cheek.
“Now, now,” he said, “no distractions when I’m drivin’. Wait ‘til we get home, then I can concentrate. Good thing you put Gran in the back bedroom…”
¦
It was not late when they drove into Long Farnden, and there were lights on all over the house. “Not like Gran,” said Derek, “to waste all that electricity.”
“What d’you mean?” said Lois sharply, her reaction immediately one of anxiety. Anything out of kilter in her house triggered an alarm.
“Don’t mean nothing,” said Derek, “just it’s not like Gran to waste electricity.”
He looked at her curiously, wondering at her white face. “Lois, is there something you’ve not told me?” he said suspiciously. “Because if so, you’d better come clean right now, before we go inside to hear the latest instalment of telly rubbish.”
“No, no, let’s go in,” she said. “I was just worried in case you’re not really happy about having Mum with us. You put the car away and I’ll go ahead,” she added, and got quickly out of the car and ran towards the house.
“Everything all right?” she called, as she went into an empty kitchen.
Her mother appeared at once. “Of course it’s all right, Lois,” she said, frowning. “Why shouldn’t it be?”
“Oh, no reason,” said Lois, visibly relaxing. “Kids been good?”
Her mother nodded. “We watched our quiz. Really good tonight. Pity you missed it. Still, did you have a good evening?”
By now Derek had come in, and took over from Lois, who went off to put on the kettle. She could hear him giving Gran a blow by blow account of each of the four little plays, and wondered how her mother was standing up to the strain. But she was an old hand, and would listen carefully and ask all the right questions, and not look bored or distracted. Why don’t I take after her, with all that calm and wisdom? she thought. Then she remembered the time Josie had gone missing when Gran was in charge. She’d gone off with her boyfriend overnight, and Gran had gone completely to pieces. So there it was…she needn’t feel so guilty about panicking over the kids. It was perfectly natural, with that ugly threat from Joanne bloody Murphy hanging over her.
It was
She sat down with her tea in the kitchen, listening to the rest of the family chatting with the television still churning on, and tried to sort out some of the muddled facts which had come her way. Two killings now, apparently unconnected. The major’s death probably had some sort of ritual meaning – him being dressed up in a suit of armour and stuck on top of a tomb, like some old sacrifice. Poor old Dick Reading – no, she couldn’t think of him like that. Wicked Dick Reading, then. He had been tied to a tree, but more to keep him upright and in a position to frighten someone – her? – than anything to do with…what was it? Somebody with an apple on his head? Lois chuckled to herself, and then felt ashamed, thinking of Bridie and Hazel in a state of shock, regardless of how much they hated him.
Then the drugs. Prue Betts had most probably taken the wrong thing, or too much, and ended up in hospital. Joanne Murphy’s cigarette smoke smelled of something suspicious, and she lived in the kind of squalor that Lois associated with dozey druggies. Gary was much too interested in drugs at the surgery, knew Joanne Murphy from the theatre, and had been seen by Derek talking to her by the road. Hazel? But no, Lois dismissed Hazel’s involvement. The girl was streetwise, certainly, and probably knew the drugs scene better than Josie, but she was such a sensible girl. Then Lois remembered how she had disappeared at the theatre that night, and returned with no explanation. Had she been backstage, talking to Gary and…and who else? Mr Betts? But surely…
Lois’s head began to spin. It was too late to sort it all out, even in a speculative way, and she got up. “Time for bed,” she said, joining the family.
Jamie groaned. “Oh, Mum!” he said. “Gran said – ”
His grandmother interrupted him. “That’s enough of that, young man,” she said. “You do what your mother says, and do it now.”
Derek looked across at Lois, and smiled. “Cheer up, duck,” he said. “With Gran in charge we can all relax.”
If only, thought Lois, but she marched Jamie, still protesting, upstairs, and tried to dismiss all thoughts of galloping majors, knights in shining armour and him with an apple on his head.
? Terror on Tuesday ?
Twenty-Five
On Monday morning, the telephone was ringing in Lois’s office before breakfast, and she rushed downstairs in the slippers that Derek said would break her neck.
“Hello? Who’s that?”
“Mrs Betts,” said an anxious voice. “Is that New Brooms?”
Lois took a deep breath. Now what? “Yes, this is Lois Meade speaking. Can I help you?”
After a long, rambling story about an old woman who had cleaned for the Betts’s for years, not much good lately, but better than nothing, and now whipped into hospital with a stroke, Mrs Betts finally came to the point: she needed cleaning help, and straight away, if possible.
Heaven sent, thought Lois, and arranged to go and see her after lunch. “I am sure we can be of service,” she said, making Derek laugh as he brought in a mug of tea.
“Let’s have a little service here, then,” Derek said. “The kids’re not up yet, Gran’s whizzing around feeding the cat, burning the bacon and yelling in all directions. We need the boss, Lois, so get yourself into the kitchen where you belong.”
Lois turned on him. “It’s only Gran being in earshot that saves you, my lad,” she hissed. But she got going fast, and miraculously everything was in good order by the time the school bus was due.
After everyone had left the house, including Gran, who was due at the Oxfam shop this morning, Lois dialled Sheila Stratford’s number. She should be back from the surgery by now, and would be just the right one for the Betts’s. “Just a call in advance of the meeting,” Lois said. “The Betts’s at Waltonby school – you must know them – need a cleaner. I’d like you to take it on, Sheila. I’m seeing Mrs Betts this afternoon, and we can arrange day and time etcetera. No objections?” Lois always put it to her staff in this way, reckoning that it would pre-empt later grumbles. Also, and more importantly, she was anxious to know from Sheila any local gossip there might be about the Betts’s.
Sure enough, there was a pause before Sheila answered. “Ye-es,” she said slowly. “But…”
“But what?” said Lois. “You’d better tell me now.”
“Well, there is talk in the village about the schoolmaster…seems he was pretty unkind to old Mrs Whatsit who cleaned for them. There was a big row, and some of the children heard him shouting at her. You know she had the stroke in the schoolhouse, on her cleaning day? Well, I’d not want anything like that, Lois.”
Lois thought for a moment, then decided to treat it lightly. “Oh, heavens, Sheila,” she said. “You needn’t worry – I’d be checking on everything, and if there was one word out of place I’d be down on him like a ton of bricks. That poor old soul was on her own, wasn’t she? Nobody to speak up for her.”
“Oh yes there was!” said Sheila, laughing now. “Her son-in-law marched into the school playground next morning and sorted out old Betts in front of all the parents! It was quite a sight, apparently. Nearly came to blows, except for one of the dads stepping in and separating them. If old Betts goes on like that much longer, he’ll be out on his ear. The governors won’t stand for it. Only got away with it so far because the reverend is past it – doesn’t know what time of day it is – and all for a quiet life. He’s the chairman of the governors, you know…”
She was quiet then, and Lois said, “Well, would you be happy to give it a try? He’ll probably be on his best behaviour after all that.” Sheila agreed, and said she would see Lois later at the meeting.
“Old Betts, eh? Still, could be local gossip. Head teachers are never popular,” said Lois to her empty office, and began to tidy up ready for the staff meeting. She and Hazel did shorter hours at the hall on Mondays, and were
