by Ann Purser
It occurred to her that perhaps they had not meant to kill any of them, not Haydn, nor Dot, nor herself and Darren. Perhaps the orders had been to frighten them off, making it quite clear that next time they would finish the job? If so, then they had obeyed orders and added evil intent themselves. That lad of Dot’s had not stood a chance. His reactions might have been a bit slow, of course, or they could have miscalculated the actions of the terrified bolting horse. Lois shook her head. That one didn’t make sense. But one useful conclusion emerged. If the intention had been to kill, then whoever was behind this, the one who carried out the master plan was not very bright in choosing his hitmen. Bungling from beginning to end. She and Darren could easily have died, and so could Dot, but they hadn’t.
So, now, which of them was not very bright? She drove home still sorting it out in her head, and vanished into her office to see if making notes would help to clear her head.
* * *
DEREK CAME HOME LATE FOR SUPPER. GRAN HAD refilled the kettle a couple of times and put it back on the hob. She looked at her watch as he came through the door.
“So what kept you?” she said.
“What d’you think?” he replied, an unusually grumpy greeting from Derek to his mother-in-law. “Work, Gran, earning us a living.”
What’s eating him, she wondered, but said nothing more.
“Where’s Lois?” he asked.
“In her office. Sorting papers, she said. Will you call and tell her supper’s ready.”
“When I’ve had a wash,” he replied, and walked through to the hall. Gran heard Lois’s door open and shut with a bang. Oh dear, she thought, what’s happened now? This wasn’t the most peaceful family to live with. Still, it was hers, and she loved them all. She peeped into the oven, and everything seemed to be ticking over nicely.
Lois looked up from her notes, and said, “Hi, m’love. Goodness, Derek, you look cross,” she added, seeing his gloomy face. “What’s up?”
“The sodding lottery, that’s what’s up. I wish we’d never won it.”
“Well, I don’t,” Lois said, shrugging her shoulders. “We can make very good use of it, and have already. Rent from our little house coming in, and some improvements round this house. What’s happened?”
She got up and came round her desk to give him a hug. He sighed. “Those Horsleys,” he said. “Typical farmer, Joe Horsley. He’d asked me to give them a quote for more work in the kitchen. I got a call on my mobile this morning. Says I’m far too expensive and that after winning the lottery, I don’t need the money anyway. They got lower estimates, he says, so would I like to re-quote? I told him to get lost. Depressed me, though.”
Lois was furious. “I’ve a good mind to take New Brooms away from them,” she said. “Leave them in the lurch, rotten sods. Well,” she added, “it’s him, really. She’s not too bad, Dot reckoned.”
They were silent for a second or two, and then Lois brightened. “I know,” she said, “we’ll put up the cleaning charges. That’ll fix him. He’ll need a good win on the gee-gees even more urgently!”
“They might just do without,” Derek said gloomily.
“Oh no, they can’t wait to get Dot back. They need her for what she knows. Far more to it than meets the eye with the Horsleys.”
Derek groaned. “Oh, Lois, can’t you leave it alone? Isn’t it enough to get yourself nearly killed, and a young lad into the bargain? Aren’t we enough, me and Gran and the kids?”
Lois said nothing. Derek turned her towards him and looked closely into her face. “All right, all right,” he said sadly, “you don’t need to answer.” He turned away and went to the door. “I’ll get a quick wash before supper,” he said. “Gran’s about to explode.”
FORTY-EIGHT
EARLY NEXT MORNING, EVELYN RECEIVED A TELEPHONE call, and was stunned to hear Dot’s voice loud and clear.
“They’ve rumbled me, Evie,” Dot said, chuckling. “Kicking me out this afternoon. Well, not exactly kicking, but they made it plain they needed the bed for more deservin’ patients.”
“But they’re not sending you home?” said Evelyn, genuinely shocked.
“Good God no,” Dot said. “They wanted to know if I would like them to arrange a convalescent home. I said not bloody likely, as you can imagine. Not ready to be dumped in a home yet, I said.”
“So where are you going?” said Evelyn, with a sinking heart.
