Murder in Steeple Martin - Libby Sarjeant Murder Mystery series

by Lesley Cookman

  ‘Right,’ she said, going to the front of the stage and surveying the surprised faces, ‘I see the general malaise has overtaken everyone.’

  ‘Libby –’ Peter’s flustered voice came from behind her.

  ‘It’s all right, Pete. I’m back. I’ll take over now.’ She didn’t turn her head. ‘Now – will you go back to the beginning of that scene, please and put some life into it.’ She looked round the set.

  An hour later, she conceded that there was some improvement and the new Lizzie had done very well.

  ‘Are we still going up on Tuesday, Libby?’ called a voice from the back when she’d finished giving her notes. She looked up in feigned surprise.

  ‘Of course. Why shouldn’t we?’

  There was a muttering round the stage like the whisper of wind through wheat.

  ‘We just thought –’

  ‘Well, don’t think. We’ve got a terrific theatre – a good play and some good publicity. We’re going ahead despite any petty attempts to stop us – if that’s what they are, and, as I said, we owe it to Paula.’ Not that I quite see how, she thought, but it struck the right note.

  There was a general murmur of approval and people began to disperse.

  The promised sandwich had turned up after the rehearsal had started, handed over by Peter, but of Ben there had been no further sign. Libby had found her mind wandering from what was happening onstage to what could be happening between Fran and Ben, despite Fran’s assurances that there was nothing between them.

  ‘Pleased? Not pleased?’ asked Peter, when the auditorium was empty. ‘Or were you merely letting them off lightly before a rigorous workout tomorrow?’

  ‘Something like that,’ she said, climbing on to the stage.

  ‘As long as that’s all it is,’ said Peter, following her behind the set.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You mustn’t let this Paula business get in the way.’

  ‘This Paula business, as you so delicately put it, is the reason we’re rehearsing all over the weekend. And she was murdered, in case you’ve forgotten.’

  ‘All right, all right, I know. I just don’t want you to get mixed up in it.’

  ‘How could I do that?’ Libby turned to face him indignantly.

  ‘You’re still trying to find out who did it,’ said Peter bluntly.

  Libby felt herself redden. ‘I don’t want to do that. You know perfectly well all I want to do is find out about the accidents. Just so they won’t happen again.’

  ‘They won’t.’ Peter checked the back door and walked out on to the stage. ‘No more accidents.’

  Libby followed him back into the auditorium. ‘So you’re not too pleased Fran’s here after all?’

  ‘I don’t think she’ll find anything out. Just don’t take too much notice of what she says. She might make something up just to please you.’

  ‘She wouldn’t!’ gasped Libby.

  ‘Ask yourself why she’s really here, Lib,’ said Peter, ushering her out into the foyer.

  ‘She wanted a break? She wanted to help me?’

  ‘And Ben?’

  Libby went cold. ‘She sees him through work.’

  ‘But not on his home turf. And he asked her in the first place, didn’t he?’

  ‘She said there was nothing between them.’

  ‘Of course she did. Wouldn’t you have done?’

  Libby’s heart sank. Thought of the admissions Fran had got out of her. ‘I like her,’ she said.

  ‘She’s very likeable,’ agreed Peter.

  Libby turned to lock the doors. ‘You don’t like her.’

  ‘It’s not a matter of whether I like her or not,’ said Peter, tucking his arm through Libby’s as they began to walk down the drive. ‘I don’t trust her.’

  This was not going well, thought Libby miserably. Pete was one of her oldest and most loved friends, and she really wanted him to like Fran.

  ‘Maybe I’m wrong,’ Peter was saying, ‘just because she’s turned up in this situation, where we don’t need outsiders.’

  ‘Ben invited her, not me,’ said Libby.

  ‘I just said that, didn’t I? But you invited her to stay. I bet she leapt at the opportunity.’

  ‘Don’t be so rotten.’ Libby pulled her arm away. ‘Why don’t you want her here? Why are you so bothered about people looking into the accidents?’

  ‘I’m not.’ Peter shrugged. ‘I just don’t want the waters muddied.’

  ‘Peter.’ Libby stopped dead, forcing him to turn and face her. ‘You’ve been shilly-shallying about all this for the last week. Certainly since last Monday. In fact,’ she added thoughtfully, ‘since your mum paid us a visit. That was when you said there was an atmosphere. What’s been going on that I don’t know about?’

