Murder on Monday lm-1

by Ann Purser

  It could have been a god-child, Lois considered. Certainly not very precious to Gloria, if she had shoved it to the back of a drawer. She turned into Byron Avenue, resolving to get back to her neglected notebook after a quick snack. She slowed down and saw a car parked outside her house. It was a familiar car, and Lois frowned. He must have found a quicker way back to town. It was Inspector Cowgill’s car and she could see his tall, commanding figure at her front door.

  “Ah, there you are, Mrs Meade,” he said with no sign of familiarity. “You’re later than usual. I wonder if I might come in and have a word?”

  ∨ Murder on Monday ∧

  Twenty-Five

  The inspector followed Lois into her sitting room and, though invited to sit down, remained standing.

  Fair enough, thought Lois, if that’s the way we play it. “How can I help you, Inspector,” she said in a neutral voice.

  “It’s not so much what you can do, Mrs Meade. It’s your husband we’d like to have a chat with, but I see he’s still at work.”

  In spite of herself, she registered surprise. “Derek? Did you say Derek?” What on earth was the man talking about? “What d’you mean? Of course he’s at work. Where else would he be?” I’m rambling, she thought. Steady, Lois. “He’ll be home this evening, as usual,” she said. “What do you want him for? He doesn’t know anything about Farnden.” What had she got Derek into? Oh God, he was going to be furious.

  Hunter Cowgill looked at Lois’s worried face and wished he did not have to go through with this. “No, I’m sure you can find what we want, unless, that is, he’s wearing it. His jacket, Mrs Meade,” said the Inspector. “I wonder if I could have a look at his waxed cotton jacket?”

  ♦

  “He took it away!” Derek’s face was thunderous. “What the bloody hell’s going on, Lois?”

  “Derek, please…the boys…” Lois put her arm around Jamie to protect him from his father’s unusual rage.

  Derek took a deep breath and sat down heavily on a kitchen chair. “Go on upstairs and get on with your homework,” he said, and as soon as the frightened Jamie was out of earshot, he turned to Lois. “So, this is where your daft notions have got us!” he said. “Suspect, am I? About to be taken to the station for questioning? Detained for twenty-four hours while I help those buggers with their enquiries?”

  Lois said nothing for several minutes, feeling resentment rising. After all, the jacket was nothing to do with her dealings with Cowgill. And there was something else. She faced Derek, and said, “He wasn’t unpleasant, so you needn’t get so hot and bothered. It was Inspector Cowgill. He looked at that oily stain on the sleeve – ”

  “Yes!” butted in Derek, “oil!…not creosote!”

  “I told him that, of course I did. Anyway, it smelt like creosote to me!” Lois shouted back at him, and added, “And what are you so worried about…if you’ve got nothing to hide?”

  Derek glared at her. She had never seen him so angry. “What did you say?” His face was dark-red now, his eyes narrowed.

  “I said,” Lois replied, her voice icy, “why are you so worried if you’ve got nothing to hide? And I said that because Cowgill produced something else. His reason for asking. He said you’d come to their notice because Nurse Surfleet told them you’d done work for Gloria Hathaway. Been there several days, coming and going.” Derek looked as if she’d struck him. Then Lois’s strength suddenly gave out and tears began to roll down her cheeks. “You never said, Derek. Why didn’t you say?” She looked at him pleadingly, and stretched out a hand towards him.

  He didn’t take it. He glared at her and stood up violently, shoving the chair back so hard that it toppled backwards on to the floor with a crash. “I’m going for a pint,” he said in a tight voice. “I need it. Be back later.”

  “Derek! Please…don’t go!”

  But he’d gone and Lois was left alone in her small kitchen, listening to the sounds of the boys quarrelling overhead and Josie’s music turned up full blast.

  ∨ Murder on Monday ∧

  Twenty-Six

  The Reverend Peter White had had a bad night. He’d dreamed of women, one after another, and the dreams had not been innocent. A failure, that’s what I am, he told himself as he sat at the kitchen table with his head in his hands. Too scared to have a proper relationship, and too scared to do my job properly. He forced himself to face the fact that his advice was never sought, nobody ever came to him when they were in trouble, and no one wanted to confide in him. He actively discouraged it, he admitted. If even the smallest approach was made, he changed the subject and got out fast. What a failure! He should probably resign.

