by Ann Purser
“And very nice too,” said his father, coming in from the garden. “What would be the good of your mother spending hours decorating a tart for us, when it’d all be gone in a few mouthfuls?”
Ben did not answer, but grinned at his mother and disappeared to his room overlooking the road. He wished they lived in the High Street, where there was some action most of the day to demand his attention. He was applying for jobs, but many of them did not even have the courtesy to reply to his application, and others wrote but regretted he was not what they were looking for. It was depressing, and he was beginning to wish he’d apprenticed himself to a plumber instead of wrestling with IT. Computer studies graduates were ten a penny these days, and after the bubble burst there were not enough jobs around.
If they had a house in the High Street, there’d be kids coming out of school, young mums taking toddlers to the playgroup, people going to work, most in cars but some on bikes, and, always good for a few words, Josie from the shop delivering the post. In this cul-de-sac development, where, as far as he knew, no blackberries had ever been seen, it was dead. First thing in the morning, perhaps, there was a trace of life, when commuters set off with a roar of engines. After that, nothing. Once a week a neighbouring housewife would go off in the car to the supermarket, and two or three others to keep fit at Tresham Leisure Centre.
Here was one of them coming back, no doubt. Ben went closer to the window and watched the car move slowly, until it stopped outside Herbert Everitt’s house. Who was that then? He stiffened as a man got out, opened his boot, and struggled up Mr. Everitt’s garden path with a huge parcel. Ben knew who it was! Last seen leaping into a bramble patch in Cox’s Wood. He stepped back behind the curtain, and watched. The parcel was causing the man some trouble, and he finally put it down whilst he fumbled for a key. Then he opened the door, lifted up the parcel, and, staggering under its weight, vanished into the house. The door shut behind him.
Ben shivered. What the hell was going on? He knew that Floss’s boss, Mrs. Meade, came once a week to dust around in there, because all Mum’s friends said they couldn’t think what she found to do for a couple of hours. Money for old rope, they said. But nobody else came. None of Herbert’s friends or relations. Mind you, he always said he had no family, so that figured. Then who was this man? And what was in that package? It looked like an orange crate well-wrapped, or it could be a miniature coffin for old Herbert’s dog. What had happened to that yapping menace, anyway? Ben’s thoughts were buzzing, and he needed to talk to someone. No good worrying Floss, and his parents would just laugh and tell him to think about something useful, like bringing some money into the house. There was always Josie at the shop. Ben counted the change in his pocket. Just enough for the local paper. There was an extra sports section today, and a friend of Ben’s was in the news for making it to the Tresham Tigers. With luck, he’d have the shop to himself and could bring up the subject of Mr. Everitt naturally.
“Morning, Ben.” Josie was about to tidy the stockroom, but turned with a smile. Ben was a nice lad, always so polite and pleasant, and she didn’t mind when she saw his only purchase was to be the local paper. Always a chance he might be tempted by something else.
“Hello, Josie,” he said. “What’s in this rag today? I expect you’ve given it the once-over to make sure it’s suitable for tender customers like me.”
“Come off it!” Josie took his money, and leaned on the counter. “Today, I’m afraid, no murders, no robbery with violence, no spectacular car crashes. Very boring today.”
“Not even a mysterious disappearance?” Ben watched her closely.
She shook her head. “Not even news of our old friend Herbert Everitt,” she said obligingly. “I miss him and his little dog, y’ know. We always had an interesting chat. Still, I don’t suppose he’ll be back again now. Probably institutionalized in an old people’s detention centre.”
Ben laughed. “I don’t think they’re that bad these days. But he did seem so chipper just before he was taken off. I saw someone at his house this morning, and wondered if he was ready to return. Could’ve been a social worker, preparing for him to come home?”
Josie shook her head. “You mean that man with the crappy old car? No, he’s a distant relation, I think. Keeping an eye on the place. Mum goes in, dusting and getting rid of spiders and mice. She doesn’t like it much, says it’s creepy.” Josie could see that Ben had more to say, and knew that her mother would want to know what it was.
“This man was carrying an enormous great package—I thought maybe it would be a portable loo or something like that. An aid to independent living, as the catalogues say.”
