Scandal at Six (Lois Meade Mystery) (13 page)

Twenty-four

“M
orning,
M
rs
M
!”
D
ot always spoke on the phone as if she had to shout loud enough to cover the distance, however near the unfortunate person taking the call.

Lois held the receiver away from her ear, and said there was no need to bellow. She said this almost every time Dot phoned her, but to no effect.

“Is that better?” yelled Dot.

Lois sighed. She had had a worrying night, after the team meeting yesterday. She dreamt that Justin Brookes had enticed Josie upstairs into the flat, and was about to have his wicked way with her when she drew a knife from her pocket and stuck it in him. She awoke with her heart beating wildly, and it took her a little while to come back to reality.

But now, thank goodness, here was Dot, yelling in her ear that she had nothing but good to report about her first day at Cameroon Hall.

“Well done,” Lois said. “Anything at all you’d like me to check on?”

Dot thought about her snack with Margie from the kiosk, and decided to mention it, stressing that it had been in her own free time. She described having seen a small child stick its fingers through a gap in the monkey cage, and she had pulled it free, only to be told by its parents that she should mind her own business. They came to the zoo regularly, they said, and sometimes the little monkey took a piece of bun from the child.

“But apart from that, all went well, Mrs M. There is one room I couldn’t get into, but Pettison said they’d lost the key and would get the lock changed. Anyway, it’s full of old books, and he said it didn’t matter.”

Lois thought about the hanging gorilla and the dozens of dissected animals around the room, and shivered. Just as well Pettison had decided not to give Dot the guided tour.

“Right, well, you’ll be there again on Thursday. If Pettison has any complaints, which I am sure he hasn’t, I’ll let you know before then. And don’t forget to be vigilant. Ears and eyes open, Dot. You know the form.”

*

J
ustin
B
rookes set off once more for the
L
incolnshire fens and his parents’ farm. He had not wanted to visit so soon, but his mother’s anxious account of the escaped rodent made it imperative that he should catch the wretched thing and return it to captivity. Pettison would be furious if it escaped beyond recall. All his people, as he called them, were valuable specimens. What a man of contrasts his uncle was! On the one hand, he was cold and ruthless, never to be trusted, and on the other, he could be charming, even childishly twee with his ridiculous “people” thing.

The flat fields, soon to be showing the fresh green of spring, were still drearily devoid of colour, and time went quickly by, as he accelerated the little Fiat to its top speed. A drive through the long, straight roads was soporific, and he was well aware that if he did not have loud music blaring, he could easily drift off and end up in the deep dyke at the edge of the road.

At last he reached the entry to his family farm, and drove slowly down the track towards the house. He was sad to see signs of dereliction. His father had been ill on and off for a year or so now, and the grass edges to the lane had not been cut, nor had the ivy, climbing vigorously over the garden walls. The Virginia creeper, which covered the front of the house, now obscured half the bedroom windows. One or two slates had slipped from the roof, and a gutter hung crazily from the wall beneath. He supposed that when his father died, the farm would be sold and his mother would buy a bungalow in the nearest village. All her friends were there, and he hoped she wouldn’t be tempted to move near him.

Now he arrived in the farmyard, and the old dog came to meet him, wagging his tail.

“Hello, Scamp! Where’s the missus?”

“I’m here, Justin. Did you have a good journey?” called his mother from the steps into the house. She looked older than when he last came, and he knew that must be because his father was worse.

“How’s Dad?”

She shook her head. “Not so great today. He doesn’t seem to recognise me anymore. It’s quite upsetting, Justin.”

Her lip trembled, and she turned away, leading him into the warm kitchen. He glanced back towards the secure barn where the special consignments were kept.

“Did you catch the little rodent?” he asked.

“No, you said not to attempt it until you came, so I haven’t. Why don’t you have a cup of tea, and then see what you can do?”

He agreed, and said he would like to see his father first of all. “He might recognise me,” he said.

“At least you look more like our Justin in those jeans and sweater. You know he never talks about your acting? No job for a grown man. That’s all he says. Anyway, come on in, and I’ll take you up.”

His father was lying on his side, facing away from the door, and Justin thought how pitiful he looked, a small, skinny figure, and on the back of his bald head one or two strands of white hair sticking damply to his skin. Justin’s heart thudded. Surely someone so obviously absent could not still be alive?

His mother leaned over, and tried to tell him that his son had come to see him. “Justin’s here, dear,” she said, and stroked his brow.

“Help me turn him over,” she said to Justin. “I have to do it regularly because of bedsores. The nurse comes morning and night, but I try to do it by myself between times. He weighs almost nothing now, so it isn’t too difficult.”