  He stood up, hearing a car pulling up in his driveway. It was Lois. Of course, it was a Lois day. He made an effort to pull himself together and managed a fairly cheery “Good morning,” as she came into the kitchen. To his surprise she did not answer. “Lois?” he said, peering anxiously at her.

  “Oh, yes, morning, Vicar,” she said absently, and went to the cupboard to get her things.

  “Is something wrong, my dear?” he said. Here it was again, that shrinking feeling, not really wanting to know. But facing up to the truth had cleared his head and maybe here was another chance. “Anything wrong, my dear?” he repeated, but Lois shook her head.

  “Just a bit tired,” she said. “I’ll be fine.”

  “You don’t look fine,” said Peter White and ordered her to sit down while he made a cup of coffee. His unusually firm tone took her by surprise, so she sat down, brush and dustpan in hand. He took them from her gently, and set a steaming mug in front of her. “Chocolate biscuit?” he said and without waiting for an answer, put two on a small plate in front of her. It was his turn to play mother, he thought wryly.

  He sat down again, sipped his own coffee and waited. He usually made sure he did not wait long enough, but this morning was different. Here was Lois, his friend, obviously miserable. He waited.

  After a few gulps Lois spoke. “It’s the murder, isn’t it?” she said. “It’s getting to everybody. Even me and I don’t even live in Farnden.”

  “Everybody?” said Peter White. It was certainly getting to him.

  “All the houses I go to,” Lois said, head bent. She kept her eyes fixed on her hands, unwilling to look him in the eye, in case he should get out of her the real reason for her misery. Derek had come home late last night, drunk and morose. He’d clambered heavily into bed without speaking, turned his back on her and gone instantly to sleep. Or pretended to. And then this morning, he’d been up early and away in his van before breakfast, snouting out to the kids that he had a long day ahead and would see them at teatime.

  “All the people, the Rixes, the Barratts and Baers, even Nurse Surfleet.” Lois shivered involuntarily when she thought of Gillian’s duplicity. “They’ve all changed. All edgy and suspicious. Nobody trusts anybody any more. The whole village is under a cloud, if you ask me,” she said. “It’s enough to make me give up.”

  Peter White frowned. “Gracious, Lois,” he said. “You mustn’t do that. What would we do without you? We must just soldier on and hope it all comes to an end very soon.” Not brilliant, he said to himself. Soldier on? Lois was in considerable distress and this was all he could think of to comfort her.

  Vicar could be right, thought Lois. Cowgill probably knows a lot more than he’s told me. And anyway, it’s too late now. I’ve done the damage and Derek is in trouble with the police and he hates me. No, giving up would be no help now. She stood up and rinsed the mugs under the tap, turning them up on the rack to drain. “I expect you’re right,” she said. “It’ll be finished soon, and then we’ll all forget it and get on with our lives.”

  As she took up her cleaning things, she felt a sudden lift of spirits. It was all a storm in a teacup. Derek would be cleared by the police, get back his jacket with the oily stain, and be her loving husband again. “Thanks, anyway,” she said to Peter White, who remained sitting disconsolately at the table. “All pa
rt of your job, helping, I expect,” she said. She managed a laugh and was surprised at the relieved smile flooding Peter White’s face.

  “It’s not an easy job, Lois,” he said, looking up at her. “Some of us are naturals – seem born to be Christ’s servants.” Lois winced. She hoped he wasn’t going to start preaching to her. Still, better listen in case anything interesting turned up. “Did you always want to be a parson?” she asked casually. From past experience she knew that he hated personal conversations and was quite likely to stalk off to the privacy of his study. She would have to tread very carefully.

  However, this morning, Peter White was in a different mood, and he shook his head. “Gracious no,” he said. “My dad was in the army, and I always assumed I’d join up too, when I was old enough. Cadets at school, and all that kind of thing. Camp in the summer, drilling in the school hall. I loved it and he was so proud.”

