The Sleeping Salesman Enquiry (24 page)

F
orty-seven

INSTEAD OF THEIR
usual postprandial snooze, Ivy and Roy retired after lunch to Ivy’s room to have a serious discussion about latest developments.

“Should we ask Gus and Deirdre to come down here?” Roy was very anxious about Ivy’s apparent refusal to be depressed. But perhaps that one collapse into tears was all she needed to rearm.

“Not yet,” she said. “I think you and me need to discuss our next move very carefully. That letter to the vicar was a big mistake on the blackmailer’s part. Smacks of desperation, as you said.”

Roy nodded reluctantly. “I think so, Ivy, but I really think we should urge Inspector Frobisher to get on with it. They’ve had long enough, in my opinion. I wake up every morning in trepidation for the next missive.”

“Yes, well, me, too. A little bit. But I refuse to be scared off by an idiot who can’t write proper.”

Roy looked at her curiously.

“Yes, and that’s a joke,” said Ivy. “I had a very good education at our village school, and can write a letter with the best of them. So we are dealing with a dropout, perhaps slow learner, who has no small opinion of himself, and thinks he is onto a quick profit. But he is not the one pulling the strings. I could swear to that.”

“What about Wendy Wright? Do you think she might really be the one?”

“Maybe not. The police don’t think so, as we saw. But it won’t hurt Frobisher to do a bit more digging there.”

“So you haven’t ruled her out. Who else, Ivy? If you’re not sure she’s the one, who is? I hope you’re not concealing anything from me!”

“No, I’ve been thinking some more about the Malehams. I was not sure enough to tell the police about Frank and Beryl, but now we’ve got this message in a different style. It begins to make some sense. Frank, with earring, working part-time at Maleham’s, still living with his mother. She, resentful and perhaps with a grudge against Steven Wright. The pair of them could be in cahoots.”

“But why should Beryl be interested in Frank inheriting my money? She would not know there was any possibility of that happening. There’s still that missing connection between the Malehams and the Goodman family. Honestly, Ivy, I have a very good mind to do what I threatened and give most of it to the donkeys. We’ll keep enough to pay our fees here, and off-load the rest. Then we’ll sell our story to the local newspaper, so everyone knows, and then we’ll be married in church and live happily ever after.”

“No need, my dear one,” Ivy said softly. “I think we are not far off finding the missing piece in our jigsaw. Let’s give Gus and Deirdre a ring now, and ask them to come to tea tomorrow. You are looking much too worried, and a nice snooze now will do you good.”

Roy sighed deeply. “‘What dreams may come when we have shuffled off into a nice snooze?’” he misquoted.

“Off you go, now,” said Ivy, “and I’ll give Deirdre a ring. Then I shall stretch out and count ducks.”

“Not sheep?” said Roy, picking up his stick.

“Stupid animals,” Ivy said. “Some of them go round twice.”

• • •

“HAS IVY CALLED
you, Gus?” Deirdre was sitting on a kitchen stool with a glass of red wine to hand. She had phoned him as soon as Ivy had finished speaking, but had had no reply. Next she tried his mobile, and he answered.

“Where are you, anyway?” she continued.

“Out to lunch,” said Gus. “And yes, if, as you say, Ivy sounded even more stern than usual, then something’s up. Did she suggest any more than asking us to tea tomorrow?”

“No. Just said it could be important, but not immediately urgent.”

“Right. So tomorrow it is. Are we going to church in the morning to hear the second time of reading the banns?”

“Oh no, that was something else she said. There’s been another hitch, apparently, so we are not to break the habit of a lifetime and go to church for no special reason. Her words, Gus. There’s life in the old thing yet.”

“Right. So, any news about Tiddles? Perhaps she has had a lead on that particular mystery?”

“Tiddles wasn’t mentioned,” she said, laughing. “I personally think the cat’s shut in somewhere nearby, and the blackmailer knows it’s missing and is making capital out of it. Ivy has planned to alert the whole village, and has already phoned James at the shop. He called Theo at the Hall, and asked him to look in the stables, where his lost cat was found a while ago. And he phoned me.”

