Fear on Friday (25 page)

“What business?” Lois said, willing Maureen to continue.

Maureen shook her head. “All in the past now. Gone and forgotten. Now, must go, Hazel. See you later. Byee, Mrs. M. Nice to see you.” And she was gone.

Neither Hazel nor Lois spoke for a while. Then Hazel said, “You’d like to know what the business with Susanna was, I suppose?”

Lois nodded.

“Leave it to me,” Hazel said.

As Lois came out of the office and went towards her car, she saw the door of Rain or Shine open, and a man emerged. He looked across the road, and stared at her. Then he jumped in the green Audi, and drove off quickly. Lois would’ve lost her bet. It was Ken Slater.

T
HE
J
ACOBS
‘
HOUSE WAS SET BACK FROM THE ROAD
,
ON
the edge of the village. A high beech hedge gave it privacy, and as Lois turned into the curving drive she saw well-maintained gardens and an elderly man in blue overalls working in a flower bed. All this was so different from Bridie’s semi-detached and Sheila’s farm cottage, that Lois wondered if, after all, hiring Susanna had been a mistake from the first. Mrs. Jacob was apparently Sheila’s sister, the one who’d married above her station. Lois chuckled.

She parked round the back, and knocked at the kitchen door. She could see a middle-aged woman, who bore a close resemblance to Sheila, busy with a mixing bowl on the table, and when she saw Lois, an odd look crossed her face. She came to the door at once, and apologised for floury hands.

“Susanna? Oh, she’s still in bed, I’m afraid, Mrs. Meade. I don’t advise seeing her, as the doctor said this flu bug is very infectious.”

“I’ll risk it,” Lois said bluntly.

“Oh, well … Well, if you’ll just come through and wait in the sitting room, I’ll pop up and see if she’s awake.”

“Thank you,” said Lois, and followed her through to the front of the house. She noticed that Mrs. Jacob shut the door of the sitting room behind her, and when she heard footsteps going upstairs, she quickly and silently opened it again. Standing very still, she heard voices, one of them Susanna’s, sounding alarmed. Then there was scuffling and the thud of shoes being dropped on the floor above.

“I think she’s just waking up,” said Mrs. Jacob, reappearing. “If you’re sure you want to …?”

“Quite sure,” Lois said, and followed her to a long landing, thickly carpeted, and with several bedroom doors firmly shut. Mrs. Jacob paused at one standing ajar, and said softly, “Are you awake, darling? Mrs. Meade is here to see you.”

“Thanks,” said Lois, and walked firmly past her and into the room.

It was a little girl’s room, all frills and flowers, with photographs of Susanna at all stages of her girlhood. Very sporty, Lois noted. Hockey, tennis, swimming—all were fully represented, with Susanna holding trophies and shields and always with a glowing smile at the camera. A big strong girl, then.

In the bed, duvet pulled up halfway across her face, was Susanna. She looked flushed, and peered through half-closed eyes at Lois. “Mrs. M, you shouldn’t have, it’s a rotten bug.”

“So your mother said,” Lois replied. “But you should be on the mend by now. We’re very pushed for staff, and I’d like some idea of when you’re coming back. Have you seen a doctor?”

Susanna shook her head, and Lois wondered when, in that case, a doctor had told Mrs. Jacob the bug was very infectious.

“I’m very sorry,” Susanna muttered. “How’s Mrs. Jenkinson getting on? Is Bill back with her?”

Lois shook her head. “I’m filling in at the moment. But
I can’t do that for long. Anyway, I’d like you to see a doctor, and let me know a date when you’ll be back on duty. I’ll leave you to sleep now.”

She walked to the door, and then turned back suddenly. Susanna had moved in the bed, and the duvet slipped to one side. Lois saw she was wearing jeans and a cotton sweater. Anger flooded in, and she snapped, “No wonder you look hot! You’d better carry on with what you were doing, and we’ll talk again later.”

She marched past Mrs. Jacob, and through to her car, slamming the kitchen door behind her. “That’s it, then!” she muttered as she drove off. “No more Susanna Jacob.” Then it occurred to her that this might well be exactly what Susanna wanted, and she thought again.

T
HERE WAS A MESSAGE WAITING FOR HER AT HOME
. I
T
was from Miss Beasley at Ringford. “This is Miss Ivy Beasley here. Your Bill has said you’re thinking of sending that Susanna Jacob instead of him. I won’t have that. It’s either your Bill, or nobody, and I’ll manage with Doris’s help.”

Poor Doris! Lois thought. But she was puzzled. She had not mentioned sending Susanna to Miss Beasley, nor had thought of doing so. What made Bill say that? She would have to have a word. But first to answer Miss Beasley. She dialled the number and steeled herself for a barrage of complaint.

“Ah, Mrs. Meade. What have you got to say?”

“Bill was wrong,” Lois said firmly. “He will continue to help you until you don’t need him any more.”

“Right!” That was all. The phone went dead, and Lois stared at the receiver with eyebrows raised. “Well, Miss Beasley, that was easy,” she said, and prepared to get hold of Bill.

There was no reply from his home, and his mobile was on answerphone. “Give me a call, please, Bill,” Lois said, and rang off.

She went through to the kitchen, where Gran was cooking. “Good smells,” Lois said.

“You hungry?” Gran asked. Her daughter was often an enigma to her, but she stoically carried on holding the family together, providing for their material needs with good home cooking, immaculate ironing, and a plentiful supply of homespun philosophy.

“Mmm.” Lois smiled ingratiatingly at her mother.

Gran cut a large piece of the cake cooling on a rack, and made a cup of milky coffee. “Here,” she said, “this’ll keep you going—whatever it is you’re doing.”

“Running a cleaning business, of course,” Lois said, with wide, innocent eyes.