  “So what happened?” Lois leaned against the sink. She felt tired from worry and the lack of sleep and was glad of this moment’s rest, a chance to listen.

  “He left us,” Peter White said baldly. “Walked out when I was thirteen. Turned out he’d had loads of girlfriends and finally ran off with his sergeant’s wife. Got the boot from the army, of course, and that was the last we saw of him. I was an only child and Mum relied on me to be the man of the house. She kept on saying that. I was so disgusted with him, so knew I’d never follow him into the army, if that’s the kind of man they turned out.”

  “But the Church?” said Lois. “Why that?”

  She saw his face shut down suddenly and he became a different person. “Why not, Lois?” he said in a cold voice, standing up and opening the door for her to go through. She felt an unexpected shiver of anxiety as she passed close by him. “It would be too hard to explain,” he said, as she went upstairs.

  What was so hard to explain? That shiver made her realize she would have to be on her guard with them all. Hunter Cowgill was not joking. She heard the study door close, and was left to speculate as she changed the sheets, trying not to notice anything untoward.

  An only child with a deserted mother, she pondered. Father spreading it about and buggering off. No wonder the bloke had problems! Rotten parents do a lot of damage, one way and another. God, he was mixed up! Just the sort to…Her thoughts were interrupted by a terrible noise and as blue smoke rose up from the vacuum, she switched it off quickly. All I need this morning, she cursed. She forgot about Peter White’s troubles and was reminded inexorably of her own. Derek wasn’t being much of a parent at the moment. If anything happened between her and Derek to damage their kids, she would kill him.

  ∨ Murder on Monday ∧

  Twenty- Seven

  Friday, Lois’s day at the Baers, and she had been sorely tempted to stay at home. There had been no opportunity to challenge Derek the previous evening. He’d come home late again and gone up to bed early, soon after Josie, saying he was dead tired. This morning, he had grunted at her when he could not avoid speaking, and the poor boys were creeping around looking scared.

  Lois’s anger had evaporated and with it her courage to face whatever Derek had to tell her. Now, all she wished for was to discover that everything had been a bad dream. Her mother, when she arrived, looked at her hard and asked what was wrong, but was sensible enough not to pursue it. The last thing Lois wanted was to go to Farnden and hear Evangeline Baer rabbiting on about her fall, and how kind Dallas had been to her afterwards. And then, of course, the murder. It was still the favourite topic of conversation in Farnden. The gallery was still closed and Evangeline would be under her feet all round the house.

  Dallas might even be there, too. He had taken time off after Evangeline’s fall. Still, he was probably back at work by now and she could get rid of Evangeline by cleaning around her feet. It might cheer her up to bruise a few ankles.

  Lois opened her front door and was making her way to the car when she saw the inspector, tall and smartly dressed, approaching.

  “Morning, Mrs Meade,” he said formally. “Have I missed your husband again?” He saw the expression on Lois’s face and came quickly to the point. “We’re keeping the jacket just for the moment, but perhaps you’d ask him to call in at the station for a couple of minutes. This evening,” he added firmly. “About six-thirty would be fine.” He turned on his heel and left Lois standing quite still on her path.

  What now? Should she try to get hold of Derek at work and warn him? But what would be the use of that. And anyway, she wasn’t sure she wanted to get involved with this problem, right now. Let him sort it out. She might just as well carry on, use Evangeline Baer as a distraction, and earn her money. Lois drove off, grating her gears and moving forward in a series of painful jerks.

  “Most unlike you to be late, Lois!” Evangeline Baer tried her best to make it sound humorous. But really, she could not allow this to go on. She limped away from the kitchen, but not quickly enough.

  “Perhaps you’d rather I didn’t come any more,” Lois said in a harsh voice. She had had enough and at that moment would have been quite happy not to set foot in Farnden ever again.

  “Hell!” said Evangeline under her breath. Then louder, “Of course I don’t want you to leave. And it doesn’t matter anyway. The gallery is closed, but when it opens up again, you know I rely on you to be here at nine o’clock sharp to take over the house. Can’t manage without you,” she added with a forced laugh.

