Murder in Bloom - Libby Sarjeant Murder Mystery Series

by Lesley Cookman

  When Fran was introduced to Libby’s friend Guy Wolfe, who lived a few doors along from Fran in the seaside town of Nethergate, a relationship had developed between them, and Libby saw less of Fran now than she had when they first knew one another.

  Later in the morning, the phone rang again.

  ‘Ma, it’s me again,’ said Adam. ‘I suppose you couldn’t pick me up from work this evening, could you? You did say you wouldn’t mind.’

  ‘Of course, darling,’ said Libby, her interest quickening. ‘Can’t you go home with Mog for some reason?’

  ‘Oh, it’s part of this bloody body thing,’ said Adam. ‘They’ve stopped us working in the wood – obvious, I suppose – and we’ve started on another part of the garden, but Mog hadn’t got all the plans with him, so he’s going home to work on them while I dig up some paving. He’d have to come back and get me unless you pick me up.’

  ‘So it’s no great desire to see me, then?’ Libby was amused.

  ‘Hey, Ma, I’m sorry.’ Adam sounded embarrassed.

  ‘Don’t be daft. I’ll be there at – what? Five?’

  ‘Bit earlier? Four thirty? I’ve been here since eight.’

  ‘OK. Will the police let me through? And do I come down the lane from the main road?’

  ‘Do you know it?’ Adam sounded surprised.

  ‘Ben does. Anyway, do I?’

  ‘Yeah. There’s a drive round the side of the house. I’ll tell the police you’re coming.’

  ‘Good-oh,’ said Libby. ‘I’ll see you then.’

  At one o’clock, she parked Romeo the Renault on Harbour Street, a little way from Fran’s Coastguard Cottage. As it was still only early summer, the beach was not yet crowded, and the little boats that took out day trippers, the Dolphin and the Sparkler, rocked gently at anchor outside The Sloop at the end of the hard. Their captains, George and Bert, sat outside Mavis’s Blue Anchor café drinking huge mugs of tea. Libby waved and Bert waved his pipe back at her.

  Fran was waiting with her door open, looking nervous. Libby kissed her cheek and stood back to stare at her.

  ‘Come on,’ she said. ‘What’s up?’

  Fran closed the door and indicated an armchair.

  ‘It’s Guy,’ she said, taking the chair opposite.

  ‘Guy?’ Libby was surprised. ‘What’s the matter with him?’

  Fran took a deep breath. ‘He wants to get married,’ she said.

  Libby let out a whoop. ‘Fantastic, Fran! Congratulations!’

  ‘Hey!’ Fran looked startled. ‘I didn’t say I’d said yes. You won’t marry Ben, after all.’

  ‘But that’s me,’ said Libby. ‘I’m a stubborn old cow –’

  ‘Old trout,’ corrected Fran with a grin.

  ‘All right, old trout,’ agreed Libby, ‘but you aren’t. You’re much more sensible than I am, and more conventional.’

  ‘Thanks,’ said Fran. ‘That makes me sound like a right old bore.’

  ‘Oh, you know what I mean,’ said Libby. ‘And you said after you’d moved in here that you wanted to be on your own to savour it for a bit. Well, you’ve done that. You’ve had the cottage for well over a year and your relationship with Guy has got much closer, hasn’t it?’

  ‘Yes.’ Fran twisted her hands together. ‘I don’t think I could live without him, now.’

  ‘What’s the problem, then?’

  ‘The children,’ said Fran, looking anguished.

  ‘The children?’ gasped Libby. ‘Your children?’

  Fran nodded.

  ‘What the hell have they got to do with anything?’

  ‘They don’t approve.’

  Libby sat back in her chair and shook her head. ‘And just what don’t they approve of? You getting married again?’

  ‘Oh, I haven’t told them that,’ said Fran. ‘It’s just the girls, of course. They think I’m too old to have a new relationship with anyone, and they’re also worried about money.’

  ‘Money?’ repeated Libby stupidly.

  ‘Oh, you ought to hear Chrissie on the subject.’ Fran smiled wryly. ‘She’s convinced that my inheritance should have been divided between the children. She can’t understand why I couldn’t just sign over most of it to them. Lucy feels the same. They’re both convinced that Guy will deprive them of their own inheritance.’

  ‘I’ve never heard anything like it!’ Libby shook her head in disbelief. ‘I’d marry him quick and then change your will!’

  ‘That’s what you’d do,’ laughed Fran, ‘but then your lot would never behave like this.’

