Episode 3 - Nigel

Tuesday, December 15

Nigel was delighted to be invited to supper at the cottage that evening. He had gone through two days of agony as Gary swapped his beloved office for a bigger one on the 3^rd floor. Nigel thought that Gary being a brand new Superintendent was a pain. To make matters worse, Greg Winter had opted out for a whole week – unforgiveable in the circumstances, since Gary was obliged to do his work, no one else being available.

Nigel liked things to be organized. In the four years he had been Gary Hurley’s Man Friday, he had managed to organize everything in sight, including the cubbyhole behind Gary’s old office, where a miniature wash-basin and Gary’s state-of-the-art espresso machine were installed. The other long wall being dedicated to reference material and ring binders of ongoing and past cases, and a couple of hooks for coats. The fittings were complemented by a very small cupboard in which the coffee-making utensils and supplies were stored. Nigel had not been able to take over total control because Gary had given up superficial womanizing and was devoting himself to Cleo, which entailed being absent for long lunch breaks and hours of Gary gazing besotted at the photo of Cleo propped up on his desk.

No wonder Nigel had become the most efficient of assistants to whom most people addressed their queries before challenging the knowhow of his boss.

Nigel owed a lot to Gary (and the feeling was mutual). Nigel had hated being a traffic cop, which was the normal way into police work at Middlethumpton Headquarters. He had arrived fresh from police school already full of dread and the realization that he was not cut out for the job. His parents ran a dry-cleaning business and Nigel was thinking seriously about taking over when his parents reached retiring age, which would be soon. Nigel was a late-comer in the marriage after years of trial and error during which his parents passed the maximum age for adopting a child. They were overjoyed to have finally created a son to inherit the business. 29 years later, they were glad when Nigel announced that he hated being a cop (hadn’t his parents told him he would?), and shortly after that disappointed when Nigel announced that the head of the traffic squad was being promoted to head of homicide and was appointing him as his assistant. A despairing sortie by Nigel to the family where he declared that he had come to stay was only short-lived. Nigel did not want the dry-cleaning business after all and was glad to return to Gary’s office in which he felt wanted and now took so much pride.

But Nigel was not just an assistant cop; he was an active participant and organizer of a travesty troupe. They called themselves ‘Lucky 13’ and practiced at least once a week for shows they later presented in full diva-vamp costume and makeup. The group was made up of a mixed bunch; debauchery was frowned on; the various sexual preferences of the troupe members were not up for discussion. What mattered was how good they were on stage (not anywhere else). The troupe included three family fathers who liked dressing up, a couple of students (not a pair) still looking for the ultimate answer to their need for companionship and activity. Nigel had advanced to head of the troupe more or less by default was in a good position to persuade Gloria, Cleo’s mother and a former show-girl, to coach them in high kicks, which she could, to their amazement, still do to shoulder height.

***

But that was not the reason Dorothy Price had been instrumental in inviting the troupe to put on a Christmas show. She was tired of the inevitable pantomime and carol singing. It was all too old-fashioned, she decided. Dorothy moved with times. If you wanted carol singing, you could attend the open-air singalong on Christmas Eve. If you wanted to see a pantomime, you could get tickets for the scratch company in Middlethumpton, whose volunteers put on three performances that were mainly for the benefit of Mr Cobblethwaite, the mayor, who came to all three and laughed till tears ran down his cheeks at the antics of the comic characters based on his own bumptious conduct and bad manners.

Gloria had not told Cleo that she was coaching Lucky 13. She hadn’t told Dorothy either, so when she phoned to ask to see the church hall that doubles as a village hall and boasts a stage, Dorothy was surprised. Could Gloria measure the width of the stage for the line-dancing numbers? Gloria could despite Dorothy’s foreboding. Two rehearsals were arranged to enable the dancing to go off without a hitch.

Lucky 13 was a scrupulously disciplined troupe. Once a month auditions were held for prospective members since the fallout was frequent. The name of the troupe was not to be changed. Should a 14^th performer join it, he would be described as a plus sign. Cleo was keen to know if Mr Thomas had tried to get into the troupe. There had to be a reason for the contents of his sports bag.

Nigel would know.

