cleaner, and I’m going there after here.”
“Useful for your new chap – Stockbridge, is it?”
“Is there anything you don’t know?” said Lois. “Anyway, get on with it. I suppose it’s about that brother. Enid’s brother?”
Cowgill nodded. Edward Abraham had been on the fringe of certain dodgy deals in the area for some years, he said. Nothing criminal. He was too clever for that. But he was a nasty piece of work, and nobody liked him. His father was, in Cowgill’s opinion, frightened of him, completely under his thumb, although Edward had sponged off his parents on and off all his life. “To tell the truth, Lois,” Cowgill said, “I don’t know how they live. The old boy’s got a pension, I suppose, and dabbles about in his smallholding with a few bullocks. But that wouldn’t keep the three of them in socks.”
“Four of them,” said Lois. “There’s the mother as well.”
“Mother?” said Cowgill. “Since when?”
“Since always.” Lois shrugged. “She’s some kind of a recluse, according to Enid. Gradually losing her marbles, from the sound of it. Rules them all from a shuttered room where only Enid is allowed. She clammed up on the subject after a bit, and anyway, it’s not really my business. I liked the woman – Enid, that is – and reckon she’ll do a good job.”
Her voice had a defensive edge and Cowgill said, “What does Derek think?”
“None of your business,” said Lois sharply. “Now what’ve you got to tell me?”
“Not much more,” said Cowgill, wishing that Lois was short, fat and ugly, so that he could dislike her, “except that Edward Abraham has disappeared. There was a court case coming up. Some poor sod trying to get money he was owed. But when Abraham didn’t answer any letters, a collector bloke was sent round to try and get something out of him. The father said he wasn’t there, and slammed the door. We had a try, and this time it was quiet as the grave, and though we were sure somebody was there – Constable Simpson said he could see a curtain twitching – nobody came to the door. And your Enid Abraham is quite a slippery fish. None of us has been able to talk to her yet. Still, we’ll catch up with her. Especially now we know where she’s working…”
“Lay off!” said Lois. “If you want my help, it’ll be on my terms.”
“As always,” said Cowgill, fractionally bowing his head, and feeling that old
? Weeping on Wednesday ?
Nine
Sackville’s was an old-established property agent with a main office in Tresham, and a small branch in Fletcham covering the villages in that area. They had a reputation for moving property fast, for keeping prices reasonably low, and making sure sales went through with the fewest possible hitches. That way, they wasted no time and little money, and had a considerable edge over their competitors.
Lois parked outside the Fletcham office and went in. A small girl behind a big desk looked up and smiled. “Can I help you?” she said.
“I’m Mrs Meade, New Brooms. I phoned,” said Lois briskly.
“Ah yes, do sit down, Mrs Meade,” replied the girl. “There are a few questions I’d like to ask…hours and rates of pay and so on.”
After ten minutes, the girl was shaking Lois by the hand, thanking her profusely for dropping by, and wondering who had been interviewing whom. Lois, on the other hand, felt quite content at securing a new client, and drove the two hundred yards up the road to Bill Stockbridge’s cottage on the offchance that he might be at home. He wasn’t, and Rebecca would be at school, so Lois sat outside their cottage for a while, deciding what to do next.
She had been intrigued by the smartly-dressed woman who had come into Sackville’s office a couple of minutes before Lois’s interview had ended. She had announced herself as Rosie Charrington, and had wandered about looking at photographs of properties until Lois got up to go. Her opening words, as Lois left the office, had been easily audible: “I’ve come about Bell’s Farm…you know, I spoke to you earlier…I’d like to take a preliminary look.”
Well, it could do no harm to drive round that way. She needed to have a word with Bridie and Hazel in Waltonby, and anyway, Mrs Charrington might be a possible client for the future. She watched until the smart little red car drove off from Sackville’s, and then followed at a discreet distance.
The day had not improved. A strong wind had blown away the mist, but great black clouds raced across the sky, chucking down heavy showers of large, cold raindrops. Lois’s windscreen wipers were not really up to the job, and she peered through the streams of water at the road ahead. The tunnel of trees approaching Cathanger Mill acted as an umbrella for a few yards, and suddenly she could see more clearly. The red car had disappeared round the corner, and Lois speeded up. Then right in front of her, with no warning, a figure appeared, shrouded from head to foot in dark clothes. It was a man, she was sure of that as she braked heavily. He’d stepped out of the trees and was followed by a big sheepdog, which turned and bared its teeth at her as she squealed to a halt.
“Why the bloody hell don’t you look where you’re going!” yelled Lois, winding down her window. The man did not turn his head. In fact, he seemed to hunch it even further into his shoulders. He trudged on across the road, and started into a gateway on the other side. The dog, however, stayed on the same spot, facing Lois’s car and barking a deep throaty bark that echoed through the trees. Lois beeped, a long impatient beep, and the man, now standing on the grass verge, turned and shouted one word at the dog. Its tail went down and its ears flattened. It slunk away across the road and followed the dark figure down the track. Lois realized her heart was thumping. She’d seen the dog before, in Cathanger Mill, chained to the old gatepost at the entrance, on guard.
A quick glimpse of the man’s face as he shouted had been enough to frighten her. It was not an old face, but was pale, unshaven, and had an unmistakable likeness to Miss Enid Abraham.
¦
Bell’s Farm, although empty for some time, and surrounded by unkempt garden, was a sunlit paradise compared with Cathanger Mill. Lois pulled up a short way past the farm gate, and walked back to where she could see the red car. Two women were opening the front door – Sackville’s girl and Rosie Charrington – and, as Lois bent down to remove a non-existent stone from her shoe, they disappeared inside the house. She thought for a moment, and made a quick decision. Turning quickly, she walked up the short path to the farmhouse and knocked at the door.
“Mrs Meade? What are you…”
“Sorry to chase you,” said Lois, with an apologetic smile. “I’m going home this way, and saw the car and you in it. I think I forgot to say we could start next week? Saves me a phone call. And, by the way, we bring our own cleaning materials. All in the price,” she could not resist adding.
Rosie Charrington stood at the foot of the stairs, her hand on a dusty bannister. “Cleaning?” she said. In her experience, cleaners were gold dust. “Are you a cleaner?”
“I run a cleaning business,” said Lois cheerfully. “Looks like you might need us if you move in here!” She reached into her pocket and produced a silvery pen with
“How nice!” said Rosie Charrington, taking the pen with alacrity. “We’ve a long way to go yet, of course, but once I’ve made up my mind, I move fast. Sebastian is the same. If there’s not too much to do here, and we could live with it more or less straight away, I might be in touch sooner than you think!”
Sackville’s girl was beaming. Things were looking very promising, and she turned to show off the rest of the house, launching into the jargon with practised ease. It occurred to her, as they picked their way through accumulated junk in the big kitchen, that it might be worth getting Lois Meade to clean up the house before they had any more enquiries. First impressions were all important. This Mrs Charrington seemed very keen, but you