“Right-o. So what are you doing this evening? May I call around suppertime?”

“Why not?” said Deirdre, and signed off.

Gus turned to look at Miriam, who was just coming in from the kitchen bearing a steaming jam sponge pudding. She banged it down on the table, and said that she had a good mind to tip it over his head. “What a cheek, Gus Halfhide!” she said. “Eating my delicious lunch, which I slaved over for hours, and at the same time making a secret date to have supper with that woman up at Tony Wings, whoever he is. And that on top of coming in at least two hours late!”

“
Tawny
Wings is the name of the house, Miriam. And I know I shall be lucky to get fried egg and beans, so there is no need for you to worry. We have Enquire Within business to discuss. And I’m sorry about being late. Blame Whippy. She got lost in the woods, and I’m worried about her being abducted, like Tiddles.”

“Oh well,” said Miriam. “I suppose I have to believe you. Do you want some of this pudding, or are you leaving room for egg and beans?”

• • •

SUSPECTING THAT GUS
had been lunching with Miriam Blake, Deirdre decided to take a ready meal from the freezer. They were expensive, but delicious, and she was tempted to claim she had made it herself. An innocent enough lie. One of her own small list of culinary achievements was bread-and-butter pudding, and she set about making a substantial version, with cream and lots of sugar and sultanas. She would insist on Gus having two helpings, and that would teach him to exploit two women friends at once.

When he finally arrived and knocked at her manorial front door, she was so struck by his humble expression that she relented and asked him to come in and be cheered up with a whisky and ginger ale to keep out the cold. Not that it was cold in her large drawing room, where she had a leaping log fire as well as efficient central heating. She sat him down in a comfortable chair, and after pouring the whisky, she opened the subject of Ivy’s tears. For a moment, she thought he was going to weep, too.

But spies don’t weep, and he merely said he felt absolutely terrible. His father had been very strict about making little girls cry, right from when he was at nursery school. “No gentleman, however small, would even consider it,” the old boy had said.

“Well, if it is any comfort to you, she sounded fine. Quite her old self, and very firm about our tea party tomorrow afternoon.”

“Do you think she has anything new to tell us?”

“Oh yes. That’s the way she works. Very painstaking about getting it right before involving us. They went to see Alf Lowe in hospital, you know. I think it’s something to do with him. You never got to see him, did you?”

“No, he’d gone by the time I got up there. I shall go again on Monday, if he’s home.”

“Coming home tomorrow, apparently. It was only a cold, and they’re sending an ancillary nurse to make sure he’s comfortably settled. He shouldn’t be living on his own in this weather, really. But he refuses all help, silly old fool.”

When they had finished supper, they sat by the fire chatting amiably.

“This case has been very puzzling,” said Gus, “and I get the feeling Ivy and Roy are handling it mostly by themselves. I suppose that’s natural, since it is their proposed nuptials that are at the root of it.”

“And one victim dead already. If those threats are really serious, then the killer may strike again. Or am I being overdramatic?”

“No, not at all. They’re serious, all right. But Ivy’s safety depends on how long they are prepared to wait for the wedding to be called off permanently. Or, for her to snuff it from natural or other causes, like fear and worry. I doubt if she’s cried real tears since she was a child.”

“What about Tiddles?” Deirdre threw another log on the fire, and wriggled back into her deep armchair.

“Tiddles is at greater risk. But we shall find out more tomorrow.”

Deirdre yawned. “Gosh, I’m tired,” she said. “Early bed tonight, I think.”

“Like some company?” Gus asked quietly.

“Why not?” answered Deirdre.

F
orty-eight

ROY AND IVY
went to the early-morning communion service in church, to avoid a barrage of sympathy from well-meaning churchgoers. As a result, they were back at Springfields and first in for breakfast.

