The Sleeping Salesman Enquiry
Page 1
Contents
Acknowledgments
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-one
Twenty-two
Twenty-three
Twenty-four
Twenty-five
Twenty-six
Twenty-seven
Twenty-eight
Twenty-nine
Thirty
Thirty-one
Thirty-two
Thirty-three
Thirty-four
Thirty-five
Thirty-six
Thirty-seven
Thirty-eight
Thirty-nine
Forty
Forty-one
Forty-two
Forty-three
Forty-four
Forty-five
Forty-six
Forty-seven
Forty-eight
Forty-nine
Fifty
Fifty-one
Fifty-two
Fifty-three
Fifty-four
Fifty-five
Fifty-six
Fifty-seven
Fifty-eight
Fifty-nine
Sixty
Sixty-one
The
Sleeping Salesman
Enquiry
ANN PURSER
Praise for
The Wild Wood Enquiry
“This is a series spun-off from the Lois Meade Mysteries, and all three books to date have been excellent. [The] plot is original, the characters realistic and often humorous, and I love the golden-age romance between Ivy and Gus . . . [It’s] a richly satisfying cozy mystery, fronted by a firecracker of a senior citizen sleuth. Readers who enjoy British mysteries, particularly the cozy sub-genre, will love this book, and I am confident that if you enjoy the Lois Meade Mysteries you won’t be disappointed by the spin-off series.”
—MyShelf.com
The Measby Murder Enquiry
“This cozy will keep you guessing until the last page. A very fast story with a very unique main character in Ivy. Full of wit, animosity and friendships to keep.”
—Once Upon a Romance
“A pleasant read, evoking Saint Mary Mead and Miss Marple with its atmosphere of surface calm and hidden demons. It’s a solid book, cleverly plotted and tightly structured, with all the makings of a perennial favorite.”
—Curled Up with a Good Book
The Hangman’s Row Enquiry
“A delightful spin-off.”
—Genre Go Round Reviews
“Full of wit, venom and bonding between new friends.”
—The Romance Readers Connection
“Purser’s Ivy Beasley is a truly unique character, a kind of cross between Jessica Fletcher, Miss Marple and Mrs. Slocum from Are You Being Served?—just a delightful, eccentric old darling that readers are sure to embrace. Pair this with Purser’s charming storytelling technique, and you have a fast-paced tale that will keep readers guessing to the very end.”
—Fresh Fiction
Praise for the
Lois Meade Mysteries
“First-class work in the English-village genre: cleverly plotted, with thoroughly believable characters, rising tension, and a smashing climax.”
—Kirkus Reviews (starred review)
“Well paced, cleverly plotted and chock-full of cozy glimpses of life in a small English village.”
—Booklist
“Purser’s expertise at portraying village life and Lois’s role as a working-class Miss Marple combine to make this novel—and the entire series—a treat.”
—Richmond Times-Dispatch
“Fans of British ‘cozies’ will enjoy this delightful mystery, with its quaint setting and fascinating players.”
—Library Journal
“A strong plot and believable characters, especially the honest, down-to-earth Lois, are certain to appeal to a wide range of readers.”
—Publishers Weekly
“The characters are fun. The setting is wonderful . . . Anyone who delights in an English village mystery will have a good time with this book.”
—Gumshoe Review
“[Lois Meade is] an engaging amateur sleuth.”
—Genre Go Round Reviews
Titles by Ann Purser
Lois Meade Mysteries
MURDER ON MONDAY
TERROR ON TUESDAY
WEEPING ON WEDNESDAY
THEFT ON THURSDAY
FEAR ON FRIDAY
SECRETS ON SATURDAY
SORROW ON SUNDAY
WARNING AT ONE
TRAGEDY AT TWO
THREATS AT THREE
FOUL PLAY AT FOUR
FOUND GUILTY AT FIVE
Ivy Beasley Mysteries
THE HANGMAN’S ROW ENQUIRY
THE MEASBY MURDER ENQUIRY
THE WILD WOOD ENQUIRY
THE SLEEPING SALESMAN ENQUIRY
THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP
Published by the Penguin Group
Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
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THE SLEEPING SALESMAN ENQUIRY
A Berkley Prime Crime Book / published by arrangement with the author
Copyright © 2013 by Ann Purser.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
Berkley Prime Crime Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group.
BERKLEY® PRIME CRIME and the PRIME CRIME logo are trademarks of
Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
For information, address: The Berkley Publishing Group, a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.
ISBN: 978-1-101-58984-7
PUBLISHING HISTORY
Berkley Prime Crime mass-market edition / May 2013
Cover illustration by Griesbach / Martucci.
Cover design by George Long.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
Acknowledgments
With many thanks to Anne Sowards, my endlessly patient and skillful editor.
