Angela shuddered. “What kind of twisted mind would want to use a book as a murder weapon?”
“Exactly. It was very puzzling. Then, the librarian told me he kept a box of spare chains in the library. That changed everything. It meant the murder could be a spur of the moment crime, not planned at all. Ruby wasn’t there to kill anyone. She was just returning a book.”
Everyone gasped. June said, “Why didn’t she just take the book back during the day? And why did she have one of the books from the cathedral library, anyway?”
“She didn’t have it. It was her son, Wayne Evans, and it didn’t come from the cathedral library.”
“Evans? Ruby’s name is Harris.”
“I discovered Wayne was born before Ruby married her husband, so the name meant nothing. Her son had stolen the book, and not even from Wells. From Hereford, perhaps. There’s another chained library there. Rare books are worth a great deal of money, and there are gangs of thieves, like art thieves. Wayne was a persistent criminal. He’d been in trouble with the law for cannabis crimes and he already had a suspended sentence. If he were caught with the book, he’d end up in prison.”
Libby looked from one puzzled face to another. “Let me explain…”
A loud clatter from the other end of the building interrupted. Reginald and Max arrived and Libby’s heart lifted. Max said, “Joe told me what’s been going on, and to get over here if I didn’t want to miss all the fun.”
Reginald drawled. “I guess you’re going to need help with the yarn-bombing if you’re going to get it all done. We’re here to help.”
Libby let Max settle next to her. “I was just explaining about the book theft, but Reginald can tell the story better.”
Reginald inclined his head. “There’s a lucrative market in old books. I’ve been working secretly on behalf of the International League of Antiquarian Booksellers, searching for items on the Stolen Books database. I hoped I’d kept it secret, but somehow I was outed.”
“You’re pretty distinctive to look at,” Max pointed out. “Half the criminals in the West Country must know who you are. News travels fast, down here in the sticks.”
June interrupted. “So, Ruby’s son heard you were on the trail of books. He hatched a plan to take the one in his possession to the library, so Reginald would find it and stop investigating. But what did it have to do with Ruby?”
Libby took up the tale, once more. “It’s a matter of psychology. Ruby has one goal in life. She needs to be loved. You said it just now, June. Ruby was ‘always looking after others.’ She told me her son is the apple of her eye. She’d do anything for him. He confessed he had a stolen book and begged his mother to return it, so Wayne couldn’t be caught. If the police discovered he’d stolen it, he’d be back in court, and as his last sentence was suspended, he’d end up in jail. Ruby couldn’t allow that to happen.”
Angela frowned. “Why did Ruby kill Giles? He had nothing to do with the stolen book.”
“I’m afraid he was just unlucky. When Ruby slipped into the cathedral at the end of Evensong, she must have been astonished to find the library unlocked. She was even more surprised when she saw Giles Temple there, probably with his head in a book, waiting for―er―an assignation with someone.” Angela’s sigh was so quiet only Libby heard it. “Ruby panicked, thinking everything would come out if Giles saw the book. She looked round, wondering what to do, saw the chains, crept up behind Giles, threw one round his neck and twisted.”
Someone gasped. “Yes,” Libby agreed. “Horrible. We thought it was a man, because you’d need such strength, but Ruby’s a strong woman. She works in her garden most days.”
Imogen murmured. “She helped dig my pond. It was amazing. She’s got enormous muscles under her twin sets.”
Angela said, “Giles was wearing my scarf.” Head high, she looked straight at Imogen. “Yes, he was waiting for me to come, that night, but I’d had second thoughts. Ruby wrapped the scarf around his neck on the spur of the moment, I suppose, to incriminate me.”
There was a pause. “Wait a moment.” Vera, beaming at the evening’s excitement and no doubt pondering when to tell the story to her acquaintances, was still puzzled. “That explains why Ruby killed Giles Temple, but why did she turn on Samantha Watson?”
Max said, “I can answer that, although it’s only conjecture at the moment. Samantha was Wayne’s solicitor. She suspected his guilt and she was very foolish. She contacted him, and shredded her calendar for the week to hide the fact she’d made a secret appointment to meet him. She’s always been jealous of Libby, and I bet she was trying to solve the case first. Wayne told his mother he was going to see Samantha, thinking it was just a routine appointment with the solicitor who’d helped him before. Ruby couldn’t take the chance of Samantha solving the murder, and she’d already killed one person. I suppose murder is easier the second time.”
Libby added, “Ruby became totally ruthless. I visited her quite by chance about a missing cat, but she thought I was suspicious. She must have grabbed a weapon, probably a hammer, and followed my car. I met Angela in the cathedral and Ruby saw us under the gargoyle, climbed up to the passage above and gave the gargoyle a good whack, hoping it would fall on me. It was a desperate thing to do.” She took a long breath. Two of Ruby’s wild plans had succeeded.
June said, “How did you know it was Ruby? Even the police hadn’t realised she was the killer.”
“This afternoon I heard the story of a mother who gave her life to save her son.” Libby smiled at Max. “The ghost in your house. Ruby once told me she’d do anything for Wayne. I realised she might even kill. After that, everything fell into place.”
