Free Scandal at Six (Lois Meade Mystery) by Ann Purser

might be good for the job. What do you think, Mum?”
    Gran sat down heavily at the table. “Well, I suppose if you must even consider it, I can’t think of anyone I would rather have eaten by a bear than Dot Nimmo.”
    *
    Visitors were already arriving at the gate of the zoo, and Pettison had smartened himself up in order to walk around and answer questions from the grockles, as his former cleaner had called them. The more visitors, the more he liked it, not only because they brought in much-needed cash, but they acted as a perfect cover for his other interests.
    “Look, Margie,” he said to his employee in the ticket booth, holding out the woodpecker box towards her. “Isn’t he a splendid person? In his full plumage. Not often we see them so closely. I am taking him round to introduce him to a few grockles, and then I shall release him to fly away into the blue yonder.”
    “Yes, Mr Pettison. But don’t let him out too near me. Nasty dirty thing. You never know where it’s been. Now, if you’ll let me get on. We’re busy this morning. Good morning!” she added, turning to a family just arriving. “Are there five of you? Children go in half price. Enjoy your visit.”
    Margie Turner had worked for the zoo ever since Pettison opened it to the public. She was Tresham born and bred, and knew all about her employer and his Friday assignations. All the staff knew, and it was a source of great amusement to all. “Just imagine the old fool at it with that brassy blonde,” Margie had confided to her friend on the refreshment counter. “She must be desperate for the cash, that’s all I can say.”
    “Good morning. I have an appointment with Mr Pettison.” Lois had appeared at the gate, smartly dressed in her business clothes, pinstripe coat and skirt, with her long legs clad in sheer black tights. Good for business, she had told herself. She was well aware that the woman on the gate had rung through to announce her arrival, but Pettison would probably keep her waiting. He was that sort.
    As it happened, she was halfway up the drive to the house when a voice called to her from across the wide lawns.
    “Good morning! Glad to see you here bang on time! Come along in, and we’ll have coffee.”
    His voice was mellifluous and friendly, but Lois shivered. It was a warning, without any doubt, and she followed him with a foolish desire to turn and run.

Thirteen

    “I can see you are in dire need of a cleaner, M r P ettison,” said L ois, looking round the dirty, untidy kitchen. T hey had had coffee, during which time he refused to talk business, but had given her a colourful history of his life so far. I n spite of herself, L ois listened with interest. H e had been fascinated by rare animals all his life. H e grew up in A frica, where he had kept a small private zoo from the age of ten, and, on returning to E ngland in his forties, had planned a professional setup. T his had fitted in with his parents’ intention to buy a large house with parkland in the M idlands, and when they had both died, he had built up his collection until it was internationally known.
    “I am afraid Mrs Richardson was not the most reliable of persons,” he said finally, rinsing out the coffee mugs in a sink already full of dishes covered with the detritus of unnumbered previous meals.
    “Took you for a ride, I reckon,” said Lois. “Did as little work as possible, and collected her wages with a willing hand. I’ve met one or two Mrs Richardsons, and they don’t last five minutes in my team. Now, can we have a quick look around, and then I’ll give you some facts and figures about how New Brooms can help.”
    As they entered the drawing room, which looked out over a well-kept garden and parkland beyond, Lois was struck with the difference between the scruffy interior of the hall, and outside in the grounds, which were immaculate.
    “Are you the gardener? It’s certainly in better shape than all this,” she said, indicating the