The Sleeping Salesman Enquiry (23 page)

F
orty-five

INSPECTOR FROBISHER ARRIVED
punctually, smiled affectionately at Deirdre and settled down with the four enquirers in the conference room, which had been warmed and dusted with great efficiency by Mrs. Spurling.

There had been time before the inspector arrived to tell Gus about their afternoon’s call on the Josslands, and he had said his visit to Alf had been a washout, as he wasn’t there, or wasn’t answering the door.

“Now, Miss Beasley,” said the inspector, “as you are the target for these threats, perhaps you would like to tell us your best guess as to who might be sending them. I know you well enough to know that you will have been giving it some analytical thought, and I’d appreciate it if you could share the result with me.”

Clever man, our inspector, thought Gus. Flattery will get you everywhere.

“Well,” said Ivy, “I do have an idea, but I’m afraid it won’t get us very far.”

“Never mind; just tell us, Ivy dear,” said Roy.

“Right, well, for a start, I don’t think the deliverer is the originator of the messages. I think some shifty character is being paid to deliver them. Probably paid well, as there is considerable risk of being caught and duly punished.”

She paused for dramatic effect, then continued with a question.

“Have you thought, Inspector,” she said, fixing him with a steady look, “of talking more seriously to Wendy?”

“Wendy?”

“Yes, Wendy Wright, wife of Steven Wright, who was a nephew of Roy. I have been wondering about Wendy. She was, you know, very badly treated by Steven. Added to that, she might, mistakenly, perhaps, have thought that with Steven out of the way, she might have been next in line for Roy’s money?”

“Well, of course we spoke to her at the time,” said Frobisher, collecting his wits,” but she had a cast-iron alibi. After we were satisfied with her answers to our questions, she went off to Australia to stay with relations. Poor soul was very upset, naturally, and we were quite happy for her to go, provided we are kept informed if she changes her address out there.”

He frowned. Was the old girl deliberately being awkward, keeping him at bay? Using Wendy Wright as a red herring? He wondered if she realised how vulnerable she was, and just how serious those threats could be. If the cat had been abducted, she could be next.

“But, Ivy,” Roy said now, “leaving Wendy aside with a cast-iron alibi, don’t you think we should tell the inspector about the listener at the top of the Malehams’ stairs?”

“What’s this?” said Frobisher, beginning to lose patience. “Look, you four, we are not playing a jolly cops and robbers game. I know you have had success in the past, but this involves one of your own group. Someone means to stop the wedding; we all know that. And the reason, as Miss Beasley has so rightly said before, is Mr. Goodman’s considerable wealth.”

“Anyone would think I’m a millionaire,” protested Roy. “Just comfortable, as they say.”

The inspector nodded, and continued, “Steven Wright was the heir, but now he is gone, things have changed. When Miss Beasley becomes Mrs. Goodman, she will more than likely inherit. Begging your pardon, Mr. Goodman! Not very polite to talk about you as if you were dead, but we guess that you will want to provide substantially for your wife. So no other candidates as beneficiaries. At least, no serious ones. We have found a young couple in Settlefield who are distantly related to Mr. Goodman, but she has confirmed that there has been a lifetime’s feud with that branch of the family, and until very recently the Josslands were strangers.”

“We know about them,” said Deirdre, smiling sweetly. “I have become quite a friend of the family. Bella was a Goodman, and they have a lovely baby named Faith. Don’t you think that’s a splendid name?”

“Yes, well, of course,” said Frobisher, not sure how relevant this was.

“And you haven’t mentioned Ethel,” she said, and talking of babies, she added to herself.

“Ethel?”

“Yes, Miss Ethel Goodman, very recently deceased. Lived in the Firs nursing home in Settlefield. Aged eighty-something.”

Frobisher sighed. “Ah yes, Ethel. A somewhat severed branch of the Goodman family. We have had a request for an investigation. Tell me more, Deirdre.”

“Nothing much more to tell, except that she has lived there for years, vegetating among the oldies. There are rumours about her being cut off from the rest of the family. But only rumours.” As for the rest, Deirdre said to herself, there’s more work to be done there, and I’m going to do it.

“I doubt if there is much danger from that quarter, then, though we shall see,” said the inspector. “Looks like the Goodmans are dying out, if you’ll excuse my saying so.”

“Yes, Bella’s side of the family are all gone. Sad, really, don’t you think? Would you like a coffee, Ba . . . Um, inspector?” asked Deirdre.

“A cup of tea would be very welcome, thank you. Now, what else have you to tell me, you four?” He could see from their exchanged glances that there was something more, but nobody replied.

“Right, well, then, shall we start with the listener at the top of the stairs?”

