‘I’ve certainly had some smart cats in my lifetime, but Watson here is my first dog, and he isn’t even really mine. He just turned up one day, and we’re still looking for his owner.’
‘Nice animal.’
‘Yes, and to tell the truth I sort of hope we won’t find the owner. He’s such a nice dog, and Alan and I have grown very attached to him. But that’s a very selfish attitude, so if you hear who might have lost him . . . oof!’
We had turned into a rutted lane, and my head nearly hit the roof.
‘Sorry. All that rain the other day, you see, and this drive needs a tot of gravel.’
It would take more than a tot, I thought. The drive wasn’t very wide, but it was long enough to use several loads of stone, and from the look of the farmhouse, there wasn’t a lot of money to spare for such niceties. The place wasn’t shabby, exactly. There were crisp white curtains at the windows and pots of geraniums here and there, but the woodwork needed fresh paint and the thatched roof had seen better days.
I knew the moment I saw the curtains and flowers that this wasn’t the farm I was looking for, but I could hardly tell my driver that. Watson and I got out and rang the bell. It really was a bell, a very old one by the look of it, that hung by the door with a chain to pull it by. It set up a clamour that set Watson barking, and of course that set off the dogs in the house, a pack of Baskerville hounds by the sound of it. I was glad we hadn’t tried a surreptitious approach.
The pleasant woman who came to the door hadn’t heard of any missing dogs. Her own always stayed close to home, for a wander. (There were only two of them, after all, and they were smaller than Watson.)
A palomino? No, she’d had a stallion two or three years ago, but had sold him. ‘Can’t really afford to keep horses these days, can I?’ She looked around ruefully. ‘You see the state of things. Ever since . . . now that I’m alone, it takes all my time just to keep things going. Sorry I can’t help.’
I didn’t ask until we got back to the car.
‘Lost her husband in Afghanistan. Helicopter crashed.’
I was very glad I hadn’t raised the subject with the woman. She had to have recognized my accent, and many English blame the Americans for getting them into that war. I’m inclined to agree with them, actually.
We went on. Farm after farm. Horse after horse. When the owners were at home, I asked. When they weren’t, I nosed around. There were only a couple of palominos, one of them geriatric and the other not even a year old, if my untutored eye could be trusted. Both of them lived at well-kept farms. Nothing looked at all promising. No one knew of a lost dog.
We had pretty much covered the area north of Broadway by lunchtime, skirting villages and hamlets with delectable names like Church Honeybourne and Cow Honeybourne (side by side), Mickleton and Aston Subedge, when occasional whines from Watson reminded me that he was hungry, and so was I. It seemed to me we were in the depths of the country, and I despaired of finding anything to eat, but our driver read my mind.
‘Nice little pub around the next corner,’ he said. ‘Good beer, nice garden.’
‘Dogs?’ I asked, and Watson’s ears pricked up.
‘O’ course.’
So we stopped. Watson and I shared a huge hamburger and a pint. I got most of the chips and all the beer; the proprietor kindly gave Watson a bowl of water and let me lead him discreetly around back. We were on our way, much refreshed, in less than an hour.
THIRTY
The southern part of the county was less familiar to me. We agreed that we would avoid the countryside immediately around Cheltenham, where Alan would have had ample time to explore. It was really too far away for my purposes, anyway, but again, I didn’t want to confide that bit of information to my driver. But there were lots of farms between Broadway and Bourton-on-the-Water and Stow-on-the-Wold. (I never get tired of English place names.)
I don’t even remember how many farms we visited. I got to the point of wishing I had taped my little speech so I could just hit ‘play’. Lots of horses. No farm that looked at all like what I wanted.
I was growing very tired indeed, and Watson was plainly getting tired of riding in a car, when we passed a field not far, according to my OS map, from our cottage. And lo, there were two horses, one some dark colour this side of black, and one a gorgeous golden palomino.
‘Look! Stop! Who do those belong to, do you know?’ For there was no farmhouse in sight.