  ‘With a lovely mum like you, I can’t understand why yours do,’ said Libby.

  ‘I’ve told you,’ said Fran with a sigh. ‘I wasn’t there for them enough when they were growing up. Too intent on pursuing my career.’ She shrugged. ‘All to no avail.’

  ‘Well, I say go for it,’ said Libby. ‘And don’t invite them to the wedding.’

  ‘I can’t do that, it wouldn’t be right,’ said Fran.

  ‘And what happens if they go all sniffy and horrid on the day and spoil it for you?’

  ‘Do you think they would?’

  ‘From what I’ve heard about them – and don’t forget I have met them – I bet they would. We’ll just have to station bouncers all round the place to keep them in order.’

  Fran laughed again. ‘So you say go for it?’

  ‘Of course.’ Libby bounced up and gave her friend a hug. ‘With bells on.’

  ‘Then I’ll get out the champagne,’ said Fran. ‘You can have just one glass before lunch, can’t you?’

  Libby rubbed her hands together. ‘You bet!’ she said.

  Guy joined them for lunch, obviously delighted at Libby’s reception of their news. Watching them together, she realised that Fran’s mind had been made up before she asked Libby’s advice, even if she wouldn’t acknowledge it to herself. Fran’s lack of self-confidence was still very much in evidence, even though she now owned a beautiful cottage in a highly desirable location, in the past two years had not one but two men interested in her romantically and had been successful in helping the police in four previous murder cases.

  But now there was a glow about her. Seeing Fran throw back her head, dark hair swinging, when she laughed at one of Guy’s wicked sallies, Libby was proud of having introduced her to him, a middle-aged puckish figure with a dark goatee and snapping brown eyes.

  At four o’clock she got up to go, having helped clear away the champagne glasses and the remaining crumbs of the lunch.

  ‘You don’t have to go,’ said Fran, freeing herself from Guy’s arm about her shoulders.

  ‘I do,’ said Libby. ‘I promised to pick Ad up from his job.’

  ‘What job?’ Guy stood up.

  Surprised at herself, Libby realised she hadn’t told either of them about Adam’s discovery, let alone his illustrious employer. She explained.

  ‘You’re not going to interfere, are you?’ Guy looked suspicious and Libby sighed.

  ‘Why does everybody think I will?’ she said. ‘Ad hasn’t got transport back to Mog’s, so he asked me. That’s all.’

  ‘I didn’t see anything about it on the news,’ said Fran.

  ‘It was on the national news this morning, but it didn’t say where, exactly, or who owns the garden. Ad says they’re keeping it under wraps, and as it’s an old body it isn’t a big thing.’

  Fran looked dubious. ‘But old bodies are often very big news,’ she said. ‘Remember those girls who were buried? They were old, but that was a huge investigation.’

  ‘Yes, well,’ said Libby, feeling uncomfortable, ‘that may be so, but Ad says it’s all very low-key so far.’

  ‘Perhaps for once the media are being respectful to one of their darlings,’ said Guy. ‘Lewis Osbourne-Walker’s a celebrity, isn’t he?’

  ‘With nothing known about him,’ said Fran.

  ‘Except he’s gay,’ said Guy.

  ‘Guy!’ Libby and Fran turned on him.


  ‘I only meant it’s the sort of thing they make a big thing of, isn’t it?’ Guy looked defensive.

  ‘Hardly.’ Fran was scornful. ‘Half the celebrities on TV are gay these days. It makes no difference.’

  ‘I did mention that to Ad yesterday,’ said Libby. ‘He told me off, but I said Lewis was a bit of a housewives’ favourite and wouldn’t that make a difference.’

  ‘Of course not,’ said Fran. ‘Only the very oldest housewives would be put off.’

  ‘Really?’ Libby looked doubtful. ‘What about those people who disapprove of Peter and Harry?’

  ‘Particularly Harry!’ grinned Guy.

  ‘So who are they?’ asked Fran. ‘I’ve never met any, and you said yourself how lovely it was in the village with everyone cheering them on when they got married.’

  ‘Partnershipped,’ corrected Libby automatically. ‘But there was that letter, wasn’t there?’

  ‘What letter?’ asked Guy, sitting down again.

  ‘Oh, it was from an old lady in a home, saying that it was an abomination against the Lord, or something,’ said Libby.

  ‘Don’t be dismissive, Lib,’ said Fran. ‘She was expressing the view that the Bible says it’s illegal and marriage was for the procreation of children.’