“I’ve been thinking,” said Ivy. “What difference is it going to make, our being married? Apart from sharing a bed, that is. I mean, we’re a bit old for passion, aren’t we?” She whispered the last words, and in truth it had taken a lot of courage for her to even mention such things.

Roy grinned. “Never too old for a bit of rumpy-pumpy under the duvet,” he said. “Trust me, Ivy. I’m a good teacher.”

“Is it true, then, Roy, that you were a bit of a lad in your youth?”

Roy frowned. “Where is this leading, beloved? Not over to Settlefield and the late lamented Ethel Goodman, I hope?”

“Possibly,” said Ivy. “After all, it is difficult to forget entirely that Alf Lowe accused you of getting a girl in the family way, and then deserting her.”

“Huh! He could talk! Known for it, he was. But are you thinking Ethel might have been that girl? There was never any talk of her being up the duff, as far as I remember.”

“If by that you mean being pregnant, yes, I am thinking of that. And you might not have heard anything because of that silly feud between the two families.”

“True,” said Roy. “But nothing much is secret in villages, and I do, or rather did, have one or two friends in Settlefield who would have mentioned it, I’m sure. No, I think you’re barking up the wrong tree there. I think Alf Lowe was just being malicious. He can’t help it.”

“Well, he should be home today, so I think it would be a Christian act to call and make sure he’s all right.”

“Whatever you say, dearest. Your wish is my command.”

“Nonsense! And when we’re married, I am going to do whatever
you
wish.”

“Not to mention a spot of the other,” said Roy.

• • •

THOUSANDS OF MILES
away, Wendy Wright was sunning herself in her friend’s garden. The telephone rang, and after a minute there was a shout to say the call was for her.

“It’s for you, Wendy. Some man called Frobisher. I think he said he was a policeman. What have you been up to?”

Wendy went indoors and was away for five minutes or so. When she returned, her friend could see she was upset.

“It was the police from Thornwell,” she said. “They want to ask me some more questions, and although they didn’t actually ask me to return to answer them, I could guess that’s what they really want. So, as they said there was no immediate hurry, I agreed to return in a few days. I’ve been meaning to go back, anyway. You’ve been so kind, and I’m feeling a lot stronger.”

“Is it about Steven’s death? Have they got any new clues?”

“He didn’t say. I think they’re still a bit mystified as to how the poison got into him. But just lately I’ve remembered him being sick after we’d been out to dinner. It was very violent. He was sure something in the dinner poisoned him. Maybe there was some lingering after that. Or it could’ve been something else that actually killed him.”

“Or somebody,” said the friend.

“Yeah, but isn’t it more likely that Steven stayed late, working after everyone had gone, like he often did, and got into that bed because he was feeling rotten—maybe faint and sick—not knowing that he was going to die as a result?”

“Goodness knows,” said her friend. “You should not try to work it out. Leave it to the police; else you’ll undo all the good we’ve done while you’ve been here.”

• • •

AFTER ROY’S CONVERSATION
with Ivy at breakfast time, he had been thinking hard, trying to remember his early days, when his Settlefield friends had often come over to Barrington for young farmers’ meetings, or just a drink in the pub. His sister had been engaged for a while to one of them, but had then married one of the Wright family, and produced Steven. He’d been an only child, and had no doubt been spoilt with too much cosseting. Not strong as a small boy, he had never joined in much with the farming community, preferring to play at home with his fond mother.

Roy’s sister was, of course, a Goodman of the Barrington branch and had married “out” by choosing a stranger for her husband. She’d disapproved of Roy and his early laddish ways, but towards the end of her life, they had been close, often having nostalgic conversations on the telephone. When she died, he had felt sad, as if some part of him had been amputated. He had nursed hopes of Steven, and had been a generous uncle. But Steven was not an easy person to like, and had not, in Roy’s view, improved with maturity.

Now, stretched out on his bed after a good lunch and not feeling in the least sleepy, Roy wished he could talk to her and see what she remembered of Alf Lowe. The Lowes were smallholders near Settlefield, and did not mix with the richer farming set, who looked down their noses at anyone with the odd few acres. But she might have been able to see some possible connection between him and the Malehams, though for the life of him, he could not think what it might be.

