Murder in the Green

by Lesley Cookman

  Libby’s stomach clenched. ‘But there must have been quite a lot of activity round there over the last – um – couple of months. That’s the way you walk to your – er – your festivities, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes.’ Diggory’s eyes narrowed. ‘There’s been a fair amount of police activity over the last few days, actually. So what’s going on?’

  Oh, bugger, thought Libby. Now I’ve lost the initiative. Aloud, she said ‘Continuing their investigations into the – er – incidents, I suppose.’

  ‘And you think our harmless little group have something to do with it.’ Diggory stood up. ‘Well, you’re wrong.’

  ‘I told you,’ said Libby, ‘I don’t think you do, actually, but I’m not sure that the Goddess Cult, or whatever name it goes under now, is legal. You were part of that nasty little coven that used to meet at Tyne Chapel, weren’t you?’ She watched as their expressions changed yet again. ‘And you know that the Black Mass is illegal?’

  ‘Oh, shit,’ said Wilhelmina.

  ‘So what’s with all this sacrifice business down in Cornwall?’ said Libby, relieved that she seemed to be in charge again. ‘I assume it’s not virgins?’

  ‘I’m not saying another word,’ said Diggory. ‘You’ll have to arrest me. But I swear on my life, I had nothing to do with Bill’s death. None of us did.’

  Libby, congratulating herself on a couple of good guesses, regarded them thoughtfully.

  ‘So, tell me,’ she said finally, ‘when exactly did you set up the Goddess side of things? And why Goddess?’

  They looked at each other.

  ‘It was Bill’s idea,’ said Diggory. ‘He worked out something with Florian Malahyde.’

  ‘Who had already written his own script for Mannan Night,’ said Libby. ‘Go on.’

  ‘It’s all based on fact,’ said Diggory. ‘All the old religions. They’re all related in some way.’

  ‘Sex,’ said Libby. Diggory went white and Wilhelmina went red. ‘All right. So people were encouraged to join by invoking the “old religions”. And presumably the lure of illicit sex. That’s why they all belonged to that other coven, where Nurse – I mean Joan – Redding died.’

  Neither of them said anything.

  ‘And what about your husband, Mrs Lethbridge? Was he involved?’

  ‘He went along with it at first,’ said Wilhelmina, ‘but he backed out after a bit. Didn’t like it.’

  ‘And that’s when you left him?’

  ‘Yes.’ She cleared her throat. ‘After a – after I – after –’

  ‘After he discovered your involvement as the Goddess was slightly more than he’d anticipated?’ suggested Libby. Wilhelmina looked as though she’d quite like to kill her. ‘I’m surprised you left him. I thought it would be the other way round.’

  Diggory sent Wilhelmina a look of dislike. ‘He threw her out.’

  ‘Ah.’ Libby realised she couldn’t go any further with this without revealing the fact of John Lethbridge’s death. She also wondered what Ian Connell was going to say when he found out about her inquisition.

  ‘What about the old religion, though,’ she said, determined to get to the bottom of at least one thing before she left. ‘Is it based on Mother Earth, the season, or what?’

  Wilhelmina sighed. ‘It’s all the same, really. Everywhere has a different version, but you have the mother who is also the sister and the daughter and the King who is father, brother and son. They all mate and kill each other and rise again. Even that phoney Malahyde’s got some of it right.’

  ‘And the Morris is part of it?’

  ‘Developed out of it,’ said Diggory. ‘Bill went into it quite deeply. Fascinating, some of it.’

  ‘And the Black Mass?’

  Diggory’s colour fluctuated again. ‘All to do with fertility,’ he said shortly.

  ‘Right,’ said Libby. ‘Well, I’ll be on my way. I think you might get a visit from the police fairly soon.’ She looked away. ‘I hope – I mean…well. Just be aware of it.’

  When she emerged on to the high street she discovered she was sweating. Just how much good or damage she’d done she had no idea, but at least she’d confirmed a few things she and Fran had suspected. And surprisingly, she felt sorry for Wilhelmina Lethbridge.

  She found Ben in the pub behind a newspaper.

  ‘At least you’re not hunched over a mobile or an MP 3 player,’ she said, peering over the top at him.

  ‘Should I be?’ He put the paper down.

  ‘It’s the way people get news these days,’ she said.

