The Wild Wood Enquiry (2 page)

“So, down to business,” said Roy when breakfast was finished and they were enjoying a final coffee. “It’s time we took on another case, don’t you agree? Our Gus is looking gloomy, and Deirdre says she is spending far too much time gardening, instead of leaving it to the man who comes in regularly and, without asking, uproots all her hard work.”

“You mean we should advertise? I thought we had agreed that publicity would draw too much attention to ourselves. Experience working on cases has shown us that keeping our heads down is good practice. As my old mother used to say, ‘If you keep your head down you won’t get shot.’ ”

Roy laughed. “No, I’ve had a request from James at the village shop,” he said. “He’s lost his old tortoiseshell cat. I think it’s a she. He was apologetic about asking but says she means a lot to him, and he can’t bear to think of her caught in a trap in the woods or shut in somebody’s outhouse to starve to death.”

“Surely nobody would do that.” Ivy’s own cat, Tiddles, had been a birthday present from Roy and was a much-pampered animal.

“James seemed to think it possible, and he’s had no replies to the notice he put up in the shop. What d’you think, Ivy? Dare we ask the others to take on a missing cat?”

“Not sure. After murder and embezzlement, they might think it a bit tame. If you ask me, we should do it together, just you and me.”

“Mm. Not a good precedent, surely. We are a team, after all. It has worked very well in the past. Deirdre and Gus might not approve of a splinter group taking on a case without consultation, do you think?”

Ivy did not answer, and at that moment, Deirdre Bloxham, mistress of Tawny Wings and funding member of Enquire Within, stalked across the dining room to where they sat. She sat down heavily and thumped one hand on the table, causing cutlery and crockery to shiver and jump.

“Deirdre! What on earth’s the matter with you?” Ivy rescued a fork from her lap and glared at her cousin.

“I’ve had enough!” Deirdre answered. “He’s moved them, without so much as a by-your-leave!”

“Moved what, my dear?” said Roy soothingly.

“Six forsythia bushes, just little ones. I planted them on Sunday afternoon! There’s a gap in the hedge at the front of the house, and I thought it would look so cheerful, all golden yellow, in the spring. And he’s taken ’em out
and,
what is more, started a bonfire and chucked them on top!” She looked first at Ivy and then Roy, and burst into tears.

“Now, now, Deirdre. Pull yourself together, girl, do. You’ve got things all out of proportion. Roy, ask Katya to bring some fresh coffee. And just stop it, Deirdre, you’re making an exhibition of yourself.”

With a cup of strong black coffee, and more admonishment from Ivy, Deirdre became calmer and more like her normal, even-tempered self. “Sorry about that,” she said. “I guess I haven’t got anything more important to think about.”

“Then you came to just the right place,” said Roy. “Ivy and I were discussing a possible new case for Enquire Within.”

“That’s right,” said Ivy. “Now, Deirdre, here’s what we’re going to do.”

“BEST COME UP to my room, and we can discuss matters,” said Ivy. “We should get Gus along, too, so perhaps you could give him a ring, Deirdre? And for heaven’s sake, wipe your nose. Spoils your merry widow image.”

In spite of herself, Deirdre laughed, and they proceeded out of the dining room where they were met by an irritated Mrs. Spurling.

“I have offered Mr. Halfhide coffee and said he would be welcome to join you in the lounge with other residents,” she said. “But he claims he is doing research into foreign workers in this country and needs to talk to Katya and Anya in the kitchen. I shall be glad if you would have a word with him, Mr. Goodman. I really can’t have these irregularities.”

Deirdre winked at Roy and said they had all heard about Mr. Halfhide’s research methods. “Much better if we all decamp to Tawny Wings,” she added. “Stay to lunch, all of you.”

This sent Mrs. Spurling into another paroxysm of irritation, as she said all missed meals had to be booked the previous day. How could she be expected to run an efficient home if certain residents who should be nameless were constantly disobeying the rules?

Roy smiled winningly at her and promised they would try to remember in future. He went off to the kitchen to find Gus, and Ivy looked speculatively at Mrs. Spurling.

“If you had lost a cat,” she said, “where would you look first?”

“I wouldn’t look,” said Mrs. Spurling acidly. Last year, when Ivy had had a birthday celebration, the sorely tried manager had, against her better judgement, allowed Roy to buy a kitten for his beloved. He had said Ivy had always owned a cat in Round Ringford and missed the companionship here in Springfield. In a moment of weakness, Mrs. Spurling had agreed, and now it turned up all over the home, tripping up the elderly residents and prowling about in the kitchen looking for scraps.

“Just checking,” said Ivy. “I need to be prepared.”

When Roy and Gus appeared, looking sheepish, Ivy suggested they start straightaway for Tawny Wings.

“A new assignment?” Gus said eagerly.

Ivy looked at Roy. “You could say that. But let’s listen to what Roy has to offer.”

After a short interval, when Roy’s motorised trundle, as he called it, was brought round to the front door, the three were on their way through the village, en route for Tawny Wings, the eccentrically V-shaped house where Deirdre and her late husband had lived ever since he had made a fortune with a string of car salerooms in nearby Oakbridge and around the county.

“Let’s have lunch first,” Deirdre said, “and then we can
go up to the office and have a proper meeting. Is there a lot to discuss?”

Ivy said nothing. Gus had been given a quick rundown by Roy whilst waiting for the trundle and now said, “Could well be a complicated operation,” but added that the details would keep until they had all eaten the delightful salad that Deirdre had prepared.

