Murder at the Laurels - Libby Sarjeant Murder Mystery series

by Lesley Cookman

  When he arrived, looking gorgeous in a short-sleeved white T shirt and tight jeans, Libby fleetingly regretted his sexuality on behalf of her own sex. Then she reflected that if he wasn’t gay, he probably wouldn’t be her friend, and decided her own sex could fend for themselves.

  ‘OK, then, what’s it all about?’ said Harry, once he was settled in the garden with a mug of tea.

  ‘Nurse Redding and the Black Arts,’ said Libby, and repeated her conversation.

  ‘And you want to know whether you should try and find out more?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Well –’ began Libby, then stopped to think. ‘I suppose because it might give her a motive. If she’s a member of a coven, or something, she wouldn’t baulk at murder, would she?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know about that,’ said Harry. ‘I don’t think they go that far. Isn’t it more sticking pins and casting spells?’

  ‘I haven’t got a clue. I just thought she might have used her – oh, I don’t know – her powers or whatever to protect Marion Headlam and The Laurels.’

  ‘I’m confused. Protect them from what?’

  ‘If the will, or codicil, was false, the witnesses might need to be eliminated, and old Auntie bumped off so the will came into effect.’

  ‘I sort of see that, but the will’s missing, so where’s the point?’

  ‘She didn’t know the will was missing, did she?’

  ‘I still think it’s a bit of a leap in the dark,’ said Harry, leaning back and crossing his ankles. ‘And how would you try and find out more, anyway? She’s told you off about being nosey already. Where would you go from here? It could be dangerous.’

  ‘You just said they wouldn’t go that far,’ Libby reminded him.

  ‘I didn’t mean they’d hire a hit man, but they could make life uncomfortable, maybe.’

  Libby looked at him thoughtfully. ‘So you don’t think I should go any further, then?’

  ‘I don’t see what good it would do.’ Harry shrugged. ‘But if it’s just your ‘satiable curiosity, go ahead. Nothing anyone can do to stop you.’

  ‘You just said –’

  ‘I meant nothing any of your friends could do,’ said Harry testily.

  ‘You wouldn’t feel inclined to help me, then?’ Libby looked up into the branches of the tree.

  ‘No, I would not! The idea.’ Harry poked her with a foot and grinned. ‘What would our Ben say?’

  Libby smiled back reluctantly. ‘That we were both mad, I expect.’

  ‘Wouldn’t he forbid you to do it?’

  ‘Forbid? What century are you living in, young Hal? Anyway, I don’t know that there’s enough to our relationship for him to comment on anything I do.’

  ‘Why didn’t you ring him, then? Or ask him when you see him tonight?’

  Libby felt herself blushing. ‘I didn’t think he’d be interested,’ she said.

  ‘Gertcha! You were scared.’ Harry poked her again. ‘See, underneath it all, you’re a sweet old-fashioned girl, aren’t you?’

  ‘No, I’m not. I’m a free, emancipated woman, thank you very much.’

  ‘Well, now you’ve had the benefit of my advice, I’ll pick your brain.’ Harry leant forward in his chair. ‘What’s left of it.’

  ‘I don’t know much to pick,’ said Libby.

  ‘Your opinion, then.’ Harry stopped and stood up. After taking a turn round the garden, he came back and stood over her.

  ‘Pete wants to get married,’ he said.

  Libby gaped at him. ‘What?’ she gasped. ‘But you – he – you’re –’

  ‘To me, idiot,’ said Harry, perching back on the edge of his chair. ‘A civil partnership. At Christmas. What do you think?’

  Libby flung her arms round him. ‘I think it’s wonderful.’

  ‘Well, don’t say anything to anyone yet. I think he wants to make a formal announcement. Will you be a bridesmaid?’

  ‘Yes, please. Can I wear a long frilly frock?’

  ‘You may, Cinderella.’ Harry leant over and kissed her. ‘You could even be my best woman. Except Pete might want you as his.’

  Libby hugged him again. ‘I think it’s just wonderful,’ she said. ‘Go on, go off home to him, and try and get him to make a formal announcement as soon as possible. Give us something to celebrate.’

  Libby decided she really needed a computer. Watching Harry stride off down the lane, she wanted to look up civil partnerships and see what happened. And where they could be held, and whether you had bridesmaids or best people. A computer would be useful for all sorts of things, wouldn’t it? Emailing – her children were always complaining that she hadn’t got email – looking up covens, or Tyne Hall, or what happened with wills.

