Scandal at Six (Lois Meade Mystery)

by Purser, Ann

  He pretended to lick his lips. Betsy frowned and turned away from him.

  “Oh, and talking of worms,” he continued, “I suppose I might do a bit more for the undertakers. They were on to me lately, to do more hours, heaving coffins and escorting them into the church an’ that. I’ve got the gear, so might have a go. The pay is rotten, but they’re advertising for suitable men, and it’d be better than eating worms, don’t you think?”

  “Oh, for God’s sake!” said Betsy. “I’ve had about enough this morning, and it’s only half past ten. Please leave me be. No, make me a coffee, and then leave me be.”

  *

  By eleven, at the Farnden shop, Josie had had a stream of customers. Apparently the word had got round that a hive of bees had been delivered, and the neighbours were either worried or curious. Several other villagers had honeybees, and they all belonged to a society with its headquarters in Tresham. The people who lived right next door to the shop were very worried.

  “My Sid is allergic to bee stings,” a neighbour had said to Josie. “I do hope you know how to handle them,” she had insisted. Josie had replied that they belonged to the tenant in the flat, and he had assured her that they would not be there for long, and, in any case, he knew all about bees.

  The day passed quickly, and Lois had rung Josie several times, ostensibly for good reasons, but really because she could not shake off the nightmare. Finally, she rang the shop once more and asked if Justin was there, and if so, could Josie give her his number as she wanted to ask him something important.

  “To do with bees?” Josie said. “Because if so, I can tell you what I’ve told everyone else. They’re not here for long, and he knows how to deal with them. Will that do?”

  “No. I’d like his mobile number, please. I expect you gave it to me before, but I’ve lost it.”

  Josie sighed, looked up the number, and gave it to her mother. “I’m shutting up shop soon, so if you need me, I’ll be back at the cottage. Bye, Mum. And I really am all right,” she said. “Give my love to Dad.”

  After a minute or two, she heard the phone ringing in the flat above. It rang for quite some time, and then stopped. Josie went out to the back of the shop and looked for the Fiat. It wasn’t there, so Justin must be out somewhere. She looked down to the end of the garden and hesitated. Then she shook her head, went back into the shop and locked up.

  *

  Later, when it was completely dark, a vehicle drew up outside the shop, stopping under the security light. Justin, back upstairs and dozing in front of the television, heard the engine, pulled his curtain back a little and looked out. There was a long, dark shape and a man had lowered a ramp at the back. He was slowly bringing out a wheelchair with a figure completely wrapped in rugs. Justin let the curtain fall back, quickly switched off all his lights, and checked that his door was locked. He had no need to guess who was in the wheelchair, and he had no wish for a conversation with Pettison at the moment. He was too tired, and the fact that the scheming old sod had arrived in the dark did not bode well. He would wait to see what would happen next.

  Fifty-two

  Making very little noise, the man and wheelchair disappeared through the side gate, and then Justin could hear crunching on the gravel path that led to the back of the building. He must have left the gate unlocked, he realised with dismay, and grabbing a warm jacket and a large torch, he went silently down his stairs and out into the backyard. He could see from a light carried by the figure in the chair that they were approaching the pigsty.

  “Stop! Stop at once!” he shouted, switching on his own torch. They stopped, and he made his way down over the wet grass to where they stood.

  “Uncle Robert!” he shouted, as if the man in the chair was deaf. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  “Good evening, Justin my boy,” said a sepulchral voice from inside the wrappings. “We are paying a social visit, but with a purpose. How are you? And how’s my Betsy?”

  “Glad to hear you’ve regained the power of speech, you old fraud,” Justin said crossly.

  The wheelchair attendant, warmly wrapped in scarves and an all-embracing overcoat, leaned forward and whispered something in Pettison’s ear.

  Pettison laughed. “Later,” he said. “Now I must take a look at the new consignment of goodies. I believe you have them safely in here? I would like to take them back with me to the hall. I have now discharged myself from hospital care, and I am not too ready to trust leaving them in your care. From what I hear from my spies, you have been changing things at the zoo. Without my permission, unfortunately. It suited me to remain what you unkindly called a fraud, and I am now much improved.”

