Bill shrugged his shoulders. “No idea. Could have been the builder, someone who worked here, anyone really.”
“Humph! You’re so obstinate, William. It was clearly Joe. He had an affair and his ladylove threatened to tell Eve, either because he wanted to end the affair or because he wouldn’t end his marriage and marry her. Whichever it was he bumped her off. End of.”
“Ah, but I’ve just remembered. She was married anyway so she wasn’t in a position to marry anyone, was she?” Bill was triumphant.
“She could have been divorced,” snapped Sandra, “or even a widow. Lots of women lost their husbands during the war.”
Bill laughed. “You look really cute when you’re angry. Anyway, let’s not fall out over it as I’m sure we’ll know something soon. You never know, Mum and Auntie Het might get on the case and find out the exact date on which the oven was bricked up and even when Eve left with Norman. If so that’ll settle the argument as to whether or not Eve was around when it happened.”
“You don’t really believe that surely,” scoffed Sandra, “I mean how could your mum and Het find out, it was sixty years ago for goodness sake.”
“I haven’t the foggiest idea but if they do decide to look into it I’m sure they’ll find something out simply because that’s the way they are.”
“Hmm, well time will tell.”
“Yes, it will.”
Sandra smiled. “Do I really look cute when I’m angry?”
A week later, the police informed Bill and Sandra that they no longer needed access to the baking room and therefore they were free to continue with the renovation work. And so while a wood burning stove was being fitted in the sitting room, Basil and Mark continued to expose the chimney breast wall in the baking room and the heating engineer fitted the boiler in the back porch. Hetty, feeling inquisitive, volunteered to sort through the boxes of odds and ends from the cupboard beneath the stairs. Bill, meanwhile, with a day off work resumed tidying the outhouse, the girls were at school, Zac was working in the Crown and Anchor and in the sitting room Sandra and Lottie each painted the inside frames of the two front windows.
Amongst the clutter in the cupboard beneath the stairs, Hetty found a large shoebox. She removed the lid and saw it contained old receipts. Hoping amongst them she might find something alluding to the stone oven, she sat down on the bottom tread of the staircase and shuffled through the contents. To her delight she found an invoice issued by a Charlie Pascoe in February 1958 for bricking up the oven and rendering the wall. The invoice was marked paid. Delighted with her find she took it into the living room and showed it to Sandra and Lottie.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” laughed Sandra, as she looked at the small sheet of paper, “Bill said you’d most likely find the date when the oven was bricked up and you have.”
“Did he?” Hetty was chuffed, “He usually mocks our hard work.”
“Yes, he did. Now if you can find out when Eve left Joe that’ll settle a little disagreement we had the other day.”
“Oh, that one’s easy,” declared Hetty, “Eve left the village with Norman in January 1958.”
“What!”
“Yes, she left a few days after her sister Alice’s eighteenth birthday. It was Alice who told us when we went to see her a little while ago.” Lottie carefully placed her paintbrush on top of the tin so that she could look at the invoice.
“Humph, looks like I shall have to eat humble pie then.” Sandra did not look happy.
“I often have to do that,” conceded Hetty, “and it’s not too bad.”
Lottie read the invoice. “Charlie Pascoe, I wonder if he’s still around. What do you two think?”
Sandra smiled. “I doubt it, not after sixty years but then what do I know?”
“No, I suppose that is asking a bit much.”
Hetty was more positive. “Depends how old he was when he did the job. I mean, if he was thirty or less then he could still be around.”
Lottie glanced back at the invoice. “It says his address is 4, Main Street so we could pop along there and ask around. Someone might know something about him.”
“I suppose it’s worth a try,” agreed Sandra, not looking forward to telling Bill of his aunt’s discovery, “but despite what you say, Auntie Het, as far as I’m concerned the fact he’d have to be well over eighty means the chances of finding him are nil.”
“Well, we’ll go anyway,” said Lottie, “it’ll be nice to get away from the smell of paint.”
