by Ann Purser
“Olde Timbers has a number. You could always just have a number. A lot of people prefer that.”
“Oh dear, no. Much too impersonal. I am sure the hall has a number, but can you imagine anyone using it?”
Lois sighed. This really did not come into the remit of New Brooms. Still, it would give them something to talk about this evening. She could ask Gran and Derek for help, and chuckled when she anticipated their likely suggestions.
“Do you want a cuppa?” Gran said, putting her head round the door. “You’ve been in there for hours. And if I’m not mistaken, you are about to have a visitor.”
Lois looked across at the window. “Where?”
“Just parking outside. Not Josie’s Matthew, but our other friendly neighbourhood policeman.”
Lois groaned. “Oh no. Not Cowgill?”
“The very same,” answered Gran. “Shall I show him in here?”
“If you can’t get rid of him, yes.”
“Have you ever tried to get rid of Cowgill? You don’t argue with Cowgill, as you well know. I’ll show him in.”
Two minutes later, Gran tapped at Lois’s door and opened it. “Inspector Cowgill is here to see you. Tea, Inspector?”
Why was Gran offering him tea? Lois glared at her, and she grinned back. “Sugar and milk?” she added, and disappeared fast.
“So I see you’re back in harness, Lois dear,” Cowgill said. “Did you have a good journey?”
“Let’s cut the pleasantries, shall we,” replied Lois. “I am extremely busy, as you guessed.”
“Ah, yes. New Brooms business, I am sure. The trip to Pickering was all pleasure, I hope. Just so lucky that you were able to find poor old Harry, God rest his soul, and also give me useful information about the Mowlem brothers, who, by the way, seem to have vanished from the face of the earth. That is, Gerald is missing. It is really about the other one, Clive, that I am here.”
Gran knocked once more. She brought in a small tray with an embroidered cloth, a cup and saucer of the best china and a plate of newly baked shortbread. She said nothing, but retreated rapidly, shutting the door with exaggerated care.
Lois held up her thick china mug, luridly decorated with dogs, and said, “What have you got that I haven’t, Inspector Cowgill?”
“Absolutely nothing,” Cowgill said seriously. “In fact, the thing I most want, I cannot have. As you must know by now. But let us return to the Mowlems. Before I left Pickering, I gave a lift to a man who looked every inch a tramp. I asked him one or two questions, and he indicated that he was dumb. Used his hands in sign language, which I could not understand. Now, I need to know from you or Josie anything you can remember about the thief who took cash from the shop.”
“I can tell you what Josie told me,” said Lois. “You’ll have to ask her if you want more. She was very upset, I remember. Said this lorry with two men in it stopped outside the shop. The driver was a big man, and he stayed in the cab, whilst a little runt of a man came in and asked for cigarettes—”
“Asked for, did you say?” Cowgill interrupted.
“Yes, he asked for cigarettes. They were out of the brand he wanted, and when she went out to the stockroom, he emptied the till. Very quick and expert, he was.”
Cowgill took a deep breath. “Lois,” he said softly, “I have been fooled by a small-time, ignorant little thief.”
“You mean Clive?”
Cowgill nodded. “It was Clive who accepted a lift. Mind you, he made a fatal mistake. After all that waving his hands about, when he got out of the car, he grinned proudly, and thanked me for the lift. Thanked me in the spoken voice, Lois. Obviously couldn’t resist it. If he hadn’t been such an idiot, I would probably never have given him a second thought.”
“I know what Gran would say,” Lois said, unable to suppress a smile. “Pride comes before a fall. Clivey boy will live to regret it, won’t he?”
Cowgill drank his tea. “There is one more thing I need to know, and I’m afraid neither you nor Josie will be able to help. Did he recognise me? That is the question. If he did, he could be anywhere by now.”
“He might still be the easiest to find. Gerald most likely took the car and abandoned his brother. What a berk! Thank goodness it’s your baby now, Hunter. Let me know when you catch them, and I will come along and gloat.”
Cowgill shook his head. Warmed by Lois’s use of his Christian name, he was encouraged to go further. “Oh yes,” he said sadly. “We’re pretty sure to catch them sooner or later. Alive or dead. But that won’t be much comfort to me. Perhaps I should consider early retirement?”