There was no place to pull off the road, but there was no traffic in sight, either, so the driver simply stopped in the middle of the narrow road. ‘No,’ he said decisively. ‘Never seen those horses before. Must be boarding somewhere about.’
‘But we have to find out! I’m sure that horse is the one I . . . I mean . . .’
He turned and looked me full in the face. ‘What’re you after, then? Load o’ taradiddle you told me before, isn’t it?’
‘I . . . yes. I’m sorry. I can’t tell you the real story, not yet, anyway. I’m looking for a particular horse, with a particular owner. I don’t know his name or where he lives, except it can’t be too far from Broadway. And I think this could be the one, but I really, really need to find out who owns this horse and where it’s usually stabled.’
‘Would’ve saved some time if you’d told me that to start with.’
I was silent. I’d apologized once.
‘Pam tells me your man is a Scotland Yard tec.’
I sighed. So much for trying to keep anything confidential in a place like the Cotswolds. ‘Not quite. He was chief constable for Belleshire for a good many years, but he’s now retired.’
‘But you’re not.’
I opened my mouth and then shut it again. What on earth could I say to that? Had I stopped beating my wife?
The car was shaking oddly. I looked over and saw that my driver was convulsed with silent laughter.
After a moment I gave in and laughed myself. ‘All right. Throw discretion to the winds. Yes, I’ve helped my husband with his work, both when he was an official policeman and in his retirement. And if you want the whole truth, I’ve done quite a little poking around on my own, too. Now are you happy?’
‘Miss Marple, that’s who you are!’
‘Mrs Marple, if you please. But honestly, it’s no laughing matter. I still can’t tell you exactly what I’m looking for, because it could be dangerous for everybody. But I can tell you that at least one person’s life may be at stake here.’
That sobered him in a hurry. He sat quiet for orders.
‘Good. Now what can you tell me, or what can you guess, about the owner of these horses?’
‘If it’s a guess you want, I’d say they’re runaways. See that gap in the hedge down there?’
He pointed to a far corner of the field. I couldn’t see the gap he mentioned, but I took his word for it and nodded.
‘I’ll wager those horses got in through that gap. That’s a field, not a pasture. Arable land?’
He sounded uncertain that this peculiar American knew the term. I nodded. ‘Yes, but not planted. I’d have thought it was a bit late to start a crop, though of course growing seasons are different where I come from.’
‘It won’t be planted this year. That’s because, far as I know, nobody’s bought this farm. Owner moved to Spain two or three years ago, and hasn’t been able to find a buyer.’
‘Then it is part of a farm? Where are the buildings?’
‘House is over the hill; can’t see it from here. Stable’s there, too. Barn’s down the road.’
‘Fred,’ I said, irrelevantly, ‘how long have you lived around here?’
‘All my life, and I’m not telling you how long that is.’
‘I can give a pretty good guess, though. You know this county like the back of your hand.’
‘Hereabouts. Not so much down Cheltenham way.’
He made it sound a thousand miles away.
He cleared his throat. ‘See, this farm is all bits and pieces, like. That’s
one reason it’s been so hard to sell, I reckon. Besides bein’ rundown, like. This field used to belong over yonder, but that bloke sold up.’ He gestured with his head. ‘Some say there was some scheme to build holiday cottages on the land, but the builder went bust. Don’t know myself. Anyway, the other chap bought it, few years back, said he needed some arable. Grew rapeseed for a while, but the ground wasn’t suited for it, and it wasn’t easy to harvest, the barn being so far away and all. So now it’s all sitting empty, and the house needs repairin’, and the fields’re goin’ to ruin. Shame, that is.’
I hadn’t been listening closely to his narrative. The important part was, the field belonged to a distant farm which was sitting empty! What more ideal place to hold a captive? There were no other houses nearby, no one to see unexpected lights or activity. ‘Listen, Fred,’ I said, interrupting him. ‘I need to take a good look at that house, and I’d rather not be seen. Is there a way to do that?’
‘Nobody there to see you,’ he said slowly. ‘Far as I know.’
