Terror on Tuesday lm-2

by Ann Purser

  After half an hour or so, when Lois was upstairs cleaning the bathroom, Mrs Betts called up that she was going out. “I’m meeting Prue in Tresham,” she said. “She went in on the bus, and I promised to bring her back.” She had reached the top of the stairs, and smiled broadly at Lois. “No doubt she’ll lure me into dress shops, and my purse will be much lighter when we come back. But then, you have a teenage daughter, too? You’ll know exactly what I mean!”

  Lois nodded. “They don’t get any cheaper, do they,” she said. “Still, your Prue does work at the pub, doesn’t she…Josie’s too young for that yet.”

  “Yes, well,” said Mrs Betts. “If you take my advice, Mrs Meade, you’ll keep her away from pubs. I know all the girls do it, but – as my husband says – it can be a very corrupting influence.”

  The study door opened, and Mr Betts came to the bottom of the stairs. “If you’re going, Mother, you’d better go!” he said sharply. “Don’t keep the cleaner gossiping. We’re paying good money, don’t forget,” and he marched back.

  “Sorry,” mouthed Mrs Betts. “Well, I’d better be off. Do make yourself a cup of tea when you’re ready. I’ve left all the things on the kitchen table.” She hesitated, and then added in a whisper, “Don’t take any notice of Mr Betts. He’s not been too well lately.”

  Lois carried on in the now silent house. She wondered what Mr Betts was doing in his study when he should have been teaching a class in school. Preparing for his move away? Perhaps he was going to stay in there until she went. Perhaps he had something to hide. Perhaps he would wait behind the door and hit her over the head with the headmaster’s cane as she went in…

  One bedroom door was closed. That must be Prue’s. Mrs Betts had warned her that nobody was allowed in there. Everything was now done upstairs, except hoovering the landing. She switched on, and did not hear when Mr Betts lifted the telephone. Time for a cup of tea. She supposed she should ask him if he wanted one, and approached his door. It was ajar, and she pushed it open tentatively. Then she saw that he was talking with his back to her, looking out of the window. She heard him say, “Right then, Needham, be there at six thirty sharp,” and then he turned around and saw her.

  “Did nobody teach you to knock at a private door, woman?” he exploded.

  “I’m sorry?” said Lois. “Are you speaking to me?”

  “Well, who else? There is nobody else!”

  “I see,” said Lois icily. “I wondered if you thought I was your wife.” She let this sink in, and then added, “I’m making a cup of tea, as instructed, and thought you might like one.”

  Mr Betts sat without speaking, his colour rising. “Um, well,” he said, “er, well, thank you, Mrs Meade. But I must be getting back to the school. Excuse me,” he added, and brushed past her. She heard him going out of the back door and along the path to the school.

  Right, thought Lois, now’s my chance. She began to dust around the study, carefully examining everything she found. “Needham,” she muttered to herself. She knew only one Needham, and that, of course, was Gary.

  The house was very quiet. In the past, when Lois had been cleaning on her own, she would put on the radio if she was alone in a house. She had to be careful, though, as some clients seemed to know immediately if their radios had been touched, even though Lois made sure she put everything back as she found it. But this house was definitely not one to trifle with. Except that here I am, she thought guiltily, trifling away like anything.

  She went through the pile of papers on Mr Betts’s desk one by one. Nothing much there. All domestic bills, angry correspondence with insurance companies, and lists of educational books. At the bottom of the filing tray, however, there was something interesting. A brightly coloured travel brochure, featuring holidays in the Bahamas, Haiti, and far-flung Rio de Janeiro. Several of these had been marked in pen with a cross. Fancy that, thought Lois. The Betts’s were the last people she would have expected to go to such places. The Lake District or Yorkshire moors were more in their line, surely. Perhaps the old fool was planning a romantic surprise holiday. And pigs might fly. She replaced everything with great care, and then turned to the bookshelves. She put out a hand to take a book entitled Parenting for the Millennium, and suddenly froze.