“Don’t fish for compliments,” Lois said brusquely. “You know you’re admired and feared countrywide.”
“All right, all right! But seriously, Lois, we shall wrap this up much quicker if you’re still willing to help. The longer it takes, the more likely it is that something even nastier will occur. Together, the brothers Mowlem were nuisance enough, but singly, God knows what might happen.”
FORTY
DOT NIMMO WALKED PURPOSEFULLY THROUGH THE BACK streets of Tresham, on her way to visit—“tackle” would be a better word—her erstwhile friend Gladys Mowlem. She had thought over her trip with Mrs. M, and after the drama of Harry’s violent death, and sightings of the Mowlem brothers, it was her duty, she told herself, to let Gladys know what was going on.
This was only partly the truth. Dot found it impossible to believe that Gladys was totally without contact with her sons, or for that matter, with the amorous Harry. The criminal world had an efficient network of communication, and Dot intended to chat to Gladys, leak out one or two snippets of information and judge what she already knew.
Dot knocked loudly. She knew Gladys was deaf, though she hotly denied it. There were no signs of movement in the house, so she knocked again. The knocker was heavy, black iron, and even slightly deaf Gladys would have heard it.
After waiting patiently for a few minutes, Dot stooped, pushed open the letter box and shouted at the top of her voice: “Gladys! It’s Dot Nimmo! Open up—I’ve got news for you!”
This did the trick, and Dot heard shuffling steps coming to the door.
“There’s no need to shout, Dot,” Gladys said. “I’m not deaf.”
“What took you so long to answer, then?” Dot took in the uncombed hair, grubby dressing gown and down-at-heel slippers. “Can I come in? You don’t look so good, Gladys. I’ll make you a cup of tea.” She pushed her way past Gladys and headed for the kitchen.
Unwashed dishes filled the sink, and the remains of a plate of cold, greasy chips stood on the table.
“Gladys Mowlem!” Dot said, turning to confront her. “What on earth is going on here?” Dot had always thought Gladys untrustworthy and sly, but she had also admired her housekeeping skills, especially as she coped so well in the face of a husband in jail and two sons who were more than likely to end up in the same place.
Money was short, Dot knew that, and poor old Gladys had to go out skivvying to keep the house going.
“I’ve not been well,” Gladys said now. “And there’s nobody to help me out, now that the boys have gone. I don’t hear from them, you know, and I understand that. But, well, you know . . .”
“Sorry about that,” said Dot, briskly clearing away dirty plates and filling the kettle. “It just so happens that I might have seen your Gerald and Clive in the last few days.”
Gladys’s face took on a wary look. “Oh yeah? Where was that, then?”
“Oh, up north. I was up there on business.”
“What business?” Gladys thought she knew the only business Dot was into was the same as hers—cleaning other people’s houses.
“Well, part business, part pleasure,” answered Dot. “Went on a wonderful steam train. My God, Gladys, that took me back!”
“At Pickering, was it?” said Gladys. As soon as it slipped out, she knew it was a mistake. Dot was onto it like a terrier with a rabbit.
“You know Pickering, do you? Love
ly place. Didn’t your Harry used to live up there somewhere?”
And then she knew instantly that Gladys had been told the bad news. Dot watched as her friend’s eyes filled with tears, and she slumped down on a chair by the table, covering her face with her hands.
“You knew, then? Who told you, Gladys? Was it your boys? Poor old Harry didn’t stand a chance, so I gather. Bashed on the back of the head so hard that he never regained consciousness.” That was a bit of a lie, but only a necessary white one. Dot was not about to make it worse for Gladys by telling her that Harry’s last word had been “Mowlem.”
So Gladys must have heard from the boys. An edited version, no doubt, but she was not stupid. Useless as they were, Gerald and Clive had never, to Dot’s knowledge, been done for grievous bodily. But now it looked as if the next charge against them might be murder. Dot looked around at the chaotic kitchen, and decided that Gladys had worked this out for herself. No wonder the poor old thing had collapsed!
