7 Sorrow on Sunday (35 page)

“So what happened? Did he get to ride in a race?”

Eileen shook her head. “Good heavens, no. After that they took him to one or two more races, and then that one when he went missing. I reckon there’s a lot more to find out.”

Lois pulled up outside the school. “Thanks for listening,” Eileen said, smiling. “Sorry I can’t tell you anything else, but you’ll find out. Bless you, dear.” She hobbled into her garden and shut the gate.

“Bye,” Lois said, “and watch your back!” She made it sound like a joke, but she meant it.

*   *   *

L
OIS DECIDED SHE WOULD POSTPONE HER VISIT TO THE
Battersbys. She needed to think around what Eileen had told her. Her own instinct about the point-to-point had been on the right track, it seemed. The Colonel had promised Darren he would ride in a race, if he was a good boy. How could he possibly do that? Surely there would be all kinds of rules and regulations about something as dangerous as horse racing? She needed to know. Perhaps Cowgill could help there? Time to get in touch. When she was back home, she checked her messages and saw one had come in. Mrs. Horsley—would Lois ring her back? What did she want? Well, she could wait.

Gran had followed her into the office. “If you don’t come into the kitchen and eat something, my girl,” she said, hands on hips, “I am going to chain you to a bedpost and throw away the key.”

Lois frowned at the interruption, then relented. “I’m starving,” she confessed. “Lead on, Macduff.”

*   *   *

M
ARGARET
H
ORSLEY TELEPHONED AGAIN ABOUT AN
hour later, and asked if she could come over and see Lois. “Would you be at home for a while now?” she said. She sounded odd, as if she had been crying, or shouting. Her
voice was muffled, and when she heard that Lois would be available, she rang off straight away.

“I’ll be in my office for a while,” Lois said to Gran. “Mrs. Horsley is calling in, quite soon, I think. Then I do have to go out again later.”

Gran made a face, but decided to say nothing more. At least she had fuelled Lois for another few hours. She set up the ironing board near the door into the hall so that she would hear the doorbell.

Margaret arrived half an hour later, and Gran was there to open up. “Yes? Can I help you?” she said, perfectly well aware who the woman was, and what she wanted.

“I have an appointment to see—”

Lois appeared from her office and took over. “Thanks, Mum,” she said. As Gran stalked off, Lois stood back to allow Margaret to go ahead of her. As she passed, Lois was aware of a strong whiff of alcohol. Oh, grief! What now? She sat down at her desk and prepared to listen.

“It’s about the cleaning,” Margaret said, and her words were faintly slurred. “I was wondering if Dot would be back soon? Evelyn’s all right, but not as good as Dot, and I really would like her back soon.”

Lois looked at her hard, and knew that this was not the reason she had come. A casual telephone call would have given her the answer. She began to feel uneasy, as if something dangerous was round the corner. On the several occasions that this had happened before, she had always been right. She wished devoutly that it hadn’t struck her just at this moment.

“It’ll be another week or two, Mrs. Horsley,” she said. “But Dot is determined to get going as soon as possible, so I’m sure you won’t have to wait much longer. I am sorry you don’t find Evelyn satisfactory . . . is there any particular thing you’d like to mention?”

Margaret shook her head. She seemed to have nothing more to say, and half rose from her chair. Then she sat down again, and looked waveringly at Lois.

“You know, don’t you?” she blurted out finally.

“Know what?”

“About Darren and the horse, and my husband and that bloody Horace, and their pathetic little scams at the races? And then the sods involved my father. I couldn’t stand that. My old dad. The last straw. Now a defence–fence–fenceless lad has been killed.”

“Why are you telling me this, Mrs. Horsley?” Lois wished she had already telephoned Cowgill, and alerted him that something was very wrong and could become scary.

Margaret looked surprised. “So you can help me do something about it, of course!” she said. “You do that sort of thing, don’t you? Everybody knows. Joe knows and the Colonel knows, and even that stuck-up bitch Blanche knows. Why else d’you think you nearly snuffed it?”

“Ah,” said Lois. “Now, Mrs. Horsley, I’m going to get Mum to make us some nice strong coffee, and you can tell me all about it. Everything you can remember.”

“No!” Margaret said violently. “Don’t need coffee. Head’s as clear as a bell. And I’ve told you most of what I know. Now, I want you to come with me. I’ll pay. I need a witness, and you’re the best person I can think of. I tried asking the lovely Blanche, but she put the phone down on me. So that’s that. Are you ready?”

“Where are we going?” Lois said, thinking it best to humour her.

“You’ll see,” Margaret said. “Not far. Now, are you coming or aren’t you?”

“I just have to make one call. Message left for me, and it sounds urgent.”

“No calls,” Margaret said. “This is urgent. If you can’t come now, I’ll do it myself. God knows what’ll happen, but . . .” She blinked hard, and took Lois’s arm. “Please,” she said, and Lois followed her out of the room, yelling to Gran that she’d be back soon, and not to worry.

They got into Margaret’s car, and took off on an erratic course up the High Street. Lois fumbled for her mobile in her bag on the car floor, hoping that Margaret would not notice that without taking it out, she found Cowgill’s number,
made sure it was ringing, and then quickly closed it down.

She pulled out a packet of Polo mints and offered one to Margaret. “Take it,” she said as sternly as she could. “Wherever we’re going, it would be better if you didn’t stink of drink.”

L
OIS KNEW VERY SOON WHERE THEY WERE GOING.
T
HEY
were on the Waltonby road, and she said, “Are we going to the Battersbys’?”