“And some,” Gran said. “Well, you can’t put a quart into a pint pot, so just remember not to overload your plate.”

“Blimey,” Lois said. “Our minds are on food and drink this afternoon, I can see. Mmm, this cake is gorgeous!” She bit into the light chocolate sponge, and wondered how she would cope without her mother. She’d have to give up something but no need to think about that yet.

“Did you find out anything about Susanna Jacob?” she said, knowing that Gran would never bring up the subject without being asked.

“Not much. I did speak to my old friend Olive in Tresham. Biggest gossip under the sun.”

“So what did she say?”

“She knew more’n she said. Looked at me a bit sideways, and then tut-tutted, and said some people who had more money than sense wasted it on giving girls a posh upbringing an’ all that, and then look what happened! In her day, she said, girls were taught how to cook and sew, and catch a husband.”

“What else?” Lois held her breath, hoping her mother wouldn’t remember that she never gossiped.

“Nothing … well, she did add that at least Susanna had had the right idea about catching a husband, but she didn’t even make a good job of that.”

“Meaning?”

Gran shrugged. “Anything you’d like it to mean, I suppose. Now, I must get on. I expect you’ve got work to do.”

End of conversation. Lois retired to her office to think. Her concentration was broken after a few minutes by the sight of a green Audi driving slowly along the High Street, and pulling up outside Hornton House. Lois moved to the window and shielded herself from view behind the curtain. Talk about lace curtains! she said to herself. Must be a real busybody villager at last. But she stayed still and watched. The car door opened, and once more Lois had guessed wrongly. It was not Jean, but Ken Slater. He was soberly dressed in a good grey suit, his thinning hair brushed neatly back, and a document case under his arm. An anonymous, perfectly respectable caller for Doreen Jenkinson. Could have been the tax man or a Jehovah’s Witness. But it was Ken Slater, and he looked up and down the street before darting into the front garden of Hornton House and ringing the bell. In seconds, he had vanished inside, leaving Lois to speculate what he could be doing, calling on his wife’s best friend in the middle of the afternoon, when he should be hard at work in the Tourist Office.

D
OREEN WAS WEARING HIGH HEELS
, K
EN NOTED HAPPILY
as he followed her through to the kitchen. She trailed expensive perfume as she walked, and he sniffed appreciatively.

“Your usual?” Doreen said, turning to smile at him warmly. He nodded, and moved towards her. “How’s my girl today?” he said. “Still sad?” As he put his arms around her plump waist, he felt her laughter bubbling up.

“Oh, yes,” she said, “still heartbroken!”

L
OIS FINALLY HAD A CALL FROM
B
ILL
,
WHO APOLOGISED
for being out of touch. “Tricky job with an old Labrador at the surgery,” he said.

“All right, was it?” Lois was sympathetic.

Bill coughed, and said, “ ‘Fraid not. Poor old fella snuffed it. He was a good age, but his owner went to pieces. She was a good age herself. Sometimes it’s very sad, Lois.”

But Bill would be a good strong shoulder to cry on, Lois was sure. “Can you spare a moment for me to ask a question?” she said kindly. He sounded upset himself, and her irritation with him had quickly evaporated. “Sure,” he said. “What is it?”

Lois explained about the call from Miss Beasley, and asked why he’d said she was considering sending Susanna. “What?!” he said. “Nothing like that came from me.” Then he paused. “Wait a minute,” he said. “I did mention that she would be back on duty soon. That was all. The old thing must have put two and two together and made five. Did you sort her out?”

“Yes, that was easy enough. I do want you to stay there until Miss Beasley is able to cope. I just wonder now why she reacted so strongly? I remember she and her friend Doris knew the Jacob family—weren’t they Doris’s solicitors?”

“Don’t know, I’m afraid, Mrs. M. Ivy asked me who the other cleaners were, and I mentioned Susanna.”

“Well, bring the subject up next time you go. Miss Beasley made one of her remarks when I saw her—hinting at something, but nothing definite. You might coax some more out of her.”

“Why are you so interested in Susanna, Mrs. M?” Bill knew he wouldn’t get much of an answer, but it was worth a try. Lois hesitated, then said, “Because there is something lurking about in her past, and I need to know what it is. There’s some connection with the Jenkinsons, and I intend to ferret it out. For the good of New Brooms, of course. I’ll need your help, Bill, so do your best. Now, must go. Why don’t you have a couple of pints at the pub tonight to cheer you up? Derek will be there, so I’ll tell him to watch out for a gloomy-looking young vet. Bye.”

Perhaps I should go over and see Miss Beasley again myself, Lois thought. But then she knew she would not be welcome. No, Bill was well in there. He would be the one to winkle salty titbits out of Ivy, if anyone could. Well, what about Doris Ashbourne? She seemed pleasant enough. Yes, she would see if she could have a casual word with Doris next time she passed through Ringford.

Meanwhile, what was Ken Slater up to? Lois had kept an eye on his car, and it had been outside Hornton House for at least a couple of hours. The school bus had been and gone. Josie had telephoned to ask if Gran could hold the fort while she went round to the village hall for a quick look at the WI Bring and Buy Sale. Derek, too, had rung and said he’d be a bit late, as he wanted to put the finishing touches to a job. And still the green Audi stood silently outside Hornton House. But when Lois closed her computer and stood up to have a last look out of the window, it was gone.
Ah well, what was she expecting to see? Ken Slater being thrown out with his trousers round his ankles? Lois chuckled, and went through to the kitchen to put the kettle on.

T
HE
A
UDI DID NOT GO FAR
. A
FTER A FEW HUNDRED
yards, down a side road, it came to a halt again, this time outside the Forsyths, and Ken went in, once more looking carefully to right and left.