Ann Purser - Threats At Three

“Second thoughts, Jack,” she said. “You run over and tell Mum she can finish now doing the refreshments. I’ll take her place. Tell her I’ll walk back slowly with the others. I’ll meet you coming back.”

“Afraid of nasty men, are you?” said Jack with a sneer. “Whatever,” he added, and began to slope off towards the hall.

When Paula arrived to take charge, Lois told her that a man had approached the children but had been scared off, and left it at that. She did not have to say more, and could see the alarm in Paula’s eyes. “Best to keep a close eye on them. Thanks, Mrs. M,” she said, and Lois hurried back towards the hall.

Cowgill’s car was still in the car park, and he and Chris were standing outside, deep in conversation. Lois couldn’t avoid them, so smiled at Chris and asked if they had picked up anything useful in their hunt for the arsonist.

“This and that,” Chris said.

“Must be catching, this way of saying nuthin’,” Lois said. “He’s the champ,” she added, looking at Cowgill. “Anyway, it’s a good exhibition, isn’t it?”

“Very good indeed,” Cowgill said. “I specially liked a photo Gran had contributed. A small girl with long dark hair flying in the breeze, swinging much too high.”

“Couldn’t have been me, if that’s what you think,” said Lois, her eyes softening. “We lived in Tresham.”

“According to your mother, the three of you had come out from town to Farnden for a picnic. You were six, she said. And lovely, as always,” he added quietly, as they walked to the car, so that only she could hear.

“We left a donation,” Chris said, smiling. “And not from police funds, either. Mr. Cowgill has another side to him, you know.”

Cowgill got into the car and lowered the window. “Seriously, Lois,” he said, “I need to know what line you’re following. It could be a matter of life and death, and I’m not saying that lightly. Bye now, take care.”

THE WEATHER HAD CHANGED. HEAVY RAIN POUNDED DOWN outside Lois’s office window, and not a soul was to be seen in the village High Street. The usual muddy pond, formed by torrents of water overflowing from fields and ditches, had formed on the corner by the turn to the playing field.

“Drain’s blocked again,” Gran said, “and Derek said him and Tony Dibson were off to clean some of the mud away so’s it can flow away.”

“If only others on the parish council were as good as Derek,” Lois said. “It’s always him unblocking drains or fixing broken hedges. Chasing escaped sheep. Him and John.”

“And Tony Dibson,” said Gran. “You could hardly expect Mrs. T-J to come out with buckets and boots, could you?”

“Don’t see why not,” Lois said grumpily. “Anyway, I have to go out this morning. Possible new client. I’ll be back in time for the meeting.”

Gran retired to the kitchen. Her daughter was obviously in a bad mood, but she had no idea why. But then, she had always been a moody girl. Took after her grandmother, so her father always said. Best to leave her to get over it, he used to advise and was usually right.

A nagging worry had haunted Lois on and off all night, and she was tired from lack of proper sleep. She could not decide what to do about Paula and her missing husband. Would it be better to tell her that the body in the canal had an appendix scar, and leave it to the machinery of the law to involve her in endless questions and identification of the corpse, and all that entailed? Or should she persist on her own, following up the sightings of a tramp who could be Jack Sr., still alive, and do what she could to help Jack Jr. sort himself out? She could see no need to pile more worries on to Paula unless and until it became really necessary.

The possible new client lived in Waltonby, on a new development on a parcel of land sold off by Mrs. T-J. The poor old thing must be feeling the pinch, thought Lois, slumming along on a frequent cleaner, a full-time gardener, and Floss, who loved all things equine, to help with the horse.

The front door opened as soon as Lois pulled up outside. Mrs. Belvoir, an elderly woman supporting herself on a stick, had a welcoming smile. “Come along in, Mrs. Meade,” she said, and led the way into the house.

Lois hung back, wiping her wet, muddy shoes on the door mat, and noticed a portrait hanging in a prominent place in the hallway. A distinguished military man, with neat mustache and plenty of gold braid, looked out at her sternly.

“My late husband,” said Mrs. Belvoir. “He wasn’t really as fierce as he looks! It was having to sit for hours being painted. Very difficult to keep up a smile, he said.”

“Very handsome, though,” said Lois pleasantly, and followed Mrs. Belvoir into an inoffensively bland sitting room.

Lois went through the motions of explaining New Brooms to a new client, taking notes, promising excellent service, and all the while her mind was on a thirteen-year-old boy walking away from her with a defiant shrug and misery in his dark eyes.

“Mrs. Meade?”

Lois realised that she had not heard Mrs. Belvoir offering her coffee, and apologised. “Just sorting out my best girl for you,” she lied. “Mind you, they’re all good,” she added hastily. “All my girls are excellent, and I’m sure you’ll have no problems. If you do have any queries, here is my card and I’m available day and night.”

She refused coffee, saying that she had to get on to her next appointment, and left Mrs. Belvoir standing on the step waving a friendly hand. What a nice woman! Probably Dot Nimmo would be the best to look after her. Dot was a character and tended to act independently of Lois’s rules, but she had a heart of gold and a nice way with old ladies. Yes, Dot would be the one for Mrs. Belvoir.

Halfway back to Farnden, she saw a large obstacle in the road and braked to avoid it, but too late. There was a nasty crunching sound from under the van, and she stopped immediately.

“Sod it!” she muttered, as she saw the exhaust pipe hanging loose. The offending obstacle proved to be a jagged piece of masonry which had tumbled from a heap at the side of the road.

She looked at her watch. Half past eleven, rain pelting down, and the team would be arriving at noon. This small back road, a short cut to Farnden, was little used, and there was not much hope of being rescued. Nothing for it, then, but to walk. She had her mobile, but was reluctant to ring Derek. He had a complicated rewiring job to finish, and wouldn’t be too pleased to be asked to collect her. She slung her bag over her shoulder, collected the briefcase, and locked the van. With a backwards glance to make sure she had pulled off the road as far as she could, she set off at a smart pace towards home.

A couple of miles from the village, she passed a ruined cottage with gaping windows and a splintered door banging in the wind. The rain had soaked her to the skin, and seemed to be increasing. Maybe she should shelter for a few minutes while she tried to find the number of her garage on her mobile.

She stepped across the dripping, soggy grass and walked gingerly over a broken paving stone leading into the house. A startled mouse looked at her and then scuttled away. Mice I can take, Lois said to herself. But not rats. Oh God, I hope there’s not rats! Apart from the swinging door, it was completely quiet, a threatening, heavy quiet that made Lois shiver. She found her mobile and switched it on. Nothing, except the signal for low battery showing. She groaned. Why now? This was the worst morning of her life, she decided, and was later to regret tempting fate.