  There was a sound, a creak outside in the hallway. In the silent house it was deafening, and Lois’s heart began to race. If it was Mr Betts returning, why was he creeping about in his own home? It could be an intruder, hoping for a quick looting and then escape. Or…oh God, please not, not the Gorilla…

  The creak again, and then the door of the study moved a fraction. She hadn’t latched it properly. She stared now, transfixed and unable to move. It opened another inch, then two or three, and from behind the desk she could see nothing. Whoever was behind the door was keeping well out of sight. Lois picked up a heavy glass paperweight, and moved fast. As she rounded the corner of the desk, her foot hit something soft.

  “Yiaow!”

  Lois was quick, but not quick enough to catch a ginger cat that wheeled around and was out of the door and gone before she could grab it.

  With shaking hands, Lois put the paperweight back, and sat down heavily in Mr Betts’s leather-covered chair. After a minute or so, she took a deep breath, and continued to clean. Guilty conscience, she told herself. Snooping is the first sin in New Brooms’s rule book. Nevertheless, she was extremely thorough in finishing Mr Betts’s study, but nothing suspicious turned up. From the neat row of labelled files in the cupboard, and books arranged alphabetically in the bookshelves, she guessed he was a very methodical man, and would be unlikely to leave on view anything he didn’t want seen. “I don’t even know what I’m looking for,” she said under her breath. She finished the room, and shut the door behind her. Only the kitchen left to do now. She looked at her watch. A quarter of an hour to go. Ten minutes should be enough to finish the cleaning, and then she’d have five minutes or so to check everything was neat and tidy.

  Dusters and polishes put away, the coast was clear. Lois found herself going upstairs once more. She walked slowly along the landing, and idly tried the handle on Prue’s bedroom door, and pushed. It opened. So Prue had not locked it, after all…she must have been in a hurry to catch the bus. Lois tiptoed inside, though there was nobody to hear her. The cat had made her nervous. It was the usual teenage centre of chaos. Clothes on every surface, make-up scattered over the dressing table, jars with lids off; and by the wall, Prue’s bed, unmade, a mountain of duvet and pillows.

  Only a couple of minutes more, and then Lois would have to leave. She had no doubt that old Betts was at the school window, watching out for her. She turned to go, and her eye was caught by a half-open cupboard door. Jeans were carelessly slung over a hanger, and something protruded from a pocket. Lois gingerly extracted a packet of cigarette papers. She sniffed around, and carefully put it back again.

  So, Prue was smoking, and judging by the faint but sweet, lingering smell, it was not tobacco you could buy over the counter in the village shop.

  ♦

  As she drove home, Lois reviewed what she had found. Nothing much, really. Prue pursuing her own life, Mr Betts nervous and bad-tempered and dreaming of holidays under exotic skies, and Mrs Betts defensive and determined to keep up appearances.

  And the appointment with Gary Needham. Six thirty sharp. Back in her office, Lois looked at the New Brooms schedules. Gary was working this afternoon for a bachelor in Fletching. He would be through by five o’clock, and back home by half past. If he went home, that is. He could be meeting old Betts anywhere. When she rang his house at six thirty, he answered the telephone. So it wasn’t today. She made up some excuse for calling him, and then decided to shut down for the day, join Gran and the kids and Derek, and concentrate on the family.

  “Here you are, then, me duck,” said Derek, stretching out a hand from his prone position on the sofa. “Come and give us a kiss.”

  “Oh God!” said Josie. “You two are the only old people I k
now who still snog in public.”

  When Gran roared with laughter, all three kids looked at her in surprise.

  ∨ Terror on Tuesday ∧

  Forty-Two

  As Lois and Gran – the latter dressed to kill for their night out at the theatre – drove into Tresham, Lois was quiet, sorting out unconnected snippets of fact and suspicion, hoping something would emerge tonight to tie them all together.

  “You all right, Lois?” said her mother finally, having failed to get a conversation going.

  “Fine,” said Lois. “Look, there’s a space. We’ll park here and walk round the corner. It’s not far.”

  The little foyer was crowded, with loud voices greeting each other across the milling theatre-goers. More like a club, really, thought Lois, guiding her mother across to where they had to pick up their tickets. Local worthies supporting their friends and relations. No doubt it was the thing to do in the Tresham culture set. Well, they were welcome to it, on the whole. Mind you, both she and Derek had loved that last thing. A good laugh, and no mistake. She was not so sure about tonight. LIBEL, a courtroom drama, it said in the programme. Judging from a couple of photographs of the cast in costume, it had been written in the year dot. Well, she was not here to be entertained, and with luck, it would appeal to her mother.

