Murder in Steeple Martin - Libby Sarjeant Murder Mystery series

by Lesley Cookman

  ‘Oh, for goodness’ sake,’ she said aloud. ‘You are not Miss Marple.’

  Of course there would be disaffected women in Paula’s past, though, she thought, as she climbed the stairs to shower and dress. Bound to be with her reputation. She tried to think of any ex-wives or girlfriends she’d heard about, but to tell the truth she hadn’t known much about Paula until that night when Ben turned up and Paula started making up to James. She’d known about the relationship with James, but only in a vague sort of way.

  And what, she thought, was she supposed to tell Fran? Fran, whom Ben had invited in to their little melange of secrets and lies, and who, either by intuition or clever guesswork, knew a lot more than a stranger ought. She decided she would ask Ben, or if he wasn’t speaking to her this morning, Peter.

  But when Harry phoned later in the morning, it was clear this would be out of the question.

  ‘He won’t be at the theatre tonight, Lib,’ said Harry, and Libby could hear the strain in his voice. ‘You’ll have to cope without us. The caff’s full – some of the bookings are for pre-theatre suppers and a couple for afterwards, so I can’t be there.’

  ‘Don’t worry, I’ll do the bar. I’ll have to come round and get the float, though.’

  ‘No,’ said Harry hastily, ‘don’t do that. He really doesn’t want to see you. He doesn’t want to see anybody, but you in particular.’

  Libby felt ridiculously hurt, and tried to swallow the lump in her throat. ‘Fine,’ she managed eventually.

  ‘Come on, Lib,’ said Harry, in a softer tone, ‘you can understand that, surely? His barmy old bat of a mother nearly does you in, and all over a play wot he wrote. He feels like shit.’

  Libby sighed. ‘Yes, of course, but he needn’t. It’s got nothing to do with him.’

  ‘Stoopid old trout, of course it has,’ said Harry affectionately. ‘Give him time and he’ll be back to his obnoxious self. Meanwhile, I’ll drop the float round later. Will you be in?’

  ‘I wasn’t planning on going anywhere. Fran’s coming down tomorrow, but I don’t know when. I don’t know what to say to her, either.’

  ‘Nothing,’ said Harry firmly. ‘Just let her watch the play and go home again. We know who was behind the accidents, there won’t be any more and Paula’s murder is nothing to do with us, so we don’t need Mrs Busy-Body Castle any more.’

  ‘That’s a bit harsh,’ said Libby, suppressing her remarkably similar thoughts.

  ‘I don’t know why Ben let her in unless he fancies her.’ There was a pause. ‘Sorry, Lib.’

  ‘Why’re you sorry? Ben and I aren’t an item. Good heavens,’ she said with a light laugh, ‘we’re both in our fifties. Much too old for that sort of thing.’

  ‘Never too old,’ said Harry. ‘See you later.’

  Nevertheless, Libby worried about Fran intermittently all day. She was aware of the ambivalence of her feelings; she liked Fran and had quickly achieved a degree of closeness with her, yet she was jealous of her relationship with Ben, from whom she still hadn’t heard. Not that she was constantly listening for the phone, of course. And she certainly didn’t want to share with Fran any of the events of the previous night, or the details of Hetty’s story. When Harry arrived in the early afternoon with the theatre bar float, she tried to find out how much he and Peter knew. All of it, it appeared.

  ‘Ben rang and told us. David phoned to tell Pete he’d got mad Millie last night, and Pete rang The Manor, but Ben was taking you home. He phoned when he got back.’ Harry stared moodily out of Libby’s kitchen window. ‘Bloody awful, isn’t it?’

  Libby patted his arm. ‘Not that bad,’ she said. ‘It was all a long time ago and it was an accident, anyway.’

  ‘You falling in a pit with an ’eadless corpse? Nah – that was no accident.’

  ‘She hadn’t a clue what she was doing, Harry. She only wanted me to dig, not fall in.’

  ‘I’m not so sure. Still, not likely to happen again, is it? Wonder what they’ll do with her? She can’t stay in that house on her own now, can she?’

  ‘I suppose it’ll be up to Peter and James. Do you think she’ll be sectioned?’

  ‘Got to be, hasn’t she?’ Harry looked grim. ‘When I think what she’s put my Peter through …’

  ‘And James. Don’t forget James.’

