Murder Out of Tune - A Libby Sarjeant Murder Mystery

by Lesley Cookman

  ‘Providence Row has never seen anything like it,’ said Sandra with a wry laugh. ‘I expect the whole village will know by tomorrow if anything happens.’

  ‘Well, that’s it,’ said Libby, putting her phone on the table beside her. ‘Now we just wait and see if anything happens.’

  ‘Your cousin will tell you if anything else happens to Mike Farthing, won’t she?’

  ‘I expect so. But I don’t think anyone else will be keeping us up to date, do you?’

  ‘I suppose Dr Robinson might, because of the concert, but he’d tell Andrew, not us.’

  ‘What?’ said Fran. ‘You mean if they have to back out?’

  ‘Having the victim in the band is one thing, but if the murderer’s in it, too, that might just be a tad too far, don’t you think?’

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Libby survived the rehearsal, but declined the offer to go to the pub afterwards and, to Ben’s relief, obediently went to bed as soon as they got home.

  On Tuesday, however, she was determined to resume normal service. She walked to the doctor’s surgery on the corner of Maltby Close to have her bandages removed and the slight wound on the bump examined, bought a few things in the eight-til-late and went in to The Pink Geranium to see Harry.

  ‘Coffee?’ he offered doubtfully. ‘Pete said you didn’t go for a drink last night.’

  ‘No, but I’m not having to stay off the alcohol for ever. I’ve been given the all clear on that, and I can even wash my hair, thank goodness.’

  ‘I must say, it doesn’t look its usual immaculately coiffed self.’

  ‘You can’t do much with a rusty Brillo pad,’ said Libby, fondly patting her wiry mop.

  ‘So, coffee or wine? Although it’s a bit early for wine.’

  ‘Coffee, please. I don’t want to get blind drunk the first day I’m allowed to drink. What’s been going on in the village?’

  ‘Nothing much, or you’d have heard about it. Apparently our Beth, the goodly vicar, preached a very strong sermon against violence on Sunday and had a full house. She put that down to the fact that you’d just been to see her when you were clobbered. Fame by association.’

  ‘I’d like to have heard that,’ said Libby, accepting a mug. ‘Pity Monica Turner didn’t hear it. Although her violence isn’t exactly physical, more vituperative. I’d love to know what she thinks about me being attacked. Probably stood on the sidelines cheering the bloke on. And I know Ian was in the churchyard last night, so I bet that pleased her. He didn’t tell me what he’d been doing, though Do you know?’

  ‘How would I know? I’m closed Mondays, aren’t I? And he hardly confides in me and Pete. So what was he doing with you?’

  Libby related everything she and Fran had heard.

  ‘So I’m waiting to find out what happened when the police caught up with Denise,’ she finished. ‘And who was threatening her husband.’

  ‘She sounds certifiable,’ said Harry.

  ‘Mmm. And poor Sandra feels guilty.’

  ‘Was she one of the knitting circle?’

  ‘The knitting circle? What knitting circle?’

  ‘You know, the old biddies who meet up every now and then. Hetty and Flo and the others.’

  ‘Why did everyone seem to know about them except me?’

  ‘I only know because they come in here sometimes. I do them a special lunch.’

  ‘At a special price, I bet!’

  ‘Of course! Your mate Edie comes over sometimes.’

  ‘Yes, and Una from Steeple Lane and Dolly from the New Farm bungalows.’ Libby shook her head and was delighted to find it didn’t hurt. Well, not much. ‘Anyway, what were you asking?’

  ‘If she was one of their friends. There were two women who used to come together – one was Una, I think, and a very smart woman who was a bit younger than the others. Lovely silver hair.’

  ‘That’s Sandra. Doesn’t she come with them any more?’

  ‘Not when they come here, any road. She moved?’

  ‘Yes, to Itching. Married again.’

  ‘That reminds me – what’s happened to the headmistress?’

  ‘Cassandra? Oh, she’s going back to London, but will be back for weekends to stay with Mike Farthing. Unless he’s convicted of something.’

  ‘I was thinking about that,’ said Harry slowly. ‘I can’t believe the bloke’s into anything dodgy. He stayed with us, after all.’

  ‘Not a guarantee of innocence.’

  ‘Snarky. No, listen. He’s got people working for him, hasn’t he?’

  ‘Two lads in the office, I gather, who look after most of the mail-order business. I suppose there would be gardening type people, too. Why?’