  She went out into the garden to collect the mugs. She knew she ought to let Fran know about her conversation with Nurse Redding, but for a while she needed to think about it and decide what to do. Harry had confirmed her belief that meddling any further would not meet with anyone’s approval, and looked at from a sensible angle, there really didn’t seem to be any reason for suspecting Nurse Redding of anything. And the police would have found out if she had any connections to the murder, wouldn’t they? After all, they always seemed to be one step ahead of everything she and Fran found out. Libby washed the mugs and felt a bit stupid. That was it, really, wasn’t it? Why on earth were they investigating? The police were much better at it than they were, and it would be far less dangerous if they just sat back and waited for results.

  Except, she thought, as she went into the conservatory to stare at her easel, they wouldn’t know about Coastguard Cottage. Not that she was sure how that affected the murder, but she was certain there was a connection somewhere. Perhaps, she reflected, as she wandered back into the front room, they ought to tell the police about it and let them work it out.

  But what would they say? Inspector Murray might listen to Fran, but even he would find it difficult to get a handle on the information. And what with repressed memories, remote viewing and witches, the whole thing was becoming too far-fetched for words. Much simpler, Libby decided, to lay the blame on the ubiquitous tramp and try and forget it.

  Fran had come to the same conclusion as Libby, and that was to tell Chief Inspector Murray everything she’d learned. She could hardly be accused of withholding information, as a) she wasn’t going to, and b) it would hardly have been seen as relevant.

  She was surprised to be put through to Murray almost immediately.

  ‘What have you got to tell me, Mrs Castle?’ His voice sounded vaguely amused and avuncular, and Fran almost decided not to tell him anything. Gritting her teeth and swallowing her pride, she told him.

  ‘So, you see, it may be nothing,’ she said when she’d finished. ‘It just seemed such a coincidence, and from my memory, if that’s what it was, Eleanor Bridges was not very happy with my side of the family.’

  ‘And you say Coastguard Cottage isn’t in family ownership any longer?’

  ‘No, it’s been sold twice since then. I don’t suppose it’s got anything to do with Eleanor’s death, but it’s odd that no one else seemed to know anything about it.’

  ‘Are you sure they don’t?’ said Murray.

  ‘Oh!’ Fran stopped and thought. ‘No, I suppose I’m not. Charles Wade lived in Steeple Mount when he was a child, but I think Barbara lived in Nethergate. No one’s ever said anything about it, though.’

  ‘If it’s all that long ago, and not owned by the family anyway, why should they?’ said Murray. ‘No, Mrs Castle, I think you were right. It’s nothing to do with Mrs Bridges’ death. But thank you for telling me, anyway.’

  Feeling dismissed, Fran sat down in her chair by the window and looked out at the high street. Over the road, she could see Flo and Lenny walking slowly, hand-in-hand, and further down the street, Lenny’s sister Hetty going into the butchers. How lovely, she thought, to belong so completely to such a community. As the Stones did to Nethergate, s
he supposed.

  Despite Chief Inspector Murray’s dismissal of her information, Fran still felt sure it had something to do with Eleanor’s death. How it could, she was unable to work out, but somewhere, somehow, it fitted in. She wondered if she should go back to Nethergate and see if anything struck her. Perhaps she should go and see – what did Libby say his name was? – Jim Butler.

  ‘Libby, it’s me,’ she said, when Libby answered her phone. ‘Listen, I’m wondering whether that Jim Butler would see me. What do you think?’

  ‘I don’t see why not,’ said Libby, ‘but why?’

  Fran explained. ‘And I know Murray dismissed it, but I can’t.’

  ‘Do you know, that’s exactly what I thought. Tell it all to the police and let them get on with it,’ said Libby. ‘But it seems they don’t want to know.’

  ‘No.’ Fran sighed. ‘I wish I could just forget it.’

  ‘But you can’t,’ said Libby. ‘Anyway, I called Nurse Redding again this afternoon.’

  She told Fran about the conversation, and Harry’s subsequent visit, although keeping his exciting news to herself. ‘So what do you think?’

  ‘About what? I think Harry’s right. Stay out of it. I don’t think she’s got anything to do with it.’

  ‘What about Tyne Hall?’

