“Of course not, Lois. It was probably the woman on the gate.”
Lois sighed deeply, and subsided into her chair. “I suppose so,” she said. “I must say I’m seeing snakes and spiders round every corner. He’s really got me rattled.”
“Don’t worry. We’ll sort it all out very quickly. It’s got to be someone who’s around locally and found a way to get into the animal cages and pens without anyone knowing. And Derek’s changed the locks at the shop, did you say? Splendid. Leave it with me, but keep your eyes and ears open. And stay in touch.”
Ten
The Fiat 500 sped along the straight fen road, past small farm cottages huddled against the strong winds that swept the fields, with no hedges or trees to hinder them. It was a bleak landscape, and Justin Brookes felt the usual lowering of spirits as he entered the long drive down to his family farm a few miles outside Boston. Wonderful skies, people always said of the Lincolnshire fens, but this morning the sky was low and a depressing uniform grey.
He had cut short his usual tour around villages delivering fliers, having received a message that his father was very ill. He had been able to contact his uncle, Robert Pettison, and rearrange a meeting for next week. Their shared involvement in the business kept them in touch, and he always looked forward to seeing new additions to the zoo’s extraordinary collection of rare animals. Sometimes he thought Robert was daft enough to be one of them, but he kept that thought to himself.
He arrived in the yard behind the farmhouse, and saw his mother waiting for him, an anxious expression on her face.
“Thank goodness you’ve come, Justin,” she said, accepting a light kiss on her cheek. “Your father was asking for you yesterday, and we don’t think he has long to go.”
“Let’s go in straightaway,” he said. “It’ll be good to get in out of this wretched fen wind.”
They went into the house, and up the stairs to his father’s room. “Here’s Justin, dear. He’s just this minute got back.”
Justin looked at his father’s ashen face on the pillow, and wondered if he was too late. But his mother patted the thin hand lying on the sheet, and the old man opened his eyes.
“Hello, lad,” he said. “Still wearing that silly cravat thing round your neck?”
*
Miles away in Long Farnden, Josie sat in the shop, chatting to her mother on the telephone. The lunchtime rush of customers had finished, and she had time to catch up on Lois’s visit to the zoo this morning. Matthew had rung to say he and Chris, Cowgill’s assistant, were also off to see Robert Pettison, and Josie was anxious to know what had been discovered.
“So did he explain how those horrible things could have got here in the shop?” she said now to her mother.
“No. He seemed to think we should be delighted to have housed them for a while! I’m afraid I took a real dislike to him. One of those slightly mad kinds of people. And, by the way, that’s what he calls those creepy crawlies. His people! I mean, I ask you, Josie.”
“Sounds like he should be locked up in a cage himself!”
“However, I went to see Cowgill after, and he said Pettison is as sharp as the next man. The wacky bit is all an act. You know what I thought, duckie?”
“Yep. You thought the act was to cover up something sinister going on. Some nasty business that involves frightening nice young shopkeepers like me!”
“That’s exactly right. He wasn’t sorry enough for what had happened. After all, he is responsible for those dangerous snakes and spiders. If they’d bitten any of us, he’d be in big trouble. I don’t call that being as sharp as the next man, do you?”
“Maybe it’s a risk he’s prepared to take,” suggested Josie.
“Anyway,” continued Lois. “I’m taking the whole thing on, and shall be ferretin’ around to see what I can dig up to explain it all. One thing, though, Josie. I doubt very much if there will be any more escapers. He’ll know better than that. Police eyes are on him, and all of us watching out. No, I’m sure you’re safe from any more nasties.”
“Thank God for that! Oh, there goes the shop bell. Must go. See you later, Mum. Bye.”
Josie went through to the shop, and found Gran leafing through the pile of newspapers. “Hi, Gran,” she said. “Can I get you anything?”
“No, dear. I’m just looking through the local paper. Joan rang me earlier and said there’s an interesting story in this week’s issue.”
“Not about escaped reptiles, I hope!”
“As a matter of fact, yes. Seems somebody’s dog was nosing around in a barn over Waltonby way, and got bitten by something so bad that it killed it. Poisonous bite, they reckon. And from something big enough to get away without the dog getting at it first.”