‘Libby, it’s Fran.’
‘I was just trying to ring you,’ said Libby, ‘how spooky.’
‘No, not spooky. What happened yesterday?’
Libby paused, not really wanting to tell Fran over the phone.
‘Something happened. I had this terrible dream. Come on, Lib. What happened?’
‘What was your dream?’ asked Libby, cautiously.
‘I’m not going to tell you in case it has nothing to do with anything,’ said Fran, sounding irritable.
Libby moved away from the wings out on to the middle of the stage. ‘David’s dead,’ she said as quietly as she could.
‘What?’ Fran gasped. ‘David?’
‘That wasn’t your dream, then?’
‘No … oh, God, how dreadful. Was he – was he – er, killed?’
‘He committed suicide,’ said Libby.
There was a silence. ‘Then it was true,’ said Fran finally.
‘What was?’
‘Do you remember me saying it was something to do with Paula and James? Well, it was, wasn’t it?’
‘Yes, but …’
‘Don’t tell me now. You’re on your mobile, so it’s obviously not convenient, so ring me when you get home, will you? It’s important.’
‘Fran, if it’s important, you must tell me now.’
‘I can’t, Libby. I’ll tell you later.’
Libby looked at the phone in bewilderment.
‘What’s up?’ said Stephen, climbing on to the stage and wiping his hands on a disgusting-looking piece of cloth.
‘Nothing,’ said Libby, ‘it was just Fran. I’ll ring her back at home.’
‘Oh, Fran.’ Stephen looked down at his feet. ‘Did Ben give her my number, do you know?’
‘No idea. He told me he was going to.’
‘How do you think she’d react?’
‘I don’t know, Stephen. I hardly know her. She just said she needs to talk to me.’
‘Her psychic thing, is it?’
‘How do you know?’ said Libby in surprise.
‘Oh, word gets around,’ said Stephen, looking uncomfortable.
‘Yes, but how?’ said Libby suspiciously.
‘Oh, Libby. You know how much gossip there is around am-dram.’
‘Don’t use that awful name,’ shuddered Libby.
‘Don’t be so pernickety,’ said Stephen, his eyes narrowing. ‘You can be a real pain, sometimes, Libby.’
Libby looked up, startled. ‘Sorry, I’m sure,’ she said. ‘I’ll go, then. I’m not needed here, and I can come in at any time to collect anything I’ve forgotten.’
‘Your own little domain, isn’t it? Just what you’ve always wanted.’
‘Stephen! What on earth are you talking about?’
‘Oh, nothing. Forget I said it,’ said Stephen, turning into the wings. ‘I’ll give you a ring.’
Libby set off down the drive feeling disquieted. The change in Stephen’s manner from when he greeted her to just now was disconcerting, and she wondered how many of her cast and crew had felt the same about her. Was she a bossy old cow with megalomaniac and despotic tendencies?
At the bottom of the drive she hesitated, wondering whether to call on Peter and Harry, who surely wouldn’t be opening the restaurant today, or leave them alone until they wanted to speak to her. If ever.
However, as she walked past The Pink Geranium, she was surprised to be hailed by a muffled shout from inside. Harry waved her to the door.
‘I didn’t think you’d be open,’ said Libby, as she stepped inside.
‘Got bookings, and Donna can’t cope on her own after last night. We used up all the emergency staff. Anyway, Pete’s gone over to his mum’s. They’re all in a bit of a state.’
‘Hardly surprising. I wonder if they’ll ever recover?’
‘Want a coffee or something? I could do with a break from chopping veg,’ said Harry, sniffing his long elegant fingers and making a face.
‘Lovely. Shall I do it?’
‘No, you sit there and put your feet up. I’d just made a pot.’
Harry came back from the kitchen with the coffee, mugs and an ashtray. ‘So, reckon we’re going back to our outsider status, then?’
‘You and me against the Family?’ Libby looked up at him. ‘Probably. They’re going to have so much to deal with, aren’t they?’
Harry offered cigarettes. ‘And all we can do is offer hands to hold or shoulders to cry on.’