  ‘Young people get news, not old dodderers,’ said Ben, standing up. ‘What do you want to drink?’

  When he returned with her half pint of lager, Libby told him most of what had happened inside Diggory’s bakery.

  Ben shook his head. ‘You took a hell of a chance,’ he said. ‘Suppose one of them got nasty?’

  ‘They were too scared to get nasty,’ said Libby, not really believing it.

  ‘That’s just when people do get nasty,’ said Ben. ‘And half the stuff you were saying to them –’

  ‘Was guesswork,’ said Libby. ‘I know.’

  ‘How on earth did you link them to that Black Mass mob?’

  ‘It was the chapel, I think,’ said Libby. ‘And it was suggested, can’t remember whether by me or Fran, right at the beginning. It’s the sex angle.’

  ‘I know, but you had no proof, not even a grain of a suspicion. All you had was your visit to Cornwall and a fertile imagination.’ Ben shook his head again. ‘You’ll be the death of me one of these days.’

  ‘Or of me,’ said Libby.

  Ben covered her hand with his own. ‘That’s exactly what I’m afraid of,’ he said. ‘Now come on, drink up. I don’t want to stay here any longer. I don’t feel Steeple Mount is a healthy place for you.’

  ‘Fran’s cousin Charles comes from here, doesn’t he?’ said Libby as they made their way back to the car park. ‘I should have remembered that.’

  ‘Why?’ asked Ben.

  ‘He was a bit of a loser, wasn’t he? Seems to breed the wrong sort of people.’

  ‘Based on Cousin Charles and Richard Diggory?’

  ‘And the others.’

  ‘They don’t come from here,’ said Ben. ‘Or at least most of them don’t.’

  ‘Gemma and Dan do.’

  ‘Well, they’re not on the list of suspects, are they,’ said Ben, beginning to sound exasperated. ‘Come on, for goodness sake. Let’s pop down to Nethergate and have lunch at The Sloop.’

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Fran expressed much the same sentiment as Ben when Libby related the events of the morning. After lunch at The Sloop, Libby dropped in to Coastguard Cottage while Ben went along to Guy’s shop and gallery.

  ‘We’re no further, anyway,’ said Libby. ‘It doesn’t look as though anyone had a motive to kill Lethbridge except Wilhelmina, and she seems to have fallen on her feet. There was no suggestion that she’d had nowhere to go. And why kill Bill?’

  ‘Perhaps we’re approaching it from the wrong angle,’ said Fran.

  ‘You said we had to find the motive for Lethbridge,’ said Libby, ‘that’s what we’re doing.’

  ‘But there was something Lethbridge was doing – or had done – which we don’t know about.’

  ‘Exactly – that’s the motive.’

  ‘But what was he doing? Do you see what I mean? Did he have an affair?’ Fran stopped. ‘Well, we know he did, with Monica. Did he have one with anyone else? And isn’t it odd that he should throw his wife out when he himself was playing away?’

  ‘Perhaps that didn’t start until after Wilhelmina had gone,’ said Libby. ‘And, we’ve already said, the affair with Monica might give Bill a reason to kill him, but who would then kill Bill?’

  ‘I suppose Monica might,’ mused Fran.

  ‘Let’s find out where she was, then,’ said Libby, jumping excitedly out of her chair.

  ‘And how do you propo
se we do that? She’s already said she was just about to leave the house when the police came to tell her. I doubt if she’d just got in from stabbing her husband.’

  ‘You never know,’ said Libby. ‘Were there any civilians around when he was killed? You know – ordinary members of the public?’

  ‘I’ve no idea, but I’m pretty sure if Monica was there she’d have been recognised.’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ said Libby gloomily. ‘Of course she would. So – she was in disguise.’

  ‘As a black-faced Morris man?’ Fran laughed. ‘How would she have got the stuff off before the police came?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know.’ Libby scowled into the fireplace. ‘She’s the only one I can think of, that’s all.’

  ‘What about Elizabeth Martin and Barry Phillips?’ said Fran.

  ‘Oh, heavens.’ Libby sighed. ‘Do you think Ian’s going to look into the business?’

  ‘In case there is something wrong with Frensham Supplies? I don’t know. Does he think there is?’

  ‘We don’t know, do we,’ said Libby. ‘That’s the problem. And no way in the world that we’ll ever find out.’