The old boy surfaced as they gently turned him onto his back. “Water,” he said. “Drink of water.”

Justin picked up a glass from the table by the bed and lifted his father into a semi-upright position. He held the water to his lips, and a few drops trickled in. He swallowed, and then moved his head fractionally from side to side.

“Enough. Is that you, Justin, home from school?” His voice was no more than a whisper, and Justin bent closer.

“Yes, it’s me, Dad. Home from school. Mum’s here, too. Are you warm and comfortable? Time for a little sleep, maybe. I’ll come and see you later.”

The old man’s eyes flickered open for a couple of seconds, and the ghost of a smile appeared on his face. “Don’t forget your homework,” he said, and his eyes closed again.

“He’ll sleep now,” Justin’s mother said. “We’ll leave him for a bit. Come down with me, and I’ll find you something to eat.”

Leaving his father’s door open so that they would hear him should he shout for help, Justin followed his mother downstairs. She carefully turned away to the cooker as he wiped his eyes and sniffed back tears.

“He’s a good age, Justin,” she said. “Now, how about that escaped creature? Go and catch it now, while it’s still light. I’ll have a meal ready when you get back.”

Justin approached the barn thoughtfully. He was worried about his mother and her ability to keep things going. They had a farmworker who had been with them for years and years, but he was an old man, too, though still able to be active on the farm.

Anyway, there was nothing to be done until his father had died. The upheaval of selling up and moving house would be quite out of the question at the moment.

He peered in through the barn’s darkened windows, but could see nothing. That was intentional, of course. Pettison did not want windows that could be looked through. He sighed. Sometimes he wished his uncle was out of the way for good. Then he could escape, like the little animal, from the bonds that bound him. In even his own thoughts, that sounded overdramatic! But when he was still living here on the farm, he had helped his father with the occasional arrival of strange little animals, and had taken it for granted that in due course he would take over that little job from his father.

He unlocked the barn door and opened it; slipped into the dark, warm interior; and shut the door quickly behind him. He had a torch, and shone it round the room. He could see a cage with the door open, and knew that it must be where the creature had been before making a bid for freedom. He continued examining every corner of the barn, and suddenly came upon a pair of tiny eyes shining at him. There it was!

Moving one foot a fraction caused the eyes to disappear. He remained motionless, and in a few seconds they were back. Now he could see the shape of it, crouching behind a feed sack. He reached into his pocket, and once more the eyes disappeared. Taking a small piece of cheese, deliberately saved from his sandwich lunch, he placed it on the ground about an arm’s length away from him, then sat back on his heels and waited.

The trap worked, and Justin held the tiny, warm body in his hand and looked at it before replacing it in its cage. It stared back at him, its whiskers twitching. “Sorry old lad,” he whispered. “One day, a great big rat will come along and catch Uncle Pettison by the throat, an’ that’ll be your revenge.”

He put it back gently, and noticed its water dispenser was empty, so he refilled it and then shut the door firmly. He secured the barn, and made his way back to the kitchen, where good smells of rabbit pie were filling the room.

Twenty-
f
ive

“S
o, have you made sure it won’t escape again?
T
hose little people mean big money to me,
J
ustin.”
R
obert
P
ettison had phoned
J
ustin from his office, where he had been reading about market stalls selling unusual pets being shut down by local councils.
A
ll because of loony campaigners for animal rights, he thought, but it was not all bad news, as there would doubtless be increased scarcity of rare specimens and prices would rise.

The line of supply was for the most part well hidden from the authorities, and although now and then one of the couriers was discovered and dealt with by the law, there was always regrouping and a replacement available.

“Are you coming back to Tresham?” he asked.

“Not Tresham, Uncle Robbo. I’m living in Long Farnden now, remember?”

“Of course! With a careful eye kept on the lovely Lois Meade, I hope?”

“Naturally,” said Justin. “And, by the way, on closer inspection, she really is a looker. No wonder old Inspector Cowgill is so keen!”

“I should have thought you would prefer the daughter?”

“Not a chance. Do you realise she is married to a policeman, one Matthew Vickers?”

“Ah.” Pettison paused for a few moments. “That’s different. Even more important that your flat is locked, bolted and barred.”

“Must go now,” said Justin. “Father has woken up, and Mother’s taking me to see him. He is nigh unto, I’m afraid. Back tomorrow. Bye.”

Pettison replaced the receiver and sat without moving in his chair for a long time. “Married to a policeman, eh?” he muttered to himself finally. “Then the smoke screen will be essential. But young Justin will cope. I always knew his time at drama school would stand him in good stead, despite what his estimable father said.”

