Fear on Friday (27 page)

“And who was Dad? The baby’s Dad, I mean.”

Doris shook her head. “There were rumours flying everywhere, but nobody really knew. There were so many possibles! No, it was all hushed up, and she went away for a bit. When she came back, she returned to the Town Hall, and people forgot. Except Ivy! So now you know, Mrs. Meade, and I hope you’ll keep it to yourself.”

Lois assured her that her lips were sealed, and left shortly after, wishing Doris well and telling her not to exhaust herself looking after Ivy.

“Tell that to Ivy!” Doris shouted after her, and waved.

What a nice person, thought Lois, as she drove off with a wave at the fat lady and her dog.

T
IME FOR AN UPDATE
, L
OIS DECIDED
,
AS SHE WENT
into her office, her mind turning over all the possibilities that Susanna’s pregnancy had opened up. She picked up a pen and a blank sheet of paper. Write it down, Cowgill had suggested years ago. A good way of organising your thoughts. She began by making a sort of family tree, with Howard Jenkinson at the top. Dead, and not by accident.

Next, she added a line of possible culprits’ names. Fergus Forsyth (revenge—or fear?), Norman Stevenson (desperation in face of blackmail), Rupert Forsyth, Daisy Forsyth (a mysterious couple with secrets), Ken Slater (lifetime of being patronised by rich friend), Jean Slater (ex-employee with a grudge?)… Who else? Doreen? Well, from all that Lois now knew about Mayor Jenkinson, she would have had every reason. But she was miles from home, and had a perfect alibi. Besides, Doreen Jenkinson was the very model of a middle-class, cosseted housewife. Bill had never hinted at any trouble there. All, but wait a minute—what about Howard’s den? But then, Bill had said Doreen had seemed not to mind at all—had even found it amusing. Who else?

Lois drew a long line beneath the list. Then she added in large letters: A Burglar (nothing taken), An Old Flame, or An Old Flame’s Husband (too many to mention), and Norman Stevenson. His anxious voice came back to her over and over again. The look on his face as he watched the funeral procession. A mystery man indeed. How close had he been to colleagues in Tresham timber works?
Somebody
must have known him well.

Another blank sheet of paper. This time she put a list of all the characters, including Howard, at the top, and drew lines connecting them. Howard knew them all. The Forsyths knew Howard, Ken, Jean, Doreen, possibly Norman. The Slaters knew Howard and Doreen, probably Norman, and the Forsyths. No, this would not do. Everybody knew everybody. Lois screwed up the paper and threw it in the bin. She stared again at the family tree. Her thoughts roamed, and she was back with Doris Ashbourne, and the morning’s revelation. She had left off one name: Susanna. Was it possible? Doris Ashbourne had said boyfriends and
men friends
. Her first job had been at the Town Hall. Could Howard have spotted her, and if so …?

A furious, vengeful Mr. Jacob, in the heat of the moment? Lois’s head spun. That kind of thing only happened in films, surely. Not in
Tresham
, small market town in the Midlands? But Lois knew only too well that crime did not restrict itself to big cities, and added Susanna’s father to the list. She thought about it, and decided that if he had given Howard a push on a supremely angry impulse, it would have been at the time the girl was pregnant, not months afterwards. She crossed him off. Although it was not as simple as that, Lois had a strong feeling that she was on the right track.

Next: how well did
she
know the names on the list? Another sheet of paper. The Jenkinsons—not very well personally, but with plenty of information from Bill, and from her recent cleaning job at Hornton House, she probably knew them best of all the others. The Slaters—hardly at all, except that they obviously disliked her. Or distrusted her? Did they
think she knew something they were anxious to hide? But why should they suspect her of anything? Ah yes, because of the office in Sebastopol Street. Ken Slater had seen her there, knew it was her business, and expected her to share in the confidences Fergus Forsyth frequently exchanged with Hazel and Maureen.

Lois felt a sudden chilly shiver down her spine. Ken Slater had an icy stare, and his wife’s dark eyes had looked at her malevolently. Rubbish! She was imagining it. Still, she put a big question mark by the Slaters, and carried on. The Forsyths—Rupert and Daisy. Sounded like an old music-hall act. The Flying Forsyths.
Let the Forsyths Help You to Fly!
Well, they had the merchandise. Lois was pleased with that, and smiled. But how well did she know them? There were two people she could consult: Gran, who knew Daisy from her brief membership of the WI, and Josie, who saw them regularly in the village shop.

Of course, the whole village knew what Rupert’s shop in Tresham supplied. It had all come out at the time of the Mayor’s funeral. Rupert and Daisy had kept their heads down for a while, and Fergus had hardly been seen in Farnden. But when the fun had died down—and it had been great new material for the pub’s wags—the Forsyths slowly emerged. It was indeed a permissive age, and one which, Rupert was coming to realise, would eventually render their confidential services unnecessary.

Norman Stevenson—Lois grimaced. She knew his voice, and what he looked like from the funeral day and a smudgy photograph in the local paper. She knew he received blackmailing letters, and suspected he had telephoned Jean Slater at Hornton House. So he knew the Slaters well? And there was a possibility his frightening letters had been written in Doreen Jenkinson’s hand. This last was difficult to swallow. Why on earth should the very well-heeled Doreen blackmail a former employee of her husband, probably fallen on hard times, for money which she could not need? Lois shook her head. She would have to wait for the results of Cowgill’s investigations.

That left her with the Jacob family. Mrs. Jacob she had met only once, and in not very friendly circumstances. As for Susanna, although she worked for Lois, and they had had a number of conversations, she was well aware that she had failed to get close to her in even a preliminary way. She knew quite a lot
about
the family, from Doris Ashbourne and even the formidable Miss Beasley. Not much chance of gleaning anything more from them. But Maureen Smith? She had clammed up quickly, but another approach might work. Perhaps that would be the best place to start.