  ‘Well, why couldn’t it be one of them who did whatever it was? I bet he’s fairly computer clueless. They’ve taken the computer, haven’t they?’

  ‘I think so,’ said Libby, frowning.

  ‘And you said something about a heating and ventilating system.’ Harry’s bright eyes were watching her as it sunk in.

  ‘Oh, of course! They would have the know-how to find and order the right kit, wouldn’t they?’ Libby pulled out her phone. ‘I must tell Cass. And I wonder if Ian knows?’

  ‘He might not, if the drugs boys are keeping things to themselves,’ said Harry. ‘But I wouldn’t try calling him again. Didn’t you say he said he might come in tomorrow?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Libby happily. ‘Be nice to get back to normal.’

  ‘If that’s what you call normal,’ said Harry with a snort.

  Libby called Cassandra that afternoon, who confirmed that Mike had had to close the business – temporarily, he hoped – although his part-time glass-house staff were still coming in, as the plants didn’t understand the concept of ‘Closed’. Patrick and Gary, however, were not at work.

  ‘Did Mike tell them not to come in?’ asked Libby.

  ‘I suppose so. Why?’

  ‘Just wondered,’ said Libby, not quite willing to share Harry’s theory yet. ‘Are you back in London?’

  ‘Yes, just finishing wrapping Christmas presents. I’ll be back at the weekend.’

  ‘Right,’ said Libby guiltily. ‘I’d better buy some then.’

  ‘Oh, Libby! You are so disorganised.’

  On Wednesday, Ben drove them both to Joe and Nella’s Cattlegreen Nursery to choose a Christmas Tree, and, leaving Ben to dig up the one they’d chosen, Libby wandered into the shop where Joe’s son Owen had proudly made his famous hot chocolate for her.

  ‘Lovely, Owen, thank you.’ She wrapped her hands round the mug.

  ‘So you gets bashed on the head, then? OK now?’ Joe leant against the counter and peered at her.

  ‘Yes, I’m fine, Joe. I don’t really know what happened.’

  ‘All that pokin’ yer nose into murders,’ said Joe, voicing the opinion of all Libby’s well-wishers. ‘Don’t do yer no good.’

  ‘No, I suppose not. Joe, do you know Mike Farthing?’

  ‘Course I do. He does more plants, like, but sometimes someone might ask me for something, so I send ʼem to him. Nice bloke. Why?’

  ‘Oh, nothing, really. My cousin’s really friendly with him,’ said Libby. ‘He certainly seems very nice.’

  Joe narrowed his eyes at her. ‘This something to do with that murder? The ukulele bloke?’

  Libby felt her face growing hot. ‘Um – sort of.’

  Ben came in and smilingly accepted his hot chocolate from Owen.

  ‘What’s going on, Ben? Your lass getting into murder again?’ Joe fixed Ben with a suspicious eye.

  Ben sighed. ‘Yes, Joe. Has she been asking questions?’

  Libby opened her mouth, but Joe got in first.

  ‘Yes – about Mike Farthing. Don’t tell me he’s mixed up in it?’

  ‘We don’t think so,’ said Ben, glaring at Libby. ‘He was just in the same ukulele group as the victim.’

  ‘Ah. Surprised me, that did. Mike’s a quiet sort. Don’t get out much
.’

  ‘That’s what he told us. That’s why he joined, I think.’ Ben took out his credit card. ‘I’ve tagged the one for the Manor as well, Joe, so I’ll come back in the van and collect them both.’

  ‘Don’t start spreading gossip about Mike,’ he said, when they were back in the car. ‘It’s not like you to be so irresponsible.’

  ‘I only asked if Joe knew him,’ said Libby. ‘I thought he might, being in the same sort of business. He just jumped to conclusions.’

  Ben sighed. ‘Just don’t say anything to anybody. Try and keep safe.’

  ‘Well, Joe’s hardly going to attack me, is he?’

  ‘You never know,’ said Ben darkly.

  Libby spent the rest of the afternoon ordering Christmas presents online and revising her Christmas card list. After dinner, she and Ben walked to the theatre, where she was surprised to find Sir Andrew waiting for them.

  ‘I came down to find out if there was any news about the murder,’ he said, following them into the foyer. Ben switched on lights and went through to the auditorium.