Josie shrugged. “Might be. I hope he is coming back. We could all give him a hand. Keep an eye on him. Meals-on-wheels, that kind of thing. Now, I’ve got work to do, so if that’s all?”
IN MR. EVERITT’S CLEAN BUT CHILLY HOUSE, REG Abthorpe put down his burden and felt in his pocket. A small key unlocked the large chest freezer in front of him, and he shivered as the blast of cold air hit him. He moved aside some frosted packages, and with some difficulty pushed the latest into the space. The lid would not shut, and he swore. He wanted to be out of here as soon as possible. More shoving and pushing finally enabled him to close the freezer and lock it firmly.
As he scurried down the path, his collar turned up, he glanced over to the Wallis house. No signs of movement, thank goodness. He could see the terriers looking expectantly at him through the window, and ducked into his car. It started at the third attempt, and he drove off quickly. As he turned into the High Street, he saw a tall youth walking towards him. Ah, yes, young Romeo, but without his Juliet. Reg was reminded that he had unfinished business to attend to there, and looked the other way as he passed.
N
INETEEN
“ARE YOU COMING TO THE BRING AND BUY, LOIS?” Gran had made two loaves of bread, one wholemeal and the other a fruit loaf, so tempting that she had shut it in a tin so that Derek could not see it.
“I’m not a member,” said Lois, without looking up from the local paper.
“You can come as my guest,” Gran said. “It’d be nice for me, if you’d come just this once. Lots of others are taking guests …”
“Oh, blimey, not the emotional blackmail, Mum! Of course I’ll come if you want me to. There’s usually good bargains to be had. Are you off now?” Gran nodded, and as she went to get her jacket, she smiled a small, smug smile. She was glad she could win sometimes, though Lois was a tricky one.
The village hall was full of people, mostly women, milling about from stall to stall, and Gran greeted many of them. Lois, too, knew almost everybody, and joined in the fray, buying useless things she did not need, in the general fever to grab something before somebody else got it. She came upon Enid, sitting quietly behind a stall set out neatly with small, framed watercolours, landscapes of the villages and fields around.
“Enid! Did you paint these yourself?”
Enid nodded modestly. “It’s just a hobby, Mrs. M.”
“But they’re lovely! Let me have a look and see which one I like best.”
“Oh, you just choose one, and have it as a present,” Enid said quickly. “I’d really like you to have it.”
“Don’t be daft, Enid,” Lois said. “That’s not the way to run a business. Here, this one of Dallyn Hall is beautiful, with the park and the trees. And it’d remind me of keeping the place clean! How much?”
Enid silently pointed to a card which priced the paintings at twenty-five pounds each. “But you have it for ten, Mrs. M. Please.”
Lois said nothing, but found two tens and a five in her purse and handed them over. “It’s worth much more to me,” she said. “And this’ll pay for more paints. I’ll go and find Mum. She’d love one for her room, I know.”
“Just before you go, Mrs. M, have you heard anything more about Herbert Everitt? I think about him a lot, and would really like to get in touch. Sorry to pester …”
Lois sh
ook her head. “No, I’m the one who’s sorry. Reg Abthorpe promised to send me his address and telephone number, but so far nothing. My cleaning money keeps coming, and I don’t have a real reason for trying to find Reg. Various people claim to have seen him in the village, but somehow I only ever see the tail end of his car disappearing down the road. The only time I met him again, he was in a tearing hurry and cleared off quickly.”
“Never mind, then.” Enid’s face had dropped, and Lois wondered if she had been more fond of the old man than she admitted. Perhaps a little romance had been blossoming? Oh dear, if that was so, she’d have to try even harder to turn up some information. She pushed her way through the throng and found Gran.
“Go and have a look at Enid’s paintings,” she said.
“I’ve seen them,” Gran replied. “She kindly gave me one as a present. It’s the High Street, with the shop and Josie standing at the door. Wasn’t that kind of her?”
“Huh!” Lois was lost for words for a moment. She sighed. “Well, I must be off now. I’ve spent out, and there’s paper work to do at home. Thanks for bringing me, Mum. I’ve enjoyed it.”
