Threats at Three by Ann Purser Page B

“I like to see what I’m buying.”
    Now Josie had chicken breasts, packets of beef and lamb mince, sausages of several kinds, all labeled as local produce. They sold well, and Gran was searching for a recipe she knew her mother had cooked, using slices of chicken, shallots and herbs.
    “It’s seven thirty,” Derek replied. “I fixed for it to be in the Reading Room. I can see we’ll probably be having more than one meeting a week as things go on, and Lois ain’t too keen on missing her telly programs.”
    Gran’s face fell. “That’s a shame,” she said. “I was goin’ to make some shortbread for you lot to have with your coffee.”
    “You can still make it,” Derek said, knowing perfectly well that a vanished opportunity for eavesdropping was the real reason for her disappointment. “I’ll take it with me when I go.”
    “Can’t think why we need all this fuss about restoring the village hall,” Gran said sulkily. “The Reading Room is fine, just the right size for meetings.”
    “All right for small meetings, but not for putting on concerts and plays, and playing badminton and havin’ cookery demonstrations an’ that. Anyway, Gran, I must be off now. I should be finished that job over at Fletching today, and then I can start on Sam Stratford’s rewiring job.”
    Gran found the recipe, and decided to walk down to the shop to buy chicken and other ingredients. They needed several other things, and she unhooked her shopping bag.
    It was a lovely morning, and Gran thought proudly that the village was good enough to be in a film, with its gold-stone houses and trim gardens and hedges. Hey! That was an idea for raising money! She must remember to tell Derek. If they could persuade filmmakers to use Farnden as a location, that would surely bring in big money, wouldn’t it? Her friend Joan, who lived in Blackberry Gardens, had been to the Island of Mull where the popular children’s TV program Balamory was filmed and crowds of tourists came specially to the island to see the place and the actors in the flesh.
    “Morning, Gran,” Josie said. “You’re down here early. Everybody gone off to work?”
    “Yep, leaving me to do the chores and provide hearty meals and comfort and advice,” Gran said, hands on hips.
    “Oh, go on with you,” Josie replied. “You know you love it. What would you do with yourself if you were still in that poky little bungalow on the Churchill?”
    “Well, you might be right. But enough o’ that. I need some chicken breasts.”
    “Making chicken Kiev?”
    “Certainly not,” Gran answered, “whatever that is. No, I found a recipe of your great grandmother’s, and thought I’d try it for supper.”
    “Dad’s got a meeting, hasn’t he?”
    “Yep, but it’ll all be ready when they get in. For some stupid reason, they’re meeting in the Reading Room in future.”
    Josie smiled. “Ah, never mind,” she said. “You could always drop in on them, bearing cream cakes and tea bags.”
    Gran huffed and puffed around the shop, gathering what she needed. Then she perched on the old person’s stool by the counter, and asked Josie what was new in the village. Half the fun for customers of the village shop was to exchange gossip, and although Josie tried to smile and say nothing, if there was some piece of news that was already common knowledge, then she happily passed it on to Lois or Gran.
    “Seems the idea of a soap box grand prix has sparked some interest,” Josie said. “O’ course, the whole thing about fund-raising for the village hall is the hot topic at the moment. Blimey, I’ve never heard so many heated discussions here in the shop! The village is split, I reckon. Some want a festival—mostly the incomers—and the rest, the old guard, are really looking forwards to the soap box racing. Seems there used to be something of the sort in the past.”
    “How about that Gavin Adstone?” Gran said. “The festival was his idea, apparently. Big idea, say some.