by Ann Purser
“Um, whatever you’re having, Mrs Jordan,” Hazel said, halfway through her three hours and gasping for a drink. The central heating was overpowering, and the physical work of cleaning and polishing had warmed her up to a rosy glow.
“Do sit down for minute, then,” said Mrs Jordan, and put a cup of steaming coffee in front of Hazel. In minutes, it seemed, the woman had told her her life story, and Hazel had listened with interest. No information is wasted, she reckoned. You never knew when it might come in useful. She remembered Lois’s strictures about gossip, and wondered if she dare answer any of the pointed questions fired at her. But the bar work in the pub stood her in good stead, and she managed to be polite and give very little information in return.
Upstairs again, and restored by the coffee, Hazel entered the main bedroom, and stepped back in alarm. On a tall chest in front of her was a grinning face, surmounted by a huge mop of chestnut curls. She must have gasped aloud, because Mrs Jordan came running up. She was laughing, and took Hazel by the arm. “It’s all right!” she said. “Just a wig stand and my wig for the play! One of our cast painted the face on it for fun…so sorry it made you jump…” And then she was off on a long tale about the amateur dramatic company she belonged to in Tresham, and how she had a really big part in the latest production. “Mind you,” she said, “we’ve had a bit of shock. The man playing the lead part has…well, has dropped out…”
“Shame,” said Hazel, trying to get past the woman and into the bathroom, next on her list. Then something familiar chimed in her head. “Amateur dramatics?” she said. “You mean acting, an’ that?” The woman nodded her head. “And this bloke who’s dropped out…you don’t by any chance mean dropped off the perch?”
The woman frowned at this flippancy, but nodded. “Yes,” she said.
“Ah,” said Hazel, starting on the hand basin with vigour, “then I think I know who you mean. Was it Major Todd-Nelson? Because if it was, then you can take it from me he had it coming. Now, shall I give the windows a quick wipe?”
It was only on her way home, tired but still cheerful, that she realized what she’d said. Oh dear, Lois wouldn’t like that. Still, with luck she wouldn’t know.
♦
In the Coachman’s bar at the Tresham Arms, Joanne Murphy, who had so humiliatingly failed to join the team in New Brooms, leaned confidentially across the bar and whispered in the ear of the young man in front of her. Both of them looked unusually serious.
“But what are we going to do next?” said the young man. He was not the kind of customer the management encouraged, and the barman was keeping an eye on Joanne.
“Dunno,” she said. “It’s a bloody riuisance. Left us all in the shit, this has. Anyway, you’d better drink up and go. Old Ted along there don’t like your sort in here. You’ll get me into trouble, and I need this job, Gary. I’ll get in touch as soon as I know somethin’ definite.”
∨ Terror on Tuesday ∧
Twelve
Lois was glad to be out of the house and on her way to Dalling Hall. Yesterday had been a strain, but then the first day of any job is difficult. The difference is, she supposed, that before, she’d always been on her own, working for herself, confident that if a new cleaning job turned out badly, she could always leave. Now she was responsible for four other people, and if New Brooms succeeded, there would be more than four.
She glanced across at the huddled old church, with its surrounding moat and miniature drawbridge. It was a grey morning, and a hazy mist lingered over the fields. Lois shivered. When she hadn’t been worrying about New Brooms, her mind had roamed around what she knew of the major’s strange end. What had he done that was so terrible someone had to kill him? And the way he’d died…she’d heard no more from Hunter Cowgill about that. In fact, she’d heard nothing from him at all, and she’d quite expected him to be round again with more questions. Perhaps he was biding his time, filling in blanks from other sources. Maybe she’d get in touch, ask him about that poor little dog first, and then see what else came up. After all, she reasoned, if he wants my help again, there’s got to be some exchange of information. On past experience, she knew that anything Cowgill deigned to tell her was usually negligible and stuff she knew anyway. Still, it was worth a try.
