Murder at the Laurels - Libby Sarjeant Murder Mystery series

by Lesley Cookman

  Not much, thought Fran. Not back then. Frank must have come as a godsend. No wonder she flipped when she found out about Margaret.

  ‘So have you heard anything more about the will?’

  ‘No,’ said Charles gloomily. ‘I don’t know quite what happens there. Will I be prosecuted for fraud, do you think?’

  Privately, Fran thought he would. ‘I don’t know Charles. Can’t you ask the solicitor? If you’re the executor, you’ve got the right to ask him. Mind you – if you’ve defrauded the estate, perhaps you can’t be executor?’

  ‘Oh, Fran, don’t say that! I will get done, won’t I?’

  ‘Charles, just ask the solicitor. I’m going back to Steeple Martin tomorrow, but if you need me for anything, just ring.’

  Later that night, Fran lay in her bed and reflected how much nicer it was living in Steeple Martin. She really must see about finding a flat to rent somewhere in the area before Harry got fed up with her cluttering up his upstairs. Pity, she thought, as she turned over and began to drift away, that she couldn’t afford to buy somewhere like Libby’s cottage.

  Chapter Thirty

  THE FOLLOWING MORNING, FRAN packed quickly and locked up the flat. As she went down the stairs, she met Dahlia coming up, and told her that she would be giving notice. Dahlia, easily moved, showed a tendency to weep at this news, then remembered her cousin’s daughter who was currently looking for a flat, and cheered up.

  ‘Post for you, this mornin’ Miz Castle,’ she said. ‘I would ’a brought it up if I’d ’a known.’

  Prepared for a slew of junk mail, Fran was surprised to find a letter franked with the name and address of a firm of solicitors. Wondering if it was from Aunt Eleanor’s, but if so, why, she slit open the envelope and began to read.

  A minute later, she was sitting on the bottom step, heart pounding, trying to catch her breath while making a mull of punching in Charles’s number on her mobile.

  ‘Calm down, Fran,’ he said, after listening to her garbled explanation for a few seconds. ‘I can’t make head or tail of this. Where are you? Shall I come and get you?’

  ‘No, Charles, I’m fine, I’m just about to go home – back to Steeple Martin. I just thought you ought to know. And whether it’s the same firm of solicitors.’

  ‘No, it isn’t. I wonder how they knew she was dead? I wonder what else we’re going to find out?’

  Fran re-read the letter after she’d switched off. Frank, it said, had put the money from the sale of Coastguard Cottage, or 34 Harbour Street, Nethergate, as it was unromantically referred to, into a trust fund for her, Fran, only to be released on the death of Eleanor Bridges. As the undersigned believed this had now taken place, would she please make an appointment to come into the office of Messrs Hallbert and Dunkin to discuss the winding up of the trust.

  Trying to calm her still unruly breathing, Fran punched in the number at the top of the letter and asked for John Meade.

  ‘Mr Meade’s not in until Monday, I’m afraid,’ said the voice which answered. ‘Can anyone else help you?’

  Fran explained her mission. ‘Oh, well, then, I’m afraid it will have to be Mr Meade. May I ask him to ring you as soon as he gets in on Monday?’ asked the voice.

  Fran agreed, and gave her number. And now to contain her soul in patience until Mr Meade got in touch and put her out of her misery.

  ‘I’m sure it must be a mistake of some kind,’ she said to Libby, whom she called the minute she arrived back at Harry’s flat.

  ‘Of course it isn’t,’ said Libby. ‘It makes perfect sense. You’ve pieced together all the information so far, and this confirms it. Frank wanted you to have the cottage, but he couldn’t do that, because of its connection with Eleanor’s family, so he sold it and put the money in trust for you. I expect he meant to give it to you on your twenty-first birthday or something.’

  ‘But it said not to be released until Eleanor’s death,’ said Fran.

  ‘Well, in that case, he probably thought she’d kick up a fuss and try and get it overturned or something – you know, doing her out of her just deserts.’

  ‘I expect she would. After all, she would expect to inherit everything from him, wouldn’t she?’

  ‘And that’s why he did it this way. Clever, I call it,’ said Libby. ‘I wonder how much it’s worth now?’

  ‘I don’t suppose it’s grown along with the property prices,’ said Fran, ‘so I don’t expect I’ll have enough to buy anywhere.’

