7 Sorrow on Sunday (15 page)

Floss drifted back to sleep, and was awoken after a while by her mother coming in with a glass of hot lemon. “You have to drink lots,” she said. “Try and get it down, to
please me.” She had the motherly voice that Floss remembered from childhood. Propping herself on her elbow, she drank a few mouthfuls and then fell back on the pillow. “Leave it there, Mum,” she said. “I’ll drink some more in a minute or two.” She closed her eyes, hoping her mother would go away. She wanted to concentrate on the gift of a horse.

Why hadn’t the Battersbys spoken to her first? Oh, yes, she remembered Mrs. M saying they were anxious not to break New Brooms rules. Cleaners accepting gifts, and all that. It made it more difficult for her to decide, though at heart she was thrilled at the idea of having her own mare to ride and care for. Expense, that would be another factor. Horses were expensive things, and her salary was not huge. She’d have to check that the Battersbys didn’t want rent for the stable and field. And then there’d be new tack. There was none of that left in the stables. Vet’s bills and feed supplements. Farrier to keep hooves in good nick. Her mind got stuck on farriers, and she wandered off into a hazy dream about a curly-haired young farrier who’d run off with a rich wife in Fletching, leaving behind young daughters and a sorrowing husband . . .

*   *   *

D
OT HAD ALSO BEEN THINKING ABOUT THE
B
ATTERSBYS.
She was pleased with herself, and as she drove into Tresham, deciding to go straight to Mrs. Parker-Knowle, she reckoned she had made a good start. Then she passed the entrance to Sebastopol Street, and changed her mind. Just time to dash home and eat a sausage roll. It had been a cup of tea only with Blanche. No delicious shortbread biscuits or slice of date and walnut cake. She backed the car and turned into Sebastopol Street. As she went by the video shop, a couple of youths parked outside watched her until she stopped outside her house.

The kitchen clock, thick with dust, told Dot that she had ten minutes to spare, and she took a sausage roll from its packet. It was well past its sell-by date, but she habitually took no notice of these arbitrary limits. As she said to her
sister Evie, “Sausage rolls don’t suddenly go rotten at midnight, do they?”

“Like Cinderella,” Evie had said, and they’d cackled at this shaft of wit.

Time’s up, Dot said to herself, and left the house. She looked at the car. Something not right. “Oh, sod it!” she said aloud. She walked round the car, and found a bright yellow triangular clamp attached to her offside wheel. There were no parking restrictions in Sebastopol Street. She looked up and down the street. Not a soul in sight. Still, there wouldn’t be, would there? She sighed, and went back into the house. Dialling a number, she reflected that anyone else would have sent for the police. But not a Nimmo. She laughed wryly, and said, “Stan? Is that you? Help needed.”

She told him about the clamp. “It’s the cheap one, with a padlock. I can’t move it. Can you get up here? Yeah, cut it. Damage? Nope, can’t see anything. Ta very much. See you.”

Next she phoned Alice Parker-Knowle, and said she’d be a bit late. Reassured that Alice was not unhappy about this, she went out to look once more at the car. There was something else—a scrap of paper tucked under the windscreen wiper. “‘Mind yer own business, Dot,’” she read. “‘Or else.’”

Dot looked closely, and then screwed it up and put it in her pocket. She scowled. Fools! They don’t scare me that easy, she thought, and waved to the garage truck now speeding up Sebastopol Street.

*   *   *

“Y
OU GOT ENEMIES,
D
OT?” ASKED THE MECHANIC, AS
he unloaded tools.

“What do you think?” said Dot. “Won’t take you a minute to cut through that,” she added confidently. “I could’ve done it meself, ’cept I’m due at my next client, an’ I don’t have the tools.”

Stan had the clamp removed in seconds, and said, “Better check there ain’t no scratches nor nothin’.” He examined the bodywork carefully. “No, you bin lucky,” he said. “This time. Who d’yer reckon done it, then?”

“You know as well as I do, Stan,” she said. “But they don’t bother me. It’s one of the other lot that done for my Haydn. Police are sayin’ it was a tragic accident, with that loose horse. But I know different. Horses don’t bolt into the road for no reason.”

“You on the warpath, then, Dot?” Stan was grinning affectionately. “If I hear anythin’ I’ll let yer know. The others might know somethin’. I’ll spread it around.”

Dot delved into her purse, but Stan waved her away. “Don’t be daft. Gotta stick together, us lot. Save yer pennies, Dot. Never know when yer might need a penny.”

“More like ten pence nowadays,” Dot replied, and laughed heartily. “Thanks, anyway, Stan. Mind how y’go.”

She locked up her house and drove off, looking from side to side along the street, but she could see nothing. She was certain someone would have seen the culprits, but Sebastopol kept itself to itself. Might be dangerous to do otherwise. Ah well, the message would get round. She expected to be left alone from now on.

L
OIS HAD NOT MENTIONED IT, BUT SHE PLANNED TO DROP
in on Mrs. Parker-Knowle while Dot was there, just to make sure that everything was going as would be expected from a New Brooms cleaner. The fact that Dot had worked there before joining the team made her slightly uneasy. Everything about Dot made Lois uneasy! Dot Nimmo was, as Gran would say, a law unto herself. Lois drove through the town and out towards Meadow Crescent.

A BMW was parked outside Alice Parker-Knowle’s house, and Lois drew up behind it. She looked at her watch. Three o’clock. Dot should be nearly through by now. She walked up the driveway and rang the bell. “Come in, Mrs. M! Door’s not locked . . .” It was Dot’s voice, and Lois immediately objected to the familiarity in her tone. She should be at the door, opening it politely, and ushering her in to see Alice P-K. That sounded like a bottled sauce: P-K Tomato Sauce. She pushed open the door.