She reached the door with difficulty and found it blocked by a large figure coming in. It was a bulky, bald-headed man with a bull-dog face, and behind him crept Frances Wallis. “Not much left to buy,” Lois said cheerfully.
Frances smiled nervously. “Um, Victor,” she whispered, “this is Mrs. Meade, who cleans Mr. Everitt’s house.”
The man looked down at her. Lois was tall, but he still towered over her and she retreated a few steps. “How do,” he said brusquely. “Don’t know how you’ve got the nerve to take the money. Nobody to make any mess. Not even the dog. Still, Reg always was a fool. Come on, Frances, let’s show our faces and then get out quickly.”
Lois opened her mouth to take up the challenge, but he’d gone, Frances following close behind. Lois’s face was scarlet, and she started back into the hall to ask him what the hell he meant. But Gran was there, smiling at her and saying she was ready to go herself now.
“You all right, Lois?” she said. Lois muttered something about it being very hot in the hall, and went out with her mother into the cool night air.
So he was Victor Wallis, and he knew Reg Abthorpe. And he wasn’t too keen on Lois Meade. She was annoyed to feel herself shaking. It was a fact, then, that whoever they were and whatever they were up to, there was a gang of them with something to hide, and they would go to nasty lengths to keep their secret.
“Must be badger-baiting,” Derek said, when she gave him an edited version of what had happened. “But that’s maybe not all,” Lois said. “OK, so they’re tormenting wild animals in Cox’s Wood, but that wouldn’t explain why Reg is so interested in his Uncle Herbert’s house, nor why he is keeping his whereabouts a closely guarded secret.”
“If Herbert was his uncle,” Gran said. Lois looked at her. “Well, he was pretty convincing that first time he came,” she said. “You seemed to be all over him.”
Gran bristled. “A person can be mistaken,” she said. “And anyway,” she added, “why are we all talking about Herbert in the past tense. D’ you know something you’re not tellin’, Lois?”
“Of course she does,” said Derek flatly. “Though no doubt a full report will go to that copper,” he added. “Why don’t you put the kettle on, Gran, and let’s have a cup of that revolting Sleepytime muck you bought. It did put me out like a light, I will say that for it.”
“It’ll take more than that to send me off tonight,” said Lois. “That bald bugger will haunt my dreams, anyway. If you don’t mind, Derek, I’ll go and sort out some papers in my office. Shan’t be long. You go on up. Night, Mum,” she added. “It was a nice evening until them Wallises came along. Thanks for taking me.”
She sat in her office without moving. Everything was neat and orderly, and there was nothing for her to do. Reg Abthorpe, William Cox, Victor Wallis, and others. An unsavoury bunch. Perhaps she should pay another visit to Cox, who was, outwardly at least, on her side. No doubt he would try to get something from her, but she was pretty good at not answering difficult questions. He seemed to be at the hub of whatever was going on, even though he was a frail and dozy old man. Perhaps he wasn’t frail at all, but had deceived her for a purpose? She looked at the telephone. Should she call Cowgill, tell him the latest, and see if he had any ideas, or anything to add to their sketchy sum of knowledge?
No, it was too late, and he would be alone. Not a good idea. Lois stood up and stretched. She went into the kitchen, and found Derek gone, but Gran still tidying up. “Where’s Jeems?” Lois said.
“I thought she was with you,” Gran answered, looking under the table, Jeems’s favourite sleeping place.
Panic sent Lois around the house and into the garden, calling the puppy’s name loudly. There was no response. Derek came down in his pyjamas and joined the hunt.
“Oh my God,” Lois said finally, bursting into tears. “They’ve got her. Those rotten sods have taken her.”
Before Derek could stop her, she leapt into her van, grated the gears, and backed down the drive.
“Hey! Lois, wait! The gates are shut!” Lois screeched to a halt, and sat with her head in her hands over the steering wheel. Derek opened the passenger door and sat beside her. “She’ll turn up, me duck,” he said. “Don’t fret. We’ll comb the country tomorrow.” He put his arms around her, and she sobbed into his shoulder.
“Lois! Lois!” It was Gran, calling from the back door. “Look! I’ve found her! She was shut in the larder!”
