by Sam Short
“I know he didn’t have a wife at home,” offered Mary. “I know he was what some people might call a flirt, and I know he preferred caramel biscuits over chocolate, but you’re right, Winston, I didn’t know much more than that about him.”
“What about you, Agnes?” asked Geoffrey. “You seem to have a robust opinion on the matter — what did you know about him?”
Agnes moved her mouth like a gasping fish. She looked up and to her right, and then to her left, and then she sighed. “Okay,” she said. “I didn’t know much about him, but the mere suggestion that he might have been a drug dealer sounds ludicrous to me!”
Three beeps sounded from beneath the table, and Geoffrey retrieved his phone from his pocket. He studied the screen, screwed his eyes up, removed his glasses, and then tapped on the screen, before slipping his phone back into his pocket. He looked at Agnes. “Maybe the idea of Stan being involved in drugs won’t seem so ludicrous when I tell you what was in that message from my pal on the force.”
Winston leaned forward in his seat. “What did it say?” he asked, his eyes excited.
“He sent me a list of the possessions found on Stan’s body,” explained Geoffrey. “There were his car keys, a packet of chewing gums, a folding penknife and…”
“And what?” said Mary, pushing a piece of cake into her mouth.
“And almost three-hundred pounds in cash,” he said, looking at everybody in turn. “In crisp new notes. Of course, it’s not unusual for people to carry money around with them, but having heard what Pepper just told us, and having asked myself the question — why would a man bring three-hundred pounds in fresh notes to his allotment? I’m forced to consider the possibility that the money was drug-related.”
“Oh no!” said Mary. “Then Stan was killed by drug addicts? Like in the films?”
“We don’t know that yet, Mary,” said Geoffrey. “It’s still a mystery.”
“I have a second theory I’d like to explore,” said Pepper.
“Another one?” said Agnes, her eyebrows high on her forehead. “What’s this one going to be? You think a Columbian drug cartel got fed up with Stan because he was stepping on their patch, so they sent an assassin to kill him and make his death look like an accident?”
“Not quite,” said Pepper. “Although that’s worth bearing in mind, Agnes. Maybe his accident might not have been anything to do with cannabis at all. It might have been something to do with the size of his potatoes.”
“Miss Grinder,” snapped Agnes. “What on earth has the size of a man’s potatoes got to do with anything? That’s a personal thing!”
Pepper rolled her eyes. “You heard me telling the policeman in the community hall that Stan was arguing with those men from Chapelford?” she said. “They were accusing him of using non-organic methods to win an organically grown vegetable competition. They were furious, one of them even raised his fist.”
“Oh,” said Agnes. “Competition vegetable growers have very temperamental personalities. My late husband once got into an argument about the size of his cucumber. It was a whopper, but the other men with smaller ones wouldn’t believe it was natural. In the end, one of the losers from Chapelford took an axe to it. Sliced it in two, he did! My husband had the last laugh, though, he’d already had the number one rosette pinned to it.” She closed her eyes for a moment, as if recalling fond memories. “I wouldn’t put anything past a competition vegetable grower.”
“So you’re on our side?” asked Geoffrey. “After relating that rather graphic tale of vegetable debauchery?”
“Oh yes,” said Agnes. “I didn’t pay much attention to what you were telling the policeman last night, Pepper. I was in shock, and all I could concentrate on was how many sugars I wanted in my tea. But now, after hearing your story after a good night’s sleep, and discovering that competition vegetable growers are involved, I’m more inclined to believe that Stan’s death wasn’t an accident. I suggest we get over to Chapelford right away and confront the two men that you saw arguing with Stan!”
“Absolutely not,” said Geoffrey. “That’s not the job for a lady! Myself and Winston will go to Chapelford and confront those two reprobates. They won’t know what’s hit them! You three ladies stay here and keep an eye on Stan’s shed — we’re still not sure what happened, and until we are, I want Stan’s little patch of allotment under constant surveillance.”
“I won’t be staying here,” said Pepper, getting to her feet. “I’m going to Chapelford to speak to Harry and Percy. I insist!”
