Threats at Three (16 page)

“We need cream, Josie. Look, we picked these in the wood. Just enough for lunch. Enough for you too, if you want to come up to the house?”

Josie explained about Matthew. “By the way,” she said, “I’ve been meaning to tell you about my babysitting evening at Paula’s.”

“Troublesome children?” said Gran hopefully.

“No. It was this phone call, Mum. A man wanting young Jack. The lad wouldn’t speak to him, and he rang off before I could ask who he was. Bit odd, I thought. I meant to tell you earlier.”

“What was his voice like?” Lois said urgently. “Can you remember? Did it sound like he was disguising it?”

“Here we go!” said Gran. “You read too many crime books, me duck. She sees villains round every corner,” she added to Josie. “Now, have you got any double cream left? We must let you get on.”

Lois glared at her, but Josie produced the cream and saw them out of the shop. As they were setting off up the street, she called out, “Mum! Here a minute!”

Lois came back a few steps, and Josie said quietly, “He wasn’t from round here. Up North, I would say. Any use?”

T
HE TINY WILD STRAWBERRIES VANISHED IN SECONDS, AND Derek ran his finger round the pudding plate appreciatively. “Nothing like these wild ones,” he said. “The big buggers are all right, but nothing to compare with these.”

“You can grow the little ones in the garden,” Gran said.

“Wouldn’t taste the same,” Lois said. “Something to do with the soil, I suppose. It’s all leaf mould in the wood. An’ worms and grubs an that, keeping it fresh.

“Well, thanks,” said Gran, making a face. “Glad I’ve finished mine!” She turned to Derek, and said that they’d met John Thornbull shooting rabbits. “And we found a bird-watching hide in the middle of the thicket,” she added. “Lois tore her jeans goin’ to investigate.”

“Where was that, then?” Derek said.

“Over towards the Waltonby side,” Lois said. “Just a bit of a shelter. Not doing any harm. I left it as I found it. They might’ve been watching badgers at night. There is a sett close by there.”

“Better not tell John,” Derek said. “He hates badgers more than he hates rabbits! You’ll not find a farmer say a good word about either of them.”

“He knows,” Gran said. “There’s not an inch of that wood that John Thornbull don’t know.”

Lois wondered if this was true. If John knew about a man using that makeshift shelter as a hiding place, he might know more about him. She made a note to mention it to Hazel at the meeting tomorrow. By then, she should have heard from Cowgill about the body from the canal. He should have had a chance to check whether it had an appendix scar. If he did not ring her, she would ring him.

“What are you up to this afternoon?” Derek had planned an afternoon up at the allotment, but knew he should check with Lois, in case she had other ideas that would involve him.

“Nothing,” she said. “Just pottering around. Might go down to the hall. They’ve got an exhibition of old photographs of the village, put on by the WI. Mum’s on duty, aren’t you?”

Gran nodded. “Three ’til four,” she said. “Me and Joan an’ that nice Doris Ashbourne from Round Ringford. They say she’s lost without Ivy Beasley.”

“Has she died?” Lois knew the old thing’s reputation for a sharp tongue and a warm heart. She’d certainly been at the receiving end of the former, but never seen any evidence of a warm heart.

“Gone into an old folks’ home,” Gran said. “Miles away, in Suffolk. She’s got a cousin living nearby, apparently, who organised it all. They say Doris gets letters from Ivy, not a bit unhappy and busy making changes to the place.”

“Sounds about right,” said Lois. “Perhaps Doris will go and live with her.”

“Can’t afford it, otherwise she would. So they say.”

 

 

THE VILLAGE HALL WAS PLEASANTLY FULL OF PEOPLE, PEERING AT the photographs and exchanging memories. Gran and Joan Pickering sat at a trestle table, taking entrance money and directing questions to Doris, who had lived in Ringford and around, including a few years in Farnden, and had known many of the people who smiled at the camera years ago.

Lois stood in front of a picture of her own house, taken when it was owned by Dr. Rix. She remembered when she was still living in Tresham and coming out to clean houses in Farnden village. Dr. Rix and his wife, Mary, had been her clients, and she had been involved in the tragedy that struck them.

“Penny for ’em,” said a familiar voice. She turned around to see Hunter Cowgill, smartly dressed and smiling widely. “I love old photographs,” he said, “so thought I’d come over and take a look.”

Lois, for once, was speechless. She was quite sure he did not love old photographs. The only photographs he was interested in were mug shots of criminals. She found her voice and said exactly that. Cowgill laughed delightedly. “Chris! Come over here,” he said, turning to beckon to his assistant. “You’ve met Lois, of course. She has a story to tell about this house.” He pointed to the photograph.

“Isn’t that where you live?” Chris said.

Lois nodded. “It’s a long story,” she said, “so some other time. Why don’t you go and find the tea and coffee hatch? Then you could wander round and take your time.”

Chris left them, aware that she had been got rid of, and made for the hatch, where Kate Adstone and Paula Hickson had taken over from Gran and were doing a roaring trade with refreshments.

“So?” hissed Lois. “Was it him?”

Cowgill nodded. “At least, the body has an appendix scar,” he said quietly. “Can’t say more here, except that without more description and perhaps a hint of who you think it might be, we haven’t got a lot further forwards.”

Lois managed a wintry smile. “Patience,” she said. “An’ if you want to talk to me, you’d better think of somewhere better than a crowded village hall on a Sunday afternoon. Unless you got another reason for being here?”

