7 A Mother’s Wisdom

Christie’s Detective Agency Two Part 7 THE BODY IN THE LIBRARY

“Are you sure it’s what you want to do with your life?” asked Horace’s, mother as she poured him a cup of tea after he’d changed to go out.

“Mum, I’d never have thought it was until I accidentally went for a job interview at Christie’s, thinking it was a branch of the auction people,” he told her, “you were on holiday with dad, so I couldn’t ask your advice: you never answer your phone, remember?”

“Well, you’re old enough to know your own mind. As long as it isn’t all sleazy taking photographs of dirty old men seducing their secretaries when their own wives aren’t looking.”

“There might sometimes be a bit of that, as well as dirty old women in next to nothing trying to tempt men who aren’t their husbands into bed!”

“Now, that’s enough of that sort of talk,” his mother huffed.

“It’s all right for you to say it about men, when I suggest women might sometimes be just as bad you don’t like it,” he complained, “anyway, it’s a murder we’re working on.”

“The old woman in the library? Fancy that! I’d have thought it was more a police thing than a back-street small time detective agency involved.”

“Jenny, that’s my boss, knows the Detective Inspector who’s in charge. She used to be a copper herself.”

“Then you tell her to keep a weather eye on the librarian. I knew him once, before he changed his name to avoid rumours following him everywhere.”

“What sort of rumours, mum?”

“Oh, it was a long time ago. It had something to do with his brother, but I don’t remember what. People said things like something or other being in the blood. I went out with him once, you know, years ago.”

“You went out with Mr Leslie? What did dad make of that?”

“It was before I met him, silly, and it was only the once. He’s too quiet for my liking, and a bit too bookish to make good company. He took me for a drink and only had cola himself. I mean, me on sweet white wine and him on cola!”

“At least you can remember what you were getting sloshed on, mum.”

“Now you mind your cheek, young Horace. You’re not too old for me to put over my knee and slap your bottom!”

“Why did you go out with him if he was such a bore then, mum?”

“You know, our Horace, I can’t recall. He had a car and took me out Swanspottle way to a quiet pub in the country. But he wasn’t much of a talker. He was quiet and decent and my mum, your granny, approved of him. She said he’d be good for me, but one date with him was so boring that I didn’t see it that way and got to know your dad instead, who spent the rest of his life being the one to bore me!”

“Now dad’s not like that!w

“I know, not really. I’m joking! Your dad and me, we’ve had some good times, the sort I wouldn’t dream of going into with any son of mine. Yes, your dad’s a good man and not the least bit boring and I shouldn’t have made the joke.”

“I’ll get Jenny to look into Mr Leslie’s past then, mum. I mean, if he changed his name he must have a had a good reason, especially if he’s a quiet sort of bloke. I wonder why he did it.”

“I don’t think I ever knew for sure, love. And I can’t remember anything about that one date I had with him. We sat in a corner and he mumbled stuff, mostly boring stuff I didn’t understand. He never got married, you know. At least, I don’t think he did. Even back then he was losing his hair. He’s as bald as a coot now and back then it was thinning out. Mind you, I was only about twenty and he was a bit older.”

“He was a baby snatcher then, mum?”

“And I was the baby? That about sums him up. He never even tried to kiss me, and back then most lads liked a snog in the dark and they reckoned that buying you a glass of fizz gave them the right.”

“Maybe he was what is known as gentleman, mum? Maybe he treated with you the respect that you deserved?”

“You reckon I deserve respect do you? Well, you’ve never showed me much!”

“Now that’s a lie, mum.”

“I know, just teasing again! That was something old what’s his name never did: he never did anything light hearted like teasing me. Not that I wanted him to, but it’s nice when someone can have a joke with you. Especially if you’re a single girl looking for a good time.”

“Now you’re making yourself sound like a slapper, mum.”

“Hey! That’s enough of that kind of name-calling!”

“Sorry. Look, mum, I’m off out in a bit. I’ve got a date with the woman who works at the library, Damsel she’s called.”

“Now if it’s slappers you want she’s one! What do you want to be seen with her for?”

Horace shrugged his shoulders. “It’s for work, mum. She works at the public library where a murder was committed and I want to pump her for any useful info she might have up her sleeve.”

“I’d watch her if I were you, son, or she’ll have your trousers off before you can say Jack Robinson! I’ve heard a few mouth-watering tales about her, that I have.”

“Is that a fact, mum?”

“It’s said that’s what killed her husband when he was alive. Too much of what she liked and he couldn’t keep pace with!”

Horace stiffened. “You say she’d been married, mum?

“Married and widowed in twelve months, she was. A few years back, but it caused quite a stir at the time. Mind you, he was quite a bit older than her, and probably couldn’t stand the pace.”

He grinned at her. It wasn’t characteristic for his mother to make that kind of suggestion. But as he would soon leave his teens behind him he was being treated more like an adult who knew more about life than the boy of yesterday did.

“What pace might that be, mum?” he asked.

“If you don’t know I ain’t saying. Anyway, she’s a sight older than you, so you be careful.”

“I’ve got more worldly wisdom than you know anything about,” he said mysteriously and untruthfully. “Look, mum, I won’t be late but I need to get away now. And whatever I do when I walk home I won’t be plaiting my legs. I’ve got to keep my mind on things. But you can tell me one thing. What did her husband die of?”

“You mean, did she kill him? Well, I don’t think you can lay that at her door. He was crossing the road in town and walked straight in front of a bus. Pre-occupied, he was, probably about her. He died a few days later in hospital, and she was so overwhelmed by grief you wouldn’t believe it. So you treat her kindly, but don’t mention tomorrow. Her late husband was in his fifties, you know, and she’s still thirty-something and no doubt on the look out for you know what. We don’t want her to go from and old beau to a baby now, do we?”

“Ha ha! I’ll be off then, mum. Dad shouldn’t be long so you won’t be all lonesome for too many minutes.”

“See you then, son. And be careful.”

That’s one thing she always says when I go anywhere … be careful. As if I’d be anything but careful!

He walked swiftly into town and to the Miller’s Arms where he’d agreed to meet Damsel Eagerhill and her red lips.

© Peter Rogerson 01.10.21

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