Scandal at Six (Lois Meade Mystery) (15 page)

Twenty-
e
ight

“I
don’t see why you’re bringing
M
rs
T
-
J
into whatever nonsense you’re up to with
I
nspector
C
owgill!”

Gran stood, hands on hips, by the window after dumping a coffee onto Lois’s desk, where she sat working on New Brooms business. The cleaning ladies were all now so familiar with how things went that Lois sometimes thought she could duck out and take up golf. She rather fancied challenging Cowgill to a game! But then something would go wrong with the team. It could be a complaint from one of the clients, a broken vase, or one of the girls unhappy about a predatory male client. Then she would be the one to sort it out.

“All will become clear, Gran,” said Derek, coming into the office behind her. “Trust Lois. I am sure the inspector will not allow her to come to harm. And when you think about it, we don’t have much alternative but to let her carry on, and say nowt. That’s my new policy, and I recommend it.”

“Huh, I don’t see that lasting long,” she said, and stomped back to the kitchen.

“So what can I do for you, Derek,” Lois said, smiling, “now you’ve sent Mum packing?”

“I heard you talking about Mrs T-J, and I thought you’d like to know she’s on her way here, full steam ahead.” At this point, dead on cue, there was a knock at the door.

“Mrs T-J,” chorused Derek and Lois, and she went to answer the door before Gran could frighten her away. Gran did not hold with the old lady being a member of Lois’s team. “She should be content to sit back in retirement and sew shirts for sailors, or write her memoirs,” she had said.

“Sit down,” said Lois. “Thanks for coming in.”

“So pleased to get your message!” said Mrs T-J. “Things have been a bit flat since I returned. Now how can I help you? Anything, my dear, except scrubbing front doorsteps!”

Lois explained in detail what she was investigating, and her colleague was doubtful. “Surely you can leave that to the police?” she asked. “I can’t see that what goes on at Tresham Zoo in any way threatens your family, Lois, or the business of New Brooms. Am I being stupid here?”

“Of course not. If you’ve only just returned from Japan, you probably haven’t heard about the reptile infestation in the shop. Josie has had to contend with a large snake, a large toad, a squashed frog, and a family of rats. Someone put those things into the shop flat deliberately to harm or frighten my Josie to death. That’s why I mean to catch the culprit.”

“And that is someone at the zoo? It always seems so clean and tidy, and well managed. What is the man’s name at Cameroon Hall? Pettison? That’s it. Knew his concubine, poor woman. He nagged her to an early grave. She was a distant relative, you know. Beware, Lois. That is all I can say. Pettison was out in Africa as a young man, and when my father-in-law was a colonial judge, he had some very unflattering things to say about the Pettison family.”

“I knew you would be able to help!” said Lois. “Now, let’s start at the beginning, and pool what we know and what we intend to do about it.”

“First of all,” said Mrs T-J, “how is Josie? She must have had a nasty shock.”

“Brave, she was. Very brave. And seems to have put it behind her. But I know if something else happened—another snake, or a crawling yellow toad—she would probably flip.”

“So it is best to keep her in the dark, until we have cracked the case.” Mrs T-J occasionally came out with lovely old-fashioned phrases, and Lois laughed.

“Exactly,” she said. “So now, to work.”

“Yes, indeed, and I have thought of another thing which may be of help to us.”

“Already?” Lois said, smiling.

“This is a personal memory I have of my much-lamented late husband, and not one which I share with anyone except very close friends. At one time he was, I am afraid, something of a philanderer, and one of his ports of call was a house in the back streets of Tresham. One Sallyanne Blickling lived at Number Forty, Hope Street. A very attractive woman, married, with a number of small children, each with a different father. You get my drift, Lois dear?”

“I’m afraid I do, Mrs T-J. But these things happen.” Lois was at a loss to know what to say next, but the old lady continued.

“One of those children was the spitting image of my husband. A boy, and he was taken care of, properly educated, and is now a captain of industry in London. One of his sisters—not related to my husband!—lives opposite our team member, Dot Nimmo, and carries on the profession of her mother.”