‘Well, at least we don’t have to worry about Paula’s murderer being in the family now.’
‘No?’ Harry raised his eyebrows. ‘What about Susan?’
‘Susan?’ Libby was horrified. ‘For God’s sake, Harry, you can’t believe that.’
‘If she knew about Paula and James and realised that the whole thing would come out if they got married, how do you think she’d have felt? Especially as she and David had no children, and he had two from two different mothers, one of them being her own aunt.’
‘I suppose so,’ said Libby doubtfully, ‘but surely she’d realise that with Paula dead it would all come out anyway.’
‘Not if it was in the heat of the moment,’ said Harry, taking a sip of coffee.
‘But the body was moved, wasn’t it? In the bedspread. Susan couldn’t have done that. Besides, if it was the heat of the moment she’d have hit David, not Paula.’
‘Not if she’d known for a long time and kept it quiet. She had a position to keep up, didn’t she?’
‘Oh, this is rubbish,’ said Libby. ‘Of course it wasn’t Susan. And she couldn’t have rigged the accidents, either, and it looks now as if they had something to do with Paula rather than the play.’
‘Well, start looking for who could have done them, then,’ said Harry. ‘Now that some of the wood’s been cleared from the trees. Opportunity and all that. And don’t start saying you’re not Miss Marple. We’ve heard that before, and you’re still worrying away at it.’
‘Oh, gosh, yes. That reminds me,’ said Libby, standing up and stubbing out her cigarette. ‘Fran called and I said I’d phone her back when I got home.’
‘More psychic stuff?’
‘I don’t know, Harry. But even if she doesn’t quite believe it herself, she does come out with some extraordinary things. If she’s got something to say, I need to hear it.’
‘All right, don’t bristle up at me.’ Harry stood up and gave her a kiss. ‘I’ll ring you later and if we’re still out in the cold perhaps we can have a drink together or something.’
Feeling a bit better, Libby hurried along the High Street towards Allhallow’s Lane, and was surprised on turning the corner to see Stephen coming towards her.
‘There you are,’ he called. ‘I’d just about given up.’
‘What’s the matter?’ asked Libby, drawing level with him.
‘I wanted to apologise. I shouldn’t have said what I did. I suppose things have got to me more than I thought.’ Stephen wouldn’t meet her eyes.
‘You had me worried,’ said Libby. ‘I thought I’d turned into an ogre.’
‘No more than most directors.’ Stephen turned his head and grinned. ‘Anyway, we’ve more or less finished at the theatre. Want to come and see?’
‘No, I don’t. I’ve had enough of the theatre for a while, thank you very much. Anyway, Fran’s expecting me to call her, so I’d better get home.’
‘With no strings – I could make the tea while you phone her?’
‘Did I invite you for tea?’ Libby smiled.
‘Yes, but not today. I’m just taking it up today, that’s all.’ Stephen smiled back.
‘Oh, go on, then. Just be careful of Sidney.’
Sidney, however, retreated upstairs in a huff, thoroughly fed up that his house was yet again being invaded by Others.
Libby lit the fire, although it wasn’t really cold, just depressingly gloomy and wet, and showed Stephen where things were in the kitchen before dialling Fran’s number.
‘The get out. Well, I wasn’t exactly, but it was being done.’
‘So tell me what’s happened. From the beginning.’
Libby told her, perching on the arm of the armchair nearest the window and staring out at the rain reducing the green to a quagmire. The blossom from the hawthorn drifted wetly down into slush-like drifts.
‘I said it was to do with Paula and James, didn’t I?’ said Fran, when she’d finished.
‘But the murder wasn’t. Unless Harry’s right, and it was Susan.’
‘No, it was David who was coming through so strongly to me. And I said I thought you were wrong.’
‘Yes, you did. And I feel bad about going to see him.’
‘He asked you to. But I still don’t see why it was you he wanted to talk to.’
Libby sighed. ‘Either everyone wants to talk to me or nobody does.’
‘Well, I wanted to tell you about my dream. It’s all to do with opportunity.’
‘That’s what Harry said,’ said Libby. ‘Who had the opportunity?’