“To my darling sister, o’ course! I knew you wouldn’t hear of nothing else. So when can you come and collect me? I’ll need some clean clothes an’ that.”
While Evelyn reeled from this news, Dot gave her a list of things to do and to bring. “I’ll need to come back for tests and things,” she added, “but I told them you’d be happy to do that, ’aving a car yourself. I made it quite clear I couldn’t wait to get home. Liar! Still, I always was, and when it matters I tell the truth. An’ this is the truth: I’m very grateful to you, Evie. I’ll do the same for you one day. See y’later.”
Evelyn sat without moving for several minutes. Then she sighed, and picked up the phone.
“Hello? Mrs. M? I’ve got some good news . . . I think,” she said. She told Lois about Dot, and was amazed to hear a shout of laughter.
“Wicked old thing!” Lois said. “So when are you picking her up? Do you want me to get one of the girls to cover for you today?”
They rearranged Evelyn’s day, and Lois offered help with collecting Dot. “No, I’ll be fine, thanks,” Evelyn said. “You should be taking it easy yourself.”
“Don’t worry about me. It might not be much fun for you, but Dot’s news has cheered me up no end! I feel stronger already. She’s one of those characters you’re always pleased to see coming through the door, awful as she is . . .”
There was a pause, and then Evelyn said, “I hate to say it, Mrs. M, but you’re right. I wouldn’t change her for a win on the lottery.”
“Derek might agree with you there,” Lois said, suddenly serious. “But let me know how it goes, and I’ll be in touch.”
* * *
WHEN DEREK CAME HOME TO LUNCH, HE DUMPED HIS bag on the kitchen floor and went straight through to Lois’s office. He walked straight in, and found her with young Floss, both busy with pens and notebooks.
“Oh, sorry,” he said, backing out.
“No, it’s OK. We’ve finished, more or less.” Lois put down her notes and saw Floss out of the front door. “Things not too good at the Battersbys,” she said on returning. “Apparently old Horace swore at Floss when she dropped a newspaper in a puddle of dog pee in the kitchen. Poor kid was very upset. You’d think their rotten dogs would be house-trained, wouldn’t you? I shall have to have a word.”
Derek sat down in the chair opposite Lois, and said, “Their sort are always the worst. Especially them with corgis. Still, no doubt you’ll put it right with a diplomatic complaint. Now,” he added more briskly, “I’ve got an idea. And don’t interrupt until I’ve finished.”
Lois widened her eyes, settled back and listened. This was more like her old Derek.
“I know you’ll say you got quite enough to do already, but I think it would be good for you to have some interest outside New Brooms and snooping for Cowgill. No! I said don’t interrupt! What I’m suggesting is that although I love our garden, and it’s always been my territory, I can’t seem to find the time to do it all these days. It would be good if you could take on the flowers, and maybe the whole of the front garden. I’d still cut the grass, because that’s not woman’s work—”
At this point, Lois could keep silent no longer. “What d’you mean, not woman’s work!” She then listed all the dirty jobs and heavy tasks she had managed quite easily from the day they were married. “I’m a big strong woman, and cutting the grass would be child’s play to me.”
“So you’ll do it then?” said Derek, taking a step in the right direction.
“I haven’t said I would. I’m just pointing out that I could.” Lois looked at him
and smiled. Then she got up and came round to him. He stood up and put his arms around her.
“To please me?” he whispered in her ear.
“To please you, I’d do anything,” Lois said, and added, “Well, nearly anything.”
“Anything,” said Derek firmly, and grinned in triumph.
* * *
BY EVENING, DEREK HAD VISITED THEIR NEAREST GARDEN centre, collected up packets of seeds, a pair of ladies’ gardening gloves, and a new trowel and fork. “I’ll clear a space in the greenhouse for you,” he said enthusiastically, “and anything you want to know, just ask me. With any luck, we’ll have some prize blooms to put in the horticultural show this year. Bet you’ll get a first easily.”
Derek knew exactly what he was doing. At the mention of a challenge, Lois’s expression changed. “Ah, now you’re talking,” she said. “I bet I can beat those boring old men on the allotment any day. I’ll show ’em. By the way,” she added, “the front hedge needs clipping. I’ll start on that straight after tea.”
