by Ann Purser
Titles by Ann Purser
Lois Meade Mysteries
MURDER ON MONDAY
TERROR ON TUESDAY
WEEPING ON WEDNESDAY
THEFT ON THURSDAY
FEAR ON FRIDAY
SECRETS ON SATURDAY
SORROW ON SUNDAY
WARNING AT ONE
TRAGEDY AT TWO
THREATS AT THREE
FOUL PLAY AT FOUR
FOUND GUILTY AT FIVE
SCANDAL AT SIX
SUSPICION AT SEVEN
Ivy Beasley Mysteries
THE HANGMAN’S ROW ENQUIRY
THE MEASBY MURDER ENQUIRY
THE WILD WOOD ENQUIRY
THE SLEEPING SALESMAN ENQUIRY
THE BLACKWOODS FARM ENQUIRY
THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP
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Copyright © 2014 by Ann Purser.
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eBook ISBN: 978-1-101-58983-0
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Purser, Ann.
Suspicion at seven / Ann Purser.—First edition.
pages ; cm.—(Lois meade mystery ; 7)
ISBN 978-0-425-26178-1 (hardcover)
1. Meade, Lois (Fictitious character)—Fiction. 2. Murder—Investigation—Fiction. 3. England—Fiction. I. Title.
PR6066.U758S87 2014
823'.914—dc23
2014031990
FIRST EDITION: December 2014
Cover illustration by Griesbach/Martucci.
Cover design by George Long.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Version_1
Grateful thanks to Sally, who grew up in a bakehouse, and has many wonderful memories, and to Lydia, who is an expert on many things including pyramid selling.
Contents
Titles by Ann Purser
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
CHAPTER FORTY
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
CHAPTER FIFTY
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE
CHAPTER SIXTY
CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE
CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO
CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE
CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR
EPILOGUE
ONE
Lois Meade, businesswoman and unpaid amateur detective, sat on the low wall of the millpond and watched the flow of water in the tailrace, where ducks and drakes were flapping about in the antics of courtship. It was spring, and love was in the air. Oddly enough, murder was also in the air.
Murder in Brigham, a small picturesque village, was shocking for all its inhabitants, and especially those near to the scene of the crime, the Mill House Hotel, a beautiful restoration of the old mill house and working machinery.
Lois, living in nearby Long Farnden, was particularly concerned, as her long-term interest was working with the legendary Inspector Hunter Cowgill in solving crime puzzles that took her fancy. She and Cowgill had a good working relationship, and though Cowgill was smitten long ago with her lovely smile, sharp tongue and long and shapely legs, Lois kept him at a suitable distance with ease.
Occasionally, Cowgill would wonder what he would do if Lois returned his passion, but acknowledged to himself that common sense would prevail and it would be he who backed off.
Lois was happily married, had three grown-up offspring and ran her own cleaning service, nattily entitled New Brooms, with “We Sweep Cleaner” added on the side of her van. Now she looked over at Brigham Bakery, still with its old bread oven and flour bins lining the bakehouse walls. Here Aurora Black made bread with flour from the mill, and in the old way baked beautifully crusty loaves for sale to customers, some from the Mill House Hotel, and most to the locals who knew a good loaf when they tasted one.
She and Lois were good friends, both of an age and both successful businesswomen. New Brooms cleaned the bakery, and Lois bought all her bread from Aurora.
Aurora’s husband, Donald, dealt in jewellery, costume jewellery of little value but plenty of sparkle, which he hawked around the country and sold in pyramid parties, including one or two a year in the Mill House Hotel.
Donald was small in stature and wore built-up shoes to give himself extra height. He was inordinately proud of his glossy black hair. Blacky had been his nickname at school, but, fortunately, he was stocky and strong, and could fight his corner with total success.
Aurora, now punishing a large crock full of bread dough, was a natural blonde, and several inches taller than Donald. Being a sensitive soul, she did not possess a single pair o
f high-heeled stilettos in her entire wardrobe.
Her arms and hands were beautiful in the powerful action of kneading, and now, catching sight of Lois by the pond, she decided the dough had the necessary elasticity, and she put it aside to prove. “Bread Baked by Hand” was her shop’s slogan, and as a result, her output was not huge. She had a long waiting list of potential customers wanting to join her orders list.