  ‘Oh, I hope not,’ said Guy, making a face at her.

  ‘I know, bless her, and unfortunately, you can’t argue with someone like that, who’s so entrenched in her own views that she can’t appreciate any other, and certainly wouldn’t want to discuss the truth or authority of the Bible.’ Libby smiled. ‘I can just see her sticking her fingers in her ears and going “La-la-la-la!”, can’t you?’

  Fran sighed. ‘I know what you mean. It’s such a shame that devotion to religion like that is so blinkered and nothing to do with reasoned argument.’

  ‘That’s why it’s called “blind faith”,’ said Guy.

  ‘Anyway,’ said Libby, gathering up her basket, ‘I meant to leave ten minutes ago. I shall be late for Ad, especially as I don’t know exactly where I’m going.’

  ‘Coast road out and turn left after Canongate Drive instead of straight on to Steeple Martin,’ said Guy. ‘Takes you right along the coast to Creekmarsh.’

  ‘Oh, you know it, too?’ said Libby, stopping at the door.

  ‘Of course. Creekmarsh Place was used as a military base or something during the war, like Anderson Place was.’

  ‘That’s what Lewis wants to do with it,’ said Libby. ‘Turn it into a venue.’

  Guy looked at Fran. Fran looked back at Guy. Libby looked at both of them.

  ‘But not yet,’ she said, ‘it won’t be restored for ages.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Guy and Fran together.

  ‘And they’ve got to sort out this body first, anyway.’ Libby opened the door and grinned over her shoulder. ‘Bit gruesome for a wedding, wouldn’t you say?’

  Chapter Three

  THE ROAD ALONG THE coast twisted and turned, alternately hiding and revealing glimpses of the sea. Banks clothed thickly in cow parsley, campion, bent and windblown hawthorn and elder crowded in on either side, until the road widened and turned sharply to the right. A pub stood on the right-hand side, and a heavily wooded lane led off to the left, with an old signpost pointing to ‘The Church’ and a small wooden finger post announced ‘Creekmarsh Place’. Libby braked suddenly and with a hasty look in her mirrors swung into the lane.

  The trees overhung the lane, blocking out the sunlight, before opening out to show the little church on the left. To the right, all Libby could see was thick woodland, part of which, no doubt, Adam had been clearing. Finally the lane began to slope down and she could see the sea. Now there was a lawn to her right, an old wall and what appeared to be gateposts. Adam stood beside them in very grubby jeans and a shirt, looking forlorn.

  ‘Hello, darling,’ said Libby. ‘Hop in.’

  ‘Thanks, Ma.’ Adam stopped looking forlorn and came round the other side of the car. ‘You can turn round on the drive there.’

  ‘Through the gateposts?’

  ‘Yeah. Lewis is having new iron gates made by some blacksmith who’s won awards. We park on the drive.’

  Libby drove carefully between the gateposts and began to manoeuvre the car. A figure appeared in the mirror and she stood on her brakes.

  ‘Shit,’ she muttered.

  Adam swivelled round.

  ‘Oh, that’s all right, Ma,’ he said. ‘That’s just Lewis.’ He wound down the window and waved. The figure came round and leant in.

  ‘Whatcher, Ad,’ said Lewis Osbourne-Walker. ‘This your mum?’

  ‘Yes. Ma, this is Lewis, Lewis, my mum, Libby Sarjeant.’

  ‘Howjer do?’ Lewis stuck his hand across Adam. ‘Bit of a detective, Ad says.’

  ‘Hello,’ said Libby, awkwardly shaking his hand.

  ‘Just off home, then?’ Lewis withdrew his hand.

  ‘To Ma’s,’ said Adam. ‘Give Mog’s pregnant missus a bit of a rest.’

  ‘Your mum looks as though she didn’t know about that,’ said Lewis.

  Libby laughed. ‘I didn’t, but he’s welcome.’

  ‘Can always stay here, y’know, Ad. Plenty of bedrooms done up already.’

  ‘’S OK, thanks, Lewis,’ said Adam. ‘Don’t see enough of Ma, anyway.’

  ‘Right.’ Lewis stood away from the car, his spiked blond hair glinting in the sun. ‘Don’t forget to tell her all about our body.’

  ‘He seems nice,’ said Libby, as she drove back down the lane.

  ‘He’s a great bloke,’ said Adam. ‘I never thought a celeb would be an OK person, but he is.’

