Libby shivered. “I’ve got an interview with one of Joe’s colleagues, soon. Ian Smith. About the Eccles cake.”
“Are you interviewing the police, or they, you?”
“Very funny. Apparently, I’m a suspect.”
“OK to talk about it?”
“With the police, or with you?”
“Either. Both.”
“There’s not much I can say. It’s all a complete mystery to me. I mean, poisoning a whole cycle club! Who’d do that? It’s ridiculous to suggest it’s Frank. It’ll ruin his business.”
Max took the plates out, calling back, “You’re sure it’s deliberate, then?”
Libby followed, a wine glass in each hand. “Well, I can’t believe the food was contaminated by mistake. We’re always so careful. We know it’s not the sandwiches, but that doesn’t stop people blaming the bakery. We could be shut down for good.”
“How do you know it’s not the sandwiches?”
Enraged, Libby glared. “Of course it wasn’t.”
“No. You don’t want it to be. Come on Libby, put that logical mind of yours to work. Digitalis, or digitoxin, or whatever that doctor called it. How would you get hold of it?”
Libby thought hard. “He said it was used as medicine, so presumably, you could get it from your GP. There’s always the chemist, but you’d need a prescription.”
Max chimed in. “Or the internet. Could you make it yourself?”
“Did they teach you much about poisons in secret service school?”
“Sadly, no, not unless you count polonium.”
“I think we’re looking at something easier to get your hands on than radio-active isotopes.”
Max stacked plates in the dishwasher. “It sounds as though we’re investigating again. Ramshore and Forest, private investigations a speciality. No stone unturned. We should join forces and start a business. You’ll need a second string if the bakery has to close.”
Libby put her head on one side. “Forest and Ramshore sounds better. Anyway, we can’t just leave it to the police. Manpower’s always short, and unless they’re convinced it’s nothing to do with the shop, I don’t think they’ll look too hard elsewhere.”
“Forest and Ramshore it is, then. Where shall we start? With the poison?”
“It’s as good a place as any, though there are a couple of other things we ought to think about.”
“Like, what do Kevin and Vince have in common that made them targets? Why were they both killed?”
“Exactly. And what about Joe and the rest of the club? It could have been a random attack, maybe trying to frighten them, that went too far.” It was a mess. “How could the poisoner even be sure anyone would die? This is going to take a while. I’d better warn my daughter.”
She rang Ali’s mobile. “I’m going to be late. Max and I are going over ideas for the chocolate business.”
“Yeah, Mum.” That was definitely a snigger. “Are you coming home tonight?”
“Of course.” Libby’s face burned.
“Mandy and I are fine. She’s been filling me in on a few things.” That sounded ominous. “Oh, and Fuzzy’s sitting on my lap.”
“That cat never sits with me. She hates me. She tried to trip me on the stairs again.”
“See you later, Mum.” Ali was laughing as she broke the connection.
Max didn’t bother to pretend he hadn’t heard. “I take it you have permission to stay out late?”
Libby dropped her phone in a pocket. “Fire up that laptop. We’ve got poisons to trace.”
Poison-hunting on the internet revealed few new facts. Digitoxin could be easily extracted from the crushed leaves of foxgloves, and was found in some prescribed medication for heart disease. Several cups of coffee later, with little more to show for their efforts than a list of medications containing digitalis extract under a confusing number of names, Libby sighed and stretched. “We’re not really very much farther forward. We need a better plan.”
Max flipped the lid on the laptop. “Suggestions?”
“Well, the poison’s just the method. What about a reason for killing Kevin and Vince? I suppose you weren’t at school with half the cycling club?”
“Afraid not. Most of them moved here in the last twenty years or so. Your friend Marina’s husband’s a member, though.”
Marina hadn’t mentioned that. Presumably, Henry had been at work, not cycling through the lanes, that day. Max cleared his throat. “There’s something I was going to tell you before, on the beach, when my phone rang.”
“Yes?”
He wouldn’t meet her eyes. “I’ve got to go away again, tomorrow. Just for a day or two.”
“Oh?” What did he expect her to say?
“Well, there’s Bear.”
“Not leaving him with your farmer friend, this time?”
