Free Threats at Three by Ann Purser Page A

charred beam where the smoldering stick had been shoved in behind.
    A burst of loud, jolly music came from inside the hall. “Aerobics,” said Lois.
    “Very good for you,” said Chris Bowler.
    “Not for me,” Lois said. “Tried it once an’ it nearly killed me. Anyway, I get exercise enough in my job. Scrubbin’ and cleanin’ and—”
    “—washing and ironing, not to mention gardening and cooking,” finished Cowgill, and he put his hand on Lois’s shoulder. “She’s a wonder,” he said, turning to his new assistant. “I couldn’t do without her,” he added, and to Lois’s embarrassment, his voice was husky.
    She changed the subject, said they should go inside. She added that Inspector Cowgill might like to see aerobics in action. He’d certainly get an eyeful of the female form, she said innocently.
    Once inside, Lois was interested to see Kate Adstone with a sleeping baby in a pushchair. And there was Floss, waving to Lois from behind the rest, a surprised look on her face.
    Cowgill walked up to the instructor, a trim-looking woman, blonde hair tied back and not an ounce of fat on her. Lois could see the old charm working its magic on her, and then a break was announced. Cowgill signalled Lois and Chris to go around the edges of the hall with him.
    “How’s your sense of smell, Lois?” Chris said.
    “Good, more’s the pity sometimes.”
    “Great. Any whiffs of smoke or petrol, call me over.”
    “I’ll go into the kitchen,” Lois said. “That’s where the villain would be most likely to break in, if he wanted. Mind you, I reckon they planned to set the fire going from outside, without bothering to come in. Quick getaway, an’ that. After all, this old wooden building would go up like bonfire night, once the fire took hold.”
    Chris nodded. “Still, worth checking,” she said.
    Lois stood in the kitchen and sniffed. Instant coffee. Damp. Mice. Drains. Nothing unexpected. She walked into the toilet, which was old but clean. Disinfectant and air freshener. And then, yes, petrol . . .
    She looked up and saw that the small window was unlatched. She followed the sniff to the corner of the cubicle behind the lavatory brush, where it became strong. Oh no, was that a small puddle on the floor? Pee? She couldn’t smell pee. A small wad of toilet paper was enough to dip into it. Petrol. Through the open door she called out to Cowgill, and he came quickly, with Chris at his side.
    “Here! Smell this.” She held out the toilet tissue, and he took it gingerly.
    “If this is some kind of a joke, Lois, I shall be forced to . . .” He sniffed, then held it out to Chris. She nodded. “So we need to lock up the place and get the chaps down.”
    The aerobics instructor was not pleased, but dismissed the class and said she sincerely hoped she would see them the same time next week.
     
     
    BY THE TIME LOIS REACHED HOME, GRAN HAD LUNCH WELL ON the way and Derek was back from the allotment, his feet up on the kitchen table, reading the local paper.
    “D’you mind!” Lois said. “We have to eat off that table, in case you hadn’t noticed, Derek Meade.”
    He grinned at her, and didn’t move.
    “Any luck with your tame inspector?” he said. He had now come to think that the two attempts to burn down the village hall had been made by the same person, and he was fairly sure he knew which person. A swift and strong warning from the police was all that was needed, he was certain, to stop the young fool. No doubt he’d find other places to vandalise, but as long as it wasn’t in Farnden, Derek could put it out of his mind.
    “Three of us met down there. Cowgill, his assistant and me. And I got the lucky break. I found the toilet had been broken into, through that dodgy window, and there was a strong smell of petrol.”
    “Did you find the can?”
    Lois shook her hand. “Just a puddle,” she said. “But I reckon there must’ve been more than one person. It’d take a skinny bloke to get through