“We talked about it on Tuesday.” Marina dropped the outraged voice. “Look, don’t panic. Angela’s doing the magic lantern show first, so you’ve got a bit of time. I know how you feel, I’ve been all of a tizz ever since the Susie thing. Just get here, as fast as you can.”
“What about the refreshments?” Libby was supposed to have taken them across from the bakery this morning.
“Mandy brought them over. She said she stayed with you last night?” The question hung in the air. No problem with Marina’s gossip antennae.
Libby ignored it. “Look, my car’s in the garage. Can someone pick me up? I’ll be ready in ten minutes.”
She grimaced. She’d agreed to some crazy things, since she came to Exham, hoping to fit in with the townspeople, but it would probably take at least twenty years to be accepted as a local. She really ought to spend more time on her career. She was getting behind with the book, and it was time she booked another cooking course. Patisserie. That would be her future. Or maybe, chocolate. She’d see what Ali thought. She ran downstairs. Better not keep Marina waiting.
Marina’s car screeched to a halt at the back of the Hall, at the tradesman’s entrance. Libby dashed through the sudden downpour, frantically grasping the edges of an umbrella as the wind threatened to turn it inside out. She pasted a serene expression on her face as they walked in. “It’s OK.” Marina poked her head through a crack in the door. “Angela’s kept them busy.” Laughter blared from the hall, followed by applause as Angela finished. “Come on, then,” Marina hissed. “It’s us next.” She gave her friend a hearty shove and Libby half-fell into the hall.
She was never going to volunteer for anything, ever again. She really, really hated people staring. What had she been thinking? Well, too late now. She smiled through clenched teeth, lips stiff, as Marina dressed her up in Victorian costume and make-up, beginning with a cotton shift and working up through layers of corsets and wire crinoline cages. She wouldn’t be able to bear the weight for more than five minutes. How did Victorian ladies keep going all day?
Marina attached false ringlets to the sides of Libby’s head. “The Victorians thought it impolite for a lady to show her ears,” she explained, taking a pot of strong-smelling potion and a paint brush, and smoothing oil over Libby’s hair. As it dried, Libby shook her head, but the ringlets stayed rigidly in place.
The result was a passable imitation of Queen Victoria. As though that were not sufficient humiliation, the audience gathered round, taking photos that threatened to haunt Libby for the rest of her life. They plucked at the costume, lifting heavy layers and letting them fall. “Look, you can hardly raise your arms, those sleeves are so tight.”
“It’s all part of the Victorian way of life,” Marina said. “In fact, wearing a corset supports your back, don’t you think, Libby,”
“I could wear this every day,” Libby lied. “For one thing, it hides my waist. I could put on pounds and no one would notice.”
Slowly, the audience dispersed, chattering happily. At last, she could get rid of the costume and have a few words with Marina. “What’s in that disgusting stuff you spread all over my hair? You didn’t warn me about that. How am I going to get it off?”
The words dried up on her lips as Libby caught sight of Detective Sergeant Joe Ramshore. She shifted, embarrassed. Did Joe know she’d been out to dinner with his father? Oh, well, who cared? She was a grown woman and Max was divorced. It was none of his son’s business.
“Mrs Forest, I’m glad to see you.” Joe focused on Libby’s hair and smirked. “So sorry I missed the meeting. That costume looks terrific. And the hair…” He made a noise halfway between a laugh and a cough. “Actually, I’m one of the trustees of Mangotsfield Hall and it’s my day off today, but I’d like to have a word with you.”
Libby swallowed. Was she in trouble? About to be accused of obstructing the police by moving the body, and taken into custody? “Of course.”
“I wanted to tell you we’ve had the pathologist’s report. It’s no more than we expected. The cause of death was drowning while intoxicated. He found alcohol and drugs in Susie’s blood. Not a deliberate overdose, just enough to stop Susie taking proper care around the water.”
“No sign of anything else?”
“A bruise on her head, but that would be the tide bashing her against the lighthouse. It was a rough old storm on Monday night.”
Libby tried to think. “What about the time of death?”
“It’s hard to tell. The body was in the water for a few hours, but it was so cold the pathologist can’t tell when rigor mortis set in.” Libby winced. It was the stiffness of rigor mortis that had kept Susie’s hand in her pocket, until Libby pulled it out to point at the sky.
