Murder on Monday

“Poor old thing!” she said. “She’d certainly got on the wrong side of somebody! Still, she was a bit of a mystery, wasn’t she…”

“She wasn’t that old, about the same age as you, Lois,” said Gillian Surfleet, as they sat at her kitchen table drinking hot tea. “I sometimes saw her first thing in the morning, in the bathroom with the windows wide open, as if she didn’t care who saw her. She was in good shape, you know, Lois. A good body for someone of thirty-eight.” The word ‘body’ seemed suddenly loud, and assumed gigantic importance in the little kitchen.

Both women were silent for a minute or so, and then Lois said, “Had she got any blokes?”

“Lovers, do you mean?” said Gillian, with a small hesitation. “Not to my knowledge. Mind you, only someone around here all day long would notice if men came and went. I’m out on my rounds such a lot. And then again, it’s only that bathroom window that’s overlooked, and only by me. And I’ve got better things to do…”

Lois had heard a hint or two that Nurse Surfleet leaned a little towards her own sex, but she’d always dismissed it as malicious nonsense. “I reckon I can tell,” she’d said to Derek. “You get to recognise a sort of glint in the eye.”

“Fancy you, then, does she?” Derek had teased her.

Lois had been defensive, said that she knew very well how to put off any advances of that sort. Now she looked at Nurse Surfleet sitting there in the kitchen, her solid body well controlled, her considerable bosom propped up on her folded arms, and could see no glint. No, it was more likely she’d been one of those whose career had come first and then, when she put her mind to men and marriage, thought it was too late. The most she got now was probably being grabbed by the lecherous old codgers in the senile ward at Tresham General.

“Didn’t she have any mates, you know, girls together and all that?”

“Didn’t seem to,” said Gillian Surfleet dismissively. “She’d go away occasionally and ask if I’d keep an eye on the house. She trusted me, of course. Very cosy inside that cottage, Lois.”

Lois nodded encouragingly. “Go on, then,” she said, her curiosity now thoroughly awake.

“Like a fill-up, dear?” said Nurse Surfleet irritatingly.

They had second cups, but Gillian Surfleet was saying no more on the subject. Soon she stood up, brisk as ever. “Now, we’d better get moving,” she said, making it quite clear that their chat was at an end. “Those Barratts must be up by now,” she added, “so I’ll see you tomorrow, my dear.” Lois put on her coat, said thanks for the tea, and walked off down the street towards the Barratts’ house, her thoughts churning. She passed Gloria Hathaway’s gate and looked up towards the cottage. The curtains were drawn and a policeman stood outside, not exactly on sentry-duty, but keeping a sharp look-out. Lois stared and saw that it was the constable who’d given her the heave-ho. She felt anger rising again. Smug prat! She quickened her step, not looking at him. Then she changed her mind. He was like an Aunt Sally, a sitting target. “Hiya!” she shouted, smiling broadly. “Caught any good crooks lately?”

He pretended not to hear her, and she walked on, feeling a great deal better. After all, if they had taken her on, she might have been stuck outside Miss Hathaway’s front door, whilst excitement was developing behind lace curtains and in private conversations. As it was, she had the perfect job for picking up information here and there, a word overheard, a quarrel with too much said in anger. These were the everyday occurrences of her work here in Farnden, and she suddenly realized that with the murder of poor old Gloria she had a unique opportunity for a bit of detective work of her own. No reason why I shouldn’t, she told herself. Seems a shame not to take the chance. In truth, she knew that it was a chance for getting one-up on Keith Simpson and that policewoman…and the entire police force. Her anger was surfacing again, and was still bubbling when Malcolm Barratt greeted her with a glance at his watch.

“No need to check on the time, Professor,” she said, stepping into the hall. “I was here on time, but you were all asleep…or something. Bolted and barred. Had to go all round the village before I could find out what was going on.”

Malcolm subsided like a pricked balloon, and stood aside. “You’ll have heard, then,” he said mildly.

“Yep,” said Lois shortly. “And no doubt I shall hear some more. Meanwhile, I’ll make a start, if you don’t mind.”

Now Rachel emerged, looking pale. “Morning Lois,” she said. “Would you mind doing the breakfast things? We’re a bit behind schedule…” She tailed off, looking at Malcolm for guidance. He took her arm and they wandered into the sitting room, looking lost. Lois began clearing the table, happy to be in the kitchen. It was as good a place as any to pick up scraps of conversation. Then she could follow the Professor when he went to his study. Chat him up a bit…but not too much! Don’t want to end up like old Gloria…victim of a sex maniac! Her mood improving rapidly, Lois tackled the kitchen with a will.

“Would you mind not whistling, Lois,” said Rachel, emerging from the sitting room. “My head’s splitting…and so is Malcolm’s. Thank you,” she added with an effort as Lois grudgingly stopped. “And if you could keep the vacuuming to a minimum today, we’d both be grateful.”

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

? Murder on Monday ?

Ten

Lois’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