Murder in Steeple Martin - Libby Sarjeant Murder Mystery series

by Lesley Cookman

  It was Peter’s turn to look surprised.

  ‘There’s nothing we can do there, though, is there?’ said David, taking a pull at his pint. ‘She can hardly move in with Peter and Harry.’

  Harry growled.

  ‘James is with her at the moment,’ said Peter, with a warning look at Harry, ‘he’ll be staying around for a bit.’

  ‘James, yes.’ David shifted in his chair. ‘Poor chap.’

  The others round the table all looked at each other.

  ‘Yes,’ said Libby.

  David looked up. ‘Don’t you agree? Poor chap’s lost his – er – his –’

  ‘Paula. We know. And the baby,’ said Peter.

  ‘Well, I wouldn’t know about that,’ said David, looking uncomfortable. ‘I wasn’t her GP.’

  ‘Weren’t you? I thought everybody in the village was your patient,’ said Libby.

  ‘No, no. I couldn’t cope with everybody. Andrews and Court in Steeple Mount take a lot of the newer residents.’

  ‘But Paula’s been here longer than I have,’ said Libby.

  ‘And you’ve never registered, have you?’ smiled David, patting her arm. ‘Not that I blame you – friend of the family and all that. But you must do it, you know. If not with me, with Andrews or Court. You couldn’t exactly call your old doctor all the way out here, could you?’

  ‘I suppose not,’ said Libby. She looked at Peter. ‘What about you?’

  ‘Me? Oh, am I registered? Yes. Always have been. Whole family. We were with David’s predecessor, so he just took us over.’

  ‘Really? Was that before you married Susan?’ Libby asked.

  David grinned, looking down into his beer. ‘Yes. I had to get her registered somewhere else so I could court her.’

  ‘Court her?’ gasped Harry. ‘Court her? Good lord!’

  ‘Shut up, Harry,’ said Ben, Libby and Peter together. Fran laughed.

  ‘Oh, well, we’ve always been a bit old-fashioned, haven’t we, Ben?’ said David comfortably. ‘It suits us.’

  ‘It certainly does,’ said Ben, winking at Libby. Winking is so crass, thought Libby, trying not to smile.

  ‘Not often we see you in here, David,’ said Peter, leaning back against Harry. ‘Did you get a late pass?’

  David frowned. ‘Susan’s not like that. We are both free to do whatever we like. If I want a drink on the way home I pop in here.’

  ‘On the way home? Bit late for surgery, isn’t it?’ asked Harry.

  ‘House call,’ said David, and drank the remainder of his pint in one go. ‘Must go. Don’t want Sue on her own for too long. Not at the moment.’ He surged to his feet, causing seismic upheaval to all the drinks on the table. Everyone grabbed their glasses and murmured goodbye. David smiled vaguely and shouldered his way to the door, accompanied by a chorus of goodnights from the regulars.

  ‘He’s hard work, isn’t he?’ said Harry. ‘I know he’s your brother-in-law, Ben, but …’

  Ben nodded. ‘An upright, unimaginative salt of the earth countryman. I don’t know how he got through medical school.’

  ‘Oh, I expect he was quite different then,’ said Libby. ‘Rugby and rag week, I can just see him heavily involved with those.’

  ‘Apparently, he was quite a ladies’ man at that time,’ said Peter. ‘Wasn’t there some talk of him hiding away in the country to avoid someone, Ben?’

  ‘Come to think of it, yes. Not that I heard much about it at the time, I was only about seventeen.’

  ‘I would have thought that was just the age to hear about all the scandal, especially jack-the-laddish sort of scandal,’ said Peter. ‘It was the year I was born they got married, wasn’t it?’

  ‘I think so. Can’t remember your mum being pregnant at the wedding, though.’

  ‘I didn’t realise they were so close in age,’ said Libby.

  ‘My mum and dad only got married a couple of years before Susan,’ said Peter. ‘Mum must be about the same age as David and four years older than Susan.’

  ‘So your mum missed all the competition for David, then,’ said Ben. ‘I remember that, all right. New young doctor – the women in the village were discovering all sorts of things wrong with them. I think Susan was really surprised when he – um – came courting.’ He grinned at Harry, who flounced back.

  The bell rang behind the bar and Jim called time. Libby drank the last drop of her drink and stood up.

  ‘See you all tomorrow, then, shall we?’

