Lois couldn’t remember why she’d noted that, except that she found it creepy every time she passed the door. She wasn’t allowed to clean it, and the one time she’d offered to vacuum through there, Mary Rix had made such a fuss that Lois had never mentioned it again. She knew it was still furnished as a baby’s room. She’d seen Mrs Rix in there one day with the door open, holding a doll and staring out of the window, not hearing Lois approach. Lois had never seen such sadness on a woman’s face and her heart turned over. But what had it to do with Gloria’s death? Nothing, on the face of it, but there was something very funny going on there.
That was a good word. Things rotting under the surface. Villages were like that, in Lois’s considerable experience. All thatched cottages and roses round the door on the surface, but like a muck heap underneath.
There was quite a lot more, odd facts and snatches of conversation that she had noted down, and she realized she had amassed some useful inside information, some of which, in due course, she should probably pass on.
Lois looked up at the kitchen clock and was amazed to see that in ten minutes the first of her brood would be bursting through the door, hungry, irritable and overexcited by the approaching season of goodwill. She sighed. She loved Christmas when it came, but at this stage saw it more as the season of spending, drinking and eating enough to feed two starving families for weeks. Lois stood up, pushed her chair back, and closed her notebook. She put it back in its hiding place, pleased that she had several positive lines of enquiry to pursue. Got the jargon, Lois, she said to herself, and went to the freezer to see what she could rustle up for tea.
? Murder on Monday ?
Seventeen
As Christmas approached, Keith Simpson decided it was time he had another word with Lois Meade before the school holidays and seasonal shutdown put her out of his reach for weeks. He was certain she was beavering away on her own, gathering information about the murder of Gloria Hathaway, and telling him as little as possible. In fact, telling him nothing. There was, of course, nothing to prevent her from her own investigations, but if he felt she was withholding vital information from the police, then he had every right to put on some pressure.
The morning he had caught her in Gloria Hathaway’s house had been proof that she was still very curious. Her feeble excuse about a trapped cat had not fooled him for one minute. However, he’d judged it best to let her off the hook. Well, not exactly off the hook, but play out the line a bit, just to see what she would do next. Trouble was, she was elusive. He knew which houses she went to, but if he turned up asking for her that would give the game away and her clients would stop talking to her at once, suspecting her of colluding with the police. As for her own home, she’d agreed to cooperate with him and Janice Britton only if he promised not to come bothering her family. So far, her idea of co-operation had not amounted to much, and Hunter Cowgill was asking pointed questions. He seemed to be more interested in Lois’s potential, rather than the information garnered from her so far, and Keith himself was still convinced she could be a valuable source if she chose.
He decided to take another turn around the Hathaway cottage and if he happened to see Lois in the village, well and good. All most irregular, he worried. Still, at the moment he had no option but to play it Lois’s way, and keep his Inspector informed.
¦
Lois unloaded Nurse Surfleet’s clothes from her washing machine and glanced out of the window. High clouds and a fresh, cold wind. Rain had been forecast, but there was no sign of it yet. She fetched-the peg bag and went out into the back yard, where she fixed the washing line and began to hang out the wet, cold clothes. The wind blew a pillowcase slapping against her face, and she swore, wishing she’d put them in the drier as usual. But, as her mother frequently reminded her, waste not, want not, and if the wind would dry the clothes, why waste money on electricity? Lost in such thoughts, Lois did not at first hear the faint knocking. It grew louder, and she turned around. It seemed to be coming from Gloria’s cottage, and she peered up at the window where the sound came from. The window opened and she saw Keith Simpson beckoning to her and nodding fiercely. Blast! She’d been keeping out of his way, too busy with Christmas looming to have had time to think much about Gloria Hathaway. She turned away. Best to ignore him. She took the now empty basket and was about to return to the house, when a thought struck her. If she went over there now, it would be an opportunity, however constrained, to look around the cottage again. It might be her only chance.
She took a quick look around. Nobody on the footpath and Nurse Surfleet not due back until lunchtime. She put the clothes basket in the kitchen, locked the door, put the key in her pocket, then went through out to the path at the back of the cottages and into Gloria’s back garden. Not a soul in the street and only Keith’s car parked outside. Lois headed for the back door, which she saw stood ajar, and slipped inside.
“Up here, Lois,” said Keith’s voice, and she climbed swiftly up the stairs.
As she reached the top, she said, “This had better be something good, fetching me over from…” Her voice tailed away, as she saw a man who was not Keith Simpson sitting at Gloria’s dressing table, his back to the mirror.
“Morning, Mrs Meade,” said Hunter Cowgill. “Very nice of you to come over. We shan’t keep you long.”
After Lois had recovered from the shock, and Keith had introduced his Detective Inspector, something like a conversation eventually got going. Lois was angry. She was angry about being tricked by Keith Simpson, she was angry with this cool, polite policeman for putting him up to it, and she was still very angry with the police in general for turning her down. Every time she saw a woman in police uniform she felt a stab of anger. It should have been her. Still, it was clear they wanted her now, but in a very different way.
“You’ve had an unusual arrangement,” said Hunter Cowgill mildly. He suggested that Keith should now go and keep a lookout downstairs.
Dismissed, thought Keith Simpson, and reluctantly withdrew. It had been his idea, after all.
“What arrangement?” said Lois. “There wasn’t any arrangement with Keith and Janice. It was just informal. I’d tell them if anything came my way, and they’d tell me any bits that might help me put things together. In any case, nothing much has happened lately, either way.”
“I know,” said Cowgill. “That’s why I’m here. I’d like you to step it up a bit. I can give you some lines to go on and you can feed back to me what you discover. You’d be recompensed of course.” He was not prepared for Lois’s reaction, and recoiled.
“
“No, no,” said Hunter Cowgill. “You’ve got it all wrong.” His patient voice was the final straw.
“Strikes me I’ve got it exactly right!” she yelled at him from halfway down the stairs.
At the foot, Keith stood, barring her way and looking very uncomfortable indeed. “Hear him out, Lois,” he said pleadingly. “It’s not grassing, not like that at all.”
“It’d be something new, a try-out,” said Cowgill from Gloria’s bedroom. “At least listen to what I’ve got to say.”
Lois’s face was scarlet and her heart thudding in her ears. What the hell would Derek say? She shook her head, and advanced towards Keith Simpson, who did not move.
“There could be another murder,” said the cool voice from upstairs. “Always a danger. We need to move on pretty fast now. Your help could be vital, Mrs Meade.”
For God’s sake, thought Lois quickly. It’s not my business. I don’t even live here! But then, I have made it my business, my cleaning business, and that’s why they want me. Duty? Is that what he’s getting at? Oh, to hell with it. She turned around and went slowly back upstairs. “Go on, then,” she said. “Explain.”
Hunter Cowgill smiled then. “No money, then,” he said. “Nothing to do with grassing, something different. Just information. It’ll be a bit one-sided, I’m afraid. Rules are rules. But I can guide you along lines of enquiry, help you put together what you know. You are interested in that, aren’t you? And all under strict cover, of course. That’s vital for both sides. You’d have to be aware of possible danger to yourself. I’m not saying it will come to anything, Mrs Meade,” he added. “Considering your exceptional position in this village, it should, in my view, be given a try.”
There was a long silence while Lois thought about it. This was different from dealing with Keith Simpson. He
