Scandal at Six (Lois Meade Mystery)

by Purser, Ann

  At that moment, Justin Brookes came into the shop. He was wearing his jeans and jersey, and his hair was attractively tousled. He nodded to the customers, picked up a newspaper and began to read, waiting to be served.

  “Look,” said Myrtle, “it’s here on the front page of the local. ‘Local JP gets burgled in Long Farnden. Burglar gets off without a chase.’”

  “They’ll get him,” said her friend. “They always do, in the end. Silly fool must have left loads of prints on that silver. I heard they recovered it already. My friend in Fletching is caretaker at the village hall, and she found a bagful of stuff. Took it straight to the police. All sorts of silver things. She didn’t touch none of it, of course, so the police shouldn’t have too much trouble identifying the prints.”

  “Excuse me butting in,” said Justin. “Do you happen to know if Mrs Tollervey-Jones is okay? I’d hate to think of the old lady being hurt.”

  “Oh no, nothing like that. Just one of those collect-and-run merchants. He’ll not get far.”

  “I hope not,” said Justin. “We can do without such menaces in our community.”

  Inside, he was chuckling. It had all been so easy. Pettison had been warned by Betsy Brierley that Mrs Tollervey-Jones was on the warpath, and he wanted her stopped. A quick change into a disguise. Balaclava on the head, scarf wound round half the face, and thick black gloves. It had all been done and dusted in the hour, and he was back in Tresham reporting to Pettison. After that he had returned to his flat over the shop with nobody any the wiser. Mission accomplished! A small dose of the frighteners on Mrs Tollervey-Jones, and back into Pettison’s good books.

  Thirty-one

  Mrs Tollervey-Jones looked at herself in the mirror on her dressing table. Her short grey hair waved naturally, curling pleasantly around her face. Her clear blue eyes had an honest, straightforward expression, and her lips, unadorned by lipstick, lifted at the ends in a half smile.

  “Much too pleasant looking for a justice of the peace,” she muttered to herself. She had recently retired from the justices’ bench, and was restless. Having moved from the hall and its farms and parkland into a substantial stone house in the village, she had simply not enough to do with her time. “Except,” she said to her reflection, “when Lois Meade requires help from me, her unofficial assistant.”

  This thought cheered her up, and she looked in the wardrobe for a warm coat, ready to tackle the suspicious Betsy Brierley. Why suspicious? she asked herself. No reason, really. She just had a feeling about the woman. Something guarded in her voice on the phone.

  She left the house, locking up more carefully than usual, and drove off towards Tresham, where she threaded her way through the back streets to where Dot Nimmo lived on one side of the road, and Betsy Brierley on the other. As she reached the top of the street, she was passed by a van and for a moment was startled by a large snarling tiger staring at her from the van’s side. Aha! Mr Pettison has been a-visiting, she thought. I must be careful how I tread.

  Betsy answered the door, and stared at Mrs T-J. “I don’t know you, do I?” she said. “You said your husband had something to do with our family, but I’ve asked around, and none of ’em remember anything about you.”

  “Could I come in for a few minutes? I won’t keep you long, but I’d like to explain. Thank you, dear.”

  Huh, thought Betsy, no good soft-soaping me, duckie. It’ll have to be a pretty good explanation, after what Pettison has just told me.

  Mrs T-J perched on the edge of a chair, nodded a good morning to Mr Brierley, who stood nervously by the fireplace, and began to talk about her husband. She was tactful when mentioning his little weakness, but said he had had several love children around town when he was young.

  “One or two of them were, I believe, brought up by your family, Betsy. In fact, one of the boys, a very bright lad, did very well. Ended up as quite a notable chairman of companies, that sort of thing. I’m researching the family history, and wondered if you remember anything about that, or, since you are much younger than my generation, whether you heard this clever son being spoken of?”

  Ted Brierley shook his head, but Betsy said that as a matter of fact, she had been to see an old aunt recently, and she had identified a photograph on her wall.

  “A very handsome chap, he was, apparently,” Betsy said now. “And, as you say, very big in the city. Lord Mayor of London, even, later on, after a distinguished career. Pity Ted didn’t get any such genes from his family.”

