by Ann Purser
“What? Old Herbert? Why on earth …? It’s a bit sudden, isn’t it, Mrs. M?” Enid Abraham was usually the quiet one. Steady and reliable, she ran her mill house as a bed and breakfast, and fitted in all her jobs with characteristic efficiency.
“Did you know him, Enid?” Lois was surprised at her outburst, and frowned. “Wasn’t he getting a bit past looking after himself?”
Enid shook her head vigorously. “Right as rain. Certainly had all his marbles, and his house was clean as a new pin. And his garden well looked after.”
Sheila Stratford nodded. “Old Herbert was fine,” she said. “Walked that little dog morning and evening every day, and he’d go quite a long way. My Sam used to meet him in the woods sometimes. He was in really good shape for his age. Did he have a stroke or something?”
Lois shrugged. “I really don’t know,” she said, and told them about her interview with Reg Abthorpe. “Anyway,” she added, “it’s not our business to know the client’s personal circumstances. We just go in there and do what we’re told. I’m going in myself at first, and then I’ll probably send you, Enid, if you’ve got time.”
The door opened and Bill came in. “Morning all,” he said cheerfully. “What have I missed, Mrs. M?”
“Not a lot, Bill,” said Lois, and gave him instructions for the coming week. Then she mentioned Herbert Everitt, and he showed no reaction. “Good,” he said. “Another client in the village cuts down travelling time! Blackberry Gardens, did you say? Who’s going to do it?” He looked round the team, and they all looked at Lois.
“I am, at first,” she said. “Then Enid, probably. She knew Mr. Everitt. His nephew said the old boy expects to come back to the house, but there’s no prospect of that.”
“Why don’t they put it on the market, then?” Bill said.
“That’s their business,” said Lois, sharply now. “Anyway, let’s get on.”
“Um, before we do, could I just ask where Mr. Everitt has gone?” Enid flushed. “I’d like to visit the old boy, if possible.”
Lois sighed. “I’ve no idea,” she said, “but I’ll try to find out from Mr. Abthorpe. He lives in Suffolk, but I’ve got his number. I’ll let you know, Enid. Now, can we change the subject, else Hazel’ll never get back to Tresham.”
Hazel manned the office in Tresham, which was always shut on Monday mornings because of the team meeting. She should open it up at two thirty, and Lois could see time slipping by. “Any questions or suggestions?” she said. Nobody said anything. They had known Lois for a long time, most of them, and were well aware that she was ready to wind up the meeting.
“I saw the new woman from Hornton House in the shop,” Sheila ventured after a pause. “She said her daughter is looking for a part-time job, and I said I’d mention it to you.”
Lois nodded. “Fine,” she said. “I’ve made a note.” She looked around the familiar faces, and said, “Thanks a lot everybody. Any problems, let me know. Have a good week.”
After they’d gone, Lois went into the kitchen where Gran was making a sandwich. “I’m just going out for a few minutes,” she said, and Gran looked mutinous. “What about this sandwich, then? You can’t go without something to eat.”
“I’ll not be more than a few minutes,” Lois said. “Just going to see Josie in the shop.” Josie was her daughter, who had run the village shop successfully for some while.
“Can’t it wait?”
“No. Back soon.”
Lois set off down the street towards the shop, but she did not go in. She carried on and branched off into a close of detached modern houses—Blackberry Close. As she approached the one for which she had the key, she stopped and looked around. Nobody about. She walked up the path and disappeared into Herbert Everitt’s empty house, unaware that although there was not a soul to be seen, behind net curtains there were watching eyes.
“HI, MUM.” JOSIE WAS STANDING AT THE OPEN DOOR of the shop. “I saw you go by. D’you want a cuppa? It’s a slack time, and we can keep an eye open for customers.”
Lois shook her head. “Love to,” she said, “but Gran will kill me if I don’t eat the sandwich she cut for me half an hour ago. But I’ll come down after closing time this afternoon—I want to ask you about old Mr. Everitt.”
“Old Herbert? Haven’t seen him for a while …”
“Right, well, I’ll be down later.” Lois hurried away up the street to face Gran’s wrath. But when she greeted her bravely in the kitchen, Gran’s mind was on something else.
“I’ve been thinking,” she said.