  Peter stared at her for a long moment, then turned and began to walk on down the drive.

  ‘Pete!’ Libby said. ‘Answer me.’

  He stopped and sighed. ‘Nothing’s going on. Sorry. I just don’t like interference in family affairs.’

  ‘In that case, why on earth did you write The Hop Pickers? You can’t put your family’s history and peccadilloes on show and then decide you don’t like the consequences.’

  ‘I didn’t know all of the history and peccadilloes, obviously.’ Peter was frowning.

  ‘What do you mean by that? What do you know now that you didn’t know a fortnight ago?’

  ‘Nothing you don’t,’ he said, evasively.

  ‘Oh, yes? And, while we’re on the subject, why don’t you like interference in family affairs by anyone else when you’re perfectly happy about me?’

  He glanced at her sideways, but said nothing.

  ‘Oh, of course. I haven’t been told everything, have I? By a long chalk.’ Libby stuffed her hands in the pockets of her skirt underneath her cape and strode ahead of him down the drive. He caught her up at the bottom, just as she was about to turn left towards Allhallow’s Lane.

  ‘Lib, don’t be like this.’ He pulled her into his arms and rested his chin on her head. ‘I’m sorry. I’m being a pig. But honestly, I can’t get my head round all this. I hoped the play would take our minds off things, but now I’m not sure. I just can’t help worrying about Harry, and me, and my mum.’

  Libby pulled back and looked up into his face. ‘As suspects, you mean?’

  He nodded. ‘And James most of all.’

  ‘Not Ben?’

  ‘I don’t think the police are worried about Ben.’

  ‘But your mum?’ Libby was horrified. ‘They can’t suspect her, surely?’

  ‘Yes, they can. They suspect her of the accidents, so they suspect her of the murder.’

  Libby stared at him. ‘And did she? Did she do them?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Peter shook his head. ‘I can’t see it, can you? I know she’s odd, but doing all those things?’

  ‘Ben and I said we couldn’t see her up a ladder cutting steel wire. Or sawing through the bridge, come to that.’

  Pete sighed. ‘No. But I’d rather not know, somehow.’ He smiled weakly at her. ‘Go on. Go and attend to your guest. You’re coming in to the caff, tonight, aren’t you? I’ll see you then.’

  ‘And be polite to Fran,’ warned Libby.

  ‘I will. But you watch her, young Lib. That Ben is a right little cad in his own way. Cousin or not.’

  Libby thought about this all the way home, as if she hadn’t been thinking about it all afternoon, and was relieved to find Fran in the cottage alone, Sidney fast asleep on her lap.

  ‘How did it go?’ asked Fran, putting Sidney aside and going towards the kitchen. ‘Can I make you a cup of tea?’

  Sucking up, thought Libby uncharitably. ‘So-so,’ she said. ‘How was your day?’

  ‘OK.’ Fran put the kettle on the hob. ‘Why didn’t you come to the pub?’

  ‘I didn’t know what time you were going to be there, and when Ben came to find me it was too late.’

  ‘Sorry.’
Fran wrinkled her brow. ‘He seemed to think you’d know. We got there about one.’

  ‘How would I know? You just said lunch-time. I didn’t speak to him at all.’

  Fran looked up quickly. ‘Oh, Libby, you’re angry with me. Oh, God, I’m so crap at this.’

  ‘Crap at what?’ Libby felt in her pockets for cigarettes, realising that she hadn’t had one all day. Angst was good for something, then.

  ‘People.’ Fran poured water into two mugs. ‘I get them all muddled up.’

  ‘Muddled up? How? I’m a woman, Ben’s a man. Can’t muddle that up.’

  ‘No.’ Fran turned round and handed Libby a mug. ‘Sorry, didn’t use the teapot.’

  ‘Doesn’t matter.’ Libby went into the sitting room and found her cigarettes on the table.

  ‘What I meant was,’ said Fran, sitting down and lifting Sidney on to her lap, something he would never let Libby do, ‘I get fixated on an idea and forget about the people concerned. I should never have gone off with Ben.’

  ‘Why ever not?’ asked Libby, feeling the now familiar blush creep up her neck.

  ‘Well –’ Fran looked down at Sidney, ‘– because of you. And him.’

  ‘Fran, there is no me and him.’

  ‘There is. Or you’d like there to be. And I’m sure he feels the same.’

