Fear on Friday (2 page)

“It’ll be your job,” Lois had said to her daughter. “If you and Rob want to come back and live in the village, we’ll all chip in and buy it, and you can run it. It’ll be an investment. I’ve enough to do with cleaning, but I’ll be around if you need help. And there’s always Gran.”

There
was
always Gran, stalwart mother of Lois and a reliable prop for the whole family. She had been thrilled at the idea of taking on the shop, and in a quiet way proved to be a backstop in many ways. Rob, Josie’s partner, though with a job of his own in Tresham, worked shifts, and was often able to give a hand. This way, Josie could be postlady and shopkeeper, and was in her element.

In no time at all, Josie had had everything under control, and with Gran manning the shop first thing, the early morning post delivery was the best time of the day for her. The birds were singing, the air fresh, roads empty. Rupert Forsyth, almost alone of her calls, was always up and about, and opened the door of No. 2 Albert Villas, holding out his hand for his fat packet of post.

Rupert and his wife had moved into the village six months ago, buying a house which sat solidly on a plot in a side road off the main street. Albert Villas had been built by a nineteenth-century farmer for his best workers, using a plain, no-nonsense red brick, and the Forsyths had known at once that this house, four-square and reliable, was exactly what they wanted.

This morning, Rupert Forsyth appeared at the door in his shirtsleeves. “Lovely morning, Josie!” he said. “The forecast is good for the weekend too. You’ll be off on your bikes, I expect.”

Josie nodded. Rob was a biking enthusiast, and had given her an amazingly speedy model with twenty-five
gears, every possible gadget she could need, and a safety helmet that made her feel like an elongated snail. She handed Rupert his letters, and warned him against going out with too little protection against the wind. “Still sharp, you know, Mr. Forsyth,” she cautioned. “You know what my Gran says: “Ne’er cast a clout ‘til May be out.” And it’s only the twenty-sixth today.”

“I do indeed know what your Gran says,” Rupert laughed ruefully. “A very great deal! Not a lady to meet if you’re in a hurry.” His tone was pleasant, but Josie bridled.

“She’s wonderful for her age,” she said. “Been a widow for ages, and helps Mum no end, as well as me. I couldn’t manage without her. And anyway,” she added, “most people in the village like her. They come in just for a chat, and then buy something. Very good for business, is Gran.” Which is more than you are, Mr. and Mrs. Rupert Forsyth, Josie said silently to herself. I see you coming back on a Friday afternoon with your bargain buys from Tesco’s. I’m lucky if you buy a box of matches from me.

She walked smartly back down the path and out into the road. “Shut the gate, please!” called Rupert, but Josie pretended not to hear and cycled off without looking round. It’s not his place to criticise Gran, she thought angrily. He’s not been here five minutes. Who cares about his stupid letters? But she had to admit that, along with the rest of the village, she could not resist speculating about the Forsyths.

L
OIS
M
EADE
, J
OSIE
’
S MOTHER
,
SAT IN HER OFEICE AND
chewed the end of her pen in the comfortable family house that had once belonged to the village doctor. New Brooms, her cleaning business, had expanded, and she was seriously considering opening a branch office in Tresham, the nearest big town serving Long Farnden. But how to staff it? Accustomed to absolute freedom herself, she hated the idea of being stuck all day in an office. Perhaps it could be done on a part-time basis?

One of New Brooms’ first cleaners, Hazel Thornbull, had recently had a baby, and was now itching to get back to work. With her mother-in-law close by, and only too ready to help, for lively-minded Hazel it would be an opportunity to get away from the farm and back to the variety of New Brooms’ working life. Much as she loved her young husband, cows and sheep had nothing much to say, and Hazel loved to talk.

Could Hazel manage some hours in an office in Tresham? She was certainly the best candidate, bright and experienced. She’d stand no nonsense, but was good with people.
Lois thought on. Did she need another office? She’d always managed from home, but lately had begun to think she’d like a small place in town, with New Brooms over the door, where clients could walk in and discuss their requirements in person.

“Lois? You there?” It was Derek’s voice from the kitchen. A self-employed electrician, he should have been at work.

Lois yelled, “What are you back for?”

Derek appeared at her door. “Forgot something,” he said. “Any coffee going? No sign of Gran. I expect she’s at the shop.” He missed the warm presence of Gran, always ready in the kitchen with a cup of this or that and slice of home-made cake. Lois was just as likely to tell him to get his own.

“You can make it, and bring me a cup,” she said.

“You know what they say,” he grumbled, “y’don’t keep a dog to bark yerself.”

“Huh!” Lois grinned, walked over to him and kissed him warmly. “Well, this old dog’s not barking for nobody. How’s about making it together? Josie’s always goin’ on about togetherness. Reckon we could manage it without bickering. You get the mugs, and I’ll put the kettle on. And then we’ll have a cosy chat just on our own, for once.” Gran’s new role as shopkeeper had its good side for Lois. Sometimes two women in one kitchen was not a good thing.

“Chat about what?” said Derek suspiciously. He distrusted Lois’s cosy chats. They always involved something he didn’t want to do, or didn’t like the sound of. And though they had an agreement that Lois could carry on detecting, provided he knew about it, he still dreaded the signs: Lois abstracted, doors banged shut to keep phone calls private, Gran frowning and Lois snappy. But this time, it proved to be an innocent enough plan.