  ‘You could put down a deposit, though, couldn’t you?’

  ‘Yes, but I’m not likely to get a mortgage, am I? I’m self-employed, and only work intermittently.’

  ‘Oh, yes. But if you had it invested and it paid out interest monthly, you could afford to get a better rented place.’

  ‘So I could,’ said Fran, much taken with this idea. ‘Who’d know about that sort of thing?’

  ‘It pains me to say it, but Paul Denver would,’ said Libby. ‘He might not be much cop as an estate agent, but I expect he knows all about that sort of thing.’

  ‘No, I’m not telling him,’ said Fran, a decided note in her voice. ‘But I will go and see Barbara, and ask her what she knows about Coastguard Cottage. I bet she knows more than Charles.’

  ‘Good idea,’ said Libby. ‘Do you want any back up?’

  ‘No, I’ll be fine on my own, thanks, Lib.’

  ‘Would you like to borrow Romeo, then?’

  ‘Oh, Lib, I’d love to! I wasn’t sure how I’d get there, otherwise.’

  ‘OK, then. When do you want to go?’

  ‘I’ll phone Barbara and see when it’s convenient and ring you back,’ said Fran, and switching off the phone, thought again how lucky she was to have landed here with such lovely people.

  Barbara, although obviously surprised to hear from her, agreed to see her tomorrow morning, which suited Fran, as, having come all the way down from London she didn’t really feel like setting off again. Next, she phoned Guy.

  ‘I’m going to see Barbara Denver tomorrow morning,’ she said. ‘What’s happening about the sculpture?’

  ‘Nothing,’ said Guy. ‘We’ve got it on hold. It’s far too over the top, anyway, so maybe she’ll change her mind.’

  ‘As long as the sculptor doesn’t mind,’ said Fran, ‘because it isn’t Barbara’s decision anyway, and I think Charles would prefer not to have it. Eleanor was an old cow, anyway.’

  ‘So I gather,’ said Guy, sounding amused. ‘So, you’ll be here tomorrow morning? How about lunch after the devilish Barbara?’

  ‘That would be nice,’ said Fran, feeling a bit hot under the collar. ‘But I shall have Libby’s car, so I won’t be able to drink.’

  Libby, when she heard that Romeo would be out on the following day, immediately rang Ben to ask for his advice.

  ‘You see,’ she said, ‘I want to buy a computer. I told you, didn’t I? But you haven’t been around, so I couldn’t ask for your help.’

  ‘I’m still not around,’ he said, ‘so how can I help?’

  ‘I thought I’d come into Canterbury tomorrow, and perhaps you could come with me to choose one? The only thing is, I’ve lent the car to Fran, so I’ll have to come in by bus.’

  ‘You’ve never seen the flat, have you?’ said Ben.

  ‘No,’ said Libby slowly.

  ‘Well, this is your last chance. I shall be moved out completely by Saturday, so why don’t you come and have lunch there tomorrow, then we’ll go and buy a computer.’

  ‘OK.’ Libby felt squirmish under her ribcage. ‘What time and how do I find it?’

  Ben gave her directions, and she agreed to be there as near as possible to half past twelve, buses permitting. Hugging herself with excitement because she hadn’t seen him since Monday, Libby went into the kitchen to tell Sidney all about it.

  Arriving in Canterbury the following morning, Libby made her way through the narrow back streets behind the high street and The Marlowe theatre to the building, beautifully
converted, where Ben had his flat.

  ‘Did you do this conversion?’ she asked, as he led her up the stairs.

  ‘Of course.’ He grinned back at her. ‘I own the building, so I’ll just let this out when I’ve finished clearing out.’

  ‘You don’t seem to have done much yet,’ said Libby surveying the comfortably furnished living room.

  ‘Oh, I have. I’ve packed all my clothes and personal stuff. I shall let this furnished.’

  ‘Oh, pity. I was thinking perhaps Fran could have rented it.’ Libby wandered over to the window, which looked out over the river.

  ‘Frankly, Lib, I don’t think she could afford it,’ said Ben coming over to join her and handing her a glass of red wine. ‘I’d love to be able to let her have it at a reduced rate, but it wouldn’t be fair on the other tenants, apart from any other considerations.’

  ‘No, I suppose not,’ said Libby, and sighed. ‘But it’s a lovely flat.’