One
Winter—January
“THANK GOODNESS THAT’S over,” said Ivy Beasley to her fiancé, Roy Goodman.
She was, of course, referring to Christmas, a season of the year that she had not enjoyed since she was aged five, when she had come downstairs on Christmas morning to find no tree, no presents, and her father shut out to sleep in the shed as punishment for arriving home pleasantly drunk on Christmas Eve.
Ivy�
�s mother was long dead. Ivy herself was in her late seventies, early eighties—take your pick—but still occasionally heard her mother’s voice in her head. It was always caustic and critical, and although Ivy knew that sometimes her own voice was exactly like her mother’s, she tried her best to be her own self. Unfortunately, that self was sharp and self-righteous, so that when she arrived at Springfields Luxury Retirement Home in Suffolk, at the suggestion of her much younger cousin, Deirdre Bloxham, it was a huge surprise when she met Roy Goodman and they fell in love.
This was not the first time Ivy had experienced romance, but a never-to-be-forgotten suitor had left her standing at the altar. That had been in the village of Round Ringford, where she had spent all her life before moving to the retirement home in Barrington in Suffolk, and she was quite comfortable with a reputation as a tough spinster determined to arrange life as she wanted it, for as long as she was able.
And then Roy! He was a bachelor, already a resident in the home, and most of the time he had grown stiff and dull with boredom. Television, visits from a truly terrible singing group of patronising do-gooders, and the occasional trip out in a minibus labelled with a charity’s name writ large on the sides, were the chief entertainments in his life. When Ivy came along, he fell in love for the first time in his life. Properly in love, that is. He had been and still was an attractive man, and had had all the usual flirtations and affairs, but had never even considered taking a girl to the altar.
Now it was all different. He had carried on a campaign to get Ivy to name the day ever since they became engaged, and she had actually suggested Christmas as a time when the home would be festive, anyway, so they might as well make use of decorations and all that nonsense, and celebrate their nuptials at the same time.
But Christmas had come and gone, and still Ivy prevaricated. At last she could resist Roy’s blandishments no longer, and said May the fifth would do very well.
Mrs. Spurling, the person in charge of Springfields and a woman with very little patience, had sighed. She had given up all hope of getting this marriage out of the way swiftly and bringing routine and order back into the lives of her residents. However, her assistant, Miss Pinkney, a more gentle soul and a true romantic, persuaded her to begin planning, and offered to take as much of the responsibility off her boss’s shoulders as should be required.
Now Ivy and Roy sat in the lounge after lunch and were silent for a few minutes. Then Roy said, “I know you are reluctant to talk about our wedding day, my love, but could I suggest Enquire Within leaves the subject of our next assignment until after May?”
“Certainly not!” said Ivy, with some asperity. “For one thing, what are Deirdre and Gus to do with themselves if we are not usefully enquiring?”
Gus was Augustus Halfhide, a somewhat mysterious character who had moved to the village for no apparent reason, and maintained a protective wall of unwillingness to answer any nosey villager’s questions about his past. Along with Ivy and Roy, Deirdre Bloxham and Augustus Halfhide completed the enquiry agency team nattily entitled Enquire Within, and the team had solved several serious crimes in and around Barrington over the past few years.
Needless to say, the local police were reluctant to admit that two old folks in a retirement home, together with a merry widow and an oddly reclusive incomer, could be of any detecting use at all. They had been proved wrong, but still handled Enquire Within with suspicious reserve.
“As always, beloved,” said Roy, “I’m sure you are right. Shall we call an extra meeting for Tuesday, and meanwhile reserve some time having fun planning our wedding?”
Ivy, who had unbelievably softened in her approach to this particular man, stroked his hand and said that if anyone asked her, she would say she was the luckiest woman alive.
Two
THE WIND HAD a wintry chill as Ivy and Roy—he expertly steering his trundle along the pavement—made their way up the gentle slope that led to Deirdre Bloxham’s strangely triangular-shaped house, fancifully named Tawny Wings. She always described it as a letter “Y” without a leg to stand on. The house had been built by a successful builder in the nineteen twenties and Deirdre’s husband, Bert, a motor trade tyro, now sadly deceased, had bought it at a stage in their lives when they felt able to move a few rungs up the social ladder.
“Just as well we settled for hats, scarves and gloves this morning,” said Ivy.
“I’m not used to wrapping up, beloved,” said Roy. “A farmer has no truck with scarves and gloves when he’s out on the fields on a bitter winter’s morning. Takes a bit of getting used to being mollycoddled.”
“Huh!” Ivy replied. “No one has ever accused me of mollycoddling anyone! But I intend to get you as far as May the fifth in one piece, so just put your coat collar up and do as you’re told.” To soften this outburst, she bent over and kissed the top of his head, then resumed her smart pace beside him up the hill.