Max took her arm. “Come on, Libby. Let’s leave the others to finish the yarn-bombing. I’m taking you home.” As they walked out of the building, he laughed. “By the way, as I drove here I saw a flashy BMW outside Mrs Marchant’s house. Looks like her son’s been to visit. Which means, I hope, I won’t have to buy that television for her, after all.”
Mandy
Max removed the wine glass from Libby’s hand. “After today’s success, can I assume you won’t stop investigating?”
Libby laughed. “How can I? I’m just too nosy. I’ve decided to stop dithering. I’m ready to turn professional. There’s training, apparently, for private investigators and I put my name down, earlier today. I’m ready to take the plunge.”
“That’s great. By the way, I have news for you.”
Libby’s pulse raced. “Good, or bad?”
“Depends.”
She pulled a cushion from under Fuzzy and hugged it close, suddenly nervous. “Is it about us? You and me? The other thing?”
“Don’t look so worried. You know I want to marry you, but I’m not going to bully you today. Maybe tomorrow.”
“Oh. Good.” Libby frowned. What was causing that tightness in her chest? Surely it wasn’t disappointment. “Can I have my wine back, please?”
“Only if you promise you won’t throw the contents on my head.”
“I promise. Now, tell me your news. No, wait. I can guess from your smug expression. It’s Mandy, isn’t it?” Max topped up red wine in both glasses and pushed the cork back in the bottle. “We haven’t been in touch since the quarrel. Not even a text. She’s been in the bakery but I don’t often go there, these days. Frank’s doing well. He’s taken on more staff so all he needs from me are new ideas and recipes.”
“And chocolates.”
“Exactly. Mandy hasn’t been home at night, so I haven’t seen her. I thought we needed a cooling off period. I’m dying to know where she’s staying, so tell me. What do you know?”
“Why don’t you just text her?”
“Max, you’re wriggling. You know something.”
“I have a suspicion. I was saving it for tomorrow when you’re no longer tired.”
“Tired? Me? I’m wide awake. I insist you tell me or I’ll throw you out of the cottage.”
“OK. Reginald
is planning to stay in the area much longer than originally planned. Wayne’s stolen book’s not the only one. He has a list of books he wants to track down. He’s renting a house in Bristol.”
“Oh.” Libby exhaled. “That’s where Mandy’s staying? Where she went on the day of the fire?”
“I’m guessing, but it makes good sense.”
Libby pulled threads from the cushion. “That’s why she wouldn’t tell me, because I’d disapprove. I knew she had a thing for Reginald, but he’s much too old for her. She’s had her heart broken once―” Max’s hand on her mouth cut off the words.
“There you go again. Will you never learn? Repeat after me, Mandy is a grown-up.”
She moved Max’s hand so she could talk, but held it tight against her cheek. “Do you think, if I talk to Mandy tomorrow, things will work out? I miss her. She’s also very good at her job and I don’t want to lose her from the business. You have lovely, warm hands, by the way.”
Max kissed her forehead. “Quite the entrepreneur, aren’t you? Ring her tomorrow.”
Libby pushed him away and grabbed her phone. “Sorry. Can’t wait. I have to talk to her now.”
“It’s past eleven.”
“She’s young. Don’t worry, I won’t call. I’ll text.”
Heart pounding, Libby typed, Hope alls well. Talk tomorrow. Have new idea for chocs. “There.” She showed it to Max, crossed her fingers and hit the button. “It’s done.”
Seconds later her phone beeped. Max hooted. “How does she text so fast?”
Libby read Mandy’s reply aloud. Count me in. Luv u Mrs F. See u tomoz.
Thank you for reading
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Murder at the Bridge
Exham on Sea Mysteries Book Five
A summer wedding…
An eccentric aunt…
What can possibly go wrong?
Libby’s instincts tell her there’s something amiss in the picturesque villages, small towns, and rural farms of Exmoor.
Then, people begin to disappear.
Murder at the Bridge
Libby Forest dropped into a wooden chair, exhausted. She’d spent the afternoon on tenterhooks, half-expecting an unforeseen disaster to ruin the wedding, but somehow the ceremony had passed without a hitch. Now, in a sturdy marquee pitched in a field, the reception was underway. The level of excited chatter rose as guests finished their meals, nibbling cheddar cheese and biscuits, stomachs already full of Somerset beef and local apple pie. The temptation to giggle grew until it was almost irresistible and Libby had to turn it into a sneeze.
Max Ramshore, even more handsome than usual, squeezed her hand. “Are you coming down with a cold? Or is it an attack of maternal emotion at seeing your son marry?”
“Neither. It’s pure relief. I can hardly believe the wedding’s over and everything went well. I’ve been expecting the worst all day.”
“Don’t count your chickens. Remember what happened at the Oscars. Nothing’s over until it finishes.”
“That sounds very cryptic,” Libby said, “but at least Bear was on his best behaviour.” Libby let her fingers sink into the warm fur of the huge Carpathian sheepdog by her side. “He didn’t smell the cathedral cat and chase him down the aisle. He thinks cats exist on this earth for his personal entertainment. I hope no one’s planned any practical jokes.”