Margaret nodded. “Joe’s there. He told me for once where he was going. Two birds with one stone,” she added and laughed.

Lois did not like the laugh, nor the imagery.
Kill
two birds with one stone? She looked over into the back seat, but there was nothing there but a small handbag.

“Nothing in there,” Margaret said, pleased with her own sharpness. “I’m not drunk, you know, just had enough to give me courage. Look in the pocket at the back of your seat, and you’ll see a flask. Have a slurp, go on! Then give me one. Go on! I thought you were supposed to be so tough? It’s whisky. Good for you, Joe always says.”

Lois reached for the flask, pretended to drink, and said, “Are you sure you should have more? After all, you are driving—”

Margaret snatched the flask from her and took a long swallow. “Trust me,” she said expansively. “Passed my driving test first time, you know. Now, here we are. You get out and I’ll lock the car.”

“Why?” Lois said. “It’s not likely to be stolen here.”

“In case they decide to make a quick getaway,” Margaret replied, and laughed again. It was a mirthless laugh, and Lois shivered. Whatever Margaret had in mind, it was not going to be a pleasant reunion.

*   *   *

H
ORACE
B
ATTERSBY AND
J
OE SAT ON OPPOSITE SIDES OF
the Colonel’s desk, and their conversation was drying up. Horace had not believed Joe when he said they were in the clear. He’d had some very harsh words to say about the twins. He considered that Darren’s death was extreme carelessness. He had instructed Joe that they should frighten them, scare them off, but not kill. He began to wonder what exactly Joe had told them.

Dot and the Meade woman narrowly escaped death—well, they might just get away with that, though the police had been round asking more questions. Blanche had gone in to Tresham that afternoon, and they’d had a row before she went. She’d said she was fed up with all this and was thinking of leaving for good.

“It seems your Margaret rang her,” Horace continued. “Blanche wouldn’t speak to her, but is now convinced the affair is on again. God, it’s trouble every way you look! I heartily wish you’d never got me in to this.”

“What d’you mean? If I remember rightly, you were the one who got me—”

“Oh well, it’s no good going over it now,” Horace interrupted. “We have to decide what we’re going to do and say. It’s serious
now
, but if our aborted master plan for Darren leaks out, then we’ll be up against the firing squad. Just a minute!” he added, getting up from the desk. “Is that a car? Blanche is not due back yet—if ever!”

The doorbell rang. Both men froze. “You go,” said Horace.

“W
ELL, FANCY SEEING YOU!”
M
ARGARET SAID AS THE
door opened a fraction. “Let me in, Joe. I am sure Horace will be pleased to see me. And my friend Lois here.”

She put her foot in the doorway so that he couldn’t close it, and smiled at Lois. “You don’t mind my using your first name, do you? S’more friendly . . .” Lois said it was fine, and waited in some trepidation.

Joe slowly opened the door and stood aside. “Come on, Lois,” Margaret said, and, just saving herself from tripping on the step, marched in. “Where is he?” she asked.

Joe led the way to the Colonel’s study and walked in, followed by the two women. Horace began to bluster, ordering them to knock before they interrupted him when he was working, but Margaret ignored him. She pulled two chairs up to the desk and motioned to Lois to sit down.

“And you, Joe,” she said. “And you can shut up, Horace,” she added rudely. “We’ve got a lot of talking to do. Where’s the lovely Blanche?”

“Gone shopping,” Joe said quickly. Horace was looking apoplectic, and Joe was anxious that he should not reach for the paper knife, or worse. “I apologize for Margaret,” he said. “She looks as if she’s been on the bottle again. Best if we just hear her out, Horace. God knows what this cleaning woman is doing here, but if you ask me, we should listen to what they have to say and then get rid of them.”

Margaret burst into raucous peals of laughter. “Hold on a minute, Joe darling,” she said. “I think you’ll find that more difficult than you think. And you, Horace,” she said, turning to him in sudden sobriety, “are going to be doing
some talking. Though Lois and me will have some questions, of course. I’ll start, shall I?”

Horace glared at her, but shut his mouth like a rat trap.

“First question: would you like to hear what I know already? I’m sure Lois would be interested.”

Lois nodded. Horace did not respond, and Joe said sharply, “Make it snappy, woman!”

“Right, then,” Margaret began. “We have two idiots involved in racing scams. Minor stuff, and so far undiscovered. Then they get ambitious, and try something bigger. It goes wrong, and in their charming way, they decide to put the frighteners on anybody who might know about it. Unfortunately, as they couldn’t organize a piss-up in a brewery, they make a mess of it. Our old friend Dot Nimmo, down on her hands and knees scrubbing our kitchen floor, overhears an incriminating conversation between you two and gets knocked down in the road by a hit-and-run merchant. Never been too fond of the Nimmos anyway, have you, Horace?”

By now, Horace and Joe were stupefied into silence, and Lois contented herself with waiting. Thunder rumbled around outside the house, and an eerie twilight filled the room. Nobody got up to switch on a light.

“So these two idiots consider who else they have to silence,” Margaret continued. “Police are becoming a nuisance, and they’ve heard that Mrs. Meade—the cleaning woman—is on the snoop. So another so-called accident is arranged. Mrs. Meade is lucky to escape death, and a dim lad is frightened out of his wits. Well, you’d think they would be content with that, but they are still not sure about the lad. Difficult to know what he thinks or knows. And as he was in the van with the potential snout, he could have seen the twins. Oh yes, I know about the twins,” she added, as Joe’s eyebrows went up. “Your stupid sister is not very discreet, I’m afraid.”