by Ann Purser
∨ Terror on Tuesday ∧
Twenty-Five
On Monday morning, the telephone was ringing in Lois’s office before breakfast, and she rushed downstairs in the slippers that Derek said would break her neck.
“Hello? Who’s that?”
“Mrs Betts,” said an anxious voice. “Is that New Brooms?”
Lois took a deep breath. Now what? “Yes, this is Lois Meade speaking. Can I help you?”
After a long, rambling story about an old woman who had cleaned for the Betts’s for years, not much good lately, but better than nothing, and now whipped into hospital with a stroke, Mrs Betts finally came to the point: she needed cleaning help, and straight away, if possible.
Heaven sent, thought Lois, and arranged to go and see her after lunch. “I am sure we can be of service,” she said, making Derek laugh as he brought in a mug of tea.
“Let’s have a little service here, then,” Derek said. “The kids’re not up yet, Gran’s whizzing around feeding the cat, burning the bacon and yelling in all directions. We need the boss, Lois, so get yourself into the kitchen where you belong.”
Lois turned on him. “It’s only Gran being in earshot that saves you, my lad,” she hissed. But she got going fast, and miraculously everything was in good order by the time the school bus was due.
After everyone had left the house, including Gran, who was due at the Oxfam shop this morning, Lois dialled Sheila Stratford’s number. She should be back from the surgery by now, and would be just the right one for the Betts’s. “Just a call in advance of the meeting,” Lois said. “The Betts’s at Waltonby school – you must know them – need a cleaner. I’d like you to take it on, Sheila. I’m seeing Mrs Betts this afternoon, and we can arrange day and time etcetera. No objections?” Lois always put it to her staff in this way, reckoning that it would pre-empt later grumbles. Also, and more importantly, she was anxious to know from Sheila any local gossip there might be about the Betts’s.
Sure enough, there was a pause before Sheila answered. “Ye-es,” she said slowly. “But…”
“But what?” said Lois. “You’d better tell me now.”
“Well, there is talk in the village about the schoolmaster…seems he was pretty unkind to old Mrs Whatsit who cleaned for them. There was a big row, and some of the children heard him shouting at her. You know she had the stroke in the schoolhouse, on her cleaning day? Well, I’d not want anything like that, Lois.”
Lois thought for a moment, then decided to treat it lightly. “Oh, heavens, Sheila,” she said. “You needn’t worry – I’d be checking on everything, and if there was one word out of place I’d be down on him like a ton of bricks. That poor old soul was on her own, wasn’t she? Nobody to speak up for her.”
“Oh yes there was!” said Sheila, laughing now. “Her son-in-law marched into the school playground next morning and sorted out old Betts in front of all the parents! It was quite a sight, apparently. Nearly came to blows, except for one of the dads stepping in and separating them. If old Betts goes on like that much longer, he’ll be out on his ear. The governors won’t stand for it. Only got away with it so far because the reverend is past it – doesn’t know what time of day it is – and all for a quiet life. He’s the chairman of the governors, you know…”
She was quiet then, and Lois said, “Well, would you be happy to give it a try? He’ll probably be on his best behaviour after all that.” Sheila agreed, and said she would see Lois later at the meeting.
“Old Betts, eh? Still, could be local gossip. Head teachers are never popular,” said Lois to her empty office, and began to tidy up ready for the staff meeting. She and Hazel did shorter hours at the hall on Mondays, and were back in Long Farnden by twelve. That gave them a good hour to meet the others and sort out any changes needed for the coming week.
It was a beautiful spring morning, blue sky and puffs of cloud sailing on the wind, and when Lois drove out of the village and along the Dalling road, it was some while before she noticed the big car with darkened windows cruising along behind her at a discreet distance. She felt a nasty jolt, like touching an electric fence. She was certain it was the Gorilla, but could not see if the Murphy woman was with him. What to do? It was a narrow road, with high hedges on either side, and nowhere to turn off. She put her foot on the accelerator, and the old car responded slowly. As it gathered speed, Lois steered with one hand and fumbled for her mobile phone with the other. Blast! Why was her handbag so full of junk? She tipped the whole thing upside down, narrowly missing a wandering sheep. She dialled Cowgill’s number, and when he answered, said tersely, “Lois here. Being followed by Gorilla and possibly Murphy. Road to Dalling. Can you get here?”
