Murder in Bloom - Libby Sarjeant Murder Mystery Series

by Lesley Cookman

  ‘Do you and Guy want to come to supper, then?’ said Libby. ‘Might as well make an evening of it. The boys can go to the pub with Adam.’

  ‘I’ll check with Guy,’ said Fran. ‘Now tell me what was going on at Creekmarsh.’

  Libby filled in the details and waited for Fran to pronounce.

  ‘Did you think any more about the day books or housekeeper’s records?’ she said finally.

  ‘You said you were going to research those,’ said Libby. ‘You asked Lewis’s permission.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Fran vaguely, ‘but I thought … with Cindy –’

  ‘You thought she might be looking?’

  ‘It stands to reason, doesn’t it? She’s looking for her passport and certificates. She might have found them somewhere.’

  ‘But she hasn’t. And I think the police would have found them if she had because they would have gone through her belongings.’

  ‘OK.’ Fran now sounded brisk. ‘I’ll check with Guy about tonight and ring you back.’

  She did, within a few minutes, and Libby called Ben to let him know and ask him to beg some vegetables from his mother as once again, she’d forgotten to go shopping. ‘Tomorrow,’ she told herself, picking up her basket and heading off to the eight-til-late.

  Fran and Guy arrived at seven and by half past the four of them and Adam were sitting round the kitchen table.

  ‘Tell me again why we’re being packed off to the pub?’ said Adam, spearing a large potato.

  ‘We’re going to watch a DVD of Gerald Shepherd. You’d be bored,’ said his mother. Ben and Guy exchanged eye-rolling glances.

  ‘Why?’ asked Adam.

  ‘Just to see what he’s like,’ said Fran, sipping wine.

  ‘What he was like,’ said Adam. ‘That serial was on when I was at school.’

  ‘Isn’t he dead?’ said Guy. ‘You said what he is like.’

  ‘No, he’s not dead.’ Fran shook her head. ‘I think he’s in a home somewhere.’

  Libby raised her eyebrows but said nothing.

  When the men had left them to the washing-up, Libby asked her question.

  ‘In a home?’

  ‘He’d have to be. To be cared for. And Tony West would know where.’

  ‘Yes, I thought of that. That he’d know where Gerald was.’

  ‘And that, of course, is why Creekmarsh had to be sold.’

  ‘Is it? I thought it was to get rid of it so any stray bodies wouldn’t be associated with the Shepherd family.’

  ‘There was that aspect, but think about it. What else?’

  ‘I don’t know. What else?’

  ‘The funds to keep Gerald in a home.’

  ‘Oh!’ Libby stopped washing plates and stared at her friend. ‘Of course!’ She placed the plate thoughtfully in the draining rack. ‘But if he was in a home, how did West persuade the staff to keep quiet?’

  ‘Money? Or perhaps he put him there under a false name. Seems he had no trouble finding false papers for Cindy Dale.’

  Libby emptied the sink and dried her hands. ‘You’re very sure about this,’ she said, and picked up the wine bottle. Fran picked up the glasses.

  ‘My brain’s sure,’ she said. ‘I don’t know why. It is logical, of course, but why I’m so certain – well.’ She grinned at Libby. ‘You know what I’m like.’

  Collateral Damage was a political thriller with Gerald Shepherd as a manipulative back-room wheeler and dealer who almost brings down the government of the day.

  ‘Not a very nice character,’ said Libby, pausing the film while she topped up glasses.

  ‘No, but very charismatic,’ said Fran. ‘Quite the charmer.’

  ‘In a non-charming way,’ agreed Libby, and un-paused the film.

  ‘So,’ she said when it had finished. ‘Did that help at all?’

  ‘Not really,’ said Fran with a sigh. ‘But I enjoyed it.’

  ‘So did I.’ Libby took a thoughtful sip. ‘I can see why Cindy might have had an affair with him despite him being so much older.’

  ‘But she says she didn’t,’ Fran reminded her. ‘You said Lewis told you –’

  ‘That he tried it on. I know. But the public thought they’d run away together, and you can see why. Except that Cindy isn’t the glamour model I thought she’d be.’

  ‘I wonder where the investigation will go now?’ mused Fran. ‘They really ought to concentrate on Tony West.’

  ‘Because no one knows why he was killed?’

  ‘It was obviously something to with Creekmarsh,’ said Fran, ‘but what?’

