Scaring Crows by Priscilla Masters Page B

ago.’ She gave a sour grimace. At least they were some use. Used to keep the mice down. He’s done it up like a birthday cake. I don’t think he’s quite all there.’ She gave a scornful laugh. ‘He hangs coathangers from the trees.’
    Joanna gave Mike a startled glance. ‘Who exactly is he?’
    â€˜One of these daft, London people,’ the spinster said with all the prejudice of country born and bred. ‘One of these people who escapes to the country bringing their daft London ways with them. Fashion.’ She almost spat the word. ‘They like to make monkeys out of us. Calls himself a modern sculptor.’ Somehow she had managed to modify her Staffordshire burr to a high-pitched, mincing tone with all the affectation of a society ball.
    â€˜But you don’t know his name?’ Mike’s pencil was still poised.
    â€˜Titus Mothershaw,’ Hannah said reluctantly. ‘ Titus . What sort of a name is that?’
    Joanna smothered a smile and addressed Mike. ‘We’d better go and see him.’
    â€˜Arrest him, you mean,’ the old lady said spitefully. ‘It’s obvious to me if it isn’t to you. Oil and water, you see. And there’s your motive.’
    Joanna stood up. ‘Nothing’s so obvious to me, Miss Lockley. And until it is we won’t be making any arrests. Now if you do happen to make contact with your niece I would like you to tell her we are very anxious to speak to her.’
    Mike hesitated before he spoke up. ‘As far as you know did Aaron or Jack and this sculptor man have any arguments?’
    â€˜Not that I’m aware of,’ the old lady said sulkily.
    â€˜In fact you said that Aaron was glad of the money. And Mr Mothershaw, I suppose, liked living in the Owl Hole.’
    â€˜Yes, I suppose so.’ Said even more grudgingly.
    â€˜So there would be no point in him shooting either of the Summers, would there?’
    Hard eyes met his. ‘They might have argued and I not known. Maybe Aaron had seen sense at long last and had given him notice to quit. He wouldn’t have liked that after all the work that he’s done there.’
    â€˜This is pure conjecture,’ Joanna said.
    â€˜Oh, you think so, do you?’ the old lady said. ‘Well what would you think of someone who builds obscene sculptures in the garden. He’s a monstrous man.’
    Joanna couldn’t make up her mind to be amused at the old lady’s prejudice or to take it seriously. But then this was a murder investigation. Everything must be taken seriously. She tried to uncover the facts. ‘You can’t think of any specific reason why this “monstrous man” might want to shoot his landlord, can you?’
    â€˜No,’ Miss Lockley said reluctantly, ‘but I can soon find out things.’
    â€˜Well if you do perhaps you’ll let us know.’
    â€˜I certainly will, young man.’ Mike’s sarcasm was wasted on the old girl.
    Joanna tried again. ‘Miss Lockley,’ she said patiently, ‘can you think of anyone who bore the family a grudge?’
    The woman’s eyes misted over and she looked upset. ‘I ... No I don’t think so. Perhaps.’ Then she shook her head. ‘I can’t think anyone would have wanted to kill Aaron. He wasn’t a bad man.’
    â€˜And Jack?’
    â€˜No,’ she said. ‘No one could have wanted to have killed Jack.’
    The wording struck Joanna. What could she mean? That Jack might have been killed by accident? A clear vision of the slumped body of the younger farmer, his hands covering the huge wound in his chest, dispelled the idea as quickly as it had formed.
    That could not have been her meaning. So she pushed on with her questions. ‘How did Ruthie get on with her brother?’
    â€˜Very well,’ Hannah said wearily. ‘I never heard them argue. They were devoted to each