Beach Hut Surprise: Escape to Little Piddling this summer — six feel-good beach reads to make you smile, or even laugh out loud
Page 17
With Libby reading out diary highlights, they pieced the story together.
When they got to London, Clive and Joan shared digs in London for a few weeks. Then he went off, saying he had to see a friend. Joan got a job, the bombing was bad and Joan didn't realize she was pregnant until very late. Afterwards, she wrote to Clive, care of the farm, to tell him he had a son. Mrs Hope came to London, told Joan that Farmer Hope had died and persuaded her to come back, with the baby.
Neither of them knew where Clive was. Mrs Hope thought he'd joined up. Joan didn't.
Clive didn't figure much in the diaries. He didn't deny that he was baby Richard's father, but didn't seem very interested in him. In 1947, he came to Manor Farm for Christmas, had a fight with his mother and left. Mrs Hope told Joan she was cutting him out of her will and saw her solicitor on Monday 30th December.
Five years later, Clive arrived uninvited, this time with a friend. He claimed they were spending their summer holiday on a walking tour and he'd dropped in to meet his son. Joan was suspicious. But Clive and his friend walked on the beach with Richard and offered to help the eleven-year-old restore the derelict beach hut for him and his mates. But after a couple of days, young Richard said he didn't want to go to the beach with them any more. Joan told them to go and they went.
The last time was the nastiest. After Mrs Hope died, Clive tried to contest the will. Fran found a collection of legal letters about it, along with a doctor's letter confirming that Mrs Hope was of sound mind when she died. After that, Clive came to Manor Farm, but Joan had gone away for a rest and Richard, now nearly thirty, was running it until she got back. Joan's diary recorded that Richard found Clive in the house, stealing the keys to the beach hut. Richard took back the keys and threw Clive out.
All three of them looked at the timeline, set out in cards along the kitchen table.
"Poor Granny Joan," Estella said softly. "Poor love. She never told me."
"The beach hut," murmured Fran.
"Wish we could find out what small valuables he pinched," said Libby, not attending.
"It's there," said Fran. She waved at the long thin envelope at the far end of the table. "Full list of three loads, transported by bike. Clive was carrying the smallest. Jewellery, mostly diamonds, two enamel boxes, a jewelled fan—" she paused dramatically "—and a Fabergé egg."
"Blimey," said Libby. "They're all one-offs, aren't they? Must be priceless."
Estella's eyes were as big as saucers. "Wow," she said. "Just—wow."
"Assume Clive stole it," said Fran. "Then hid it in the beach hut for safe keeping. And that last time, Richard caught him at the farm before he could retrieve it…"
Libby digested this. "You mean that's what Dave, or whatever his name was, came here to look for? The proceeds of an 80-year-old theft?"
Somewhere outside there was an almighty crash. Fran jumped and Libby rushed to the window.
Estella, clearly no longer frightened of anything, waved a nonchalant hand. "That'll be Queenie. She's learned how to pull the dustbins over to get at fish bones."
Sure enough, a series of thumps and tinklings followed the crash.
"I can't see a cat," said Libby. "But to be fair, I can't see anyone else either." She came back to the table, a touch reluctantly.
"Clive came back three times. Maybe he was selling it off, a piece at a time. How would we find out if any of the stolen things have surfaced?" asked Estella.
"She's starting to think like us now," thought Libby approvingly. From Fran's suppressed grin, so did she.
"Ask the police," said Fran reasonably. "You need to tell them that you'd encountered Dave, anyway. Show them the box as well and tell them what you suspect."
Estella looked from one to the other. "What if they don't believe me? I sort of didn't tell them everything, after all."
"So you're putting that right now," said Libby. "Just tell them."
"Do it now," said Fran. "Libby and I will come with you to the police station and wait outside, if you like."
"No need," said Estella. She swallowed but picked up her mobile from the large dresser.
When she ended the call she looked thoughtful.
"Well? What did they say?" asked Libby.
"Someone would come along to take my statement, possibly this evening, but more probably tomorrow morning."
