A trip to the Cattlegreen Nurseries Farm shop seemed indicated in order to buy vegetables for a stir fry, so Libby collected her basket and set off down the lane. Just as she reached the bottom a car turned in rather fast and shot past her, only to pull up abruptly almost in front of Number 17. Libby stood and watched, frowning, as the car door opened and a blonde head poked out.
‘Trisha!’ Libby started back up the lane again.
Trisha got out of the car and stood looking uncomfortable, her hand on the door handle.
‘Hello,’ she said. ‘Sorry, I didn’t see you.’
‘No,’ said Libby in an admonitory tone. ‘I could tell. Did you want me?’
Stupid question, she thought, seeing as she’s standing in front of my house.
‘Yes. Am I holding you up? Were you going out?’
‘Yes, but it’s not important.’ Libby fished in the basket for her keys and unlocked the door. ‘Watch the step – oh, and the cat.’
Sidney, affronted, darted between their legs and off up the lane.
‘So, is this your lunch hour?’ asked Libby. ‘Can I get you anything?’
‘No, no that’s all right, said Trisha, perching uncomfortably on the edge of the armchair. ‘I don’t want to disturb you.’
‘Tea, then? Or coffee? I’d offer you a glass of wine, but you’re driving.’
‘Coffee, then, that would be lovely.’
‘Right.’ Libby went into the kitchen and tested the kettle on the Rayburn. She moved it onto the hotplate and left it to boil.
‘Come on then, you’ve obviously got something to tell me that you didn’t want to over the phone.’ Libby sat on the sofa. ‘How did you know where I lived?’
‘Jane told me.’ Trisha looked down at her hands twisting together in her lap. ‘I thought I ought not to tell you, it seemed disloyal, somehow, but I talked to Jane about it, and she said you were very discreet’ (really? thought Libby) ‘and you were very good at making sense of things.’ Trisha looked up. ‘You and Fran, of course.’
‘Of course,’ said Libby. ‘So what it is it?’
‘Well – ever since Mr Frensham died Miss Martin and Mr Phillips have been arguing. It’s always behind closed doors, and they never do it in front of anybody, but it’s been really horrible.’ She paused. ‘And then, last week …’ her voice tailed off.
‘Last week?’ prompted Libby.
‘I had to go back into the office to collect something. Everyone had gone home and I got my files and then,’ she swallowed, ‘I heard someone moving about in Mr Frensham’s office.’
‘Go on,’ said Libby.
‘I knew nobody should be in there, because the police had cleared it of everything they thought they might need and sealed it. So I – I went and knocked.’
‘And who was it?’
‘That’s just it! I don’t know. First of all there was no more movement, then there was a sort of noise, then nothing. So I opened the door.’ Trisha was looking frightened now, and Libby guessed it had taken a good deal of courage to attempt to face up to an intruder.
‘And when I opened the door,’ she continued, ‘the room was empty. And the only other way out was the door into Miss Martin’s office. And there was no one in there either.’
‘Did you tell anyone?”
Trisha nodded. ‘I told Mr Phillips. I called him right then, on his mobile.’
‘And what did he say?’
‘Nothing. He laughed and said it didn’t matter, just lock up and he’d see me on site in the morning. That’s why I’d needed the files you see. We had a site meeting.’
‘And you’re not happy about this?’
‘Well, no. If someone’s snooping round Mr Frensham’s office, when there’s nothing much left in there, what do they want, and why is it such a secret? And why are Miss Martin and Mr Phillips fighting?’
Libby shook her head. ‘I’ve no idea, Trisha, but it can’t have anything to do with Mr Frensham’s death, can it?’
‘But the next day when we got back to the office, Mr Phillips went in to see Miss Martin and they had another row. And the door was a little bit open.’ Trisha coloured. ‘I couldn’t help hearing, you see. Miss Martin was speaking. Sort of almost hissing at him.’
‘And what was she saying?’
Trisha swallowed again. ‘I’ll kill you. That’s what she said. I’ll kill you.’
Chapter Eighteen
‘SO WHAT WE HAVE to do,’ said Fran later on the phone, ‘is talk to this Miss Martin.’
‘Elizabeth Martin,’ said Libby. ‘but how do we do that? We can’t just barge into Frensham Holdings and demand to see her.’
‘We’ll have to find out a way to talk to her outside of work. Find out where she goes, what she does.’
‘Oh, come on, Fran, be sensible,’ said Libby. ‘How on earth do we do that? We know nothing about her, we have no connection to Frensham Holdings and the only person we know willing – just – to talk about her is Trisha.’
‘Barry Phillips, then,’ suggested Fran. ‘How about him?’
