True Love Ways (5 page)

“Please speak to me, Meredith,” said Drew, moving
along his row so that he was opposite her again. “I didn't mean to upset you. I
just wanted you to consider the way you dealt with the kids. They're terrified,
for Jimmy and for themselves. They don't know if he killed Turner or not. They
want to believe he didn't, because he's their friend. But even if he did stab the
old man, they feel loyal to him. It's amazing what people will forgive for the
sake of being loyal.”

“You seem to understand them very well,” said
Meredith.

“That's because I could have been just like them.”

“In what way?” She sighed. “Sorry, if that sounded
abrasive,” she added churlishly.

“Remember what I told you the other day? About us
all having an Aunty Sheila? Only mine was called Gloria? You and I were lucky,
Meredith. We had people to step into the role of parents when our real parents
couldn't, for whatever reason. All they've had is a series of institutions with
people who are kind enough, but will never feel the same love for them as a
blood relation could.”

“You're an orphan too?”

“That's right.”

“What...” Meredith almost asked him what happened to
his parents, but was mindful of the way he had criticised her for questioning
Bert and Betty.

“See,” he said, winking. “You're learning already.”
Despite his joke, he did not enlighten her as to what happened to his parents.
“Look, there's no reason we can't investigate this together.” He said it as if
holding out an olive branch.

“How do I know you're not Turner's attacker?”

“Why would I be questioning others if that were the
case?”

“To find out if anyone saw you.”

“Ah, yes, I hadn't thought of that. You could be the
assailant for all I know.”

“I'm not! I stayed in the carriage the whole time.
Everyone else moved around.”

“Exactly, and from the time Turner left the
carriage, I was in your sight. I took his seat, remember?”

Meredith had to admit that much was true. But her
pride prevented her from agreeing with him. “I'm quite capable of finding out
by myself, thank you,” she said, primly.

“Drew!” Bert shouted across the strawberry field.
“Come here, I want to tell you something.”

“Looks like I'll have to work alone,” said Drew.

He stood up and walked across to Bert. Meredith was
sorely tempted to follow, but had the feeling Bert might clam up again if she
was in the vicinity.

Sighing, Meredith picked up her basket and went to
have it weighed. After she'd paid for the strawberries, she ambled back to the
Constable's house. She was reluctant to admit to Peg that she had failed in her
first task.

Then she thought about what she had learned. Not
only were Bert, Jimmy and Betty born in the Shropshire area, they were all
orphans, with some question over what happened to their parents. The same could
be said for Drew, apart from where he was born. He hadn't offered that
information. What did Aunt Peg always say? Sometimes the things people didn’t
tell you were as important as the things they did say.

So not exactly a bad morning's work, though she
would have liked to learn more. Like what the three youngsters were up to on
the train when they weren't sitting in the carriage.

“Hey, Meredith! Hold on a moment.” Drew called.

She waited until he caught up with her. “What is
it?”

“In the interests of disclosure and all that, I
thought I'd share some information with you. Keep this on a fair footing. Of
course I expect you to share everything you learn with me.”

“It depends how useful your information is,” said
Meredith, haughtily.

“Bert says he saw Turner talking to Edith Sanderson
in the train corridor. And they were standing right outside the toilet
compartment. They were discussing his cases, according to Bert.”

“Really? I didn't think she approved of him.”

“Obviously she only pretended. Women like that often
do feign disapproval, when it's to do with sex or violence. Secretly they love
to know about it. It makes them feel superior.”

“Yes, I suppose that's true.” She remembered the
gleam in Edith’s eyes when she’d asked about the Mortimer’s honeymoon cruise.

“She's asked me to help her out at the youth club
tomorrow night. Give me an idea of how the parish does good works and all that.
I don't mind if you tag along.”

“Tag along?”

“Come on, give me some credit, Meredith. I've
discovered the first useful bit of information.”

“You may think that, but I couldn't possibly
comment.”

“Oh, well, if you know something I don't, please do
share with me.”

“Actually I don't,” Meredith admitted. “Okay, I'll
come and help out at the youth club tomorrow night.” She would never admit to
anyone but herself that the real reason was that she wanted to see more of
Drew.

“Great.”

“But you mustn't ask her anything until I get
there.”

“Scout's honour,” said Drew, putting his fingers up
to his forehead in the familiar salute of boy scouts everywhere.

“By the way,” said Meredith, before she walked on,
“since you've shared your tips with me, let me share mine with you. Aunty Peg
says that you shouldn't trust people just because you like them.”

“Meaning?”

“Just because you like Jimmy, Bert and Betty doesn't
mean you should take everything they say as gospel.”

“Thank you, Miss Marple. I'll remember that.”

Meredith waved over her shoulder and walked back to
Peg's with a lighter step and a big smile on her face.

