by Ann Purser
“You can say that again!” said Gladys hotly. “There’s me with me poor old legs, still going out charring. And the boys finding it more and more diffy to get casual work. They went off in search of it, and God knows where.” There, that should fix him.
“And yourself? Did you manage a break? Maybe with relations up north? Yorkshire, was it?”
It’s like shutters coming down, thought Cowgill, as he watched Gladys’s face close up. “Didn’t go nowhere,” she said. “Is that all you come for, to ask me about me hols? If so, I’m busy, and I’ll show you out.”
He had his answer. They were still up there. He returned to his car, and dialled Matthew’s number. He was on his way back to the station when he considered that they might have split up, and when he gave Clive a lift, the young fool was on his own for good.
THE RAIN HAD BECOME HEAVIER AS THE MORNING WORE ON, AND in the main street of Long Farnden, the usual river had formed, ending up in a lake by the blocked drain. In the past, men in orange jackets had turned up occasionally and had a go at freeing it, but seemed always to fail. The next storm would see the lake rising as deep as ever.
“We need milk,” said Gran, coming into Lois’s office and standing, hands on hips, waiting for instructions. She would never normally need these, but had looked out of the kitchen window and decided she was not going out, even the short distance down to the shop.
“I’ll go at lunchtime,” said Lois.
“You’ve got a team meeting, and there’s none for coffee.”
“Oh, all right then,” Lois answered, smiling at her mother’s transparency. “I’ll run down. What else do we need?”
With a short list of items, Lois pulled on her raincoat and set off. Her umbrella was worse than useless in the gusty wind that blew sharp flurries of hail into her face. She lowered it, and ran the last few yards to the shop steps.
“Morning, Mum!” said Josie, looking perky on the other side of the counter. “Terrible weather! Here, sit on the stool, and I’ll get us a coffee. There’s not likely to be many customers this morning.”
“I’ll hold the fort anyway,” said Lois. “I’m going into Tresham after the meeting, to see if I can find Dot. She hasn’t turned up at her job this morning, and I can’t get any answer on her phone. I need to go to the tax office anyway.”
“Matthew can help you with tax matters,” Josie said. “He’s a wizard at it. But then,” she said dreamily, “he’s a wizard at most things.”
“Except finding out who coshed your dad,” said Lois without thinking.
Josie drew herself up. “Then why has he gone chasing off to Yorkshire, do you suppose? They’re hot on the trail.”
“Mm,” said Lois.
Josie flounced off to the kitchen to make coffee, and Lois glanced idly at the newspapers on the counter. She turned to the property pages and saw that the hall was still advertised for sale. So the agents were not necessarily happy about Norrington’s offer. She hoped it would be settled soon, both for the sake of New Brooms and Andrew’s interior décor.
Josie returned, and said cheerfully that the gutter outside the back door was blocked again. “What we want is a good plumber,” she said, and then noticed the page her mother was reading.
“How did you get on at the hall with the new prospective buyers?” she asked.
“The Norringtons?”
“No, the ones who came last week. Blenkinsop was the name, so I heard.”
Lois marvelled at the ability of the village shopkeeper to know everything. “I liked them,” she said. “The wife was so excited about everything. I thought I’d never get home. But it would be nice if they got it. Much better than slimy old Norrington.”
The rain had stopped by the time Lois returned home, and she planned to tell Gran that the watery sunshine had turned the village into a fairyland of twinkling raindrops. But not in those words! Gran would never let her forget it.
“I think I’ll skip lunch,” she said to her disapproving mother. “I stayed too long talking to Josie, and I need to go into town after the meeting. See if I can catch Dot.”
“She rang,” said Gran.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“You didn’t give me a chance. She said she was poorly, and would let you know when she was well enough to come back to work. We didn’t have a chat like usual. She seemed in a hurry to end the call.”
Lois frowned. Such a bald message was unlike Dot. She would normally have organised her own replacement and added that she’d be back tomorrow, come hell or high water. “I think I’ll pop in and see if she needs anything,” she said.