“Blimey!” said Gran, who was listening open-mouthed. “Now I’ve heard everything.”
* * *
HUNTER COWGILL, CRUISING BY IN THE EARLY EVENING, could not believe his eyes. There was Lois, in tattered jeans and a beaten-up old hat of Derek’s, up a step ladder, clipping the golden privet hedge.
He stopped on the opposite side of the road, opened the car window, and leaned across. “That’s what I like to see,” he called. “Toning up the muscles. Soon be ready for anything. But seriously, Lois, isn’t that too much for you so soon after the accident?”
Her face told him he’d said just the wrong thing, and he flinched in anticipation. The sharp retort was muted. Lois carefully came down the steps and looked across at him. She walked over and said seriously, “You know, my Derek is not stupid. Never has been. He has just given me the perfect opportunity to gather information. You are the fourth person who has stopped to talk. None of the others in a car, of course, but just walking by. I don’t need to tell you this could be very useful indeed.”
“Well done Derek! Anything you’d like to know from me?” Cowgill said, and wished his heart would stop thumping in that frightening way.
“On your way, Hunter,” Lois said. “I’ll be in touch.”
As he drove on, he began to hum quietly to himself. She’d called him Hunter, for the first time ever! Wasn’t that the sun coming out, after a dull and rainy day?
FORTY-NINE
DOT WAS WAITING, READY DRESSED AND CLUTCHING HER few belongings in a plastic bag, when Evelyn arrived to collect her. In spite of her protestations of being absolutely fine, she looked thin and pale. But the twinkle in her eye was strong enough, and she refused help in walking out and into the car park.
“Blimey, Evie,” she said “I was ’aving my convalescence in there, until they sussed me out. Mind you, I’m glad to be going. It’s like being let out o’ prison. The air’s never really fresh in there, with air conditioning an’ that. ’Ere, before we start, I’m dying for a fag—you got one in your handbag?”
Evie was speechless. She shook her head and remembered her resolution not to argue with Dot. If they were going to live together for a while, a short while, the only way to keep the peace was to agree with everything Dot said. And anyway, the old thing looked so fragile that Evelyn was determined to handle her gently.
They were halfway home, just entering Long Farnden, when Dot said, “Slow up, Evie, I’ll just nip in and see Mrs. M about starting work again.”
“Don’t be ridiculous!” said Evelyn, already forgetting her good intentions. “Starting work? You’ll not be doing that for several weeks yet.”
“Stop here,” said Dot, as if she had not heard. “I shan’t be long. You can read the paper or summat.” She opened the door and clambered out with difficulty. Evelyn was around the car to help her at once, but Dot shook her off. “I can manage,” she said, and proceeded up the garden path.
* * *
LOIS, STANDING AT HER OFFICE WINDOW, STARED. IT couldn’t be! But it was, and Gran was answering the door. Lois rushed out and took Dot by the arm. “You dope!” she said. “Here, Gran, I’ll take her into the office and you can make coffee. Is that Evelyn out there? She’d better come in too.”
“No!” Dot said sharply. “She’s all right out there. I just want a quiet word, Mrs. M. And don’t bother with the coffee, Mrs. Weedon. I’m not stoppin’ long enough.”
Gran withdrew huffily. Well, Dot and Lois could get on with it. Then she had an idea. She would go out and talk to Evelyn in the car, keep her company. Brightening, she opened the front door and walked down the path.
* * *
“HOW ARE YOU, MRS. M?” DOT SAID, SETTLING HERSELF with relief in a comfortable chair.
“Fine, thanks, but if you don’t mind my saying so, you still look poorly. Why don’t you go back with Evelyn and I’ll call in and see you later?”
“No,” Dot said firmly. “I need to tell you something important, and then I can rest easy.”
Lois sighed. “Carry on, then,” she said.
“It’s about the accident,” she said. “Well, two accidents really. Mine and yours. Two too many, don’tcha think?”
Lois nodded. “Let’s hope there won’t be another. They say these things go in threes.”
