The Sleeping Salesman Enquiry (28 page)

F
ifty-five

ALF SAT HAPPILY
in his armchair by the fire, watching his carer dust round his precious ornaments.

“You’re being careful, ’ent you?” he said. “Them china figures are worth a bomb, so I’ve been told. Maybe I shouldn’t tell you that. How do I know you’re not sussing out houses worth turnin’ over?”

His carer turned indignantly, hands on hips. “Mr. Lowe! You are joking, I hope? Now, would you like another cup of tea before I go?”

Alf chuckled. “Only teasing, girlie,” he said. “I’m very grateful for all what you’re doing for me. I shall be sorry when I’m well enough to get back to doin’ me own housework for meself!”

“Yes, well. I’ll put the kettle on. I’ve got a spare minute or two, so I’ll have a cup with you if you promise to behave.” She had been told that the old man was still very frail, so she must avoid upsetting him.

So it was that when Gus knocked at Alf’s door, and shouted that it was only Gus, and he would let himself in, he stepped into the cottage to find a pretty young woman sipping tea in a chair opposite the old ruffian.

“Morning, Gus! This is my young lady, Jean Brown. Aren’t I lucky? The old dog’s not done yet!”

The carer stood up, smiled at Gus, and said she would wash up and then be off. “I’m afraid Mr. Lowe is feeling much better,” she said. “Here, sit down, and while the kettle’s hot I’ll make you a cup of tea. Or would you rather have coffee?”

After she had gone, with another burst of raillery from Alf about looking forward to their naughty weekend, Gus looked at him closely. The old boy’s cheeks were still pale, but there was a light in his eyes that hadn’t been there for months.

“You’re certainly looking better, Alf,” Gus said. “Had some good news, have you?”

“You could say that,” Alf replied. “My wife has given up wanting a divorce. At last! No more pestering from Susan. Not that all the pestering in the world was going to give her what she wanted. Anyway, she’s ditched the man who wanted to marry her, and another idiot where she’s living has taken a fancy to her, and is quite happy for them to be living in sin. At her age! Good luck to him, I say!”

“So no more worrying about a vow made when she was very young?”

“She
were
young, yes. I managed to play the field until I turned thirty. Anyway, that’s enough about me, as they say. Tell me about your love life?”

Gus paused, and then in a genuinely curious voice, said, “How old are you, Alf? The truth, now.”

“No reason to lie. I’m eighty-two next birthday. And I mean to live to be a hundred.”

“Good man,” said Gus, laughing. “I reckon you’ll make it.”

Then he gave him an edited version of his own foray into marriage to a society girl, and the saga that led to their separation and divorce.

“Is she still around?” asked Alf.

“Somewhere,” answered Gus, and changed the subject. “I must be off soon, but I have been meaning to ask you about a family my colleague Deirdre has been getting chummy with. Jossland, their name is. William and Bella. They live over at Settlefield, where you came from?”

Alf’s expression changed. He looked wary and suspicious. “What about them?” he said.

“Nothing, really. I just thought you might remember the family. Bella’s side were farmers, like your own. In fact, I believe the girl was a Goodman, and a relation of our Roy. Funny how things go round and round. It occurred to me you might be interested to hear about them. They’ve got a baby, apparently, and Deirdre’s gone completely daft over it.”

“Babies! The less I know about babies, the better I like it. My wife, her overseas, was always going on about them. I refused to have anything to do with it.”

“Never wanted a son or daughter yourself, then?” said Gus.

Alf yawned deeply. “Time I had a sleep, Gus, old chap. Nice of you to come again. I look forward to it. Not many people I welcome in here, but I’ve took a fancy to you. Mind how you go, and post the key through the letter box.”

His eyes closed and his head rested back among his cushions. Gus knew better than to accuse him of pretending, and let himself out of the door, posting the key as instructed.

• • •

INSPECTOR FROBISHER LOOKED
at his afternoon’s appointments, and saw that Miss Ivy Beasley was due to come in at three thirty. This reminded him that he was still not quite satisfied with Wendy Wright’s explanation of her husband Steven’s death. Certainly the poison identified had the right characteristics. Delayed action, capable of causing death. But wasn’t her claim that he had a malfunctioning immune system rather sudden and unconvincing? It had never been mentioned before, to his knowledge. Perhaps the old boy, Roy Goodman, would remember something about it.

He looked at his watch. Nearly half past three. Perhaps he would have a few minutes with his eyes shut, emptying his mind before the old biddy arrived. He wondered what she wanted. That episode when she had gone missing from a furniture store in Thornwell was surely closed? A good-hearted bloke had given her a lift to Springfields, and all was well. From what he knew of that residential home, it was upmarket, with high fees. If the story got into the local paper, it wouldn’t do any good to Springfields’s reputation! Perhaps Miss Beasley was about to sue them for neglect. Confused and lost, the man had said. Well, that wasn’t the Ivy Beasley he knew and loved. And here she was, arriving punctually as usual.

