Murder in Midwinter

by Lesley Cookman

  The lights and heating were on and Peter emerged from the lighting box at the top of the spiral staircase.

  ‘Finished your investigations?’ he said.

  ‘For the time being,’ said Libby. ‘But I’ve got a lodger cat.’

  ‘I bet Sid the stomach doesn’t like that,’ said Peter, descending gracefully.

  ‘At the moment, no, but it won’t last. Fran looks as though she’s moving in to her cottage just after Christmas, and she’ll take him with her.’ She unwound her cape. ‘Is the lighting plot OK?’

  ‘You’ll need to sit down with them and make sure they’ve got all the cues,’ said Peter. ‘No need until after the holidays.’

  ‘You won’t be here, then.’

  ‘Who said I won’t? We’re not having our honeymoon until after the panto – I told you.’

  ‘Hmm,’ said Libby.

  The set looked wonderful. Dame Trot’s cottage stood at the back of the stage with real straw stapled to the roof (and treated with fire retardant to meet the Health and Safety regulations), a wishing well stood to one side and all was surrounded by a mass of brightly coloured vegetation. Someone was up a ladder attending to the giant beanstalk which was to be lowered from the flies, someone else wandered around with a pot of paint and a brush and the wardrobe mistress stood in the middle of the stage with an armful of costumes and a harassed expression. Libby felt herself settle into the atmosphere as if into a comfortable chair.

  After the cow and the Fairy had had their third tussle of the evening due to an unfortunate confluence of wand, wings and udders, she was feeling slightly less comfortable. Then the chorus got the giggles and tripped up the Princess, who landed on her bottom and howled. Libby stomped to the edge of the stage.

  ‘How many more rehearsals have we got?’ she demanded. ‘And when do we go up?’

  There were subdued mutterings and much shuffling of feet.

  ‘You might think this is boring and doesn’t matter, but this is a working theatre that a lot of people have put effort into. Also, the public pay money for their tickets and it isn’t right to short-change them with an indifferent performance. We’re in competition with a lot of other pantomimes in the district, some large and some small, and I want this to be the best. So shape up–’ Libby just about stopped herself saying “or ship out” because that would be a disaster. She took a deep breath.

  ‘Right, I’m going to the pub and we’ll start again tomorrow. Don’t forget you’ve got a week off between Christmas and New Year, then it’s tech, dress and performance. Think about it.’

  ‘That’s telling ’em, lovey,’ said Harry from behind her left shoulder.

  Libby scowled. ‘Yes, but I hate doing it. This is a hobby, it’s supposed to be fun. You can’t sack people or tell them off too much, they’ll just walk, and quite right too.’

  ‘On the other hand,’ said Peter, coming up on her other side, ‘what you said about the public is true. Even after one show, we, and the theatre, got ourselves a reputation, and people are going to expect a professional standard from us. The odd rocket up the jacksie is definitely required.’

  ‘Thanks, guys,’ said Libby. ‘I’ll buy you a drink.’

  But before this happy end could be achieved, one more problem was added to Libby’s store. As she completed her round of backstage, saying goodnight and checking the back doors, a flustered Fairy Queen appeared before her, wringing her hands.

  ‘Libby, can I talk to you?’ she said.

  Libby’s heart sank. ‘What’s up, Edna?’ she said, as calmly as she could.

  ‘I don’t think I can carry on with this,’ said Edna, now wringing the edges of her cardigan.

  ‘With?’ said Libby.

  ‘The play – I mean the panto.’ Edna’s breath was coming in gasps now, and her cheeks had turned an alarming mottled puce.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Libby put out a hand, but Edna shook her head.

  ‘No, I’m fine. Just a touch of blood pressure,’ said Edna. ‘But it seems to be having a – well, a – an unfortunate effect on me.’

  ‘You mean it’s making you ill?’

  Edna looked embarrassed. ‘Sort of, and I’m getting clumsier than ever. And I keep forgetting the words, and –’ she stopped, obviously thinking she’d gone far enough.

  Libby maintained a calm exterior. ‘Don’t worry Edna. At least you told me before the show. That would have been awful, wouldn’t it? If it had made you so ill you couldn’t go on?’

  Edna nodded gratefully. ‘I just don’t want to let you down,’ she said, ‘and I know I would have done.’