‘You’re probably right, but just in case someone is there, I don’t want them to see me. It might be someone who . . . who has no business being there.’
‘Same as you,’ he said. I looked at him in some alarm, but his shoulders were shaking again in that disconcerting silent laughter.
‘Same as me,’ I agreed. ‘Are there any trees or anything near the house?’
He scratched his head. ‘Don’t recall. Remember the general layout, not the details. Haven’t been down this way in years. Will the dog go with me?’
It was such a non sequitur, I couldn’t think what he meant.
‘If I was to be going along,’ he said slowly, patiently, ‘walking my dog as you might say, would he go with me?’
‘Oh. Well . . . I have no idea, actually. He’s very friendly, but in the last few days I think he’s decided Alan and I are his masters. Here’s his lead. Try it for a little way and see.’
Watson bounded out of the car. He was definitely tired of sitting and riding, and would have preferred a nice run over the hills, but he accepted his lead quietly enough. I handed the end to Fred, who squatted down and gave him a hand to sniff.
‘Who’s a good boy, then? Who’s a lovely boy?’ He used that same foolish, doting tone that Alan adopted towards the dog. Were all Englishmen potty when it came to dogs, I wondered?
Watson’s tail was wagging furiously, and he licked the proffered hand so eagerly that I felt a small pang of jealousy, instantly suppressed.
‘Who wants to go for a nice walkies, eh, old chap?’ Watson indicated that he was the one, oh yes, indeed. His whole body was quivering with joy.
‘Everybody around here knows me, you see. Even if I’m seen, it won’t matter. Old Fred’s got a new dog. I can spy out the land for you. What am I looking for?’
‘Any sign of occupation. Smoke from the chimney, maybe, though there’d scarcely be a fire on such a warm day. Lights or an open window or . . . well, just anything to show anyone was inside, or had been. But I shouldn’t let you do this.’
‘Safer for me than for you. I’d not let you go alone.’
That male chivalry again. ‘Yes . . . well, all right, but be careful. This is . . . there could be . . . just be careful!’
‘Right. Yes, old boy, we’re off, then.’ And he set off, not down the road, but across the field where the horses were placidly grazing. Watson stopped and gave me a backward look.
‘It’s all right, sweetheart. Go with the nice man.’ And how silly to think that the dog understood a word I said, but he turned around as if satisfied and trotted along beside Fred as perfectly as if they’d been at some elite dog show.
Whoever Watson’s master had been, he had trained his dog very well indeed. It was odd that he hadn’t put up advertisements for him all over England. I certainly would have. I’d never have guessed I could become so fond of a dog in such a short time, I who had kept cats for well over fifty years. I shouldn’t let myself think of how the cats were going to react to Watson. It might never come to that.
What would Fred find at the house? I shouldn’t have let him go. I knew what he might be getting into. He thought I was just being melodramatic. If Ben really was there, with Jo, he’d do anything to keep from being seen. Oh, dear heaven, he might even . . . no, I wouldn’t think about that. He didn’t want Jo dead. She was no use to him dead. I had to cling to that idea.
But Fred was of no use to Ben whatever. He would have no compunction about disposing of Fred. And, oh, Watson! What if Watson barked and made a fuss and Ben . . .
My cell phone rang. I didn’t know what the sound was at first. I hadn’t taken the time to figure out how to reset the ringtone, and I thought someone was approaching with a radio tuned to some dreadful rock station.
I managed to click ‘send’ just before the thing went to voicemail, thinking as I did so that the coding was very odd. ‘Send’ ought to be for transmitting a call, not receiving one. However . . . ‘Hello?’ I croaked.
Of course it was Alan. Who else had the number? ‘I have a little news, love. Where are you?’
That put me in an immediate dilemma. If I told him what was happening, he would be extremely upset. I should have called him the minute I saw the horses, he would say. I shouldn’t have sent Fred into danger. I should get away from there right now. And so on.
And he was right. I should have done all that. The trouble was, I’d had the blasted phone about five minutes and hadn’t got used to the idea that I could call Alan in a dicey situation.