  ‘He’s not gay, is he?’

  ‘Stop asking questions. These are all facts. No, James isn’t gay, yes, she’ll have to be sectioned, and no, she can’t stay in the house. I’m sure when Pete’s had a chat with David they’ll sort things out.’ Libby put out a hand. ‘So, where’s the float, then?’

  ‘Oh, right.’ Harry grinned. ‘Got quite carried away. Here.’ He delved into a backpack and brought out a large canvas bag. ‘Last night’s takings have been banked. Just bag the whole lot up and either drop it in to the caff after the show, or bring it home and I’ll call round in the morning.’

  ‘I can’t drop in tonight if Pete doesn’t want to see me.’

  ‘He won’t be in the caff, he’ll be at home. He doesn’t want to see anybody, I said.’

  ‘OK, I’ll do that then, and tell you how it went. He’ll want to know that.’

  ‘Might cheer him up, although he still thinks it’s all his fault for writing the play.’

  The performance wasn’t quite as sharp as that of the previous night, but Libby was nevertheless pleased with her cast. It felt odd to be in the theatre without Harry, Peter or Ben, especially Ben, she admitted to herself, from whom she’d heard nothing all day, and she was pleased when both audience and cast left reasonably early and she could lock up and go home, after persuading one of the back-stage crew to walk home with her. Puzzled at this unaccustomed nervousness on the part of his redoubtable director, he agreed, and, obviously wondering why she hadn’t asked Stephen, waved her off with unflattering haste at the bottom of Allhallow’s Lane.

  Fran arrived at about half past four the following day. The weather had turned again, and the garden was as warm as high summer, so Libby took tea out under the apple tree.

  ‘So, it went well, then?’ Fran took her mug from Libby and leaned back in her chair.

  ‘Very well. Press, pictures and practically a standing ovation. We were delighted.’

  ‘So what went wrong?’

  Libby looked up, startled. ‘What do you mean, what went wrong?’

  ‘Something did, didn’t it? I knew, on Tuesday night. I nearly rang, but decided it was too late.’

  Libby looked at her suspiciously. ‘I thought you said you didn’t …’

  ‘Whatever I said, I knew something was wrong. I keep telling you, sometimes I just know things as though I’ve been told them, or seen them. I don’t trust it, but this time I was sure. It was something to do with you, because I’ve got closer to you than anybody else down here. I thought at first it was an accident, but obviously …?’ She looked a question at Libby, who stared up into the apple tree to avoid her gaze.

  ‘Look, don’t tell me if you don’t want to, just assure me you’re OK.’

  Libby bent to stroke Sidney who trotted past on his way to Fran’s lap.

  ‘I don’t know whether they’d want me to tell you, but you’ll just have to keep it quiet,’ she said. ‘It was Millie who caused the accidents, although I can’t see her cutting the steel wire, but anyway, she did the rest because the – er, murder when she was little affected her. When we did the play it sort of unhinged her and she thought it was all happening again.’

  Fran looked thoughtful. ‘I was under the impression she was only a baby and didn’t know anything about it.’

  ‘She was three, I think. And she must have known something, or it wouldn’t have given her nightmares.’ No way was Libby going to tell Fran Hetty’s story. ‘Anyway, she broke down completely and David took her away.’

  ‘So what happened to you?’

  ‘Oh.’ Libby’s thoughts scrabbled round her head like hamsters in a wheel. ‘She grabbed me as I was walking h
ome and dragged me off towards the huts. She was so strong! And I fell into a hole.’

  There was a short silence. ‘A hole,’ said Fran.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I see.’ She looked at Libby for a moment and sighed. ‘Well, if you’re not going to tell me, you’re not. I won’t pry.’

  ‘I can’t. That’s all there is to tell, anyway.’ Libby took a gulp of tea.

  ‘OK.’ Fran stroked Sidney’s head. ‘So how’s the murder investigation?’

  Libby looked up, surprised. ‘No idea. DS Cole came to the play on the first night, but I haven’t heard from him since. He wanted the names and phone numbers of the entire cast.’

  ‘Going in to her background, then.’

  ‘I assume so. Now we know about Millie and the accidents at least we know nothing’s going to happen to us now. It’s nothing to do with us.’

  ‘It’s to do with the family, though, isn’t it?’ said Fran.