He looked at his watch. Time to go down for the tea party. It was a lovely day, and when he went to find Ivy, the sun streamed in through the lounge windows. She was sitting in their usual corner, and Gus had already arrived.

“Deirdre might be a few minutes late,” said Ivy. “She called and said she had an unexpected visitor.”

“Let’s hope he or she was not clutching a piece of white paper with red capitals,” said Ivy sharply. “We’ve had quite enough of that nonsense.”

On cue, Deirdre appeared at the lounge door and waved at them.

“Looks cheerful enough,” muttered Ivy to Roy, who nodded and with difficulty got to his feet.

“Sit down, Roy dear,” said Deirdre. “Though it is really nice to see gentlemanly manners occasionally.” She looked pointedly at Gus, who shot to his feet.

“Please take my seat, Mrs. Bloxham,” he said with exaggerated politeness.

“Okay, okay. Sorry I’m late, Ivy, but I had a stranger at my door, trying to get in to talk to me. Foot in the door. The usual thing. But my Bert taught me a way of dealing with that. We keep a heavy hammer handy, and one blow from that on the intruding foot works wonders.”

“But he left you a piece of paper?” guessed Ivy.

Deirdre nodded, and handed a crumpled message, now familiar to the others, across the table to Ivy.

“Oh, really, this is ridiculous,” she said, and put the paper down in the centre of the table so all could read it.

TO IVY BEASLEY, YOU HAVE BEEN SENSSIBLE SO FAR. NOW BRAKE IT OFF, OR YORE TOMCAT MEATS HIS WATERRY END.

“Spelling gets worse, but that sounds nasty,” said Gus. “I presume the oaf who brought it cleared off quickly?”

“Hobbled away, more likely,” said Deirdre cheerfully. “And he didn’t have an earring. Not today, anyway. It was quite difficult to see his face, as he was obviously growing a beard. Not much more than black stubble, but looked very odd with the bald head. And definitely no earring. I looked specially.”

“Well-done, Dee-Dee.” Gus looked at her admiringly. “You are a brave lass. So what do we think about this one, Ivy?”

“I say again what I’ve thought about all of them. We ignore them, and carry on as usual. O’ course, the minute the police got involved, things changed. I’m not saying they shouldn’t be, but now there isn’t a soul in a twenty-mile radius who doesn’t know Mr. Goodman and Miss Beasley are having trouble getting wed.”

“Then if you don’t mind, Ivy, may I take charge of this latest message? I’ll take it to the police station tomorrow.” Gus picked up the paper and folded it carefully before tucking it into his jacket pocket.

“I’m so sorry about Tiddles,” Deirdre said, anxious to avoid another tearful exit from Ivy. But she needn’t have worried. Ivy said that if anyone asked her, she would say that Tiddles was capable of taking care of himself, and would reappear. She felt it in her bones.

Katya appeared, bearing a tray of scones, with jam and cream, and a luscious-looking fruitcake. “Now, Miss Beasley, will you pour the tea, or would you like me to do it?”

“I’d really like Mrs. Bloxham to be mother,” said Ivy sweetly. “She’s been a good girl today, so we’ll give her pride of place.”

Deirdre thought to herself that if pouring tea was the reward, then there was little incentive in being brave. But then she felt her eyes smarting with a salty tear as Ivy smiled at her. “Thanks, Ivy,” she said. “Tea with milk, everybody?”

• • •

“THAT’S A NASTY
bruise, Frank,” said Beryl. “How on earth did you get that?”

“Caught my foot in a pothole on the pavement outside Tesco’s. You got any of that bruise cream, Mother?”

“Upstairs in the medicine cabinet,” she said. “It’s a bit old. We haven’t needed it since Dad stopped throwing himself about and tripping up on everything. Should be all right, though. And while you’re up there, for goodness’ sake have a shave. You look like them dropouts in the church porch in the market square.”