“What about the vicar?” Derek said. Father Rodney was new and untried. He had replaced a nice, gentle man, who had been popular with the older ladies, but ineffective in raising the church’s profile and certainly not a great money-spinner.

“What do we know about him, apart from the fact that he’s a widower?” John said. “I suppose one of our churchgoers would know a bit of his background. After all, vicars get interviewed, like anybody applying for a job. He’s youngish and seems keen.”

“I’ll ask Lois,” Derek said. “She and the girls clean for him once a week. She’ll have all the info we need. You know my Lois!”

New Brooms was not exactly a cover for Lois’s work with the Tresham police, but ever since the business was set up she had investigated cases locally on an independent basis, using her cleaners to gather information. Snooping, she admitted. “Ferretin’, gel. That’s what I’d call it. Sticking your nose into dark corners and gettin’ all of us into trouble,” Derek said.

She worked for no pay on cases that interested her, or when on one or two occasions, her own family had been involved. And her connection with the police was restricted to one ramrod straight and serious policeman, Chief Detective Inspector Hunter Cowgill. A reserved and highly efficient professional, he said frequently that he valued her input. He also loved her dearly, which he didn’t say, at least, not very often. His nephew Matthew, also a policeman in the Tresham station, fancied Lois’s daughter, but that was Josie’s affair.

“Good idea,” said John. His own wife, Hazel, ran the New Brooms’ Tresham office, and would certainly be able to help. He had a sudden thought. “Shall I ask Hazel to do the secretarial work for the subcommittee?” he asked, and Derek approved the idea with alacrity.