11. AN EXPLOSION

Tom Coppleby makes an unexpected announcement, and then there's tragedy....

It was next morning. Rosie and the twins were up bright and early, though bright might not have been quite the right word, because the weather had changed and rain clouds threatened to wipe out the best of the day.

And along with that Tom Coppleby looked troubled.

He and his wife June had popped across the length of the Twelve Trees site with their umbrellas. The site itself was a neatly manicured patch of grass that would be full to capacity by the weekend according to its owner, the elderly Gerald Bingley, but for now Tom and June had decided to call on Rosie Baur. Constable Allsop had also arrived there, fresh-faced from Seaholme.

The site looked what it was: fastidiously attended to and mowed to perfection. It looked at its pristine best with barely a mark where caravans had been and gone over the summer because Gerald insisted they moved after a week if they intended to stay longer, to preserve the appearance of the grass.

“You’ve stirred up a right hornet’s nest and no messing,” grumbled Tom after he had accepted a cup of tea.

“The dead should be left sleeping in peace,” suggested June.

Rosie looked at Tom, surprised. She’d known him for some years and must have bumped into him a good dozen times since she had first used Twelve Trees, and she rather thought she liked him despite his tendency to be occasionally grumpy. So why did he call the discovery of a murder victim in the woods a hornet’s nest? And why did his wife, considerably younger than him and, she thought, a great deal brighter, seem to like the idea of vicious and serious crimes remaining unsolved?

“What hornet’s nest?” she asked, mildly.

He supped the cup of tea she had provided him with whilst the twins sat on a bunk bed arguing about the best way of finding a pirate’s hoard with a metal detector.

“It’s that scene in the woods,” he said, “and the skeleton. I knew there’d be trouble if coppers started coming here!” He glanced towards the chest of drawers where Rosie had put the old computer they had taken from the caravan. “I had one of those once,” he mumbled. “Years ago, when they were top of the range.”

“Not much good without a disc,” said Rosie.

“And you won’t find one of those easy to get your hands on,” he commented, “three inch discs are as rare as… I dunno.”

“Hens’ teeth?” suggested Jack from where he was lounging, and Jill giggled.

“Yes. Hens’ teeth,” he smiled back at the boy. “June and I are off tomorrow,” he said abruptly. “Thought we’d take a trip across country into Wales and get lost in the wilds there for a week or two.”

“You never told me, Tom!” declared June, raising both eyebrows.

I’m surprised you’ve gone for an older man like grumpy old Tom when you’ve got those looks, thought Rosie. June may have been around fifty, but she didn’t look a day over thirty. Lucky thing, she almost said aloud.

“I told you last night before I went to sleep!” Tom almost shouted at June, “I told you well and good!”

“You went to sleep before me, your snoring was enough to waken the dead, and you never said a word, not one word about moving on,” protested June, alarmed by what she saw as an unmotivated outburst.

“Well, I’ve told you now,” grunted Tom, “so there.”

“I like it here,” murmured June, clearly unhappily, “and you find driving more than a few miles a bit of a strain, don’t you? So why plan to tow the van so far?”

“You can take over the driving when I’m knackered,” he retorted.

“I don’t have a licence and I haven’t passed my test,” she pointed out, “what’s got into you, Tom?”

“I feel like a change,” he said bluntly, “come on woman! We need to get sorted!”

And he stood up and half-pulled her out of Rosie’s van. They watched as, half-running despite his age, he dragged her to his own caravan.

“Well, well, Danny,” breathed Rosie, “what’s got into him, I wonder?”

“Maybe had a domestic,” suggested Danny, “or maybe ate something that disagreed with him,” he added.

“Or maybe troubled about that van in the woods,” murmured Rosie, “I wonder if he knew the owners? Recognised it?

“Did he actually see it? It’s a fair walk the short way and he’s not the sprightly young thing he might have been once,” asked Danny. “I mean, his good lady, and she’s something special, said he might not be up to driving far and driving’s a damned sight easier than walking!”

“He’d be fitter if he lost a few pounds,” grinned Rosie.

“Or stones,” came the voice of Jill from where she make-believe searched for treasure.

There was a knock at their open door and Gerald called out, “anyone home?”

“Come in, Gerald,” invited Rosie, and introduced the site owner to Constable Danny Allsop. “What can we do for you?” she asked.

“It’s Tom. He just told me he’s off tomorrow, out of the blue, and June looked unhappy about it. I saw him here. You haven’t fallen out, by any chance, have you?”

“Me? Why, no,” said Rosie thoughtfully, “he told us he was off to Wales on the morrow and it seemed to surprise his wife as much as it surprised us.”

“I wonder what’s got into him?” murmured Gerald, “he’s been our best customer for years, even before his first wife died.”

“What happened to her, sir?” asked Danny, ever the polite young copper.

“They weren’t here at the time,” replied Gerald, “so I don’t know any details and he’s always been schtum about it. Upset, I suppose. She was a pretty young thing, a year or so younger than him anyway. Lucky sod, the young women all seeming to want to go for him! It was about the time when his fortune’s picked up and he gave up work for a life of leisure. It’s all right for some!”

“What did he do before he packed it in?” asked Danny.

“Oh, I dunno. Something to do with double glazing, I seem to remember. It was quite a growth industry back then, thirty-odd years ago. Anyway, he got out of it when his boat came in, figuratively speaking. Then his lovely wife got ill … I only saw her when she was well, so my memories are of that rather than her dying.”

“What did she die of?” asked Rosie.

“I don’t think he ever told me,” sighed Gerald. “Anyway, I popped across to ask if you knew what had got into him and it seems that you don’t.”

There was a silence that might have lasted while they thought about life and death, but didn’t because suddenly, loud as a war, there was an almighty explosion.

It came from the direction of the Coppleby caravan and was followed by a wailing shout.

“Help!” it came, loud and with desperation, “there’s been a gas bottle leaking and June’s got a blast full in the face. Help! It’s June … I think … I think that she’s dead!”

© Peter Rogerson 30.03.17