“Good afternoon, Miss Beasley. And Mr. Goodman, too. Nice to see you again. How can I help?”

“Good afternoon, Inspector,” Ivy said. “We don’t really need your help. In fact, we have some information which might help you. I am going to hand over to Roy, as I have made a bargain which I intend to keep.”

What is she talking about? Confused, maybe? Frobisher turned to Roy, and said perhaps he would like to elucidate.

“Not sure about that,” said Ivy, with the ghost of a smile. “But he will tell you all about it.”

Frobisher sighed. Perhaps he should send for a cup of tea for them all, but then he thought that might prolong the agony. No, he would see them politely off the premises as soon as possible. Unless they had some new and really useful information, of course.

Roy began with Ivy’s dentist appointment. “Not true, Inspector, I’m afraid. It was just an excuse for my Ivy to go enquiring on her own in Maleham’s Furniture Store, from where she was abducted.”

“What? That’s not what was said originally. Are you sure about this, Miss Beasley?”

Ivy clamped her lips together, and gestured towards Roy.

“She is sure, Inspector,” said Roy. “She was taken by force from the store basement, driven off into the countryside and, ultimately, after making a bargain with her abductor, unloaded at Springfields Retirement Home.”

“But she was apparently unhurt?” said Frobisher. He was beginning to think they were having him on. But why?

“No, no, nothing like that. The culprit was not at all violent, except for a little pushing and shoving to get her into the car. No, Ivy is quite capable of standing up for herself.”

“I’ve noticed,” said the inspector drily. “So what was the reason for this abduction?”

“Money,” said Ivy.

“Donkeys,” said Roy.

“Now, you two, I’ve had enough of this! Either you stop having fun at my expense, or I’m afraid I shall have to close this interview.”

“Oh, sorry, Inspector,” said Ivy, apparently full of remorse. “I would just ask you to remember that my life has been threatened. The fact is that I was told I must drop my intended marriage to Roy Goodman, or else. And the ‘or else’ was distinctly threatening.”

“Right.” Frobisher took his pen, a clean sheet of paper, and fixed them with a stern expression. “Name? Address? Where does he live? Was he the man we congratulated for being a good citizen? Have you met him before, and how do you know he was the man delivering threatening messages?”

Roy sighed. “Carry on, Ivy,” he said.

“If you will give me that paper, Inspector, I will write it all down for you. It will save time, and as you are about to say, you are a very busy man.”

• • •

“REALLY, IVY, I
am surprised at you,” said Roy crossly, when they were in Elvis’s taxi returning to Springfields.

“Why, dearest?” she said.

“It was most embarrassing. That poor man clearly thought we were wasting his time with senile imaginings. If you’re not careful, this sort of thing will prejudice our chances of further assignments in Enquire Within.”

“I did no more than I said I was going to. No more and no less. I wrote down details that I could remember. His underlings would have taken Frank’s particulars at the time he brought me back to Springfields, as a matter of course, but he probably falsified them. I doubt if he will do anything more about it. Frobisher, I mean. If he did take it further, Frank will convince them that I was in fact short of a marble or two. And I have not broken my word. Well, maybe chipped it a little, but that’s all.”

“Mm, well, we’ll see. Tomorrow’s our meeting at Tawny Wings, and I for one am hoping we’ll be able to clear up the whole thing. Thank you, Elvis,” he said, as they turned into Springfields’ drive. “Now, you go ahead, Ivy. I want a word with our friend here. Off you go.”

F
ifty-six

ROY AND IVY
had spent what was left of the afternoon snoozing in Ivy’s room. Instead of separating into their separate ways, Roy had said he would be quite happy in Ivy’s armchair, and she could stretch out on her bed as usual.

At five o’clock, Roy woke with a start. For a moment he could not remember why he was in an armchair and not his own room. Then he saw Ivy still asleep on her bed. He stood up quietly and went over to look at her. She had taken off her glasses and her hair had slipped out of its tightly restricting net. She had a half smile on her face and he suddenly saw her as a young girl, warmhearted and innocent, as yet to suffer from a bullying mother and an angry, henpecked father.

He took her hand and stroked it gently. “Ivy, my dearest,” he whispered.

Ivy stirred, frowned and opened her eyes. Her face was suddenly brightened by a broad smile. “Roy Goodman,” she said. “Are we married?”

Then she woke up properly, straightened her hair, put on her glasses and lowered her legs to the floor. “Good gracious,” she said. “What time is it? Are we late for tea? Really, Roy, you should have woken me earlier.”

“Ah, my Ivy’s back,” he replied. “No, we are not late, and I wouldn’t dream of disturbing your beauty sleep. And you are beautiful when asleep, Ivy, though I’m sure you won’t believe me.”