He wasted no time, but said, “On the way. Don’t panic,” and was gone.
♦
Hazel Reading had gone early to Tresham to pick up some cleaning for her mother, and was travelling fast in her little VW to be at the hall on time. Lois was a devil about punctuality, and Hazel was still wary of her sharp tongue. No doubt about Lois being boss, she thought. Funny how people grew into their jobs. Mind you, Lois Meade had always been bossy! Hazel knew her mum had sometimes resented things Lois had said in the past, but she had been the one they’d turned to for support. And Hazel had seen how Lois’s authority had worked in meetings when Gary Needham had got uppity. Yep, she’d better get a move on, else there’d be trouble. She increased her speed, swung round a corner, and came upon a big black car with darkened windows filling the road in front of her.
The VW did its best to respond to the brakes, but Hazel realized too late that she couldn’t stop in time. By the time she’d whacked into the black car’s rear end with a nasty thump, she had braced herself for the impact. She heard ominous sounds of tinkling glass on the road and sighed. God, of all mornings…
The door of the big car was flung open, and an enormous man got out. His head was shaved and in his dark glasses he was very menacing. “What the bloody hell!” His voice was loud and furious, and Hazel cursed to herself. She stayed in her car, waiting for the man to come up. Then she saw the passenger door open, and a woman walked over quickly towards them. At the same time, she glimpsed an old brown car driving off at speed, soon leaving them behind. Was it Lois? Blimey, she might have stayed to help. Still, Hazel had no doubt that she could cope.
“So,” she said, as the unattractive pair leaned down to knock angrily on her car window. She opened it, and stared at them. “Well,” she began, “if ain’t Ms Murphy and Minder Tony…Can’t think of anyone I’d rather bash into. You’d better give me a hand clearing up the glass.”
But after delivering an angry kick that dented the VW’s already blemished bodywork, the big man allowed himself to be dragged away by Joanne Murphy, who yelled at him, “We’ll lose her, Tony, for God’s sake!” They sped off, leaving Hazel to brush away the broken glass as best she could.
♦
Lois drove into the hall car park and turned off the engine. Sod it! She was sure it had been Hazel’s car, and knew she should have stopped to make sure she was all right. But self-preservation was a stronger instinct, and now she sat shaking in her seat, trying to pull herself together. Then she saw Cowgill’s car cruising in. He parked next to her, and got out, looking round carefully before approaching her.
“I got away,” she said. “They were run into by a car behind them. I’m pretty sure it was Hazel, but if you go back along that road you’re bound to see them. Check Hazel’s OK, too.”
To her surprise, Hunter Cowgill shook his head. “I saw them,” he said. “Just coming along as I turned in here. I think they were coming in after you, but then they saw me and changed their minds.”
“But Hazel?” said Lois anxiously.
“Ah yes,” he said, “Hazel Reading. Yes, well, I think it’s time I told you about Hazel Reading. Can you meet me in the woods – half past two? We’d better have a chat, but not here.”
∨ Terror on Tuesday ∧
Twenty-Six
Lois
was puzzled. What on earth could Cowgill mean? There surely was nothing he could tell her about Hazel. Lois had known her since the day she arrived, premature and squealing like a piglet, in the hospital in Tresham. Bridie had doted on her and Lois had feared that the tiny girl would be smothered with protective love. But both she and Bridie had reckoned without Hazel’s iron constitution and bloody-mindedness inherited from her father. She had been determined and competitive at school, and had stood up to her father’s excesses since the day when, at three years old, she had bitten his leg as he made to slap Bridie round the face. No, there was nothing Cowgill could tell her about Hazel. More likely the other way round! As a young teenager, Hazel had had several unsuitable boyfriends – skivers, too old, or loafers who had money from mysterious sources, etc, etc – and several times Lois had warned her when her father was on the warpath. But then, you never knew with other people’s children. And teenagers could be very secretive, very adept at covering up what they did not want known.