“Can’t keep abusing the hospitality. For one, thing, the animal eats like a rugby player.”
Libby wasn’t going to make it easy for him. “So, what are you suggesting?”
“Bear’s used to you. I wondered if you’d come over to keep an eye on him. He lives outside in the shed, unless it’s freezing cold. That double layer of fur keeps him warm, but he needs company and plenty of exercise, and he likes you.”
Libby laughed. Bear was fast asleep, his massive head trapping her feet, as if he’d already claimed her. “Let him stay with me for a while. We managed before, and I’ll take him for a long run every day.”
“What about your carpets?”
“I’ll get them replaced and send you a bill.”
“It’s a deal.”
Max thumped the dog gently on the shoulder. “See, Bear, I told you she’d take you in. Be a good guest. No chewing the furniture.”
“How long will you be gone?”
“Can’t be sure, I’m afraid. As a sweetener, would you like to borrow the Land Rover? Better than letting Bear climb all over your car.”
“You won’t need it?”
“It’s quicker by train.” Heading out of the country, then. Libby knew better than to ask where he was going. She was pleased they were back on some sort of steady footing. Good friends, nothing more. Wasn’t that just what she wanted? “Thanks. My car’s desperate for a service. I’ll get Alan at the garage to pick it up tomorrow.”
Breakfast
Mandy and Ali gossiped in the kitchen, next morning, brewing coffee, eating breakfast cereal and giggling. “Morning, Mum. Did you have a good evening?” Cue more giggling.
“Hangover, Mrs F?” Libby heaved a heavy sigh, feeling like a visitor in her own house. She’d rise above it. She kissed Ali on the cheek, smiled at Mandy, grabbed a mug of coffee, scooped up Fuzzy and retired to the sitting room. Bear padded behind, tail wagging.
The house had seemed quiet when Libby first arrived, a year ago, but then Mandy moved in as a lodger and brought it back to life. Now, with Ali home and Bear visiting, the tiny cottage seemed full to overflowing.
Ali joined her mother on the sofa. Fuzzy jumped down from Libby’s arms to rub herself against Ali, purring, orange tail flicking in the air. Bear, making himself at home, stretched out across the floor, filling the room from door to window. Libby watched her daughter stroke the side of Fuzzy’s face and wondered how she’d ever managed to produce a child so unlike herself. Where did that ash blonde hair come from? It was cut short and spiky, emphasising Ali’s round cheeks and full lips. Her daughter had turned into a beauty. “What’s wrong, Ali?”
Instead of answering, Ali wrinkled her nose and pouted. Libby recognised the expression. It had first appeared when Ali, aged three, struggled with an early drawing of a house. It came back whenever she was anxious, or faced with a difficult challenge. “Was there another reason you came home? Apart from the need to look after your sick mother?”
Ali looked guilty. Libby had hit the nail on the head. “I was worried about you, Mum, truly. Dad always said you can’t look after yourself.”
“Well, that’s
what he thought.” Libby shrugged. No need to dump her feelings about Trevor on their daughter. She kept talking, giving Ali a chance to collect her thoughts. “Anyway, I’m glad you get on well with Mandy, though she’ll be moving out soon, I expect. She’s only staying here until she can afford a flat of her own.”
Ali’s eyes were suspiciously shiny. Libby stepped over Bear and dropped on to the sofa, one arm round her daughter. For once, Ali didn’t shrug it off or move away. “Tell me what’s going on. Is it boyfriend problems?” That older man. She’d known he’d break Ali’s heart. “Is it John?”
Ali raised a watery laugh. “No, Mum. We broke up ages ago. I told you.” She hadn’t, but Libby let it go. Ali grabbed Fuzzy and buried her face in the cat’s fur. “John wasn’t really that interested in philanthropy. At least, not for himself. He just liked to give lectures about it. Well paid lectures.”
“Good job you saw through him, then. But, if he’s not the problem, what’s wrong?”
“I don’t think I’m doing the right thing.”
“You mean, at Uni? Is it the course?”