“Look, Detective―”
“Call me Joe.”
“Look, aren’t you going to investigate further? I mean, you said she was bruised. Don’t you think that’s suspicious? What if someone else was there?”
Joe sighed, looking suddenly tired. “Please, Mrs Forest. We’re grateful to you for calling us in as soon as you found the body, but now, you must leave it to us. We’ve seen hundreds of accidental deaths, you know, especially when there’s drink and drugs involved.”
The patronising tone infuriated Libby. “I know that, but common sense―”
“Common sense tells us there was nothing suspicious.” He’d raised his voice. “Now, let me give you a bit of advice.” Joe’s mouth smiled, but the eyes, so like his father’s, told a different story. Libby resisted a shiver. “You’re new here. You didn’t know Susie. People feel strongly about her, around here. They’re proud. Not many from Exham end up famous. Folk don’t like anyone suggesting she’s more than just unlucky.”
The blue gaze bored into Libby. “We need to keep everyone calm. Talk a bit less about the drink and drugs, if you see what I mean. It was just an unfortunate accident.” His tone was reasonable. “Walking on the beach at this time of year is dangerous. The sea comes in fast. Susie’s been away a long time and she forgot about the power of the tide.” He leaned towards Libby and spoke with emphasis. “It was an accident, Mrs Forest. Leave it be. No more gossip.”
Gossip? That was rich. The whole town was abuzz with scandal. Libby shrugged. “I didn’t know her. I just found the body.” She hoped he hadn’t heard details of her conversations with Max or her visit to Mrs Thomson.
“Exactly. You didn’t know her. I’m just saying, some folks here don’t take kindly to a stranger, who wasn’t here in the old days, stirring things up.” His words silenced Libby. She tried to think of a sufficiently cutting reply, but before she could gather her wits, Joe walked away, leaving Libby, arms akimbo, mouth open.
Marina took her elbow. “Are you OK?”
“I don’t know. I think I’ve just been told to keep my nose out of town affairs.”
“By Detective Sergeant Joe?” Libby nodded. Marina waved a hand. “Don’t worry about him. He can’t get over his father coming back to town, just when Joe’s been promoted to Chief Inspector’s bagman. He wants to be top dog around here. You know, a big fish in a small pond. Max tends to cramp his style. It’s family stuff.” She laughed. “He’s giving you a hard time because Max doesn’t take enough notice of him.”
“You mean, Joe knows I’ve been out with Max?”
Marina snorted. “Of course he knows. It’s the talk of the town, Libby. That’s why the room was packed, this afternoon. Everyone wanted to get a look at you.”
Libby’s eyes threatened to pop out of her head. “You mean, they’re judging me?” She glanced over her shoulder. The few stragglers left in the hall stood in small knots, staring at her, fascinated. Libby choked back fury, took a breath and stalked, fists clenched, eyes straight ahead, out through the door, as whispers chased close behind.
Mandy
The afternoon at Mangotsfield Hall had confirmed every one of Libby’s fears about making a new life in a small town: gossip, cliques and the cold shoulder. Lon
don neighbours warned her, but she’d thought she knew best. So much for those great plans for opening a patisserie and chocolatier here. She was a laughing stock.
Safe at home, she grabbed a bottle of chardonnay from the fridge, filled a tall glass and took a satisfying gulp. As she drained the glass, and tilted the bottle again, ready for a top up, she caught sight of the clock. Mandy would be back soon, unless she’d changed her mind and found somewhere else to live, or returned home. Drinking wouldn’t help. She’d better cook dinner, instead.
She screwed the top back on the wine bottle, replaced it in the fridge and rifled through, looking for food. She had plenty of vegetables and some chicken. A stir fry, maybe? Something sharp and satisfying, with lovely noodles to warm the stomach.
Libby chopped and tasted, blending soy sauce with chili. She crushed garlic, relishing the sharp scent and the bite on her tongue, her spirits rising.
The door crashed open. Mandy appeared, soaked to the skin, tattooed arms full of flowers. “These are for you.” The girl blushed crimson, to the roots of the unnaturally black hair, plopped the flowers on the kitchen table, dropped a box of chocolates beside them, and walked out. “For being kind.” Libby heard the glue of tears in Mandy’s voice as she disappeared upstairs.