"We were going to go out for fish and chips this evening," said Libby. "Should we stay here instead?"
"One of us can go and collect them," said Fran. "For all three of us. If Estella wants to eat with us?"
Estella's eyes were shining. She looked like a different girl. "Oh, yes, please." She picked up the book. "And now I'm going to be brave and read this properly."
Chapter Nine
Libby and Fran left her to it. They went back to the annex and Fran tried to get a signal to call her husband, while Libby set off with her basket down the path to the town.
It was still light, and very quiet. When Libby reached Satis House and set off along the walkway towards the prom, there wasn't a soul about. She shivered and quickened her steps.
None of the beach huts appeared to be occupied, although there were lights on in the building at the end of the pier. When she reached the lane leading to Brewery Square, with the fish and chip shop on the corner, she saw that here, at least, there were signs of life. Not many signs of life, but some. Libby went into the chip shop, and to her surprise, found Lil sitting at a table.
"Hello," she said. "You treating yourself to fish and chips, too?"
Lil shrugged and picked up a large mug of tea. Libby surveyed her for a moment, then turned to the counter to place her order.
"Where is everybody?" Libby asked the man brightly.
"Low season," he said, portioning chips expertly. "And our girl's on Search for a Star. Semi-final night. Everyone's at the screen on the pier or home watching on TV."
"Interesting." Libby turned to include Lil in the conversation. But Lil had gone, as swiftly and quietly as she had earlier from Dumaine's.
It was appreciably darker when Libby finally left.
"You watch yourself walking back up that Manor," came a voice from the darkness. Libby whirled round, and there was Lil, sitting on the wall.
"Why? Is it dangerous?"
"Could be." Libby saw the outline that was Lil give another shrug.
"I'll keep my eyes open," said Libby, after waiting for further words of wisdom. None were forthcoming, so she turned back towards Satis House and the river path. When she looked back over her shoulder, Lil had gone.
By the time Libby reached the Tudor beach hut, she was definitely spooked. She turned up the path along the dry riverbank, looking all round her and imagining all sorts of strange figures on the skyline. She fairly ran the last hundred yards to Manor Farm.
Fran was outside, frowning at her phone. She looked up, eyebrows raised in surprise. "Hello? What's up?"
"Nothing," panted Libby. "It's dark."
"Well, let's go and put the fish and chips in the Aga to keep warm. Estella's got an Inspector Danby with her."
"Oh!" It was Libby's turn to be surprised. "Somehow I didn't expect anyone to turn up tonight."
"No, neither did I." Fran opened the door into the warm kitchen. "So what were you so nervous about out there?"
Libby started to unpack the fish and chips and handed the packet to Fran, who was opening drawers and cupboards. "I saw Lil."
"Oh?"
"And she warned me to be careful coming back up here. She didn't say why."
"Perhaps she was just concerned about you being out after dark on a lonely path."
"Hardly," said Libby, propping herself against the dresser. "I don't think she's the motherly type." She banked the problem for later. "Is Estella OK on her own with this inspector? What's he like?"
"He's a she," said Fran, extracting a roasting tin from the back of a cupboard. "Only met her in passing while I was wandering round the garden, stalking a signal. Seems OK.
I think reading Joan's diary has put heart into Estella. She went off with the inspector and her sergeant quite happily."
Fran put the food in the warming oven. Libby went back to the annex and fetched the bottle of wine they had brought with them.
"Getting dark now," she said, switching on the overhead light and twisting the cap off the bottle. "Where are the glasses?"
Fran had already found them. Glasses of wine poured, they sank gratefully onto a couple of kitchen chairs and contemplated.
"I wonder what happened to Clive's sister, Amy," mused Fran.
Libby looked round at the kitchen table. It still had the extension out but the top was completely bare. "Never mind that. What's happened to our lovely timeline display? Did Estella tidy it away?"
Fran followed her eyes. There was a pause. "I'm sure she must have," said Fran in a voice that said she wasn't sure at all.
Their eyes met.
"That crash!" they said in unison.