  ‘Not really,’ said Libby, ‘except that someone bashed me on the head. Mind you, we don’t know if that was connected to the murder or not.’

  Andrew paled a little and sat down abruptly on the edge of a table. ‘My dear girl! Are you badly hurt? Should you be out?’

  ‘I’m fine, Andrew. It was nearly a week ago now.’

  ‘No idea who did it?’

  Ben came back. ‘Someone who doesn’t like her poking about, we suspect,’ said Ben.

  ‘The murderer, then?’ Andrew looked even paler.

  ‘If it was he didn’t hit me very hard,’ said Libby. ‘It seems odd, after he’d killed Vernon Bowling.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ said Andrew, showing signs of reviving, ‘he didn’t mean to kill Bowling, but lashed out in anger, and only meant to warn you?’

  ‘Possible,’ agreed Libby. ‘Anyway, that’s about all. The police have been making all sorts of enquiries, and questioning suspects, but nothing concrete so far.’

  ‘Are you worried about the concert?’ asked Ben.

  ‘Well, I am, rather.’ Andrew pulled out the chair beside him and sat on it. ‘It seems to me, with a murder victim and a possible murderer in the band, it’s not quite the right feel for a Christmas concert. I suppose there are no suspects who aren’t in the band?’

  ‘Not that we’ve heard,’ said Libby, ‘but the police wouldn’t tell us that sort of thing.’

  ‘You can’t tell me that your lovely policeman – Ian, is it? – hasn’t kept you up to date? Or isn’t he in charge of the case?’

  ‘Yes, he is, and yes, we’ve had conversations, more because of our personal connection to some of the suspects.’

  ‘No!’ Andrew looked horrified. ‘I didn’t know you knew any of them.’

  ‘You knew we knew Lewis and his mother,’ said Ben.

  ‘Oh, yes, but they’re not suspects.’

  ‘And my cousin Cassandra – remember she came to the meeting? – she’s – ah – in a relationship with Mike Farthing, another member.’

  ‘Dear me.’ Andrew frowned at his steepled fingers. ‘So you’re in the middle of it again?’

  ‘Yes, she is, and she’s been warned off again by me and the police.’ Ben came up and draped an arm across Libby’s shoulders. ‘However, that’s never stopped her before, and we think that our lovely policeman may be joining us at the pub tonight. So you’ll be there, won’t you?’

  Andrew brightened up. ‘Wouldn’t miss it! I was going to see if I could call on Dr Robinson, but I’ll stay here instead.’

  ‘Are you going to watch?’ asked Libby nervously.

  ‘Of course!’ Andrew twinkled at her. ‘I love a good panto.’

  ‘Then you might not love this one,’ muttered Libby.

  However, her cast behaved impeccably. Andrew sat next to Libby, and surprised her by whispering a couple of suggestions as they went along, which when implemented improved the scenes, especially, to Libby’s astonishment, the slapstick scenes.

  ‘I didn’t know you did that sort of comedy,’ she said, when they took a break.

  ‘I’ve done everything,’ said Andrew. ‘I’d love to do a Dame again.’

  ‘It’s not unheard of for theatrical knights to play dames,’ said Libby.

  ‘True, but nobody’s asked me,’ said Andrew with a wink.

  ‘Well, don’t think I’m going to ask a theatrical knight to take part in an amateur pantomime!’ Libby laughed.

  ‘Oh, I don’t know. There are lots of small independent theatres around the country that do. Pro-am, I suppose.’

  ‘I think that’s what we are, in a way. We have a pro MD and this year, a pro choreographer and dancers, and we have pro lighting designers. Even Ben’s an ex-pro, so am I, and several others are, too.’

  ‘And you do good shows.’ Andrew patted her hand. ‘I would like to see you do a straight play. I’ve only seen the summer show and this.’

  ‘I’ll let you know,’ said Libby, ‘if you’re sure.’

  ‘Of course, I am. Look, I’m going to pop down and see Harry now, and I’ll join you in the pub at what – ten-ish?’

  ‘Or a bit earlier if I can get away,’ said Libby and stood up. ‘Right back to work everyone. Go back to the beginning of scene three.’

  In fact, it was just before ten o’clock when Peter, Ben and Libby walked into the pub and found Harry, Andrew, Patti, Anne, and Ian sitting round a table looking solemn.

  ‘What’s happened?’ Libby came to a standstill.