“Morning, Lois!” said the manager of Dalling Hall. His smile was restored, and Lois guessed he’d had a few bookings since they’d talked. Nothing like a juicy murder to bring out the ghouls. They’d probably arrange guided tours, thought Lois. “This is where the major lay, and there’s the broken effigy of the real knight, in the corner there. Such vandalism! And now come this way, please, where we have coffee laid on in the chancel and you can all purchase a specially written brochure on Dalling Hall and its historic church.”
“Is Hazel Reading here?” she asked, and was gratified to hear a voice behind her. “Yep, I’m here, all ready to start. Mum sends her love. Can’t say Dad feels the same, but who cares!”
“Yes, well, let’s get started, Hazel,” said Lois, and led the way through winding corridors and into the Great Hall, with its limed oak doors at either end, huge portraits by the yard of English kings and queens, and the lovely beamed roof that not even the keenest interior decorator could spoil.
Apart from the occasional interruptions by scurrying staff using the hall as a short cut, Lois and Hazel were alone. Surreptitious glances told Lois that Hazel was unquestionably a good worker, and contrary to her expectations, silent. In the end, it was Lois who spoke. “So you got on all right yesterday with Mrs Jordan?”
“Yep,” said Hazel. “She was OK. Bit daft, an’ that, but OK.”
“How d’you mean – daft?” said Lois.
“Oh, you know, couldn’t stop talking the minute I arrived. Followed me about. Asked questions all the time. Oh yes, an’ this’ll make you laugh! She had this weird head with loads of hair in her bedroom…talk about severed head! ‘Course, turned out it was a wig on a wig stand, wasn’t it. Give me quite a turn for a minute.”
Lois, who had talked initially to Mrs Jordan about the job, looked surprised. “A wig? She didn’t look like the sort.”
“No, she don’t wear it around. She’s in this drama group in Tresham, an’ it’s for a play she’s in. Well, I suppose it’s all right for those that like it. My life’s dramatic enough, without playin’ at it.”
“You mean your dad,” said Lois quietly. Hazel’s face was turned away from her, as she polished an old side table with loving care. There had been a break in her voice. Hazel Reading’s tough, uncaring front that she presented to the world was hard won. Lois wondered why the girl didn’t leave home, go off like others and make her own life.
“Yeah, Dad,” replied Hazel. “Still, our daily dramas won’t turn into tragedies, not while I’m there.” And so Lois had her answer.
“That Gary,” said Hazel, changing the subject, “how did he get on with Sheila Stratford? Funny bloke, but not bad, I reckon. I can just see him getting up speed with the Hoover!”
One of Lois’s first rules for New Brooms had been an absolute ban on discussing one cleaner with another, so she just laughed and said time would tell. She guessed the doctors would soon complain if they weren’t satisfied.
“And that goes for us here, too,” said Hazel with a flourish. “Done my side, so shall I come over and give you a hand?”
Cheeky devil, thought Lois, but she smiled, and the rest of the morning they worked together equably enough.
It was while they were having a coffee break that Hazel remarked casually that Prue Betts had stopped working as a barmaid. “She’s not going to college yet, so it’s a bit of a mystery. The lads in the pub say she told them her dad came on a bit strong about the major, and the dangers of alcohol and stuff, and soon after that Prue left. Shame, really. I liked her, and I reckon she enjoyed it. Grew up quite a bit, did Prue! Haven’t seen her lately, so I expect he’s told her I’m a bad influence.”
“Is he like that, then, her dad?” said Lois ligh
tly.
“Not nearly as bad as mine,” said Hazel with a grimace. “But he is a teacher, and you know what teachers are. Thinks his family should set an example in the village, an’ all that rubbish. But he’s very fond of Prue, and they don’t have many rows…Anyway, Mrs M, it’s time we got goin’ again. Can I do the bridal suite? It’d be nice to think I might need it one day.”
♦
It had been easier at the hall with the two of them. Somehow Hazel’s chirpy enthusiasm made much lighter work of it. Feeling pleased with the day, Lois returned to her sunny office and checked the answerphone. Nothing alarming, thank goodness, but the last message made her smile. Must be telepathic, she thought. “Hunter Cowgill here,” the deep voice said. “Could you give me a ring, Lois? Oh, and I hope New Brooms are sweeping clean.”
