Lois Meade 14 - Suspicion at Seven (20 page)

C
owgill called as planned to check that Lois was all right, and to see what she had gleaned from her conversation with Aurora.

“Well, you seem to have everything in hand,” she said, “so there’s not a lot of ferretin’ for me to do, is there?”

She did not admit to Cowgill that there was actually a lot more ferretin’, and not far from home. In spite of all Aurora’s unburdening, she felt strongly there was more to discover.

“I am sure Derek and Gran would heartfeltly agree! We have no idea yet who strangled Sylvia Fountain or put Donald Black into the water at the Mill House Hotel.”

Cowgill raised his eyebrows. “Correct, my dear, but we are much further along the road to finding out. Now, I must go and let you get on.” He stroked Jemima with an elegant hand. Good fingernails, Lois noticed. And a gentle touch. She shook herself. Quite enough of that, Lois Meade! she said to herself, and opened the office door to let Jeems trot back to the kitchen.

*   *   *

While Lois and Cowgill were in close conference, Gloria was also making headway. But she was operating alone, and was beginning to wish she had someone to talk to about what she had discovered. She had the deal made with Lois Meade, but she wasn’t sure she trusted her. Too pally with that Cowgill. But, in the end, she realised, she would need police cooperation to bring the perpetrator to justice.

Sylvia had been asleep fully dressed when strangled. Gloria was sure about that. Her cousin was a big girl, and had always been the sporty one. She had even tossed the caber on a visit to Scotland one year! She would have found it easy to beat off any attacker if she was awake.

Unless she had been knocked out first? Physically knocked out, or with some kind of anaesthetic! That must be it. The silver necklace was perhaps already worn by Sylvia. The strangulation could have been an intended distraction. How could she find out? Only by asking someone who had been in on the results of the postmortem. Lois Meade? She was close to Inspector Cowgill, who would surely have had all the information to hand.

She took out her mobile and dialled Lois’s number.

“Damn, she’s not there!” she said and left a message saying she would ring again later.

J
oan and Elsie had booked their jewellery party over at Mrs. Prentise’s for two days, and now, with everything necessary to make things go with a swing, all except for the jewellery itself, they set out at nine o’clock in the morning ready for anything.

Lois had agreed that she and Derek would take all the jewels over tomorrow, so that there would be no worries about safety overnight. Lois would not admit it, but she was glad Derek had agreed to accompany her, even though he kept up a kind of mantra stressing that this was the last time anybody in his family had anything to do with this foolish venture.

“Two elderly ladies,” he had said at the breakfast table this morning, “with one reluctant daughter and a small white dog. You’d not be a match for anyone if there was trouble.”

“I fail to see how we could be in trouble in a crowded private house, where our jewellery is cheap and cheerful and when a police constable in uniform just happens to be around, ostensibly to buy a birthday present for his wife.”

“You mean Matthew?” Derek could not believe that Lois and Gran could possibly have organised their own personal police presence. He supposed that Cowgill must have something to do with it. He knew, regretfully, that Lois could wind the inspector round her little finger.

“Yes, I mean Matthew, and his boss knows all about it,” Lois said, reading his mind.

“Nevertheless, I intend to go with you tomorrow,” he said. “Are you following Joan and Elsie over this morning?”

“I said I would call in a bit later. I have one or two calls to make, and admin to attend to. I promised to take them a sandwich lunch and stay on for a bit. You will want to swell the ranks of our bodyguard tomorrow, I suppose?”

“Lois, provided you agree that this is the last foolish enterprise that anyone in my family is involved in, then I will give up going to Tresham to follow my favourite team and come with you. That’s how seriously I take this whole business.”

Lois kissed him lightly on the cheek. “You’ve forgotten something,” she said.

“Don’t raise my hopes,” he said, putting his arms around her.

“No, silly. I’m thinking of Gran. She never tires of telling us that she is connected only by marriage—ours—and her name is Elsie Weedon, and not Meade. And that means that she is not under your jurisdiction. Her own boss, in other words. But as always, we shall do our best to keep her safe.”

*   *   *

After a chat with Hazel in town, and visiting a couple of potential New Brooms clients, Lois walked round to a big barn building at the back of the Prentises’ house in Fletching. This barn had been generally smartened up where for ten years or so Mrs. Prentise had run an art gallery. This had been very useful for moving on stuff, but she had tired of it and wound up the business.

Lois found Mrs. Prentise, Gran and Joan, and Gloria Prentise, all sitting with plates on their laps, helping themselves to assorted sandwiches and coffee from an elegant trolley.

“Come in, Mrs. Meade!” said Mrs. Prentise. “We are taking a lunch break. Please take a plate and help yourself. There’s plenty for all. Mrs. Black at the bakery prepared a spread for us, and will be coming back to clear away the debris. I must say I am very relieved to see her back home safe and well. Don’t you agree, Gloria?”