  Ian stood up. ‘Denise Bowling tried to commit suicide.’

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  ‘What?’

  ‘Sit down, Lib,’ Harry pulled out a chair. ‘I’ll go and get drinks.’

  ‘What happened?’ Libby stared at Ian. ‘Did the police drive her to it?’

  ‘Libby, don’t jump to conclusions,’ said Ian gently. ‘And it’s thanks to your friend Sandra that she didn’t succeed.’

  ‘Oh.’ Libby took a deep breath. ‘OK, then, tell me what happened. From after you left us on Monday afternoon.’

  ‘Should we go?’ asked Patti. ‘It’s nothing to do with us.’

  Ian shook his head. ‘You’ve been in on our conversations for so long now I can trust you. But go if you want to, of course.’

  Anne indicated her drink. ‘We’ll stay until we’ve finished these. All right, Libby?’

  Libby nodded and looked back at Ian.

  ‘Right,’ he said. ‘Well, as I told you we went to Derek Chandler’s house in Itching, where the taxi had taken Mrs Bowling. The officers I’d sent to her house got there before me and were already talking to him.’

  ‘Not to her?’

  ‘No, she’d gone. He seemed very ill at ease, and apparently had denied he’d seen her at first. Then I arrived and he finally admitted she’d been there, but hadn’t come in and had left immediately.’

  ‘How?’ said Libby. ‘The taxi had dropped her off in Providence Row, you confirmed that.’

  ‘We don’t know. Apparently, your friend Sandra was watching and when she saw the police car go she went across to Chandler’s house to ask after Mrs Bowling. He, of course, said she’d left. Sandra was worried about her and called her on her landline and mobile, neither of which were answered. By about ten o’clock she was driving her husband mad, he told us, so he drove her to Bowling House. There were lights on, but she couldn’t make anyone hear, so she called the police.’

  ‘But the woman wasn’t even missing,’ said Ben. ‘How did she get them to take it seriously?’

  ‘She was sensible enough to mention that the woman was the subject of a police investigation. Naturally, she didn’t know my name – although she did say she thought it was “Ian” – but the despatcher knew enough to come through to us. I was off duty by then, of course, but they called me.’ He paused to take a sip of coffee.

  ‘And then what happened?’ prompted Libby.

 
‘They broke in and found her in her bedroom. She’d taken something with alcohol, but luckily was still alive, so an ambulance was called and the constables who found her did all the right things and kept her that way.’

  ‘How dreadful.’ Libby was pale. ‘Was it our fault?’

  ‘Nothing to do with you,’ said Ian. ‘I arrived just as they were taking her away and more officers had arrived, so they started another search and I sat down and talked to Mr and Mrs Farrow, who were both very shocked.’

  ‘But why didn’t Sandra call and tell me? This happened on Monday night, didn’t it? You would have thought she would have called me yesterday.’

  ‘Yes, I’m surprised she didn’t, even though I asked her not to,’ said Ian with a smile.

  ‘Oh.’ Libby looked affronted. ‘Why?’

  ‘I didn’t want you to start poking about. Which you would, you know you would. You’d be looking for an excuse to go and see Derek Chandler, for a start.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Libby again, acknowledging to herself that he was probably right.

  ‘Do you know why she did it? Was there a note?’ asked Patti, who was looking distressed.

  ‘No, but that’s not as unusual as the general public think. It just appears as though she was in something of a panic.’

  ‘Why? I mean how do you know that?’ asked Libby.

  Ian looked uncomfortable. ‘I can’t tell you that.’

  ‘Derek Chandler must know. She came straight from seeing him.’

  ‘And he’s not talking,’ said Ian.

  ‘So is Mrs Bowling now a suspect?’ asked Anne.

  ‘For her husband’s murder? It’s a possibility,’ said Ian.

  ‘But that would mean she hit me on the head and she’d never even met me,’ said Libby.

  ‘Had any of the others?’ said Ben.

  ‘We haven’t definitely linked your attack with the murder, Libby,’ said Ian.

  ‘But it’s got to be almost a certainty, surely?’ said Peter.

  ‘That’s speculation,’ said Ian, with a smile. ‘And we aren’t allowed to speculate.’ He turned to Libby. ‘That’s your job.’

  Libby flushed. ‘I know, I know. I can’t help feeling rather guilty about Denise, though. If we hadn’t upset her …’