  “I thought as much,” said Justin. “Now, Uncle, this is madness! We can’t move bees in the middle of the night. That tarpaulin at the top is only tacked down. Supposing we drop the hive?”

  “My friend here is very strong, though he doesn’t look it. Open up, please, and then we’ll make an inspection. Of course, if they’re all dead, you’re welcome to keep them!”

  Justin was beginning to shiver, in spite of his warm coat, and stepped forward. “If you insist,” he said. “And if I let you have a look, will you agree to go back to wherever you belong, and come along another day and do this sensibly?”

  “Open up!” Pettison said, in a suddenly harsh voice. “At once!”

  “Can’t you get out of the chair? Your legs are probably as miraculously restored as your voice! It would be so much safer,” said Justin anxiously. He had a feeling that everything was being taken out of his hands.

  “Of course not! I truly lost the use of my legs in that bloody fall! Now, will you open up, or will my friend here make sure you do?”

  Justin sighed. “No need to threaten, Uncle. And honestly, I can’t believe a word you say. The tarpaulin’s nailed down. But I can open the bottom half door, and Tarzan here can push you in, if you’re determined to do it. You’ll see the hive in the corner. I advise you to make it a short inspection.”

  In great trepidation, he opened the padlock, drew back the bolt and opened the lower door. The tarpaulin flapped in a sudden gust of wind, making a loud noise. One corner of it came free, but the rest remained fixed in place. The attendant, bending over, pushed Pettison inside.

  Justin waited for a few seconds, and then heard a shout, two loud shouts, and then the attendant reappeared, pushing the tarpaulin completely free of the doorway and waving his arms around his head. “Bloody hive fell over,” he yelled.

  Justin stepped forward to rescue his uncle, but the well-wrapped attendant shoved him hard to one side, pulled the half gate shut and secured the bolt and padlock. Justin grabbed his sleeve, but he wrenched himself free. “Run for your life, Brookes!” he shouted, but the scarves muffled his voice. He sprinted up the grass and disappeared into the darkness.

  Justin could hear the buzzing now, growing louder. “Uncle Robert!” he shouted, and, galvanised into action, he wrestled with the door. Though he could have sworn he left the key in the padlock, he couldn’t put his hand on it. There was no way out for the wheelchair.

  “Uncle Robert!” he yelled. “Cover yourself up!” He couldn’t hear whether Pettison replied, and, making a reckless decision, he vaulted through the black cloud of bees to where the wheelchair stood. His uncle raised one weary arm, and was then quite still. Justin knew if he didn’t leave at once, he could be fatally attacked, and so dragged off his coat, completely covering the motionless Pettison. He pulled the wheelchair to the door, and shouted for help. But nothing happened, and he finally climbed out. Then he rushed back into the house, where he phoned for an ambulance and the police.

  Once more covering himself with coats and scarves, and though he could see the bees were no longer flying around, he returned to work away fruitlessly at the bolt. Then Derek appeared armed with a metal file and had freed it by the time they heard the wail of the ambulance approaching the shop.

  By now, of course, alerted by the shouts and t
he siren, neighbours and others had formed a throng outside the shop. The local bee man arrived, and Justin insisted on accompanying him down to the garden. He watched as a policeman and the expert, completely shrouded, with not an inch of flesh showing, extricated the wheelchair from the pigsty.

  “The padlock,” Justin said. “I’m sure I left the key in it. I always do, to make sure I don’t lose it. Did you find it?”

  The policeman shook his head. “No key, I’m afraid. Lucky Mr Meade here got it open. Doesn’t look as if he was in time, though,” he added quietly.

  One of the paramedics wheeled the chair up the garden, and under the light of a torch, Justin looked at his uncle. His face was decently covered, but he could see his hands, swollen and an ugly purple colour, still gripping the wheels, as if he had tried to move the chair.