  ‘Perhaps Fran doesn’t want to live in Canterbury.’

  ‘No, but I think she might be able to afford it.’ Libby turned to look at him. ‘She’s just heard about an inheritance.’

  Libby told him about Fran’s surprising news while he seated her at a little table and served up soup.

  ‘It depends on how the trust was invested,’ he said, offering French bread. ‘As long as it’s been administered by someone reputable and not milked, she should have a tidy sum.’

  Libby thought about Charles.

  ‘Fran’s cousin Charles did that, you know,’ she said, sampling the soup. ‘Hey, good soup!’

  ‘Don’t sound so surprised,’ said Ben. ‘I can cook, you know. How do you think I survived all those years on my own? Anyway, Charles did what?’

  Libby explained about Charles and the Power of Attorney.

  ‘Oh, dear. No wonder the police had him in.’

  ‘But it takes away his motive, surely? He would want her alive, because if she died, it would all come out. I don’t know what happens now, but I expect the estate will sue him or something, won’t it?’

  ‘You say he’s executor?’ Ben leant back in his chair. ‘I’m not sure what the legal position is in that case. Do you want me to find out?’

  ‘No, thanks.’ Libby shook her head and tipped her soup plate to scoop up the last of the soup. ‘There are enough solicitors lurking about the place in this case.’

  ‘Case? Libby, I thought you’d given up?’ Ben narrowed his eyes at her.

  Libby flushed. ‘I have. I just meant the police case. And that’s why I don’t want you finding anything out.’

  They finished lunch, and Ben took her on a tour of the flat. The kitchen was shiny, functional and small, the bathroom the same, and the bedroom masculine.

  ‘It’s a big bed,’ said Libby, surveying the dominant feature of the room, covered in a dark brown quilt.

  ‘That’s coming with me,’ said Ben.

  ‘To your mother’s?’

  ‘Yes, although I won’t use it until we get my permanent quarters sorted out. I’m still using the spare bedroom.’

  ‘Was it yours when you were a child?’

  ‘The bed or the bedroom?’

  ‘The bedroom.’

  ‘Yes. I’m still in the single bed.’

  Libby giggled. ‘Oh, dear!’

  ‘Now you can see why I’ve never invited you to stay at The Manor.’ He moved behind her and his arm came round her waist. ‘Might be your last chance to try it out for a long time.’ He lowered his lips to her neck and Libby felt a rush of pure desire.

  It was some time later that Libby emerged from the shower to get dressed. Ben was sitting in the kitchen waiting for her, and looked up when she appeared.

  ‘Sure we’re going to get a computer?’ he asked, grinning at her.

  ‘Yes,’ said Libby firmly. ‘I’ve decided I need one, and anyway, Guy’s money’s burning a hole in my bank account.’

  ‘I’ll come and help you if you invite me round this evening,’ he said, pulling her down onto his lap.

  ‘I thought you were staying here?’

  ‘Nah – changed my mind. I’ve more or less finished here now. Anyway, I’ve missed you.’ He nuzzled her neck, and she shivered.

  ‘Now don’t start that again,’ she said, struggling to stand up. ‘You can come whenever you want, you know that.’

  Ben raised his eyebrows and she blushed again. ‘Oh, you know what I mean!’

  They spent a happy hour at a large computer supermarket, and Ben persuaded her to buy a small laptop which, although more expensive than most, he assured her was easily the best. And the prettiest, thought Libby, as she stroked its glossy white lid admiringly.

  ‘Come on, I’ll drive you home and we’ll get it set up,’ said Ben. ‘You won’t be able to connect to the internet yet, because that’ll take a few days, but we’ll put everything in motion.’

  ‘Oh, really?’ Libby was disappointed. ‘I wanted to look things up.’

  ‘Well, if we find a hotspot, as this is wireless, we might be able to log on.’

  Libby stared at him open-mouthed. ‘Sorry?’ she said.

  Ben opened the car door for her to climb in, and put the precious boxed computer on the back seat. ‘I’ll explain later,’ he said.

  Libby was surprised to find Romeo parked in his normal position under the trees across from No 17. She found the keys on the mat when she opened the door, and after settling Ben at the little table in the sitting room and putting the kettle on the Rayburn, she found her mobile and phoned Fran, as Ben seemed to be busy with the landline telephone socket.

