Lois Meade 01: Murder on Monday (EN, 2002) (8 page)

Great, thought Lois. I shall hear everything they say. And I’m just part of the wallpaper to them.

L
ois’s noisy car heater broke down halfway home, and with her mind still taken up with Gloria Hathaway, it was some time before she realized that the fan was blowing freezing cold air into her face and around her icy feet. By the time she reached home, she was shivering and her hands were stiff with cold. Even so, she noticed the holly wreath on the door, cheerful with its gilded fir cones and bow of scarlet ribbon. Nice of Derek to think of that! As she put her key in the lock, she realized the door was open, and going through to the kitchen she saw Josie.

“What are you doing here? Skiving again? Or are you ill?”

Josie smiled placatingly at her and explained she had the afternoon off. “Teachers’ meeting,” she said, and Lois decided to give her the benefit of the doubt. Josie noticed her mother’s blue hands, filled the kettle and took out two mugs. “Did you see the holly wreath?” she said. It seemed Derek had not been the benefactor. “It was Melvyn,” Josie said, desperately casual. “He gave it to me after school this morning. Said his brother bought two by mistake, and did we want one.”

“How much?” said Lois swiftly.

“Nothin’. It was a present. Melvyn said to tell you and Dad he was sorry about that time when I came home a bit rocky.”

“He could’ve waited with you and said he was sorry,” said Lois. “Instead of scarpering like that. Who is he, anyway? Does he live round here?”

Josie shook her head. “Dunno where he lives,” she said. “Don’t know him all that well, really. He goes around with the crowd. Oh, and Mum…”

Here it comes, thought Lois. Nothing’s for nothing. “Well?”

“There’s this Christmas Disco at the club…”

“Club!” said Lois. “What club?”

“It’s where the crowd goes – all except me,” said Josie. “Melvyn said he’d look after me, and – ”

Lois interrupted her. “Just who is this crowd? And how old are they? And will Melvyn whatever his name is look after you like he did last time? No, Josie. This is a definite
no
!” Lois knew she was being unreasonable, and should allow Josie more time to explain, but all the morning’s tension in Farnden still clung to her, and her first thought was that if such a gruesome thing could happen there, who knows what might go on in some disreputable club in town?

“I shall ask Dad, then,” said Josie, close to tears. “At least he’ll listen. You’ve never got time for any of us, with your rotten cleaning and special cops, and…and…” She rushed out of the room, banging doors on her way up to her bedroom, where she cried angrily, loud enough for her mother to hear in the kitchen below.

It was not the first time the kids had made this accusation, but the cleaning jobs were a necessity to make ends meet with a growing family. Lois’s ambition to be a Special had not been in any way a necessity, of course. Not only was there no money in it, but it would probably have cost her in the end. It had been for Lois alone, something that she wanted for herself to prove that she could do it, something that took her away from everlasting cleaning up after other people. Selfish, really, some would say. Kids expect you to be there, to listen, to put them first. If you have them, this is what you have to do, thought Lois. After all, look at me, still taking for granted that my mother will be there when I want her, put us and our needs before hers.

Lois rinsed out the cups in the sink and put them upside down on the drainer, noticing that tea stains had turned the unglazed edges dark, tobacco brown. They need a good scrub, she thought, but did not attempt to do it. She could not get Gloria out of her mind. Who would want to kill a pathetic creature like that? Ignoring the slowly diminishing sobs from upstairs, she rummaged in the kitchen drawer for an unused notebook she had put in there weeks ago. A few pages for each of her clients, she thought. That should organize the evidence enough for a start.

Barratt – Rachel and Malcolm
, she wrote.
Day One
. She then added snippets of their conversation over coffee and the fact that they had both looked so shell-shocked. She noted down Rachel’s presence at the village hall, safely seated with the other women, at the time of the crime. Also Mary Rix. But Malcolm Barratt? Where had he been? Something to check. She turned to the back of the book and wrote down
Alibis
, then a list of the names of her clients.

“But it could be
anybody
in Farnden, not just one of your people,” objected Derek, when he came in for lunch. He’d looked stunned at the news about Gloria Hathaway, but collected himself quickly. “Could‘ve bin’ me, or you…” he’d said, with a weak smile.