Ivy looked at Roy, and gave the slightest shake of her head. “I really think we should be looking again at Steven’s wife and her relationship with him,” she said. “We have been told there is some suggestion of poison? It would have been possible for her to have given him something that wouldn’t act until he got to work, and then he might have stretched out on the bed thinking his nausea would pass. But it didn’t. Don’t you think that’s possible, Inspector? Or,” she continued, “she might have commissioned someone to do it for her, leaving her with, in your words, Inspector, a cast-iron alibi?”

Frobisher gave it some thought. “Difficult, Miss Beasley. Steven did not go home the night before he was found. According to Wendy Wright. If she had given him poison herself, it would have been some very delayed kind, since she hadn’t seen him since waving him off to work the morning before.”

“So she said,” Ivy persisted. “You were obviously taken in by her crocodile tears, Inspector Frobisher. I must say I am a little surprised.”

“I think you must accept that we gave her a very thorough questioning before agreeing that she could leave the country,” he replied, becoming irritated. “But of course I will have another look at her evidence.”

There was a knock at the door, and Mrs. Spurling came in with a tray of tea and cake. “I do hope you will be finished soon, Inspector,” she said. “I have to take care that my residents are not overtired by all this t’do.”

“Don’t worry, Mrs. Spurling,” said Roy kindly. “We are perfectly all right, and Inspector Frobisher is well aware that at our age, our memories are not all they should be.”

“Very well. Will you be mother, Mrs. Bloxham, and pour the tea?”

• • •

AFTER THE INSPECTOR
had gone, the four continued to sit in the conference room, discussing what had been said.

“What was all that about Wendy Wright, Ivy?” said Gus. “Were you serious, or was it a diversionary tactic?”

“No, no,” said Ivy. “I was quite serious. I think it is highly likely that she wanted to get rid of him, and so would I if I’d been in her shoes. He was cruel, Gus. Two people stuck in a marriage like that can make life hell for each other. Though in this case, the cruelty seems to have been all one way.”

Now was the time to tell about her talk with Wendy’s neighbour, and with an apology for misleading him, she gave a brief report.

Roy frowned. “Thanks for telling me, Ivy,” he said. “I knew you were up to something! You are a rotten fibber, you know, dearest. Anyway, as far as Steven’s married life went, I knew very little. I saw him so seldom that I can’t recall Wendy coming with him. Oh, now, wait a minute. She did turn up here once. She had dropped him off, and then driven into town to do some shopping while he checked up on me. I do remember that he was unpleasantly annoyed with her when she returned a little later than planned.”

“That’s not enough to trigger a poisoning, is it?” Deirdre said.

Ivy bridled. “Possibly not, but try to imagine what it must have been like, if he was a real bully all the time. Maybe she couldn’t take any more, and just flipped.”

“Now, girls,” said Roy with a smile. “Little birds in their nests agree!”

Deirdre fluffed out her feathers and said could they please change the subject and talk about Ivy’s really dangerous situation, and her reluctance to tell the inspector about the Malehams, Beryl and Frank, the man with the earring?

“After all,” she said, “you and Roy were very worried about your last visit to them. And surely that listener at the top of the stairs was highly suspicious?”

“Yes,” Ivy replied, “but we have no proof that it wasn’t her bedridden husband. He could’ve been going to the toilet, breathing heavily with the effort. And Beryl has always been very friendly. I don’t want to bring more trouble to her if there is no good reason. No, Roy and I will go again soon, and ask some awkward questions.”

“I shouldn’t worry about Beryl Maleham,” said Deirdre. “She’s probably a real mother hen, and perfectly able to protect herself and her chick.”

Gus began to laugh. “Not much of a chick, from the description we’ve got,” he said. “And we don’t know how much information La Spurling is feeding to the inspector. Ivy doesn’t call her Big Ears for nothing.”

“What’s funny, lad?” said Roy. Just at this moment, laughing seemed inappropriate.

“I just had this bizarre thought that maybe Mrs. Spurling is the brains behind the whole thing. Or somebody else we haven’t thought of. Sorry, Ivy; I know we’re up against something really serious. Sorry, Roy.”

Ivy took this personally, and was furious. “You might just as well say that I am the one who’s pulling the strings,” she said. “Why not? I am the most likely to benefit in the end. Suppose I am anxious to throw the scent off me and onto some other likely character, and then, when we’re married, and I am the only possible beneficiary left, I arrange to remove Roy to heaven, bless him. . . . Really, Augustus, I am surprised at you!”

And then, for the first time ever in the experience of Deirdre, Roy or Gus, Ivy burst into tears.

