Episode 1 - Surprises

Tuesday December 1

“Where are we going, for heaven’s sake?” Cleo asked.

Gary did not usually go for walks when he should be at the office, so Cleo was perplexed.

“Down here,” said Gary as they turned into one of the crescents. They were now the other side of the centre of Upper Grumpsfield. It was cold and mystery tours on foot were not Cleo’s choice of entertainment.

“Isn’t this the way to the Marble villa?” she said.

“It’s the Hurley villa now, Cleo.”

The wind made listening difficult.

“The what?”

“You heard.”

“Sort of. Have you leased it?”

“I’m buying it, my love,” said Gary.

They were now standing in front of the villa. Cleo was impressed, but sceptical and shivering with cold.

“What are you using for cash, Gary?” she asked, anxious to get home rather than fall in with what she thought must be a joke.

“It will be mortgaged, of course,” he explained.” I’ll get a good price for my flat in Middlethumpton and my mother is giving me the deposit.”

“We can’t take your mother’s money.”

“Roger said we should. His life insurance policy is ripe, they are not going to move away, Brass is buying the bungalow, and we already have a houseful of children with two more to come.”

“So we’ll be selling our cottage, too.”

“Not if my calculations are OK. That’s our love-nest and we’ll need it one day. The kids aren’t going to live at home forever.”

“There must be a catch somewhere.”

“No catch, but I want you to use Dr Marble’s studio for your agency, Cleo.”

“That is a catch, Gary. I can’t carry on without Dorothy. I’ll have to close down the agency.”

“No, you’re not if everything turns out right.”

“I’m not even sure that I want it to,” said Cleo. “I’ve grown to love my cottage.”

“Of course you do.”

“I mean – if Dorothy retires completely the heart will go out of the agency. She often kept it running with her creative approach.”

“I hope you’re not serious,” said Gary

“Seriously up a gumtree,” said Cleo. “Dorothy joined later, but recently she has been a bit of a problem and you were the one who pointed it out to me first.”

“But not for you to throw in the towel, Cleo. Shall we go inside and lay any ghosts that are still hanging around?”

Cleo apologised for her pessimism. She had disappointed Gary, who was himself over the moon that he had managed to buy the villa.

“Awesome! You already have a key.”

“The perfect house-owner,” said Gary, now wary of Cleo’s reactions.

 “What about the guys who lived here after Dr Marble died?”

 “I’ll explain how it all came about, shall I?”

“ I assume we will have the place to ourselves. I’m not ready to be a landlady yet.”

“The villa was only rented out by the bank since it was actually mortgaged to the hilt. The guy who rented it has gone forever. He phoned me at HQ to tell me that he had no claims on the house and anyway, he would be glad to get away from Mrs Beatty, the faithfully housekeeper who had taken to stalking him and had recently asked him why he was seeing someone she called ‘that woman’ when he could have her.”

“I expect the worthy Mrs Beatty was ready to exorcise any ghost lurking in the shadows,” said Cleo.

“Mrs Beatty did not give up easily. She told him that she had looked after him for ages so she deserved his loyalty although he never shown any personal interest in the woman. In his view, she was the sort of household treasure who cleared away the mess and then went home.”

“A bit like a wife but without the sex,” said Cleo. “No. Correction. Wives are already at home clearing up the mess and the bit about sex needs more detail.”

“I’ll ignore that remark.”

“At your peril, Sweetheart! What if the bank doesn't cooperate after all?

“That lodger had gone. The house stood empty and that is an open invitation to squatters.”

“Even in this quiet district?”

“It wouldn’t be the first time. Anyway, I’ve signed the contract.”

“Sorry I was stupid about the ghosts.”

“Forgiven, my love.”

“I could ask Mrs Beatty if she would have time to put in a couple of hours a week with us,” said Cleo. “That would calm her troubled waters. I could talk her out of any reprisals she might have in mind. But would she set her cap at you?”

“You’d throw her out, I hope. I can’t really cope with more than one woman at a time.”

“I hope you don’t try. She probably thinks she has been deserted. Stalkers are often uncannily possessive about their victims.”

“She is a nuisance, Cleo. And stalkers often turn criminal when the object of desire does not cooperate.”

“Eternal love does not fade away even if it’s one-sided, Sweetheart.”

“You said it, Lady.”

“I loved you all the time,” said Cleo. “I was just too stupid to admit it.”

“I did not stalk you.”

“Maybe you should have!” said Cleo.

“You were too fearsome a concubine, my Love, though I never understood why. Robert, whom you only married out of pity, saw you as a chattal and would have slaughtered me.”

"There is something sinister about the idea of a patriarch like Dr Marble. In the end he was a victim of his own arrogance and domination. There are still plenty of men who think of their wives as trophies. Robert really did see me as a trophy.”