***

Gary was still working in his new office when Nigel closed the old one and collected his car from its reserved spot to drive to upper Grumpsfield. Cleo had not mentioned Lucky 13 to Nigel, so he wondered if his invitation had anything to do with Gloria’s participation in the Lucky 13 show. How would Cleo react to the news that her mother was going to perform at the show if she did not already know? But Gloria had not told her daughter. Cleo laughed heartily when Nigel broke the news.

“She won’t just want to coach. My mother is stage-struck. Is she going to dress up as a man?” she asked. “That would be logical.”

“How did you guess?” said Nigel. “I think it’s a good idea.”

“I’m surprised you haven’t invited a guy called Thomas to be Gloria’s twin sister,” she said.

“Did you say Thomas?”

“Sure. Mr Thomas moved in with a person who once helped me to solve a mystery,” she said. “She disliked him instantly, but felt obliged, though the guy she was living with probably didn’t even know about the son, or if he did, wanted to get away from him and disappeared without trace. He lived with Hilda Bone and used her name.”

“Past tense? So he’s dead, is he?”

“Didn’t I say that?”

“Not I so many words.”

“Hilda was naturally curious about this Thomas  guy’s sudden, unwelcome appearance, so when he was out she got into the room he had appropriated with a second key and took a peek in his sports bag, looking for proof of his identity, I suppose. It did not contain sports equipment. It contained woman’s stuff – glamorous and gaudy..”

“So you deduced that a guy named Thomas must have auditioned for us. Is that why I’m here?”

“It is one reason.”

“You could have asked me over the phone, Cleo. I thought you’d asked me to supper because we are friends.”

“We are friends, Nigel, and you are here for supper, but I needed to explain all this stuff you in person. I don’t suppose Gary has time this week to even think about the significance of what’s happening and I don’t think it’s trivial when someone sends an anonymous threatening letter to my friend Dorothy.”

“Gary’s busy with Gisela,” said Nigel. “That’s the old trout in charge of the traffic cops.”

“I’ve heard about her. She hogs the fast cars, doesn’t she?”

“Not much longer. Gary is out to get the newest order for homicide. We’ve been outraced far too often. Roger is a bit of a softie. There’s something wrong in a regime that can’t afford cars fast enough to catch the gangsters. They can afford 500 horsepower. We can’t. We end up borrowing cars from the traffic division, but as often as not there’s none free. Politics seems to infer that catching road hogs is more lucrative than catching felons. Greg Winter is of the same opinion. We’ll have to change her range of influence. I don’t know how she became a superintendent in the first place.”

“I think that’s one reason why Gary took the job. I suspect that Gisela was running rings round Roger.”

“It’s a question of priorities,” said Nigel. “It’s a ludicrous situation. Do they want to let the gangsters off scot-free? Gisela is dedicated to parking fines.”

“Awesome! Changing the subject, tell me about Mr Thomas’s audition.”

“First tell me why you need to know.”

“I expect Gary told you that posters for your show were defaced, didn’t he?”

“He mentioned it, but they’ve been replaced, haven’t they?” said Nigel. “You expect some opposition in a place like this. Most people don’t know what a travesty show is.”

“Dorothy Price received an anonymous letter yesterday – thrust through her letter flap – saying that her friends would be in danger if the show went on. We are her friends, Nigel. That letter is scary.”

“Do you know who wrote it? It was probably someone local if it wasn’t posted.”

“Dorothy challenged her next door neighbour, and Jane Barker admitted that she had been helped by a woman named Hilda Bone who once did a lookout for me on a case and her lodger, a guy named Bryn Thomas.”

“So two silly women and a guy named Thomas sent a nasty letter to Dorothy. Were they too prudish to tolerate a travesty show and too cowardly to tell Dorothy to her face that they wanted it cancelled?” said Nigel.

“I don’t believe in coincidences, Nigel. The guy – and I suspect that you turned him down at the Lucky 13 casting - claims that Hilda was living with his father. He clearly has a hold over her. Quite apart from any other self-styled raison d'être, why would the guy want to visit a friend of hers if he did not have an ulterior motive, such as ruining the show he could not take part in as a form of revenge?”

“The woman should throw him out if he isn’t welcome. Or he might be lying.”

