Murder in the Green

by Lesley Cookman

  ‘There’s a loophole for hotels,’ said Harry. ‘It was in the catering mag. They can have smoking rooms.’

  ‘Really? And how do you find out which ones they are?’ Libby shook a cigarette out of her packet as Adam looked disapproving.

  Harry shrugged. ‘Google?’

  ‘Choose a hotel and then ask them, I suppose,’ said Libby. ‘And then go on to the next one.’

  ‘Are you going to go, then, Ma?’

  Libby looked across at her son. ‘It’s an appealing idea,’ she said. ‘Although I do feel I’d be ratting on Ben.’

  ‘And your “investigation”?’ Harry put it in inverted commas.

  ‘There isn’t one,’ said Libby firmly. ‘I’ve said.’

  Harry and Adam sighed in unison.

  ‘So you did,’ said Harry.

  Chapter Nine

  ‘How’s Greg?’ asked Libby.

  ‘No worse.’ Ben’s voice sounded tired at the other end of the phone.

  ‘Have you had any sleep?’

  ‘Oh, yes. Not as much as I’d like, but Mum and I both had a reasonable night’s sleep.’

  ‘Shall I come up and see him?’

  ‘If you like,’ said Ben. ‘He’s quite relaxed and perfectly compos mentis.’

  ‘Much like normal, then?’ said Libby with a smile.

  ‘Exactly. So what did you do last night?’

  ‘Went to the caff for leftovers with Ad,’ said Libby, feeling slightly guilty.

  ‘I’m glad you weren’t on your own,’ said Ben, and she felt even guiltier.

  ‘No.’ Libby took a deep breath. ‘Ben, while you’re at the Manor, would you – I mean – would it – er, well, I wondered –’

  ‘Spit it out, Lib.’

  ‘I wondered if I might go off for a few days,’ said Libby in a rush.

  ‘Off?’ said Ben, after a short silence. ‘Off where?’

  ‘It was Adam’s suggestion.’ Libby hurried on. ‘He said I needed a holiday.’

  ‘Oh? Why?’

  ‘Because I hadn’t had one for so long, I suppose.’

  ‘We could go away, if you want to.’

  ‘You can’t leave your Mum and Dad right now,’ said Libby, feeling dreadful.

  ‘No, but I’ll be able to soon. Or is this simply to get away from me?’

  ‘Of course not,’ said Libby, now completely suffused in hot guilty colour and glad no one could see her. ‘And it was only a suggestion. I don’t want to leave if you need me.’

  There was another short silence. ‘Of course I need you, but if you want to get away, don’t let me stop you. Where will you go?’

  ‘I won’t,’ said Libby. ‘You’ve made up my mind for me. I told Adam I’d feel I was ratting on you, and now I do, so I won’t go.’

  ‘Oh, God,’ groaned Ben. ‘Now you’re making me feel guilty.’

  Libby, feeling calmer and cooler, laughed. ‘Right pair, aren’t we?’

  Ben gave a reluctant snort of laughter. ‘We are.’

  ‘I’ll come up at lunchtime, shall I? See Hetty – and Greg, if he’s up to it.’

  ‘All right,’ said Ben. ‘And – thanks, Lib.’

  Libby erased the Google search for rental cottages on her computer and switched it off. So that was that. She didn’t know how she’d thought she was going to get away with it, and despite what Adam said, she didn’t really feel in need of a holiday. It wasn’t as if she worked particularly hard, after all, she thought, sending a guilty glance towards the conservatory and the blank canvases within.

  Deciding to go the whole hog and prepare a luxurious picnic lunch to take to the Manor with her, she collected purse and basket and set off for Ahmed and Ali’s eight-til-late and Nella and Joe’s new Cattlegreen farm shop. It was while she was selecting some very ripe brie from Ali’s new deli counter that her mobile rang.

  ‘Lib? Hi, it’s Lewis.’

  ‘Hello, Lewis!’ Libby struggled with basket, purse and phone. ‘I’m shopping. Can I ring you back in a minute?’

  Ahmed’s son, Ali’s nephew, handed over a beautifully wrapped piece of cheese and took her money, handing it over for his uncle to put in the till. She smiled at him, thanked the brothers and went outside.

  ‘Hi, Lewis, sorry about that,’ she said. ‘I was buying cheeses for Ben’s lunch.’

  ‘Ad said you was looking for somewhere to get away,’ said Lewis Osbourne-Walker without preamble. ‘Well, I got a suggestion.’