“Don’t look at me. I’ve never found old tin cans tied to cars especially amusing.”
Libby took a moment to gaze round the marquee. The happy couple looked radiant, the service had been touching, and old friends of the bride’s family had filled the cathedral. Libby, still new to Somerset, had fewer guests to invite, but the sight of a row of customers from the bakery in the congregation had lifted her heart. Even Mrs Marchant, the old lady who collected stray cats from the streets of Wells, had attended, her dress so old and lace-covered it surely counted as vintage.
Libby shot a glance at Mandy, her apprentice. Dressed in full Gothic splendour, including a tight black bodice and voluminous skirt, Mandy sat beside Reginald, Max’s basketball-playing American colleague. Libby recognised Steve, Mandy’s ex-boyfriend, at the same table. She winced. Would he cause a scene?
Max wagged his finger. “Stop worrying about Mandy.”
Libby wriggled. “Did you talk to Reginald? You know, about being too old for her?”
“I most certainly did not. I thought we’d agreed she’s an adult and can look after herself. She’s having a ball with both her admirers in attendance. From the way Steve’s looking at her, all big brown puppy eyes, I think he’s hoping to get her back. They only broke up because she wouldn’t visit him in London.”
“Couldn’t visit,” Libby corrected. “She still has a phobia that stops her travelling by train.”
“Well, maybe she could get some help. There are therapists, you know. Anyway, it’s not your responsibility. Just relax for once and enjoy your son’s wedding reception. The marquee’s full of people you don’t know, any one of whom may be plotting murder. Look.” He nodded towards a small huddle of Robert’s friends. “Do you think one of those might be a candidate?”
“Don’t even think it. I want a perfect day today, with no crises.”
Max wandered away, seeking out old friends, while Libby breathed a happy sigh, slipped her feet out of new, painfully high heels, and watched Sarah’s mother approach. Belinda looked beautiful and voluptuous as always. In a powder blue jacket, navy shoes and wide brimmed hat, she would be every inch the serene mother of the bride, were it not for the tense lines on her forehead and the occasional anxious glance to left and right.
She sank into the chair next to Libby. “I know this isn’t the time…”
Libby suppressed a groan as she recognised the tone of voice. Belinda had a favour to ask. Libby’s fame as an investigator had grown locally, and she was approached in the most inappropriate places. At least Belinda hadn’t followed her into the ladies.
“How can I help?”
Sarah’s mother licked her lips and hesitated. Libby nodded towards Sarah. “Your daughter looks beautiful; the perfect bride.”
“The thing is…” Belinda swallowed and picked at the skin of her thumb.
Libby took pity. “Why don’t we have a cup of tea? Sarah and Robert are still circulating, so we’ve got time for a chat.”
Belinda visibly relaxed. “It’s a bit embarrassing. Confidential. I need to know you’ll be discreet.” A hint of steel underpinned the words.
“Of course.”
“It’s about money, I’m afraid.”
Libby hid a smile. Aside from marital problems, financial embarrassments were the most common reason people asked for private investigations. “Before you begin, is this an official request or are you asking as a friend?”
Belinda seemed taken aback. “Oh, I suppose it’s official.” She’d probably been hoping for free professional advice, but experience had taught Libby it was best to establish from the outset that a fo
rmal private investigation carried a price tag.
The bride’s mother coughed and fiddled with an earring as she recovered her dignity. “I just need to recoup some money. I had a small legacy when my mother died a couple of years ago. I invested it, but the―er―the shares collapsed and I made a loss.” She bit her lower lip. “I promised Sarah help with the wedding expenses. We don’t have much spare cash in the farm, what with the milk prices over the past year, so I didn’t want to worry Sarah’s dad about it, but soon I’m going to have to stump up the money.”
Libby offered a sympathetic smile, secretly intrigued. It was obvious Belinda was only telling half the story. Did she suspect she’d been cheated? Or perhaps she’d done something foolish. Had she been borrowing money from loan sharks?
Libby glanced over her shoulder. This wasn’t a good place for further confidences. “I’ll need as much detail as possible. Perhaps we could meet tomorrow and go through your accounts?”
Belinda chewed harder on her lip. Libby waited, giving her time. Max, her business partner, would be able to help with the woman’s financial problems. Until recently, he’d worked for the government on international fraud and money laundering. He could sort out poor accounting and advise on improved budgeting and wealth management, but Libby suspected Belinda’s problems extended further.
“It’s a bit complicated…” Belinda’s voice wavered as a man wearing a grey linen kaftan approached. Tall and striking, he stood out among the other guests, who mostly wore more conventional wedding clothes. Long grey hair was drawn back into a ponytail, and the man’s bushy grey eyebrows framed a strong face characterised by sharp cheekbones and a hooked nose. Belinda stiffened as he approached.
He smiled, but his light grey eyes peered intensely into her face. “Belinda, my dear. I haven’t seen you for a while. Thank you so much for the invitation to your daughter’s wedding, but I’m afraid my wife sends her apologies. Her mother is unwell. Nothing serious, but the old lady has a heavy cold and Olivia felt she shouldn’t be left alone.”
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