So much for my ham rolls and pickle, thought Lois, and put them back in her bag. Mrs. Prentise turned to her daughter, who was handing around small strawberry tartlets.

“Oh yeah,” said Gloria. “We’re delighted to see her back, aren’t we, Mrs. Meade?”

Having got Lois’s attention, she winked at her and beckoned her towards the kitchen.

“What’s the secret?” Lois was not at all sure she wanted to be seen cosying up to a Prentise, but Gloria said she had had serious thoughts about the actual murder of her cousin Sylvia. She realised that when she was killed, it was not actually with the necklace as weapon. That, she said, was an attempt at a cover-up, and, so far as Gloria could discover, it had worked.

“Sylvia could easily have seen off any attack on her. No, I reckon she was killed in some other way, then put into the bed and the necklace tightened to look like strangulation.”

“Are you sure about that?” Lois felt a shiver down her spine. This was a very plausible explanation, and one which had not perhaps been expected to emerge. The necklace was the obvious one. Full stop. “I suppose the only way of checking is to find out what the postmortem produced. And that means asking.”

“Exactly,” said Gloria. “And you are well in with top-cop Cowgill. Can you ask him, and let me know? He’d never talk to me, nor do I want him to. But you are the best person for the job. So when can you see him?”

“Hey, hold on a minute. I need to do some thinking. Then, if I think it is appropriate, I will contact him.”

Gloria looked at her and shrugged. “No need to be so stuffy, Lois. I bet you cannot even spell ‘appropriate’! Still, beggars can’t be choosers, so I’ll wait to hear from you.”

Lois roared with laughter. “I deserved that,” she said finally. “And thanks for letting me know what you think really happened. Does it seem possible that Sylvia had gone to sleep and so wasn’t alert enough to know what was happening to her, especially if she had gone to bed
wearing
the necklace? I remember she was found fully dressed.”

Mrs. Prentise looked at the two returning, and raised her eyebrows. “What are you two up to, Gloria?” she said.

Before Lois could reply, Gran answered for her. “Checking on Floss’s work around the house, I expect,” she said. “My daughter is most particular about the standard of New Brooms work. All well, Lois?”

“Yes, Mum, thanks. Floss is very reliable, as are all my girls.”

“I understand you have a young man also on your books? Working on a new colour scheme for the hotel in Brigham? I may have some such interior decor for him, when he’s available.” Mrs. Prentise dabbed the corners of her lips to remove any traces of cream.

“Fine,” said Lois. “I’ll send him over to see you at your convenience. And thanks. Andrew is very good at keeping separate the two strings to his bow!”

*   *   *

After Joan, Gran and Lois had finished and gone home, Gloria was left with her mother. They collapsed into deep armchairs and sipped a long gin and tonic. “Ice and slice,” said Mrs. Prentise. “Very restoring. I wonder who thought up that irritating name for it. G & T was what we used to call it. Very sophisticated, we all thought! Now, what were you and Lois Meade plotting in the kitchen?”

“I’m sick of plotting,” Gloria said carefully. “We are no nearer discovering who killed Sylvia. The one person who we know might have had a motive was her precious Donald. Donald! What an idiot he was. But cruel, too. I know he and Sylvia weren’t getting on too well. That Aurora Black must have known what was going on. They weren’t particularly good at concealing it, and most of the village of Brigham knew. I don’t like to think it, but Sylvia could have tried to blackmail him. Perhaps he wanted to give her up and she was desperate? Or, more likely, the other way round. She wanted to give him up, and they had a fight that went wrong.”

“Well, I’ll say this once, Gloria. We only think we know who killed Sylvia. She was killed before Donald died, and he could well have wanted her permanently out of the way for a reason such as you just mentioned. Be very careful if you are getting too involved. Two cruel and wicked murders is enough.”

“Thanks, Mother. But don’t forget Donald apparently had a dodgy alibi. At least, I think it was dodgy. Usual thing—bribe a friend to sleep in your bed with covers over his head, while you scarper down the motorway. So I will be careful. Not sure about Lois Meade. I’ll keep a close eye on her.”

W
hen Lois was back in her office in Meade House, she began to think seriously about obtaining the results of the postmortem on Sylvia Fountain’s body. She switched on her computer and entered ‘postmortem.’” Amazing!” she said aloud, and then, “Disgusting!”

The number of results included ancient photographs of bodies in all states of completeness, and very touching ones—mostly Victorian—of whole families posing for the camera with a tiny, beautifully dressed baby in a coffin, surrounded by its living brothers and sisters.

Of course, she thought to herself, babies nowadays can survive most things, but in those days it was very different. Big families were the norm, with some of their number not expected to live to adulthood. Pneumonia took off many, she knew, from her own grandmother, who had lost two, one boy and one girl, in babyhood.