  “Thanks for nothing, Betsy!” he protested. “If that’s the way the wind’s blowing, then I’m off out to the club. I’ll watch the racing from there. I’ll be back for lunch, so don’t stay too long, Mrs Whatever your name is.”

  “Sorry about him,” said Betsy, after he had slammed the front door behind him. “He’s always a bit of a misery.”

  “I am so sorry to have caused unpleasantness,” apologised Mrs T-J. Privately, she thought she had never encountered a more unforthcoming couple. However, a job was a job, and Lois would be expecting a report from her.

  “Are you working now?” she asked, and Betsy’s face hardened.

  “And what’s it to you if I am?” she said.

  “Oh nothing. I was just being polite. Do you know, I thought a tiger was on the loose on my way here? It turned out to be painted on the side of a van. Advertising Tresham Zoo. Do you like zoos, Betsy?”

  Betsy said that zoos were all very well in their place, and she could take them or leave them.

  “I’m fond of London Zoo, in Regent’s Park,” Mrs T-J said. “I know my way around there, and can avoid the reptile house! I’m afraid reptiles give me the shivers. As for snakes, I cannot bear even the thought of them. It’s something about the way they move. No legs; no wheels! They just slither in the most alarming way. And so swift! I can understand how the poisonous ones can be so deadly.”

  Betsy said she felt much the same. “I work at the Tresham Zoo, on and off,” she said. “Mr Pettison asks me to take over the gate when Margie is off sick.”

  “Ah, Mr Pettison, yes. Now, I have heard tales told about him. An eccentric gentleman, I believe?”

  “Eccentric? He’s much the same as any man. You can take it from me, he’s no different from most men. They’re usually interested mainly in one thing. Sorry to be very vulgar, Mrs Jones, but it’s what’s between his legs that he’s most concerned with! It’s a complaint that I can treat, and he comes to me regular. Nursey, he calls me.”

  “So he is otherwise a simple, good-living person, do you think?” Mrs Tollervey-Jones was not in the least shocked. She had heard much worse in her time.

  This unsettled Betsy, who had hoped to frighten the old tab away, in case of further rich revelations. On the contrary, Mrs T-J settled back in her chair, and enquired if Betsey saw much of him outside the zoo.

  “Comes here for his treatment,” said Betsy, now with a superior smile. She was beginning to respect this old dear. “Tells me all his worries, an’ that. Running a place like that zoo is full of problems. Only recently, there’s been two accidents, one of them fatal, associated with it. A cleaning woman injured, and then one of the keepers killed. He’s got a lot of rare animals there, you know. Priceless, some of them. Not many left in the world. He gets them from all over and breeds them for posterity.”

  “I hope he knows how to look after them! Some of the creatures bred in captivity are not so badly off, having known nothing else. But most animals brought in from the wild are lucky to last a year. Sad, isn’t it? Myself, I think a good dog and maybe a cat to keep the mice down are all one needs.”

  “I dunno,” said Betsy. “I do fancy having one or two of ’em. He’s got some of them spectacled whatsits—like baby crocodiles—caimans, that’s it. You can hold them in the palm of your hand, and they’re real little darlings. I wouldn’t mind one of them.”

  “But not if they’re going to die on you?”

  “Oh, Petti can always get me another,” she said loftily. “
Now, Mrs Jones, I’m going to turn you out. I’ve got a client coming in a few minutes, and he’ll not want to see I’ve got company! Bye-bye, dear. Been nice talking to you. Bye!”

  *

  Mrs Tollervey-Jones drove away with a smile on her face. She had been much amused by Betsy Brierley, and admired her confidence and lack of embarrassment.

  “You could call it a service, I suppose,” she said aloud to herself in the driving mirror. What was it Pettison called her? Oh yes, Nursey! Wonderful. She decided to drive straight back to Farnden to report to Lois on her morning’s work.

  When she drew up outside Meade House, she saw the unmistakable Inspector Cowgill getting into his car. He must have seen her approaching, as he stepped out again and came over to where she had halted.