“Very well,” said Geoffrey. “The three of us will go.”
“Harry and Percy?” said Agnes. “I know that pair. I remember them from when I was a girl. Bad news they are, as are most people from over the hill. You can’t trust anybody from Chapelford; my Dad used to say.”
“Yes, Harry and Percy are troublemakers,” agreed Geoffrey. “I’ve had reason to visit them on their Chapelford allotment when I was a young policeman. They used to like a drink but couldn’t handle the alcohol. They would often end up fighting after a night out. They’re older now of course, and I don’t suppose they’ve been in a fist-fight for a long time.”
“Hold on!” said Mary. “If Pepper’s going, I’m going too! I could do with a day trip. I haven’t been to Chapelford since February, and they’ve got that lovely wool shop in the High Street. I want to pop in there and have a look.”
“It’s not going to be a shopping trip, Mary,” said Geoffrey. “It’s going to be an investigative trip. There will be no visits to shops, wool selling or otherwise.”
“I’d still like to go with you,” said Mary.
“Very well,” huffed Geoffrey. “We can take my car. There’s plenty of room. And I suppose if we’re all going, you’ll want to come too, Agnes?”
Agnes glanced at the teapot alongside the kettle, and then at the plate of cakes. “No,” she said. “I’ll stay here. It’s like you said, Geoffrey, somebody has to keep an eye on Stan’s shed in case Miss Grinder is wrong about Harry and Percy, and the real criminal returns.”
“Then it’s a plan,” said Geoffrey. He stood up and strode from the shed. “Come on, gang. Let’s go and see how the Chapelford allotment gardeners do things.”
Chapter 20
Having insisted on sitting in the front seat, Pepper listened as Winston lectured Mary in the back seat. “Remember, safety first,” he preached. “The men we’re on our way to visit might be violent. Always have an escape route mapped out in your mind, and always be on the lookout for body language which may give their violent intentions away. Watch the shoulders and the hands, and should you have any suspicion that violence is about to erupt, you get the hell out of Dodge! Do you hear me, Mary? And that goes for you too, Pepper! You two ladies leave the rough stuff to us men.”
Pepper looked at Winston’s reflection in the rearview mirror and smiled. “I’m sure it won’t come to that,” she said. “But if it does, I’ll be sure to take your advice.”
“I like you, Pepper,” said Winston. “You take your safety very seriously. Would you please think again, and agree to join our club?”
“Oh yes,” said Mary. “I’d like that. Agnes is lovely, but it would be nice to have another lady present who I could chat with. Do you like knitting, Pepper?”
“Urm,” murmured Pepper. “I’ve never tried it, Mary, and no, Winston, I won’t be joining any clubs.”
“Oh,” said Winston. “That’s a shame.”
The engine revved high as Geoffrey guided the car up the steep hill which led into Chapelford. He changed gear and cleared his throat. “When we get there, leave the talking to me,” he said. “I was a police officer for a long time. I know how to get answers out of people.”
Winston grunted a reply, and Mary nodded enthusiastically, smiling at Pepper in the rearview mirror. “Of course we’ll leave it to you,” she said.
Geoffrey swung the car to the right and entered a bumpy, potholed lane with a sign at the entrance. Chapelford
Allotment Gardens, it announced in big black lettering.
“What if they’re not here?” asked Mary.
“Oh,” said Geoffrey, steering around a particularly large hole. “They’ll be here. I’ve known Harry and Percy for a long time. They’re the sort of men who consider the allotments more of a home than their actual homes.”
“A bit like Stan did,” said Winston.
“Aye,” agreed Geoffrey, with a nod of his head. “A bit like Stan did.”
As Geoffrey parked the car, Pepper looked out across the Chapelford allotment gardens. Much like the one in Picklebury, the landscape was one of green, with the sloping roofs of sheds breaking the skyline everywhere she looked.
As Geoffrey locked the car, Winston led the way towards the gate. “Watch your footing on the paths,” he warned. “We’re stepping into enemy territory. We need to reduce the chances of injury.”