*

J
osie had already wondered about
J
ustin
B
rookes, absent so soon from his new flat. He had said he was off on an urgent trip to Lincolnshire to see his father, who was dying. He would be back tomorrow, he said, and he had seemed very upset. Poor fellow. There was something about him that attracted sympathy. So sure of himself as the young actor and executive, and yet somehow vulnerable at the same time. He could not even have had time to do any food shopping.

Perhaps it would be a kindness to make up a basketful of essentials, with maybe one ready meal for when he returned, and leave them in the flat for him? That would mean using her duplicate key to get in and put the frozen meal in the freezer. But she was sure he wouldn’t mind. There could not be any secrets on display. Certainly, he’d had no time for that. She would do it after the shop shut. She glanced at the clock, and saw there was an hour to go.

The door opened and a middle-aged man came in. He smiled, and asked if her vegetables were locally grown. “So nice to find really fresh veg these days,” he said, and picked up an avocado pear and squeezed it. “Nearly ripe,” he said, and put it back on the shelf.

“I’d be grateful if you wouldn’t handle the fruit,” she said. “Most of the vegetables and fruit are locally grown, but some things obviously have to be imported.”

“I don’t know about that, Mrs Vickers. Most things can be grown under glass in this country. In Iceland, you know, they grow bananas in huge greenhouses. Heated by natural hot springs.”

“How interesting,” Josie said patiently.

He picked up the avocado pear he had squeezed and put it on the counter. “That will be fine for my supper,” he said, and looked around the shop. “Nice little shop you have here,” he said. “All your own, is it?”

Mind your own business, thought Josie, but she smiled and said, “Anything else I can get for you today?”

“I expect you think I should mind my own business,” he said, returning her smile. “But I am looking for a small business for investment purposes. Might you be interested?”

“Not today, thank you,” said Josie, as if he was a tiresome seller of clothes pegs.

“Have a nice day,” she added, and handed him his avocado in a paper bag.

Him and his heated bananas, she thought, and decided to ring her mother and tell all.

“Hello, Mum, all well?” she said, perching on a high stool behind the counter.

“Fine, but how about you? You don’t usually ring me at this time of day. No customers and bored to tears?”

“No,” Josie replied, and told Lois about her most recent customer.

“What did he look like? Maybe I would know him,” Lois said.

Josie gave her a description, and then remembered that he had called her Mrs Vickers. “Now how did he know my name? He was no stranger, I reckon, though he pretended to be one.”

“Did he have a van outside? Did you see him drive off?”

“Yeah, it had a nasty great tiger on one side. Same as the one that came to collect the snake. I think it was from the Tresham Zoo. Oh Lor! Do you think he had anything to do with those reptiles?”

“Very likely,” said Lois. “If he comes again, give me a ring, and I’ll nip down. Keep the shop door open, and don’t let him get near you. I’m sure he’s not dangerous, but there’s no harm in being careful.”

*

W
hen
M
atthew came home to the cottage,
J
osie told him what had happened. He had been interested and said he would report the incident to Inspector Cowgill. “Sounds like Pettison. He’s a slimy customer, is Robert Pettison. He wasn’t offensive to you, was he?”

Josie shook her head. “But he called me Mrs Vickers—how did he know my name?—and said he was wanting a small business to invest some money in. Asked me questions about the shop. I got rid of him as soon as possible, of course. What about that zoo? Hasn’t he been prosecuted for having wild animals in there?”

“Oh, he’s too clever for that. Has all the right documents and valid answers. And anyway, he has spies everywhere, and by the time we get there, it’s mostly rabbits and white mice. Except the murderous king cobra, of course, but I haven’t heard the latest on that.”

“Right. Well, I hope our new tenant will cause us no trouble. He went off to see his dying father in Lincolnshire. I took some food to the flat, including one of our ready meals, which I put in the freezer. A goodwill gesture, I thought.”

“I should be careful, Josie. It could be construed as breaking and entering! We shall have to check whether there is a clause in the lease allowing us to have entry under certain conditions, such as fire.”

“Oh, stuff the breaking and entering! It was just a nice welcome for a new tenant who must be very sad.”

“Has your mother been in today? Cowgill was asking after her, as usual. The man’s besotted,” said Matthew with a smile.

“Don’t tell her that! I talked to her on the phone, after that man had been in. Like you, she reckoned it was the man from the zoo, and told me to watch it.”

“Very sensible. When is Brookes due back?”

“Didn’t say, except that it would be very soon, as he had business to attend to.”

“I might just drift into the shop, if you let me know when he’s around. I’d like to take a look at him.”