Chapter Four

Meredith could not deny that Drew had a way with the
youngsters in the youth club. They were drawn to the circle of other young
people around him, as he discussed with them the music of the day, the sadness
of Buddy Holly's untimely death, and the best James Dean films.

For her part, she was left standing next to a
tight-lipped Edith Sanderson, who seemed to resent that the children she could
not connect with had found common ground with Drew.

“Of course,” she said to Meredith as they filled
paper cups with orange squash, “it's because he's new here. Reverend Mortimer
is loved just as well by his young parishioners, but he understands that children
need a patriarchal society to guide them, not a brotherhood.”

Meredith was tempted to point out that Jesus
preached brotherhood, but she wisely kept her own counsel. “You've been with
Reverend Mortimer a long time,” she said. “You must have seen lots of changes.”

On their way to the village hall, Drew had coached
Meredith on the importance of asking open questions. “Never ask a question to
which the answer could be yes or no,” he had said. “That's what they call a
closed question, and it doesn't always get you very far, especially with
someone who's known for their reticence.”

“Not really,” said Edith. “In Midchester changes
happen slowly, and that's how we like it.”

“I admit it hasn't changed much since I was last
here,” said Meredith. “Whereas in Sheffield where I live, all the old houses
have been knocked down and replaced by council estates.”

“Heaven forbid that should happen in Midchester,”
said Edith. “Though there are plans with the council for an estate of that type
to be built near to the railway station. With any luck we'll get them refused.”

“But people need somewhere to live, especially those
who were bombed out by the war,” said Meredith.

“Let them live elsewhere. Midchester does very well
as it is. It doesn't need new ideas, no matter what the vicar's new wife says.”

“I take it Clarice Mortimer is all for the new
estate.”

“Well, not exactly that, but she's determined to
build onto the vicarage. I mean, it's not as if she and the vicar will have
children. She's far too old.” There was a gleeful tone in Edith’s voice. “The
vicarage is very nice as it is.”

Meredith wanted to ask Edith about her parents, but
found it much harder to come up with an open question than she realised. So she
just came out with it. “Were your parents born here?”

“No.” At least Edith's short answer proved Drew's
point.

“Oh, sorry,” said Meredith. “Aunt Peg said you were
related to us somehow, way back in time, and that our ancestors were from
Midchester.”

“My great grandfather was an architect,” said Edith,
proudly. “He had family connections up here, but he wasn't from Midchester. He
built many of the newer houses here. He also helped extend your aunt's cottage
when it was the old constable’s house.  But I'm not from Midchester. The
Sandersons weren't based here. They were based on Devon. That's where my mother
was born, God rest her soul.”

“How long ago did she die?”

“Eighteen years ago, a few years before I came to
Midchester. She'd lived to a good age. She was seventy-five.”

“That is a good age,” said Meredith. “How long had
you known Alfred Turner?”

“Who?” The question seemed to Meredith to be rather
loaded. She got the impression that Edith knew exactly who she meant, but was
playing dumb.

“The old policeman who was injured on the train.”

“I didn't know him at all.”

“That's odd. I thought I saw you talking to him in
the corridor.”

“I wasn't talking to him.” Edith opened a packet of bourbon
biscuits and tipped them out onto a plate. “Children, your drinks are ready.”
With those words, she illustrated why she did not connect with the teenagers in
the village hall. They clearly did not like being referred to as children, and
crossed the room sulkily. “Just one biscuit each. Come along, don't all push
in.”

“Anything?” Drew muttered to Meredith, whilst the
children were busy getting their drinks. She walked away from the table and he
followed, so they were out of earshot.

“No. She says she wasn't talking to him. Oh, and her
mother died at the age of seventy eighteen years ago.”

“She must have been an old mother,” said Drew. “I
thought Edith was about fifty-five now.”

“Yes, I think she is. They're from Devon.  I don't
know if that makes any difference.”

“Edith,” said Drew, going back to the refreshments table.
“I've been meaning to ask. What brought you to Midchester?”

The teenagers had dispersed, and were either playing
games, snooker, table tennis and darts, or just near the stage area, listening
to Buddy Holly on the record player.

“It's a funny story, Reverend,” said Edith. Despite
her disapproval of him, she had a natural deference for a man of the cloth. Or
probably for men in general. “Well, not a funny story. A quite sad one really.
I was supposed to come up here to work at Bedlington Hall, for a Colonel
Trefusis. But he died just before I arrived. I decided to come up anyway, and
luckily Reverend Mortimer and his first wife – she was such a dear lady – were
looking for someone.”

“I remember that,” said Meredith. “Colonel
Trefusis's death, I mean. It was the last time I stayed with Aunty Peg.”

“It was all very cloak and dagger,” said Edith,
managing to sound disgusted and delighted all at once. “He was murdered, and
they never found out who did it. He'd no immediate relatives, so all his estate
went to a distant cousin. Twenty thousand pounds in all.”