7 Sorrow on Sunday
Page 26
“So what about them twins? Joe Horsley’s nephews?” Dot continued. “The Colonel and Horsley thought I eavesdropped on their telephone conversation, didn’t they? Well, I did hear ’em talking, and twins was mentioned. But I never made much sense of it, so they needn’t’ve bothered to ’ave me run down.”
“They’re Joe’s nephews,” Lois answered. “They had a rotten home, so Margaret said. Mother a tart, and no father around. One of ’em had been in trouble before. Vicious, apparently. They’ll get what they deserve, I hope.”
“Don’t bet on it,” said Dot. “When you been teeterin’ on the edge of the law as long as I have, you can’t bank on anything.” She sighed again, and then her expression brightened. “Drink up, Mrs. M, and we’ll ’ave a second. Tomorrow’s another day, my Handy used to say. Only thing he was ever right about,” she added, laughing wholeheartedly.
POSTSCRIPT
IT WAS THE LAST POINT-TO-POINT OF THE SEASON AT Beecham Cross. Warm sunshine lit up the still-fresh greens of the surrounding woods, and the crowds had blossomed forth in light colours and shirt sleeves. A perfect day, and this time Lois was not in a wheelchair. She and Derek walked up to the row of bookies, trying to decide which of them looked the most trustworthy. They decided on Trusty Clarkham, who smiled encouragingly at them.
Josie and Rob had come with them, but wandered off on their own. Lois wondered how long it would be before they decided to get married, and perhaps make her a granny. Derek said that dropping hints would only make them determined to put it off. But Lois had noticed a slight cooling off in her daughter’s attitude to Rob, and wondered if, in Gran’s words, they’d “gorn past it.”
“Well, come on then,” she said. “We must have a bet on this race, whatever else happens.”
The loudspeaker boomed, and a crackling voice said, “Now we come to the Ladies’ Race for the Darren Smith Memorial Trophy, which is kindly sponsored by Mrs. Blanche Battersby.”
Lois and Derek watched the race holding hands, clutching tight. When the winner was led into the enclosure, Lois cheered loudly as Mrs. Smith, accompanied by Blanche, walked with dignity into the ring. She greeted a beaming Floss Pickering and presented the trophy to her. Instead of shaking hands, Mrs. Smith gave her a hug, and Lois reached into her pocket for a tissue.
“Very satisfactory,” said a friendly voice behind Lois and Derek. It was Hunter Cowgill, looking the part in his tweed jacket and tobacco-brown felt hat.
Derek nodded, but without smiling. Lois considered whether to suggest asking Mrs. Smith just how satisfactory it was. But she didn’t. It was not the time to spoil a proud moment, and she patted Cowgill lightly on the arm. “A good result . . . for some,” she said, and added that they must be off to find Josie and Rob.
Cowgill watched them as they walked away, and then with a seraphic smile looked down at his arm. “She touched me,” he said. “See you soon, Lois.”
Don’t miss the next Lois Meade Mystery
WARNING AT ONE
Available November 2008
from Berkley Prime Crime!