Scandal at Six (Lois Meade Mystery) (6 page)

Ten

T
he
F
iat 500 sped along the straight fen road, past small farm cottages huddled against the strong winds that swept the fields, with no hedges or trees to hinder them.
I
t was a bleak landscape, and
J
ustin
B
rookes felt the usual lowering of spirits as he entered the long drive down to his family farm a few miles outside
B
oston.
W
onderful skies, people always said of the
L
incolnshire fens, but this morning the sky was low and a depressing uniform grey.

He had cut short his usual tour around villages delivering fliers, having received a message that his father was very ill. He had been able to contact his uncle, Robert Pettison, and rearrange a meeting for next week. Their shared involvement in the business kept them in touch, and he always looked forward to seeing new additions to the zoo’s extraordinary collection of rare animals. Sometimes he thought Robert was daft enough to be one of them, but he kept that thought to himself.

He arrived in the yard behind the farmhouse, and saw his mother waiting for him, an anxious expression on her face.

“Thank goodness you’ve come, Justin,” she said, accepting a light kiss on her cheek. “Your father was asking for you yesterday, and we don’t think he has long to go.”

“Let’s go in straightaway,” he said. “It’ll be good to get in out of this wretched fen wind.”

They went into the house, and up the stairs to his father’s room. “Here’s Justin, dear. He’s just this minute got back.”

Justin looked at his father’s ashen face on the pillow, and wondered if he was too late. But his mother patted the thin hand lying on the sheet, and the old man opened his eyes.

“Hello, lad,” he said. “Still wearing that silly cravat thing round your neck?”

*

Miles away in Long Farnden, Josie sat in the shop, chatting to her mother on the telephone. The lunchtime rush of customers had finished, and she had time to catch up on Lois’s visit to the zoo this morning. Matthew had rung to say he and Chris, Cowgill’s assistant, were also off to see Robert Pettison, and Josie was anxious to know what had been discovered.

“So did he explain how those horrible things could have got here in the shop?” she said now to her mother.

“No. He seemed to think we should be delighted to have housed them for a while! I’m afraid I took a real dislike to him. One of those slightly mad kinds of people. And, by the way, that’s what he calls those creepy crawlies. His people! I mean, I ask you, Josie.”

“Sounds like he should be locked up in a cage himself!”

“However, I went to see Cowgill after, and he said Pettison is as sharp as the next man. The wacky bit is all an act. You know what I thought, duckie?”

“Yep. You thought the act was to cover up something sinister going on. Some nasty business that involves frightening nice young shopkeepers like me!”

“That’s exactly right. He wasn’t sorry enough for what had happened. After all, he is responsible for those dangerous snakes and spiders. If they’d bitten any of us, he’d be in big trouble. I don’t call that being as sharp as the next man, do you?”

“Maybe it’s a risk he’s prepared to take,” suggested Josie.

“Anyway,” continued Lois. “I’m taking the whole thing on, and shall be ferretin’ around to see what I can dig up to explain it all. One thing, though, Josie. I doubt very much if there will be any more escapers. He’ll know better than that. Police eyes are on him, and all of us watching out. No, I’m sure you’re safe from any more nasties.”

“Thank God for that! Oh, there goes the shop bell. Must go. See you later, Mum. Bye.”

Josie went through to the shop, and found Gran leafing through the pile of newspapers. “Hi, Gran,” she said. “Can I get you anything?”

“No, dear. I’m just looking through the local paper. Joan rang me earlier and said there’s an interesting story in this week’s issue.”

“Not about escaped reptiles, I hope!”

“As a matter of fact, yes. Seems somebody’s dog was nosing around in a barn over Waltonby way, and got bitten by something so bad that it killed it. Poisonous bite, they reckon. And from something big enough to get away without the dog getting at it first.”

All the colour had gone from Josie’s face. “A little dog, was it?” she asked.

Gran looked closely at the newspaper. “Here it is; look. No, it was a big German shepherd. See, here’s a picture. Looks a lovely dog. But really big, and should’ve come off best in a fight.”

Josie looked closely at the photo, and the news story beside it. The police had been informed, and the dog taken to an animal mortuary for further investigation. The report said that the owner had seen something moving behind a pile of sacks, and thought it must be a rat. They had had an infestation of rodents, but these had been dealt with recently. The dog had been only too keen to investigate, and had seemed to pounce on something behind the sacks. Almost at once it had yelped and collapsed, and the owner had seen some movement over by the door of the barn, but couldn’t say what it was.

“Oh Lor, Gran,” Josie said. “I know what I would suggest! A sodding great cobra snake! I hope it’s not on its way back here,” she added, and her voice wobbled. “It’s all getting a bit much. I’m going to phone Mum and tell her to read about it. Now then, Gran, do you want your usual raisin loaf this week?”

