The Sleeping Salesman Enquiry (12 page)

T
wenty-two

NEXT DAY, IVY
and Roy sat at the breakfast table in silence, each busy with their own thoughts. Roy was thinking back to when Steven was a boy, being brought up by an over-loving mother. He could have done more to help with his upbringing, he knew, and would not forgive himself for selfishly leaving his sister to tackle it alone.

Ivy, on the other hand, was thinking about her wedding, and how she intended to make her own list of likely people in the congregation who might know the interrupter. The squire, Theo Roussel, who hardly ever came to church, had sat in the front pew opposite them. She knew him from a previous Enquire Within case, and felt happy about asking him for a suitable time when they could talk. Then behind them, a couple of pews back, had been an ancient couple, a famer and his wife, now retired.

As she went through the list, she realised that all that day’s churchgoers were in late old age, except for Theo Roussel, and were not likely to be much help. She decided to start with Theo, and, after explaining to Roy what she intended to do, went upstairs to make the call.

• • •

THEO HAD BEEN
very helpful, and said she must come along at once and bring Mr. Goodman, too. As they made their way up to the front of the Hall, they remembered how Theo had been the victim of a wicked housekeeper, and Enquire Within had helped to rescue him from her. Now they were concerned with themselves, and when he greeted them at the door and helped Roy along to the sunny drawing room, Ivy felt sure he would be able to help.

“Afraid I didn’t catch a good look at him,” said Theo, “other than the back view when he went off to the vestry with the vicar. Ran off, did you say, and disappeared? Now, let me see. He was bald and thickset. Overweight, I would say. Jeans and an anorak, and some kind of boots. And, oh yes, he dropped a handkerchief in the aisle.”

“Very good, sir,” said Roy. “Excellent memory. Now, did you recognise him at all? Someone local, maybe?”

Theo thought hard. There had been something about the man. Who was it he reminded him of? “Just something about the way he walked,” he said. “Sort of loped along. Strangely enough he reminded me of an old bloke who used to work on the estate when I was a child. He was the farrier.”

Theo Roussel looked out of the window, his eyes seeing another time, another way of life. “We had a lot of horses in those days,” he continued. “Father was keen on hunting, and a guest was out with him when the horse tripped and fell. Rider badly damaged. All blamed on the farrier for not noticing a loose horseshoe. Strange that I should have remembered that! Can’t remember his name, though. I can see him now, loping across the fields.”

Ivy smiled. “That’s most interesting, Mr. Roussel,” she said. “I am sure we can follow up the family, and it may be of some help. If you do think of your farrier’s name, do let us know.”

• • •

THE OTHER NAMES
on Ivy’s list, Mr. and Mrs. Bourne, came as no surprise to Roy. His farm had bordered theirs and they had been good friends. As Ivy and he left the Hall, Roy said they should try the Bournes straight away, while their memories were fresh. If they were anything like his own, they had a habit of vanishing overnight.

“Shall we ask Elvis to collect us and take us over there, if he’s free?”

“Good idea,” said Roy. “We’ll ring them when we get back. They may well be at home now. I seem to remember they did up one of the farm cottages when they retired, and I should have their number.”

They were in luck, as Elvis was happy to take them, and the Bournes said they would be delighted to see them.

“Off enquiring again?” said Elvis, as they drove along through the slushy lanes to the Bournes’ farm. “So here we are. Not far to go. Shall I wait for you, if you’re not too long?”

“Fine,” said Roy. “This’ll take me back, I don’t mind telling you! But we’ll try not to be long. Soon be lunchtime, and we don’t have to tell you how Mrs. Spurling hates latecomers!”

• • •

“THAT WAS A
bit of a facer, Roy!” said his old friend Ted Bourne. “Never known it to happen before. There’s always that little gap, when people look round the church, and that’s what me and Mother did yesterday. So we got a quick look at him. Can’t say we recognised him, though both of us felt he was a bit familiar.”

Roy told the Bournes about the squire remembering the likeness to his father’s farrier, and Mrs. Bourne said, “I remember that man. Used to go round all the farms shoeing the working horses. Sullen sort of chap. No wonder, when you think, Roy, what it was like in our young days, when farm workers put in more hours and got less pay than any of the young blokes today!”