  “Right, Mum,” she said, “let’s find our seats.”

  “Can’t we have a drink first?” said her mother, glancing round at gins and tonics being consumed at a great rate. “Oh, come on, Lois, let me treat you.”

  Lois looked at Gran. Her face was carefully made up, and she’d been to the hairdresser that morning. Her shoes were killing her, Lois knew, but she was determined to be smart. This was supposed to be a treat, Lois reminded herself, and felt ashamed.

  “No, you’re spending nothing, Mum,” she said, and smiled. “What’ll you have?”

  By the time they took their seats in the glowing red velvet interior, Lois’s mother was already having a great time. She opened the box of chocolates Lois had given her – “So as not to disturb people once the play gets going” – and settled back into her seat. “Oh, look, Lois, there’s that woman from the library,” she said loudly, the gin and tonic having done its work, “you know, the snotty one who never smiles.” Heads turned, and Lois was relieved to see most faces were amused.

  The play was set in a courtroom, and seemed to be about a problem of identity. There was this bloke, Sir Mark Loddon, who’d come back from the war and there was some problem about whether he was the real thing. Lois’s concentration slipped, and she found herself thinking about the Betts’s and Gary Needham. So far, she hadn’t recognized Gary in any of the characters. Betts was backstage, anyway. Why had they met at six thirty somewhere? What could Betts want with Gary? Surely nothing to do with the play. That would all be taken care of at rehearsals.

  The lights went up for the interval, and Gran was smiling broadly. “It’s really good, Lois, isn’t it? What do you think? Is he the real Sir Mark Loddon?”

  “Um, I’m not sure,” said Lois. “I expect all will be revealed a few minutes before the end.” She stood up. “Shall we have another?” she said tentatively.

  Gran bounced to her feet. “Why not!” she said. “Might as well be hung for sheep as lambs.”

  They made their way out to the bar, and Lois settled her mother in a corner whilst she got the drinks. When she came back, Gran was talking animatedly to another woman of her own age. “Ah, here she is,” she said. “Now Lois, guess who this is?”

  Lois shook her head. “Go on, tell me,” she said, smiling at the other woman.

  “It’s Olive Morton, used to live next door to us. You remember, Lois, you used to play with her Jean, then they moved away.”

  Lois did not remember clearly, but said that of course, now she recognized her, and she hadn’t changed a bit. This set off another chain of reminiscences, and Lois saw her opportunity.

  “Mum, if you and Olive are all right, can you spare me for a while? Just got to check something out. Shan’t be more than a few minutes.” The two older women scarcely noticed that she had gone.

  ♦

  It had begun to rain, and Lois slithered down the dimly-lit passage leading to the stage door. She knocked, and as before, the bright lamp overhead was switched on. “Sorry, love,” a man’s voice said, “can’t see anyone during the interval. No problem, is there?”

  As Lois cast about desperately for a reason for being there, another head appeared. “Mrs M? What are you doing here?” It was Gary. He must have heard her voice, and when she said it was urgent, and wouldn’t take more than a minute, he pulled her inside, shut the door, and led her through costumed actors staring at her in nervous hostility, and out into a stone-floored passage. He opened another door, and they went in. It was the props room, and so crammed with what looked to Lois like crumbling junk, that there was very little room to move.

  “Right,” said Gary, “can I help? What is it? Is there an emergency?” He looked very agitated, but then this was halfway through a performance. She noticed that he was dressed in an old-style army uniform.

  “Are you on stage next?” she said. He nodded, waiting for her to explain.

  She hesitated, searching for an opening. Not easy, when she wasn’t sure what she was looking for. “Um, well – my goodness, they could do with New Brooms in here!” she floundered.

  Gary did not smile. “Better hurry, Mrs M,” he said, “else we shall have old Betts in here. He’s in charge of props.”

  On cue, the door opened, and there stood Mr Betts, glowering at her. “What on earth are you doing here?” he said, and turned to Gary. “You’re wanted,” he said. “Now.”