  ‘Not me, sunshine. I’m busy in the caff all day,’ said Harry.

  ‘Well, perhaps we’ll come in for a meal later, then, if you’re not booked up?’ said Fran. ‘My treat,’ she added to Libby.

  Harry cheered up. ‘Nine o’clock too late? Then you can have the table for the rest of the evening,’ he said.

  They agreed nine o’clock was perfect, said goodbye to Ben and Peter and, refusing offers of an escort home, set off down the High Street.

  ‘Peter and David don’t get on, then?’ said Fran, as they turned into Allhallow’s Lane.

  ‘What?’ Libby turned to her in surprise. ‘What makes you think that?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know. Take no notice. I’m going to have to learn to shut up,’ said Fran, frowning.

  Libby unlocked the door and warned Fran about the step. Sidney looked on from his favourite stair and when he spotted Fran leapt down and tripped her up anyway.

  ‘Coffee?’ asked Libby, throwing her cape towards a chair. ‘Or whisky? I’ve even got some red wine.’

  ‘Tea? I’d really prefer tea,’ said Fran. ‘If I drink any more I’ll start saying all sorts of things I shouldn’t.’

  ‘Is that what happens, then?’ asked Libby, interested.

  ‘Like just now.’ Fran perched against the kitchen table. ‘I say things that come into my head, without knowing why, and people attach all kinds of meanings to them. I told you, it’s as if someone has told me these things. I have no spooky sensations of being spoken to from beyond, or anything like that. It’s just there.’

  ‘I wonder why Peter and David don’t get on,’ mused Libby, pouring water into a teapot for Fran. ‘I suppose their lifestyles are so different, and Peter’s young enough to be his son. But if David was a bit of a lad in his youth, you’d think he’d have some sympathy, wouldn’t you?’

  Fran watched Libby pour herself a whisky. ‘No, that generation were raging homophobes, weren’t they? In the fifties they were still putting people into clinics to “cure” them.’

  ‘Really?’ Libby poured Fran’s tea and led the way into the sitting room. Sidney appropriated Fran’s lap and sneered at Libby.

  ‘Oh, yes. There were very exclusive private clinics where they used to do the most unspeakable things. And David would have done his training at a time when that wasn’t very far behind.’

  ‘I’ve never noticed any particular disapproval,’ said Libby. ‘Peter makes fun of David sometimes, but very gently. Harry’s more abrasive, but he’s only young, and not really used to village life yet.’

  ‘Well, it’s probably nothing,’ sighed Fran. ‘Just my peculiar brain.’

  ‘Doesn’t matter, anyway,’ said Libby, ‘it’s nothing to do with the theatre, after all.’

  ‘No, of course not,’ said Fran, but Libby was sure she detected doubt in Fran’s voice. She raised her eyebrows, but Fran didn’t look up from stroking Sidney, who was purring like a banshee.

  ‘And there was nothing else? About the theatre?’

  Fran looked up. ‘I don’t think so. Just the play. As I said, I don’t think I’d get struck with a blinding light or anything.’

  ‘Then how do you know?’ asked Libby in frustration.

  ‘I said, it’s just facts in my head.’ Fran picked up her mug and moved an indignant Sidney on to the floor. ‘For example: you’ve told me quite a bit about your life, which I now know as facts. If I suddenly came out with – oh, I don’t know – the fact that you had a fourth child, it would seem as though you�
��d told me that, but you probably hadn’t.’

  Libby’s mouth was open. ‘I haven’t.’

  ‘No, that was just an example.’

  ‘But I had a miscarriage.’

  Fran looked startled. ‘I’m sorry. I really didn’t know that.’

  ‘Hmm. A bit odd though,’ said Libby. ‘I think I need another whisky.’

  Fran heaved a deep sigh. ‘I think I’ll join you.’

  Libby looked over her shoulder and grinned. ‘And then I’ll wait for you to come out with something scandalous.’

  Fran laughed. ‘OK. I’ll see what I can dredge up. How about that chap who came up to talk to you at the beginning?’

  ‘What chap?’

  ‘Quite good-looking, about our age. Grumpy.’

  ‘Oh, Stephen.’ Libby handed Fran her glass. ‘He’s another old friend imported to help us with the play. He’s set designer come stage manager, and in charge of construction. What did you dredge up about him?’