“I do think you’re overreacting a little, Winston,” said Mary, brushing past a tall butterfly bush. “It’s just an allotment.”
“It’s a rival allotment!” snapped Winston. “Never underestimate the power of competition, Mary. Sometimes, you might not even know you’re in competition with somebody else, but believe me — Picklebury allotment gardeners and Chapelford allotment gardeners are in constant competition with each other!”
“He’s right, you know, Mary,” said Geoffrey. “Especially at this time of year when the growing competitions are taking place, although hardly anybody bothers with them anymore.” He looked out over the allotments, a hand shielding his eyes from the sun. “Right! Harry’s plot is on the east edge, and Percy’s is on the west. Which one do you think we should try first?”
As if in answer to his question, a voice drifted over the gardens, frightening birds into flight. “Oi! What do you want, you Picklebury prats?”
“There’s nothing like a warm welcome,” smiled Geoffrey. He pointed as two men came into view around a bend in the path. “Come on, it looks like Percy and Harry have saved us the bother of finding them.”
“Oh my,” said Mary, as two men approached them, weaving their way through vibrant crop beds. “That’s a pair of rough looking men.”
Pepper wasn’t sure whether it was the jaunty angle at which Harry wore his checked cap, or the way Percy’s trouser hems finished a full two inches above the top of his ankle-high boots, which gave Mary the idea that the men were rough. All Pepper did know was that the men were marching in her direction with the sort of pace associated with urgency.
“Have you come to blame us for what happened to Stan, too?” yelled the man who Pepper recognised as Percy. “Because like we told that copper last night — we were nowhere near the allotments when Stan died! That poor bastard had an accident, that’s all!”
“Yeah!” said Harry, straightening his cap. “He probably got dizzy and fell over. On account of all those potato growing chemicals I know he was hiding in that shed! That fella reckons he was growing a spud approaching ten-pounds! With all the pests and disease we’ve got going around this year, that would have been impossible without the help of chemicals! And he expected us to believe him when he said his potatoes were organic!”
“You sound angry, Harry,” observed Geoffrey, as the two men came to a halt a few metres in front of him, both of them with their hands on their hips and their jaws set at an argumentative angle. “Angry enough to have gone back to Stan’s shed after my friend here saw you leave, and attack him? All it would have taken is a little shove to have knocked him off balance.”
Percy glared at Pepper and swatted a fly from his face. “If your scruffy friend had stayed around long enough, after shouting at us like we were naughty children and she was some weird red-haired teacher, then she would have seen that we went straight to the car park and got in Harry’s car.”
“Yes,” said Harry. “And then we drove back to Chapelford, parked the car outside the Lamb Public House, went inside the Lamb Public House, had four pints of Derbyshire Dabbler each, walked as far as the Percy Thrower Memorial Gardens together, went our separate ways, and both arrived home less than ten minutes later.”
“Aye,” said Percy. “And the Lamb landlord, the amorous couple in the memorial gardens, and our wives can vouch for that. That’s what we told that nosy policewoman last night, and that’s what we’re telling you! Anyway, you’re not a copper any more, Geoffrey, you’re a scruffy Picklebury prick!”
“Oh my,” said Mary. “Oh my, there’s no need for language like that! Heaven forbid!”
Percy nodded. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I’m not normally one to swear in front of women,” he said. “But when I’m being accused of something as terrible as Geoffrey’s accusing me of, I’m going to explode! I’m going to explode like a mother —”
“Okay!” said Pepper, cutting him off as the sound of an F passed his lips. “We get it, you weren’t at the Picklebury allotments when Stan had his acci—“ She frowned. “When he died. But can you think of any other competition gardeners who might have been angry with him? It seems that alleged cheating is taken very seriously in competition circles.”
“Alleged? Very seriously?” said Harry. “I’m not alleging he was cheating! I’m convinced he was cheating. And very seriously? Of course it’s taken seriously! It’s our whole life! Especially since we’ve retired! When we start hearing things such as Stan digging up potatoes that weigh five-pounds while everybody else is struggling to get their crop to grow at all organically, then we’re going to investigate!”