Not wanting to read or look at more, she narrowed her search to instructions on what happens when a postmortem is requested. When she came to the paragraph where it said that a close member of the family could ask for results of the autopsy, she stood up from her desk, yelling, “Yes, of course! Gloria!”

But would a cousin count as close family? She reckoned that if there were no other closer living relatives, Gloria would stand a good chance. She picked up her phone and dialled. “Hi! Gloria? Lois here. It’s not Gloria? Well, where is she, and what are you doing with her phone? She’s in the shower? Oh, sorry, Mrs. Prentise. Yes, of course I’ll hold on.”

After a minute or two, Gloria came on the phone, and listened to Lois’s revelation. “My goodness,” she said. “Fancy you discovering that! I’ll get on to the coroner’s office straightaway.”

“Can I come, too?” said Lois. “I might not be able to be with you when you get the information, but you can tell me at once so as not to forget anything. We really need details, Gloria.”

“I’ll get back to you. Cheers.”

Lois sat back in her chair, and thought of all the questions Gloria would need to ask. And then she grinned to herself.

Who would have thought that she would be in partnership with Gorgeous Gloria? She began to type.

She had no sooner begun to formulate questions than her phone rang, and it was Inspector Cowgill.

“Good day, Lois, my dear. How are we?”

“I don’t know about you, but I am absolutely fine.”

“Really! So something special has happened, has it?”

“Yes, and don’t ask me what it is, because it is a secret.”

“We deal in secrets, here in the police station. I’m all ears. And if you won’t tell me, I shall be forced to have you brought in here in chains for a good old-fashioned grilling!”

“No chance,” said Lois. “But I promise to tell you, if you promise to help us. Me and Gloria.”

“Lois, um, I hate to ask, but have you been celebrating something? You sound very pixillated.”

“Don’t speak to me of pixies! Sounds more like you’ve been on the bottle.”

“That word means excited. And I’ll look forward to hearing from you after you’ve had a strong black coffee. You and Gloria—Prentise, I presume?”

“Do you promise to use your influence for us?” said Lois. But Cowgill had gone, and Lois realised that her attempt at corrupting a serving police officer had failed.

Next she redialled Gloria, and reported back, and then said she was to let her, Lois, know immediately when she had a yes or no from the coroner’s office.

“Okay. Will do. But I have been thinking. Supposing a body gets cremated; won’t that get rid of any physical evidence of what was responsible for the death?”

“It says here that if a body is sent for an inquest, by doctor or police, there can be no burial or cremation until it is released by the coroner.”

“Well, we didn’t hear nothing about being present at an inquest, if there was one.”

“No layperson is allowed to be at an inquest, but you can be represented. Are you sure there wasn’t someone closer to her than you?”

Gloria then went into a long tale of how that branch of her family had slowly dropped off the perch, one by one, and some not by any means willingly. This reminded Lois of the criminal background of the Prentises, and she hoped that Gloria would not be regarded as an unreliable witness, when needed.

“Right,” she said. “Thanks, Gloria. Let’s see how you get on. I don’t think my friend Cowgill is going to be much help to us. But I can always try. Good hunting, then.”

She put down the phone, and it immediately started to ring again. It was the inspector again, and he said in a serious voice that Lois should be very careful about banding together with Gloria Prentise.

“I don’t have to remind you, Lois, that her relations are a very crooked and clever lot. If you are not careful, she will use you, cooperate as far as it suits her, and then leave you in the lurch.”

“I realise all that, Hunter. But thanks, anyway. And if you can look up records on any inquest held on Sylvia Fountain, and can bring yourself to let me know the results, then we might have something concrete to get us further on in our investigations. And by we, I mean you, me and Gloria. She is having a go at being Sylvia’s nearest and only relation.”

“Come and see me on Monday, and I might be able to help.”

*   *   *

Gran had gone into overdrive in the kitchen, and the table was covered with wonderful homemade goodies.

“But I thought Aurora and Milly were doing the refreshments,” Lois said, coming in to tell Gran she would be going into town next week.

“These are for a special little party for helpers after we close the doors tomorrow. It will be our last party, Joan and me have decided,” Gran said.

Lois thought of saying she remembered Gran saying that last time. But not wanting to spoil the fun, she didn’t, merely adding that if Mum wanted to go into town to the farmers’ market, she would be happy to give her a lift.

“What are you doing going into town on a wash day?” Gran said accusingly.

“I have to see Inspector Cowgill,” Lois said. “His suggestion, and I agreed. Always willing to give the police a hand, that’s me.”

“It just so happens,” Gran said, “that on Monday the mouse man is coming to butcher all the little darlings behind the sofa and the piano, and in every other nook and cranny in this house. We are overrun, Lois, and it’s no good asking Derek to do the job, because he has plenty of other things to do, and in any case is quite likely to say he’ll use those trap things, where our mice go in and out at will.”

“Phew, that’s a long speech, Mother dear. Best, maybe, not to tell Derek until the mouse man is actually here.”