“Thank you, dear. I’m on my way home, so I’ll take this paper to your mother. But you’re not to worry. It could have been one of them giant rats that did for that dog.”

This wasn’t much consolation for Josie, but she decided to get on with unpacking a new delivery of groceries and try to put dangerous animals from her mind.

*

Robert Pettison had overseen the closing of the zoo at the appointed time, and went for his usual walk around the perimeter to check all was safe and secure. It was beginning to rain, and his rare-breed sheep were huddled under an ancient spreading chestnut tree. They looked happy enough, and he walked on and into the next enclosure, where small horned cattle were lying down in the shelter of a tall hawthorn hedge. All well there, then, he said to himself.

He walked on, thinking about his nephew Justin, who was coming over for a meeting next week. A strange one, that. Always the same elegant fellow, if slightly raffish. It was the cravat that did it! The only time he had seen him looking different was when they met with others in a big London hotel, where he had hardly recognised him. On that occasion, he had worn a beautifully tailored grey suit, white shirt and old-school tie, and looked every inch the city banker.

Pettison had been close to Justin’s father, until the poor man had fallen ill. They had been at the same school, and over the years had kept up their friendship. Young Brookes, by then a farmer, had fallen for Pettison’s sister, and they had married and produced Justin. The farm had been ideal for Pettison’s developing rare trade in wild animals. They had only the small specimens to house on the farm, of course. He smiled to himself at the thought of a gorilla loping over the flat fields of Lincolnshire.

It was raining now, and Pettison quickened his step. So Justin would be living in Long Farnden. The thought took him to the visit from Mrs Meade, who lived in that village. A very attractive sleuth! He had every reason to call her a sleuth, since she had become known throughout the Tresham underworld as a woman to avoid at all costs. She had a special relationship with top-cop Cowgill, and had a knack of homing in on matters that were necessarily kept secret from the police.

He had found her sharp-tongued and impatient, and decided it would take all his undoubted charm to win her over to his side. She could be very useful, he thought, nodding to himself. Very useful, indeed. She could also be dangerous, and he hoped Justin had taken that into account.

He arrived at the main gates again, and made sure all was well, before returning to the house, where he dried off, retreated to his kitchen and set about preparing himself an exquisite meal of escargots in a French dressing, followed by smoked trout and a salad of fresh endive from the kitchen garden. For Justin’s arrival next week, he decided to serve up roast lamb, with all the trimmings. The lad should be bringing him valuable goods, and would deserve the best.

Eleven

“S
o this morning
I
’m going to rough out an ad for the flat.
I
shall put it in the local evening paper in
T
resham, and one or two freebies that go out to the villages.
I
s that okay with you,
J
osie?”

Lois was talking on the telephone from her study, and she could see through her window a police car drawing up outside the shop. “Looks like Matthew’s on his way home for breakfast. I can see him drawing up outside. I’d best go now and leave you to say hello.”

“He’s only dropping in, Mum. He wanted to pick up the local paper with the story about the dog with the poison bite. Anyway, talk soon. Bye.”

Lois settled down to write the advertisement, and was still chewing the end of her pen trying to get it right. “‘Charming one bedroom flat, quietly situated above the village shop in Long Farnden. Use of garden, and parking space at rear of building.’ No, that won’t do,” she said aloud as Gran brought in her usual offering of coffee and biscuits. “Here, read this, Mum, and see if it sounds right.”

“Do you have to start with the bedroom?” Gran said. “I should describe the delightful sitting room with views of the village playing fields, then go on to one spacious bedroom, then modern bathroom and kitchen. Parking space at rear of shop, and use of landscaped garden. That’s more like it, isn’t it?”

“Mum! The bedroom’s no bigger than a box room, the bathroom has a lavatory that could have been designed by Thomas Crapper himself, and you couldn’t swing a cat in the kitchen. As for the garden, nothing’s been grown in it since Josie took over the shop. No, it’s better not to arouse expectations. Better the other way round; then a viewing will be a pleasant surprise.”

“We don’t want no more surprises in that flat!” Gran said. “Pleasant or otherwise!”

“Of course not,” Lois said crossly. “Anyway, thanks for your help. And the coffee. I must get on now.”

“Dismissed,” said Gran, her nose in the air. “Don’t forget that actor man who might be interested,” she added, and stomped out, leaving the door ajar, knowing that nothing was more calculated to annoy Lois. She was sure her daughter was wrong. All estate agents exaggerated the wonders of the properties for sale or rent, so why should they be any different?

After Lois had written the advertisement, she sent it by email to the newspapers and relaxed. Job done. Now she had to tackle the flat itself. Perhaps she would do a quick repainting job, and get Derek to smarten up the bathroom. She could even make a virtue of the antique lavatory, with its flowery printed bowl and wooden seat. A few flowers strategically placed in the tiny hallway and sitting room would work wonders, and she would make a list of necessary pieces of furniture to replace. The dump in Tresham, now elevated to a recycling centre, had the most amazing bargains. Secondhand chairs and tables in good condition, and loads of other things. They even had a section for practically new curtains.