‘Not just for the murder,’ said Fran, ‘but the accidents.’
‘And did you see who it was?’
‘I didn’t actually see, but it was easy to work it out.’
‘Is it?’ Libby frowned. Opportunity. For the accidents. For the murder. Not just opportunity, but the means. She heard Stephen come into the room behind her.
‘Can’t find any sugar, Lib,’ he said.
‘Libby!’ Fran’s voice was sharp in her ear. ‘Libby, be careful.’
And of course, it all became clear.
Chapter Thirty-four
‘LIBBY? HAVE YOU GOT any sugar?’
Libby slowly turned towards him. ‘In the cocoa tin by the sink,’ she said.
‘OK.’ Stephen went back into the kitchen.
‘Libby!’ Fran was almost shouting.
‘It’s OK, Fran,’ said Libby shakily. ‘I’ve got it. I think.’
‘Is he there? I can feel him.’
‘Yes, he’s here. Are you sure it’s him?’
‘Well, as sure as I can be. It feels like it. Call the police.’
‘How can I? When he’s in front of me?’
‘I’ll call them, then,’ said Fran. ‘Keep him talking.’ She rang off.
The blood was pounding in Libby’s head and she thought she might faint. As Stephen came back in to the room, triumphant with two mugs and the cocoa tin, she slipped off the arm and onto the seat of the chair. What do I say? she thought.
‘Sugar?’ he asked, holding up a spoon.
‘No, thanks.’ Libby reached out to take a mug and hoped she wouldn’t spill it.
‘So did Fran want to know about David?’ Stephen sat back in Libby’s cane chair, which creaked. She wanted to tell him to mind his own business but didn’t dare. Instead, she nodded. He looked so normal, in his jumper and jeans and Cat boots, his pleasant face smiling an enquiry.
‘Did she think he’d murdered Paula?’
‘No, she didn’t. In fact, that’s what she said to me yesterday, when I thought he might have done.’ Libby took a sip of scalding tea, which Stephen had obviously made by pouring boiling water on to a teabag, and then taking it out too soon. She squashed an instinctive grimace.
‘Do the police think he did it?’ asked Stephen.
‘I’ve no idea,’ said Libby. ‘Will they have to investigate his death?’
‘Oh, yes. Didn’t your friends tell you? They will have been called. Was there a note?’
‘I believe so,’ said Libby, unwilling to reveal any more family business. ‘But I don’t know why he would have killed Paula.’
‘Well, he was her father, wasn’t he?’ said Stephen, and Libby nearly fell off the chair. ‘Oh, sorry, didn’t you know?’ Stephen took a sip of tea, keeping his eyes on Libby’s horrified ones.
‘How – how did you know?’
For a moment Stephen looked disconcerted. Then he shrugged. ‘Oh, she told me,’ he said.
‘She did? I didn’t think you know her that well.’
‘I told you I knew her. When I told you she was a p.t. and you knew what it meant.’ He laughed.
‘So you did.’ Libby took a deep breath and put down her mug. ‘I didn’t realise you knew who her father was, though. I certainly didn’t.’
Luckily, Stephen didn’t question her as to whether she had known before he told her.
‘And why would he kill his own daughter, anyway? Not just to stop her telling anyone, surely. After all, she’d already told you.’
‘I don’t know,’ said Stephen. ‘Anyway, he didn’t, did he?’
‘No,’ said Libby, ‘and he couldn’t have been responsible for the accidents, either.’
‘The accidents?’ Was she imagining things, or was Stephen looking wary?
‘Well, yes. Apparently they think the accidents were first attempts to kill her.’ Libby looked down into her mug.
‘Rubbish. She wasn’t even at the bridge.’
‘No. That’s very puzzling, actually. And even if she had been there, how would anyone be certain she would be the one to fall off?’
‘Frightener.’
‘Oh, yes! That’s what James said. He said she thought someone was out to get her, or frighten her, at least. You think she was right?’
This time she was certain Stephen looked wary. ‘It’s the only explanation, isn’t it?’