  Patting her gently and helping her into her coat, Libby saw her off the premises and then walked slowly down the drive. By the time she’d reached the pub, she’d made up her mind.

  ‘Edna’s leaving,’ she said without preamble to Peter, Harry, Ben and Fran, who sat round a table waiting for her.

  The reaction was much as expected, horror, worry and the inevitable conclusion to which she had come herself.

  ‘So you’ll be the Fairy Queen, then?’ said Peter, handing her a glass.

  ‘Yes. I can’t see any other way round it, and I more or less know the words.’

  ‘That costume will swamp you,’ said Fran. ‘Edna’s at least a foot taller than you.’

  ‘My extra foot round the middle will take it up,’ said Libby, with a grin.

  ‘So, yet another problem,’ said Fran. ‘You’ll have to leave all the files and papers, Lib. You just won’t have time.’

  Libby nodded. ‘I know.’ She sighed. ‘And I was really looking forward to getting to the bottom of it all.’

  ‘We might still,’ said Fran. ‘I told you, I’ll go and look at the photofit, and I’ve got a couple of files I can look through this week.’

  ‘What photofit?’ asked Peter.

  ‘Shouldn’t you be packing?’ said Harry.

  ‘Which files?’ said Ben.

  Fran made a wry face at Libby. ‘There’s hardly anything to pack, some of Bella’s files from the cottage, and a photofit of a possible villain.’

  ‘Wow,’ said Harry admiringly. ‘You two do know how to live.’

  Spotting the wardrobe mistress on the other side of the bar, Libby went over to tell her about possible alterations to the Fairy Queen costume. The wardrobe mistress looked as though she might burst into tears.

  ‘Will she be all right?’ asked Fran.

  ‘As the Fairy Queen? Of course she will,’ said Ben.

  ‘It was a part she’d made her own in her old society,’ said Peter. ‘I first met her when she was a fairy.’

  Harry snorted.

  ‘She’ll be far better than poor old Edna,’ said Ben.

  ‘She wanted to do it in the first place,’ said Peter, ‘but I vetoed it. I’m not sure about directors being in things.’

  ‘They do it in films,’ said Harry.

  ‘But they have first Assistant Directors and second Assistant Directors and continuity people,’ said Peter.

  ‘None of which we have,’ said Fran. ‘But it’s virtually all done now, so all Libby’s got to do is slot herself in.’

  ‘And make sure she knows the words,’ said Ben, smiling as Libby returned gloomily to the group.

  ‘That went down well,’ she said, seating herself beside Ben with a thump. ‘You’d think I’d done it on purpose.’

  ‘Are you sure you didn’t?’ said Peter.

  ‘What?’ Libby looked indignant. ‘I’ve been nursing that woman along like my own mother. I had nothing to do with her leaving.’

  ‘It was the cow.’ Harry nodded sagaciously.

  ‘And the wings,’ said Fran.

  ‘And the udders,’ said Ben.

  ‘And the Princess,’ said Libby. ‘I just hope it doesn’t throw them all completely.’

  ‘Will you put in extra rehearsals?’ asked Ben.

  ‘No, of course not,’ said Libby. ‘We’ve got tomorrow and Thursday this week, then a break until Thursday we
ek, that’ll be enough.’

  ‘I just hope everything else is sorted before we start the run,’ said Fran.

  ‘Everything else?’ Harry raised his eyebrows.

  ‘You know. What we were talking about before.’

  ‘Oh, your move? And the photofit?’

  Fran nodded.

  ‘And the murder, she means,’ said Libby shrewdly.

  Fran coloured and a collective sigh went up from the men.

  ‘And I agree with her.’ Libby lifted her chin.

  ‘Here we go again,’ said Peter.

  Later, as she and Ben walked slowly home to Allhallow’s Lane, she justified herself.

  ‘Fran was actually asked into this by the police,’ she said.

  ‘She was asked to look into Bella’s history,’ said Ben, ‘and I bet that was only because Ian Connell fancied her.’

  ‘Yes, I thought that,’ said Libby, ‘but nevertheless, she was asked. It wasn’t us getting involved like misguided –’

  ‘– Miss Marples,’ Ben finished for her.

  ‘Well, yes.’

  ‘Then there was Harry’s friend Danny and neither of you could resist it, could you?’

  ‘Harry asked,’ said Libby, taking her key from the pocket of her cape.

  ‘Too many coincidences,’ said Ben.