  ‘His place was ransacked,’ said Libby, ‘so whoever did it was looking for something.’

  ‘Cindy’s papers?’

  ‘It couldn’t have been her,’ said Libby, ‘she only arrived in the country on Sunday, the police checked that straight away.’ She suddenly sat up straight on the sofa. ‘It couldn’t be –’ she looked at Fran ‘– Gerald Shepherd himself?’

  Chapter Twenty-two

  FRAN STARED AT LIBBY. ‘If we’re right about his Alzheimer’s, no, it couldn’t,’ she said.

  ‘But supposing we’re not? Supposing he’s still perfectly normal and Cindy’s been feeding us a load of bollocks?’

  Fran shook her head. ‘Think about it. Why, in that case, did he give West power of attorney? And,’ she added thoughtfully, ‘when he disappeared, why didn’t the police find out about it?’

  ‘Were the police involved at that stage? It was only Kenneth who was looking for him.’

  ‘No idea. I suppose they assumed it was a voluntary decision and didn’t follow it up. That’s the thinking with missing persons, isn’t it? Unless it’s a child.’

  Libby shuddered. ‘Horrible. But yes, I suppose it is. They think adults want to disappear. Especially if a pretty young woman is involved with a man.’

  ‘I still want to know about the solicitor who drew up the power of attorney,’ said Fran.

  ‘The police will have been on to that, won’t they? To find the will, as well.’

  ‘The Office of the Public Guardian will have the details,’ said Fran, ‘but not of the will.’

  ‘There’s no way we can find out, then,’ said Libby. ‘Even if we were perfectly entitled to get in touch with them, I think there’s something about only giving the information to a particular person or persons named.’

  ‘So we only have hearsay and what Cindy Dale says about the whole affair,’ said Fran.

  ‘We do, but I bet the police have more. It’s what we always say, isn’t it?’ Libby sighed. ‘They always get there before we do.’

  Fran laughed. ‘And turn up to save our irritating bacon.’

  ‘So it’s nothing to do with us and we ought to stop worrying about it,’ said Libby. ‘That’ll please the boys.’

  Fran snorted. ‘Boys!’

  ‘Old men, then,’ said Libby with a giggle, ‘although I wouldn’t say –’

  ‘Don’t want to know,’ said Fran, sticking her fingers in her ears. ‘Have another glass of wine.’

  Thursday morning saw Libby in the conservatory wielding a determined paintbrush. She and Fran had more or less unanimously decided to leave the Creekmarsh investigation to the police and concentrate on other pursuits, the most important of which being Fran and Guy’s forthcoming wedding. As summer was almost here and visitors to Nethergate would be increasing, Guy had gently suggested he might want more Sarjeant masterpieces for sale in the gallery. So here was Libby, trying to concentrate on a new view of Nethergate Bay and to dismiss Creekmarsh, Cindy Dale and Gerald Shepherd from her mind.

  But, of course, this was almost impossible. However much one wished to concentrate on paint and paper, painting, to a degree, left the mind free to range wherever it wanted. And Libby’s was certainly ranging.

  The radio and television news that morning had only brief mentions of Cindy Dale being taken in for questioning and nothing at all about Gerald Shepherd, Kenneth or Tony West. Deliberately playing it down, wonder
ed Libby, or simply no longer an urgent enquiry? No matter how hard she thought around all the corners, no startling light-bulb moments illuminated the story for her, and in the end she found herself making up stories to fit the facts. Enjoyable though this was, when she found herself imagining Cindy Dale as Gerald’s daughter by Lewis’s Katie, she decided she’d gone far enough and began to clean her brushes.

  After a bowl of soup for lunch and putting a load of Adam’s work clothes in the washing machine, she was about to curl up with a good book when her mobile rang.

  ‘It’s me,’ said Fran. ‘How would you like to come out and have a look at our venue with me? I’ve got to talk to the manager, apparently.’

  ‘Now?’

  ‘I’ll leave now and collect you on the way. OK?’

  ‘Great!’ Libby bounced up from the sofa. ‘I’ll go and make myself presentable.’

  By the time Fran arrived twenty minutes later, Libby was in a long dark skirt with a cotton tunic over the top. Stuffed inside her basket was a slightly moth-eaten shawl.

  ‘Has that taken the place of the cape?’ asked Fran, as Libby fastened her seatbelt.