After a short and pleasant trip down memory lane, Ivy stood up and said they must be leaving, as Elvis would need to get going. She walked towards the door, and a faded photograph on the wall caught her eye. It was of the hunt meet up at the Hall, and elegant ladies and gentlemen, high up on their horses, engaged in conversation, while the hunt servants busied themselves at ground level below.

“Look at that man there, Roy,” she said. “Who does he remind you of?”

Roy stretched up to look at the photograph. “Him on the left there? Good heavens, Ivy, it could he him! Still, he’s no doubt been dead and gone these many years. Come along, now, dearest. Elvis will be getting restive. Wonderful to see you both,” he added. “Keep well.”

After they had gone, Mrs. Bourne stood looking at the old photograph. “I haven’t looked at that for years, Ted,” she said. “That man they were looking at, come and see. Isn’t that the farrier they were talking about? And it’s quite true—he does look like that wicked so-and-so who interrupted the service yesterday. Do you think he could be one of the same family?”

• • •

IVY AND ROY
had been in Deirdre’s thoughts when the phone rang in the kitchen. She had been stacking plates in the dishwasher and humming quietly to herself.

“Hello? Oh, Gus, it’s you. Have you heard any more news? I’m really worried about Ivy and Roy. The news about Steven Wright coming on top of that challenge to their banns could be too much for them, poor old things. Are you busy? Do you want to come up for a snack lunch, and then we can talk about it without disturbing them?”

“Good idea. See you in a few minutes. I’ll take Whippy round to Miriam, in case we need to go off somewhere and investigate.”

“And if she invites you to lunch, please say you have a prior engagement.”

“I’ll see what Miriam has to offer, and then decide,” Gus said, half laughing. Deirdre put the phone down on him.

• • •

“WELL? WHAT DID
she have on her menu?” she said acidly, when he arrived at Tawny Wings.

“Guess,” said Gus, putting his arm around her shoulders. “Lamb with apricots. She’s trying them out for James at the shop.”

“So what did you decide?”

“I’m here, aren’t I?” he said, giving her an affectionate peck on the cheek. “Let’s get down to business.”

“I’ve been thinking since I rang you,” she replied. “There’s a good chance that the belligerent man we saw when we were in Maleham’s beds department is a candidate for murderer, don’t you think? After all, he threatened to deal with Wright next time he saw him.”

“Mm, yes. But he was nothing like the chap who challenged the banns. And wouldn’t the bed department be immediately on guard if they saw him again?”

“I don’t know. Just because it’s obvious, it isn’t necessarily wrong. I think we should report all we saw that day to the inspector, anyway. The police can easily find him from the furniture purchase documents.”

Gus was silent while he struggled with a nourishing but not particularly appetising vegetarian salad. He frowned and shook his head. “My instinct tells me it wasn’t him,” he said. “And it occurs to me that we may not have been the only ones to overhear that quarrel between Wright and the customer. Do you remember seeing other people around?”

“Oh gosh, I’ll have to do some thinking,” Deirdre said. “Meanwhile, I’ve had another idea. Steven was his only relative, so far as we know, and his heir, so who’s going to benefit now?”

Gus stared at her. “Deirdre, you’re a marvel,” he said.

“I know that,” she said. “But answer my question.”

“I do remember Roy saying at some stage that there was another branch of the family over at Settlefield, but generations ago there had been a feud and the two lots hadn’t had anything to do with each other for years and years. So, Mrs. Cleverclogs, the first thing we do is take a trip to Settlefield and ask around.”

“Their name may not be Goodman, but we can look up records. Shall we go now?”

“Why not?” said Gus, “I’ll drive you in my car, and establish the correct relationship between us.”

“What? You mean the man should drive and the woman be a mere passenger?”

“Correct,” said Gus. “You may take my arm.”

• • •

GUS WAS A
good driver, and Deirdre relaxed. “It is rather nice being driven,” she said. “Bert always used to drive when we went out together.”

“You must miss him still, love,” said Gus, neatly avoiding a splendid cock pheasant stalking across the road in front of them.

“Of course,” she replied. “But I often hear him in my head. He was a practical chap, and still keeps me from making unwise decisions.”

“Such as remarrying?”

“Certainly that,” she said. “But I decided that myself long ago, and I must say with all the kerfuffle with Ivy and Roy, I am not so sure they are doing the right thing.”