He had, of course. He explained that he and Chris were observing, following up the arson attempt. It was one thing seeing the hall empty and quiet, but much more useful to watch how it operated when something was on. How people came and went, what check was kept on visitors, if any.

“And eavesdropping?” Lois said. “Always useful, listening in to other people’s conversations. I’ve been known to stoop to that myself, but not lately. Now, I have to go. You’ve paid, I hope? All in aid of restoring the village hall, so extra donations welcome. I’ll be in touch.”

“Before you go, Lois, just remember that many people have appendix scars. I need more.”

“Bye,” Lois said, and disappeared off towards the kitchen, where Kate and Paula were surprised to hear her offer of help, but accepted gratefully.

“You go and have a look round, Paula,” she said. “By the way, where are the children?”

“Down by the swings. Jack Jr.’s looking after them. He’s good at that. I’ve told him to send one of the twins if he can’t manage. It’s only a hundred yards away, so I reckon they’re quite safe.”

“Better go and check,” Lois said. “They get some rough characters on those swings.”

“Don’t alarm the poor woman,” said Kate confidently. “A country village is not the same as the backstreets of Tresham. You used to live in Tresham, didn’t you, Mrs. Meade?”

Lois did not deign to reply. She knew a snide remark when she heard one, and decided Mrs. Kate Adstone was not quite the anxious-to-please person she had thought her to be.

“Um, Mrs. M,” Paula said. “I suppose you wouldn’t just take a look, would you? Jack is more likely to take notice of you, if he isn’t keeping a proper watch. The baby should be asleep in his pushchair, but . . .” She trailed off, and Lois said of course she’d go. She was used to teenage boys, she said, and walked quickly out of the hall.

As she set off towards the play area, she could see that there were no other children there, nor any watchful parents. Just the Hicksons. She began to quicken her step. She ended up half running, and saw with alarm a figure emerge from the hedge bordering the play area. It was a man, and he approached the tallest child, who was, of course, Jack Jr. Lois shouted out to him that she was coming, and ran full pelt towards the motionless, staring group of children.

The man heard her, and with an amazing turn of speed, retreated the way he had come.

“Jack!” A quick look showed her that all was well with the other children. The twins were still sitting goggle-eyed in their swings, and Frankie smiled sweetly in his sleep.

“I was watching over them, missus!” Jack said. “He weren’t nothing to do with me!”

“But was it him, your father?”

“My father? O’ course not. I told you. He buggered off.”

“But—” Lois stopped and took a big breath. “So who was at the school gates? The one you were frightened of?”

“God knows,” Jack said. “Some pervert or other, I s’pose. Anyway,” he added, “is Mum coming soon? I got things to do.”

“I’ll send her over,” Lois said, staring at him, trying to decide whether he was telling the truth. And then once more she was angry that a child of thirteen should be required to be devious and unpleasant, through no fault of his own. She noticed the tender way he straightened the baby in his pushchair, picking up and dusting off the toy dog that had fallen to the ground.

“Second thoughts, Jack,” she said. “You run over and tell Mum she can finish now doing the refreshments. I’ll take her place. Tell her I’ll walk back slowly with the others. I’ll meet you coming back.”

“Afraid of nasty men, are you?” said Jack with a sneer. “Whatever,” he added, and began to slope off towards the hall.

When Paula arrived to take charge, Lois told her that a man had approached the children but had been scared off, and left it at that. She did not have to say more, and could see the alarm in Paula’s eyes. “Best to keep a close eye on them. Thanks, Mrs. M,” she said, and Lois hurried back towards the hall.

Cowgill’s car was still in the car park, and he and Chris were standing outside, deep in conversation. Lois couldn’t avoid them, so smiled at Chris and asked if they had picked up anything useful in their hunt for the arsonist.

“This and that,” Chris said.

“Must be catching, this way of saying nuthin’,” Lois said. “He’s the champ,” she added, looking at Cowgill. “Anyway, it’s a good exhibition, isn’t it?”

“Very good indeed,” Cowgill said. “I specially liked a photo Gran had contributed. A small girl with long dark hair flying in the breeze, swinging much too high.”

“Couldn’t have been me, if that’s what you think,” said Lois, her eyes softening. “We lived in Tresham.”

“According to your mother, the three of you had come out from town to Farnden for a picnic. You were six, she said. And lovely, as always,” he added quietly, as they walked to the car, so that only she could hear.

“We left a donation,” Chris said, smiling. “And not from police funds, either. Mr. Cowgill has another side to him, you know.”

Cowgill got into the car and lowered the window. “Seriously, Lois,” he said, “I need to know what line you’re following. It could be a matter of life and death, and I’m not saying that lightly. Bye now, take care.”

T
HE WEATHER HAD CHANGED. HEAVY RAIN POUNDED DOWN outside Lois’s office window, and not a soul was to be seen in the village High Street. The usual muddy pond, formed by torrents of water overflowing from fields and ditches, had formed on the corner by the turn to the playing field.

“Drain’s blocked again,” Gran said, “and Derek said him and Tony Dibson were off to clean some of the mud away so’s it can flow away.”

“If only others on the parish council were as good as Derek,” Lois said. “It’s always him unblocking drains or fixing broken hedges. Chasing escaped sheep. Him and John.”

“And Tony Dibson,” said Gran. “You could hardly expect Mrs. T-J to come out with buckets and boots, could you?”

“Don’t see why not,” Lois said grumpily. “Anyway, I have to go out this morning. Possible new client. I’ll be back in time for the meeting.”