Found Guilty at Five (26 page)

F
IFTY-
S
IX

M
RS.
T
OLLERVEY-
J
ONES SAT BOLT UPRIGHT IN
L
OIS’S
office chair, spectacles on the end of her nose and a beautiful old-fashioned fountain pen in hand.

The assembled team was silent, waiting for her to begin. Dot Nimmo was staring out of the window, deliberately taking no notice, and the others stared at the new deputy, willing her to get it wrong.

“Good morning, girls—and boy,” she said, with a big smile at Andrew Young. “I am glad that all went well last week, and am sure we shall be equally successful during the week to come. Mrs. Meade will, of course, be back next Monday, but meantime I will hand out the work schedules which she prepared for you.”

“Same as last week, aren’t they?” said Dot. “There weren’t no problems with my lot. What about you others? We usually go round one by one and see if anything comes up.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Nimmo. So shall we move on to Mrs. Thornbull.”

They all made great play of looking from one to the other to locate the mysterious Mrs. Thornbull.

“Oh, you mean me?” said Hazel. “Well, I usually come last, as I’m in charge of the Tresham office. But still, there is nothing to report out of the ordinary, so that’s me done.”

Each of the others had much the same report, until it came to Andrew’s turn. “I should probably leave this until Mrs. M comes back,” he said. “But it might be a bit urgent.”

“I can always reach her by telephone,” said Mrs. T-J. “What’s the trouble?”

“It’s about that cello that went missing. I’ve had a card from a mate who’s on holiday in Spain, and he’s been in Barcelona. Apparently he’s interested in old musical instruments, and they have a world-famous collection in a museum near there. It was only a postcard, so I can’t be specific. The card was a museum one, and it had a photo of a cello on the front, part of the collection. The name Montagnana caught my eye, because I remember Mrs. M mentioning it when she asked us to keep our ears and eyes open for the Japanese girl’s stolen one.”

“And Mrs. Meade is only a couple of hours away from Barcelona!” said Mrs. Tollervey-Jones excitedly. “Thank you, Andrew. I am sure she will want to hear about this straight-away. Have you got the card with you?”

“Sorry, no. Came out in a hurry, I’m afraid. But I could give her a ring when I get home. Mind you, I looked up sites on the internet and there’s a fair few Montagnanas about in private hands.”

“Worth a look! Thank you for your perspicacity, Andrew. Perhaps you will let us know how you get on?”

*   *   *

“W
E USUALLY HAVE COFFEE AND A CHAT AFTER THE MEETING,”
said Dot.

“I’m very sorry, Mrs. Nimmo, but Mrs. Weedon, Gran, has gone on strike. If you would care to put on the kettle, I’m sure we could manage for ourselves?”

“Watch me,” said Dot, and disappeared. A few seconds later there was the sound of raised voices, and she returned, followed by Gran bearing a large tray loaded with coffee and biscuits.

“Thought you were on strike, Mrs. Weedon?” Mrs. Tollervey-Jones managed an insecure smile.

“If you think I’m letting strange women into my kitchen, meddling with my things, you’ve got another think coming,” Gran replied. “When you’ve finished, you can leave the tray on the desk. I’ll collect it later, thank you, Dot Nimmo.”

*   *   *

A
NDREW FINALLY GOT THROUGH TO
L
OIS, WHO ASKED AT ONCE
if anything was wrong with the family. Reassuring her, he told her about the postcard, and she was immediately interested. “Give me the details of the museum,” she said. “We’ll take a day trip to Barcelona. We meant to do that anyway. Thank you, Andrew. Well done.”

“Are you having a good time?” said Andrew.

“Marvellous,” Lois replied. “Sunburn, trippers, greasy food and boredom. Great!”

Andrew laughed and said he was sure it was doing them the world of good. “We miss you both,” he said, as he ended the call.

Derek had just joined Lois on the small balcony outside their room. “Who was that?” he asked, stretching his arms out to the sun, sea and sand in front of them. “Lovely day again, me duck. What do you plan for us today?”

“Same as yesterday, I’m afraid. But tomorrow we are taking a trip to Barcelona.”

“Fine. But what’s the hurry? We could do it on the way home. Who
was
that on the phone, anyway?”

“Andrew Young. He says there’s a wonderful museum of rare musical instruments somewhere near Barcelona. His friend’s been there and sent him a card. Must not miss it, he said.”

“So which of us is the fan of rare musical instruments? Come on, Lois, out with it.”

“And, if you’d let me finish, he spotted an old cello on the front of the postcard that he thought might interest us.”

Derek groaned. “Oh no, not an old cello. Did it have a label saying ‘property of Akiko Nakamasa’ on it?”

“Don’t be ridiculous! No, but the name Montagnana caught his eye.”

“Same as Akiko’s cello?”

“That’s right. So we’ll take a look, shall we?”

F
IFTY-
S
EVEN

D
EREK HAD DECIDED THAT AS THEY HAD ALL DAY FREE FOR
their trip, he would hire a car. “We can take turns driving,” he said, “so both of us can have time looking at the scenery. Are you okay for driving on the wrong side of the road?”