“Indeed,” said Percy, looking Geoffrey up and down. “And as for other competition gardeners — even if Stan hadn’t been the victim of an accident — you’d still be barking up the wrong tree.”
Harry nodded. “There are hardly any of us left. There was only Stan in Picklebury who took it seriously, and only me and Percy in Chapelford.”
“Since Len died last year, anyway,” said Percy. “And nobody is taking our places as we drop. The youngsters on the allotments aren’t interested in growing spectacular vegetables – they’re more interested in growing cheap food, and those daft telephones they carry around in their pocket all day. Even here on the allotments, they’re on them, getting answers about their gardening problems from Boogle – answers to questions that people like us had to answer through trial and error. It doesn’t seem right.”
“Google,” said Winston, stepping forward. “It’s not Boogle. It’s Google. Get with the times, you big daft sod.”
Percy’s face darkened, and his shoulders tensed as he approached Winston. “Who are you calling a big daft sod?” he demanded.
Winston rolled his head as if loosening his neck muscles. He licked his lips and pushed his face towards Percy. “You,” he said.
“Calm down, Winston,” said Mary. “This is no place to be getting aggravated in — look around you, look at all the potential safety hazards.”
“To hell with health and safety,” growled Winston. “This overgrown turnip called my friend a Picklebury prick!”
“Calm down, Winston,” demanded Geoffrey. “I appreciate your loyalty, but I’m sure Percy didn’t mean it – I’m sure it was a slip of the tongue. Come on, back to the car, let’s go back to Picklebury.”
“Aye,” snarled Percy. “Back to Picklebury with you, you lanky Picklebury prick!” He smiled and pointed at Winston. “There, I called him a prick again, what are you going to do about it? Come on… come and have a go if you think you’re tough enough. I’ll show you why Chapelford won the nineteen seventy-four inter-parish boxing championship!”
“Okay,” said Geoffrey. “Calm down, we didn’t come here to argue with you.”
“No,” said Harry, ripping his cap from his head and tossing it across a bed of large cabbages as if it were a frisbee. “You came to accuse us of killing a man!”
Before Mary could finish gasping, Harry had launched himself towards Winston, his face an angry grimace.
“Careful!” yelled Winston, putting his fists up in s
elf-defence. “Mary is right. There are hazards everywhere on an allotment, but if you insist on it, I will fight you!”
Harry let out a snarl and drew his fist back before launching it in Winston’s direction.
“Oh!” shouted Percy, adopting a fighting stance. “It’s on, is it? You take the short fat one, Harry, and I’ll take the lanky prick!”
As Harry’s fist connected with Winston’s jaw, and Winston stumbled a few steps backwards, Percy rushed at Geoffrey, who lowered himself into a crouching position and met his attacker head on.
“Stop!” yelled Mary, her face white. “Stop fighting. This second!”
Winston gave a muffled shout from the headlock Harry had captured him in, and he swung his leg in an arc which took his opponent’s feet from beneath him. As the two men collapsed into a bed of what appeared to be a healthy crop of carrots, Geoffrey and Percy traded punches, both of them gasping for breath as they boxed.
Attempting to insert herself between Harry and Winston, Mary shouted again. “You’re grown men! Stop it!”
Not one of the men replied, all of them gasping for breath instead and struggling with their opponents. As Harry and Winston rolled in the dirt, with Harry sitting astride Winston’s thighs and protecting himself from the uppercuts which Winston threw, Geoffrey and Percy fell to the ground, too.
Pepper looked on in astonishment, never having seen anything so innately wrong, while strangely beautiful at the same time. As the four men, each of them over seventy grappled with one another; it was as if years of pent-up frustration was leaving each man.
Pepper was sure she’d even seen Geoffrey smile as he trapped Percy’s head between his bicep and forearm, and rubbed his balding head with his other fist, causing his Chapelford opponent to cry out in pain.
“Help me, Pepper!” said Mary, attempting to pull Harry from on top of Winston as Geoffrey and Percy rolled towards a bamboo frame draped in tall runner bean plants.