Sandra peeled off her rubber gloves. “You must have lunch before you go. I’ve ordered pizzas for everyone and they should be delivered anytime now.”
“Better hurry up and get this window finished then. I’m on the last bit.” Lottie picked up her paintbrush.
Sandra looked smug. “I’ve finished mine.”
“I must admit they’ve come up really well,” said Hetty, admiring the windows, “and look as good as new.”
Sandra nodded. “Yes, they have thank goodness as it’d cost a few bob to replace them like for like.”
“Like for like,” repeated Hetty, “What do you mean?”
“The house is Grade Two listed. At least the front of it is so we can’t change the door and windows unless they’re exactly the same, meaning like for like.”
Hetty tutted. “I didn’t know that. Oh dear, so no UPVC double glazing then.”
Sandra shook her head. “Absolutely not and that hideous front door has to stay as well.”
“Oh, I think it’s rather nice,” enthused Hetty, “and I’m sure after it’s had a lick of paint it’ll look splendid.”
“You do? Then you can rub it down and paint it,” laughed Sandra.
“I will,” Hetty was always up for a challenge, “and I think you’ll be amazed by the outcome.”
Bill walked in and caught the end of the conversation. “Talking of paint, I’ve got to the old trunk at last. Come and see.”
The three ladies followed Bill to the outhouse where he lifted the lid of the trunk. It was full of old paints, picture frames, brushes, old cloths and an easel along with several paintings.
Bill lifted out one of small birds feeding on a bird table; it was signed Joe Williams.
Lottie was impressed. “So it looks as though painting was his hobby and very good he was too.”
“What are the rest of?” Hetty asked.
“From what I can see most are birds,” Bill lifted out an oil painting of seagulls on a beach and another of a robin resting on the handle of a garden spade with a sprig of mistletoe in its beak.
Sandra, keen to extract one from the old trunk herself, clasped the edge of a dark wooden frame. It came out back-to-front. When she turned it, she gasped. The picture was of a raven on a rooftop encircled by a bright full moon.
To the surprise of the sisters when they knocked on the door of number 4 Main Street later in the afternoon, it was answered by Natalie Burleigh, a young woman who for a time with her husband Luke had rented a cottage a few doors away from Primrose Cottage along Blackberry Way.
“Oh, we didn’t realise you lived here,” Hetty felt rather foolish, “I mean, we knew you lived along here somewhere but not which house.”
Natalie looked bewildered.
Lottie attempted to defuse the confusion. “We’re trying to track down someone who lived here sixty years ago but of course it was long before you came to the village so I don’t suppose you’ll know anything of him.”
“Oh, oh, I see.” It was clear by the expression on Natalie’s face that she didn’t.
“It’s to do with the body in the oven,” blurted Hetty.
Natalie’s face lit up. “Really! Would you like to come in for a coffee then? Please say you will because I’d love to hear the latest news. It’s the talk of the village.”
“Yes, coffee would be very nice, thank you.” Hetty stepped over the threshold and Lottie followed.
“So, out of curiosity who are you looking for?” Natalie asked when they were
all seated in the sitting room.
“A chap called Charlie Pascoe. He used to be a builder who lived in this house and we have every reason to believe that he was the chap who bricked up the old oven.” Hetty pulled the builder’s invoice from her pocket.
As Natalie took the small sheet of paper and read it, she frowned. “How old do you think this Charlie Pascoe would be now?”
Hetty shrugged her shoulders. “Well, according to this invoice, the oven was bricked up in February 1958 so he must have been twenty plus then in which case he’s got to be in his eighties now if he’s still alive.”
“Really, now that is interesting.” Natalie folded the invoice and passed it back to Hetty.
Lottie leaned forwards in her chair. “Do you mean you know something about him then?”