  ‘Actually, Lewis,’ she began, but Lewis interrupted.

  ‘Now don’t say you’ve changed your mind,’ he said, ‘because this one’s right up your street.’

  ‘How do you mean?’ asked Libby cautiously.

  ‘Well, you know we do a mini feature each week on the show?’

  ‘I know you will be, when it goes out.’

  ‘Well, it was your Ad talking about this Green Man effort set me off.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Libby with a groan.

  ‘And I looked up all these weird folk-type things until I come to something that’s going on now.’

  ‘Now?’

  ‘Well, in a few days’ time. Why don’t you come with me?’

  ‘Lewis, did Adam tell you Ben’s father’s ill?’

  ‘I thought that was why you could get away?’

  ‘Well, yes, but it turns out Ben needs me here, and I can’t really leave him. It’s a bad time.’

  Lewis let out a gusty sigh. ‘Pity,’ he said. ‘I reckon it’d be good fun. Some of this Cranston Morris lot go. Seeing as how I thought you’d be looking into the murder, I thought you’d be up for it.’

  ‘Where is it?’ asked Libby, her interest now definitely piqued.

  ‘Some village on the coast. They have this wicker thing – like the Wicker Man, I suppose.’

  ‘Glory.’ Libby shuddered. ‘Not quite like that, I hope.’

  ‘Something to do with John the Baptist?’

  ‘Blimey! What are we talking about here? Pagan or Christian?’

  Lewis sighed. ‘No idea. I thought you’d know. Anyway, it’s Thursday, 25th June.’

  ‘It’s Monday now,’ said Libby. ‘When were you thinking of going? Will you have to get the crew together?’

  ‘Only the cameraman and the sound guy. We travel light. So, do you want to come?’

  ‘Not much of a holiday, is it?’ said Libby.

  ‘No, but you’d get away for a couple of days. That’s what you want, isn’t it?’

  ‘Did you tell Adam about this?’ asked Libby. ‘Only I don’t know why he would be happy about it. He wants to get me away from investigations, not get me in deeper.’

  ‘He doesn’t know what it’s about,’ said Lewis cheerfully. ‘Go on. Be a devil. All found, nice little pub in the village.’

  ‘You didn’t answer me. When are you going?’

  ‘Wednesday. Time to research the area a bit.’

  Libby pulled at her lip. ‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘I’ll have to ask Ben.’

  ‘You do that,’ said Lewis. ‘Give me a ring later.’ And he was gone.

  Now, thought Libby, trudging up the Manor drive, it will look as though this lunch is bribery. Bugger.

  Ben opened the door as she approached the house.

  ‘I’ve just had your mate Lewis on the phone,’ he said with a grin. Libby’s mouth dropped open.

  ‘Apparently he wants your input into some feature he’s doing for his show.’

  ‘He said.’ Libby cleared her throat and went past him and down the corridor to the kitchen. ‘I said I’d think about it.’

  ‘He told me.’ Ben followed her into the kitchen. ‘And if you were trying to protect me, thank you. Is this what you meant about going away?’

  Libby unloaded her basket on to the table. ‘No, I hadn’t heard about it. He’s only just phoned me, while I was shopping. I think it’s a bit much of him to phone you. I told him what the situation is with your father.’

  ‘I think he thought you were using me as an e
xcuse.’

  Libby looked up, surprised. ‘Really? How odd.’

  ‘Were you?’

  ‘No.’ She bit her lip. ‘Well –’

  ‘Come on, Lib. Wouldn’t you like to go? He says you know more about this sort of thing than he does. And some of Cranston Morris are going.’

  ‘I know very little about it all. Only what I’ve found out recently.’

  ‘Ah,’ said Ben. ‘An investigation.’

  ‘No. Fran and I just had a look, that’s all. All this Oak King and Holly King stuff. Cranston Morris seem to have gone a bit farther down the old Pagan or Celtic path than most Morris sides.’

  Ben turned her to face him. ‘Why don’t you go? I know I was a bit taken aback when you asked earlier – although it does seem a bit odd, you asking, then Lewis coming up with this scheme.’

  ‘Think about it.’ Libby stroked his cheek. ‘Whose suggestion did I say it was?’

  ‘Adam’s.’

  ‘And who does Adam work for?’

  ‘Ah!’ Ben grinned. ‘All becomes clear. Adam’s devious machinations eh? But why does he think you ought to go away?’