  “Good day, Mrs Tollervey-Jones,” he said. “I was hoping to have a word with you, but there was no one at home at Stone House. Are you free, by any chance?”

  “So sorry, Inspector. I had an urgent request to visit someone in Tresham. But I could go back home and see you there for a short while. I have promised to have a talk with Mrs Meade, but half an hour would be fine.”

  Women! thought the inspector. I’m surrounded by scheming women. My beloved Lois twists me round her little finger, and now this old duck is quacking about allowing me half an hour of her precious time. And I’m a famous detective! He laughed, shrugged and drove down to park outside Stone House and wait for Mrs Tollervey-Jones to join him.

  *

  “So what did he want, Lois? And your illustrious assistant?” Derek said. He had emerged from the sitting room, where the football match on television had just finished.

  “Did they win?” asked Lois.

  “Yes, four to one. Walked it. Now, answer my question, please.”

  “Well, since you ask so nicely, Cowgill wanted to tell me about the dangers of dicing with the likes of Pettison. He also wanted to know all about Josie’s new tenant in the flat. Seemed very interested to know if he had been seen with Pettison, or if he mentioned his name. I was cagey, and said I wasn’t sure. But if he’s suspicious of Justin Brookes, there is every reason for us to be, too. I’m all for sending him packing, straightaway. He’s a bit overnice, if you ask me.”

  “I think that’d be a bit hasty,” Derek said. “It may be nothing but gossip. Cowgill has to listen to everything, but we have no reason to suspect Brookes of anything, do we? Josie seems to have quite taken to him. Makes her feel safer when the shop’s empty, she says. No, I think we should hold hard for a bit. See what happens. And Mrs T-J?”

  “She wanted to fill me in with how her talk with Betsy Brierley had gone. She picked up some useful stuff about Pettison. About his trade in rare animals, an’ that.”

  “And is it time for tea? I’m ready for a cup, and Gran’s come home with cream cakes for all,” said Derek, contenting himself that Lois had at least shared with him some of what she had been discussing.

  Thirty-two

  Josie was up early in the shop sorting the Sunday papers. Two handy schoolboys delivered them, one on his bicycle to outlying farms, and the other walking through the village at a leisurely pace. As she saw them off on their separate ways, she was startled to hear a car engine close behind. It was the Fiat, and as it came out from behind the shop, the window was wound down, and Justin Brookes leaned over to speak to her.

  “Morning, Josie,” he said. “I’m off to church. I don’t suppose you’ll accompany me?”

  Church was the last place she would have expected him to go, and she shook her head politely, as he had expected. “Sorry, no can do. I have to shut up shop and do some urgent admin this morning. Unfortunately, it won’t wait for me!”

  He nodded and smiled, wondering what he would have done if she had said yes. He closed the window and drove off with the Ferrari-sounding roar. She watched it go, and laughed. They were jolly little cars. There were quite a few of them now, and often one would pull up outside the shop. Lovely colours, too, and a silvery one appealed to her. Perhaps, when she’d done the books, there would be enough on the right side of the accounts to enable her to buy one. And pigs might fly, she said to herself.

  “Church?” said Matthew, when she arrived home for a late breakfast. “That man-about-town going to church?”

  “He may be praying for his sick father. The old boy is expected to die anytime now. You can never tell with people, anyway, Matthew. Even you darken the doors of the church at Christmastime!”

  *

  Justin pulled up outside the lych-gate and waited. Several cars parked behind him, and the occupants disappeared up the path. Then the one he was waiting for drew up in front of him on a small hillock where the footpath curved round the corner. Its engine was switched off, and then the door opened. A tall girl with a face like a Pre-Raphaelite painting came towards him, swinging a large white carrier bag, a chic dress-designer’s name emblazoned on the side.

  “Hi, Justin. How’s business?”

  “It’s not likely to improve, sweetie, if you swing the poor things to and fro like that! Enough to make them seasick! You’d better get in, and let me make sure they’re still alive. This is a new supplier, and Pettison is very anxious that I should check.”