“Rabbit food,” Ivy announced, and although Deirdre heard and bridled, she soon regained her good humour at the thought of the four of them working together again.

WITH VERY BAD grace, Deirdre had finally agreed to help in the search for Posy Moon—“Ridiculous name!” she had said huffily—and the atmosphere at Tawny Wings was distinctly cool as the others set off to return to Springfields.

“It’s not as if we have anything else to do at the moment,” Roy said defensively.

“Best thing to do in this weather,” said Ivy, taking off her cardigan and putting it safely on Roy’s lap, “is to stay in the shade and get on with our knitting.”

“I don’t knit,” Roy said.

Ivy looked at him, neatly dressed in lightweight jacket and panama straw hat, gallantly driving his trundle over the bumps and hollows of the path back to Springfields. She reflected that she, and most others there, forgot that Roy had been an active and successful farmer locally and did not appreciate how hard it must be for him now, when
every day farm vehicles roared past, the young drivers waving gaily. She patted his shoulder and said that he was quite right. It was the least they could do for James at the shop.

“We’ll probably find the cat quickly,” she said comfortingly, “or else it’ll come back on its own. Cats do, you know. Then we can settle down until autumn, when the cool weather comes. That’ll be the best time to do some more enquiring. Something’s bound to come up.”

Gus was following behind them, walking slowly and thinking hard. He did not agree with Ivy and thought much the best thing for all of them would be to tackle a really juicy enquiry as soon as possible. He was sure it was only too easy to vegetate in homes like Springfields. In no time Ivy and Roy would join the ranks of oldies sitting in comfy armchairs, the telly blaring for the deaf, and most of them fast asleep.

Time to get in touch with his contacts, he decided, and quickened his pace, pulled along by his small grey dog, Whippy. “I don’t altogether agree, Ivy,” he said. “I had a call this morning from an old colleague, and it looks like something for us could well be in the pipeline.” A white lie in a good cause, he reassured himself, and jogged back home with renewed enthusiasm.

As he approached the Hangman’s Row terrace, where he rented the end cottage from the squire, he saw his spinster neighbour, Miriam Blake, knocking at his front door. He stopped. Ever since he moved in, she had persisted in a campaign to snare him into marriage, pointing out that they could knock through and have a much bigger house as a result. She had wooed him with hot suppers, bottles of primrose wine, bunches of sweet new carrots and, in season, tiny scarlet tomatoes from her greenhouse. He had
held out without much trouble. Miriam was not bad-looking, but she couldn’t hold a candle to Deirdre Bloxham. Without any pangs of guilt, he strung Miriam along, enjoying her hospitality and making excuses for keeping her at bay when she became too overwhelming.

Now he walked on, knowing that in any case she would turn and see him, and decided that if she was offering supper, he would accept. Deirdre’s salad had been all right in its way, but Miriam was a meat and two-veg cook. The thought of it made his mouth water.

“Ah, there you are!” she gushed. “Just when I had given up hope. Now, Gus, how would a roast chicken and all the trimmings appeal for your supper?”

IVY SAILED PAST Mrs. Spurling who was glowering at her from the reception desk, not forgiving her for being out to lunch with half an hour’s notice. Roy parked his trundle and followed. He and Ivy planned to retire to their rooms for a snooze. This had become a pleasant habit since they became engaged. “If we spend all day every day glued to each other,” Ivy had said, “we shall soon be fed up. It ain’t natural, you know. But in this place…”

She hadn’t finished her sentence, because Roy knew exactly what she meant and had applauded her common sense.

Upstairs in her room, Ivy did not lie down on the bed as usual, but sat by the window watching the harvest traffic filling the air with dust and noise, and thought about Posy Moon. Two alternatives, she reckoned, could account for her disappearance. Either she was off hunting rabbits and had become trapped or stuck in a burrow or she’d been stolen.

Then another thought struck her. She
could
be shut in
somewhere. A little used garage, perhaps, or somebody’s potting shed. James would have looked all round his own property, but cats wander. Farmyards were good hunting grounds, and there were at least two within striking distance for a cat. Then there was the stable yard up at the Hall. Rats and mice galore. That would be a good place to start, Ivy decided, and retired to her bed to make a plan.

GUS RETURNED TO his cottage, replete with chicken and trimmings, followed by gooseberry pie and custard. He was in a good mood. Perhaps now would be the time to start his memoirs. Nothing much else to do, except look for a mislaid cat, but he could safely leave that to Ivy. She was the expert on cats. His eye was caught by the message light winking at him. He picked up the receiver and his heart sank. It was his ex-wife, and whenever she telephoned, it meant digging into his pocket for money he did not have.

“Hello, Gus. It’s Katherine here.” There was urgency in her voice, and he listened more closely. “Gus, something terrible has happened, and I need your help. It’s serious, Gus, and I think I might be in danger. Ring me back, please, as soon as you get back. Please.”

He frowned. He had never heard Kath sound so scared. “Oh God, what now?” he groaned, and dialled her number.

“There is no one here to take your call at the moment,” the mechanical voice said, and he put down the phone. Her mobile, then, would certainly be on. She never switched it off. He pressed the right button, and again a message service clicked in.

How unlike Kath! he said to himself. And her voice, sounding so frightened…

Gus left a message on her mobile and began to worry.