  ‘Can’t help that,’ said Libby, leading the way in and stopping Balzac from escaping through the front door. ‘This is Balzac.’

  Ben made the appropriate noises and Balzac slunk away to sit in front of the fire.

  ‘Coincidences happen in real life,’ said Libby, ‘but if you read them in a book you don’t believe them. I mean, look at me and Fran and Coastguard Cottage. Who’d believe that, yet it was all perfectly logical. Nethergate was a popular seaside resort in the fifties and sixties, so it wasn’t unusual that both of us should have spent family holidays there.’ She had taken off her cape and put the kettle on the hob. ‘Do you want tea?’

  ‘No, I want whisky,’ said Ben, stretching out on the creaky sofa. ‘And where’s Sidney?’

  ‘In the conservatory, sulking,’ said Libby. ‘I daren’t put Balzac in there because he might damage the paintings. Sidney doesn’t bother with them.’

  She fetched the whisky and glasses and put them on the side table. ‘Anyway, now I’ve just got to concentrate on the panto, the wedding and Christmas. There’s no way I can help Fran, or Bella, come to that, until the New Year.’

  ‘Famous last words,’ said Ben, and raised his glass.

  The following morning Libby received a phone call from the wardrobe mistress to tell her that Edna had taken her fairy costume home with her, so could Libby please collect it from her. Groaning, Libby agreed and still muttering to herself, looked up Edna’s number.

  ‘Oh, dear, I’m sorry, Libby, I didn’t think,’ said Edna, sounding even more flustered than she had the previous evening.

  ‘When can I come and collect it, then?’ asked Libby.

  ‘Oh dear,’ said Edna again, ‘I’m afraid I’m in the shop this morning – well, almost, if you know what I mean. I’m just on my way.’

  ‘Shop?’

  ‘I work in the animal shelter shop on Tuesday and Thursday mornings.’ Edna gave a little giggle. ‘Keeps me out of mischief.’

  ‘Er, yes,’ said Libby, making a face. ‘Where is it? Or shall I call round this afternoon? It’s fairly urgent, you see. We need to make alterations.’

  ‘Alterations? Oh, I see, for someone else. Oh dear, Libby, I do feel bad about this.’

  ‘No need,’ said Libby brightly, ‘I’m going to do it myself, so we’ll have to make the costume wider and shorter.’

  Edna gave another nervous giggle. ‘Oh, well, dear, that’s all right then, isn’t it? Come round this afternoon – anytime after three. I’ll have the kettle on.’

  ‘Lovely,’ said Libby, through gritted teeth. ‘And where is it you live?’

  ‘I’m staying with my brother at the moment, dear, he had a bit of an accident, so I’m looking after him.’

  ‘Yes, that’s lovely, but where?’

  ‘Oh, didn’t I say? On the outskirts of Nethergate, dear. Canongate Drive. I don’t suppose you know it, do you?’

  Libby frowned. For some reason, Canongate Drive rang a bell, but for the life of her she couldn’t think why.

  ‘Oh, look, dear, it’s such a long way for you to come,’ Edna rushed on, ‘why don’t I drop it off at the theatre?’

  ‘No, no, Edna, I couldn’t think of putting you to all that trouble,’ said Libby, suddenly remembering. ‘I do know where it is. Just give me the full address and I’ll pop round this afternoon.’

  For what Libby had remembered was that Canongate Drive was where old Jim Butler lived. And that, Fran had told her, was also where Laurence Cooper had lived.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  ‘ONE MORE COINCIDENCE,’ SHE told Ben on the phone. ‘I tried to call Fran to ask her where the flat was, but she’s either got her mobile switched off or gone out without it.’

  ‘You’re both as bad as each other,’ said Ben. ‘Would you like me to come with you?’

  ‘If you like,’ said Libby.

  ‘Don’t sound so enthusiastic. I just thought we might pop in and see old Jim at the same time.’

  ‘Oh, I’d like that,’ said Libby. ‘But I should really be learning my lines.’

  ‘I thought you said you knew them.’

  ‘I do – sort of, but it’s different knowing them as the director and then having to stand up on stage and do them. And I need to know my cues properly.’

  ‘Look, I tell you what. I’ll come and pick you up, we can go and have a pub lunch, pop in and see Jim, then go and see Edna. Then we’ll come home and I’ll go through your lines with you.’