  ‘Look, Fran, none of us are teenagers any more, and I’m not going to scratch your eyes out because you went off for the day with the bloke I fancy. I’m a grown-up, and grown-ups don’t do that sort of thing.’ Even if we want to, she thought.

  ‘All right,’ said Fran doubtfully, ‘if you say so.’

  ‘I do,’ said Libby, lighting the cigarette at last and inhaling gratefully. ‘So what happened?’

  ‘Ben took me to see the huts – aren’t they small? – and the bridge, then he took me to see Mrs Carpenter.’

  ‘Did he?’ said Libby, surprised. ‘What for?’

  ‘I don’t really know.’ Fran shrugged, and earned a baleful look from Sidney. ‘He just said he ought to go and see her and did I want to come along. They talked about you, mainly.’

  ‘Me?’

  ‘Mrs Carpenter asked after you. “How’s that Libby?” she said. Asked how you’d taken it.’

  ‘And? What did Ben say?’

  Fran shrugged again and Sidney fell off her lap. ‘Said you were upset, obviously.’

  ‘Is that all?’

  ‘Well,’ said Fran, looking uncomfortable, ‘she said he should look after you. She told him off, rather.’

  Libby grinned. ‘I can just hear her. “You’ve done enough running around with these young birds. Need a good solid woman of your own age.”’

  Fran raised her eyebrows. ‘Just about. How did you know?’

  ‘She said the same to me. I wasn’t too sure about the solid, but I took the sentiment in good part.’ Libby looked at the end of her cigarette. ‘And what did Ben say to that?’

  ‘Well, sort of – “I know, I know.” Looked a bit embarr-assed.’

  ‘As well he might,’ said Libby. ‘So would I have done.’

  ‘Anyway, that was about it. And I’m afraid,’ said Fran with a sigh, ‘nothing came leaping out at me at all. All day.’

  ‘Oh, well, never mind. It was worth a try.’ Libby threw her cigarette into the fireplace. ‘Shall I light a fire? We’re not going out until later, are we?’

  ‘That’d be nice.’ Fran smiled up at her. ‘Am I forgiven?’

  Libby pulled a face. ‘Don’t be daft.’

  They spent a companionable couple of hours in front of the fire, until Fran asked if they should change before going to The Pink Geranium.

  ‘I suppose we should look smartish. People come from all over to eat there. I tend to be there at lunchtimes or when they’re closed.’ Libby stood up. ‘You go and use the bathroom first.’

  Fran’s little black jacket and tailored trousers sent Libby’s heart into her boots. Her one and only silk blouse had made a return appearance, along with a rather dated pair of loose, dark red trousers. Her rusty bush of hair was tied up with a ribbon, while Fran’s sleek dark bob swung provocatively over her well marked cheekbones.

  ‘I don’t know why I like you. You’re far too smart and attractive.’ Libby flung her cape round her shoulders and picked up her basket. ‘Look at me. A reject from the hippy era.’

  Fran laughed. ‘I’ve only got these sort of clothes because I need them for work and I can’t afford two separate wardrobes. And your look suits you. It’s – I don’t know – sort of earthy and sexy.’

  ‘Really? Peter says I look like a window dummy from Oxfam.’

  ‘Charity shops are really “in” these days. I get at least half my clothes from them.’ Fran buttoned up her navy coat as they stepped out into Allhallow’s Lane. ‘This coat came from the Hospice Shop.’

  ‘Really?’ Libby stroked the sleeve. ‘It’s a good one, isn’t it? Not my style, though.’

  ‘No, you’re more flamboyant. Your cape’s very you.’

  Libby smiled, a trifle smugly. Earthy, sexy and flamboyant she liked. Shame about the short fat body that went with it.

  The Pink Geranium was packed. Donna, Harry’s somewhat harassed young aide de camp, as Peter referred to her, showed them to the sofa in the window to wait until their table was ready. Peter stood behind the counter making up drinks orders and waved. A minute later, a bottle of white wine and two glasses were brought over “apologies from Pete” as Donna said.

  ‘Apologies? What for?’ Fran sat back in the sofa. Libby didn’t dare or she would have disappeared.

  ‘Oh, we had a bit of a spat this afternoon,’ said Libby.

  Fran looked a question.

  ‘Can’t you guess?’ Libby frowned. ‘Isn’t it just there in your head?’