  “Is he—?” he asked the paramedic, who nodded and said he was sorry, but no person could have survived that kind of attack. “It’s usually quick,” he added. “Collapse brought on by anaprophylactic shock to the system of all those stings.”

  It was not until after the police and the ambulance had gone, and the onlookers drifted away to their beds, that Justin began to feel pain from the odd sting on his own neck and hands. His bathroom light was the brightest, and he extracted the stingers as he had been told how.

  Finally, after a stiff drink, he thought again of the bolted half door. He was absolutely sure he had shut it in the afternoon, and left the key still in the padlock, as usual. Unless it was found in the garden in daylight, the key must have been taken away. There was only one person who could have done it, and that was the wheelchair attendant, who had done a runner and disappeared off in his vehicle.

  “Justin? Are you all right?” He recognised Derek Meade’s voice, calling to him from the foot of his stairs.

  “Yes and no, thanks. Come up, if you want to. I could do with someone to talk to.” Two sets of footsteps came up the stairs, and Lois and Derek appeared.

  “Let me look at those stings,” Lois said, producing antihistamine ointment and soothing balm.

  “Yoo-hoo!?” Another voice from below produced Mrs Tollervey-Jones, who had heard the commotion and come to help. “I’ll not stay, if you’d prefer to be left alone,” she said to Justin.

  “No, no. You’re welcome. I dread being alone, to tell the truth. There’s been a real tragedy here tonight.”

  Mrs T-J busied herself in the kitchen making mugs of hot, sweet tea, saying they were all suffering from shock, though not as much as Justin, of course.

  “Uncle was completely helpless,” said Justin. “He couldn’t get out of the chair. His legs were really damaged when he fell downstairs. Do you know if his death was instantaneous?”

  “Oh yes,” said Mrs T-J, who did not actually know for sure, but did know the answer Justin needed. “And I’ve remembered a very curious thing,” she added.

  “I hope it’s not bad,” said Lois. “We don’t need no more shocks tonight.”

  “No, but very interesting, in the circumstances. I have been thinking about your uncle, Justin. As I told you, Lois, I knew the Pettison family a long time ago, and a similar event came back to me. They were having a garden party—people did in those days—when a swarm of bees arrived and lodged in a mulberry tree. One of the young Pettisons tried to move them out of the garden, and got terribly stung as a result. Apparently he was allergic to bee stings, and lost his life as a result. It might run in families, Justin, so I hope you’ll be careful in the future.”

  “Thanks,” he said, though still overcome at the thought of what his uncle had suffered. “I’m really glad the experts have taken over, and will have moved them out by early tomorrow. So with luck, I should be free of bees for good.”

  Mrs T-J made her excuses and left shortly after this, and Derek said they must be getting back.

  “You go, Derek,” Lois said. “I’ll stay here until morning, to make sure Justin is all right. There could be aftereffects, I’m sure.”

  “Well, all right, but where will you sleep?”

  Justin butted in immediately. “It’s so kind of you, Mrs Meade. You can have my bed, and I’ll wrap up with a rug on the sofa. I feel an absolute weed, but I would be glad to have you nearby until tomorrow. Then I can go to the hospital and make sure I’ve done the right things. I suppose the police will want to see me, and I have some serious thinking to do. I think I’m Uncle’s only living close relative, except for my mother, of course. She’s his sister. So goodnight, Mr Meade, and many thanks.”

  After Derek had gone, Lois said another cup of hot tea would be a good idea for both of them. Justin broke into a pause in the conversation, and said, “Something’s not right, Mrs Meade. Not right at all.”

  “Not right with what?” said Lois. Justin was very pale, and she wondered if he was having a relapse. “Best tell me what you mean,” she said.

  “It’s the half door of the pigsty,” he said. “You know, the padlock holds the bolt in place. The key was definitely in it when I opened the door to let Pettison and his helper go in, and I’m sure I left it there. But when I tried again to pull it open to get Uncle out, there was no key. In the end I tried to get him out of his chair, but he was not responding by that time. That’s why I climbed over the door to get out.”