  ‘He thinks I’m going to get involved in the Cranston Morris murder. He thinks it will divert my mind.’

  ‘Doesn’t he know where Lewis wants to take you?’ Ben looked astonished.

  ‘No.’ Libby giggled. ‘That’s what’s so funny.’

  ‘If you go,’ said Ben slowly, ‘will you…’ He trailed off.

  ‘Get involved? I’ll try not to.’ Libby sighed and kissed him. ‘But if Gemma’s there, and she probably will be, she’ll definitely think I’m there on her behalf, despite what I said to her on Sunday. But,’ she said, leaning back and looking into his face, ‘I won’t go if you’d rather I didn’t.’

  He gave her a squeeze. ‘We don’t have that kind of relationship, do we? And I’d hardly be jealous of young Lewis, would I?’

  ‘Perhaps I could turn him,’ said Libby with a grin. ‘And now, let’s sort out this lunch. Then I can go and see your father if he’s up to it.’

  Lewis was delighted when Libby called him later.

  ‘See? I knew I could handle old Ben,’ he said.

  ‘Well, now you’ve got to handle young Adam, because he wants me to go away so I don’t get involved in another murder investigation. And if he hears Cranston Morris are going to be there – well!’

  ‘All right, all right. I won’t mention them. I’ll pick you up Wednesday morning at about nine, OK?’

  ‘That early? Hell.’

  ‘Lazy cow,’ said Lewis. ‘See you then.’

  Libby called Ben. ‘Lewis is picking me up at nine in the morning on Wednesday. Would you be able to come for a sleepover tonight? Or tomorrow? Or both?’

  She could hear the smile in his voice. ‘I think I might manage it,’ he said. ‘I’ll stay here with Mum for dinner if you don’t mind – but you could join us?’

  ‘OK,’ said Libby, never averse to avoiding cooking. ‘I suppose I’d better start packing. What on earth do I take?’

  ‘Ask Fran,’ said Ben, and, blowing a kiss, hung up.

  Libby chewed her finger for a moment, staring at the phone. She supposed she should tell Fran, but something was making her hesitate. Unwillingly, she realised it was the fear that Fran would want to come with her, or interfere in some way. Sitting down on the sofa, which Sidney vacated in a huff, she reasoned that Fran would hardly take off into the wilds of the West Country without her husband only weeks after her marriage. And she, Libby, could hardly not tell her friend she was going away. Sighing, she picked up the phone again.

  ‘But why?’ Fran said, after Libby’s rather garbled explanation.

  ‘It was Adam’s idea that I needed a holiday,’ said Libby. ‘Ben agreed.’

  ‘Ben agreed?’

  ‘Yes, I know, but he has. He’s busy with his mum and dad, so I’ll be better out of his hair. I’m going to dinner at the Manor tonight and he’s staying over here. I go at 9 am on Wednesday.’

  ‘Whereabouts in the West Country?’

  ‘A little village where they have some kind of pagan ritual to do with John the Baptist, I think.’

  ‘June 25th?’

  ‘How did you know that?’

  ‘No idea,’ said Fran. ‘Is it his feast day? Yes, of course it is. He was born six months before Christ, wasn’t he?’

  ‘Was he? Anyway, what’s it got to do with Wicker Men?’

  ‘Wicker Men?’ Fran sounded bewildered. ‘Do you mean like that awful film?’

  ‘Well, yes, I think so.’

  ‘What that’s got to do with John the Baptist I’ve no idea,’ said Fran, ‘but it sounds suspiciously as though you’re getting involved again.’

  ‘No, I’m just going because Lewis suggested it, and I think he’s managed to swing it on his telly expenses.’

  ‘Just you watch it, then,’ said Fran. ‘No crawling inside Wicker Men in the dark.’

  ‘No.’ Libby shuddered. ‘I’ll stick close to Lewis and his team.’

  I’ll try, anyway, she thought, as she climbed the stairs to start packing. Nothing’s likely to happen.

  Chapter Ten

  Lewis’s SUV, followed closely by that of the cameraman, swung down a precipitous little lane between high banks. They had passed Plymouth and turned sharp left, as far as Libby could make out.

  ‘Forgotten corner of Cornwall,’ said Lewis, with a sideways grin. ‘Not so many tourists. They by-pass it.’

  ‘But I’ve heard of Whitsand Bay and Kingsand and Cawsand,’ said Libby.

  ‘The main road cuts it off, though,’ said Lewis. ‘And our little village doesn’t seem to get anybody.’