“You are quite right. No woman of my age is beautiful. Neat, clean and tidy. That’s the best we can hope for. Now, what is our plan for the rest of the day?”

“I think we should review all we know in our enquiry so far, and then be prepared for tomorrow’s meeting. What do you think?”

“Sounds fine to me. There are still missing pieces in the jigsaw.”

“Perhaps Gus and Deirdre will be able to fill in the gaps. Gus may have picked up more from Alf, and Deirdre could have gleaned helpful straws from what seems to be her daily telephone conversation with the Josslands. Being a godmother has quite gone to her head, silly girl.”

“Perfectly natural, Ivy dear. She has always wanted to be a mother, apparently, and I think it was a lovely idea of the Josslands’.”

“Well, that’s as may be. Now, let’s go down and have tea, and then we can retreat back up here and go through our findings methodically.”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Roy with a smile. “Anything you say.”

“Oh, and by the way, what were you talking so privately to Elvis about? Not cooking up any nasty surprises, I hope?”

Roy smiled. “As if I would. No, I was asking him if he would do me the honour of being best man at my wedding. And he was so pleased, dear Elvis, that he drove off with the hand brake still on. Clouds of blue smoke coming from his taxi!”

• • •

TEA HAD BEEN
what even Ivy had to admit was delicious. Griddle cakes with honey, chocolate cake and lashings of clotted cream. Feeling replete and happy, she and Roy went back up to her room, and settled down.

“You start, Ivy. Let’s hear the result of your methodical thinking. If you see my eyelids drooping, please prod me with my stick.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Roy! Nighttime is for sleeping. Now, shall we start with our most important client? I think that’s you, Roy, so off you go. What did you know about Steven and his family before he died in Maleham’s bedroom department?”

“Right. First, he was the son of my sister, who was obviously a Goodman, and she married a rather unpleasant man named Wright. Steven was their only child, and grew into a similarly unpleasant man. He was also my only close living relative, my sister and her husband having died some years ago. He married a nice girl called Wendy, originally from Birmingham. He visited me very rarely, and each time stayed for perhaps thirty minutes. He agreed to be my best man, though it was not, he let slip, in his interest financially that the wedding should go ahead.”

“So that’s where I came in,” said Ivy. “We announced our engagement, set a date for the wedding, proceeded to have the banns called. With no warning whatsoever of illness or incapacity, Steven was found dead in Maleham’s bed. Subsequent police investigations showed that he died of salmonella poisoning.”

“And had during a recent evening been violently sick after a friend’s dinner party, so there was some warning,” added Roy.

“Wendy leaves the country, after being exonerated from any blame, having a cast-iron alibi.”

“So that rules her out,” Roy said. “I’m glad of that. I always liked her, and felt sorry for her, him being so unpleasant. I do remember thinking at one point he would be very lucky if she stuck with him.”

“She’s back in this country, I believe, so perhaps it would be nice for you to give her a call? Perhaps you could ask her about his previously unmentioned faulty immune system? Remember? The inspector asked you about that. He was obviously doubtful, but it may be quite true.”

Roy frowned, but agreed. “Kind thought, Ivy. I’ll do that tomorrow.”

Ivy’s phone rang, and she picked up the receiver. “Hello, Deirdre? No hitch in our meeting plans tomorrow, I hope? No? Right. What time, then? Nine thirty? I’ll consult Roy.” She put her hand over the mouthpiece and said Deirdre had a lunch appointment, and could the meeting start earlier tomorrow? Roy nodded, and Ivy said into the phone, “That’s all right. Who are you lunching with? No, let me guess. Bella and Faith? Thought so. Right, see you tomorrow at nine thirty. Good-bye.”

“Now, who’s next?” Ivy said.

“I think
you
are the most important person in all this, even though you are sure you have put an end to the threatening messages. Frank Maleham said he was only the messenger, and that he took orders from somebody, whose name he wouldn’t reveal. Surely our priority now is to find that somebody?”

“Quite right, my love,” said Ivy. “Though I’m beginning to get a glimmering of an answer to that one. Tomorrow, when we put all our heads together, we should get all the details straight.”

“I suppose you’re not going to tell me who the glimmering might be?”

“No, not just yet, else I might confuse everybody. If you put the wrong piece in a jigsaw, it messes up the rest.”

“Right, so, who else? There’s Beryl Maleham?”

“Innocent,” said Ivy.

“And Frank, we know about. More to discover about Ethel Goodman?”

“I think we know most of it, but it will need sorting out.”

“Alf Lowe? I think Gus is bound to have more to tell us about him.”

Ivy did not reply for a minute or two. Then she looked at her watch. “There’s that good programme on the telly starting now. Shall we put it on?”

Roy raised his eyebrows. “Methodical session over?” he said.

“Enough, I think, until tomorrow.” She reached across and switched on the television.