Lois got into her car after a hard morning’s work and drove home, looking nervously and more frequently than usual in her rear-view mirror. But no big car with darkened windows followed her, and she arrived home to find the others waiting for her outside the house. She had said nothing to Hazel about the crash, and Hazel hadn’t mentioned it. She’d decided to find out what Cowgill had to say first.
“Late again, Mrs M,” said Gary, teasing, but nevertheless standing back politely to allow her through the gate.
“Shut up, Gary,” said Lois shortly, and he raised his eyebrows and shrugged. She saw him and Hazel exchange glances, and wondered again how well they knew each other. “Now then,” she said when they were settled, “we have a new client – Mrs Betts, schoolhouse at Waltonby – ”
She stopped as Hazel suddenly choked and had to be thumped on the back before recovering. “Sorry, Mrs M,” Hazel said.
“As I was saying, then, Mrs Betts needs someone urgently, and Sheila has agreed to take her on. Shouldn’t be too difficult, as it’s not a big house. Built by the squire when he thought his tenants needed educating. Smallish rooms, been modernized. Any comments?”
Once again, Hazel and Gary looked at each other knowingly, and this time Lois said, “If you two have something to say, please say it. That’s what we’re here for, to give us a chance for a chat. Come on, Hazel, what is it? Something to do with Prue?”
Hazel shook her head. “Nope,” she said. “Mrs Betts always seems a nice enough woman, and Prue’s OK now. Goin’ off to university in the autumn.”
“And Mr Betts?” said Lois, hoping Sheila wouldn’t jump in here.
Hazel shook her head. “Not my cup of tea,” she said, and hesitated. Then, of course, Sheila began her story of the old woman and the stroke, and the discussion became general.
After a few minutes, Lois said, “Well, we’ll give it a try, and I shall keep a close eye on everything.” Not much forthcoming there, she thought, as they carried on with other matters. Gary was quieter than usual, but that could have been because of the snub she’d administered.
They all left cheerfully enough, and then at the gate Gary said, “Oh blast, left my notebook in your study, Lois!” He walked back with her into the house, and recovered it.
“You all right, Gary?” said Lois tentatively.
He nodded. “More or less,” he said, and then added, “it’s just that you’ve been a bit off with me lately, and I’m not sure what I’ve done wrong. I know I shouldn’t have been reading the doctor’s papers, but that wasn’t exactly a serious crime…” He tailed off lamely, looking down at his hands.
And what about you being buddies with Joanne Murphy? thought Lois. And what’s goin’ on at the theatre behind the scenes? And, for that matter, what’s goin’ on between you and Hazel? She said only, “Don’t be silly, Gary, there’s nothing wrong. Had a lot on my mind recently. Just as long as your work is satisfactory, and there’s no more leaving taps on, I’m quite happy.” He left her then, but the atmosphere between them was far from warm.
♦
Cowgill was already there at the meeting place. Lois was about ten minutes late, and he looked at his watch. “For God’s sake!” she snapped. “I’ve got a business to run, and you’re damned lucky I’ve come at all! Miles out of my way, and washing and ironing to do at home!”
He said nothing, but smiled gently. “Gran not still with you?” he said mildly.
“Is there anything you don’t bloody well know?” she retorted. “Strikes me you could do without my penn’orth perfectly well. And anyway, what’s all this about Hazel?”
“Calm down, Lois,” he said in a firmer voice. “What I have to tell you is serious, and extremely confidential. If I didn’t value your help very highly I certainly wouldn’t be giving you this information. So just listen carefully, please…and don’t smoulder!” he added, touching her shoulder lightly.
“OK, OK, I’m sorry,” said Lois. “I’ve had a rotten day so far. Go on, then, cheer me up. What about Hazel?”
He began by telling her more or less the same stuff that Josie had described in the middle of the night. The school drugs scene, the young kids drawn into experimenting by those already hooked, the one or two tragedies. Then he surprised her. “Hazel Reading was a near disaster too,” he said. “First came to our notice when we picked her up out cold on the pavement outside that club in Tresham. All her so-called friends had vanished, just left her there, and she was in a bad way.”