“Oh, I’ve never doubted that it is right for them,” Gus replied. “But not for us, eh?”

“We take a right turn here,” said Deirdre, not answering his question. “Then I reckon the post office in that shop over there is the best place to start.”

They parked outside the shop, which was full of customers discussing the morning’s news.

“I reckon he went to sleep and ’ad a ’eart attack,” said a young man in oily overalls. “Prob’ly bin celebratin’ and thought he’d get away with it.”

“Oi don’ think so, boy,” said a motherly lady holding a wriggling toddler. “That don’ say that in my paper here. They reckon it were a revenge killing.”

“Excuse me,” said Deirdre sweetly, “but does it give the name of the murdered man?”

“Wright, dear. Not a relation of yours, I hope?”

“Oh no, no! I heard a bit of the news on local radio at lunchtime, but missed his name. Not a local one, is it?”

“Next, please!” said the shopkeeper, a mousey little woman not much taller than the counter. “There’s others waiting to be served.”

“Come on, Deirdre,” Gus said. “Was it chocolate you wanted?”

They waited until the shop had emptied, and then the shopkeeper smiled at them. “You’re not from round here, are you?” she said.

“No, but not far away. We live in Barrington. You had plenty of customers today!”

“Ah, but that’s unusual. They were all wanting to talk about the case in Thornwell. Man found dead in bed department of Maleham’s store. Funny thing, that. It’s a mystery to me how the killer, if there was one, got in and out of the store without being seen. And there must have been a struggle, surely. Unless he was drugged,” the small woman added with relish.

“Or drunk,” said Gus lightly. “The name’s unfamiliar to me, but I’m a newcomer to the area.”

“And to me,” said the shopkeeper. “There’s a lot of new names in the village. Incomers, most of them. There’s just one original farming family left now. Well, two, actually. Josslands and Goodmans have been farming round here for generations. Young couple with a new baby. She was a Goodman, and he’s a Jossland. Baby girl, I think. The farm’s down a long drive off the Oakbridge road. Were you looking for anyone in particular?”

“No, no,” said Deirdre. “But it’s always interesting to hear about local people.”

As she spoke, the familiar sound of a police car siren got increasingly louder, until it passed through the village at speed and disappeared.

“On their way to Thornwell, I expect,” said the shopkeeper wisely. “Now, chocolate, was it, you wanted? We’ve got a new supply of Green and Black’s plain chocolate. Will that do?”

• • •

“VERY PROFITABLE,” SAID
Gus, as they settled back into the car. “I don’t think we should look up the Jossland family at the moment. But we can report back to Ivy and Roy. In fact, I think we should do so. It may be important to Roy to confirm he still has relatives in Settlefield.”

“I agree,” Deirdre said. “After all, it may be really nice for him to know a young couple with a baby are close by, and related to him. Not as lonely as he thought he was. It could lessen his grief over that no-good Steven.”

“I don’t think he’s grieving all that much. But I do see what you mean. Let’s go back, and then call in unannounced at Springfields.”

T
wenty-three

“I MUST SAY,”
said Gus, “that this chocolate cake makes up for that disgusting salad! Another piece would be so welcome.” They were back at Tawny Wings, having a late tea and deciding to call Springfields before dropping in to see Ivy and Roy.

“Are you up to revealing to Roy that he’s got blood relations after all?” Gus asked.

“It could make a great difference to his life with Ivy, and cause more trouble than if we kept quiet about it.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Gus! Of course we must tell him. For one thing, it might have some connection with the murder of Steve Wright.”

“You’re not intending to implicate an innocent young couple with a new baby, are you?”

“Of course not, but we do need to know much more about them. There may be more of them, and who knows what plans they might have? Time for some input from Roy and Ivy. Shall we go?”

• • •

WHEN THEY ARRIVED
at Springfields, Mrs. Spurling was on duty, and barred their way into the lounge.

“Good evening, Mrs. Spurling,” said Gus. “Miss Beasley and Mr. Goodman are expecting us.”

“It’s rather late, Mr. Halfhide,” Mrs. Spurling said with a frown.

“What rubbish!” said a voice from the top of the stairs. “Why don’t you come up, Deirdre and Gus, and I’ll rouse Roy. He’s probably not asleep, anyway. He sneaks a look at the crossword to get at it first. We always do the
Guardian
crossword after tea, you know. Keeps the brain active.”