On the other hand, if I didn’t tell him, I’d lose the chance of valuable help, and only defer his wrath until he found out later.
‘Dorothy? Dorothy, are you there?’
‘Yes. Alan, I’ve done something awfully stupid, and I think you’d better come right away. I’m all right!’ I could tell from the quality of his silence that he was about to go into a tailspin. ‘But let me tell you where I am, because I do think you’d best be here as soon as you can get here.’ I looked at my map. ‘It’s off the B3462. There’s . . . well, there’s nothing really distinctive in the way of landmarks, but Fred says there’s an abandoned farm just over the hill, a place that’s been for sale for a couple of years. A local might be able to locate it for you. But no, look. Are you close to any place where you could buy a copy of this OS map? Because the quickest way is if I give you coordinates.’
‘Right. I’ll go buy the map and call you as soon as I’m on my way. Don’t explain now, it’ll just waste time.’
Amazing how much better I felt, just hearing his voice. Never mind if he scolded me later. I deserved it. The main thing was that he was coming, and everything would be all right.
‘Are you lost? Is there something I can do to help?’
I nearly had a heart attack then and there. I hadn’t heard the man approach. A large friendly man was leaning in the window on the driver’s side, smiling at me in a concerned sort of way.
‘Goodness, you startled me! Yes, I’m fine. I’m just waiting here for my driver to return.’
‘Out of petrol? I’m afraid he’ll have an awfully long walk. There’s no village for miles, not even a farmhouse where he might borrow some. You chose a bad spot to be marooned.’
‘Oh, no, we’ve plenty of gas . . . er, petrol. He just . . .’ What on earth was he doing? My usual gift of a ready lie seemed to have deserted me.
The man was giving me a peculiar look. I had to say something. I said a quick prayer for inspiration, but my mind was concentrated elsewhere. In fact, I was badly in need of a loo. Nerves, probably.
Aha! I tried hard to blush. ‘Oh, dear, this is embarrassing! He . . . I think he went in search of . . . that is, we had some very hot curry for lunch, and . . . well, there’s no farmhouse in sight, but he hoped there might be at least an outhouse somewhere. I’m sorry, I don’t know if that’s the right word in England. In America we call them outhouses—’
‘I’m familiar with the term. I don’t
know that there are any nearby, though I’m a stranger to this part of the world. There are plenty of bushes, however.’
‘Yes, well . . . that isn’t quite his problem.’
‘Needs must when the devil drives, however, eh? Well, it’s a lonely spot. I’ll just wait with you until he returns, shall I?’
‘Thank you, but there’s no need. I’m sure he’ll be back soon.’ I wasn’t sure why, but something about this man was making me nervous. He also looked vaguely familiar.
He was apparently determined to discourage me about Fred’s fictitious search for a WC. ‘Not if he’s determined to find a proper toilet. The nearest farmhouse is boarded up and deserted.’
‘Oh, dear!’ Oh, dear, indeed. If this man knew that, what about his claim to be a stranger? And where had he come from? I glanced up and down the road. There was no car anywhere in sight. ‘Are you on a walking tour, then?’ He carried no stick or pack.
‘Not precisely a tour, but I have been walking. Actually, I’m a trifle tired, and I wouldn’t mind a bit of a sit-down.’
Uninvited, he opened the driver’s door and got in the car. I was liking this less and less. Oh, how I wished Watson hadn’t gone off with Fred!
I cleared my throat. ‘I hope you won’t think I’m rude, sir, but I’d rather wait alone. I get a little nervous around men I don’t know.’ Actually, I did know him, I realized, finally placing him. He was the man who wanted the horse and then changed his mind. I’d thought him rather pleasant at the Swan. I didn’t think so any more.
‘Of course. That’s exactly why I’m waiting with you. A bit of protection, eh? Not that there’s anyone else around.’
My phone rang. I jumped and reached in my pocket.
‘I wouldn’t answer that if I were you.’ There was a sharp click as the intruder locked all the doors from the driver’s console. ‘Can’t risk you telling someone too much, can we?’
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