Natalie nodded. “Maybe. You see up at the care home we have an old chap called Charlie Pascoe and he’s well into his eighties. In fact he’s eighty five. It was his birthday last week. I don’t know whether or not he ever lived here though but if he did and he’s the right Charlie it’ll be fascinating to ask him about it.”
Hetty gasped. “We forgot you worked up at the care home. Surely it’s got to be him.”
“Is your Charlie from the village?” Lottie eagerly asked.
“Yes, definitely because he often talks about when he was a boy and how he went to the village school. Having said that, talk of yesteryear is when he’s having a good day. On bad days he can’t even remember his own name.”
“Do you think we could visit him?” Hetty crossed her fingers.
“Of course. You’d be welcome any time.”
“Excellent, we’ll pop along and see him sometime this week depending on when and if we’re needed to help out at the Old Bakehouse. Although there’s not much more we can do now. I’ve volunteered to paint the front door but that can be done anytime.”
Lottie laughed. “I think you’ll find a dry day might be useful and this time of the year they’re few and far between.”
“True but it won’t take long and I’ve got to rub it down first anyway.”
“So is there any news as to who the body in the oven might have been?” Natalie asked, “Someone told me it was female but I’ve heard no more than that.”
“Yes, the poor soul was a married, dark haired female and they think the possible cause of death was strangulation,” said Hetty.
“And it’s reckoned she would have been in her mid-thirties when she died,” Lottie added. “The police have checked records to see if any female of that age was reported missing in 1958 but I don’t think they’ve had any luck.”
Hetty nodded. “And that’s where Charlie Pascoe comes in. We’re hoping he might know something. The invoice might even jog his memory.”
“How exciting,” giggled Natalie.
Lottie scowled. “I’ve just had a thought, Het. Do you think we ought to tell the police about the invoice and the fact the chap who bricked up the oven might still be around?”
“Hmm, not sure about that. I think it might be best if we speak to Charlie first and see what he has to say. After all there’s always the chance he might not be the right Charlie anyway.”
“But surely not to do so is withholding vital evidence, information or whatever they call it.”
“Yes, I agree and if the crime had been committed recently then it would be more pressing but after all this time I can’t see anyone doing a runner especially as the most likely culprit is old Joe Williams who of course is dead.”
“Yes, I suppose you’re right.” Lottie spoke without conviction.
“Don’t look so glum. We’ll speak to Charlie. If he’s the right chap and he remembers bricking up the oven, then we’ll tell that nice detective inspector chappie who called the other day.”
“Detective Inspector Fox.”
“Yes, that’s the one.”
Chapter Nine
The following day, Hetty and Lottie left Primrose Cottage and walked to the care home situated up a narrow lane behind the village school. It was a two storey building just over fifty years old and with lots of windows on the southern side. The grounds were nicely laid out and although not many flowers were in bloom it was obvious the garden would be a picture in the summer.
“Lovely and bright,” whispered Hetty, as they stepped inside having informed the person who answered the door wearing a name badge who they wished to see.
“Are you relatives of Mr Pascoe?” they were asked as the door was closed and then locked.
“No, um, err, Lynn,” said Hetty, focussing on the name badge. Before she had a chance to say more, Natalie Burleigh appeared in the hallway.
“Oh, hello. Have you come to see Charlie?”
“I take it you know these ladies,” Lynn spoke to Natalie.
“Yes, I’ve known them ever since Luke and I moved to Pentrillick. We’re old friends. Isn’t that so, Hetty and Lottie?”
The sisters nodded.
“That’s okay then. I’ll leave you to it.”
“Security’s a bit tight here,” commented Lottie, “I’m pleased to see it though. It wouldn’t do to have any Tom, Dick or Harry wandering around poking through the residents’ possessions.”
Natalie led the sisters into the day room with panoramic views of the sea where an elderly gentleman sat by a window reading a paperback book with a garish front cover.
Natalie gently touched his arm. “Charlie, you have visitors.”
He looked up and frowned. “Hello, ladies. Do I know you?”