Ali blushed. “History’s all very well, but I want to make some sort of a difference. How’s history going to help when children are starving on the other side of the world?” She looked up, straight into Libby’s face, her own cheeks glowing. “I want to do something really useful.”
Libby chose her words with care. “I think that would be very worthwhile. You could get a job in the voluntary sector, when you finish your degree.”
Ali rolled her eyes. “I knew you’d say that. Just because you always did what people told you to.” Her words struck home. She was right. Libby had always expected good behaviour to lead to happiness. What a shame she’d believed it for so long.
Ali spoke slowly, as though Libby was very old or deaf. “I’m nothing like you. I want to do things that matter, while I’m still young enough. Not live a boring life, like you and Dad, and then die. I won’t waste any more time doing something I don’t care about.”
Was that truly how Libby’s life seemed to Ali? Boring and useless? Libby counted to ten and kept her voice level. “Why don’t you carry on at Uni to the end of the year, then see what you want to do?”
Before the words left her mouth, she knew it was the wrong thing to say. Ali’s face flamed. She pushed her mother’s arm away. “You don’t understand. You never have. Anyway, it’s too late. I’ve already left Uni.”
Libby stared. “Left? Officially?”
“That’s right.” Ali was defiant, eyes blazing. “I can’t go back, even if I wanted too. And I’ve got a job.”
“A what?”
“That’s right, a job. I’m going to help build schools in the rain forest. I’ve come home to pack and then Andy’s coming to pick me up.”
“You mean, you’re leaving the country? And who’s Andy?” Libby was struggling to take it in.
“Just a friend. Why shouldn’t I go? I’m not a child any more.”
Before Libby could gather her arguments, Ali dumped the cat on the floor, flounced out of the room and stamped upstairs.
***
Libby needed time time to think. “What am I supposed to say, Bear?” The dog whined and nuzzled her legs. “She’s just throwing away her life.”
Libby would never have defied her own parents. Things were different, in those days. She’d gone to University, taken a degree in social science, met Trevor and slipped into a quiet domestic life. She’d never even used that degree. Maybe Ali had a point.
Bear was pacing round the room. Fuzzy had disappeared, probably sulking in the airing cupboard. Libby longed to talk to someone. She needed advice, but there was no one around to help. Libby shooed Bear out into the garden, following behind, hoping fresh air would bring inspiration. She snatched weeds from the border, tossing them on the compost heap.
The breeze blew hair into her eyes, and she pushed it away, irritated. Of course, she didn’t want Ali to turn into a doormat. Libby kicked a stone. She’d wasted a lot of her life. The only things she didn’t regret were her children. Bringing up Robert and Ali to healthy adulthood, with strong minds of their own, were the only achievements she would always think of with pride.
She needed to make peace with her daughter. She wiped her hands on her jeans and went back indoors, to tap on Ali’s bedroom door. Ali, red-eyed, blocked her way.
“Maybe I’d better help you pack.”
Ali stared, frowning. “Seriously?” Libby nodded. “You’re not going to try and stop me?”
“Ali, I don’t want you to spend your life trying to please other people. If you’re determined to do this, and you’re doing it for you and not for this Andy, I’ll give you my blessing.” And worry about you every moment you’re away.
Ali wiped her nose on her sleeve. “Good.” She muttered. “I thought you were going to cause a fuss.”
An hour later, Ali sat on her rucksack while Libby eased the zip round the lumps and bumps of t-shirts, earphones, boots and the other essentials of life in the wild. It turned out Ali’d been planning this for weeks, if not months, ever since she met Andy. “He’s very quiet. Thoughtful, you know, Mum. He’s from Canada, and he got me the job.” She showed Libby the paperwork. Tickets, letters of introduction, a signed contract.
Libby couldn’t find anything wrong. “I just wish you’d told me sooner.”
“You’d have tried to stop me.”
“Will I see him?”
“Soon. He’s coming here, then we’re catching the train at midday.”
The doorbell rang. Ali gave Libby a brief kiss on the cheek, hoisted up the huge rucksack, waved to a stunned Mandy, and disappeared.