‘Same applies. Let’s face it, we’re out on a limb here, despite you wanting to find out all about it. No way in anywhere. At least we’ve had some kind of connection in the past, but this time we’ve nothing.’
‘What about your friend Gemma? She was the one who asked you in the first place.’
‘We – ell,’ said Libby.
‘Look, she’s been marginally involved all the way through so far,’ said Fran, sounding, to Libby’s ears, far too excited. ‘She’ll be only too willing to help.’
‘But she was scared in Cornwall,’ said Libby. ‘I’m sure she’s still of the same mind.’
‘Give her a chance,’ said Fran. ‘Ask her if we can both come and talk to her.’
Libby sighed. ‘All right,’ she said, ‘but don’t blame me if she says no.’
She told Ben about it over stir-fried vegetables, which she had eventually managed to go and buy after Trisha, a twittering mass of qualms and misgivings, had departed.
‘It’s not like Fran to be keener than you about an investigation,’ he said, forking rice into his mouth.
‘I told you,’ said Libby, ‘she’s changed since she got married. Much more assertive and – well, aggressive, even.’
‘Fran? Aggressive? Never.’ He laughed. ‘Boredom, is it?’
Libby considered. ‘I think it is,’ she said. ‘Her life’s sorted, after years of living on the breadline in a horrible London flat, at odds with her children, suddenly she’s got a lovely home and a lovely husband. There’s nothing to aim for any more.’
‘Except harmony with her children,’ said Ben.
‘Ooh, yes,’ said Libby, ‘I forgot to ask how her visit to Chrissie was. She wanted to start building bridges.’
‘In order to throw Chrissie off?’ asked Ben.
‘That’s an idea,’ said Libby, ‘but no. Jeremy’s OK, but he’s in America. Lucy is a whining pain with her kids, always wanting handouts, and Chrissie at least has a good standard of living and doesn’t keep demanding things of Fran.’
‘But she moans about Fran’s inheritance,’ said Ben. ‘And they both disapprove of Fran’s marriage.’
‘I know,’ said Libby. ‘That’s why she was taking Guy over there to try and get them to know him.’
‘As far as I could see, Brucie baby only respects money men,’ said Ben. ‘He almost unbent to me when he found out I was an architect, which in his book is respectable. But artists and actors, no way. I’m surprised he married Chrissie knowing her mum was an actor.’
‘She probably didn’t tell him,’ said Libby, standing up and collecting plates. ‘And anyway, that’s got nothing to do with Fran being enthusiastic about this Green Man murder. And she wants to go rushing in talking to people who we have no connection with, which of course we can’t do.’
‘Who does she want to talk to?’ asked Ben, following her into the kitchen with the serving bowls.
‘Oh, t
he other directors of Frensham Holdings,’ said Libby, dumping plates into the sink. ‘You know it was Bill Frensham who got murdered?’
Ben frowned. ‘That would be – let me see – Elizabeth Martin and Barry Phillips?’
Libby turned round. ‘Do you know them?’
‘I’ve met them.’ Ben put the bowls down on the draining board. ‘We designed a building for Frensham Holdings a few years ago. It’s a pseudo-barn where they mount exhibitions and hold functions.’
‘Oh, wait a minute,’ said Libby slowly. ‘Over towards the Elham valley somewhere? Backs on to woodland?’
‘That’s it,’ said Ben. ‘Have you been there?’
‘Yes, a couple of times.’ Libby picked up a wine bottle. ‘Come on, let’s leave this for a bit.’
‘So what did you go to Frensham Barn for?’ asked Ben pouring wine into their glasses back in the sitting room.
‘First time was some kind of business function with Derek, just before we split up,’ said Libby, sipping appreciatively. ‘Second time – was – what was it? Oh, I remember. A charity do for someone’s birthday. I don’t know whose. I went with Peter and Harry. Before I moved here.’
‘Was the business function to do with them, too?’
‘Oh, I expect it was. As far as I remember, we were the guests of a colleague of Derek’s and his wife. I don’t remember meeting any Frensham Holdings people, though.’
‘I don’t suppose you would have done,’ said Ben. ‘But didn’t you meet Bill Frensham when you knew Gemma and her husband years ago?’
‘Oh, yes, but he was new to Cranston Morris and no one really knew him. It was later that he sort of took over, as far as I can make out from Gemma.’
‘So why does Fran want to speak to Martin and Phillips?’
‘Because Trisha heard them arguing.’
‘Trisha?’
Libby told him about Trisha and her dramatic pronouncement.
‘I told her it was just something people said, not to be taken seriously, but she seems to be worried about the atmosphere at the place, and the fact that someone has been searching the office.’
‘Well, I expect I could engineer a meeting somehow with Martin and Phillips,’ said Ben. Libby choked on her wine.