  ‘For summer, yes,’ said Libby, ‘although I suppose I ought to get myself a proper summer jacket.’

  ‘And a proper winter coat,’ said Fran. ‘I can never understand how you can keep warm in that blue thing.’

  ‘I can wear lots of jumpers underneath,’ explained Libby. ‘Where are we going?’

  Pickering House was on the other side of Canterbury in a rather more affluent area than Steeple Martin and Nethergate. It sat at the end of a gravel drive, looking for all the world like a wisteria-covered farmhouse, but once inside, Libby could see what a fabulous venue it was for a small wedding. Nothing had been done to alter the interior, as far as she could see, except to add electric light and discreet central heating. The room where the ceremony would be conducted was, like most of the downstairs rooms, wood panelled, with what looked like old church pews set in rows. The reception room, too, was panelled, with long French windows leading on to a covered terrace. In a small library a bar had been introduced, and upstairs the bedrooms were equally delightful. The only modern touches were the bathrooms, which were reassuringly state-of-the-art.

  When Fran had finished talking to the manager, they went to inspect the gardens.

  ‘Will you stay here the night before?’ asked Libby, dead-heading a straggly Queen Elizabeth rose.

  ‘No, we’re going to be traditional. Guy will be in his flat with Sophie and I’ll be at Coastguard Cottage.’

  ‘On your own? What about getting dressed?’

  ‘I can use the room here to get ready. Guy will get ready at home and come with Sophie.’

  ‘Who’s bringing you?’

  ‘I’ll drive myself,’ said Fran.

  Libby was shocked. ‘You can’t do that on your wedding day! What about one of the children?’

  ‘The farther away they stay the better I shall like it,’ said Fran, grimly.

  ‘Well, I shall come and fetch you, then,’ said Libby, ‘and we can get dressed together in your posh room. Ben will probably want to fetch Guy as well.’

  ‘Yes, but if he did that we wouldn’t have a car for the morning.’

  ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘I don’t know, Guy won’t tell me.’ Fran giggled. ‘I feel like a teenager again.’

  Libby grinned at her and squeezed her arm. ‘So you should. Now tell me about the terrible trio.’

  Fran sighed. ‘Not Jeremy, he’s fine. It’s the girls.’

  ‘What have they been doing? Last I heard there’d been a stony silence.’

  ‘Which they have now broken.’ Fran sighed again. ‘Honestly, those two have barely spoken in years, and now they’re ganging up on me.’

  ‘What about?’

  ‘What I said before. I’m too old to be making such a fool of myself, and have I made sure that all my money is tied up safely for them to inherit.’

  ‘And have you?’

  ‘Oh, I’ve tied it up all right! They get a certain amount each, and a certain amount in trust for any of their offspring. I know there are only two at the moment, but Chrissie and Jeremy might both become parents, although I can’t see Chrissie wanting children. She just dotes on that bloody Cassandra.’

  ‘The Siamese you went to cat-sit when they moved? How is she? Have they kept any of her kittens?’

  Fran shook her head scornfully. ‘They were simply a money-making exercise. She’s had at least one more litter since then. All the time Chrissie can say she’s looking after the little cash cow – cat – she has an excuse for not going out to work.’

  ‘Oh, well, perhaps we can hide them at the back of the room and not notice them,’ said Libby. ‘I suppose they are coming?’

  ‘Oh, yes. Begrudgingly, but they are coming. Honestly, Libby, it upsets me so much. When I see you with any of yours, you’re such a happy family.’

  ‘I know.’ Libby nodded. ‘Even when they’re driving me mad, I love them to bits. One of the reasons I wouldn’t move in with Ben, or agree to marry him, was that I didn’t want them to be unhappy. Now, of course, it turns out they’ve all been expecting the announcement for ages.’

  ‘They know Ben. Mine don’t know Guy. They’ve never met him.’

  ‘Perhaps you ought to ask them down, or arrange to meet on neutral territory before the wedding.’

  ‘They’d argue about where it should be,’ sighed Fran. ‘They’ve already complained about holding it here, so off the beaten track.’

  Libby frowned. ‘I don’t know what to suggest,’ she said, ‘short of having Peter and Harry as bouncers to remove them if they start making a fuss.’

  Fran brightened. ‘I will, actually,’ she said. ‘And I’ll ask Adam and Dominic, too.’

