Scandal at Six(58)

“Ye Gods,” said Justin aloud. “Not traceable to the honourable Pettison, I hope. His name had not been mentioned, so perhaps this was another case which apparently had nothing to do with him.”

A nasty smell of burning coffee sent him running to the kitchen, where he ditched the contents of the saucepan and set about making a fresh lot. He supposed it was a matter of time before the investigations came close to the zoo once more. Then Pettison might find it hard to wriggle free.



*



“Delicious,” said Matthew, patting his stomach. “You’ll soon be as good a cook as your grandmother, Josie dear.”

“As well as shopkeeper and general skivvy, mister policeman,” she replied.

“A wonder of the world! Now, can you tell me, please, where I might find a designer-dress shop called Noelle Noelle?”

“Never heard of it,” Josie said. “Why? Are you planning on buying me a present? Mum’s just given me a lovely jacket. Must be my birthday.”

“No, sadly not. I cautioned your flat tenant this morning. Doing more than forty-two miles an hour through the village. I could have booked him, but had a stern word instead. We had a chat, and I noticed a white bag peeping out from under clothes in the back. ‘Noelle Noelle’ was written on the side of it, and the strange name caught my eye. Uncle Cowgill’s asked me to look out for anything odd about Justin Brookes, so I made a note. I can look it up. Now, what’s for pudding?”





Thirty-three





Dot was up bright and early, and took her breakfast to a little table by her front-room window. She had decided to keep a watch on Betsy Brierley’s house for as many hours as she could. There would be the New Brooms weekly meeting at noon, and she hoped maybe she would have something to report.

Yesterday, she had seen the zoo van once more parked outside the Brierleys’, and Betsy had emerged out of it looking, in Dot’s opinion, like something the cat brought in. Her hair was set in tight little curls, and she had plastered on so much makeup that her face shone like a beacon. False eyelashes, falsies under her tight sweater, and jeans so sculpted to her bottom that she could hardly move, let alone bend down to pick up the front-door key.

So she’s been off with the boss, thought Dot, and stood up, half shielded by the curtain. Betsy finally got the door open, and before she could go in, her husband had stepped out onto the pavement, and was having words with Pettison.

“Poor little sod!” muttered Dot. “That zoo man could eat him for breakfast!”

She could see Pettison laughing, and then he got into his van and drove away, leaving Ted Brierley, also laughing, standing on the pavement listening to Betsy, who, as far as Dot could tell, was shrieking at him about not being gentleman enough to pick up the door key from where she had dropped it. Eventually, the pair of them went inside, and the street was quiet.

“I’d not change places with her for all the world,” Dot said to her parrot, now so old and mangy that it could hardly move. “Lost all the respect she ever had. Pettison don’t respect her, nor does Ted, and nobody in the street will speak to her. She pretends she don’t care, but I bet when she’s alone in the house, she cries her eyes out.”

Dot could not have been more wrong. Betsy Brierley went upstairs, changed into more comfortable clothes, and set about berating her husband for making such a fool of them both. “You’re wasting your breath on him, Ted,” she said. “He’s a stuck-up fool, and one of these days he’ll get his comeuppance. Still, his money’s good, and I had a good feast for supper last night. A glass of champagne as a starter! That’s the life, Ted.”

“It may be the life for you, and I know we got together as a cover for your sex therapies, as you like to call them. There’s nothing much between us, I know, never has been. But I won’t be made to look a fool, Betsy. That man makes me look a fool, and delights in it. People talk, and lately I’ve been taunted at the club about people whose wives flaunt their wares. We didn’t start that way, Betsy. It was all decent and undercover. Better get back to that, before we lose what respect we’ve got left.”

“Long speech, Ted. I’m really scared!” she replied, lighting a cigarette and posing like a second-rate actress by the fireplace. “All I’ve got to say is, where would we be without Robert Pettison? He pays for me, and for when we hide his little animals. And if you’re not happy with that, I reckon we could split and I could blackmail him to marry me! Then where would you be?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” said Ted. “And go and take that muck off your face.”