“All this is very interesting, Mrs T-J, but what does it have to do with Robert Pettison? Oh no—I can answer that! This is Pettison’s fancy woman! So do you keep in touch with her?”

“As it happens, I do. I was able to help her along when she ran into a spot of trouble. She set up home with a wimp of a man who people said was her pimp, and took his name. Anyway, she is still the major breadwinner. In her line of business there are some pretty disreputable characters, and when I was on the bench, I was able to have one of them put away for a longish stretch.”

“Mrs T-J, you are a wonder! What’s the shady lady’s name? Dot often talks about her.”

“Betsy. Betsy Brierley. Pettison is a regular, and, some say, her only client, and she will have useful information. Confidential, of course, but she trusts me. I hope we’ll be able to earn her trust.”

“Of course. But we may remove her best client from circulation for a while. How do you feel about that?”

“I am sure she will find substitutes. Still a very attractive woman, I would say.”

After Mrs T-J had gone, promising to have an early interview with Betsy, Lois relaxed, thinking about what her eccentric assistant had said. This showed a completely new side to the old lady’s character. How strong she must have been! A philandering husband, an estate to run, a lifelong justice of the peace, and a lady-of-the-manor image to maintain.

No matter what Mum says, Lois thought, we’re lucky to have Mrs T-J aboard.

*

J
ustin slept well.
H
e was awoken by the sound of conversation outside his window, and he padded over with bare feet to see who it was. He recognised the top of Josie’s head, but the other person was not familiar. Grey hair, cut short, and a stoutish person beneath. Good shoes, looking like a countrywoman clothed entirely by Cordings of Piccadilly.

He opened the window, and a blast of frosty air hit him, so he closed it again with a bang. Josie looked up, smiled and waved. Then the other person, a rosy-faced, elderly woman, looked, too. He waved back, and withdrew.

He decided to shower, get dressed, and then have a walk around the village. He knew very little about it, apart from the main street. It would be a nice community to get involved with, especially if he managed to give up his association with his uncle.

Then, suddenly, he was struck by a brilliant idea. He would go solo, obtaining unusual pets from sources which he already knew were legal, and sell them to his own clients for fancy prices, being careful not to tread on Pettison’s toes.

So, no time like the present, he thought. I shall wander round, and think about cuddly pets. Such as? He couldn’t think of any that were cuddly, unless you counted a cairn terrier puppy he had seen for sale at a recent horse market, and this was hardly a rare animal! He still had the small island mouse in his case, and took it out to look at it. It looked back at him, innocent and appealing. Easy to train, he was sure.

Not cuddly, then. Exotic and fascinating? He had seen a programme on television about a man in Australia who was rearing baby kangaroos, rescued from the pouches of their mothers, who had been killed in road accidents. Appealing and miniature? Just the job! He supposed these would be returned to the wild. But he might make a trip to Australia and run over a few kangaroos of his own. After that, he could go on to snakes, exotic and beautiful. Some people loved to handle them, he knew.

He felt suddenly excited, more cheerful. He could even take over the family farm, and operate from there. In fact, it would be much safer and far enough away from Robert Pettison to be outside his sphere of business. Once he was well established, there would be no end to ways of expanding. Lions and tigers in the cow sheds, a couple of gorillas in the hay barn, swinging from the rafters? He chortled to himself at the immense possibilities. A quick call to a courier right away would sow the seed.

He made the call, and the reply was favourable. He did not commit himself. Merely exploratory, he had said.

What now? He remembered that he had left one or two possessions in his old bed-sitter in Tresham, and decided to drive in and pick them up; then he could deliver the very special mouse to his uncle at the zoo. He clattered down the stairs and walked into the shop.

“Morning, Josie! Thank you so much for the groceries and wine. I can’t possibly allow you to give me the delicious Beaujolais. Well, if you’re sure, then thanks very much indeed. I slept like a top in your lovely bed. Or perhaps I should rephrase that! The lovely bed in your flat!”

“It snowed in the night,” Josie replied, feeling a little embarrassed. “But the sun’s shining now and everywhere is sparkling. Are you off out?”

He nodded. “Stuff to collect from Tresham,” he said.