“Now then, Gladys, I don’t think we have to spell it all out. You need help, that’s obvious, and we’re old friends. You and me, we go back a long way. So I am offering help. First thing, clear up the house. That’ll cheer you up for a start. Then we’ll get out of here and go to the Chinese up the road for a bite to eat. And as for the rest, you got my telephone number and can give me a ring anytime. I reckon things might get worse, and you’re goin’ to need a friend.”
DOT WAS PLEASED WITH HERSELF WHEN SHE CONSIDERED HER morning’s work. As she got ready to go over to her client in Fletching, she wondered whether to tell Mrs. M immediately about Gladys, or to leave it until Gladys phoned her, as she was sure to, and then see what information she had to give.
As she took out her key to let herself into her house, she stopped suddenly. A well-honed instinct told her there was somebody behind her, someone who had been following her and now was up close. Do nothing. Wait for him to make the first move. It was all coming back to her. Soon after their marriage, Handy had told her the basics of self-preservation, and now here it was, the need to use them.
She waited. Then a voice hissed in her ear. “Open up, Dot. Don’t turn around; just open up and go in. I’ll be following.” As he spoke, she felt a hand grip her arm.
She did as she was told. She turned the key and pushed open her front door, and when inside and the door had banged shut behind her, she turned around.
“Wotcha, Dot! Long time no see, eh? We go back a long way, you and me.”
She stared at him, struggling to place him. Where had she seen him before? He answered her unspoken question.
“I bin away for a few years, an’ a hard life in the nick changes a person. Don’t you remember when we were Bert and Dot, a close twosome, sweethearts at school? That were before Handy muscled in on me. Still, Gladys were a good substitute, but I can’t go home for a bit. So now then, Dot,” he added, his tone changing to a harsh growl. “You bin a busy girl, ain’t yer? Get goin’, then, into the back kitchen. I got news for you, as they say on the telly.”
FORTY-ONE
“WOW! WHAT’S ALL THAT ABOUT?” DEREK BLINKED AS HE looked up from the remains of an early snack lunch. Lois had said she was going upstairs to change, and as she came into the kitchen, he blinked. She was quietly smart in a tailored black suit and crisp white shirt, and most unusually for Lois, high-heeled black shoes. She had secured her long, silky dark hair in a tortoiseshell clip, and was discreetly made up.
“Got an appointment,” she said mysteriously.
“Not at the police station, I hope,” muttered Derek, but not softly enough.
“I heard that, and no, not at the cop shop,” Lois replied crossly. “I’m sure you haven’t forgotten your daughter is getting wed in the New Year. No good leaving things to the last minute. Josie and me are going into that new wedding dress place in Tresham. And I don’t intend to let her down by going in my floor-scrubbing gear. Satisfied?”
“Can I come?” said Gran, without much hope.
“No,” said Lois flatly. “Did Grannie come when you and me went to get the material for my wedding dress? This is a mother and daughter togetherness day.”
Derek raised his eyebrows and said nothing more. Lois teetered around the kitchen, and then suddenly collapsed into stifled laughter. “Oh my God, Derek, what am I saying? I sound like some awful women’s mag! But I did think it would be nice to dress up a bit.”
“And you look so good you’ll be mistaken for the bride-to-be,” said Derek gallantly. This was more like his Lois.
“And of course you can come, Mum, if you want to,” continued Lois.
But Gran had taken the hint, and said thanks for the offer, but she had to go round to see Joan about WI teas.
LOIS HAD NO IDEA THAT CHOOSING A WEDDING DRESS COULD TAKE so long. Josie must have been through every single model in the shop, and was still undecided. She could not help remembering her own wedding. She and Gran had bought yards of white brocade and taken it proudly home. Then Gran had hoovered every single speck off the front room carpet and they had spread out the material, pinned on the pattern and cut it out, ready to sew up on Gran’s old treadle sewing machine.
Dare she suggest this as an alternative? No, part of the whole expensive business these days was buying a wedding dress that would most likely be worn only once, but stay in the cupboard as a reminder of a magical day.