She dialled the number he’d given her and when he answered, said, “I was going to ring you anyway. What’s happened about the major’s dog? I said I’d take it, and Derek’s agreed…reluctantly, but he said we could have it.”
“It’s being well looked after,” Cowgill replied. “An old lady heard about him and was very keen. He’s quite a nice old chap. The sergeant got quite fond of him.”
“And the major?” said Lois. “Don’t think he was a nice old chap, not from what I’ve heard.”
“Ah, yes,” said Cowgill. “Well, that’s why I rang. Can you manage a meeting? A few points have come up, and one or two questions you might help with. And,” he added hastily, remembering Lois’s previous insistence on two-way exchange, “I can give you a few pointers, if you’re still interested.”
“Oh, I’m interested all right,” said Lois. “Any bloke who invites young girls into his house late at night is of great interest to me, even if he is dead. Could be part of something bigger, and my Josie is, well, you know…”
“No need to remind me, Lois,” said Cowgill. “Right, then. Ten o’clock tomorrow morning in Alibone Woods. And park your car where I showed you, out of sight.”
Lois sighed. Trudging through muddy woodland paths was not much in her line, but she could see Cowgill’s point. No one was going to talk to Lois Meade if they thought she was in league with the cops. “Ten o’clock,” she said. “I’ll be there.”
♦
“You know that girl, used to be on the school bus? Her dad’s a teacher at Waltonby school?” Josie had spoken with her mouth full, head down, polishing up tomato sauce from her pizza plate.
“Did you say Waltonby?” said Lois.
“He’s head teacher,” said Douglas. “My friend went to school there, and he liked him.”
“What about the girl, Prue Berts?” said Lois, frowning Douglas into resentful silence.
“Yeah, that’s her,” said Josie. “Well, she’s in hospital. Her friend said, on the bus today. She didn’t know what was wrong with her. Apparently her mum’s upset, but not saying anything. What d’you reckon’s happened, Mum?”
Lois looked hard at her daughter, and thought she looked shifty. Knows more than she’s telling, Lois considered. She knew better than to grill her, but just said that whatever it was she hoped Prue would soon be recovered and back at home.
Then when Derek came in, he was full of it. “Seems the parents aren’t sayin’ anything, and have told Prue’s friends to keep their mouths shut, so it’s not appendicitis, is it? Somethin’ they don’t want talked about. Doug in the pub says they’d had a row, Prue and her dad. Stopped her working in the pub. But he was sure old Betts would never knock her about, nothin’ like that. That Dick Reading, yes, all the blokes in the pub know about him. But Prue’s dad’s one of them non-violence, preachy sort.”
Josie and Douglas exchanged glances. “Them quiet ones are always the worst,” said Douglas, with comic maturity.
Josie hooted. “O ‘course, you’d know all about it, wouldn’t ya.”
Douglas reached over the table, took a half-eaten orange from Josie’s plate and ran off upstairs, followed by loud strictures from his parents and admiring laughter from Jamie.
When things had quietened down, Lois turned to Derek and said quietly, “I don’t like it, Derek, there’s something funny goin’ on.”
“Well, no doubt you and your huntin’ chum will find out what it is,” said Derek lightly.
∨ Terror on Tuesday ∧
Thirteen
Alibone Woods were full of the sounds of invisible creatures. Birds and rabbits rustled in the undergrowth, and a black crow clattered away over the trees in alarm at Lois’s footsteps. At this time of day there were no walkers, and the bluebells that in Spring attracted hundreds of visitors had died away, leaving slippery mats of rotting leaves that caught Lois unawares. As she picked her way along the twisting path, wishing she’d remembered to put wellies in her car, she saw Cowgill’s tall shape leaning against a tree in the clearing where they had arranged to meet.
As he heard her approach, he turned to greet her. “Morning,” he said. “Thanks for coming.”
His face was the usual impassive policeman’s mask, but Lois thought he had a particularly sombre look about him this morning. “What’s up?” she said, getting down to business.