  Gary looked uncertainly at Lois. Then he shrugged helplessly. He pushed past Mr Betts, retreated into the passage, and disappeared.

  “Now, madam,” said Mr Betts, “you can make yourself comfortable, and I’ll deal with you later.” Before she could move, he had taken the key from the door, and followed Gary out of the room. She heard the key turn in the lock. Lois was alone, and very frightened.

  ∨ Terror on Tuesday ∧

  Forty-Three

  The bell for the end of the interval sounded twice, and Lois had still not returned to Gran and Olive. “You go, dear,” said Gran, “else you’ll miss the beginning of the second act.”

  “Oh, it’s all right, they never start on time. I come here lots, and they always allow a few minutes grace for dawdlers.” Olive looked around. “Shall I go and see if she’s locked in the Ladies?” She laughed, but Gran did not join in.

  “Not like our Lois to be late,” she said, looking worried.

  A plump, middle-aged man with rimless glasses approached them. He looked important, and Gran stood up. “Are you Mrs Meade’s mother?” he said.

  She nodded, and said quickly, “What’s happened? Where is she?”

  “Oh, nothing’s wrong! She sent a message to say would you two like to go in, and she’ll join you. She’s just met one of her cleaners, and they have to fix something important for tomorrow.”

  Gran sighed with relief. “Right, come on then, Olive…”

  “I wonder if you two would like to sit together?” The man smiled helpfully. “If your friend would like to sit in Mrs Meade’s seat, I can direct your daughter to another part of the theatre when she’s ready. Then you can meet after the show.”

  The usherette was signalling frantically from the auditorium door that the curtain was about to go up, and Gran and Olive, pleased with the arrangement, went swiftly in to take their seats. As they sat down and Gran put the box of chocolates between them, she leaned over and whispered to Olive, “Wasn’t that the schoolmaster from Waltonby?”

  “Ssshhh!”

  Gran put her spread fingers to her nose at the man in front, and settled down to follow the convoluted plot.

  ♦

  At least I’ve got light, Lois said to herself. She had tried the door, but it was firmly locked. Right, first push a pie
ce of paper under the door, then ease the key out of the lock so that it drops on the paper. Then pull it back and Bob’s your uncle! Lois remembered all this from her misspent youth, and looked around for a piece of paper. Amidst all the junk, there was not a single magazine, newspaper or any other kind of paper. She opened her handbag. Of course! She grabbed her mobile phone, and switched on. No signal. Shit! She threw it violently across the room, and it clattered down behind a pile of junk. Good riddance! What else? Her diary was tiny, and the chances of a key falling on a page from it were remote, even supposing she could push the key out of the lock.

  First things first, Lois. She went over to the door, where she squinted into the keyhole. Fine, wonderful. Thanks very much, Mr Betts. He had, naturally, taken the key with him. Well, that was only to be expected. If she shouted loud enough, someone might come and release her. She could hear nothing from outside. The play must have started again, but it was silent as the grave in the props room. Without much hope, she shouted as loud as she could, but nobody came. Oh God…Derek… “Help! Help! HELP!”

  Then the light went out.

  Lois froze. She could hear a far off sound of approaching footsteps, gradually getting louder. Then they stopped, and she knew those marching feet were right outside the door. The key was inserted, and turned in the lock. Then the door opened, and a torch beam flicked around the room.

  “Ah, still here,” said Mr Betts. “That’s good. Now, I must find the fuse box, and then I’ll attend to you.” He shut and locked the door, and Lois could hear the key being withdrawn again. She sat absolutely still, perching on the edge of a broken old chair. If he approached, she reckoned her chances were reasonable. Derek had taught her the rudiments of a judo course he’d attended one winter, and she flexed her muscles. One thing about cleaning, it kept you in good physical shape.

  Then suddenly the light came on, and she was facing him. He had a torch in one hand and a small pistol in the other. It flashed across Lois’s mind that it could be a prop, just as the knight’s armour and the tomb cover had been props, but there was no way of telling without putting it to the test. No, stay quiet and don’t cross him. Bloody hell, had he flipped? But his face was calm, his eyes almost twinkling. She realized with sudden anger that he was enjoying himself.