“Have a nice day, then,” she replied. “See you later.”

*

W
hen he arrived at the bed-sitter, he still had the key and let himself in. It smelt of damp and dirt, and he held his breath while he opened a window. How had he stayed here so long? Well, that was the past, and he had a rosy future before him now.

He began opening cupboards and looking under the bed, making sure he hadn’t left anything, when he heard a sound from the door behind him. He whipped round, and in the dark, unlit room, he saw a tall figure in the doorway.

“Justin, Justin, what are you up to now? My spies have suggested you may be a mole in the organisation. No, don’t say anything,” he added, as Justin began to bluster. “I refer to a call made not one hour ago, to our mutual friend, my guest overnight, the loyal courier? You know who I mean? You shake your head. Well, a remarkably short memory as well as a stupid brain.”

He stepped forward, and Justin was horrified to see he had a gun in his hand.

“Uncle Robert! What on earth are you thinking about? This is me, Justin, your nephew and colleague! And I have the mouse for you!”

“Ex-colleague, possibly,” said Pettison. “Get your coat. We’re leaving. Give me the key and I’ll lock up. You go first, but no silly running away. This gun is right behind you. We need to talk, Justin, and I intend that we do that in the comfort of Cameroon Hall. Now move, fast.”

Twenty-
n
ine

T
hey reached
C
ameroon
H
all after a drive in total silence.
O
nce or twice
J
ustin cleared his throat, as if starting to speak, but his uncle’s stony face put him off, and he sat hunched up, his expression blank, as before.

Parking at the rear entrance, Pettison walked round to the passenger door, unlocked it and opened up. “Out!” he said loudly. Justin frowned. This was ridiculous. He knew perfectly well that Pettison’s gun was a toy. He used to play with one just like it. But his uncle’s evil mood—one with which he was familiar—was not a game. Robert meant business, and Justin searched his mind rapidly for an explanation for his call to the overseas supplier.

“Oh, Uncle Robert,” he said wearily, “couldn’t we drop the cops-and-robbers bit? I am perfectly willing to explain my telephone call. Obviously, that man misunderstood what I was asking.”

“Quiet!” snapped Pettison. He was enjoying himself. He had no intention of hurting his nephew, of whom he was actually very fond. But subordinates must be corrected, made to understand who was in charge.

“Into my office,” he ordered. “Now, while I pour myself a whiskey, you can tell me exactly why you asked a supplier, previously known only to myself, for details of animal people to be delivered direct to you.”

“I wouldn’t mind a shot of whiskey myself,” Justin said mildly, smiling sweetly.

“Oh, very well. You really have been a naughty boy, though. What was it all about? Do you want me to up your percentage? We could discuss it.”

“Fine. Now, I have no wish to take business from you, Uncle Robert. You are a very private operator, you know, and I would like to play a bigger part in your operation. I could be a lot more use to you, if you would let me.” That should do it, he thought. I shall keep him stalled until I am ready to fly the coop.

Pettison stared at him, as if trying to read his mind. “Is that the truth? If so, I am sure we can come to some new arrangement, Justin. Shall we have another drink and discuss this further?”

*

“
W
hat are you doing this afternoon, love?”
D
erek finished his plum tart, and asked for a second helping. Gran smiled at him, and cut a generous slice, topped off with a dollop of whipped cream.

“Mum!” said Lois. “Talk about cholesterol! Derek will be a walking tub of lard!”

“Rubbish,” said Derek. “I shall work it all off this afternoon. Big job over at Fletching, clambering about in a loft. So what are you doing, Lois? Taking Josie to buy some new clothes? I’d like to cheer her up a bit. You can give the bill to me.”

“Hadn’t thought,” Lois said. “I’d quite like to go over to Farnden Hall. They’ve opened a new designer-clothes shop in converted stables. Could you do a couple of hours in the shop, Mum? Give Josie a break?”

“Of course I can,” Gran said. “It’d be nice to see you with your daughter for a change, instead of tearing about with policemen an’ that.”

“Your grandson-in-law is a policeman, don’t forget,” Lois said. “And I don’t tear about. But thanks; I’ll give her a ring right away.”