“Oh, no,” groaned Lois.
“Thinking about Herbert Everitt,” Gran continued.
“Don’t you think it’s a bit odd that none of us knew he was ill and couldn’t manage? I wouldn’t swear to it, but I’m sure he looked very sprightly last time I saw him out walking.”
“I suppose you don’t remember when that was?”
“No, but it was quite recently. Why don’t you ask Josie? He was a regular at the shop.”
“I will,” Lois said. “But it isn’t really any of our business. Still, Enid wants to visit him, so I’ll try to find out where he’s gone. I hardly dare ask,” she continued, “but is my sandwich …?”
“I ate it,” Gran said shortly.
T
HREE
IT WAS COSY IN THE STOCKROOM AT THE BACK OF THE shop. Josie and Lois sat on stools either side of an electric fire, insulated by boxes and packages on shelves that reached to the ceiling. A small sink and electric kettle served for quick snacks during the day, and now with mugs in hand, mother and daughter chatted comfortably about the day’s events—which were small and unsurprising, and part of the everyday life of Long Farnden.
But there was one episode not so easily absorbed and forgotten by Lois. Her visit to Blackberry Gardens and Herbert Everitt’s house returned naggingly, and she finally opened the subject with Josie. “So what can you tell me about Herbert?”
Josie thought for a moment, and then said, “Not a lot. His name was Herbert and he never allowed anyone to shorten it to Bert. He had been married years ago, but his wife died early. They had no children, and he was sad about that. But he had his little dog and I think he was happy. No, not happy, more resigned to being old and alone except for Spot. He liked it in the village, because people were friendly.”
“Did he go to the pub?” Lois could see that in fact Josie knew quite a lot about Herbert Everitt. Most village people liked Josie, and told her their life stories given half a chance. It had come in useful to Lois in the past, and now looked like being so again. Not, she told herself, that she suspected anything sinister in his going away, but some background information would be useful in the cleaning job. She deceived herself, of course, but it was early days.
“Oh yes, he liked a pint.” Josie smiled. “I think Spot had a sip or two. The old boys in the dominoes school welcomed him in, which, as you know, is the seal of approval in Long Farnden. He had some stories to tell, so he said. His dad had been a bit of a dodgy character, apparently. Not always the right side of the law. He seemed quite proud of him.”
“Did he ever talk about the rest of his family—sisters, brothers, cousins?”
Josie shook her head. “Nope. Always said he was alone in the world, and when he was depressed he’d say nobody cared whether he lived or died. I used to point to Spot outside the shop with his lead on the dog hook, waiting patiently. ‘He’d care,’ I’d say, and that’d cheer him up nine times out of ten.”
“He must have some relations,” said Lois, frowning. “That Mr. Abthorpe is his nephew, which means he had or has a brother or sister. Still, they’re all in Australia, apparently. Only Reg Abthorpe left here.”
Josie looked at her curiously. “Are you worried, Mum? Sniffed out something wrong?”
Lois stood up and took her mug to the sink. “Well, I went to Herbert’s house this morning. You saw me passing by. It was creepy, Josie. Not cold or damp or anything. In fact it was quite plea
santly warm, and everything tidy and clean. Well, a bit of dust here and there, but nothing to speak of. There’s magazines on the table, and a newspaper folded neatly by the bed. The bed’s still made up with clean sheets. And the fridge! Still stocked up with instant meals, milk—sour, of course—and wrinkled apples.”
“What were the sell-by dates?” asked Josie the shopkeeper.
“Good girl,” said Lois approvingly. “I looked at those. All out of date about three weeks ago. And the newspaper dated around the same time. So that’s when he went …” Lois reached for her jacket. “I must be getting back. Nice having a chat. It’s closing time now, so you can lock up. See you tomorrow, love.”
Josie watched her mother disappearing up the street. She had that purposeful walk that meant only one thing. She suspected something out of kilter, and wouldn’t rest until she’d discovered what it was. Josie sighed. Poor old Dad! That cop Cowgill would be nosing around again. Oh, well, there was nothing they could do about it, except to help her mother and hope she didn’t end up at the receiving end of a gun … like last time.
“HELLO? IS MR. ABTHORPE THERE?” LOIS HAD DIalled the Suffolk number he had given her, and a woman’s voice answered.