"Why are you telling me this now, Cleo? I hope you don't see me through those eyes."

"Maybe houses leave thoughts behind.”

“Don’t go down that lane either,” said Gary. “You’ll be telling me next that thoughts are things.”

“Well, aren’t they?”

“I suppose, if you turn thoughts into deeds.”

“Like thinking it’s time for a hug, Sweetheart?”

Appeased, CDI Gary Hurley, married to Cleo and father of half a dozen children,  removed the ‘for sale’ notice nailed to a tree as they walked up the drive to the villa, pushing Max and Mathilda in their twin pushchair up the gravel path to squeals of delight at the bumpy ride. He opened the ostentatious oak door and hoisted the pram into the hall. The babies were now wide awake, so their parents each plucked one wide-eyed infant and set off to inspect the villa.

Cleo was near to tears as they moved from room to room with Gary talking non-stop about his plans for their bright future.”

“I don’t know what to say,” she sniffed.

“Don’t say anything, my Love. Just be happy.”

“I am totally overwhelmed,” sniffed Cleo.

“So am I, to be honest. Being here with you is like seeing all again for the first time,” said Gary.  “I chose this moment with care.”

“You certainly did that successfully, Sweetheart. Have I said thanks?”

“It’s in your eyes, my Love.”

“They’re all misted up”.

“Exactly.”

***

On the way back up Thumpton Hill and home, the Hurleys came to a momentous decision. The move would be before Christmas. That gave them 3 clear weeks. There was packing to do. Gary would take time off from HQ to organize things. Cleo was tempted to phone Dorothy with her news, but didn’t. This was their thing, not hers. Dorothy Price would be too busy trying to get the Finch Nightingales, an unruly women’s choir, to sing in tune at least some of the time, so detective work would be on the back burner anyway. Dorothy wanted to retire. This was her big chance.

***

Back at the cottage, lunch had only just been started when the phone rang.

“At least we aren’t in bed,” said Gary.

“It’s midday, Gary. We aren’t uusually in bed at lunchtime.”

“More’s the pity.”

Cleo looked at the little LED screen. It said ‘anon’.

“Hartley Agency. Can I help?”

“Is that you, Miss Hartley?”

“Sure. Who’s calling please?”

“Peel here.”

Cleo had switched on the speaker so that they could both hear in comfort.

“Who did you say?”

“Peel from Pensioner’s Paradise,” the voice said. “I’ve changed the name from OAP home. That would not be our style.”

“Wee you allowed to do that?”

“Unofficially, of course. I tried to call you before, but you were not at home,” complained the voice.

“You should have tried my mobile number. Who are you, anyway?”

“Agnes Peel,” said the voice. “Mana… I mean housekeeper. Something has happened.”

“Serious enough for my detective agency, Miss Peel? Maybe you need to call the police.”

“I think he’s dead. He’s lying all stiff on the floor.”

“Who?”

“An old gentleman. He was playing cards and now he’s lying on the carpet, stiff as a post.”

“You really do need the police, Miss Peel. Does the prostrate person have a name?”

“Formby. He was a very nice resident.”

Gary exchanged looks with Cleo. They’d been through this many times before. Cleo seemed to be the target for people with corpses. Why didn’t they call the police, now Upper Grumpsfield had a police station all of its own? It was almost opposite the OAP home that had once been a very grand hotel.

Cleo repeated her advice to call the police.

“Our phone-book says to call you if we have an emergency.”

“I expect the address book is out of date, Miss Peel,” said Cleo. “We have a poöice station now.”

“It’s Mrs, Miss Hartley.”

“OK. Sergeant Bradley will be at the new sub police station on the main road, Mrs Peel. He can help.”

“So you can’t help at all? I thought you were living with a policeman.”

Gary gestured to Cleo that he was going to take over the call.

“Mrs Peel, this is Chief Detective Inspector Hurley here. What’s the problem?”

As if she had forgotten the reason for her call, Mrs Peel said “Is Miss Hartley in trouble, Inspector?”

“Not to my knowledge,” said Gary, who was amused by Mrs Peel’s volte face.

“I’m sorry I bothered her,” she continued. “Iif she is already having to face the police, I should not have. She sounded a bit stressed out.”

“Miss Hartley is not in trouble, Mrs Peel,” said Gary. “She’s my wife.”

“Well that’s a relief.”

“It’s a relief to me, too,” said Gary.

Mrs Peel giggled down the phone.

“So tell me what the problem is, and we’ll see what we can do,” said Gary, wondering if the woman was quite sane.