“Why not? Are you?”

“I can drive anything anywhere,” said Derek. “Just one of my many talents.”

Lois looked at him, eyes shining and attractively sun browned. “You’re really enjoying this holiday, aren’t you, my love? I’m so glad we came.” She made sure Derek could not see her crossed fingers under the table.

“It’s a great place, isn’t it. We must make it an annual event, like other people do.”

“Do you think we could persuade Gran to come with us?”

“When she sees our photos, the problem will be to persuade her
not
to come with us.”

Lois laughed. “Poor old Mum,” she said. “Right, now, drink up your coffee and we’ll get going.”

*   *   *

T
HE MUSEUM WAS SITUATED IN A LARGE AND BEAUTIFUL HOUSE
surrounded by trees. A discreet sign directed them to a car park at the back.

“Do you think we have to pay?” Derek’s command of the Spanish language was minimal. Still, most people spoke English, he reckoned. He was lucky in this case. An elegant old lady greeted them in his mother tongue, and he relaxed. They paid a token entrance fee and were told to look around at their own pace.

“If you require any information other than that in the brochure, please do not hesitate to ask,” she said. “Many of our instruments are extremely valuable, and so they are necessarily locked and alarmed inside the display cabinets. But I think you will find them well set out. Enjoy your visit. I shall be in the entrance hall if you need to locate me.”

Contrary to his expectations, Derek was fascinated. Violin-shaped instruments were familiar, but many were not. “Look at this, Lois! Wonderful names! Bladder pipe—don’t need that yet!—rackett—couldn’t play tennis with that, could you? Oh, and here’s a jolly one—hurdy-gurdy. All you need is a monkey on your shoulder. This is really interesting, isn’t it, me duck?”

“Mm. Oh, Derek, here it is. Come and look! It looks just like—”

“Sshh! You never know who’s listening,” he whispered, walking over to join her at a tall glass case. Derek was silent as Lois read the information in a whisper: “Recent acquisition. Montagnana Cello 1739. On loan for limited period from private collection.”

“Hey, Lois! Do you reckon it could be Akiko’s? Can you remember anything about it that we might recognise?”

Lois didn’t answer, but stared at the instrument as if willing it to jump out of its cabinet. Then she walked all round, peering in as closely as she could through the glass. “Yep,” she said after several minutes. “There it is. Look, Derek.”

He looked, but could see nothing but the beautiful smooth surface of the ancient instrument. “Looks like a conker to me, the really good, shiny ones,” he said, hoping to lighten the atmosphere, which had suddenly become oppressive.

“But look,” whispered Lois. “See there on the back of it? A dark mark in the surface, shaped like a teardrop? It’s very small. Look, there it is.” She pointed with her finger to the glass, and at that moment they heard light footsteps approaching.

“It is a beautiful instrument, is it not?” said the elegant lady, advancing on them. You are lucky to see it. We have it for only a short time.”

“I suppose it’s worth a lot,” said Derek. “These old things fetch quite a bit at auction, so I’m told.”

“Beyond most people’s wildest dreams,” said the lady.

“Is it ever played?” Lois asked. “It seems a shame if it is silenced for ever.”

“A romantic notion, madam. It belongs to someone who plays it frequently. But she has recently had an accident, and we are told may not be able to play again. Very sad. So we decided to offer it a temporary home, until it is sold. Our museum is well known among collectors, you see, even though we live very quietly.”

“So how long is it here for? I do hope the owner gets better soon,” said Lois casually. “Now, Derek, we must get on.”

When they returned to the entrance hall, Lois looked about for postcards. There seemed to be none of the cello, and when she asked, she was told they had sold out, and it was not worth printing more, as it would soon be returned to its owner.

“Do come again, Mr. and Mrs., er . . . And please, do sign the visitors’ book.”

“Buggins,” said Lois firmly, as Derek started to write. “Mr. and Mrs. Buggins from Birmingham, England.”

*   *   *

“L
OOK OUT,
L
OIS!
Y
OU’RE GOING THE WRONG WAY ROUND THE
roundabout! Phew! That was a near thing. You’d better let me drive.”

“I’m fine, Derek, don’t panic. There was plenty of room for the lorry as well as me. It’ll keep them on their toes!”

They reached a relatively safe stretch of road, and Derek closed his eyes. “Think I’ll have a snooze, Mrs. Buggins,” he muttered.

“No, you won’t. We need to talk about the cello,” she said. “If it is Akiko’s, we need to move fast.”

“You know what I’m going to say, don’t you. Get on the phone to Cowgill right now, and put the whole thing in his hands. He’ll know what to do. I’m not having you mixed up with international crime, Lois. Ferretin’ in Farnden is all very well, but this is too big. And by the way, what’s the Spanish for ferretin’?”

F
IFTY-
E
IGHT

“G
OOD MORNING,
L
OIS!
H
OW ARE YOU, MY DEAR, AND HAVE
you had a good holiday?”