Libby wiped her own, suddenly damp eyes, ran cold water into a vase and cut the ends off the flower stems. She went to the foot of the stairs and shouted. “Thanks. I love Alstroemeria.” She kept her voice matter-of-fact. “They last for ages.”
Back in the kitchen, she turned on the radio, humming as she worked. A door closed upstairs and Mandy reappeared in dry clothes, wearing a sheepish grin. Libby longed to take a cloth to the girl’s chalky face. Somewhere, under several inches of white make-up and lines of black kohl, hid a pretty face.
Libby reopened the wine, took out a clean glass and filled it, offering it to her new lodger. Mandy barely glanced at it, before taking a long swig. Libby winced. Now wasn’t the moment to pontificate about wine-drinking, but it hurt to see good wine glugged like orange squash. Mandy said, “I heard about Joe Ramshore at the Hall.”
“News really does travel fast, here, doesn’t it?”
Mandy laughed. “You said it. Anyway, don’t take any notice of him. He’s a fool. By the way, I told Mum officially I’ve left home, and you know what? She said, ‘Good for you.’”
“I’m sure she’s glad. She worries about you. I know I―” Libby stopped. Mandy had enough problems without hearing a sob story about Libby’s marriage. “Mothers worry about their children.”
“Hmm. Maybe. Anyway, I told her to come over here if things get worse.”
Libby swallowed. “Oh. Good idea.”
“Don’t worry, she won’t come. At least, I don’t think so…”
Every scrap of dinner eaten, they lounged around in the sitting room, eating chocolate and watching television. Libby fiddled with kindling and fire-lighters until a blaze started in the fire. She rested twigs and bigger shards of wood on top in an elaborate cone shape. “First fire of the year. Bet it goes out.”
The smell of apple wood scented the room. Libby breathed in, tension leaving her shoulders as she curled her feet up on the sofa. Fuzzy lay across Mandy’s lap and purred loudly. “She never sits with me,” Libby said. “She likes you.”
Mandy dipped her head, cheeks reddening. “Libby, I’ve been meaning to ask you something.”
“Ask away.”
“You said you’re going to open a patisserie.”
Libby groaned. “That’s the idea, or a chocolate shop. Sometimes it seems a very long way away. Don’t tell Frank, he’ll think I’m setting up in opposition to the bakery. I haven’t decided yet. I’ve got a course coming up, about the business side.” She wrinkled her nose. “Not my favourite thing. Still, I don’t want to be bankrupt in my first week. Then, I need to get more experience, and I’ve got to finish writing this book. So, we’re looking at months, if not years, before I get there.”
“Well, when you do, I wondered―”
The phone rang. Libby, wishing she’d taken it off the hook, made a ‘sorry’ face at Mandy and answered. “It’s me. In Los Angeles.”
“Max. You’re kidding. Really?”
“Really. I thought you’d want a progress report.”
“Report away.” She had things to say to Max when he got back, but they could wait.
He talked fast. “I saw Susie’s husband, Mickey. He’s a jerk.”
“As we thought.”
“Quite. Well, he said, and I quote, he was sorry Susie was dead, but he hadn’t seen her for years and he’s far too busy with a new family to come to the funeral. He doesn’t know what Susie was doing here, and by the way, he wants to know if the will’s been read yet. I suppose he’s hoping to be in it.”
“Is there a will?”
“Your guess is as good as mine. Susie never mentioned one.”
“What about the rest of the band? Did you track them down?”
“Mickey’s assistant gave me addresses.” Libby heard a smile in his voice. “Nice girl.” He’d have taken her out to dinner and pumped her for information. “Guy the violinist and James the keyboard player left years ago and went back to England. The addresses may be out of date, but it’s a start. I asked her if she knew about Susie’s solicitor, but she didn’t. Said Susie left all the business to Mickey. I’m heading back.”
“Back to Somerset? Not going to enjoy Los Angeles a while longer?”
He snorted. “Alone in a hotel? Not my idea of fun. How are things?”
She paused. She wouldn’t tell him about Joe’s verbal attack just now. Libby didn’t want to get involved in family jealousies. “Fine.”
