Murder on Monday

and made a face. Ugh! She thought she’d done with all that. Josie would have to take responsibility. It should cheer her up to be looking after something connected with Melvyn.

Gillian Surfleet’s welcome was as vigorous as always and her face as sunny as Lois’s was dark. “Lovely morning, Lois! Winter mornings like this really lift the spirits, don’t you think. All my old ladies will be just a bit brighter. Sunshine should not be underrated as a cure for depression, I reckon…” She looked closer at Lois. “Speaking of which,” she added, “you don’t look so cheerful yourself. What’s up? Anything I can help with?”

Lois shook her head. “It’ll pass,” she said. “Just a few things getting on top of me. They’ll sort themselves out. Thanks anyway,” she added, and was ashamed at another pang of suspicion. Is she hoping to pump me for what I know? Lois dismissed the thought and got on with her work. She found herself hoping that she wouldn’t find out anything suspicious today. I’ll just have the morning off from being supersleuth, she decided. Maybe I’ll give up altogether. Nurse Surfleet conveniently went off on her rounds after coffee and Lois finished her cleaning a few minutes early.

Hunter Cowgill was waiting for her in Gloria’s back garden and allowed himself a small smile. His wife had given him hell this morning for breaking a bottle of milk, and the sight of Lois, fresh and slim in her working overall, pleased him. “This way,” he said briskly, and led her into the damp kitchen. “Let’s go upstairs,” he said, and Lois couldn’t resist.

“Is that an offer?” she said, and was delighted to see the Inspector blush.

“I’ll ignore that,” he said. He led the way into Gloria’s bedroom, and grimaced. “This whole cottage needs opening up and cleaning properly,” he said. “Let’s hope it won’t be too long before we can turn it over to the executors to put it on the market.”

“Might be difficult to sell,” said Lois. “What with the previous owner being murdered, and that.”

“But not in the cottage,” said Cowgill. “It wasn’t on the premises. Anyway, let’s get down to business.”

After a few seconds hesitation, Lois made a decision. It was neither a good nor a bad decision, as it turned out. Perhaps a bit of both. “There is something,” she said. “Might not be news to you, but I’ve noticed some funny stains on one or two jackets in houses where I go. All in the same place, on the sleeves,” she said. “And I think I know where the marks come from.”

Cowgill looked disappointed. “Creosote,” he said. “Off Gloria’s front porch. We were on to that one ages ago.” He sighed, and then added, “Still, it was clever of you to spot it too, Lois. Just for the record,” he added, “tell me which jackets you’re talking about.”

Lois answered flatly. “The vicar’s, the doctor’s, and Prof Barratt’s. And all had good reasons for standing in Gloria’s porch.”

Cowgill nodded. “Yes, we’ve checked on those,” he said. “Professor Barratt is the weak one, but he does – ” and they chorused together – “deliver the village newsletter.”

“Goes to every house,” added Lois sadly. “Ah well, not much help, I’m afraid.”

“Oh, never say that,” Cowgill consoled.

He sounds quite human, Lois thought.

“You never know where enquiries might lead. One thing connects up with another and before you know it the trail is hot,” continued Cowgill.

A jealous wife and a dangerous fall downstairs might make it hotter. Or a shrine to a long-lost baby? Something was stirring again. I can’t help it, Lois realized. Nosiness or duty, I can’t help it. Whichever, Lois cheered up. She told him about Evangeline’s fall and Dallas’s odd reaction. “Might not mean anything,” she said, but he looked interested and made a note in his book.

“Keep your eyes open there,” he said. “Anything else?” She thought of the Rixes and their sadness, but decided to keep that to herself for the moment.

She shook her head and said, “Well, now it’s your turn. What were you going to tell me?”

“Ask you, I said.” Cowgill was back to being professional again. “It was something I wanted to show you and see if it rang any bells.” He did have something to tell her, but that could wait.

“Well, come on then. Show me.”

Hunter Cowgill walked over to the small cabinet by Gloria’s elaborate bed. He opened a drawer and fumbled at the back. “They missed this when they searched the place,” he said, “and I found it afterwards, tucked underneath.” He handed her a small photograph, dog-eared at the corners. It was no bigger than a credit card, but the picture was clear; a close-up of a new baby, wrapped in an intricately woven shawl in its cradle. It was touching and tender, as all new babies are, and Lois felt her heart contract.

“Oh God,” she said, and then looked up at Cowgill, who was watching her closely. “Was it hers?” she said.

¦

It was not that impossible, Lois reasoned as she drove home. After all, Gloria Hathaway was known to go off on long holidays, for several months, so Nurse Surfleet had said, which was easily enough time to have a baby. But would this private, self-reliant and selfish woman have chosen to have a baby out of wedlock? Gillian Surfleet had talked a lot about Gloria lately, building up a picture in Lois’s mind. She was a pain, that was for sure. Gillian had had no hesitation in describing a difficult neighbour. But a secret baby? No, not the Miss Gloria Hathaway known by the village of Long Farnden.

It could have been a god-child, Lois considered. Certainly not very precious to Gloria, if she had shoved it to the back of a drawer. She turned into Byron Avenue, resolving to get back to her neglected notebook after a quick snack. She slowed down and saw a car parked outside her house. It was a familiar car, and Lois frowned. He must have found a quicker way back to town. It was Inspector Cowgill’s car and she could see his tall, commanding figure at her front door.

“Ah, there you are, Mrs Meade,” he said with no sign of familiarity. “You’re later than usual. I wonder if I might come in and have a word?”

? Murder on Monday ?

Twenty-Five

The inspector followed Lois into her sitting room and, though invited to sit down, remained standing.

Fair enough, thought Lois, if that’s the way we play it. “How can I help you, Inspector,” she said in a neutral voice.

“It’s not so much what you can do, Mrs Meade. It’s your husband we’d like to have a chat with, but I see he’s still at work.”

In spite of herself, she registered surprise. “Derek? Did you say Derek?” What on earth was the man talking about? “What d’you mean? Of course he’s at work. Where else would he be?” I’m rambling, she thought. Steady, Lois. “He’ll be home this evening, as usual,” she said. “What do you want him for? He doesn’t know anything about Farnden.” What had she got Derek into? Oh God, he was going to be furious.

Hunter Cowgill looked at Lois’s worried face and wished he did not have to go through with this. “No, I’m sure you can find what we want, unless, that is, he’s wearing it. His jacket, Mrs Meade,” said the Inspector. “I wonder if I could have a look at his waxed cotton jacket?”

¦

“He took it away!” Derek’s face was thunderous. “What the bloody hell’s going on, Lois?”

“Derek, please…the boys…” Lois put her arm around Jamie to protect him from his father’s unusual rage.

Derek took a deep breath and sat down heavily on a kitchen chair. “Go on upstairs and get on with your homework,” he said, and as soon as the frightened Jamie was out of earshot, he turned to Lois. “So, this is where your daft notions have got us!” he said. “Suspect, am I? About to be taken to the station for questioning? Detained for twenty-four hours while I help those buggers with their enquiries?”

Lois said nothing for several minutes, feeling resentment rising. After all, the jacket was nothing to do with her dealings with Cowgill. And there was something else. She faced Derek, and said, “He wasn’t unpleasant, so you needn’t get so hot and bothered. It was Inspector Cowgill. He looked at that oily stain on the sleeve – ”