“In here!” called Dot, and Lois followed the voice. A dreadful sight met her eyes. Alice and Dot sat either side of a coffee table which bore a neat tea tray, with a plate of chocolate biscuits, clearly much depleted.

“Cup of tea?” Dot said cheerily. “I’ll get another cup. You sit there, Mrs. M.” Dot disappeared off to the kitchen. Alice looked at Lois’s face and whispered quickly, “Don’t be cross, Mrs. Meade. We have had this arrangement since she began. I like her company. She cheers me up. If you like, I’ll pay a little extra.”

Lois sighed. “No need for that, Mrs. Parker-Knowle,” she said.

“Do call me Alice, please, Mrs. Meade—Lois . . . I do
dislike formality among friends. I regard Dot as a friend, and I’m sure you will be one too.”

“Yes, well, we’ll see. But thank you, Alice. Apart from the social side of the job, are you satisfied with Dot’s work?”

“Oh, yes, she’s an excellent cleaner. You are lucky to have found her, Lois.”

At this point, Dot, who had crept up close to the open door to listen, now appeared, smiling and carrying a cup and saucer. “Here we are then. Now, what have you been telling Mrs. M?” she said. “No complaints, I hope!”

Lois couldn’t believe her ears. She had never had an employee like Dot, and it was a going to be a challenge. “Not so far,” she said with a frown.

The conversation ranged from cleaners Alice had known to Dot’s tragedies with the men in her family. Lois purposely blocked questions about her own personal life, and was beginning to think it was time to go, when she heard Alice say, “And wasn’t it strange that Dot should have been cleaning at the Battersbys?
We
knew the family, years and years ago.”

Lois sat up straight. “How interesting,” she said. “Did you know them well? Where were they living then?”

Alice then recounted what she had already told Dot, about the farm and the family, and Horace’s military career. This time she also mentioned the spinster sisters who had done good works in the town, and had become a legend. “You’ll have seen Battersby Road on the Eastern Development? Named after them.” Lois knew it, but said that most people kept away from that side of town unless they had a very pressing reason to go there. She also knew from Gran about the spinster sisters, but she kept quiet.

While Alice was talking, Lois noticed that Dot was also very quiet and seemed to be concentrating hard on what she was saying. This was unusual, as Dot could not resist interrupting whatever was being said with a contribution of her own.

“Of course,” Alice said, coming to the end, “Dot could
tell you some stories about the Battersbys.” Lois was still looking at Dot and saw her shake her head almost imperceptibly at Alice. She made a mental note to hear those stories later.

*   *   *

D
RIVING AWAY FROM
M
EADOW
C
RESCENT,
L
OIS LOOKED
in her rear-view mirror. Two youths were in conversation on the pavement opposite Alice’s house. As she waited at the corner for the traffic to clear, she glanced again into the mirror. One of the youths was walking across the road towards Dot’s car. He leaned across the windscreen as if to clean it, and Lois saw that he had a spray can in his hand. Ah well, maybe Dot had asked them to do it while she was working. But why, as she watched, did the pair of them scarper at top speed?

Lois reversed into the nearest driveway and went back to look at the BMW. Sure enough, the windscreen had been sprayed, but not with detergent. A message had been left for Dot in bright purple: SHUT YER TRAP DOT!

At this moment, Dot came rushing out. “What’s up, Mrs. M?” she shouted. Then she saw her windscreen and her face hardened. “I’ll have ’em lynched,” she muttered under her breath.

“What did you say?”

“I said, did they pinch anything?” Dot replied, quick as a flash. She tried her car door, and shook her head. “Locked, thank God. Don’t worry, Mrs. M,” she added. “I can have that got off in no time. I know your time’s money, so you get going.”

Lois reluctantly returned to her car. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” she called to a rapidly disappearing Dot. “Come around ten o’clock when you’ve finished the early job on the surgery. I need to talk to you.”

She drove off, and this time there was no traffic. She was well on the way home before she remembered she had wanted to call into Sebastopol Street to see Hazel. Memory going, she silently cursed. Don’t say the senior moments
are starting already. Gran’s memory is better than mine these days. She sighed, and turned around, heading back into Tresham.

*   *   *

“M
ESSAGE FOR YOU FROM OUR MUTUAL FRIEND,”
H
AZEL
said. “Could you ring him as soon as poss?”

Lois frowned. “Why didn’t he try my mobile?” she said.

“He did, but you’re switched off, apparently. Do you want to do it here?” she added, getting up from the desk. Lois nodded, and sat down in the chair.

“Ah, thanks for ringing,” Cowgill said. “Got some good news for you. Young Darren has been talking to his mother, in fits and starts, and is now asking for the lady in the van. Mrs. Smith is certain he means you. Can you go?”

“What’s he been saying to his mother?”

“Mostly about horses. Big horses. And the big man, which is how he always refers to Colonel Battersby. She says he has clearly been very frightened.”

“Right,” said Lois, looking at her watch and feeling a sudden surge of energy, “I’ll call in on the way home.”

“Let me know what emerges, won’t you?” Cowgill dared to say.

“I’ll think about it,” said Lois, and ended the call.

A
FTER A QUICK SANDWICH AT HOME,
L
OIS DROVE TO
W
ALTONBY
and into Wycherley Close. She parked outside Darren’s house, and glanced across to see Mrs. Smith watching out for her.

“Hello, Mrs. Meade,” she said, opening the door. “It’s very nice of you to come over. I’m sure Darren means
you
when he says ‘the lady with the van.’ He’s out the back, in the garden. Please sit down and I’ll go and get him.”