  ‘Only in so far as Paula went out with James and was in our play.’

  ‘Was pregnant by James. Different thing.’

  ‘Do you think she was?’ asked Libby. ‘It wouldn’t surprise me if the whole thing was a fabrication to trap James.’

  ‘It wouldn’t surprise me, either, but I didn’t know her, after all.’ Fran tickled behind Sidney’s ear. ‘Are you sure about Millie causing the accidents?’

  ‘I think she admitted it,’ said Libby, surprised. ‘Although I don’t actually think anyone said as much. Why? Don’t you?’

  ‘No, I don’t.’ Fran shifted in her chair. ‘That’s what Ben brought me down for, and that’s one thing I’m sure about. It wasn’t Millie.’

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  LIBBY WAS BEHIND THE bar washing glasses when Peter came in not long before the interval.

  ‘I thought you weren’t coming in tonight,’ she said in surprise. ‘Harry said …’

  ‘I know, I know. I realised I was being a bit of a drama queen. Sorry, Lib.’ He leaned across the bar counter and kissed her cheek.

  ‘Sorry for what? It wasn’t your fault I fell down a hole.’

  ‘Yes, it was,’ he said with a sigh. ‘If I hadn’t written the bloody play …’

  ‘Oh, don’t talk rubbish. We’ve been over this dozens of times. You didn’t know what had happened, did you?’

  ‘I thought Ben told you? Mum had rambled about something, but I thought she’d got it muddled in her head. She was so young when it all happened.’

  ‘Well, it’s all over now, so we can forget about it, can’t we?’ said Libby briskly, drying a glass and putting it back on a shelf. ‘How is she?’

  ‘Still with David and Susan. I offered to take her home with me, but David insisted they kept her. I suppose it makes sense as he’s a doctor.’ Peter perched on a bar stool. ‘But what we do next, I’ve no idea.’

  ‘Sheltered accommodation?’ suggested Libby.

  ‘I don’t know if she can cope on her own any more, even in somewhere like Flo’s place. I think it’ll have to be an upmarket home for the bewildered like Lenny’s. I suppose we’ll have to wait and see.’

  ‘Hasn’t David told you what he thinks?’

  Peter frowned. ‘No, he just says leave her with them. I don’t know what Susan thinks.’

  ‘Not much, I expect,’ said Libby. ‘Were Millie and Susan close as they grew up? They’re quite close in age, aren’t they?’

  ‘Millie was four when Susan was born, so they were brought up more or less as sisters. As far as I can make out, she wasn’t too pleased when Susan married David.’

  ‘Oh? Why?’

  ‘No idea.’ Peter shrugged. ‘Perhaps she wanted him for herself?’

  Libby laughed. ‘Don’t be daft, she must have been married by then.’

  ‘She was, and I was on the way. I bet she wanted to be a bridesmaid and couldn’t because of me.’

  ‘Lord, can you imagine your mum as a nineteen-sixties bridesmaid? I can’t.’

  ‘Oh, I can. Just her style.’ Peter stood up and stretched. ‘Give us a drink, then, you old trout, then I’ll relieve you behind the bar.’

  But before Libby could reach for a clean glass, the foyer doors swung open. Peter scowled.

  ‘What do you want?’ he said.

  ‘Evening, Mr Parker. I just wanted a word. Evening, Mrs Sarjeant.’

  ‘Mr Cole.’ Libby looked nervously towards the doors to the auditorium. ‘Will you be long?’

  ‘I don’t know, madam.’ DS Cole turned to Peter. ‘It’s about Mrs Parker, sir.’

  ‘What about her?’

  ‘DCI Murray needs to ask her some questions, sir, and Doctor Dedham says he can’t.’

  ‘That’s right. My mother is – er – somewhat confused at the moment. I believe Doctor Dedham has her under sedation.’

  ‘Ah. Senile, is she?’ asked Cole.

  ‘Bloody hell! Of course she’s not senile! She’s only 65.’ Peter swung away from the bar and took a deep breath.

  ‘We think she’s had some kind of breakdown, Sergeant,’ put in Libby. ‘That’s why she’s staying with Doctor and Mrs Dedham.’

  ‘Right. So when did she have this breakdown? Was it recent?’

  Peter turned back. ‘Does it matter? She’s been acting a little strangely for some weeks. It’s obviously been building up.’