Farnden Hall, formerly the home of Mrs Tollervey-Jones, was a pleasant, stately home, set in parkland studded with mature chestnut trees, which in spring were ravishing with pink and white blossom candles swaying in the breeze. Josie, in common with other youngsters in the village, had played hide-and-seek there in the spinney at the back of the house, and collected conkers from the chestnut trees in the autumn. They had become adept at avoiding the lady of the manor. Now, as she sat beside her mother in the New Brooms van, she grinned. “A proper visitor, me!” she said. “Not chased out by you know who!”

They found the shop and went in. “Melanie’s” was a scented boudoir, with rows of beautiful clothes at astronomical prices, and Lois’s heart sank. They couldn’t possibly afford them. But Josie had a bargain-hunter’s nose, and moved to a rail of last season’s models.

“Look, Mum, this would be lovely for the summer.” She held up a chiffon dress in pastel shades.

“Perfect for you, Josie,” said Melanie, who was a regular customer of the post office in the village shop, and so knew the Meade family well.

“But your father wanted you to have something warm for now,” Lois objected.

“Then this will be ideal,” said Melanie triumphantly, holding up a scarlet jacket with a white fluffy collar. “Only really lovely girls can wear this!” she said.

“No need to go over the top, Melanie,” said Lois. They were friends from way back, and New Brooms cleaned regularly at the hall and in the developing businesses attached. “But she does look wonderful in it! Will that do, Josie?”

“But look at the price, Mum!”

“No matter. We’ll take it, please, Melanie,” Lois said.

The door opened, and Lois noticed a change of expression in the shop owner’s face.

“Good afternoon. Can I help you?” she said coolly. “I’ll be with you in a short while; meanwhile, perhaps you’d like to look around.”

The scarlet jacket was now wrapped, and Lois looked at Melanie with eyebrows raised questioningly.

“Old bag!” Melanie mouthed in return. She turned to the new customer. “Now, Mrs Brierley, what are we looking for this afternoon?” she said.

*

“
S
o what was all that about?”
J
osie said, as they returned to the van. “And thanks, Mum, and Dad, for this lovely jacket! I shall wear it every day until the summer.”

“Not a bad idea to get your money’s worth! Anyway, that new customer was, I think, the woman who lives over the road from Dot. A woman of the night, as they used to say. Obviously, not the sort of customer Melanie wants!”

“Her money’s as good as anybody else’s,” said Josie. “Maybe being a pro is what she’s good at. Some of them call it sex therapy. You know what Gran says—live and let live! Not that she practises what she preaches. Shall we be off back home, then?”

“In a minute. I just want to look something up in my diary, while I think of it.”

Lois shuffled the pages of her diary, keeping an eye on the shop door. When it opened and Mrs Brierley came out, Josie was surprised to see her mother open the car door and go over to speak to her.

Betsy Brierley was also surprised. “Don’t I know you?” she said. “Aren’t you Dot Nimmo’s boss? Anyway, did you want something?”

“Oh, no, not really,” said Lois. “I think I’ve mistaken you for someone else. Please forgive me. I’ll be going. Oh, and yes, I do run New Brooms, a cleaning business. Don’t forget us, if you ever need any help!”

Useful, thought Lois, as she returned to the van. She knew who I was, quite clearly. We’ll see what Mrs T-J does with her. We should get some good stuff on Pettison. Feeling optimistic and cheerful, she drove Josie and the jacket back home in a buoyant mood.

After a pleasant evening with her husband and mother, Lois relaxed on the sofa to watch her favourite detective serial. Then the telephone rang, and she groaned.

“I’ll go,” said Derek. But he was back after a minute or two, saying it was for Lois. “Mrs T-J, sounding a bit wobbly,” he said. “She’s been burgled, poor old thing. A masked man, who took some of her silver.”

Lois went out immediately and took the telephone from him. “Hello? I’m on my way, so don’t worry. Have a strong coffee and wait for me.”

After that, Mrs T-J said there was absolutely no need for Lois to turn out, and lightning never strikes the same place twice, and tomorrow morning would be quite soon enough.