knew it was true.
“‘I am forty years old, unmarried, and came to Cathanger when I was nineteen. Before that, we lived in Edinburgh, where my father was caretaker in a school. Mother originally came from this area, and wanted to move back’.”
¦
“Wonder what her mother’s maiden name was?” said Gran. She’d lived around Tresham all her life, and claimed she knew everybody worth knowing.
“Doesn’t say,” said Lois. “Anyway, it’s not important for New Brooms…”
She read on to herself, until Gran said, “For goodness sake read it aloud – sounded interesting, like the beginning of a story.”
“‘I worked in a chemist in Edinburgh’,” Lois continued, “‘and was promoted, though I was very young. It was in the old town, and had been established a long time ago. I loved the work, and was sorry when we had to leave. Since living in Cathanger, my mother did not thrive as we had hoped, and I have been unable to take a job. But I have run the house, cooking and cleaning, and so feel I could be of use to you. Circumstances have changed lately, and I have some free time, so could fit in with your requirements to some extent’.”
“What circumstances?” said Derek suspiciously.
“Doesn’t say,” said Lois. She frowned. “Bit odd, isn’t it,” she added, and continued to read. “‘I would be happy to come for interview, if you felt able to give me a try. Yours very truly, Enid Abraham (Miss’).”
Gran began to collect the breakfast dishes and take them to the sink. “That’s what I call a proper letter,” she said approvingly. “I hope at least you’ll talk to her?”
Oh yes, thought Lois, I’ll talk to her. And although she was fairly sure Miss Abraham would not do, there was something about the letter, the neat handwriting, the black ink, and the polite formality of it all, that whetted her appetite to know more.
“OK, Mum,” she said, “I’ll give her a ring now, if that’ll make you happy. I bet she’s a pillar of the Women’s Institute. Probably does the flowers in church, an’ all that. Be a nice new friend for you?”
As usual, she had hit the bullseye, and Gran laughed. “And what’s wrong with that?” she said. She added that if Lois would just finish her breakfast and get out of her way, she’d be able to get the mid-morning bus into Tresham to do a bit of shopping.
¦
Detective Inspector Hunter Cowgill sat in his car, parked inconspicuously among others in the village hall car park. It was Long Farnden playgroup morning, and there were four or five other cars around him. He had just received a call from the local constable, Keith Simpson, who said something funny had been going on in the adjoining playing field. “Funny? Be a bit more specific, man!” he’d answered, and Simpson had told him that somebody had been digging with a spade down at the bottom of the field. Very strange-looking holes in the ground. The spade was still there. He’d be investigating, of course, but if Inspector Cowgill was in the area, he’d like him to take a look. He hadn’t liked to disturb the earthworks, he’d said, and the smile in his voice had irritated Cowgill, whose wife had been particularly sharp this morning. Sharper than usual. He sighed and got out of his car, pulled on Wellington boots to deal with the November mud, and set off for the bottom of the field.
Squelching through puddles still lying on the surface after recent heavy rain, he came upon the ‘earthworks’. The spade was still there, an old one with a wobbly handle. There were hollows in the ground, and hillocks where someone had piled up the earth. Cowgill sighed. He had no idea what had been going on, and really did not care. Simpson should have sorted it out himself, without bothering the chief. He took out his handkerchief, snowy white and perfectly ironed as always, and blew his nose violently.
“My God, what a trumpet!”
Cowgill spun round, and saw Lois Meade. Her old coat and bobble hat failed to conceal her undoubted charms, and she struggled to control a large dog pulling at the lead in her hand.
“Lois!” Cowgill recovered his equilibrium and put away the handkerchief quickly. “What on earth are you doing here?”
“What I always do every morning,” she said, smiling. “Taking old Polly’s dog for a walk. She’s nearly eighty- five – Polly, not the dog – and can’t give it enough exercise. Get’s me out for a walk, so it’s a good thing for both of us. How about you?” she added, knowing his well-honed ability to avoid answering questions.
“Investigating a major crime, of course,” said Cowgill dryly. “It’s these hollows and hillocks. Constable Simpson thought they looked suspicious, especially as he failed to catch the hardened criminal who was digging here. And here is the murder weapon,” he added, lifting up one of the spades.
Lois peered at it. “Looks like Derek’s!” she said. “Just wait ‘til I get hold of Douglas…”
“So have you any valuable clues for me?” Cowgill felt his spirits rising. Lois always had this effect on him.
“Oh yes,” said Lois blandly. “It’s a bike run…the kids do all kinds of acrobatics on them. But it’d be no good at this time of the year. Much too muddy. Still, if you want to arrest the villain now, I can give you particulars…and his criminal record…”
“All right, all right,” said Cowgill. “But I’m glad I’ve met you. I want to have a talk about something serious…”
“Not now, chum,” said Lois, setting off with the straining dog. She shouted over her shoulder, “The less I’m seen talking to you the better. See you!” she added cheerfully, and was halfway up the field before Cowgill had collected his thoughts.
? Weeping on Wednesday ?
Three
Monday, and, as usual, a team meeting in Lois’s office at midday. She’d had half a dozen replies to the advertisement, and wanted to sound out the others to see if they knew any of the names. This was partly a genuine wish to tap their local knowledge, but also, as she’d said to them at the outset, her policy was to make them all feel part of decisions taken as a team. They came to realize that this was rubbish, and that Lois never took any advice from anyone, but mostly they went along with the fiction happily enough.
One of their number had vanished into the hands of the law – though remembered with some affection – and Lois now had only three cleaners: Bridie, her daughter Hazel, and Sheila Stratford, plus herself, and Josie in school holidays. She was looking for another two. There was enough work coming in now, and she wanted another male cleaner. Some jobs were better handled by a man. Still, she had to listen to the views of the others.
“Could be he or she,” she said to the assembled team. “We want the best person for the job, don’t we?”
Hazel Reading sniffed. “It was good having a man about. Women bicker, when there’s only them.”
Lois raised her eyebrows, but said nothing. Bridie Reading had been Lois’s best friend since schooldays, and she and her daughter Hazel both worked for New Brooms. Hazel, sharp and suspicious, was now approaching twenty. She had, for a while, been involved in drugs and knew the score. She’d kicked the whole thing herself, but still knew a great deal about the scene, and kept Hunter Cowgill informed on the young and corrupt who got up to no good in Tresham and around. It had been coincidental that both Lois and Hazel had this other, undercover work in common, and it gave them a special relationship – sometimes close and mutually protective, and at other times edgy and suspicious. Still, they rubbed along, as Lois intended they should.
The third member of the team, Sheila Stratford, was solidly rooted in rural life, and was not without strong opinions when challenged. She was married to a farm worker, had a daughter and grandchildren living close by, and came from generations of Stratfords now lying peacefully in Waltonby graveyard. When her husband said he thought she had enough to do at home without going out skivvying, she had tried to explain that working for New Brooms was different. It was a business, she’d said, almost like having a career. He’d laughed at that, but raised no further objections.
Now Lois met Hazel’s challenge and said, “Haven’t noticed any bickering in New Brooms. But I see what you mean. Right, shall we get on now? We’ll start with our usual schedules, and then have a look at the new applicants. I’d appreciate your help on those.”
When they came to Enid Abraham, she read the letter out and looked round enquiringly. Hazel and Bridie shook their heads.