She stood up from her desk. “That’s my weekend settled,” she said to Jeems, who, as usual, sat at her feet while she was working. “Now, this afternoon I’ll go into Tresham to see Hazel and buy some paint from the wholesaler.”

“Talking to yourself again,” said Gran, coming in with a handful of post. “Postie’s late again. I reckon she ought to be replaced. Hey, Lois, that’s a good idea! Why don’t we offer the flat to a reliable postman. Special rates for assisting in post office on pension days?”

“Postmen, or postwomen, don’t forget, have to be appointed by head office, or some such. And anyway, we want as much as we can get in rent, without offering special rates. We shall see who comes to view. I’d be happy with a nice middle-aged professional bachelor, who’d be equal to burglars and snakes, and good at housework. Josie might hear again from that actor bloke.”

“Well, all I can say is good luck to whoever takes it on. And I promise to keep quiet about recent invasions of snakes, spiders, toads, rats and frogs. Sounds biblical, doesn’t it? One of them plagues in the Old Testament. At least I escaped boils. And when you’re in Tresham, can you get another couple of rat traps?”

*

Hazel Thornbull was the wife of a Farnden farmer, and had worked for Lois since she first founded the New Brooms cleaning service. When they set up the Tresham office, Hazel immediately applied for the job as manager, and with her small daughter now at school for a full day, and her mother able to help out with her timetable, she had established a well-organised office in the heart of town. This morning had been busy, with two of the cleaning girls coming in for changes in rotas, and a new client in Waltonby to be visited.

“So what’s new this afternoon?” said Lois, coming through the door. “And how’s your family? Busy time on the farm?”

“Morning, Mrs M. Everybody’s fine, except John, and he’s exhausted, as usual! Still, it’s been a good year so far, for once. A happy farmer is a rare bird!”

They got down to business then, and Lois gave Hazel a flier advertising the flat to stick up in the office window.

The potential client for cleaning was from Waltonby, the new owner of the old vicarage, a massive Victorian house built in the days when maids occupied the attic rooms and gardeners tended the extensive grounds.

“What sort of people are they?” asked Lois.

Hazel sniffed. “Usual newly rich. Probably won the lottery. Wife overdressed and tame husband on a lead.”

“Hazel! Don’t forget our motto: ‘We clean; you pay.’ And that’s all we need.”

“Mrs M, you just made that up. ‘We sweep cleaner’ is our motto!”

“True. But it really doesn’t matter who or what they are. We’ve got all sorts on our books. I’ll make an appointment to see them, and let you know what transpires.”

“Anything new on that poor dog story? I reckon it was one of those horrible things old Pettison’s got in his zoo. John reckons it should be cleared out altogether. He’s always worried that the things brought over from foreign countries could bring diseases that turn into epidemics and run riot in our farm animals. I suppose there are special checks on them at customs and so on?”

“Small things, insects an’ that, can come hidden in luggage and are never spotted by customs, so Gran says,” Lois answered. “But that’s Gran, so I expect John has nothing to worry about. Now, I’ll just nip up the road and see if Dot is back from work. Let me know if you get any replies to the flat ad.”

Dot Nimmo’s house was at the top of the same street, and Lois parked outside and knocked. As she stood waiting for Dot to come to the door, she noticed a van parked on the opposite side of the road. It had a snarling tiger emblazoned on the side, and at the wheel sat Robert Pettison, his head partly shielded by a newspaper as if to hide himself from Lois’s gaze.

“Morning, Mrs M!” Dot beamed at Lois. “Just the person I was wanting to see. Come on in.”

“Just a minute, Dot,” Lois said. “What’s that van doing over there? Is there somebody living there that works at the zoo?”

“Oh that,” said Dot. “It’s the zoo boss. He’s got a lady friend he calls on every Friday afternoon. Has to wait until her husband goes off to work after lunch, though. Beats me how hubby don’t cotton on to a so-and-so tiger sitting outside his front door every week! Still, he’s reckoned to be one of them pimps, except he’s got just the one woman for sale. Funny kind of setup . . . Now come on in, and have a refreshing cup of tea.”

Lois stood at Dot’s front window and looked over at the tiger van. “Hey, the front door of that house is opening. Now a little man is coming out. He’s not even looking at the van. Wait a sec, Dot. I want to see if Pettison gets out. Ah, yes, there he goes. Has to duck to get inside that door! I can just see a brassy blonde head inside. What’s she like, his Friday mistress?”

“No better than she should be,” said Dot primly. “Come and sit down. I’ve got an item of interesting info for you.”