“But Bridie never said…” Lois had gone very pale. If Hazel…and then Prue…who next? It was her turn to look at her watch. She must be back for the school bus.
“No, well, she wouldn’t, would she,” said Cowgill. “You were already prepared to wade in and rescue Bridie from her husband, and both Bridie and Hazel were anxious to avoid any more ructions from that quarter. No, Hazel recovered and nothing was said. Except that one day Hazel turned up at the police station, asking for me. Said she’d learned her lesson and wanted to get her own back on the pushers and dealers.”
“But did she know…?”
“Not then. She only knew kids who could get more or less anything…at a price. But she wanted to find out more and said she could do it, being part of the scene. I was very doubtful. It’s a dangerous world, as you’ve discovered,” he added, watching Lois’s colour come back. “I told her to take no action – and that was an order – but to keep her ear to the ground and let us know if she heard anything of interest.”
“So, ever since then she’s been working for you?” said Lois incredulously. “My God, she’s good at keeping it quiet. I never thought for a minute…”
“As you know,” Cowgill continued, “the theatre in Tresham is a hot spot. Joanne Murphy and the Gorilla – I like that! – are heavily into it, but as I said, they’re not the level we’re after. Hazel’s given us some good stuff, wormed her way backstage with offers of help, and is useful there.”
“And Gary Needham?” said Lois sharply.
“What about him?” said Cowgill. Lois knew by now when the shutters came down, and they’d just clattered into place. She was not going to learn anything about Gary, not now.
“And does Hazel know about me?” she said.
“No,” said Cowgill, “and that’s the way we’ll keep it at the moment. She’s fond of you, you know, and I don’t want her rushing to your defence when it’s not needed. Might spoil things.”
“Well, thanks,” said Lois bitterly. “I’ll just keep quiet if the Gorilla has another go at me with Hazel in earshot. I wouldn’t want to spoil things.”
And then she took a deep breath, decided he’d probably had a bad morning too, and told him about the Betts’s. He nodded, and said ‘Good’ several times. “He’s in with that theatre lot, isn’t he?” said Lois.
Cowgill nodded again. “Not sure how deep, if at all,” he said, “but it will be very useful having you in touch there. And you know how to get hold of me. I doubt if Mrs Murphy and the Gorilla will try anyt
hing on with you. They’ll be off on another tack.”
As she got into her car and drove back towards Long Farnden, Cowgill’s last words echoed in her head. What other tack would they try? Where was she most vulnerable? The answer to that was so obvious that she shivered. Her kids. Josie, Douglas and Jamie. It never occurred to her to add Derek to the list.
∨ Terror on Tuesday ∧
Twenty-Seven
Sheila Stratford rinsed out the sink and took off her apron. She turned to her husband. “New job this afternoon, Sam,” she said.
“I know,” he said, from behind the pages of the Sun, “you told me…several times.”
“Oh, you,” she said, cuffing him lightly round the ear. “D’you think I need police protection?”
Sam Stratford put down his paper and looked at her with a frown. “Wha’d’you mean?” he said. Sam was a farm worker, and expert at handling the enormous tractors, trailers and other fearsome pieces of equipment that had replaced men and horses. He was not so good at handling women. His mother had been a bossy woman, and he had married another. Usually he kept his head down, and said very little around the house, reserving conversation for his mates at the pub, where he went regular as clockwork at nine o’clock every night except Sunday. Now he was surprised into attention at what his wife was saying.
“I mean,” she said with emphasis, “it was all round the village that old Betts had made poor old Mrs Whatsit have a stroke…frightened her nearly to death with shouting and threatening her. That’s what I mean.”
“Gossip,” said Sam. “Only ever seen him once in the pub, and he was as mild as milk. Blimey, is that the time?” He folded up the paper and vanished.
As Sheila heard the gate slam shut, she sighed. Sometimes she wished she was small and slim and delicate. Perhaps that would bring out the protector in Sam. Then she laughed, as she caught sight of her ample figure in the hall mirror. Her broad red face laughed back at her, and she smoothed down her mop of wiry hair. No, he wouldn’t have married her if she’d been a waif. Needed a good, strong woman, and that’s what he’d got.