  ‘Ah,’ said the sergeant.

  Libby, seeing that Peter was only just holding on to his temper, said ‘Would you like to talk somewhere else, Sergeant? The audience will be out here for the interval any minute.’

  Peter let out his breath in a rush. ‘Come up to The Manor,’ he said. ‘It’s nearest.’ He turned and made for the doors.

  ‘Right, sir,’ said DS Cole. ‘Thank you, madam.’

  Libby watched them go with some trepidation. What did the police want with Millie? Surely the police didn’t know what had happened the other night?

  A burst of clapping indicated the end of the first act, and one of the first through the auditorium doors was Fran.

  ‘What did you think?’ asked Libby, having passed over the wine Fran had pre-ordered.

  ‘Excellent,’ said Fran. ‘I’ll get out of your way.’

  ‘No, that’s OK, Fran. Stay here, I can still talk to you in between customers. Most of them pre-ordered like you.’

  But Fran shook her head, smiling abstractedly, and moved away from the bar. Libby watched her go over to the big windows which opened on to a tiny terrace for smokers and sit at one of the little metal garden tables. This was worrying. Did Fran really not like The Hop Pickers, or had some nasty telepathic thought surfaced in her brain? Libby sighed and turned to her next customer.

  Listening to comments made by members of the audience, who had no idea who she was, Libby was gratified to hear a good deal of praise, which distracted her temporarily from worrying about what was happening with Peter and DS Cole, and Fran’s unnatural reticence. When the interval bell rang and Fran came to put her glass on the bar, her worries returned.

  ‘What’s up, Fran?’

  ‘Nothing. I’m really enjoying it.’

  ‘There’s a problem, though, isn’t there?’

  Fran looked away. ‘I’d better go in. I’ll see you afterwards.’

  That was that then. Libby frowned at Fran’s back as she disappeared through the auditorium doors and went to collect glasses.

  ‘Here, I’ll do that.’ Peter appeared behind her and took the tray from her hands. ‘You go and do the washing up.’

  ‘You look more cheerful,’ said Libby, as she resumed her place behind the bar.

  ‘They’re going to have to get another doctor to have a look at Mum to see if she’s fit to be questioned. So she won’t be bullied.’

  ‘No, but why do they need to question her? They don’t suspect her of Paula’s murder, surely?’

  ‘God knows. What worries me is that if they start asking her questions she’ll go burbling on about Hetty and Warburton and then we really will be in the soup.’
/>
  Libby blew thoughtfully on a soapy mass of bubbles. ‘Do you remember anyone saying where it happened? Paula, I mean, not Warburton.’

  Peter dumped a trayful of glasses in front of her. ‘In the car. You know that.’

  ‘No, she was found in the car. Do we know whether she was murdered there?’

  ‘Bloody hell. I never thought of that.’ Peter rubbed the end of his nose. ‘Well, that’d let my mum out, wouldn’t it? If the body was moved.’

  ‘Also,’ said Libby slowly, ‘it could be that the car was moved.’

  ‘We’ll ’ave to get you in the force, missus,’ grinned Peter, ‘but you’re right. And that would let my mum out, too. She can’t drive. Never learned.’

  ‘Perhaps we ought to find out,’ said Libby. ‘I mean, they’d know by now. They’d know by – er – lividity, and post thing blood patterns, or something, wouldn’t they? The scene of crime people look into all that straight away.’

  ‘I think it’s the medical examiner who does that. The post-mortem’s been done, I know that much. David said.’

  ‘Well, anyway, they’d know if she was moved or whatever, wouldn’t they?’

  ‘I suppose so. What made you think of it?’

  ‘Something Fran said. I hadn’t thought of it, either.’

  ‘Fran again.’ Peter frowned. ‘What did she have to say in the interval?’

  ‘Nothing much. Just said it was good and she’d see me later. A bit odd, really.’

  ‘Hmm.’ Peter gave his tray a cursory wipe and set off for more glasses.

  By the time the curtain came down, he’d taken Libby’s place behind the bar and she was able to slip in at the back and watch the final scene. The reaction, while not as ecstatic as the previous two nights, was enthusiastic and prompted three bows from the beaming cast. Libby heaved a sigh of relief and went back to the bar.

  Many compliments later, and Fran was offering to help clear the glasses.