Mrs. Spurling sighed. “We really like residents to entertain visitors in the lounge,” she said, without much hope of cooperation.

“Enquire Within is not entertainment,” said Ivy firmly. “This will be a business meeting. Has Katya been baking? Cookies all round would be welcome.”

Mrs. Spurling went back to perusing the Sunday newspaper’s jobs section in the hope of finding a suitable appointment vacant in her field of administration.

• • •

“THIS IS A
nice surprise,” said Roy, blinking sleepily as he joined them in Ivy’s room. “I do hope there’s no more bad news?”

“No, I hope it will be good news,” Gus said. “To begin at the beginning, I had lunch with Deirdre, and in talking about your nephew’s unfortunate demise, we remembered you saying there was a branch of the Goodman family over at Settlefield. We really need to know about them, since someone is clearly very anxious to stop anyone other than themselves inheriting your fortune. Steven has gone, sadly, and now is the time when a long-lost nephew or niece on another side of the family is likely to pop up and stake a claim.”

“I wish I had no money at all,” Roy said vehemently. “I have a good mind to will it all to a home for ill-treated donkeys.”

“That’s fine by me,” said Ivy. “They say money is the root of all evil, and there’s never been a truer word spoken. Anyway, Gus, all you’ve told us so far is supposition.”

“So we went to Settlefield,” continued Deirdre. “The village post office shop was full of folk talking about newspaper reports of the man found dead in a bed in Maleham’s furniture store. We listened to their conversations, but nothing interesting was said until the shop cleared and the shopkeeper told us about a young couple farming locally, and—guess what?—the wife’s name was Goodman before she married!”

“Well, that’s not unexpected,” said Ivy flatly. “Could be a distant relation of Roy. I don’t know what you’re so excited about. Who did she marry?”

“A chap called Jossland. Another farming family, apparently,” Deirdre said.

Roy nodded. “It does often happen in the farming world. Sometimes doubles the size of the farm.” He looked at Ivy and winked at her. “I suppose the Beasleys haven’t got some arable land hidden away somewhere in the county?” he suggested.

“Don’t complicate the issue,” Ivy replied sternly, and turned to Gus. “So how are we going to find out about the young couple? I should think twice before contacting them direct,” she said.

“Ask Alf,” Roy said. “Alf Lowe. He knew my family over Settlefield way, or so he claims. He might have some contacts who could enlighten us. What do you think, Gus? Are you willing to tackle the old reprobate again?”

A knock at the door brought in Katya bearing a tray of glasses and a bottle of sweet sherry, and, as requested, cookies. “Good evening, Mrs. Bloxham and Mr. Halfhide. Are you comfortable sitting on the bed, Mrs. Bloxham? I shall bring in another chair. One minute, please.”

She disappeared, and Ivy began to pour the tea. “That girl is the best thing about Springfields,” she said. “If she ever leaves, then so shall I.”

“I trust you’ll find room for me?” said Roy. “I shall follow you to the ends of the earth, you know.”

“Of course you will come, too,” she answered. “I have been thinking for some time that Tawny Wings would make a very pleasant retirement home, and Deirdre could manage it perfectly well.”

“Ivy! What are you saying? Hands off my ancestral home! What would Bert have said? No, don’t even think of it!”

Katya appeared once more, carrying a chair, which Gus took from her and placed near the window for Deirdre.

“So, Gus is going to tackle Alf. What about the rest of us?” Deirdre looked quite pale at the thought of Tawny Wings Home for the Elderly, and was anxious to get back to the business in hand.

“There will be a funeral to attend for me,” said Roy. “There is no date for it yet, but I must go.”

“And I shall come, too, and see what I can pick up in the way of useful information,” said Ivy.

“Which leaves me,” said Deirdre. “All this talk about overhearing and gleaning something useful from Alf seems unnecessary to me. I shall try the direct approach. I don’t see why I shouldn’t, Ivy. You can all get on with things, and I shall arrange to call on Mr. and Mrs. Jossland and their new baby at Hartwood Farm. There is absolutely no reason why I shouldn’t introduce myself as a voluntary worker for Social Services—which is true—just calling to make sure they don’t need any help. I might even take a small teddy bear with me as passport.”