They both fled outside to the bin store. The outside light came on. And, sure enough, one of the bins had toppled over and spilled its contents across the yard. There were horrid red marks across the cobbles, where someone in trainers had run towards the footpath.
Fran grabbed Libby's arm. "Is that blood? Did they hurt the cat?"
But Queenie was sitting on the wall, watching them disdainfully, as Libby pointed out, consolingly.
Fran breathed again. "Baked beans or sauce," she decided, from long experience.
Libby looked at the position of the bin, measuring angles with her eye. "If he was standing on it and leaning to the right he, or she, could just about have seen in the window."
"And heard what we were saying?"
"Maybe."
"And then, when we all left, he nipped in and stole Granny Joan's papers," said Fran in a hollow voice.
Libby straightened her spine. "We're going to have to go and tell that inspector. Now."
In the just-this-side-of-shabby sitting room, Estella seemed to be holding her own. When they entered, a small, slim woman with dark hair stood up, a friendly smile on her face. At her side, a large gloomy presence loomed.
"Your support group, I see, Ms Hope. Detective Inspector Danby," said the woman, holding out a hand. "And this is DS Brooks."
"Fran Wolfe," said Fran, offering a cool smile of her own.
"Libby Sarjeant with a J," said Libby, with a grin. "But I'm afraid we might have bad news." She turned to their hostess. "Estella, did you put away all the papers we left on the kitchen table?"
Estella sat bolt upright. "The timeline? No, of course not. I was going to show Inspector Danby what you—we—had worked out, once I'd finished explaining Granny Joan's notebook." And she patted the book on her knees.
"Oh, thank goodness you've still got that," exclaimed Fran. "Everything else has gone. We think someone must have been standing on a bin in the farmyard, listening to us."
Estella led the pack, grabbing a torch from the dresser on the way. The detectives were a very respectable second and third.
"We've left the fish and chips in the Aga," said Libby, turning a woebegone face to Fran as they sped through the kitchen after the others.
"They'll be fine. That's what warming ovens are for," puffed Fran.
"They won't be the same, though," Libby mourned.
Outside, the other three were staring blankly at the overturned bin and the red-stained cobbles.
"It's OK," said Estella, mistaking Libby's mournful expression. "I'd thrown away a ketchup bottle that had silted up. Whoever he was, he must have jumped on it and shifted the blockage." She was very pale. "The keys to Satis House have gone, too."
"Told you," murmured Fran.
DS Brooks looked at the intermittent prints with a frown. "Took a risk, didn't he? Ran away when he fell off the bin. Then came back, by the looks of it."
Inspector Danby nodded. "May have had Manor Farm under surveillance, waiting for his moment."
"Listening to us piecing the timeline together. He would have heard us say that Clive must have hidden the loot in Satis House."
Inspector Danby exchanged looks with Sergeant Brooks. "Have you seen anyone else hanging about? Apart from Dave, of course," she asked Estella.
Getting that white, pinched look again, Estella shook her head.
"We-ell…" said Fran.
"Oh, great Heavens," said Libby, remembering.
Fran looked at her in surprise. "When we came back from Little Piddling, we saw someone on the skyline. He was watching us. I thought he looked like Arthur Strange. Didn't you, Libby?"
Libby moaned.
"What is it?" demanded Fran, half-irritated, half-concerned. "You were the first to catch sight of him, after all."
"It isn't that," said Libby, feeling dreadful. "I didn't say. I mean I meant to, but then we got talking about whether any of the stolen stuff had been recovered, and I forgot. I forgot," she almost wailed.
"Forgot what?" Fran almost shouted.
"The name of the friend who came with Clive Hope when they started to restore the beach hut for Richard."
Estella and the detectives looked blank.
But Fran said, "Oh yes. The walking tour companion. What about him?"
"His name," said Libby in a hollow voice, "was L'Estrange."
Chapter Ten
Inspector Danby was impressive. "In that case," she said coolly, "we'd better get up to that beach hut right now. Come on, Brooks."
And the next moment, the police car roared off into the darkness.
"Oh," said Estella.