When the team had gathered, they wanted to know all about Pickering, and Lois gave them an abbreviated account. She explained Dot’s absence, and asked if any of them had heard from her. No one had, but they confirmed that flu was everywhere. “People going down like flies,” said Sheila, adding that her Sam had been very middlin’ with it.
Lois asked them all to let her know at once if they saw or heard anything about Dot, noted their surprised faces and brought the meeting to an early close.
THE TAX MAN HAD BEEN HELPFUL, AND LOIS FELT REASONABLY cheered as she drove round to Sebastopol Street and parked outside New Brooms’ office. She opened the door and said to Hazel that she would be back in two minutes, after she had checked on Dot.
“Dot? I thought she’d sent a message?” Hazel said. She frequently saw her teammate walking from her house up and down the street. “I have been thinking, and I definitely haven’t seen her for a day or two.”
Lois walked along to the end of the street, and knocked at Dot’s door. No answer. She peered through the window, but there was nobody to be seen. She knocked again, and put her ear to the door. Sounds coming from the back of the house encouraged her to knock once more. Perhaps Dot was in the garden. But no, she was poorly. Perhaps she shouldn’t get the poor thing out of bed? She might have the flu that was rampant in town.
The sounds ceased, and still no one came to the door. Lois gave up, but thought she would ring Dot’s sister, Evelyn, later, to see if she had any news. She walked back down the street to the office and went in.
“No luck,” she said to Hazel. “I’ll try again tomorrow.”
“Don’t come in specially,” Hazel said. “I’ll go up after work and see how she is.”
Lois thanked her, and cautioned not to go into the house for fear of catching the bug. “Just make sure she is all right,” she said, and added, “and let me know how you get on.”
Hazel thought to herself that the boss was making a mountain out of a molehill, but she would do as Lois said. Anything to keep her happy.
FORTY-FIVE
LOIS HAD BEEN TRYING TO TALK TO EVELYN NIMMO ON AND off all day, and now it was half past seven and they were settling down for an evening of television.
“What’s eating you, duckie?” said Derek, patting the sofa for Lois to sit down next to him. “You’ve been like a cat on hot bricks all day.”
“Oh, it’s nothing, really. Just that I am a bit worried about Dot. She told Mum she was poorly, so I went to see if she needed help, but nobody answered the door. So I tried ringing Evelyn, but all I get is the answer phone. It seems odd, that’s all. Not like Dot.”
She sank onto the sofa and closed her eyes. She felt weary with anxiety, and decided she would have one more go at Evelyn before they went to bed. Dot lived all alone, and apart from her sister, she had no one keeping an eye on her in case she needed help. She had quarrelled with her neighbours—not surprising, this, since both sides had tried all ways to get rid of the Nimmos when her husband and son were alive. And although the Nimmo family members were numerous, most of the others regarded Dot with suspicion on account of her working for Lois Meade. They stayed well away.
At ten o’clock, Lois said she would go and make a cup of tea, and disappeared off to the kitchen.
“She’s going to ring Evelyn,” said Gran. “Won’t leave it alone until tomorrow. The woman might be
away on holiday. There’s sure to be a simple explanation.”
Derek shook his head sadly. “I’m afraid not,” he said. “When Lois gets one of her feelings that things are wrong, she’s always right. So now she’ll be off on her white charger to rescue Dot Nimmo. Just see if I’m not right.”
Sure enough, Lois came back with a tray of tea and said she had just got through to Evelyn. “She says Dot had rung her with the same message. She’s got flu, didn’t need anything and would ring when she was better. Said on no account to try to see her, as it was a really nasty bug and she didn’t want Evelyn to catch it.”
“There you are, then, that’s plain enough. I expect it’ll be a week or so before she’s back. Flu can be a devil to get rid of.” Gran finished her tea, leaned her head against a cushion, closed her eyes and said to wake her when the news came on. Derek waited until Gran was whiffling gently in her sleep, and then put his arm around Lois. “Are you happy now, me duck?” he said, pulling her close.
“Not sure,” said Lois.
“But whatever, it’ll wait until tomorrow. Shall we creep away upstairs and leave Gran to switch off the telly?”