‘I suppose so. And David was hardly the build to go scrambling up ladders or underneath bridges, was he? and I don’t suppose he had wire-cutters or anything. I can’t believe we thought Millie could have done it.’ She took a deep breath. ‘It must have been someone with opportunity. And a very good reason.’
‘I expect there were a lot of men with a good reason,’ said Stephen, keeping his eyes on Libby’s. ‘But I would have thought it was a spur of the moment thing.’
‘Really?’
Stephen’s eyes moved to the window and Libby turned her head. A dark car had just drawn up outside, and as she watched she saw DCI Murray get out of the passenger side. Stephen stood up and a wave of relief washed through Libby, leaving her quite light-headed.
‘It looks as though you’ve got company, Lib,’ he said. ‘Still under suspicion, eh? I’d better leave you to it.’
Libby stood up and caught DS Cole’s eye as he peered through the window. He nodded briefly as there came a sharp rap on the front door. Across on the green two patrol cars had pulled up silently, but with their ominous blue lights signalling trouble. Stephen was pulling on his coat and looked up. ‘You’re in more of a mess than I thought,’ he said, his eyes going quickly from the front door to the kitchen.
Without a word, Libby made a dive for the front door, but Stephen was before her, grabbing her wrist as she reached for the latch. Throwing her to the floor he turned and made his way as quickly as he could through the assault course of the front room. Libby managed to get to her knees and open the door, but before anyone could do anything, Sidney took a hand. Streaking down the stairs and over the furniture in a single bound, he was in amongst Stephen’s feet before DCI Murray had even stepped over Libby.
The language, Stephen’s and Sidney’s, was appalling. Torn between hysterical laughter and feeble tears, Libby watched from the floor as DS Cole gently assisted Stephen to his feet and suggested he might like to accompany him to the station. Little DC Burnham appeared nervously as Stephen was ushered firmly out of the door, without even glancing at Libby, and helped her to her feet.
‘No caution?’ asked Libby shakily, looking out of the window to where Stephen was being helped into the back seat of one of the patrol cars.
‘No, we haven’t arrested him yet,’ said DCI Murray. ‘Now, Miss er – Mrs –’
‘Sarjeant,’ said Libby weakly, ‘with a J.’
‘Ah, yes. Well, now, DC Burnham, could we have some tea, do you think?’
DC Burnham paused on the edge of rebellion.<
br />
‘Oh, yes, I’d love a proper cup,’ said Libby. ‘Stephen had just made some, but it was awful. Here, I’ll do it.’
‘No, madam, you sit there,’ said DC Burnham, softening. ‘I’ll make a proper pot, shall I?’
‘Do you feel up to a few questions, madam?’ asked DCI Murray, creaking in to the cane chair. Sidney reappeared, his fur still standing on end, and came to investigate, ready to repel all boarders.
‘Yes, I’m fine,’ said Libby, although she knew she wasn’t. ‘Did Fran phone you?’
‘Mrs Castle? Yes, she did.’
‘I can’t believe you came just because she said she thought I was with the murderer.’
DCI Murray smiled. ‘But when she said exactly who you was with – I mean, who was with you – well, we thought we’d better come.’
‘You mean, you knew it was Stephen?’
‘We had our suspicions, madam.’
‘But, how?’
DC Burnham came in with a tray she’d unearthed from somewhere and the cups left out since Millie’s visit.
‘Mr Pringle had every opportunity to cut the steel wire at your theatre, he knew in advance about the visit of the photographer, and he had arranged to meet the deceased on the night of her death.’
‘I didn’t know that!’ gasped Libby.
‘No, madam, you wouldn’t.’ DCI Murray took a tea cup and looked at her solemnly over the rim. ‘He was the father of her child, you know.’
‘You had his DNA?’
‘Oh, yes, madam.’
‘I didn’t even know you’d interviewed him,’ said Libby, shaking her head.
‘Well, madam, you would only see the parts of the investigation that involved you, or that any of your friends told you. And they told you plenty. You were all becoming a bit of a nuisance.’
Murder in Steeple Martin - Libby Sarjeant Murder Mystery series Page 29