“Good. What about Mrs Thomson? ”
“She showed me photos.”
The silence dragged on. “Photos?”
“Of Annie Rose. Didn’t Mickey mention her?”
“Who’s Annie Rose?”
He didn’t know? “Mickey and Susie had a little girl who died when she was seven.” The sharp intake of breath on the other end of the phone told Libby it was news to Max. “Susie sent cards, and photos of her daughter to Mrs Thomson. Mickey didn’t think to mention her?”
“I’m speechless. Look, I’ll be home late on Saturday. Let’s meet on Sunday: lunch at the Lighthouse Inn.”
“You’ll be jet-lagged.”
“I’ve got through it before. A glass of pinot noir does the trick.”
Used to jet-setting around the world, then. Libby felt suddenly small and naïve. An afternoon in the local National Trust House, playing at dressing up, while Max flew half way around the world, probably club class. Bet he’d been everywhere. “Libby?”
“Yes?”
“Thought we’d been cut off.”
“I was thinking. Can’t you get back to Mickey and ask him about the little girl?”
“Tell you what. Email over a copy of the little girl’s photo for me to show him and I’ll try.”
Libby bit the inside of her cheek. She hadn’t thought to ask for the photo, but she wasn’t about to admit it. She’d have to nip back to Mrs Thomas’s bungalow. She sighed. The car was in Jenkins’ garage. “I’m in the middle of something, I’ll send it this evening.”
“OK. Mickey won’t go to bed at 9 o’clock, I bet. He’ll be out on the town with his trophy wife. The secretary will tell where he goes: I’m meeting her again at one of the bars here.”
Of course you are. She couldn’t resist you, could she? A nineteen-year-old.
“By the way. None of my business, but what exactly are you in the middle of?”
The cheek of the man. “Mandy’s here. You know, from the bakery? She’s come to-to…”
“To get away from her Dad?”
“Something like that.”
“OK. Good idea. He’s a menace. Send the photo as soon as you can, Libby. See you on Sunday.”
Mandy appeared in the hall. Libby grabbed her keys. “I’m popping out for a minute.”
“Can I come?”
Libby couldn’t think of a reason to refuse. “We’ll have to walk.”
Breaking and Entering
“Mrs Thomson?” Libby rapped on the door. The light was on in the house, and she could hear the TV. Mrs Thomson must have turned the sound up. Libby banged again, harder, and pressed the bell, keeping her thumb on the buzzer, but no one came.
Mandy spoke from behind Libby’s shoulder. “I’ll go round the back.” She disappeared. Libby kept up the banging and ringing, but no one came. Where was Bear? He should be barking his head off, by now.
Maybe Mrs Thomson had gone away. She might be visiting a friend, or a sister. “Libby. Get help.” Mandy was back, panting. “I think she’s had a fall.”
Libby dialled 999, hand shaking. Not again. “Fire, police or ambulance?”
“Ambulance. Police. Both.” Heart pounding, Libby followed Mandy to the back of the house, and peered through the kitchen window. The room gave nothing away: clean, neat and tidy as before; plates stacked on the draining board; tea towels folded over the sink to dry. Mandy grabbed Libby’s arm and pointed. The door to the hall stood ajar, and through the gap, Libby caught a flash of green. She groaned. Mrs Thomson’s slippers.
The door was locked. Libby shook it, but it held fast. She stood back, struggling to stay calm and sum up the problem. A pane of glass ran down the middle of the door. Libby gripped her phone in both hands and smashed it hard, into the panel. Broken shards clattered to the kitchen floor. She elbowed jagged fragments inwards, pulled the sleeve of her jacket down round her wrist, and slipped her arm through the door. The tips of her fingers touched the key. Grunting, she forced her shoulder further in, more splinters tinkling to the ground, until she could grab the key between thumb and finger and turn it in the lock.
Praying Mrs Thomson hadn’t shot the bolt across as well, Libby leaned on the handle. The door swung open. She crunched across glass, and pushed open the inner door. The old lady lay at the foot of the stairs, the back of her head angled against the wall. Mandy whispered. “It looks as though her neck’s broken.”
Murder at the Lighthouse: An Exham on Sea Cosy Mystery (Exham on Sea Cosy Crime Mysteries Book 1) Page 5