  ‘What did he mean, tell me all about your body?’

  ‘Oh, the police were back again today, doing more searching, and some woman came to talk to us all.’

  ‘Woman?’

  ‘Policeman. Well, police person, I suppose. Higher up than your mate.’

  ‘Chief Inspector?’

  ‘No – Superintendent. That was it.’

  ‘Really?’ Libby turned back on to the coast road. ‘So it’s become a big thing, then? Have they released details to the press?’

  Adam shrugged. ‘There haven’t been any of the vultures around, so no, I don’t think so. We’ve been told to keep quiet.’

  ‘So why did Lewis say tell me?’

  ‘’Cos I told him all about your cases.’

  ‘They aren’t my cases!’ Libby was exasperated. ‘I was just a bit involved.’

  ‘Oh, yeah?’ Adam turned and grinned at her.

  ‘I couldn’t help it,’ said Libby grumpily.

  ‘Anyway, when we get home I’ll tell you what Big Bertha said.’

  ‘Big Bertha?’

  ‘The super Super.’ Adam grinned again. ‘She’s scary.’

  However, Libby had to wait for her explanation, as Adam demanded a shower before he did anything else, so she made tea and phoned Ben to tell him Fran’s news.

  ‘Hmm.’ He was non-committal.

  ‘What’s the matter? Aren’t you pleased?’ Libby frowned.

  ‘Of course. Good luck to them.’

  ‘Well, you don’t sound pleased,’ said Libby.

  ‘I said, I am.’

  ‘Oh, well,’ said Libby with a sigh. ‘Just thought I’d tell you, and that Ad’s here for supper. I had to pick him up today.’

  ‘Had to?’

  ‘He had no transport.’ Libby frowned again. ‘Ask him if you don’t believe me. What’s up with you?’

  ‘Nothing.’ There was a pause. ‘I’ll see you later – if you’re still expecting me?’

  ‘Of course,’ Libby’s voice rose in surprise. ‘Come when you like.’

  Ben’s voice softened. ‘About six, then,’ he said.

  Libby was still frowning when Adam came downstairs in a clean T-shirt and jeans.

  ‘What’s up, Ma?’ he took his mug of tea and sat down at the kitchen table.

  Libby sat opposite him. ‘I think you’d better tell me abo
ut your body now, and then not mention it when Ben comes round.’

  ‘Aha!’ Adam laughed. ‘Getting shirty about the detective business, is he?’

  ‘Suspicious, anyway,’ said Libby, with an unwilling smile, ‘so please tell him it was your idea that I picked you up.’

  ‘’Course I will.’ Adam took a mouthful of tea and reached round for the biscuit tin on the dresser. ‘And now I’ll tell you all about our body.’

  ‘Go on, then,’ said Libby, and settled back in her chair.

  ‘Well, apparently, they found about seventy per cent of the skeleton, and the scientist bloke –’

  ‘Pathologist?’

  ‘That’ll be the one. He thought the body was only a few years old, not ancient, like we thought at first. So they did some tests, and he’s right. They’re doing more, but it looks like murder.’

  ‘And not very old?’

  ‘Well, not brand new, but only perhaps three or four years old. They’ve found some bits of stuff that might help identify him –’

  ‘It’s definitely a him, then?’

  ‘Oh, yeah, didn’t I say? Yes, a him. So Big Bertha comes along and interviews us all about how long we’ve known the place, and how long Lewis has been here. Daft, isn’t it? As if we’d dig up someone we buried, or Lewis would ask us to do it.’

  ‘Yes, but she’s got to ask,’ said Libby. ‘She’s the SIO is she, then?’

  ‘SIO?’

  ‘Senior Investigating Officer.’

  ‘Like that Inspector who fancies Fran?’

  ‘No, Ian Connell is only an Inspector, and he works under an SIO who directs operations from the office. Chief Inspector Murray is often SIO.’

  ‘That’s the bloke who did Paula’s murder, isn’t it?’

  ‘Nicely put,’ said Libby. ‘He was in charge of the investigation, yes. But a superintendent – that means it’s a bit higher profile. Because of Lewis, do you think?’

  ‘Don’t know,’ said Adam with a shrug. ‘Maybe.’

  ‘I’d wondered if it was really old, from when it was occupied during the war.’

  ‘Didn’t know it was.’

  ‘Guy told me. Oh – and I meant to tell you – Guy and Fran are getting married.’