  ‘We had the polis round here today,’ said Harry on the phone when Ben and Libby got back to Allhallow’s Lane.

  ‘The police? Whatever for?’

  ‘Drugs!’ said Harry in an underworld voice.

  ‘What?’

  Harry laughed. ‘Apparently, there’s a distribution organisation somewhere in the area and a link in the chain’s been broken.’

  ‘And what do they think you are? The link or the baron?’

  ‘Neither. They were asking if I’d ever been offered any by any of our suppliers. Subtly, but that’s what they were asking.’

  ‘And how do they know this link has been broken?’

  ‘They’ve been watching someone, apparently, and he – or she, I don’t know – hasn’t followed normal procedure.’

  ‘Why don’t they ask them, then?’ said Libby. ‘Oh, I suppose they don’t want to alert the big bosses.’

  ‘That’s about the size of it,’ said Harry. ‘I don’t think they knew who the distributor was for this person they’ve been watching, and if they could track down any more of the customers they could put the finger on him – or her.’

  ‘Why did they think you might know?’ said Libby indignantly. ‘How dare they?’

  Harry laughed again. ‘Because this other person is also in the catering trade. I don’t know what branch, but that’s what they did. Go round to everyone in the area who might have deliveries from a catering supplier of some sort.’

  ‘Like Richard Diggory,’ said Libby.

  ‘Oh, come on, Lib! He’s hardly a supplier. He only sells a few of his products to a very few restaurants and delis.’

  ‘Bet it makes sense, though. Who was in charge of the investigation?’

  ‘I don’t know, do I?’ said Harry. ‘Just two uniformed cops.’

  ‘Oh – not even CID?’ Libby was disappointed. ‘Can’t ask Ian, then.’

  ‘Well, you could. I wouldn’t mind being questioned by him.’

  ‘Stop it, you flirt,’ said Libby. ‘I shall have to think about this. Thanks for telling me, Harry.’

  ‘Oh, I knew you’d be interested,’ said Harry. ‘I said the other night you’d got a whole drugs ring set up, didn’t I?’

  Libby told Ben what Harry had said.

  ‘It just seems such a coincidence after what Fran and I were saying earlier,’ she said.

  ‘But you were talking about Frensham Supplies,’ said Ben, ‘not catering supplies. You can’t have it both ways.’

  ‘Do you think we ought to talk to Ian about it?’

  ‘No, I don’t,’ said Ben. ‘If he thinks there’s anything to connect either Richard Diggory or Frensham Supplies to a drugs ring or Bill’s murder, he will look into it. Probably already has. You are not the police, my darling, nor are you, as you so frequently say, Miss Marple. I think you’re busy making something out of nothing, and you ought to leave it alone.’ He bent down and kissed the top of her head. ‘Sun’s over the yard arm. What do you want to drink?’

  ‘Wine, please,’ said Libby with a sigh. ‘And I suppose you’re right. I ought to stop thinking about it and concentrate on something else.’

  ‘Exactly,’ said Ben, fetching red wine from the kitchen. ‘It’s Jane and Terry’s wedding next Saturday, isn’t it? Concentrate on that, instead.’

  Libby brightened. ‘Oh, yes. I’ve got to go shopping, haven’t I?’

  ‘Shopping?’ repeated Ben warily. ‘For a present, you mean?’

  ‘No, of course not. No, well, of course I will have to buy a present, but I meant a new outfit. I can’t wear the same one I wore for Fran and Guy’s, can I?’

  Fran and Libby hit Canterbury on Monday. A morning spent scouring the clothes shops and department stores left them hungry and thirsty and they repaired to the little side street pub where they had first been introduced. Their favourite barman was back, even more outrageously dressed than before, and again asked mournfully after Harry. Libby assured him that Harry and Peter were going from strength to strength and squeezed behind the table with Fran to await their shepherd’s pie.

  ‘We ought to ask him if he’s on the drugs distribution route,’ she whispered, as the barman disappeared to take their order to the kitchen.

  ‘Sssh!’ Fran looked round, alarmed. ‘Honestly, Libby, you ought to be more careful.’

  ‘Well, he could be,’ said Libby. ‘City centre pub, lots of students.’

  ‘I’m sure the police would have done a thorough search,’ said Fran. ‘If they were asking Harry, you can bet they’ve asked every establishment in the area.’