The telephone rang; it was Hazel. “Mrs. M? I’ve got a lady here who would like us to clean for her, but I’m wondering whether you want to travel that far. She’s a few miles this side of Birmingham, and I’m not sure what our radius is.”

“That’s too far for us at the moment,” Lois said. “Too much time spent travelling. Maybe in a year or two, when we’re operating worldwide, but make our apologies nicely and send her on her way. Oh, and Hazel, I’ll be dropping in this afternoon—around three. See you later.”

H
AZEL AND
M
AUREEN WERE CHATTING AT THE DOOR WHEN
Lois arrived. “Well, I’ll love you and leave you,” Maureen said, turning away with the pushchair. She was out for a stroll with her toddler, and said she’d be going to the park for an hour or so.

“Just a minute, Maureen,” Lois said. “We mentioned Susanna Jacob last time we met, and now I’d really like to ask you some questions. It won’t prejudice her job with New Brooms—” Here Hazel interrupted with a
sotto voce
“Pity!”

“It is just that something has come up, and you’re the most likely person to be able to help me. Of course, if you’d rather not, I shall respect that …” Hazel’s eyes widened. This was a new, tactful Mrs. M.

“Well, all right, then,” Maureen said. “But if there’s
something I don’t think it’s right for me to tell you, I shan’t.”

And that will probably tell me more than what you do say, Lois thought, and smiled encouragingly. “You’d better take Robert now, and perhaps we could have a quick word when you get back. Is your Mum at home? Perhaps she could have him for a few minutes?”

It was arranged, and Lois said Hazel could go early, as
her
mother was looking after Elizabeth. Hazel knew this was because Lois wanted private words with Maureen, but accepted gratefully. It did occur to her to wonder what Mrs. M would do if Josie had a baby. How much time would she be willing to give to liberate her daughter? It would be interesting to see.

Maureen came back into the office in due course, and Lois asked her to sit down. “I do appreciate this,” she said, “and I certainly won’t keep you long. It’s just a small point.”

“Right,” Maureen said. “Let’s have it, then. Mum wants to change her books at the library.”

“I’ll say straight out,” began Lois, “that I know about Susanna’s pregnancy. So that’s out of the way. Now, I need to know who the father was.”

“Why don’t you ask her?” Maureen said belligerently.

Lois paused, then said quietly, “You know the answer to that.” Then she was silent for a few seconds.

Maureen shifted in her seat. “Could’ve been one of several,” she said finally.

“But you know which one,” Lois said.

Maureen chewed the corner of her lip. “Mmm,” she said. “But I promised Susanna I’d never tell anybody.”

“Okay,” Lois said. “Now, if I make a guess, and it’s right, will you tell me?”

Maureen shook her head. “That’s as good as breaking the promise, isn’t it.” She looked at her watch. “I must get back,” she said, beginning to rise from her seat.

“Howard Jenkinson?” Lois’s tone was conversational, but her eyes were fixed intently on Maureen’s face. It was
enough. “Fine,” Lois said. “No broken promises, Maureen, and I’ve got my answer. I shan’t mention it again.”

After Maureen had gone, Lois tidied the office, put out the lights and locked up. She drove off in her van, and on the way home, going slowly through the twisting lanes, she began to see why Mayor Jenkinson had ended up in close watery association with his beloved fish.

“M
UM
,” L
OIS SAID
,
STICKING HER FINGER IN THE RAW
cake mixture and licking it appreciatively.

“Yes,” Gran said patiently, moving the bowl out of Lois’s reach.

“You know Daisy Forsyth. She joined the WI, didn’t she? What’s she like?”

“What d’you mean? She’s a middle-aged woman, mutton-dressed-as-lamb, but nice and cheerful. What else?”

“Well, did you chat to her? Has she mentioned the old days or anything?” Lois knew how her mother loved to talk about the past. She supposed all old people did. After all, the past was a lot more interesting than the present or future to them.

“Um, let me think.” Gran did not approve of Lois’s sudden interest in Daisy Forsyth, and knew quite well there was a reason behind her curiosity, a reason to do with that Cowgill policeman. On the other hand, Gran could not resist passing on interesting titbits, and thought hard. “She hasn’t been to the WI more’n a couple of times,” she said, “but I did sit next to her when we had our cups of tea, and we
chatted. She said she found Farnden very quiet, and I asked her what she was used to. She roared with laughter—she’s got a nice laugh—and said most of it wasn’t a suitable subject for the WI. Well, I knew about the shop’n that, so I didn’t think much of it. Then I had a good look at her when she wasn’t noticing, and you know, Lois, she must have been a really fine girl when she was young. Good features, pretty hair, even now, and a good pair of legs. She shows a bit more of ‘em than she should at her age, but at least they’re still in good shape.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Lois said. “But what were the things unsuitable for the WI? Was she a model—you know the sort—for some of those weird things they sell?”

Gran paused, and hatched a wicked plan to stop Lois asking questions. “Adult posters,” she said, “late-night videos, all kinds of stuff. You know the sort of tiling. Lodger’s Voluptuous Dominant Landlady …” Gran chuckled.

“Mum! How do you know all this?”

“Blimey, you’ve only got to look at the back of the
Exchange & Mart! On Her Knees in the Dungeon, Naughty Nurse Natasha
—there’s hundreds of ‘em. And there’s a lot worse than that. A really good read, those pages!” Gran laughed again, but mostly at the expression on Lois’s face.