“I’ve bin thinking,” said Lois, “that I might open an office—just a small one—in Tresham. Just so’s people could come in and talk face-to-face with one of us. Now
we’ve got so much work, and bigger clients, I reckon it’d be a good idea.”

A few years ago, Lois had been a solitary cleaner living with her family in Tresham, when one of her clients, the doctor in whose house she now lived, had become involved in a murder scandal. When he moved away, nobody had wanted the house, but Lois and Derek had seen a bargain, and the grim associations didn’t bother them. It had seemed like paradise after the estate semi they’d lived in with three children and Gran down the road.

New Brooms had been a logical development for Lois. She’d recruited a team, and discovered that the demand for their services was great. An added bonus was that instead of one snoop, she now had half a dozen and more. Not that they knew they were snooping … at least, Lois never spelled it out.

It had all started when she’d fancied being a Special Constable, and been turned down by the police. A middle-aged policewoman had patronised her, and said she had too much responsibility already with children and a job. She should wait a few years. Lois was stroppy, stubborn and did not take kindly to being patronised. Already convinced that a cleaner’s job was ideal for what she liked to think of as investigations, Lois decided to go it alone. But when a murder involving several of her clients struck Long Farnden, her unique position was quickly recognised by local Detective Inspector Hunter Cowgill, and, in a sparky partnership, they had worked together ever since.

Hunter Cowgill, from the beginning, had—not to beat about the bush—lusted after Lois. He had never said a word of it to anyone, and wouldn’t. She knew it, of course, and used it against him at times. It was a hopeless, from afar kind of attraction, and had not dimmed with time. When the need arose to ask Lois for help, Cowgirl’s pulse quickened, and his normally dour countenance softened. But Long Farnden had been peaceful since a particularly nasty fire at the vicarage, and Cowgill was reduced to staring out of his third floor office window in Tresham, hoping he might see
Lois striding by on her way to market. Sometimes she turned and looked for his window. He’d wave casually, and she would laugh up at him, causing him to curse himself for being an old fool.

Now Lois was bored. While Derek thanked God for a peaceful life and a normal household, Lois was restless. Taking on the shop had been exciting, but Josie was competent and confident. Nothing there for Lois to get her teeth into. At least the New Brooms office in town would be a challenge, and perhaps a financial risk. Lois began to plan.

I
N THE
T
OWN
H
ALL IN
T
RESHAM
,
THE
M
AYOR
’
S
P
AR
lour was a suitably impressive place for the most important citizen of the town. Panelling in a mellow dark wood, heavy velvet drapes, and an impressive desk the size of a billiard table, all were an appropriate setting for the present incumbent of the office.

Howard Jenkinson, sixty-eight and still handsome in a heavy, thick-set fashion, stood at his window looking out at neatly landscaped gardens, and smiled. How fortunate he was! Lately retired from a successful timber merchant business, he and his wife were able to remain in their large Tudor-style house in the best part of town with no financial worries about the future. Howard had, of course, a down-to-earth watchful nature, and had been brought up not to neglect the pennies. But now his concern with matters financial was a close interest in observing the stock market, making shrewd moves where necessary.

His wife now, as in all their married years, took no interest in money. “I always leave money matters to
Howard,” she would say comfortably, and then laugh. “I’ve not much alternative, actually …”

Doreen Jenkinson was, most of her friends agreed, the perfect wife, mother and Lady Mayoress. Her two daughters were suitably married, had provided both grandsons and granddaughters, and apart from a few creaky joints and a growing reluctance to tackle energetic jobs around the house, Doreen was in the best of health.

A knock at the parlour door brought Howard out of his reverie; his smile widened as he saw Jean Slater, his old friend Ken’s wife, bearing cups of steaming coffee. How fortunate he was. His school friend still his best mate, and Jean an efficient and, at one time, very attractive secretary who had worked for him for years in the timber business, and whose transfer to the Town Hall he’d been able to arrange with little trouble. A lot to be said for the old boys’ network!

“Doreen’s been on the telephone,” she said. “Asking me about finding help in the house. Seems old Edna’s given in her notice. I looked in Yellow Pages and came up with a cleaning service that sounds good. New Brooms, with a Long Farnden number. Doreen says she’ll give them a ring.”

“You’re a wonder, Jean,” Howard Jenkinson said. “What would I do without you?”

His secretary nodded. “Not very well,” she said, with a smile.

“Anyway,” continued Howard, “I’m glad Edna’s finally packed it in. She’s been worse than useless since her op. ‘ ’Ad it all out, dear,’ as she embarrassingly told me. We didn’t like to give her the old heave-ho, but now she’s going, so great. Well done! What else have you got for me? The St. Christopher’s School fête? Right. All set. Doreen loves fêtes, so no doubt I shall be footing the bill for a new hat.”

The telephone rang from the outer office, and Jean disappeared. Now, said Howard to himself, what had she said? New Brooms? Good name. Let’s see what I can find
out about them. He reached for his dark blue blazer and set off for the County Club, where he could find a few old chums and have a good lunch.

T
HE
C
OUNTY
C
LUB HAD BEEN ESTABLISHED MORE THAN
a hundred years ago by the solid citizens of Tresham, and still exuded an air of conservatism in business, recreation and life in general. Originally for men only, it had been more or less forced to add a ladies section, and this had added a frivolous touch to the décor. Pastel colours had crept in, spectacular flower arrangements, perhaps a little rigid, were placed at strategic corners, and pleasant toilet facilities had been installed.