Libby climbed the stairs, head reeling, back to the room her daughter had slept in. It had happened so fast, she couldn’t take it on. Slowly, painfully, she tidied away the few remaining bits and pieces they’d failed to stuff into the rucksack. A lump of iron seemed to have stuck in Libby’s chest, making it hard to breathe. When was she going to see her daughter again?
She blew her nose, determined not to cry. All that cleaning, the fussing over curtains, had all been Ali’s way of saying goodbye. If only Libby had understood. She stretched, relieving the ache in her back. What’s that? A drawer in Ali’s bedside table was stuck, half open. One corner of a brown envelope, peeking out at an angle, stopped it sliding shut.
Libby pulled the drawer open and pulled at the envelope, turning it over, registering Ali’s name on the front. It was unsealed, the contents still inside.
Mutton
Libby recognised that writing. She held the brown envelope in one hand, eyes on Trevor’s familiar neat, precise pen strokes, unsure. She should leave it alone. It wasn’t addressed to her. Everyone knew no good came of checking your children’s private papers, but how could any mother resist a peek inside a package sent by her dead husband to their daughter?
At least the envelope wasn’t sealed, so Libby didn’t have to steam it open. With one guilty glance back at the bedroom door, she tipped it up and let the contents slide onto the bed.
Just two sheets of paper fell out. One was a handwritten letter, the other, an estate agent’s advertisement for a house. A house in Leeds. Libby stared. The house was nothing special; just the kind of lofty Victorian building often divided into flats for students. But in Leeds? The family had no connections there.
Libby dropped the advertisement and picked up the letter, curiously reluctant to read anything written by her husband. It was short, and dated two years ago. Dear Alison, it began. He always used his daughter’s full name. Before you go off to Uni, I want you to have this, in case you ever need it. The house is in your name. Robert owns another, just like it. You must keep the house for five years. You can sell it then, if you like, but please use the agent mentioned on the enclosed document.
This is between you and me. Your mother will have my estate should I die, which I have no intention of doing at present, but this is for you alone.
; You may need a bolt-hole one day.
With love,
Dad.
Libby pored over the letter, but subsequent readings made no more sense than the first. There was no reason why Trevor shouldn’t buy a house and put it in Ali’s name. Perhaps it was a thoughtful thing to do, making sure his daughter had a foot on the housing ladder. But why bother to keep it a secret? And why buy a house so far away, in Leeds? They’d lived in London all their married life.
Libby shook her head, perplexed by yet another shock from the grave. Who would have thought it of rigid, respectable Trevor? Six months ago, she’d discovered he’d emptied his bank accounts and left nothing but debts. It meant Libby couldn’t redecorate the ghastly bathroom, but she’d survived. Now, this? What else had Trevor hidden from his wife?
Libby sat on the bed, legs crossed, thinking. Trevor was a control freak. He’d kept her under his thumb, refusing to discuss work, or anything else, for that matter. As a result, she had little idea what his job entailed, except that he was an insurance agent. How had he managed to acquire a couple of houses his wife knew nothing about?
It seemed strange, finding the letter sticking out of a drawer. Why had Ali left it behind? She hadn’t really tried to hide it. Maybe she’d wanted her mother to know, but wouldn’t directly disobey her father. Libby made a thumbs-up sign. Good solution, Ali.
She folded the two sheets of paper, replaced them in the envelope and took the package to her room, sliding it into her handbag. She straightened. Were there any more surprises from Trevor? She still had a few of his things.
She opened the door to the third bedroom, the room she used as a study. She kept some of his old clothes here. Full of shocked guilt at her husband’s sudden death, she’d left them in the wardrobe in the London house, to deal with later. When she came to Exham, the removal firm had bundled them up and hung them straight in the wardrobe. She hadn’t touched them since. Maybe there were more clues to the Trevor she’d never known, among his old clothes.
She caught her breath, smelling the faintest trace of Old Spice that clung to an ancient corduroy jacket. Trevor had worn that old brown favourite every weekend, refusing to let Libby throw it out, even when it grew old and shabby. She’d bought a new one, identical, once, as a birthday surprise. Trevor told her to take it back to the shop.
Murder on the Levels: An Exham on Sea Cosy Mystery (Exham on Sea Cosy Crime Mysteries Book 2) Page 3