Lois smiled. She looked at her mother, and whispered that they could try. They got as far as the door when, without opening her eyes, Gran said coldly, “Don’t worry about me. I’ll do it all. Switch off the telly, put the dog in the garden for a pee, lock all the doors and turn off the lights. Just bugger off, the pair of you.”
NEXT MORNING, LOIS WAS UP EARLY. SHE HAD DECIDED TO HAVE another try at Dot’s front door, and if there was still no reply, she would talk to Cowgill and ask his advice. This was not something she did often, if ever, but now she was really worried. The more she thought about Dot’s calls, the more suspicious she felt.
After breakfast, she announced that she would be in for lunch, as she planned half a day in the office in Sebastopol Street.
“Don’t you go chasing after Dot Nimmo,” said Gran. “We don’t want flu running round the family. It’s dangerous for old people like me.”
“You’ve had the jab,” said Lois. But she knew Gran was right. It was foolish to persist, when Dot had left perfectly sensible messages explaining why she was away from work. Still . . .
DOT SAT IN HER KITCHEN, STARING OUT THE WINDOW. HER unwanted companion had insisted on sitting in her bedroom all night, saying he would never trust a Nimmo and knew she would be trying every way of escaping. She had hardly slept, and felt fuzzy and confused.
“But you’d better not try to get away,” he said again when they had had a far from companionable breakfast together. “I’ve got a lot of contacts now, useful ones, an’ we all stick together. You could run wherever you like, Dottie, but we’d always find you. An’ then, God help ya!”
From a lifetime’s experience of lies and half-truths, Dot knew that he was telling the whole truth. She wished her head would clear so that she could think her way out of all this. The person she wanted to tell more than anyone was Mrs. M. Just her luck that it had been Gran who answered the phone. She only had to say one or two code words to Mrs. M, and she would know something was wrong. But this big idiot wouldn’t let her make any more calls.
He had taken her mobile, so she couldn’t even try from the lavatory. Every time her house phone rang, he forced her into a chair so that she couldn’t touch it. Then she heard her own voice on the answer phone and a message from Mrs. M, and was nearly reduced to tears of frustration.
Now he sat on the other side of the kitchen table, leafing through piles of old magazines he had found in the box room upstairs.
“Rotten selection,” he said, throwing a couple of knitting patterns on the floor. “Ain’t you got no decent mags? I like them top-shelf ones meself, but I don’t suppose they’d be much in your line.” He chuckled, and Dot felt sick. How much longer could she take this?
“There’s no food left in the fridge,” she said. “What you going to do about that? I can go for days, y’know, without anything, but you look to me like a greedy guts.”
He clenched his fist, but Dot dodged. “Wouldn’t you like me to go to the shop on the corner? If I promise to come straight back?” she said without much hope.
“You must be jokin’,” he replied. “No, Dottie dear, you’ll do what you’re told, and ask your sister to leave some shoppin’ on the doorstep. I’ll give you a list, and you can phone ’er. An’ you’ll not say more than I tell you, or else!”
He found a stub of pencil in his pocket, tore off the edge of the newspaper and laboriously wrote a shopping list for Evelyn. He gave it to Dot, and handed over her mobile phone. “Just the list, and yes and no to any questions she asks. Got it?”
“Why don’t you do it?” Dot asked slyly.
“Hah! You must think I was born yesterday! That would get her round here with a posse of the law, wouldn’t it? Just what you want? Don’t underestimate me, Dot Nimmo. I’ve learned a thing or two in the last few years, and I’m not about to be outsmarted by the likes of a silly woman. Here, do it.”
“Evelyn’s been a nurse,” Dot lied in a moment of inspiration. “She’ll want to come in and check me over. Don’t forget I’m supposed to be very poorly with flu.”
He paused in thought, and then brightened. “I’ve shot all the bolts and locked up, an’ the keys are in my pocket. So your nurse, if she really is one, can knock and call all she likes. She’ll not be let in.”