He raised his eyebrows. “Well, for a start,” he said, “an elderly man has been found dead on a tomb in Dalling church…”
“All right, all right,” said Lois, “but what’s new? Must be something for me to be standing in the middle of a muddy wood with – ”
“And I appreciate your coming,” Cowgill interrupted, “especially when your New Brooms is just getting off the ground. How’s it going, by the way?”
“Fine,” answered Lois. “But what did you want? I’ve got to go over and introduce Gary Needham into a new job later, so I can’t stay long.”
“Ah yes,” said Cowgill. “Tell me about young Gary. Satisfactory, is he?”
“I don’t know yet,” said Lois, shrugging. “So far he seems fine.”
“And the others?” said Cowgill.
Lois frowned. She didn’t want to talk about her team to Cowgill. Lines had to be drawn. She shrugged. “Well, there’s Bridie and Hazel, and I’ve got a woman from Waltonby signed up, too: Sheila Stratford – very nice woman.”
“Yes, we’ve already talked to her,” said Cowgill. “Her husband works on the hall farm, and she sometimes does flowers in the church.”
“So what else, then?” she said, hoping to get him on to something new. But he came back to Gary Needham.
“Young Gary,” he said. “Anything you can tell me? First impressions, family background, that sort of thing? I know you well enough to know you’d have made enquiries.”
Lois sighed. Cowgill never gave up, she knew only too well, so she told him how she’d first thought Gary a complete waste of time, just what she did not want. Then she described her change of mind, and how at the first meeting of all of them together, Gary had seemed to fit in well. He had a knack of being able to handle the others’ doubts about him. And, more importantly, he’d proved his claim to be an excellent cleaner. She did not tell him about the noises Sheila heard at the surgery on the first morning. This had nothing to do with Gary, surely.
“So have you got something on him?” she said.
Cowgill shook his head. “Not really,” he said. “He’s been seen with some unlikely characters in Tresham…clubbing, all of that…but no, nothing necessarily wrong.”
“Clubbing!” said Lois. “Don’t talk to me about that! Our Josie only mentions it six times a day and pesters the life out of us to let her go with some older kids.”
“Don’t let her,” said Cowgill flatly. “If you can stop her, that is,” he added.
“Oh yes, we can stop her,” said Lois. “Now we’re in Long Farnden, she can’t just flounce out and disappear. Needs us for transport, fortunately. What else did you want to know?” She had told him nothing much, really.
“Anything odd come your way, in the cleaning jobs?” said Cowgill. “Overheard anything in the hall, or reports from the cleaner
s? You know anything you say is in strict confidence, anyway.”
Lois told him about the major’s acting activities, and about Hazel’s encounter with Mrs Jordan and her wig. She asked him if he knew about the drama group? He did, of course, but was interested in Hazel Reading.
“Quite a bright spark, that one,” he said. “Knows the scene pretty well.”
“What scene?” said Lois. She remembered now how she had always found his enigmatic remarks extremely irritating.
“Oh, you know,” he replied, “latest crazes, pubs, staying afloat. Her mum’s a friend of yours, isn’t she, Lois? And her dad? What do you know about him?”
“Too much,” said Lois. “He’s a sod, as I expect you know. Still, Hazel’s got him sussed out, and Bridie seems a lot happier now she’s working for Brooms. Nothing bad enough for you to step in there,” she added quickly.
She was waiting for him to ask what she knew about Prue Betts, and sure enough, just when they’d started to walk back to the cars, he said casually, “Don’t suppose you know the Betts’s at Waltonby? Prue Betts, worked in the pub with Hazel? Father’s the school headmaster?”
Lois stood still. “No, I’ve only seen her in the pub. But now she’s in hospital, the family have clammed up, and my Josie knows something. If she tells me, I’ll let you know. Sounds a bit dodgy. Is there a connection, then, with the major?”
Cowgill shook his head. “Too early to tell,” he said unhelpfully.
“What d’you want me to do, then?” said Lois. “Apart from grassing on everybody I know.”
“No need to be like that,” said Cowgill. “But I’d like to know more about these amateur theatricals without them knowing I’m interested at the moment. See what you can glean. Oh, and by the way, you haven’t asked me how the major got into that suit of armour, or how we got him out. Not like you, Lois, to miss the obvious!”