Derek and Lois were very still for a few minutes, and then he said, “Now do you see what I mean? No good can come of this ferretin’. Give it up, me duck. We all need a bit o’ peace and quiet.”
“If Jeems can be found, so can Herbert Everitt,” she said slowly. “Though I doubt he’s in the larder.” As she said this, she remembered being told about a man seen struggling up Herbert Everitt’s path with a large package. There was no larder in that modern house, but there was a very large freezer, and it was firmly locked.
T
WENTY
NEXT MORNING, LOIS SET OUT FOR BLACKBERRY Gardens earlier than usual. Nothing stirred in the Gardens, except for the terriers, barking excitedly at her approach. She hoped that Victor Wallis was still there. No lorry outside, but perhaps he had parked it elsewhere. She couldn’t imagine the good folk of the Gardens would put up with a huge articulated vehicle being parked in their trim, well-ordered little estate.
She knocked, and was not in the least put off by the minutes passing and no one coming to the door. She knocked again, harder and more insistently. Then she peered through the windows, but couldn’t see much because of the net curtains. Back to the knocker. She banged it as hard as she could, and then shouted through the letterbox, “Open this door, and soon. It’s the police.” She knew this would not fool them, but it was worth a try. It worked. A chain and bolts were withdrawn, and the door opened a crack.
“What the hell do you want! An’ it’s a crime to claim to be police if you’re not!” Victor was wearing boxer shorts and a vest, and his face was not pleasant.
“A joke, Mr. Wallis,” said Lois calmly. “I want a word with you. And in case you were thinking of inviting me in, I’d rather stay here on the doorstep. So, what d’ you mean by accusing me of taking money for nothing?”
“You’re not comin’ in here. Not on your nelly! An’ what I said was what I meant. I always mean what I say. An’ now, if you’re not off my property in ten seconds, I’ll call the police and have you done for trespass.”
Lois laughed loudly. “It’s my guess you’ll go nowhere near the police. So listen to this. If I hear that you or your poor wife have said anything more about New Brooms in general or me in particular, I’ll see my lawyer and have your guts for garters. Right?”
Victor Wallis watched her walk out of his garden and across the road to Herbert Everitt’s house. “Wow!” he said admiringly, turning to hi
s wife, who was sheltering behind him. “She’s a goer! Pity you can’t be more like that, Frances,” he added, and pushed her aside as he retreated upstairs.
Inside Herbert’s house, Lois went straight to the freezer and stared at it, as if staring long enough would spring the lock. She needed help, and either the police or an experienced safe-breaker would do the trick. But she wasn’t sure she could persuade Cowgill to do it, without a lot more evidence of something criminal going on. And unlike all those fictional detectives, she didn’t have a criminal acquaintance who could use a bent pin and have it open in seconds.
Perhaps Derek would have a key that would fit. But how would she persuade Derek to take any part in it? He would no more break into someone else’s locked freezer than burgle a jewel box. But supposing there was a power cut, and the electricity was off for hours? Whatever was in it—she shuddered—would deteriorate, without doubt. It could be a health hazard.
She plugged in the vacuum cleaner and began work. The house was stuffy and the air outside was quite balmy, so she decided to open all the doors and windows and shake out rugs and cushions, pillows and duvets, then drape them all over bushes in the garden to catch the sun. That would give Victor Wallis something to think about.
The windows were dusty and rain-streaked. A bird had splattered its purple-stained droppings on several of the panes, and Lois decided on a general cleaning and polishing job, including outside. This would give her ample opportunity to keep an eye on the terriers and their master, as well as demonstrate how she more than earned her fee.
The front windows finished, she took duster and spray, and the step-ladder, round to the back of the house. She was on the last window, when she heard hoarse shouting and a woman’s cry of pain, then a door slam. She waited a few minutes, but there were no more shouts or screams. She walked quietly round to the front and stared across the road. Nothing. A net-curtained façade looked back at her blankly. She went in through Herbert’s open front door, and saw a torn-out page of a magazine on the mat. Her pulse quickened, and she bent to pick it up. When she saw the photograph, she gasped and threw it on to the hall table. Feeling sick, she swallowed hard and closed her eyes. Then she slowly picked up the page again, and forced herself to look at it.