Dot thought of dialling Evelyn and shouting for help, regardless of this fool in front of her. But she looked at his piggy little eyes, and knew he wouldn’t hesitate to put her out of action if necessary. Then she looked down the list, and her spirits lifted. She took the mobile phone from him and dialled her sister’s number.
FORTY-SIX
“FOUR TINS OF SARDINES, DID YOU SAY, DOT?”
“Yes,” answered Dot dutifully.
“But you hate sardines! They make you sick, even the smell!”
“Yes.”
Evelyn frowned. “Are you sure you’re managing?” she said.
“No.”
“Then why—” The line cut out, and Evelyn did not finish her sentence. Oh my goodness, she said to herself, there really is something wrong. Without hesitating, she disconnected from Dot’s call and dialled Lois Meade. It never occurred to her to get the police. Nimmos never called the police.
HAZEL THORNBULL REMEMBERED AS SOON AS SHE TURNED INTO Sebastopol Street. She had completely forgotten to check on Dot yesterday after work. Mrs. M would kill her! Best to go at once, she decided, even if it meant opening up the office a few minutes late.
She parked her car and half ran up the street to Dot’s house. She knocked and called, but heard nothing. Stepping back, she looked up at the bedroom windows. They were drawn across, but as she peered hard, she could swear she had seen a face for a split second, looking out through a crack in the curtains, and then gone. Dot? Even in that fraction of a second, she knew it was not Dot. It had been a man’s face. Oh Lord, so Mrs. M was not making a fuss about nothing.
Sprinting back down the street to New Brooms’ office, she opened up and at once picked up the phone. Lois’s number was engaged, so Hazel set about opening the post. Best to keep busy until she could speak to Mrs. M, she thought, but her hands were clumsy, shaking as she opened the envelopes.
IN HIS BURROW IN THE WOODS, GERALD SAT HAPPILY FEEDING THE kitten tiny pieces of chicken. He had made a successful trip to the hall kitchen, checking first that Mrs. Tollervey-Jones was out. The locked door was child’s play, and he had rapidly raided the fridge, taking only milk and half the carcass of a cooked chicken, then from the freezer a couple of packets of fish fingers and two burgers. He calculated that it would do for the moment. Enough for him and the kitten, and he could always come again to replenish stocks.
He had locked the door and run back to the wood, where he checked that his car was still there. It was, untouched, with the brambles still drawn over the door, so no one had found it. Then home to the icehouse, similar
ly safe and undiscovered. He had pulled open the door and the kitten jumped to its feet and ran to greet him, purring loudly.
Now he had eaten, and so had the kitten. “I must give you a name,” he said. “What do you fancy? Marmaduke? Orlando the marmalade cat? Yes, that’s it. We had a book, Clive and me, when we were kids. Orlando the Marmalade Cat, it was called. He was ginger, like you. I think I’ll call you Orly for short.”
The kitten miaowed in answer, washed its paws and curled up in Gerald’s lap, where it went instantly to sleep.
Gerald sniffed. Oh God, cat mess. He had forgotten that the kitten would need to go outside. Now he couldn’t move in case he disturbed him. He closed his eyes. A nap for a few minutes would be a good idea. Then he would clean up the floor and take Orly outside.
His sleep was roughly interrupted by his mobile ringing insistently. He fumbled in his pocket and saw it was his mother calling.
“Wotcha want, Mum?” he said sleepily.
“Where are you and Clive? That’s what I want to know. I’ve had the fuzz here, a top fuzz, asking for your whereabouts. You’d better tell me, in case I send them where you are by accident. An’ what you bin up to, the two of you?”
The signal was breaking up, and she just made out Gerald’s answer before it cut out altogether. “Not far away now, Mum! Don’t you worry about us. Home soon, after everything’s—”
“Damn!” Gladys tried dialling again, but could get no signal. Still, at least he’d answered at last, and had said he was not far away. Home soon, he had said. She wished she had spoken to Clive, too. He was always more forthcoming than Gerald. Maybe next time. She was sure now that things would turn out all right. Luck of the devil, these Mowlems, she thought, and began to plan a welcome home meal for the pair of them.