Lottie shook her head. “No, but we believe you might be the builder who once upon a time worked on a house in the village which my son and his family have just bought.”
Charlie laughed. “Not come to complain about my workmanship, I hope.”
“Oh, no, no, nothing like that.”
“Only kidding. Sit down, ladies.”
“I’ll leave you now,” said Natalie, “but tell one of the carers when you’re ready to leave and he or she will see you out.”
Hetty nodded. “Will do.”
“So, what can I do for you?” Charlie asked as the sisters sat. “But before that you must tell me your names?”
“I’m Hetty.”
“I’m Lottie and we’re sisters. Twins in fact.”
“And we’ve come to ask you about the Old Bakehouse,” gushed Hetty, not wishing to beat about the bush. “As Lottie said, we have reason to believe you did some work there sixty years ago.”
Charlie chuckled. “I did work everywhere, can you be more precise?”
“You bricked up the old oven in the baking room and then rendered the wall.”
“Did I? That sounds a bit daft because Joe would’ve needed it to bake the bread.”
Hetty sat up straight. “You remember Joe then.”
“Of course I do, he was the baker. He’s dead now though, isn’t he? Someone told me the other day but I can’t recall who.” Charlie tutted. “Poor chap. I remember him crying when his wife left him. He was devastated and said he’d never marry again because if he did it’d most like end in tears. His first wife died, you see. Such a shame. Poor old Joe.”
“So do you remember bricking up the oven?” Hetty asked.
“Can’t say that I do.”
“It was back in 1958,” Lottie hoped mention of the year might help.
“1958!” he laughed, “I were only a lad then,” He started to calculate the figures in his head but appeared confused.
“If you’re eighty-five now you must have been born in 1933,” Lottie determined.
“That’s right, I was. When were you ladies born?”
“1952,” said Hetty.
Charlie frowned. “What both of you?”
“Yes, we’re twins.”
“Oh yes, you did say,” He glanced towards the window where sunlight reflected on a crystal vase containing yellow and white chrysanthemums. “Why do you want to know about the old oven?”
“No reason,” Hetty suddenly
felt that mention of the body might be too much for the elderly man to take in. “It’s only that Lottie’s son and his wife have just bought the Old Bakehouse and amongst the things we found in a box under the stairs is the invoice you issued for bricking up the oven and rendering up the wall. Look I have it here.” She handed it to Charlie.
“Yes, that’d be one of mine. I didn’t write it though.”
“You didn’t?” Hetty looked confused.
“No, that’s Audrey’s writing. She was my wife but she’s gone now. My writing’s terrible so she did all my paperwork.” He handed the invoice back to Hetty, “So why did you say you wanted to know about the old oven?”
Lottie, following Hetty’s train of thought regarding mention of the body being too much for Charlie to comprehend, quickly answered, “We were just wondering if you could remember what it was all like back then.”
“Give me a couple of days and I’ll think about it,” He chuckled and tapped his head, “It’ll all be up here in the old computer somewhere; I just need to flush it out.”
“Of course, there’s no rush,” said Lottie.
“Did you know that Natalie who works here and her husband live in the house you used to live in?” Hetty hoped mention of the house might bring back memories of the past.
“Yes, she asked me where I used to live this morning when she brought me my breakfast. When I told her it was 4, Main Street she was fascinated. After she’d gone I looked out my old photo album and then when she came to collect my breakfast tray I showed her some pictures of me and Audrey in the garden there. Would you like to see them?”
“Yes, please,” gushed Hetty.
Charlie reached under his chair. “Oh, bother wrong chair the album’s under the one in my room.”
“Never mind,” smiled Lottie, “perhaps we can see them another time.”
“Yes, yes, we’ll do that and I’ll make sure the album is in here.”
After the sisters’ chat with Charlie they went out into the hallway in search of someone to tell that they were leaving; ambling along the corridor they saw Natalie escorting an elderly lady with a walking frame.
The Old Bakehouse Page 7