  Yes, well, I’m fed up with being indispensable, thought Lois. Her confidence had taken a nasty knock in the last twenty-four hours, and she shook her head. “You’d manage,” she said. “Is Mr Baer at home? Shall I start in his room?” Dallas kept what he called his den for getting away from Evangeline, though he claimed he brought work home and needed a quiet room on his own. He was not there this morning.

  “Dallas has gone to London on business,” volunteered Evangeline, following on Lois’s heels, as anticipated. She seemed about to say more, but a loud sigh made her hesitate.

  Lois followed up the sigh with a request for more bags for the cleaner, “I did ask you last week.” Then switched on the cleaner and zoomed so close to Evangeline’s feet that she retreated rapidly, saying she had some letters to write and would Lois make her own coffee, as the letters would take a long time.

  “Serious business,” she said, smiling hopefully from the doorway.

  Stupid old bat, I don’t know what she’s talking about, thought Lois, and bashed the cleaner against a table leg without caring.

  It would all have become quite clear to Lois if she had been able to look over Evangeline’s shoulder. The words almost leapt off the page with joy. Dear Susie, wrote Evangeline to her sister. You ‘re not going to believe what I’m about to tell you, so hold on to your seat. I’m pregnant! Yes, pregnant! It’s a bit embarrassing for a woman of my age, but I really am over the moon. Dallas is too. We can hardly believe it. I was a bit worried about safety at my age, and all of that. But Dallas says if the PM’s missus can do it, so can I, and he’s gone off this morning to make all kinds of special arrangements to be sure I’ll be OK.

  The letter covered three pages and took most of the morning to write. When Lois brought the coffee, Evangeline covered the writing with her hand, but realized too late that Lois was irritated by this. How unfortunate! Evangeline had planned to tell Lois the wonderful news over a companionable mid-morning break, but somehow it had gone wrong. Lois was banging about in a bad temper and Evangeline had no wish to spoil her own elation by listening to tales of woe from her cleaner. No, it would have to wait until next week. Meanwhile, she must start on another letter to her old school friend in Sydney. Goodness, wouldn’t she be surprised!

  ♦

  By six o’clock in the evening, Lois was shaking with nervous anticipation of Derek’s return from work. She had to tell him what Inspector Cowgill had said and feared his reaction. She wished now she had rung him on his mobile and got it over with earlier.

  “Mum, what’s up with
you and Dad?” It was Josie, dressed in funereal black, draped round the newel post at the foot of the stairs. “You’ve hardly spoken for days, and me and the boys are upset. We think we ought to know.”

  Lois snapped. “Oh, I see,” she said icily. “You think you ought to know, do you, Miss.” Josie nodded, frowning at her mother’s tone. “Well, perhaps your father and I ought to know why you’ve been going round like a bloody wet week of Sundays ever since that bugger left town!”

  Her mother’s swearing was so excessive that Josie began to feel a twinge of fear. Was there something seriously wrong? Her imagination flitted through images of kids at school whose parents had split up, kids from broken homes, lost, miserable, dopey kids. “I only asked, Mum,” she said in a quavering voice.

  Lois glared at her, and then collapsed into a chair. “Come here, Josie,” she said, shaking her head in self-disgust. “Come here, baby.” Josie went to her mother and Lois put her arms around her daughter’s slender waist. “Sorry, love,” she said. “Things aren’t too good at the moment, but it’ll soon be sorted out. Don’t worry and I’ll tell the boys everything’s fine. We all have difficult days, don’t we?”

  At this point, Derek came in, bag in hand, and over his shoulder was slung the waxed cotton jacket. “Hi, everybody,” he said. “Hi, Lois, Josie. What’re you two up to?”

  Lois got up and held Josie’s hand for support. “Derek, the inspector was here again.”

  “I know,” said Derek. “I called in at the cop shop on my way home. Time to get my jacket back, I thought. I saw him and we had a chat. All sorted out. So what’s for tea?” he added, but he would not meet Lois’s eye.

  ∨ Murder on Monday ∧

  Twenty-Eight