  ‘What’s it called?’

  ‘Portherriot. We’re staying at the Portherriot Arms.’

  ‘And when do all these shenanigans break out?’

  ‘They start on Thursday night, I think,’ said Lewis. ‘I’ve got all the notes on the laptop, and I spoke to one of your mates at Cranston Morris. She was delighted.’

  Libby groaned. ‘Not Gemma Baverstock?’

  ‘That’s her. She’s sort of the secretary, isn’t she?’

  ‘Her old man’s currently the head honcho,’ said Libby. ‘He played the Holly King on Sunday.’

  ‘So tell me all about the solstice celebrations that they do,’ said Lewis, swinging the car round a sharp bend. A view unravelled before them.

  ‘Oh, look!’ said Libby.

  Obligingly, Lewis drew up. Behind them, the cameraman’s vehicle also slowed to a stop. They all got out.

  Ahead of them, green fields starred with poppies sloped to granite cliff tops, below which they could see a small cove guarded by rocky outcrops like bared teeth rising from a fretting sea. On the other side of the cove they could see a few buildings, above which thickly wooded cliffs marched away into the distance. The whole was isolated, and very beautiful.

  ‘I guess the rest of the village is below us,’ said the cameraman from behind a viewfinder. ‘Great place.’

  ‘Windy,’ said Lewis, and shivered.

  Libby looked at him sharply. ‘What’s the matter?’

  ‘Nothing.’ He gave her a strained grin. ‘I get the old heebies in the country these days.’

  ‘Because of Creekmarsh?’

  ‘Well, it’s not nice to have murders on the premises,’ he said, climbing back into the car. ‘Come on.’

  ‘If you feel like that, why did you come down here?’ Libby climbed in after him and fastened her seat belt.

  ‘Work, innit? Anyway, I thought I’d be safe if you was with me.’ Lewis started the car and moved slowly away.

  ‘So that’s why you asked me? Nothing to do with Adam?’

  ‘He was talking about you and I saw an opportunity, as they say.’ He slid her another grin. ‘You don’t mind, do you?’

  Libby grinned back. ‘Nah. I’m going to enjoy it.’

  ‘So, you were going to tell me all about this solstice business,’ sai
d Lewis. ‘Carry on.’

  Libby related all she had heard, read and found out about the folk traditions followed by Cranston Morris. ‘I don’t know what else there is,’ she said. ‘Cranston Morris seem to have their own version of most of the traditions, all mixed up together. I don’t think they’re purists. They seem to take the bits they want from each.’

  ‘And that includes this Wicker Man effort,’ said Lewis, rounding a bend which took them to the top of a village street.

  ‘I suppose so. It’s a rebirth thing, isn’t it? I read something about Manannán mac Lir.’

  ‘Do what?’

  ‘Manannán mac Lir,’ repeated Libby. ‘He was a sea god. Particularly in the Isle of Man, but also Wales and Cornwall, which seem to be the most pagan parts of the British Isles. The most steeped in the traditions, anyway.’

  ‘Blimey, you’re better than my researcher,’ said Lewis. ‘This looks like it, doesn’t it?’

  They had driven down the little village street past stone cottages bright with window boxes and emerged at the bottom in a tiny square (which wasn’t) that fronted the cove. Small boats were drawn up on the mixed shingle and sand beach, and the terrace of a cafe, which seemed to have grown out of the cliff-side, lay to the left, while to the right stood a solidly Victorian hotel, The Portherriot Arms.

  ‘Lovely,’ said Libby, with a sigh of pleasure.

  ‘Yeah,’ said Lewis. ‘Where’s the car park?’

  ‘I don’t suppose there is one,’ said Libby. ‘There isn’t room.’

  ‘Do you mean to say we’ve got to lug everything from some bloody place up there?’ said Lewis in horror.

  ‘Let’s ask,’ said Libby, opening her door. ‘We’re cluttering up the square.’

  But as she clambered down from the vehicle a man came hurrying out of the front door of the Portherriot Arms.

  ‘Ms Osbourne-Walker?’ he said.

  ‘Er – no,’ said Libby, suppressing a giggle. ‘That’s Mr Osbourne-Walker.’

  The man, short, tubby and wearing a wonderfully flamboyant waistcoat over a checked shirt, rushed round to Lewis’s side. Libby turned to speak to cameraman Jerry and soundman Boysie.

  ‘Why Boysie?’ she’d asked earlier.