As if Lois hadn’t spoken, Dot said, “And then there was Handel, my husband. I expect you remember that. Fell into a gravel pit. Did he fall, or was he pushed? Now, Mrs. M, while I was in hospital I had plenty of time to think. Whatever way you look at it, the person most likely behind it all was that sod Battersby. He nearly come a real cropper that time he wouldn’t pay up, and it was only his toff mates who covered up for ’im.”
“But that was ages ago, wasn’t it?”
“These things are never forgotten. Not in the Nimmo Mafia. That’s what I call ’em. But the more I thought about it, the more I reckoned that Battersby’s not bright enough to organize all that on his own. So what did I do? I remembered about that Joe Horsley. He was deep in debt, and Battersby got him out of it. Then, o’ course, Horace began the gamblin’ and went the same way. But Horace . . . he isn’t a real colonel, by the way . . . honorary title, you might say. Anyway, he got a hold over Horsley, and now it’s a two-way thing. Locked together in crime, they are.”
“Sounds like something on the telly,” Lois said rashly.
“It’s the God’s honest truth, Mrs. M! We’re talking about life and death here. I lost a husband and a son, and you and me nearly bought it as well. It don’t get much worse than that!”
Lois was contrite. But she had felt excited at the possibility that Dot might come up with some new piece of information, and now it seemed not. She knew it all already.
“Sorry, Dot.” Lois was contrite, and endeavoured to put it right. “But do you know what crime the two of them are up to? I know they’ve got petty gambling scams, but that’s not enough to be prepared to attempt murder to keep it quiet. What else do you know?”
Dot was quiet for a few seconds. Then she closed her eyes, and put her hand over her forehead. “Sorry, Mrs. M. Feeling a bit wambly. Dizzy . . .” What little colour she had had drained away, and Lois got up.
“Right, that’s it,” she said firmly. “You’re having a nice cup of tea, and then we’ll get you safely to Evelyn’s. And no arguments! I’m still the boss.”
A faint smile crossed Dot’s face, and she said she was feeling a bit better, but yes, a cup of tea would be nice.
After Evelyn and Gran had returned to the house, and some stern words had been said to Dot, they rested for a while and then made their way back to the car. As Dot settled into the passenger seat, she beckoned to Lois, who leaned into the open window. Then Dot whispered, “There’s more, Mrs. M. I’ll tell you later.”
* * *
IT HAD BEGUN TO RAIN, AND IN THE CHILLY WIND LOIS and Gran hurried back to the house. “Your hedge looks nice,” Gran said grudgingly, “but you left a lot of clippings o
n the path. Folks could slip on those.”
“Glad you approve, Mum,” Lois said absently and disappeared into her office. She wanted to think about Dot’s revelations. Was there anything lurking there that she’d missed? She had noticed that Dot could talk in a kind of code. What was not said was as important as the spoken words. Battersby and Horsley were locked in crime together. She had asked Dot what the crime was, but she’d not answered. Did she know? She had implied that she knew. Lois thought for a minute or two, and then said aloud, “But does Margaret Horsley know?” Was she in it too, whatever it is? She went to see Dot in hospital. Was that an act of friendship, or a scouting-out visit, to see if the comatose Dot had said anything? Or was likely to say anything?
And then there was Blanche. A posh lady if ever there was one. And yet fond of Dot. Was it fondness, or a need to keep the widow of Handy Nimmo sweet? She seemed gentle and kind with young Darren, but there had been some upset there. Some reason why the boy had disappeared for twenty-four hours and couldn’t explain where he’d been. And why was Darren so scared of Horace? A list, Lois said to herself. I need a list of all these things and then perhaps I’ll see what common thread runs through. She took a pen and began to write, but crossed it out again and chewed her pen. Something else. Something I’ve missed or forgotten. Then she remembered how it all started. Saddle thefts—Battersby and Horsley? Darren horse riding with Blanche. Battersby’s empty stables, and Floss’s mare . . . The point-to-point, and a bookie refusing to deal with the Colonel and Joe. Four attempts at murder—one successful? A loose horse . . .
Horses, horses, horses. More attempts to come? Lois shivered. She thought of her gardening project and her intention to put all her spare time into it, and almost regretted ever having met Cowgill. Almost.