Dallas Baer. Lois had not forgotten that row about jealousy and suspicion, and Evangeline’s disastrous fall, while he had stood by and watched. He’d been at home on his own that night. Now, of course, they were all lovey dovey, but she wouldn’t trust him round the corner, smarmy bugger.
And Gillian Surfleet? She was strong. Her arm muscles were well developed from heaving old ladies about. If she’d been in love with Gloria herself – and been spurned – she might have been unhinged enough to take revenge. Lois did her best to imagine the strength of feeling Gillian might have had for her unfriendly neighbour. Maybe Gloria hadn’t always been quite so unfriendly? Where had that faded newspaper cutting come from? Had Gillian known Gloria as a girl? Perhaps they had been at school together. Started as a schoolgirl crush, perhaps. They must have been about the same age. Gillian was perhaps a few years older, but they could still have coincided for a year or two. Ah, there were still so many unanswered questions.
¦
Had Gillian been at the Open Minds meeting that night? Lois knew she was a member, and if she’d been there it would certainly knock her off the suspect list. Keith Simpson would know. Perhaps she should give him a ring anyway. She should keep him sweet, if only to make use of him. What could she tell him as a reason for ringing? She didn’t want to set him onto Gillian until she had found out much more about her. Well, she would think of something.
In the end it was easy. “Hello, Lois,” he said. “Nice to hear from you. Need some help?”
“I’m not sure I’ve got that Open Minds meeting quite straight,” she said. “Who was there and who wasn’t. Nurse Surfleet, for instance?”
“Rachel Barratt was, definitely,” he said, after a small pause. “And Mary Rix. But not Nurse Surfleet. She was on duty, apparently. I remember that distinctly, because she was annoyed that the old woman she went to see in Ringford was fast asleep in her chair and wouldn’t let her in. Could see her through the window, Gillian said, but couldn’t wake her up. What a job, eh, Lois? Still, I suppose it’s like ours in a way, dealing with people in trouble. Anyway, is that a help?” Keith had his instructions, and was following them to the letter.
Lois thanked him and took up her pen again, adding Nurse Surfleet to the short list of suspects. Doctor, nurse, businessman, vicar and professor. Tinker, tailor, soldier, sailor, rich man, poor man, beggarman, thief… murderer. This Long Farnden group were important people in the village and all with a lot to lose. If Derek was right, Gloria Hathaway had been trouble, a dangerous person to know. Once in her clutches, he’d said, it’d be hell to break away.
“You managed it,” she’d said acidly.
“I could see the way the wind was blowing,” he had replied bluntly. “Easy for me. I didn’t care tuppence about her. It was just – ”
“I can just imagine what it was,” said Lois, and she had shut him up then. It was the last thing she wanted to talk about, but now she needed to know more, and Derek could tell her. She glanced at the clock. Time to check on Josie. She closed her notebook with a snap.
? Murder on Monday ?
Thirty
Peter White drove through Tresham and out on the Ringford road. He was sure Lois had said this was the way. He had never before had any reason to visit the Churchill Estate, but now he could not wait until tomorrow, when it was his Lois day. He had to talk to her now, before he drove himself mad in his quiet, chilly vicarage. He was not sure how much she knew about Long Farnden, but suspected her perambulations round the village had given her considerable insight into what was going on. It had come to him suddenly – as he was shaving – that Lois could be very vulnerable, in danger, even. She might know too much. He’d known what was going on long before Gloria Hathaway had been murdered and was well aware that he should try to put a stop to it. But how could he, implicated as he was himself? He knew that the old-time Farnden inhabitants looked on with contempt at the newcomers, and that included him.
The ringleader had been Malcolm Barratt, of course. It had all been cooked up in the pub one night when they’d had too many pints. They all drank pints, of course. They were country people now, and country people drank pints of warm, flat beer and played darts and dominoes. They’d ousted old Fred from his time-honoured position as captain of the dominoes, and organized tournaments with pubs from other villages, where similar teams of newcomers had taken over the best seats by the fire and put computer-generated notices on the notice-board exhorting everyone to join this and that, take part in quizzes which the old guard despised, could never answer the questions and saw no reason why they should. Yes, Malcolm Barratt and Dallas Baer had been the ringleaders, bounding into the village like overgrown Tiggers, without biding their time or waiting to take their natural places in the hierarchy of village life.
Peter White slowed down and wound down his window. “Excuse me,” he called to a middle-aged woman walking on the opposite side of the road. “Can you direct me to the Churchill Estate?”
Lois’s mother looked at the parson in his rusty old car and wondered what he wanted with the Churchill. “You’re practically in it,” she said. “Turn right over there and that’s it. What road did you want?”
“Byron Way…a Mrs Meade.”
“Ah,” said Lois’s mother, her face bland.
She did not believe in giving anything away for free. “Second on the left, then turn right. You can’t miss it.”
As Peter White drove off, she wondered what on earth the parson wanted with Lois. Then she remembered. Lois cleaned for a Reverend in Long Farnden. Probably him. Weedy-looking specimen, she considered. She wondered if his visit had anything to do with her daughter’s marital problems, but dismissed that thought at once.
¦
Lois poured steaming water on to a lemony cold cure and took the mug carefully upstairs. “Josie? Are you awake? I’ve brought you a drink, love. It’ll do you good.” She pushed open the door and walked in.
Josie was on fire. Her face was scarlet and every limb trembled to Lois’s touch. Her hair was wet with perspiration and her nightdress clung to her body as if she’d just emerged from a bath. Her eyes were half-open and she mumbled something which Lois could not catch.
“Oh my God!” Lois rushed to the bathroom for the thermometer, but could not get Josie to put it in her mouth. Well, for God’s sake, she didn’t need a thermometer to tell her Josie had a very high fever! She rushed downstairs, and was about to lift the telephone receiver when the doorbell rang. She pulled open the door, saw Peter White standing there, and without querying this unusual visitor, dragged him into the house.
“Quick,” she said, “help me wrap her up and then you can drive us to the hospital.”
His mouth dropped open. “But, Lois…”
“But nothing,” she said. “Don’t argue. Just do what I tell you and I’ll explain later.”
They bundled Josie into a warm blanket and manhandled her downstairs and out into Peter White’s car. The trembling was worse, and her eyes seemed to have rolled up into her head.
“Quicker, for God’s sake,” said Lois.
“Shouldn’t we have waited for an ambulance?” he said tentatively.
“You could wait for ever,” Lois said. “She could be dead by the time they arrived.” This abrupt statement galvanised Peter White. He put his foot down as hard as it would go and shot lights that were turning to red. They swung round corners, narrowly missed cyclists and frightened an old dog ambling along the curb. “Hold tight,” Peter White said, as the hospital finally came into sight.
Another set of lights were turning red and Lois had a quick look from left to right. “Nothing coming,” she said, and they shot over the crossing into the hospital entrance.
By now, Josie was limp in Lois’s arms, and it took all Peter White’s best efforts to help them into reception. A nurse looked expertly at Josie and to Lois’s huge relief, took over.
Peter White stood quietly, his face anxious, but he had Lois’s hand in a firm grasp. He was still there three hours later, when Josie’s face, now as white as the sheets covering her, was at rest on the pillows.
“Is she…?” Lois’s voice trembled uncontrollably.
“She’ll be fine, Mrs Meade,” said the sister. “It’ll take a while. A very nasty infection. But you got her here in time and with rest and antibiotics she’ll be fine. She’s young and that’s a big advantage in itself!”