  Libby sighed. ‘I know. And Ben thinks it’s to do with Frensham Supplies, who do office equipment anyway.’

  ‘Eh?’ Fran frowned. ‘Then why are they asking restaurants?’

  ‘No – they aren’t connected. It was me connecting things up,’ said Libby. ‘In my usual fashion, apparently.’

  ‘Bricks and straw,’ said Fran, nodding.

  ‘You needn’t agree,’ said Libby huffily, and startled the barman by bestowing on him a brilliant smile.

  It was no surprise when Ben received a letter later on in the week from Frensham Holdings, informing him that due to circumstances beyond their control, they were unable to accommodate him at Frensham Barn.

  ‘After the reception I got I’m not surprised,’ said Libby, ‘and I did say you ought to cancel, didn’t I?’

  Ben raised an eyebrow. ‘Yes, dear,’ he said.

  Neither Libby nor Fran heard anything from Ian Connell or anyone connected with the Green Man case all week. Libby spent a lot of time painting in the conservatory and the remainder sitting under the cherry tree in the garden, while Fran spent several days helping in the shop, and the rest exploring Nethergate on foot.

  Saturday rolled round, and with it, Jane Maurice’s wedding to Terry Baker. Fran and Guy drove over to Allhallow’s Lane, where they were to stay overnight, and joined Libby and Ben in their taxi. Other members of the Steeple Martin community were invited to the evening reception, even Harry having agreed to take a Saturday evening off from the Pink Geranium.

  The guests were directed up the steps at Anderson Place, and to the right of the reception hall, through double doors into what must have once been a formal drawing room, with a large marble fireplace on the left-hand wall and enormous french doors leading onto a balcony, which in turn led on to the imposing front steps. This was where Peter and Harry had celebrated their civil partnership, and, when the registrar came into the room, Libby was delighted to see he was the same small, round man with a jolly, smiling face, who looked as though he’d be more at home in a red suit with white whiskers.

  Jane and Terry appeared in the doorway and everyone stood up. For the first time, Libby noticed Jane’s mother, still apparently firmly stuck in the 1950s, by the look of her pale pink two-piece suit and matching hat. She nud
ged Fran.

  ‘Mrs Maurice, look.’

  ‘She doesn’t exactly look thrilled, does she,’ whispered Fran and earned a frown from Guy.

  Jane, in a glorious 1920s style dress of oyster satin, paused as they came level with Libby. Moving in front of Terry, she reached across Ben, who sat by the aisle, and kissed Libby’s cheek. ‘Thank you,’ she whispered, before turning a brilliant smile on her fiancé and continuing towards the celebrant.

  Libby, bright red, with tears ruining her eye make-up, accepted a tissue from Fran and a hug from Ben and tried to concentrate on the short ceremony.

  As wedding organiser Melanie had once told Harry and Libby, the happy couple were able to go straight out on to the balcony for photographs, followed by their guests, who drifted down the steps after the obligatory group pictures and across to the marquee where the reception was to be held.

  ‘Bit bigger than ours,’ said Fran.

  ‘I liked yours better,’ said Libby, ‘but just look over there!’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘That waitress with the tray – the blonde one.’

  Fran looked at her. ‘There are at least three blonde ones.’

  ‘The Marilyn Monroe look-alike,’ whispered Libby. ‘With the very short skirt.’

  ‘Right.’ Fran nodded. ‘What about her?’

  ‘I can’t believe the coincidence,’ said Libby, ‘but that’s Wilhelmina Lethbridge!’

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  ‘How embarrassing,’ said Fran, turning away.

  ‘Embarrassing? Why?’

  ‘Well, you practically accused her of murder last week. Don’t you think it’s embarrassing?’

  ‘Oh.’ Libby stared across at Wilhelmina, who was by now smiling brightly at a succession of male guests who had lined up to relieve her of glasses. ‘I think she’s beyond embarrassing.’

  ‘She might be, but you’re not.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Libby again. ‘Well, I’ll just have to try and avoid her. I wonder why she’s here?’

  ‘Working, I should imagine,’ said Fran dryly. ‘The same as Diggory who’s standing behind the buffet table.’

  Libby caught her breath and choked. ‘Oh, bugger,’ she said.