  ‘I’m not sure.’ Fran stared in to the fire. ‘He seemed very angry.’

  ‘He – ah – fancies me,’ said Libby, ‘at least, he thinks he does. Very jealous of Peter, Harry and Ben.’

  ‘Well, I can see why he’d be jealous of Ben, but Peter and Harry?’

  ‘Because I see a lot of them, I think. And he doesn’t live here, which makes him feel like an outsider.’

  Fran nodded. ‘I’ll see if anything else comes to mind.’

  But nothing came up. They sat and talked for another half-an-hour before Fran said she was tired and went up to bed. Libby fed Sidney and shut him in the conservatory in case he decided to join his new friend upstairs, then turned off the lights and went up herself.

  It was all very well, she thought, poking about in someone’s brain to find the answers to unanswerable questions, but it looked as though there were some things that might be best left alone. David and Peter, for instance. Libby had only vaguely been conscious of the fact that they were related. Of course, she knew, if she thought about it, but David and Susan never socialised with Ben, Peter or Harry. Millicent she’d only met recently, so she had no idea whether she was on friendly terms with her niece and nephew-in-law. It would make sense if she were, as she and Susan must have been brought up almost as sisters. And what did it matter anyway? David and Susan had nothing to do with the theatre. Libby was still trying to remember whether they had any children when sleep rolled over her like a mist, shrouding her until morning.

  Chapter Twenty

  A NOTE PROPPED UP against the kettle informed Libby that Fran had woken early, found the tea-towel with the rather twee map of the village and gone exploring. ‘Fed Sidney,’ it said, ‘hope you don’t mind.’

  Sidney naturally lied winsomely about this, but Libby refused to give in and took her tea into the sitting room, where she sat by the window wondering how long Fran would be and what exactly she was exploring. Eventually she saw her coming up Allhallow’s Lane carrying an armful of newspapers.

  ‘I didn’t know which ones you took,’ said Fran, dumping them all on the coffee table.

  ‘I don’t,’ said Libby, ‘but if I did, I’d probably buy those.’

  ‘Really? Oh, I am sorry. I only read the arts and review sections myself, but most people I know seem to have at least two on Saturday and two on Sunday and read through them during the week.’

  ‘I’d never have time,’ said Libby. ‘Tea or coffee?’

  ‘Tea, please,’ said Fran, following her into the kitchen.

  ‘I get my news from the radio and television. I can’t be bothered with all the in-depth editorial comment. Sorry, I didn’t mean to sound churlish.’

  ‘You didn’t. I got the local paper, too.’

  Libby turned round from the Rayburn. ‘Oh. Did it – I mean, I never thought –’

  ‘Yes, there’s a bit in there, but it must have been really close to their deadline, so it’s more or less stop-press.’ Fran took the mug Libby held out and went back into the sitting room. ‘Look, there.’ She held out the paper.

  A small paragraph reported the finding of Paula’s body, adding that the police were treating the death as “suspicious”.

  ‘I’ll say,’ said Libby.

  ‘Leave it, Libby,’ said Fran, ‘you’ve got enough to think about.’

  Libby nodded morosely. ‘You’re not kidding.’

  They sipped tea in silence for a few moments.

  ‘Tell you what I’d like to do,’ said Fran. ‘I’d like to go and see the bridge. If you tell me where it is, I could go while you’re rehearsing this afternoon.’

  ‘We could go this morning, then I could come with you.’

  ‘No, it’ll give me something to do later on.’

  ‘OK,’ said Libby doubtfully, ‘if you’re sure.’

  ‘Sure. And I could look at the huts, too, couldn’t I? How far did you say it was?’

  ‘Quicker from the top of the lane here than the way Pete took me,’ said Libby, ‘but I’m not absolutely certain I could find them going that way.’

  ‘I’ll ask Ben to show me. He won’t be at rehearsal today, will he?’

  ‘No,’ said Libby, after trying to find a reason for Ben to be chained to the theatre all afternoon.

  ‘Good,’ said Fran, getting to her feet. ‘Oh, here’s the tea-towel.’

  ‘Where did you get to?’ asked Libby, spreading it out on top of the papers.

  ‘All the way down that way,’ Fran pointed, ‘past the restaurant, then back on the other side of the High Street and up to there.’

  ‘That’s Lendle Lane,’ said Libby. ‘Where Paula was killed.’