  ‘Are you inviting my children?’ Libby raised her eyebrows. ‘That’s very nice of you.’

  ‘Of course, you’re almost my family now. I shall invite cousin Charles, but I haven’t got any other relatives, and I don’t know any of my old London friends any more. I shall ask Dahlia from my old flat, but otherwise it’s all the friends from Steeple Martin and Nethergate.’

  ‘How lovely,’ said Libby, and gave her a hug.

  After a final look round inside the house, when the manager presented Fran with the typed-up itinerary of the day they had discussed earlier, the women left. They were almost into Canterbury when Libby’s phone rang.

  ‘Libby, it’s Lewis. You’ll never guess.’

  Libby repressed a sigh. ‘What’s happened now?’

  ‘They’ve let Cindy go.’

  ‘Go? Why?’

  ‘I don’t know, Lib, they didn’t confide in me.’

  ‘Sorry,’ said Libby, shooting a quick glance at an obviously interested Fran. ‘Where is she?’

  ‘Where do you think she is? Here of course. Bloody woman. I don’t know what I’m going to do with her.’

  ‘She can’t stay, Lewis.’ Libby put her hand over the mouthpiece. ‘Cindy’s been released and she’s turned up at Creekmarsh.’

  ‘So how do I get rid of her? She’s a bit shaky. Will you come over?’

  ‘No,’ said Libby firmly. ‘I’m in Fran’s car just now, so I can’t. Talk to Katie. She’ll help, surely.’

  ‘Katie won’t even speak to her,’ said Lewis miserably.

  ‘Why on earth did the police send her back to you?’

  ‘It was her choice. She said all her belongings were here, which they are, and they sent her off in a police car. I haven’t dared ask her what happens next.’

  ‘You’re going to have to,’ said Libby. ‘Is Adam there? He’ll back you up, surely?’

  ‘She’d wonder what on earth he’d got to do with it,’ said Lewis. ‘And Mog’s at home with Fiona and the baby, so he can’t help.’

  Libby sighed. ‘You’ll have to be brave,’ she said.

  ‘Are you sure you can’t come over?’

  Libby looked at Fran,
who was nodding. ‘Tell him we’ll come,’ she said. ‘Half an hour.’

  ‘We’re coming over,’ said Libby. ‘Fran says so.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘On our way now,’ said Libby. ‘Half an hour, Fran says. Keep an eye on her until then.’

  ‘Why? What’s she going to do?’

  ‘She came to Creekmarsh for a reason,’ said Libby. ‘Whatever that was, I don’t think she’s found what she was looking for. And I think that’s why she’s come back. She’s going to cause trouble one way or another.’

  Chapter Twenty-three

  LEWIS WAS PACING UP and down in front of the house when they arrived.

  ‘She’s gone again,’ he said, obviously exasperated. ‘Bloody woman’s a nightmare.’

  ‘Gone?’ Libby climbed out of Fran’s car. ‘Where? When?’

  ‘I’ve no fucking idea!’ roared Lewis. ‘She went upstairs, I asked Katie to make her a cup of tea and called you. When I went and knocked on her door, she’d gone.’

  ‘With her bags?’ said Fran.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So what happened between her arriving and you going upstairs?’

  ‘I don’t know, do I? Katie took her a cup of tea.’

  ‘Have you asked Katie?’

  Lewis looked much struck. ‘No,’ he said. ‘I’ve only just discovered it myself. Come on, let’s ask her.’ He turned on his heel and disappeared inside. Libby and Fran looked at each other and followed.

  Katie was sitting at the kitchen table reading a magazine.

  ‘I made the tea, yes,’ she said, nodding towards the teapot beside the Aga. ‘I thought she was coming down for it.’ Her lips thinned. ‘I’ve got enough to do without running after that little madam.’

  Libby stifled a grin and Fran cleared her throat.

  ‘Would you have seen her go past the window?’ asked Fran.

  ‘I wasn’t looking.’ Katie’s eyes drifted down to her magazine.

  ‘She could be here somewhere,’ said Libby. ‘Have you got a mobile number for her, Lewis?’

  He shook his head. ‘I suppose we could have a scout round.’

  ‘How about the attic?’ said Fran. Libby, Lewis and Katie all looked at her in surprise. ‘I was thinking she might be up there looking for her passport if it had been hidden.’