“No, he seems to be the genuine article. She wrote his father’s name into the house deeds and now he wants to get her out.”

“That seems more like a reason for his bitching around. The connection to Lucky 13 seems more of a coincidence.”

“I think that guy is a closet gay with a grudge. If I’m not mistaken, his audition was turned down, wasn’t it?”

Nigel nodded.

“Now he’s taking revenge by wanting the whole show to be cancelled. He will have Hilda’s objection to the show as a gifr from the gods.”

“How do you know he auditioned?”

“Instinct.”

“On the mark, Cleo. He must have found out that Dorothy invited us to Upper Grumpsfield, possibly from your mother, who is so chatty it’s embarrassing, so getting at Dorothy and frightening her would be an easy way of getting the show banned. What drama!”

“Quite trivial coupled with wanting Hilda’s house,” said Cleo. And his claim is actually legal.””

“The action against Lucky 13 is definitely revenge for a failed casting,” said Nigel. “All sorts of twits audition and are hopeless; then the most hopeless one gets the job. Very amusing with Thomas in the leading role.”

“But this threat is serious. Hilda is scared of him, but she must have told him about Dorothy. Hilda hates the idea of what she regards as an immoral show instead of a respectable pantomime and hates Dorothy for all sorts of other reasons, as well. She probably encouraged him to get at Dorothy.”

“It sounds like a Policeman Pat story.”

“Tell me what happened at Mr Thomas’s audition.”

“It was terrible,” said Nigel with a shudder. “He appeared in makeup put on with a trowel over a ten-hour shadow, an extraordinary blond wig, a long hideous frock lacking sleeves and anything else to recommend it, high heels he could not walk on, and some kind of sari or was it a table-cloth arranged over his shoulders.” said Nigel. “That fat bust was genuine. He is obese,”

Nigel’s revulsion was also genuine.

“He was a bit like the advert for Dunlop tyres and it was acutely embarrassing. He pranced and wobbled round the stage doing a sort of quickstep with his heels crashing down all the time. He even tried to sing. There was no way we could include him in our show.”

“No room for a clown?”

“He wasn’t funny.”

“Even if it saves your show?”

“Not even then, Cleo. And don’t suggest Santa Claus.”

“So Mr Thomas is out of bounds, is he? If I asked you to give him a chance for the next show, not this one, would you do it?”

“I’d think about it.”

“By then we’d have found a way of getting him out of Hilda’s hair.”

“If he’s legally entitled to a share in the house, he won’t be palmed off with an offer to attend rehearsals for the next show,” said Nigel, for a moment becoming a veritable arm of the law.

“I think he might,” said Cleo. ”He’s vain enough to be fooled, from what I hear. Will you try, for the sake of my kids’ safety?”

“Put like that, I can hardly refuse, can I?”

“Thanks. You’re  a  Sweetie.”

“I’d rather not be. Gloria calls me that.”

“What has my mother got to do with it.”

“Didn’t she tell you? She’s training our line-dancing.”

***

Gary’s arrival coincided with the big hug Cleo was just dedicating to Nigel.

“Should I join in?” he said. “Any special reason?”

“Nigel is going to save the travesty show by inviting Bryn Thomas to rehearse for the next one.”

“Not him again. I hope you know what you are doing, Nigel. I’ve heard he is not pretty sight.”

“I know. We turned him down at his audition.”

“Did you? That may be a reason for his aggression against those posters, but we’ll never prove it.”

“I’ll phone him tomorrow, Cleo, and invite him to the show and to join the troupe for the next show,” said Nigel.

“Thanks.”

“I hope you know what you’re letting yourself in for,” was Gary’s only comment. His facial expression said the rest.

***

After that, the evening passed smoothly. Nigel read stories to PeggySue, drew a sheep in Charlie’s notebook because they were doing the geography of where sheep could be found all over the world, sang to them all, and eventually appeared in time for a large portion and a second helping of Grit’s lamb casserole, admittedly rather an ironic repast after Nigel had raved about the beautiful sheep on Snowdon.

It was late when he left, but not too late for that nightcap coffee Cleo and Gary always celebrated before turning in. A veil can be drawn over the rest of the pre-sleep phase.