Lois knew that some people cut up their wedding dress for use as a christening gown for the first baby. And the top tier of the wedding cake for the christening! Lois had always thought this a terrible idea. How did it taste? Still, nowadays the christening often followed so soon after the wedding that the cake could be quite fresh.
“Mum? What do you think?” Josie broke into Lois’s reverie, and twirled around in a beautiful cream silk gown with long sleeves that ended in a point over her hand, and a short train trailing behind her. A long line of silk-covered buttons emphasized Josie’s slender shape, and Lois was near to tears as she looked at her only daughter.
“Wonderful,” she said, sniffing. “That’s the one. And don’t tell me the price,” she added to the assistant. “Just take my card.”
The assistant laughed, and said that in her opinion, Josie had chosen the loveliest dress in the shop. “I bet you say that to all the brides-to-be!” said Josie, having a last twirl in front of the long looking glass.
“Actually, I don’t,” said the girl seriously. “I am sure you agree with me, Mrs. Meade.”
Lois looked at her more closely. “Sorry, but I think I should recognise you?” she said. After all, the girl had known her name was Meade.
The answer was a surprise. “I’m Mrs. Nimmo’s niece, Barbara,” she said. “One of the dreaded Nimmos, but I try to keep that quiet. I shall be glad when it’s my turn to take on a different name at my own wedding!”
“Nimmo? Dot Nimmo’s niece?”
The girl nodded, and laughed again. “There you are, you see; you look horrified.”
Lois denied this hotly, and said she was really pleased to meet another Nimmo. “Dot is one of my best team members. Mind you,” she added, “they are all nice women. But Dot is a great character, isn’t she.”
“The best,” said Barbara. “She has been very kind to me over the years.”
At this point, the manageress came in from the back room, and Barbara shifted back into shop assistant mode. “Ah, there you are. Just look at Josie in this gown,” she said to her boss. “Isn’t it beautiful?”
“Both the dress and the bride will outshine all others,” said the manageress lavishly.
“You wait ’til you see Mum,” said Josie, allowing Barbara to take the dress away.
Lois had already chosen a dove grey dress and jacket, with a grey straw hat to match. A small spray of white ostrich feathers tucked into the hatband was her only ornament. She had already decided that on no account would she compete with the bride, unlike some mothers she had seen. This would be Josie’s day.
The manage
ress disappeared again to make notes on small alterations, and Lois asked Barbara if she saw much of her Aunt Dot.
“Quite often,” Barbara answered. “We live at the other end of Sebastopol Street, almost opposite your office. My dad died some years ago, got killed in a car accident. Hit-and-run. Nimmos specialise in those. So there’s just Mum and me, and we live very quietly.”
“We’ll tell Dot we met you, and how you helped Josie find the ideal wedding dress,” said Lois as they turned to leave the shop. “Hope we see you again when we come to collect.”
DOT HAD NOT FELT HER EARS BURNING AS HER NIECE TALKED about her with the Meades. In fact, she was very cold, cold through and through. First, because the wind had turned as she walked home, and now came from the north, whistling through the gap in the ill-fitting back door, and causing a draught from front to back of the old house.
Second, she was not at all happy about being forced to sit in her own back kitchen, whilst an ugly brute of a man she had at first failed to recognise threatened her with a gun.
She had done as she was told, and sat only half listening whilst he talked a load of nonsense about what he would do to her. Make a plan as soon as possible, Handy would have said. Don’t antagonise him, but make him feel he’s got you where he wants you. And then, when you’ve made a plan, act on it.
“Are you listening to me, Dot Nimmo?” He put his ugly face close to hers, and stuck the gun into her ribs. “I always mean what I say, and you’d best attend to it.”
“I ain’t goin’ nowhere. And I am listening to every word. You’ll have no trouble from me. After all, I owe you something for old times’ sake.”
He frowned. This was not like the Dot Nimmo he remembered. Meek and mild? Huh! What was she up to?
“Right,” he said. “Now this is what we’re going to do. I need a place to stay for a bit, and I need a woman who knows how to keep her mouth shut. You came instantly to mind, Dot. Plenty of practice in the past! But I believe in belt and braces, so I’ll just make sure you don’t try a runner.”