“Or the Pope!” said Lois crossly. “I’ve got to start somewhere,” she added, and resolved not to tell Derek any more about it. He was clearly not taking her seriously. And anyway, where had he been when Gloria snuffed it?

“Right here, with you and the kids, you dope. For God’s sake, Lois, this is getting ridiculous.” Lois thought otherwise, but decided to drop the subject.

A pile of ironing took her attention for most of the afternoon. She usually listened to the afternoon play while she ironed, but Josie had pop music going full blast in her room, triumphant because Derek had said he’d think about her going to the club. He hadn’t looked at Lois, knowing her view, but asked Josie more questions to which she had given very vague answers. He’d dodged out, back to work, before Lois could tackle him on the subject, and now Josie had taken his ‘think about it’ as a yes.

Picking up a school shirt and starting on the collar, Lois looked at the radio, thought of telling Josie to turn down the music, but decided against it. I’ll just let my thoughts wander, see where they take me. What do I know about the late Gloria Hathaway? She cast her mind back over the time she’d been working in Farnden, and realized that Gloria had surfaced in one way or another quite often. There had been the time she had banged on the doctor’s door halfway through the morning, crying and carrying on, saying she was seriously ill and nobody believed her. Lois had let her in, shown her into the surgery and called the doctor from upstairs. He hadn’t looked too pleased, but had gone in to see Gloria, shutting the door firmly behind him. The crying and shouting soon ceased, and Lois, dusting the picture frames in the hall outside the surgery door, had heard their voices murmuring. Gloria had emerged a while later, eyes red and cheeks tear-stained, and had marched out, head in the air, away down the path. The doctor and Mrs Rix had had words then, though Lois had caught only a few accusations and sharp advice from Mary that the doctor should treat the silly woman like everyone else. Lois distinctly remembered her saying, “The more you let her get away with, the more she’ll take!” The doctor had slammed out of the house himself after that, and Lois had remembered this particularly, because he was usually such a gentle soul.

Lois folded the shirt neatly, and took a second one from the pile, reminding herself that all doctors have difficult patients, ones who take up far more time than they are entitled to. Still, the doctor had seemed very angry.

And what else? Lois did a mental walk up Farnden High Street and into the gallery. Any connection between Gloria and the gallery? No, she’d never been near, not while Lois had been around. You’d expect her to be the arty-crafty type, but nothing had ever appeared with Gloria Hathaway’s name on it. Mind you, Evangeline was very particular. She could easily have turned down Gloria’s artistic efforts, and then…ah, hang on, there
had
been something…Lois ran the iron swiftly over the shirt front to finish it off, and took a third from the pile.

It had been the week Evangeline was away in Devon collecting paintings and pottery for the gallery. Dallas had had time off and was filling in for his wife. So far, he told Lois, he’d sold nothing. “She’ll be pleased,” he’d said, explaining that Evangeline loved to think nobody else had her gift for bringing off a sale. “You’ll see,” he’d added, “if I sell a picture for four hundred, she’ll be livid.” Lois had thought privately that he was just being nasty, but said nothing. The gallery bell had rung then, and he’d gone off to look after the customer. It had been Gloria Hathaway, and she wasn’t buying but selling. She’d had a clutch of little water-colours of children, carefully done, and nicely framed, but not, Dallas told Lois on his return, Evangeline’s cup of tea. “Shame, really,” he’d added. “She looked so disappointed. Said she had some prints we might be interested in, so I said I’d call in and take a look this afternoon. I might surprise Evangeline with my enthusiasm for the job!” Lois couldn’t remember any more about this occasion, except that when Evangeline returned, there’d been an icy atmosphere in the house for a week or two.

At last the pile was finished, and she struggled up the narrow stairs with the basket all but toppling over.

“Mum!” shouted Josie from behind her closed door.

“What?” said Lois flatly, unforgiving.

“Forgot to tell you,” Josie said, opening her door and trying a tentative smile. “Somebody phoned for you before you came in. Name was Keith something…can’t remember the other name. Said he’d ring back later. Sounded quite nice…you got a fancy man, then, Mum?”

Lois ignored this. Keith? It rang no bells, and she had to content herself with waiting for the telephone to ring.

∗

“Lois Meade?”

“Yes? Who’s that?” She knew, of course, straightaway recognising the voice.

“This is the police – Keith Simpson. We met – ”

“I remember, only too well,” said Lois.