F
orty-six

GUS HAD BEEN
mortified yesterday, and had spent half the night thinking of a way to restore Ivy’s faith in him. His own wife had been so tough, and he had never seen her cry. And his mother had died when he was small, before he had had time to notice whether she was crying, or be alarmed by it.

And Ivy, of all people! No wonder he felt so shattered. He should have realised that the wicked threats made to her, and then the disappearance of Tiddles, had weakened her defensive shell, until finally he had been the one to pierce it. Oh Lord, what on earth could he do to mend it?

It was a cold grey morning, and he sat huddled in the warm dressing gown Ivy had given him for Christmas, drinking coffee and chewing a piece of cold toast.

In the midst of her tears, she had rushed upstairs to her room, obviously not wishing anyone else to see her, and he had heard no more, except for two calls. The first from Roy had assured him that she was fine this morning, perky as ever, and determined to find Tiddles. She had already made several forays to hunt for him, and planned to put notices all round the village alerting people to keep a lookout for him. Her resolve to catch the author of the threats was now doubled.

The second had been from Deirdre, full of accusations of heartlessness, and advising a sincere apology.

Now he saw a shadow cross the kitchen wall and knew it was Miriam, on her way to see him. She gave a brief knock at the door and came in. “Gus? Not up and dressed yet? Aren’t you feeling well? There’s a nasty flu bug going around. Apparently Alf Lowe has been taken to hospital in Thornwell, suffering with a high fever. O’ course, he’s got no one to look after him. I could’ve done it, if they’d asked me. Still, I don’t particularly want to catch it. Though I’ll look after you, if you’ve got it,” she added hastily.

“Well, you’re safe, because I haven’t got flu,” said Gus. “Just a nasty attack of guilty conscience.”

“What’ve you done, then,” said Miriam, laughing at him.

“Offended someone so badly that they dissolved into tears,” he said.

Miriam stopped laughing. “Not that Deirdre Bloxham? She’s hard as nails. Mind you, I bet she could put on a good performance when required.”

“No, not Deirdre,” replied Gus. “Anyway, I have to get going now, so shall I come in for coffee about eleven? You can send Whippy back here now. I’ll give her a late breakfast.”

“Whippy? I haven’t seen her this morning.”

“Oh no, not Whippy, as well!”

“I haven’t touched her!” said Miriam.

“No, of course not,” Gus said. “But Miss Beasley’s cat, Tiddles, has gone missing.”

There was a scratching at the door, and Miriam opened it. A shivering Whippy came in, and Gus gave her a big hug.

“She’s like a child to you, isn’t she,” said Miriam. “See you at coffee time.”

• • •

UP AT SPRINGFIELDS,
Elvis shut the taxi door and went through the gate to collect Ivy and Roy. He had had an early call from Ivy, asking him to pick them up around ten o’clock, to be taken into Thornwell. They planned to visit a friend in hospital, Ivy had said. Mrs. Spurling had warned them about the bug going round the village, bad enough to send Alf Lowe into hospital, and against Roy’s advice, Ivy planned to visit him.

“We could easily pick up the infection, Ivy dear,” he had said. “It’s a virulent strain, so they say.”

Mrs. Spurling, too, had been very unwilling to sanction the visit. But knowing that Miss Beasley was quite likely to disregard her advice, she said nothing except to caution them to be home in time for lunch, which was grilled salmon, untouched by cats, and very expensive.

Now Elvis was alarmed. His passengers were really old, and he was fond of both of them. “Do you really want to go in there, among all them germs?” he said, as he drew up outside the hospital.

“Oh yes. If it was dangerous for us, they’d not let us in. He might be quarantined,” replied Ivy confidently. “Give us about three-quarters of an hour. That should be enough,” she added.

“I’ll wait,” said Elvis. “Just in case they turn you out straight away.”

They walked into reception, and were told that Mr. Lowe was much better and probably had had only a bad cold. Yes, they could pop up and see him. He should be home tomorrow.

“But beware,” said the receptionist. “Apparently he’s in a very bad mood, and swearing at all and sundry!”

“He knows us,” Roy said. “And don’t worry. We can give as good as we get, especially Ivy here!”

A passing nurse offered to take them along to Mr. Lowe’s ward. “It’s on the ground floor, but I could still find a wheelchair, if you like,” she said, watching Roy struggling with his stick. He had said no to bringing his trundle in, knowing that the corridors of the hospital were always busy with people running about on emergency errands.

“All right so far,” he said. “Give me your arm, Ivy dear.”

They moved off slowly, and the nurse insisted on taking Roy’s other arm. “I shall find a wheelchair and bring it for you when you leave,” she said.

• • •

ALF WAS SITTING
up in bed, reading a newspaper. He lowered it, and his face darkened. “What the so-and-so are you two doing here?” he said. “I’m going home tomorrow. Not ill at all. All a ruse to imprison me.”