  ‘What about it? Tyne Hall’s a Red Herring you’ve pulled in yourself. Leave it, Libby. You go poking your nose into that sort of thing and you’re liable to get hurt.’

  ‘How?’ scoffed Libby. ‘According to everybody it’s all a load of hooey.’

  ‘Honestly, Lib, you’re just like one of those stupid heroines in films who go off into the cellar with only a candle after they’ve heard suspicious noises. Northanger Abbey, here you come.’

  ‘Ah, but Northanger Abbey was all in Catherine Morland’s imagination, wasn’t it?’

  ‘No comment,’ said Fran. ‘Just don’t go there.’

  ‘So where dowe go?’ asked Libby. ‘Or is that it?’

  ‘I’d like to talk to Jim Butler, I told you.’

  ‘But we’ve decided it’s nothing to do with Eleanor’s death, haven’t we?’

  ‘Even so, for my own satisfaction I’d like to. Would you like to come with me?’

  ‘I’d have to ask Ben for the phone number. He arranged it last time.’

  ‘Will you, then? Tonight? Or aren’t you seeing him tonight?’

  ‘I expect so,’ said Libby, clearing her throat. ‘He hasn’t actually said.’

  ‘But he’ll turn up anyway?’

  ‘Yeah, I guess,’ said Libby gruffly. ‘I’ll have to warn the kids.’

  ‘Oh, yes, you said they were coming. Is it this weekend? All of them, was it?’

  ‘Bel and Ad in a few weeks,’ said Libby. ‘Dom’s gone off to France.’

  ‘And they don’t know about Ben?’

  ‘Well, sort of, but they might not like it if I have a man in every night.’

  ‘No,’ agreed Fran, ‘they don’t really like thinking of their parents having sex, do they?’

  ‘They accepted Derek and the floosie all right.’

  Fran laughed. ‘Ah, but he didn’t do it under their noses, did he?’

  ‘Well, he does now. That’s who Dom’s with in France.’

  ‘Why didn’t the others go?’

  ‘Only room for one, apparently.’

  ‘So have you, in theory.’

  ‘Oh, well, they don’t mind bunking on the floor,’ said Libby. ‘So, I’ll ask Ben for Jim’s number tonight, and phone in the morning, shall I?’

  Next, Fran phoned Charles.

  ‘You must have known about Coastguard Cottage,’ she said, ‘you were still here at school when I was visiting.’

  ‘I know my grandfather owned a couple of cottages,’ he said, sounding bewildered, ‘but nothing else.’

  ‘And you don’t know if Aunt Eleanor had anything to do with it?’

  ‘No, I’m sure she didn’t. Actually, no, I don’t know, but I don’t see how she could. I know she worked in her dad’s office, though.’

  ‘So she might have been involved in letting out the cottage?’

  ‘I suppose so. I just don’t know. For heaven’s sake, Fran, I was a child. Eleanor was just my aunt, the same as Barbara’s father was my uncle. I don’t know about anything else.’

  ‘So you never stayed there?’

  ‘Fran!’ Charles sounded exasperated. ‘I’ve just told you, no. What is this, anyway?’

  Fran gave him an edited version of the facts and he calmed down.

  ‘Well, I can see that it’s very interesting,’ he said, ‘but I don’t see what it’s got to do with Aunt Eleanor’s murder.’

  ‘Neither do I,’ said Fran, ‘but I wanted to find out for myself. Do you know when Uncle Frank died, by the way?’

  ‘Why, don’t you?’

  ‘No, I told you, we never spoke again.’

  ‘As far as I know, he died quite young. Must have done, because I never saw him after I grew up. I don’t think they were married that long.’

  ‘Poor Uncle Frank.’ Fran’s throat felt tight. ‘He should never have married her.’

  ‘Steady on!’ said Charles. ‘That’s not a very nice thing to say.’

  ‘I don’t think she was a very nice woman, Charles.’

  ‘No,’ Charles sighed. ‘She wasn’t.’

  ‘So why did you continue to visit her?’

  ‘Duty,’ said Charles. ‘I hated to think of her down there all on her own.’

  ‘She had your cousin Barbara and Paul.’

  ‘I know, I know.’ Charles sighed again.

  ‘So, has the furniture turned up, yet?’ Fran changed the subject.

  ‘On its way, apparently. Should arrive tomorrow. I’ve actually had confirmation from the haulage company.’