Lois, who was early for an appointment to see a new client for her cleaning business, walked across the road and into the bakery shop to say hello.
“Morning, Aurora,” she said, kissing her floury cheek. “Any bread left?”
“Your usual, yep. Did you want extra?”
“If you’ve got a large stone-ground wholemeal, that would be great.”
The bread was fresh out of the oven, still warm, and Lois resisted the temptation to break off a crust and eat it then and there.
“Donald doing all right?” she said, hoping Aurora would say he was out. She had never been able to like her friend’s husband, finding him shifty, flirty and too anxious to please.
“Yes, thanks. He’s got a jewellery party in your village next week. Six thirty in Farnden village hall. Spread the word.” She pulled a small poster from under the counter. “Would your Josie put this up in her shop?”
“Natch,” said Lois. “And how’s your Milly? She must be nearing her finals, isn’t she?”
Aurora nodded. “She’s on the heart ward at the moment. All drama is there, according to her!”
“She’s a lovely girl,” said Lois. “Deserves to do well.”
Milly was the only child of Donald and Aurora. She was small, with large brown eyes and an almost permanent smile for everyone. She had wanted to be a nurse since she was five, when Aurora had rummaged in the attic and found a nurse’s uniform from her own childhood.
“She hopes to come home for a weekend very soon, so perhaps we’ll come over and cadge a coffee. And what’s new in Farnden?” said Aurora. “This village is buzzing with the latest here. A poor woman found dead in the bed in the hotel. Cause not yet known. A nasty business on our doorstep, and many of my customers are upset and nervous about what might happen next. Anyway, rumour is rife, as they say.”
* * *
The fresh green of new leaves gladdens the heart, thought Lois, and as she drove home from Brigham, through dappled sunlight in tree-lined lanes, she thought how lucky she was to live here in the middle of England in a county as yet undiscovered by colonies of London commuters.
Long Farnden and Meade House were eight miles from Brigham, and Lois meant to call in at her daughter’s village shop back home. Josie and her husband, Matthew, along with her brothers Douglas and Jamie, completed Lois’s family, not forgetting her husband, Derek, and mother, Elsie “Gran” Weedon.
Meade House in Long Farnden had belonged to a village doctor, long since retired, and though the young ones had all flown the nest, Lois’s mother, known by most as Gran, lived with them and regarded herself as indispensable to the running of the household.
* * *
“Morning, Mum,” said Josie, as Lois climbed the steps into the shop and picked up the local paper. “How’s everything?”
“Everything’s fine,” said Lois. She handed over the flyer advertising the jewellery party. “Would you put this up for Aurora Black’s husband? It’s one of his bling parties.”
“Bling, eh? What a modern mum!”
“What I really mean is sparkly rubbish. Still, I hope he does well for Aurora’s sake.” She did not add that Donald Black was a charmer who could sell his own grandmother, and had a reputation for using his away parties as excuse for carrying on with a pretty woman.
Lois opened out the newspaper and scanned the columns.
“What are you looking for?” said Josie.
“Something Aurora said this morning. Some woman apparently found dead in bed in the Mill House Hotel, opposite the bakery.”
“And you thought it might be a juicy one for Lois Meade, private detective?”
Lois shrugged. “Who knows?” she said. “You might hear something from Matthew, anyway.”
Cowgill’s nephew, Matthew Vickers, a young policeman and Josie’s new husband, had been useful to Cowgill on a number of cases.
“What’s the woman called, or don’t we know? Police making enquiries an’ all that?” asked Josie.
Lois nodded. “Aurora didn’t have any details, so I thought it might be in this week’s local newspaper. Yes, look, here’s something on it.” She turned the paper round so that Josie behind the counter could also see it.
“‘Woman dead in bed,’” read Josie. “Sounds like the title of a book. No, there’s not much here. She arrived the day before, apparently. Why don’t you ring Uncle Hunter and then we can all know the gory details from the horse’s mouth?”
“You know perfectly well,” said Lois stiffly, “that anything I learn from Inspector Hunter Cowgill about police work is strictly confidential. You know that from your Matthew. And anyway, she might have died from a stroke, or something equally innocent.”
“Well said, Mum,” said a deep voice at the open door of the shop. It was Douglas, Lois’s firstborn, and a solid citizen of Tresham.