Mrs Peel garbled a tale of a bridge quartet that ended in a corpse. Gary was at a loss to understand most of what she said, so he told her that they would come over as soon as they had finished lunch and organized the household. She was not to touch anything, but leave everything as it was before the corpse occurred. Mrs Peel vowed to do that.

***

“Bang goes our siesta, Cleo,” said Gary. “That woman is a bit potty.”

“Bang goes the whole of the afternoon unless I’m much mistaken,” said Cleo. ”You’d better call your mother. She's at home with a view to having a free afternoon.”

“She won’t mind,” said Gary.

“But Roger will.”

“Roger will have to put up with it and I’m going to take his job offer, Cleo. He’s dying to retire and I’ll get him to put in a few hours in my job while he gets used to his new status.”

“OK,” said Cleo. “But why the hurry? Up tp now you haven’t wanted the job. You suspected chaos up to now.”

“Money, mainly, Cleo. Those managers upstairs get quite a tidy sum each month, and you can benefit from my trips to the town hall.”

“So that’s why you want to keep my agency going, is it?”

“Isn’t it a good reason?”

“I suppose so,” said Cleo. “I just hope you won’t regret taking the job. You’ve refused it at least three times to my knowledge.”

“Roger Stone is a great guy, but if he marries my mother it won’t look good for either of us if he’s my boss.”

“If it hurries that marriage along, you will already have done a good job. Those two have settled into being engaged. How boring is that?”

“I was engaged for a long time before the lady of my heart could decide to take me,” said Gary. “She even managed to marry someone else before she was persuaded.”

“I’ve said I’m sorry,” said Cleo.

“I don’t want the same to happen to Roger,” said Gary. “He really cares about my mother.”

“Grit is wonderful and I couldn’t ask for a better grandmother for our kids,” said Cleo.

“I couldn’t wish for a better mother, either,” said Gary, as Grit unlocked the front door and came in followed closely by Roger.

“Good timing!” said Gary, hugging his mother. “I’m so glad you two are here.”

“Where else could I be?” Roger said. “HQ has seen me for today.”

 “I've given it some thought and I accept your job offer,” said Gary, “but on one condition, or rather, two.”

“Good boy! What are they?” said Roger.

“The first is that you marry my mother within a month.”

“I can manage that if your mother can find something to wear,” said Roger.

“I’ll find something,” said Grit. “In fact, I already have.”

“The second condition is that you stay semi-retired and look in on us now and again.”

“I’ll do that,” said Roger. "That will keep me informed."

“I’ve forgotten a third condition, Roger.”

“And that is?”

“Nigel is going to stay my assistant. He might need promoting to Detective Sergeant so that he can hold his own above that glass ceiling.”

“You’ll do the promoting, Gary,” said Roger.

“So I will,” said Gary. “But you’ll have to train me to do your job. I don’t know if I’ll be any good at it.”

“False modesty, my son.”

Roger stepped forward and the two men exchanged a bear hug.

“When do we swap?”

“How about Monday week?” Gary suggested.

“Done,” said Roger.

***

“So what’s next on the list?” said Grit.

“I have a new corpse to deal with,” said Cleo. “At the OAP home on Thumpton Hill corner. Gary is coming along in his cop guise.”

“This village is a cultivator of corpses,” said Roger.

“And Cleo acts as a magnet for anyone who has one to offer,” said Gary. “We’ll be back as soon as we can. I’ll have to order the troops, no doubt. Is Toni coming?”

“She thought she was free after she’s collected the brood from the nursery. She’s meeting a young man this afternoon and bringing him home to supper,” said Grit.

“Wow, But you can manage here this afternoon, can’t you?” said Cleo.

“Of course we can,” said Grit. “Roger will be on hand, won’t you, darling?”

Roger nodded obediently.

“Roger can snooze on the sofa to make up for his lost siesta unless the boys decide to climb all over him. Get going while the corpse is still warm.” 

“Are you quite sure, Grit?” Cleo felt bound to ask. Now they had an au pair, she should not have needed to bother Grit, but her own mother was too busy having a life, she mused. Gloria was hardly likely to turn up to babysit. Those days were over.

“It’s no bother, Cleo, but you’ll have to take turns when my other son attains fatherhood.”

Grit’s joy at having been reunited with Joe, the twin son she thought dead, was boundless. Gary hugged her and promised her that they would get things better organized in future.

“No more corpses then?” Roger asked.

“One’s enough for today, father-to-be,” said Gary.

“There’s never just one,” said Cleo. “Expect a few more surprises.”

“Thus spoke the oracle,” said Gary. “But there’d better not be another mysterious death at that place. If Mrs Peel is as potty as she sounded on the phone, I dare say she will provide us with surprises, but I hope they aren’t dead ones.”

Don’t tempt fate!” Cleo advised.