  ‘Sounds like a packed programme,’ said Libby.

  ‘Why are you so keen to go and see Edna, anyway?’ asked Ben half an hour later, as they drove towards Nethergate. ‘You wouldn’t be able to see Cooper’s flat.’

  ‘I know.’ Libby frowned. ‘I’m just nosy, that’s all.’

  Ben looked sideways at her and grinned. ‘I know. We all know.’

  ‘Oh, all right. But at least I admit it.’ Libby looked at him and grinned. ‘And I’ve got results from being nosy, haven’t I?’

  ‘Maybe. But then, Fran’s got results from being psychic.’

  ‘Which she says she isn’t.’

  ‘And the police would have got there anyway,’ said Ben, glancing to his right as they passed Steeple Mount and Libby shivered, remembering the Black Mass that had been held there at Tyne Hall a few months ago.

  They stopped at a pub not far from Canongate Drive and had indifferent sandwiches, lager for Libby and coffee for Ben, then went straight to see Jim Butler in his big bungalow overlooking Nethergate Bay. He came alone to the front door, and Libby looked round anxiously.

  Jim smiled. ‘Old Lady’s gettin’ too lazy to see who’s comin’,’ he said, ‘but she’s still here.’

  Sure enough, Lady pushed herself to her feet and waddled over to Libby as she went to the large sofa.

  After refusing offers of tea and coffee, Ben explained that they were calling on someone at the other end of Canongate Drive.

  ‘Nasty new flats down there,’ said Jim. ‘Not big enough to swing a cat.’

  ‘So I’ve heard,’ said Libby.

  ‘And that bloke got himself murdered down at the old Alexandria? He lived in one of them.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Libby. ‘My friend Fran told me. You remember Fran?’

  ‘Course I do.’ Jim grinned. ‘Fine lookin’ woman. Did you find anything out about that old cottage?’

  ‘Yes, we did, thanks, Jim,’ said Ben, ‘and Fran’s moving in next week.’

  ‘No! Well, would you believe it.’ Jim stood up and went to a sideboard. ‘I looked this out after I saw you before. If young Fran’s going to have the cottage, she might like this.’

  He handed Libby a photograph and
an old leaflet, badly colour printed, advertising Coastguard Cottage along with two or three others. The photograph was of Coastguard Cottage with a family standing outside, the paraphernalia of a 1950s summer holiday around them.

  ‘Who are these people?’ asked Libby. ‘This must have been when I was going to the cottage.’

  ‘I dunno, Libby love. I think we was going to put the picture on the leaflet, but never got around to it. I expect that was when it was sold.’

  ‘Well, Fran will love this,’ said Libby. ‘Thank you so much.’

  They left Jim and drove to the other end of Canongate Drive where Edna was waiting for them in her brother’s flat.

  ‘It’s quite inconvenient, really,’ she told them, as she settled them in dralon-covered armchairs either side of an electric fire. There’s only the one bedroom, you see, so I’m sleeping on the sofa.’

  ‘Where’s your brother now?’ asked Libby.

  ‘Having a rest,’ said Edna. ‘He’s really shocked after his little accident, especially what happened the other day.’

  ‘Why? What accident?’

  Edna looked embarrassed. ‘He was – um – questioned by the police.’

  Ben and Libby tried not to look at each other. ‘Oh dear,’ said Libby weakly.

  ‘Oh, it wasn’t anything he’d done,’ said Edna. ‘More what he hadn’t done.’

  ‘That wasn’t the accident, though, was it?’ said Ben.

  ‘No.’ Edna blushed. ‘It was after that.’

  Thoroughly confused, Libby shook her head. ‘Sorry, Edna, I’m not sure I understand.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter, Edna,’ said Ben, shooting Libby a warning look. ‘Have you got the costume?’

  ‘Oh, yes, of course,’ she said, ‘it’s right here in this bag, but wouldn’t you like tea? I’ve got some lovely home-made cake.’

  ‘That would be lovely, Edna, thank you,’ said Libby, ‘if we’re not putting you to any trouble.’

  ‘Oh, no, no trouble at all,’ said Edna, clearly delighted. ‘I don’t get much company down here, you see. I really want to go home to Steeple Martin, but – well, my brother –’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ said Ben.

  Edna smiled gratefully and disappeared into what was obviously the kitchen.

  ‘Are you thinking what I’m thinking?’ said Libby softly.