  ‘Is it? I thought that was where she lived.’

  ‘She was killed outside her house.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  Libby looked at Fran in surprise. ‘What do you mean, how do I know? Her car was outside her house and she was inside her car.’

  Fran stared back. ‘So how do you know she was killed there?’

  Libby gaped. ‘Good God. I never thought of that.’

  ‘Sorry. I was being difficult again, wasn’t I?’

  ‘No, of course you weren’t.’ Libby slid sideways into a chair. ‘It’s so obvious, isn’t it? Nobody said she died there, I just assumed it.’

  ‘I expect the police thought of it, though,’ said Fran, ‘and they’ll have gone over it with a toothcomb.’

  ‘I suppose it doesn’t make a lot of difference where – oh! hang on – could she have been killed outside the car? Or are we saying she was killed in the car and then the car was moved?’

  Fran shook her head. ‘No idea. I didn’t see the car and I didn’t see any obvious police presence, either. No tape or anything like that.’

  ‘Well, she lived round the bend in the lane, so unless you went down it …’

  ‘No, I turned round there and came back.’

  ‘And you didn’t feel anything while you were up there?’

  ‘No, Libby, I didn’t!’ Fran sighed and sat down on the arm of the other armchair. ‘Don’t keep asking me. If anything comes up, I’ll tell you.’

  ‘Sorry.’ Libby stood up. ‘Breakfast. Do you want to wait while I get dressed, or shall we have it now?’

  ‘Can’t I do it?’ asked Fran. ‘I only have toast and cereal anyway.’

  ‘Oh, good, me too,’ said Libby. ‘I’ll go and get dressed then.’

  When she came downstairs, she found Fran speaking on her mobile phone.

  ‘Ben,’ she said, as she switched it off. ‘He’s coming to pick me up later.’

  ‘Oh?’ Libby quelled the urgent desire to scream and drum her heels.

  ‘To show me the sights,’ grinned Fran. ‘The huts and the bridge. Then he said we could meet you in the pub for lunch.’

  ‘My whole social life revolves around food and drink,’ sighed Libby, appeased.

  ‘Doesn’t everybody’s?’

  ‘Maybe. I don’t know any more. I either seem to be in Harry’s caff or the
pub.’

  ‘Or the theatre. Or the police station.’

  ‘Gee, thanks. What a comfort you are.’

  Libby spent the morning at the theatre with props and one of the carpenters. Happily covered in paint and glue, she was sipping a mug of enamel-scouring tea in the scenery dock when Ben stuck his head round a flat.

  ‘I thought you were meeting us for lunch?’ he said, his glance taking in her less than sartorially elegant appearance.

  ‘What time is it?’ Libby squinted at her watch.

  ‘One-thirty. Your rehearsal starts at two.’

  ‘Oh, bugger.’ Libby put down her mug. ‘Bit late now, then.’

  ‘Never mind. I’ll bring you a sandwich,’ said Ben, and disappeared.

  Torn between gratification that he had come seeking her out and was attending to her needs, and jealousy because he’d spent the morning and lunchtime with Fran, Libby went home to have a wash and change out of her borrowed overalls. When she got back, she was relieved to see the lights spilling from the front doors and even more relieved when she went in and heard familiar voices declaiming from inside the auditorium. Harry appeared on the stairs to the lighting box.

  ‘Hallo, dearheart. You’re late.’

  ‘Yes. I take it Peter’s running the rehearsal?’

  Harry descended the stairs, sinuous in tight leather trousers. ‘Reluctantly, dear, reluctantly.’

  ‘Oh, I hate this,’ Libby burst out, flinging her cape off and catching Harry in the eye.

  ‘Oi! Less of it.’ He blinked and rubbed a delicate finger over the injured place. ‘I hate it, too, but I don’t get violent.’

  ‘Sorry.’ Libby peered at the reddened eye. ‘I didn’t mean it.’

  ‘I know, dear.’ Harry patted her arm. ‘You’re overwrought. Here – have a fag and calm down, then you can go in there and start throwing your weight about.’

  She stood unseen at the back, looking down towards the stage, where a distinctly lacklustre performance was taking place. Peter, sunk down in the middle of the third row, was making no attempt to stop the proceedings, and as far as Libby could see was paying no attention at all to what was happening in front of him. She waited until the action had ground to a halt without any prompting from Peter and then walked forward.