“It’s called goodwill,” said Ivy, taking off her gloves, and sitting down by the bed.

“Don’t come too close,” said Alf. “You might catch what I haven’t got.”

Roy smiled. “You seem in fine fettle to me,” he said. “Still, now we’re here, we might as well entertain you for a few minutes. There must be some village news to give you.”

“Nothing about that village interests me,” Alf said grumpily. “Now, if it was Settlefield, I might be curious. Anything from me old stamping ground?”

“Settlefield? There was something, wasn’t there, Roy?”

“Ah, yes. I don’t suppose you remember her, but old Miss Goodman has passed away. Ethel Goodman, one of the Settlefield branch of the family. I didn’t know her, of course, and she was very old. Eighty-two, I believe.”

“Eighty-one,” said Alf, and then closed his eyes, as if in pain.

“You all right, old chap?” said Roy.

“Bit of a spasm,” said Alf. “Better have some kip now. Nice of you to come. Cheerio.” And he leaned back on the pillow and gave every sign of drifting into sleep.

Ivy and Roy went as silently as possible out of the ward, and made their way back to reception.

“Soon back?” said the receptionist. “I do hope he wasn’t too offensive.”

“Not at all,” said Ivy firmly. “He just needed a rest. Said he was glad we’d come, so we’ll look forward to seeing him back in the village. Good morning.”

Elvis was waiting for them, and they were soon on the road to Springfields. After a couple of miles, Ivy turned to look at Roy. “One thing, dearest,” she said. “How was Alf so very sure of Ethel Goodman’s age? That bears thinking about.”

“Yes, funny, that. I noticed it, too, and I think he realised too late that it was an unwise remark. And when he closed his eyes, I’m sure a tear ran down his cheek.”

“Here we are, then,” said Elvis. “And if I’m not mistaken, that’s the vicar’s car outside Springfields.”

• • •

REV. DOROTHY WAS
waiting for them in the lounge, looking anxious. “Good morning, Miss Beasley, Mr. Goodman,” she said. “Could I have a word?”

“Of course,” said Ivy. “Why don’t we go up to my room? Sorry we weren’t here when you arrived. We’ve been visiting the sick.”

“Oh dear! Anyone I should know about?”

“He’s coming home tomorrow. Alf Lowe, it was. They thought he had the nasty flu that’s going about, but it was just a bad cold. He’s always had a weak chest, apparently.”

“Where does he live?”

“Cemetery Lane. Lives on his own, but keeps the house decent. Married, but separated. Grumpy, most of the time.”

“Right. I’ll call. I’m pretty thick-skinned. You have to be in this job!”

Settled in Ivy’s room, with coffee brought in by Katya, who, on seeing the vicar, crossed herself surreptitiously as she left them, Ivy opened the conversation.

“Let me guess why you’ve come,” she said. “It’s about my missing cat, Tiddles? Have you spotted him?”

Rev. Dorothy shook her head. “Sorry, no sign, I’m afraid. No, the reason I’m here is once more the banns question. I found this on my doormat this morning.” She handed Ivy a piece of paper, folded carelessly.

“My goodness,” said Ivy cheerfully, “this is definitely better grammar than the ones I usually get,” she said. “Not much of a threat, though, is it?”

“What does it say, dearest?” said Roy, who was not smiling.

“It says that if Rev. Dorothy reads our banns tomorrow in church, she will never read anything again. Ever.”

She handed him the paper, and he looked at it closely. “This sounds like desperation,” Roy said. “It is too ridiculous for words.”

“I can see your point,” said Rev. Dorothy. “It doesn’t specify how I am to be silenced, does it? Mind you, that doesn’t mean our blackmailer hasn’t thought of some way.”

“What are you going to do with it?” Roy asked.

“Give it to the police, of course. I’m not in favour of giving way to such threats, but I live alone, as you know, and I shan’t feel safe until this whole business is cleared up.”

“And the banns?” said Ivy sadly.

Rev. Dorothy frowned. “I’m afraid I am not prepared to take the risk. I am so sorry, but I have already contacted my superior and he has ordered me not to proceed for the moment.”

A long silence followed this, and then Roy reached out and took Ivy’s hand. “The registry office, beloved? Or shall we run away to Gretna Green?”

Ivy took his hand in both of hers, and said that if anyone asked her, she would say it was her right to be wed in church to the best man in the world, and nobody was going to stop her. A couple more weeks were not long to wait for the rest of her life’s happiness.

Rev. Dorothy sniffed hard, and fumbled for her handkerchief. “Bravely said, Ivy. You know I shall do all I can to help, for my own sake as well as yours!”