’re getting in deeper and deeper. We wouldn’t mind if you were any nearer finding Rob’s murderer, but you’re not, are you?”
Lois had to admit that Gran was right. “But that doesn’t mean I’m going to stop trying. There’s a lot we do know, and sooner or later it’ll all come together.”
“By ‘we’ I suppose you mean you and Cowgill?”
“And Josie, and you and Derek and anybody else who can help. Even Greg, though I agree with you that he’s looking more and more unreliable.”
Gran was somewhat mollified, and said, “Oh, I see, right then. I suppose we’d better just carry on. But for God’s sake be careful, Lois. It’s not just yourself you have to think about, you know. Now, d’you fancy scrambled eggs with cream and baby mushrooms?”
This was Gran’s proudest achievement, and although Lois knew that it was not really the healthiest of meals, she accepted with enthusiasm. Then the telephone rang, and she disappeared to answer it in her office.
It was a brief conversation. Mark’s mother was calling to say that he had woken up, been violently sick and looked pale and miserable. Would Elsie like to pop in and help cheer him up? It was probably best not to stay too long.
MARK BROWN WAS PROPPED UP ON PILLOWS, LOOKING PALE AND miserable, and the thought of Elsie Weedon visiting did nothing to cheer him up. He had surfaced with the memory of the desperate and awful thing he had done. His father had been sitting beside him when he woke, and had held his head over the bucket as he retched and retched. Through the unbelievable pain, he had still been aware of Joe’s hand smoothing his hair.
When the nausea had subsided, the next thing he thought of was Sally. Christ! He had been supposed to meet her at the surgery! He had asked if she had phoned, but she hadn’t. Without thinking, he’d asked Joe if he would ring the hall and tell her he was ill, and his father had been so surprised he had meekly left the room and made the call.
Then he shut his eyes and dozed until he heard women’s voices in the hall. Sally? No, it was old women’s voices, his mother and nosy old Elsie Weedon. He shut his eyes again, thinking he could pretend to be asleep. But it was too late, and the two women came in, his mother with her accustomed compassionate look fixed on her face, and his heart sank even further.
“Markie, how’re you feeling, dear?” Nancy Brown was trying hard to stem the tears, and Gran took over.
“Now then, Mark Brown,” she said. “What’s all this about? You’ve not been living in Farnden for two minutes before you’re in trouble. No need, you know. So what’ve you got to say for yourself?”
“How long have you got, Mrs. Weedon?” Mark said, stung by her accusing tone. His voice was getting stronger with each word. “And do you really want to know? You’d be the first person who did, and that includes your precious daughter Lois.” He glared at her, waiting for a reply, and to his surprise, Gran burst into peals of delighted laughter.
“That’s it, lad!” she said. “I knew you’d got it in you. Now you can shut up and rest for a bit while we do the talking. And don’t interrupt. You can have your say when we’ve finished.”
Nancy began to protest, but Gran was looking at Mark, and her soft heart lifted when she saw the glimmer of a smile on his pale face. “Carry on, Mrs. Weedon,” he said. “Say what you’ve got to say, and make it helpful.”
After what Gran considered a satisfactory time, she patted Mark’s hand and got up to leave. She heard another voice in the hall, and looked back at the pale lad languishing against his pillows. “I hope you’re feeling stronger now,” she said with a smile, and stood aside as what appeared to be a human whirlwind entered the roo
m.
“Mark! What the hell d’you think you’re doing? How could you, without talking to me first?” And then Sally flung herself on the bed beside him, smothered him with kisses, and also burst into tears.
Gran gave Nancy Brown a firm push out of the room, shut the door behind them, and the two retreated downstairs. “A cup of coffee, Mrs. Weedon?” Joe Brown said, appearing from the kitchen. Gran said that would be very nice, and anyway, she’d been wanting a word with him for some time.
FORTY-FIVE
ATHALIA LEE AND THE OTHER GYPSIES WERE CURSING, looking up at a leaden sky, and this time it had nothing to do with Long Farnden village. They had become mired in a tidal flood swollen by heavy rain, now fast approaching their stopping place by the river Loare.
“It’ll all be gone in a couple of days,” the publican had said to George and Jal, but added that the mud left behind took a lot of hard work to clear. “My customers are saying you lot have brought bad luck to the village. You’d better be on your way as soon as you can,” he had added mildly. He was not against the gypsies, and quite liked to see them arriving to and fro Appleby. It was a link with the past. There had been trouble with some of them, of course, like that rough pair with a killer dog, but they weren’t around so far this year.
Though the publican did not know it, this was not strictly true. The dog, admittedly dead, had arrived mysteriously on its own, and Jal had sworn he had seen one of the brothers, Harry, he thought, in the nearby town on market day. “Got the usual junk stall on the fringe,” he had said to George.