“Ah, good!” said Keith. “Well, as you know, I’m a police constable and cover Long Farnden, where you work…” Oh yes, Bobby on the Beat. Lois did not feel in any way chummy towards Keith Simpson. She answered his next questions unhelpfully in muttered monosyllables. It seemed that Keith had been chatting to the Detective Inspector – Hunter Cowgill – yes, it was a good name for a detective. She must have heard of him? No? Well, he was a legend in the criminal fraternity. “Which I am not part of,” said Lois sharply.

“I told him,” Keith pressed on, regardless of Lois’s hostility, “that you cleaned in several houses in Farnden, and might be worth talking to. So he said I could make a start on that…with your co-operation, that is,” he added hastily.

Lois was very surprised. Blimey, they’d cottoned on to that one pretty quickly. Her opinion of Keith Simpson modified a little. As for Hunter Cowgill – God, what a name! – she had no intention of fraternising with legends of any kind. Still, if she could be useful to them, then they could be useful to her. And she’d be in control, with no duty to tell them anything…or just as much as she chose.

“Hello? You still there, Lois?”

“Yeah, I’m still here. I’m thinking. I’m not sure what you mean by co-operation,” replied Lois slowly. Keith began to give her a lengthy explanation, but she cut in suddenly. “Don’t bother with all that,” she said. “Tell you what. How about an exchange of info?” That sounded good, she thought. Very cool and professional.

“Well, we’ll see about that,” said Keith soothingly. “But a dialogue would be very helpful, Lois.”

“Mrs Meade,” said Lois.

Keith cleared his throat. “Yes, well,” he said patiently, “would you be able to come down to the station?”

Lois’s laugh was bitter. “Good Lord, no,” she said. “Um, how about at Janice Britton’s, in Farnden? She was very nice to me…” She paused to let that sink in. “…and three heads are better than two,” she added. Then she rang off, pleased with how things were going.

T
he Reverend Peter White awoke as usual to the whistlings and splutterings of starlings under the vicarage roof and for a moment thought quite optimistically of a hot cup of tea, half an hour with the morning paper, and then a stroll round the parish to show his face to an indifferent community. Then he remembered. Gloria Hathaway was dead, murdered by an unknown hand, and he was just as much implicated as any other person in the village. And it was a Lois day.

He pushed back the bedcovers and reached for his dressing gown. It was thin, old and too short to cover his spindly legs. He caught sight of himself in the long mirror in the wardrobe door and shuddered. The very model of a sex maniac, he thought to himself. The thought that Gloria might have been the victim of a jealous lover, crazed by rejection and frustration, would occur to more than one person, he was sure, and he had a mental picture of Gloria in the shower, breasts swinging as she washed off the slurry from the sewage works, from which she had bravely dragged poor Maisie. Well, who knows what a man may do in a moment of blind rage? And then not be able to recall the dreadful crime afterwards, going about his business as if nothing had happened? Poor little Gloria, he thought, shivering as he had a quick clean-up with a cold flannel. He pulled on greyish-white, sagging underpants and a vest that had ceased to be thermal long ago. He hesitated, then clumsily knelt on the rug by his bed to say a lengthy prayer, ending with “May God preserve her soul…and that of anyone else in need of preservation.” This last supplication he added quickly, with a shiver.

Lois’s knocking sent him scuttling downstairs to open the door. “Late up again, I’m afraid, Lois!” he apologised. “But come in, my dear, come in. Would you like a nice cup of tea to warm you up? Just going to make a pot, and some toast. Breakfast for two – what do you say?”

Lois shook her head, as she had so many times before. “No thanks, Vicar,” she said. “I’ll have a cup later on, but I’d like to get started now, if you don’t mind. And excuse me for saying so, but it’s time that dressing gown went in the bin. There’s sales on in Tresham and you could get a nice warm one for next-to-nothing.” She collected dusters, cleaner, a brush and dustpan, and headed for the stairs. “Oh, and by the way,” she added, turning to catch him squinting worriedly at himself in the spotted mirror by the sink. “Would it be all right if I go ten minutes early? I’ll make it up next week. Family business, I’m afraid. Our Josie being a bit of a worry…More important than the Great Farnden Murder Mystery!” This jokey remark was not as casual as it sounded. Lois had planned it on the way over, thinking it might jolt something useful out of the vicar.