“Hi, Doug,” said Josie, and Lois gave him a peck on the cheek. “What brings you to Farnden this morning?” she said.
“Oh, nothing much. I was on my way to Waltonby and thought I’d stop by and say hello.”
“Come up to the house and have a coffee with me and Gran. Your father may still be at home.” Derek was an electrician, and his own boss.
Douglas nodded, and as another two customers had arrived, Lois waved to Josie, shouted to her that Aurora and Milly might be over at the weekend, and started off with Douglas up the rise to Meade House.
TWO
Gran, standing at the Rayburn and testing a cake with a skewer, saw Lois and Douglas go by the window and waved, delighted to see her grandson.
“Give your old gran a kiss then,” she said, as they came into the kitchen. Douglas gave her an affectionate hug, and sat down at the large table.
“You staying for lunch, boy?” she said.
The three sat around the table and talked of family concerns for a while, and then Lois asked if Douglas had heard anything about the woman found dead in bed at the Mill House Hotel.
“Only what you mentioned in Josie’s shop,” Douglas said, and Gran shook her head.
Lois showed them the newspaper, and Gran tut-tutted. “Sounds like a crime of passion,” she said. “Or she could have forgotten to take her pills,” she added. “I know if I were sleeping in a strange bed, which, God forbid, I would be out of my usual routine and probably even forget to wash me face.”
The phone rang, and Lois jumped up quickly to answer it in her office. New Brooms was a busy concern, and with six cleaners and at least forty regular clients, the office was a hive of activity.
* * *
“Hello? Who’s that?”
“Inspector Cowgill for you, Mrs. Meade. Just putting you through.”
“Lois, my dear, how are you this bright day?”
“Fine, thanks. What do you want?”
Cowgill resisted the impulse to tell her that she was the thing he wanted most in the world, and said that he had a new case which might interest her. He would appreciate her help.
“That poor woman found dead in bed in the Mill House Hotel?”
“Exactly,” said Cowgill. “It’s not as bald and straightforward as it seemed at first. Could I call and have a talk?”
“Police business?”
“Of course, Lois dear. I’ll be with you at five.”
Lois put down the phone and smiled. Good old Cowgill. He was semiretired, but seemed to do as much as he always had. He had a terrific reputation with the force, and they were happy to keep
him on. His nephew, Matthew, was rising through the ranks, but Cowgill was careful to avoid any suspicion of nepotism.
Back in the kitchen, where Gran had made coffee, Lois said it had been a New Brooms call, and she would be having a visitor this afternoon. She hoped to get to the front door before Gran, but it was a forlorn hope.
“A new client?” said Douglas.
“What visitor?” asked Gran.
“Oh, all right then. Not New Brooms. It’s Inspector Cowgill, wanting to talk about that woman dead in bed at the Mill House Hotel. Now, let’s change the subject. How’s the tiddlers, Dougie?”
“Fine, Mum. They’re good little chaps, and Susie knows how to handle them.”
“Love ’em and leave ’em alone; that was my policy,” said Gran.
“Mum! It was ‘Spare the rod and spoil the child,’ if I remember rightly!” said Lois.
“Must be off now,” said Douglas, sensing an argument. “Let me know, Mum, if you need an assistant.”
“She already has one, though God alone knows why she has to choose a batty old woman. Mrs. Tollervey-Jones, of all people!”
“I’m already used to batty old women,” said Lois with a smile, and added she would see Douglas to his car and give her small white terrier, Jemima (aka Jeems), a bit of a walk.
* * *
“Hello, Uncle Hunter! How can I help you?” Josie greeted Matthew’s inspector uncle with a peck on the cheek. “Business call, or an afternoon off and here to see the family?”
Cowgill looked at her, so like Lois and equally lovely. “I’m here to see your mother, but couldn’t pass without saying hello. And, of course, to ask if you’ve heard any useful talk in the shop.”
“About the woman in the Mill House Hotel? Oh yes, most of the old tabs who congregate in here on pension day, they had plenty to say this morning. One of them said she was a high-class fancy woman who usually turns up with a man. The same man every time. But this time she was on her own.”
“How did this woman know that?”
“Son works for the hotel, in the bar. You lot have already interviewed him, so I’m not telling you anything new. Though there was one other woman who said she thought she knew who the man was, though it was all highly confidential. She looked embarrassed, as if she wished she hadn’t said anything.”