  ‘Libby, please. Don’t keep having digs at me. I told you I don’t know much about whatever it is I’ve got. If facts are in my head, they’re in there. If they aren’t, they aren’t.’ Fran sighed. ‘I’m not doing it on purpose, and I bet that’s what the fight was about, wasn’t it? Peter doesn’t trust me, and thinks I’m just down here for a free ride and to get off with Ben.’

  ‘There you are, you see. You can do it,’ said Libby crossly.

  ‘No, that was simple deduction. And obviously I’m right.’ Fran looked across at Peter, who caught her eye and bowed slightly.

  ‘Yes, you’re right. I’m sorry. But he’s apologised. He’s just worried about his family.’

  ‘Of course he is.’ Fran put down her glass. ‘You know, Libby, I’m not sure this going on with the play is the right thing to do. Is it a bit insensitive?’

  ‘Oh, don’t start that again,’ groaned Libby. ‘We’ve been going over this ever since Wednesday, you know we have. We can’t renege again.’

  ‘No, I know, and it was Peter who finally decided to go ahead, wasn’t it?’ Fran shook her head. ‘I can’t make him out, really I can’t.’

  ‘No? How do you mean?’

  ‘He’s like two different people. One minute he’s being as camp as all get out, all insouciant and silly, the next he’s being serious and positively angst-ridden.’

  ‘It’s being a Gemini what does it,’ said Libby wriggling backwards into the sofa until her feet wouldn’t touch the floor. ‘Not so much a split personality as wanting to know what it’s like to be different. He likes to experience all sorts of things, and it’s now embedded in his personality. He really is serious, and cares deeply about things, but on the other hand –’

  ‘He feels he’s got to keep up with Harry?’ asked Fran.

  ‘Yes, I suppose that’s it. I’ve known Peter for years, long before he met Harry. I always knew he was gay, everybody did, but we never knew much about what he got up to in London. When he brought Harry down here we were all surprised, but everybody said how good it was for him. He lightened up – yes, became insouciant and silly as you put it. What worries me is that Harry might run away from all this. He’s not even thirty yet, a
nd I’m not convinced he has much of a sense of responsibility.’

  ‘I thought he told you he really loves Peter?’

  ‘He did. But he also said he felt stifled by the family.’

  Fran stared at the floor for a moment. ‘D’you know,’ she said finally, ‘I think I know too much about you all. I’m an outsider. I shouldn’t know all these intimate things.’

  ‘But that’s why you’re here.’

  ‘I know. But it doesn’t seem right.’

  Libby heaved a sigh of exasperation. ‘Look, once and for all, Ben asked you in, I confirmed it. Whatever the rights and wrongs, you’re in. If you choose to leave us to our problems – well, them to their problems, I suppose – that’s your privilege, but let’s not keep going backwards and forwards. Is it or is it not insensitive, are you intruding or are you not intruding. Let’s just make up our minds and stick to it.’

  Disconcerted, Fran sat looking at Libby with her mouth open.

  ‘Libby, your table’s ready in a minute. Do you want to order?’

  Libby looked up to find Donna holding out menus.

  ‘Thanks, Donna, great. I know what I want, but Fran will need to choose.’

  Fran took the menu and buried her face in it. Libby looked amused.

  ‘Hello, you old trout.’ Peter appeared at Libby’s elbow. ‘How’s tricks?’

  ‘Thanks for the wine,’ said Libby, smiling up at him. ‘A nice gesture.’

  He pulled a face. ‘I’m full of them. Fran, how are you this evening?’

  ‘Fine, thank you,’ said Fran, looking up and putting the menu down on the table in front of her. ‘Just saying, I think I ought to go back to London and leave you all to it tomorrow. I’m only complicating matters.’

  Libby and Peter exchanged surprised glances.

  ‘Were you?’ asked Libby. ‘I didn’t hear that.’

  Fran flushed. ‘Well, that’s what I meant. You agree, don’t you, Peter?’

  Peter scowled. ‘I don’t know, do I?’ He looked at Libby. ‘What have you been saying?’

  ‘She hasn’t said anything,’ said Fran. ‘I just feel I’m in the way, and I can’t contribute anything after all, despite what Ben thought at first.’

  There was a short, awkward silence. Then Peter’s face relaxed into a smile. ‘Thanks, Fran. But don’t feel we’re driving you away. You’re welcome to stay if you want to get away from the rat-race.’