“Who?”
“Mr. Reg Abthorpe. He gave me this number to contact him.”
“Never heard of him,” said the woman, and rang off.
Lois sat frowning for a minute, then checked the number she had written down and tried again. “Hello, please don’t ring off. It’s Mrs. Meade from Long Farnden. Could you kindly tell me whereabouts you are? Is it a town or …?”
“What d’you want with this bloke? You after him or some thing?”
“No,” said Lois patiently. She explained about the cleaning job and Abthorpe’s uncle.
After a pause, the woman said, “Oh well, I suppose it won’t do no harm to tell you. This is Sudbury in Suffolk. An’ I still don’t know no Mr. Abthorpe. G’bye.”
Sudbury. Lois dialled enquiries, and asked for a Mr. R. Abthorpe of Sudbury, Suffolk. The helpful young man could find no trace. “No R. Abthorpe in the Sudbury area,” he said. “No Abthorpes at all. Sorry I can’t help you.” Lois felt a growing sense of unease. She was also irritated at wasting so much of her time. Then she heard Derek’s van outside, and shut her office door with a bang and went through to the kitchen.
“Hello, me duck,” Derek said, giving her a hug, and leaving dirty smudges on her face. “Good day?”
“Not bad,” Lois lied. Derek musn’t suspect she was even thinking of ferretin’ about. He was a man who liked a quiet life. And much as he loved her, he dreaded her involvement with another of her mysteries—and even more, a renewed acquaintance with that bugger Cowgill!
He pecked Gran’s cheek and started towards the door. “Got a surprise for you, Lois,” he said. “And don’t say anything ‘til you’ve thought about it.” He disappeared out to his van, and when he returned he was carrying something small and white and furry. “Here,” he said. “In need of a good home. Named Jemima at the moment. Mother a pedigree Cairn, and father an old farm terrier who should have known better. I said we’d have her …”
Lois closed her eyes and took a deep breath. They had no pet animals now. The cat, Melvyn, had died a couple of months ago, and old Cyril’s dog that they’d taken in temporarily, had been claimed by his sister in Tresham. Lois opened her eyes again, and Derek advanced and held out his bundle. Lois reluctantly cupped her hands, and the small, shivering puppy fitted exactly. She was not entirely white, but had grey ears and patches on her cheeks. Her enormous brown eyes looked up anxiously at Lois, who hesitated, then melted and buried her face in the soft fur.
“Oh God,” said Gran. “Another job for me, no doubt. And isn’t it dirty, Lois? You don’t want to catch anything.”
Lois shook her head. “Smells of disinfectant and puppy,” she said. “Still, I think I’ll just take her outside and see if she’ll perform.” On her way to the door, she kissed Derek’s chilly cheek, and said, “Thanks, love. She’ll fit in nicely. Jemima? Bit much for a tiny thing … I think I’ll call her Jeems until she’s bigger.”
Derek looked across at Gran, and she stared back at him. “All right, Gran?” he said, when Lois had gone into the garden.
She shrugged. “Nobody asked my opinion,” she said, and then added, “still, it’s quite a pretty little dog. Our Lois’ll make a fool of it, I daresay, but we’ll manage.” She sniffed, and returned to the oven.
F
OUR
THE NEW PEOPLE IN HORNTON HOUSE WERE FOREIGNERS, according to the village. A family with two children in their late teens had arrived not so long ago, and were, of course, treated as foreigners, though they were as English as Mrs. T-J.
“What’s their name again, Mum?” Lois asked, finishing her toast and marmalade.
“Pickering. Why d’you want to know?”
“Sheila said their daughter was looking for a part-time job, and had asked about New Brooms. I thought I’d call and see what she’s like. I need a willing girl for a few more hours.”
“Willing to do what?” said Derek from behind the morning paper.
“Ignore him,” Lois said.
“Know anything about them, Mum?” Gran was a WI member, went to church, and belonged to the Darby and Joan Club. Not much in the village escaped her notice.
“They’re townies,” she said. “Come from Birmingham, apparently. He works at the brewery in Tresham, and she’s an ancillary at a school there. The boy’s going to university, and the girl doesn’t know yet what she wants to do. I expect that’s why she wants a little job.”