  “I don’t think he could’ve got out, anyway, Justin. Somebody said he’d lost the use of his legs in the accident.”

  “Yes, that’s what he told me. And I didn’t know what to believe. I thought he could have been using that in order to carry out some plan or other. He always had plans, did Uncle Robert. Some good, some bad.” He covered his face with his hands.

  “Were those bees part of a plan?” asked Lois.

  Justin took his hands away, and looked at her. “We all know the bees were probably the latest in a long line of mostly successful scams,” he said. “I could give you details.”

  “I remember what you told me about your father, but if you want to tell me more, carry on,” said Lois, and fetching a bottle from the kitchen, poured a slug of whiskey into their mugs of tea.

  Fifty-three

  “So you’re back,” said Gran, as Lois came through the door, looking tired and miserable. “And a fine time to come back, I must say.”

  “Oh, give it a rest, Mum. I’m sure Derek has told you what happened.”

  “Yes, he has. And I can’t think of any reason why you should have stayed down there all night long, with only a young man for company.”

  “He was a very sick and unhappy young man,” Lois said, irritation rising. “He had been stung by killer bees, seen his uncle killed by bees of some sort, and was having a bit of a reaction to his own stings. Naturally, I stayed with him. He was better this morning, but I suggested he should go to the hospital to check all was well. Okay?”

  “All right, all right. No need to shout. There was a message earlier for you from your friend Cowgill. He wants to see you at the police station as soon as possible.”

  Derek appeared, and put his arms around Lois. “He can wait,” he said. “This young lady is going straight upstairs to bed with a hot water bottle and a milky drink, and she’s staying there until lunchtime.”

  Gran shrugged. “I’m only the messenger,” she said, “so there’s no need for you to be sharp with me.”

  *

  It was early afternoon by the time Lois drove into Tresham and parked her car behind the police station.

  “I owe you an apology for bothering you so early in the day,” Cowgill said, as soon as she entered his office. “I hadn’t realised you spent the night with an attractive young man.”

  “Not you, too!” said Lois. “Do you want a sensible conversation or not? If not, I’ve got plenty of work to do.”

  “Sorry, my dear. Very unfeeling of me. And, as you know, I wouldn’t upset you for the world. Now, sit down, and we’ll have a chat, if you’re not too tired.”

  “And even if I am, I suspect,” said Lois. “There’s an awful lot I’
ve got to tell you. There was plenty of time for Justin to unburden himself.”

  “Right, let’s begin at the beginning,” he said.

  It was a long tale Lois had to tell, and nobody came out of it very well. Justin had admitted his own involvement in the illegal trade in rare species, but had only touched on that of his father. With luck, he had said, he could rest in peace. He trusted Lois to keep silent, and his mother had spent most of her life keeping silent. “It’s up to you, Cowgill. I expect you knew all about that, anyway?”

  Cowgill nodded. “Of course, in our investigations, we discovered Brookes senior’s part in what had been set up by Pettison, but perhaps on compassionate grounds we shall have no need to make that public, except in our own records. I’m afraid Justin’s part in the whole thing is different. He handled the rare animals and sheltered them until they were passed on. Pettison gave him a cut of his profits. Justin Brookes has broken the law, and will have to go to trial and accept his punishment.”

  “Oh dear, that means Josie will have to find another tenant.”

  “Not difficult, I’m sure. It is a nice little flat, if you don’t know about the reptiles.”

  “Is that a joke? Not funny. Shall I carry on?”

  “Sorry! Yes, please, carry on.”

  “Right. First, Pettison had made a lot of money. It was a lucrative business, and he had built up his private zoo as a result. Everything aboveboard there. Regular inspections found nothing wrong, and in fact it was considered a well-run place, and an asset to the locality. Second, Pettison knew quite well what he was doing in the illegal side of his business. Justin was paid to keep quiet, and only animals that were not rare, or had been bred in captivity, were on show in the zoo. The others were kept out of sight and passed on to customers as quickly as possible. He had quite a mailing list of clients and worked on orders only.”