  ‘Was everything OK?’ she asked. ‘I didn’t expect you back so soon.’

  ‘I got home about half an hour ago,’ said Fran. ‘It’s not that early. And I had lunch with Guy, as well.’

  ‘That’s nice,’ said Libby. ‘I had lunch with Ben, too.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘At his flat in Canterbury.’ Libby smiled dreamily.

  ‘Ah.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Libby. ‘Anyway, I don’t suppose your lunch with Guy was quite like that, was it? Even if you would have liked it to be?’

  ‘Libby!’ said Fran. ‘Behave. I thought you wanted to know about Barbara Denver?’

  ‘I do, I do,’ said Libby. ‘Hang on, I’m pouring water onto teabags.’

  ‘Oh, is Ben with you?’

  ‘Yes. You see,’ she said proudly, ‘I bought a computer this afternoon.’

  ‘Oh, well done you. Can I borrow it?’

  ‘If you help me with how to use it, yes. Anyway, come on. Tell me what happened this morning.’

  Barbara had been far more relaxed than the last time Fran saw her. Fran wondered if it was because it was just the two of them, without Paul or Charles.

  ‘So what can I do for you?’ asked Barbara, after ushering Fran once more into the green and grey sitting room.

  ‘I just wanted to know if you remembered anything about Aunt Eleanor when she was young, really, and whether you remember how she met my Uncle Frank.’

  ‘Is it relevant?’

  ‘Relevant?’ Fran was startled. ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘Relevant to Eleanor’s – er – murder.’ Barbara was looking wary now.

  ‘Not at all.’ Fran allowed herself a small laugh. ‘No, it’s just that all this has naturally brought up a lot of memories from the past for me, including remembering my holidays in Nethergate with my mother and Uncle Frank.’

  ‘Oh?’ It was Barbara’s turn to look startled. ‘I didn’t know you’d ever been here before.’

  ‘I’d forgotten all about it,’ said Fran, not mentioning how deeply the memories had been buried. ‘But obviously, as I said, this has brought it all back, and I dug out our old photographs. I just wondered if you remembered anything from those times. After all, we’re about the same age.’

  ‘No, I don’t think so. I never met your mother. Did you come here after Frank and Eleanor married?’

  ‘Yes,’
said Fran casually. ‘We stayed in Harbour Street, as usual.’

  ‘Harbour Street? In one of my grandfather’s cottages?’

  Ah, thought Fran. She does know.

  ‘That’s right, except that by that time, my Uncle Frank had bought it.’

  ‘Had he?’ Fran could see the calculations going on in Barbara’s mind. ‘I don’t remember seeing any mention …’

  ‘Of it in the will?’ asked Fran gently.

  ‘Well, yes.’ Barbara rallied quickly. ‘I’d seen the will, of course, when she told me where she kept it.’

  ‘In the bureau.’ Fran nodded.

  ‘Yes.’ A slight flush stained Barbara’s pale cheeks.

  ‘You wouldn’t have seen any mention of the cottage,’ said Fran. ‘Uncle Frank sold it on not long after he bought it.’

  ‘Ah.’ Barbara nodded, looking faintly relieved. ‘So, did you come down here after that?’

  ‘No,’ said Fran. ‘We rather lost touch.’

  ‘And of course, Frank had his accident not that long after they were married,’ said Barbara. ‘Horrid for you.’

  ‘It is now, but I didn’t know about it then,’ said Fran. ‘Whether my mother did, and kept it from me, I don’t know.’

  ‘Perhaps she thought it was kinder if you had been very close.’

  ‘Possibly. We were, you see, very close.’ Fran was still debating whether to tell Barbara about the trust fund.

  ‘Oh?’ Barbara was watching her intently, now. ‘I’m afraid I didn’t know Frank well at all. Eleanor moved to London with him after they married, then he died.’

  ‘Yes, I know. What I don’t know,’ said Fran, ‘is exactly how he died.’

  ‘An accident.’ Barbara looked surprised.

  ‘Yes. The cellar steps, wasn’t it?’

  ‘You doknow,’ Barbara said accusingly.

  ‘Only that he fell down the cellar steps. I assume it was the cellar steps at home in London?’

  ‘I suppose so. I don’t think I knew it was cellar steps. I thought he’d fallen downstairs. I was only young, you know.’