“Bhimey,” said Derek. “You don’t really need to call on them, me duck. Gran’s covered everything!” He got up and shouldered his canvas bag.
“Cheese and pickle in there,” Gran said fondly. “Your favourite.”
“Right-o, then,” he said, and blew Lois a kiss. “See you later.” And as he went out of the door they heard him mutter, “Wish I worked in a brewery.”
LOIS STOOD OUTSIDE HORNTON HOUSE AND LOOKED up and down the street. Nobody in sight, except a car approaching slowly. Then, quite suddenly, it quickened up with a rasp of acceleration, and she instinctively drew back. As it sped past her, she noticed that the driver had turned his head away, as if to look at the shop opposite, but Lois knew there was something familiar about him. And the car: she had seen it before. But where? She shrugged, and walked up to the Pickering’s front door. Her finger had scarcely left the bell when the door opened and a pleasant-faced woman appeared.
“Good morning,” Lois said. “I am Mrs. Meade from New Brooms …”
“I know you are,” the woman said with a smile. “We’ve been telling Floss to come and see you for weeks! Did Sheila mention her?”
Lois nodded, and followed the woman in to a room where the atmosphere was warm and smelled pleasantly of polish and flowers.
“I’ll just call her,” Mrs. Pickering said. “She’s upstairs. Spends a lot of time at her computer, like they all do.”
She disappeared and Lois heard her call. Then both she and her daughter came in, and Floss was introduced. She was conservatively dressed for her generation, thought Lois. Jeans, of course, but with a cheerful red jersey that showed no hint of bare midriff. That was a point in her favour! Her blonde hair was cut in a long bob, parted in the middle and tucked smoothly behind her ears. In all, she made a good impression, and Lois smiled.
“Perhaps I could have a word with Floss?” she said. Mrs. Pickering left tactfully, and Lois said, “Now then, just a few questions. First of all, why do you want to work for us?”
“I’ll be honest, shall I?” Floss offered.
Lois looked surprised, and said, “Of course.”
“Well, I can’t say I’ve always wanted to be a cleaner, or that I’d do it for ever. But I didn’t get very good GCSEs, and can’t decide at the moment what I really want to do next.”
“So you’d just be filling in time?”
<
br /> Floss nodded. “But I’d take it seriousiy, and work hard,” she said. “Mum’ll tell you I’m good around the house. And I’d give you plenty of notice if I finally decide what my career is going to be,” she added ruefully. “Dad is a bit fed up with me,” she continued, “but Mum understands.”
Do I really want a pleasant but dim girl with a pushy father? Lois asked herself. Well, why not? She wouldn’t need starred As to clean Mrs. T-J’s mansion, or tidy up behind the vet’s totally spoilt brats.
They chatted for a few more minutes, and then Lois got up to go. “I’ll let you know tomorrow,” she said. “You’ll not have references yet, but perhaps I could see your last school report. That’ll do for the moment.”
Mrs. Pickering and Floss showed her out, and she walked home thinking the girl could well be a useful addition to the team. Halfway there, she stopped suddenly. That car! It was Reg Abthorpe’s, of course. And it had been the back of his head she recognized. Thinning hair, something one-sided about his shoulders. Yes, that was Reg Abthorpe. So why was he in Farnden, a long way from Suffolk? Had he been to Blackberry Close? And if so, what for? He had said he wouldn’t need to be back, but would leave everything to Lois.
“That man,” Lois said, as she met Gran coming down the pavement on her way to the shop, “that Reg Abthorpe … has he called on us?”
Gran shook her head. “There’s been no callers this morning,” she said. She looked curiously at her daughter. “You all right, Lois? You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”
“I’m fine,” Lois replied. Before Gran could ask more questions, she said she had a couple of phone calls to make, and continued on her way. She was absolutely certain it had been Abthorpe, and decided she would start work on Herbert Everitt’s house tomorrow.
THERE WAS A MESSAGE ON LOIS’S ANSWER PHONE. A man’s voice, asking her to call a familiar number. Chief Inspector Hunter Cowgill. What did he want? There was only one way to find out, but Lois was well aware of Derek’s mild objection to her ever working for that cop again. She hesitated. It wouldn’t necessarily mean another job for her. He might have some small enquiry, a point to clear up from last time. She dialled the number.