  The girl, an old friend of Justin’s and recruited by him into the chain of handlers designed to mislead any curious investigators, now explained that she was about to be married, and would not be operating for Pettison anymore. “But I’m sworn to secrecy about the whole thing, and I shall keep my word,” she said.

  Justin frowned. He quite fancied her, and would be sorry not to see her anymore. At the same time, he envied her. How good it would be not to be any longer under Pettison’s control. He looked into the carrier and saw a metal box, like a miniature cage, with airholes and a glass front. Inside, two tiny shrew-like creatures stared at him. They were something out of a Disney film, and belonged somewhere in a forest under dark branches and leaves, where they knew their predators and how to avoid them.

  “They’re toys!” he said loudly, firmly putting such thoughts to one side. “We’ve been had!”

  Then one of them flicked its tail and crept into the dark corner, quickly followed by the second one.

  “Satisfied?” said the girl, as Justin jumped back into his seat. “They’re dear little things. You can take them out if you like. They’re quite tame. I had fun with them last night. Mind you, I think they are delicate, so take care of them. When are you handing them over to Pettison?”

  “Tomorrow. I’m living in a flat now, over Farnden village shop, and there’s a place I can keep them hidden.”

  “Right-o. Now, are we going to church? I quite fancy Holy Communion. Makes me feel good again.”

  “Not me,” said Justin. “I am beyond redemption. Thanks anyway. See you soon.”

  She left him, and headed up the church path, and he started the engine and drove off.

  Outside the shop, Justin saw a police car, and his heart thumped. What the hell?! Only one thing to do, and he accelerated, driving past as fast as he could. Three minutes later, he realised the police car was closing up behind him, its lights flashing. He drew into the side of the road, and opened the window. A police officer came up and looked in.

  “Morning, sir,” he said. “Just thought I’d introduce myself. I’m Matthew Vickers, husband of Josie in the shop. I understand you’ve taken on the flat? Nice little place. Used to visit Josie when she lived there. Hope you’ll enjoy living in Farnden. Oh yes, and watch your speed through the village. You were going at forty-two miles an hour past the shop! Just a warning, sir. Good morning.”

  Thank God I flung my jacket over the carrier, Justin thought. Well, that had been a turn-up. But he had been very alarmed, and realised that one careless move could bring the whole of Pettison’s house of cards tumbling to the ground. In other words, the zoo would be closed and Uncle Robert arrested and very likely put in prison.

  So what to do with the creatures now? He knew Pettison was away for
the weekend in a country hotel nearby, for a couple of nights of mad passion with his fancy woman. “A treat for me, dear boy,” he had said to Justin. “Work hard; play hard. Not a bad motto for the likes of us!”

  So, no good going into Tresham. He would just drive back to Farnden, take the key to the shed from its hiding place, and conceal the carrier in there until tomorrow. He had cleared it out and put an electric convector heater in, and hung a dark cloth over the small window.

  The wind was icy when he walked from his car to the shed, and he hurried in. Switching on the heater, he took the box from the bag, and looked around. There were shelves along the back wall, and he put it carefully on the topmost. Then he tore the bag in half, punched a few holes in it with a screwdriver, and upended it over the cage, where the creatures had now reappeared and were following his every move with their button-bright eyes.

  “There you are, then, little ones,” he said. The girl had given him some stuff for them to eat, and he decided to come back when they had settled down. Perhaps at lunchtime, when nobody was around.

  Back inside his flat, he made himself a coffee and looked for a newspaper. Yesterday’s had gone out with the rubbish, and he had nothing to read. Perhaps Josie was still in the shop, and would have a spare.

  He walked round into the shop, and found the door still open.

  “Hi, Josie?” he shouted. “Okay for me to come in?”

  In a couple of seconds she stood there, smiling. “You didn’t go to church did you?” she said accusingly. “Mrs Tollervey-Jones called on her way back, and said you were not there. I’m afraid you can’t get away with anything in this village,” she added.

  Justin looked suitably humble. “Afraid I couldn’t face it,” he said. “All that stuff about descending into hell and rising again, not to mention the sick and the dead. Couldn’t get through it, really.”