“Morning, Cowgill. Yes and no, if you want the truth. It was great to see how much Derek was enjoying himself, swimming and sunning himself half the day, and the other half eating and drinking. Fine for those that like it, but I’m not one of them. My fault, I know. Can’t relax and think of nothing. But why am I telling you all this? Are you ringing me to tell me it was Akiko’s cello, and you have retrieved it?”

“Yes and no, I’m afraid. With help from experts, they established it was indeed the missing Montagnana, the real one. But when the Spanish police got there, it had gone. Back to the rightful owner, said the woman at the museum. Not at liberty to give the name, she told our colleagues.”

“You mean to tell me—? Oh, never mind. What are you going to do about it?”

“It depends how much you want the reward. Unless we hear to contrary, we shall assume the rightful owner is bona fide and leave it at that. If you want to pursue it further, then I can give you a contact. But I suggest you leave it there. After all, Akiko’s broken heart will soon mend. It’s probably more to do with being dropped by Jamie than actually demanding the return of the original Montagnana.”

“Thanks for nothing. You obviously know nothing about women in love. Anyway, I’ll get in touch with her and ask a few questions. How’s the golf?”

There was a short pause, and then Cowill coughed. “Ahem, in case you really want to know, I won the Captain’s Cup at the weekend. Went round in six under par.”

“Wow! That sounds really serious! I hope you’ll feel better soon. Bye. Keep in touch.”

*   *   *

“A
KIKO?
I
S THAT YOU?
I
T’S
M
RS.
M
HERE.
Y
ES,
L
OIS
M
EADE.
Some news for you, unless you know it already.”

“Oh, is there a message from Jamie?”

“No, sorry, love. No, it’s to do with the cello. Me and Derek have just had a holiday in Spain. In Cadaques, on the Costa Brava. Yep, very hot! Now, have you got a pen handy? I’m going to give you the address of a musical instrument museum near Barcelona.”

“But we have a good one here in Japan, Mrs. M.”

“Ah, but this one had your cello on display.”

“What! How do you know it was mine?”

“The teardrop on the back. Remember you had it in your description for the police? Well, it was there, in exactly the right place. The instrument has since been checked and verified as a Montagnana of the right date . . . Yes, the police have been there already, but by the time they got there it had been moved on. The museum is saying that it was returned to its rightful owner. All fair and square and aboveboard, apparently.”

“Right! Papa will know exactly what to do. I must go now at once and tell him. I am forever grateful, Mrs. M! Please give Jamie my love. Goodbye.”

*   *   *

A
S SOON AS
L
OIS HAD SIGNED OFF, THE PHONE RANG AGAIN.
I
T
was Jamie, and he sounded very cheerful. “Hi, Mum. How’s it going? Did you have a good holiday?”

“Yes, thanks. It was a great success in more ways than one.”

“Like what?”

“Well, first of all, your father had a marvellous time and looks like a new man, with his summer tan and cheeky face. Your mother, on the other hand, looks like a boiled lobster and is peeling.”

“Anything else?”

“Yes. We found Akiko’s cello.”

“What!?”

“We found the missing Montagnana, and then lost it again.” She explained fully what had happened, and ended by saying that Akiko was going to tell her father, who would no doubt by now have parted with millions to get it back. “End of story,” she added.

“Not quite,” said Jamie. “I wonder if I could possibly come down to Farnden again for a couple of days?”

“As long as you don’t bring any more Japanese cellists, we’ll be pleased to see you.”

“No, not that. I’ve been keeping in touch with Diana at Mrs. T-J’s, and she thought it would be nice for me to have a country weekend, without any pressures.”

“Hand in hand through the woods, that kind of thing?”

“Got it in one, Mum. I’ll be with you next Friday, then. I’ll drive down, so there’ll be no meeting trains. Thanks a lot.”

“How did the recital go?”

“Wonderful! Several encores, and a booking for a couple more in the autumn. It’s a lovely place, Mum. You and Dad should go there for your next holiday.”

“Jamie! Don’t even suggest it. Goodbye, love, see you Friday.”

“Who was that?” said Gran, coming in with a large mug of coffee. “No, don’t tell me. It was Jamie, bringing a trumpet player from Timbuktu for the weekend? Or was it Inspector Hunter Cowgill with a new ferretin’ job?”

“Almost right, Mother. No, Jamie has chummed up with Diana, and Cowgill has drawn a line under the cello case.”

“Until the next time, then. Right, now I’m going down to the shop to see if Josie’s got any white bread left. I’m sick of that rough brown stuff. You and Derek can have that, and I’ll have some nice white toast for breakfast.”

“And what’ve we got for lunch?”

“Steak and kidney pie, peas and carrots. That should make a nice change from that paella stuff. Fish and chicken and bits of sausage all mixed up together! Ugh!”

“Not sure you got that right, Mother. But steak and kidney pie is my kind of food.”

Gran hunted for her purse, which was usually missing, finally found it in Jeems’s basket and went off to the shop whistling, an unladylike skill of which she was very proud.