  ‘Well, that’s a good thing, surely. And they’ll have had a good look, so you can be sure the codicil isn’t in any of it. I think you should forget about it.’

  ‘How can I? I’m still the prime suspect,’ said Charles. ‘If I could find the codicil, perhaps I wouldn’t be.’

  But the following morning, Fran learnt that Charles was no longer chief suspect. Marion Headlam had been taken in for questioning.

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  ‘HOW DID YOU FIND out?’ asked Libby, going into the kitchen to put the kettle back on the Rayburn.

  ‘Charles phoned me. He’d phoned The Laurels to speak to her about something that was missing, apparently, and that little Nurse Warner answered, all of a tizzy, and blurted it out.’ Fran perched on the edge of the table. ‘Sorry to barge in like this.’

  Libby grinned, and pulled her dressing gown slightly tighter. ‘Ben was just going anyway,’ she said.

  ‘No, I wasn’t,’ said Ben, appearing now clad in jeans and a t shirt. ‘I was just going to ravish her again.’

  Libby and Fran both blushed, and Ben apologised.

  ‘Anyway,’ he said, ‘I’ve left Jim’s number by the phone, if you want to go and see him. He’s a nice old boy, isn’t he, Lib?’

  ‘Yes, he is, but he’s not really old. Just gives that impression. He’s got a lovely dog.’

  ‘Who smells a bit,’ said Ben. ‘I must go. See you later, Lib.’

  ‘So what was that about something missing?’ asked Libby. ‘I didn’t quite get that bit.’

  ‘Charles told me yesterday that the furniture would be arriving today, although I don’t suppose he thought it would be this early, and when it came, there was an item missing. He phoned Barbara, who didn’t know anything about it, then The Laurels.’

  ‘What was missing?’

  ‘Do you know, I never thought to ask,’ said Fran, surprised. ‘The Headlam put it out of my head.’

  ‘Do you suppose she found the codicil?’

  ‘No idea,’ said Fran, accepting a mug of tea. ‘But the police must have come to the same conclusion that we did, mustn’t they? That there was something fishy about it?’

&
nbsp; ‘Hmm.’ Libby led the way into the sitting room. ‘We might be jumping to conclusions.’

  ‘That’s rich, coming from you! Mistress of jumped conclusions.’

  ‘All right, all right, but she could literally just be answering questions, couldn’t she? Maybe she’s in deadly earnest. Perhaps there really is a genuine codicil. After all, didn’t that woman say her husband had received something from Aunt Eleanor?’

  ‘But Marion Headlam could have sent that.’

  ‘Now who’s jumping to conclusions? Anyway, we’ll hear soon enough. Or you will, anyway.’ Libby picked up the phone. ‘Shall I phone Jim Butler?’

  ‘Oh, go on, then. Take my mind off it.’

  Jim Butler professed himself delighted to receive guests, especially, Libby gathered, two ladies. Would they like to come to lunch?

  ‘No, that’s fine, thank you,’ said Libby hastily. ‘We don’t want you to go to any trouble, and we have to go into Nethergate at lunchtime.’

  ‘Do we?’ asked Fran, when Libby put down the phone.

  ‘I thought we’d pop in and see Guy as we’ll be in the area. And you can have another look at Coastguard Cottage.’

  It was nearly mid-day when they arrived at Jim Butler’s bungalow, and Libby was worried in case he might still press them to lunch.

  ‘Just in time for elevenses,’ said Jim, leaning them into his conservatory. ‘You won’t want much if you’re going to lunch, though, will you?

  Relieved, Libby agreed, and introduced Fran.

  ‘Ah, you’ll be the lady who used to stay in that cottage on Harbour Street, then,’ said Jim. ‘Well, I don’t know as I can tell you any more than I told young Ben the other day. I didn’t know the Stones very well.’

  ‘We know that Frank Bridges bought the cottage from the Stones,’ said Fran, ‘and it must have been him who sold it to you, but we don’t know when or why.’

  ‘Oh, it weren’t long after ’e bought it. I don’t remember ever meetin’ ’im, like, it was all done through solicitors. Good job, ’e did, though, dying so soon after.’

  ‘Dying?’ said Libby and Fran together.

  Jim looked surprised. ‘Didn’t yer know? I say soon, but it must ’a been a year or so.’

  ‘No, I didn’t know,’ said Fran, looking upset.