"Don't be disappointed," said Fran. "The police like to do things their own way. And they couldn't have taken all three of us, anyway. Only one car."
"But it's my bloody beach hut," said Estella, a martial light in her eye.
Libby blinked. Was painfully-polite Estella Hope swearing?
"Yes, but it's empty," said Fran soothingly. "Even if Arthur Strange is actually up there, the police won't find anything incriminating. It was too long ago. Everything from those days has gone."
"Not everything," said Libby. "There's all that panelling that you started to pull off the wall. There could be something behind that."
"So there could." Fran looked brighter. "We'll have a look tomorrow."
"We'll have a look now," said Estella, bristling. "We'll get there quicker than that damn car will. Come on." And she shot off along the old riverbed path, lighting the way with her torch.
Fran and Libby stared at each other, in the yard's motion-triggered spotlight.
"We look like zombies," said Libby, her lips twitching.
"What happened?" said Fran, bewildered. "One minute she's a rabbit who can't say boo to a goose."
Libby choked.
"Well, you know what I mean," said Fran crossly. "The next minute she's Wonder Woman."
Libby patted her friend consolingly. "I think Granny Joan's book put some gumption into her. Now, if we're going up that damn cliff in the dark, I want the torch I saw in my bedside drawer."
Estella was nearly at Satis House by the time they caught up with her.
"For once in my life, I'm going to confront that snake, Arthur Strange," said Estella with determination. "You know, now I've got used to this, it's quite exciting, isn't it?"
There were no lights up ahead. The police had certainly not arrived yet. Except…
"Is that a firefly or something?" muttered Fran.
"It's a pencil torch," whispered Estella absently.
She was very focused, thought Libby, a bit alarmed.
Suddenly Estella surged forward. Fran took off after her up the rutted path.
"Bloody hell," panted Libby, following suit. "I'm not built for this any more."
The door of the Tudor beach hut was wide open. Inside there were people, but they were difficult to see because of the two tracking beams that seemed to be duelling in the darkness.
"I'm armed. Put your hands up," yelled Estella.
And
astonishingly, both—for there were only two—combatants did.
"Hell's teeth," muttered Libby, leaning against the side of Satis House, with a hand to her side. She had a horrible stitch and she was quite sure someone was going to get hurt. Make that, even more hurt. That stitch was a bastard.
But Estella was quite fearless. She turned her torch onto its widest beam and played it across the far end of the hut. In the spotlight, Arthur Strange blinked, dazzled.
"I can explain…" he began.
"Crook!" yelled his adversary.
Suddenly, there were police sirens. Strange's face turned into a mask of panic.
"There's nowhere to go," said Fran calmly, from somewhere in Estella's shadow.
But Strange bared his teeth, like a cornered wolf. "You ridiculous old woman," he said to Lil. And hit her, a real punch under her ribs, with the full force of his body behind it, as he tried to barrel past her.
Estella gave a scream of fury, jumped in front of him and hit his neck with her torch. She used a sharp chopping backhand that was clearly powerful. It sent him staggering back. He swayed for a moment and then fell forward until his forehead rested against the wall. He was clearly more than half-dazed.
A large chunk of panelling fell off the wall and hit him again, across the shoulders this time. Lumps of plaster thumped onto the floor around him.
Strange groaned. He shook his head and slid to the floor.
From the floor, Lil croaked, "Great shot, Batwoman."
And the police arrived.
Inspector Danby summed up the situation in one look and told Sergeant Brooks to call for backup. She helped Lil up and eased her into a chair.
"What happened?" asked the inspector.
Estella, Fran and Libby all began.
The inspector held up a hand. "One at a time."
Lil beat the others to the draw. "He killed that young man," she said, still breathing hard. "They were both… looking… for the stash… from the big house… started fighting." She broke off, coughing painfully.
Inspector Danby was sceptical. "And how do you know this?"
"Saw them," said Lil and leaned back and closed her eyes.
Estella said excitedly, "I told you I'd seen Dave talking to Arthur Strange. I bet they were working together.