'Where on earth is it?' I asked. It looks so… rural.' That was the first word I could come up with that was truthful as well as sounding like I approved.
'It's really wild, isn't it? It's only three minutes away from the M66. If s just above Ramsbottom. I can be in the office in twenty minutes outside rush hour, but if s completely isolated from the hassle of city life.'
If that had been me, I'd have ended the sentence six words sooner. If you're more than ten minutes away from a Marks amp; Spencer Food Hall (fifteen including legal parking), as far as I'm concerned, you're outside the civilized world. 'Right,' I said. That's just what you wanted, isn't it?'
'Yeah, it's the business. As soon as we saw it advertised, we called a meeting of the other people we'll be building with, and we all went off to see it. We've agreed a price with the builder, but he wants a quick completion because someone else is interested. Or so he says, but if you ask me, he's just on the make. Anyway, we've put down a deposit of five thousand pounds on each plot, and it's looking good. So it's time to sell this place and get our hands on the readies we'll need to build the new house.'
'But where are you going to live while you're building?' I asked.
'Well, Kate, it's funny you should mention that. We were wondering…' I nearly panicked. Then I saw the smile twitching at the corner of her mouth. 'We're going to buy a caravan now, at the end of the season when it's cheap, live in it over the winter and sell it in the spring. The house should be just about habitable by then,' Alexis told me cheerfully. I couldn't control the shiver that ran through me.
'Well, any time you need a bath, you're more than welcome,' I said.
'Thanks. I might just take you up on that, you being so handy for the office,' she said.
I drained my mug and got to my feet. 'I've got to run.'
'Don't tell me, you're off on some Deep Throat surveillance,' Alexis teased.
'Wrong again. I can see why you just write about crime rather than detecting it. No, Richard and I are going tenpin bowling.' I said it quickly, but it didn't get past her.
Tenpin bowling?' Alexis spluttered. Tenpin bowling? Shit, Brannigan, it'll be snogging in the back row of the pictures next.'
I left her giggling to herself. All through history, the pioneers have been mocked by lesser minds. All you can do is rise above it.
There are probably worse ways to spend a wet Wednesday in Warrington than wandering round modern housing developments talking to the local inhabitants. If so, I haven't discovered them. I got to the first address soon after nine, which wasn't bad considering it had taken me twice as long as usual to get ready that morning because of the painful stiffness in my right shoulder. I'd forgotten you shouldn't go tenpin bowling unless you've got the upper body fitness levels of an Olympic shot putter.
The first house was at the head of a cul-de-sac that spiralled round like a nautilus shell. I tried the doorbell of the neat semi, but got no response. I peered through the picture window into the lounge, which was furnished in spartan style, with no signs of current occupation. The clincher was the fact that there was no TV or video in sight. It looked as if my conservatory buyers had moved and were renting out their house. Most people who let their homes furnished tuck their expensive but highly portable electrical goods away into storage in case the letting agency don't do their homework properly and let the house to people of less than sterling honesty. Strangely, a couple of the houses I'd visited the previous evening had had a similar air of absence.
Round the back, there was more evidence of the missing conservatory than in the others I'd seen, where the concrete bases they'd been built on had simply looked like unfinished patios. Here, there was a square of red glazed quarry tiles extending out beyond the patio doors. Round the edge of the square was a little wall, two bricks deep, except for a door-sized gap. And the walls showed the now familiar traces of the mortar that had attached the extension to the house.
I'd noticed a car parked in the drive of the other half of the semi, so I made my way back round to the front and rang the doorbell, which serenaded me with an electronic 'Yellow Rose of Texas'. The woman who opened the door looked more like the Dandelion Clock of Cheshire. She had a halo of fluffy white hair that looked like it had been defying hairdressers for more than half a century. Grey-blue eyes loomed hazily through the thick lenses of gold-rimmed glasses as she sized me up. 'Yes?' she demanded.
'I'm sorry to bother you,” I lied. 'But I was wondering if you could help me. I represent the company who sold next door their conservatory…'
Before I could complete my sentence, the woman cut in. 'We don't want a conservatory. And we've already got double glazing and a burglar alarm.' The door started to close.
'I'm not selling anything,” I yelped, offended by her assumption. Great start to the day. Mistaken for a double-glazing canvasser. 'I'm just trying to track down the people who used to live next door.'
She stopped with the door still open a crack. 'You're not selling anything?'
'Cross my heart and hope to die. I just wanted to pick your brains, that's all.' I used the reassuring voice. The same one that usually works on guard dogs.
The door slowly opened again. I made a great show of consulting the file I was carrying in my bag. 'It says here the conservatory was installed back in March.'
That would be about right,” she interrupted. 'It went up the week before Easter, and it was gone a week later. It just disappeared overnight.' History had just been made. I'd dropped lucky at the first attempt.
'Overnight?'
That was the really peculiar thing. One day it was there, the next day it wasn't. They must have taken it down during the night. We never heard or saw a thing. We just assumed there must have been some dispute about it. You know, perhaps she didn't like it, or she didn't pay or something? But then, you'd know all about that, if you represent the firm,” she added with a belated note of caution.
'You know how it is, I'm not allowed to discuss things like that,” I said. 'But I am trying to track them down. Robinson, my file says.'
She leaned against the door jamb, settling herself in for a good gossip. It was all right for her. I was between the cold north wind and the door. I jerked up the collar of my jacket and hated her quietly. 'She wasn't what you'd call sociable. Not one for joining in, you might say. I invited her in for coffee or drinks several times and she never came once. And I wasn't the only one. We're very friendly here in the Grove, but she kept herself to herself.'
I was slightly puzzled by the constant reference to the woman alone. The form in the file was in two names – Maureen and William Robinson. 'What about her husband?' I asked.
The woman raised her eyebrows. 'Husband? I'd have said he was somebody else's husband, myself.'
I sighed mentally. 'How long had you known Mrs. Robinson?' I asked.
'Well, she only moved in in December,' the woman said. 'She was hardly here at all that first month, what with Christmas and everything. Most weeks she was away three or four nights. And she was always out during the day. She often didn't get home till gone eight. Then she moved out a couple of days after the conservatory went. My husband said she probably had to move suddenly, on account of her work, and maybe took the conservatory with her to a new house.'
'Her work?'
'She told my Harry that she was a freelance computer expert. It takes her all over the world, you know. She said that's why she'd always rented the house out. There's been a string of tenants in there ever since we moved in five years ago. She told Harry this was the first time she'd actually had the chance to live in the house herself.' There was a note of pride in her voice that her Harry had managed to get so much out of their mysterious neighbour.