“Hey! Wait for me, you two!” A tall, thin man with sparse hair flying in the wind came puffing up to them. “Morning, Ivy, Roy. You’re walking as if you mean business! Pink of health, both of you?”
It was Gus, the fourth member of Enquire Within, and Barrington’s mystery man, though not so mysterious as he had been for a year or two after he arrived. Now everyone knew that he was divorced from a dreadful woman who had nearly shattered his life before he fled, and had then turned up again to make trouble, and a case for Enquire Within, not so long ago. Village people were also pretty sure that Augustus Halfhide had been some sort of secret agent working for MI5 or 6, or maybe even 7, if it existed. All very hush-hush, and all, they presumed, in the past.
“And how are you, young man?” asked Roy kindly. Ever the peacemaker, he was good at anticipating Ivy’s sharp replies, but not soon enough this time.
“If you ask me,” she said, “Gus could do with a daily dose of Deirdre’s golfing. Has she got you out on the course yet? Very good for the breathing, golf, so I’m told.”
Before Gus could defend himself, they arrived at Tawny Wings, and Deirdre opened the door. “Saw you coming,” she said. “Cold morning, folks! All ready for coffee and a brainstorming session?”
“A what?” said Ivy.
“Never mind, dearest,” said Roy. “All will become clear when we are safely settled in the warm with a cup of Deirdre’s excellent coffee.”
• • •
“NOW, ARE WE sitting comfortably? Everybody got coffee? Then we’ll begin.”
Ivy straightened herself in her chair, and said, “Deirdre! Will you kindly stop behaving as if we were visiting infants from the village school. Now, Roy, first, shall we tell them our news?”
“Of course, Ivy. Over to you.”
“Roy and I,” she began, “are going to be married in a quiet ceremony with no fuss on May the fifth.”
There was a stunned silence. “But, Ivy,” said Deirdre, “last time you announced your marriage, it was going to be the Christmas just gone. And it didn’t happen. Are you sure about May?”
Roy said hastily that he for one was absolutely sure, and for this momentous day in his life he would see that Ivy was the one standing by him at the chancel steps in the village church.
“Well-done, Roy! We’ll get her there if we have to carry her!” Gus saw Ivy’s expression and laughed. “Come on, Ivy Beasley,” he said. “It’ll be a great day, and I hereby offer to give the bride away.”
“So who is to be your best man, Roy? Gus can’t be in two places at once.”
“Well, I have given it some thought, and as you all know, I have a nephew who turns up here occasionally and spends half an hour making sure that I am still alive and my bank balance is secure. I thought it would be appropriate to ask him. He is my only remaining close relative, and who knows—may one day be my heir.”
“Are you sure he’s a good choice?” said Deirdre.
“Once a businesswoman, always a businesswoman,” said Ivy scathingly. “I suppose you mean that unless Roy has stipulated otherwise, I
should be the one to inherit his millions?”
Deirdre bridled. “I’m only being practical,” she protested. “You have to think of these things.”
“Exactly, my dear,” said Roy, and smiled. “And thank you, Ivy beloved. I shall give the whole matter some more thought. Now, shall we change the subject?”
Talk then progressed on general lines, but Ivy was thinking private thoughts. She had truly not realised that if Roy should, after their marriage, die before her, without making a will, she would inherit his considerable wealth. There had been several farms in his family, now all tenanted, and he seemed to have no worries about finance. Not that she was interested for herself, as she had benefitted from a pair of miserly parents, who had left her a tidy sum. But to protect him from unknown eventualities, she decided to take the next opportunity of asking him tactfully about his will.
But could she do that? After all, he might get suspicious if she started talking about making wills. She could be planning to marry him, poison his porridge, and skip off to the Bahamas with a scheming toy boy! No, she would just have to take things as they came.
“So what do you think, Ivy?” Deirdre tapped her on the shoulder.
“About what?”
“I knew you weren’t listening! About our next case, of course. The man at the bus stop. The one Roy met at the end of our last case. He was having trouble with his wife and suspected foul play from the family. Roy suggested we might be able to help and gave him our details. Wasn’t that it, Roy?”
“Afraid I don’t remember the conversation exactly. But I think that’s more or less right. I think she wanted a divorce, and he wasn’t having any.”
“As a matter of fact I remember clearly,” said Ivy. “It might be interesting to find out more. But how are we to find a strange man Roy met at the bus stop? Did you take his details, Roy?”
“Sorry, no. But I can describe him pretty accurately. I could try being at our bus stop at the right time of day for a few days. He might show up again. Not a very scientific investigation, I realise, but sometimes a simple solution is best.”
Ivy frowned. “I can’t allow you to hang about the bus stop for hours in this cold wind. It is a ridiculous idea, if you ask me. You others must back me up on this.”