‘You what?’
‘Just to satisfy Fran.’ He grinned at her. ‘And stop you going off the deep end and getting into mischief.’
‘How, though?’ she asked, after she’d kissed him.
‘Let me think about it,’ he said. ‘Although I’m officially retired, I still own most of the shares in the practice. I’ll think of something.’
‘I couldn’t believe it,’ Libby told Fran the next morning on the phone. ‘I don’t know why he’s doing it. He hasn’t taken an active interest in a murder investigation since The Hop Pickers.’
‘It’s a ploy,’ said Fran, a smile in her voice. ‘To get you on side.’
‘Oh,’ said Libby. ‘You could be right. But I’m on side already. He knows that. I came home from Cornwall a reformed character.’
‘Ah, but what about Steeple Farm?’
‘He’s OK with that now. Meanwhile, let’s hope he comes up with a foolproof method for meeting Elizabeth Martin and Barry Phillips.’
And, in fact, he did.
‘I’m in the office,’ he said, calling in the early afternoon.
‘The estate office?’ Libby frowned.
‘No. Wilde and Partners. I had a look and discovered that the directors of Frensham Holdings are still on our Christmas card list, as it were. They have all been guests, in the past, at our infrequent drinks parties.’
‘And?’ prompted Libby.
‘I thought we should maybe have another one.’
‘What?’ squeaked Libby.
‘Well, I never had an official retirement do for the clients, did I? I just sort of slid out unnoticed. I thought perhaps we should rectify that.’ He paused. ‘And due to our connection with it, I thought we could ask if we could hire Frensham Barn.’
Libby became aware that her mouth was hanging open.
‘Blimey,’ she said eventually. ‘When you go for it, you certainly go for it. How will you ask them?’
‘With care,’ said Ben, and hung up.
Libby phoned Fran.
‘Hmm,’ said Fran.
‘What do you mean, hmm?’
‘It’s an awfully big coincidence.’
‘What him knowing Martin and Phillips? You didn’t say that earlier.’
‘I’ve thought about it since then.’ Fran paused. ‘And he’s known about your interest in this –’
‘And yours.’
‘All right, and mine, but anyway, he’s known about it since we went to the Mount at least. He knew who’d been murdered, didn’t he?’
‘Ye-es.’
‘Why didn’t he tell you about this connection straight away?’
Libby’s heart felt as though it missed a beat. ‘What are you suggesting?’
‘I’m not suggesting anything,’ said Fran. ‘I’m asking a question. He must have known he knew the man. Why didn’t he tell you?’
‘Because he thought it would fan my interest? He didn’t want to get involved?’
‘He didn’t want you to get involved. If he’d told you then you would have wanted to follow it up.’
‘So why is he getting involved now?’
‘To get you on side, as I said before, but there must be another reason.’
‘Well, it can’t be anything sinister,’ said Libby. ‘Ben’s just not like that.’
‘You suspected him in that first murder, though, didn’t you?’
‘I didn’t know him well then. And let’s face it, he’s hardly likely to be a suspect in this one, is he?’
‘No. But he’s got an ulterior motive, I’m sure,’ said Fran.
Libby was ready for him when Ben arrived home, looking dapper and sexy (she thought) in an unfamiliar dark suit. She handed him a whisky almost as soon as he set foot through the door.
‘What’s all this?’ he asked with a grin. ‘That grateful, are you?’
‘Yes,’ she said, sitting opposite him on the sofa. ‘But far more interested in why you’re doing this. It isn’t just for me and Fran, is it?’
He looked her steadily in the eye. ‘No. I told you, I never had a farewell do for clients.’
‘Nah,’ she said, sitting back against the cushions and disturbing Sidney. ‘That’s not it.’
He raised his eyebrows. ‘Oh? Who says?’
‘Fran.’
‘Ah.’ He put his whisky down and shrugged off his jacket. ‘A famous moment.’
‘No. She just thinks about things.’
‘And comes up with wrong answers.’ Ben picked up his drink and crossed his legs.
Libby was watching him closely. ‘No, she hasn’t. There is another reason, isn’t there?’ She waited, but there was no answer. ‘How well did you know Bill Frensham?’
Ben sighed and sat back. ‘A business acquaintance.’
‘And?’
He looked at her for a long moment. ‘Look, Lib. I’m going to tell you this because you’ll probably find out anyway, but I didn’t trust Bill Frensham any further than I could throw him. He did everything he could to wriggle out of payment for the Barn, while keeping a huge friendly smile on his face.’
‘So why on earth invite his co-directors to a do?’
‘Because there was something funny going on in that business and I’d quite like to find out what.’
Libby gaped. ‘But why haven’t you told me this before?’
‘Because you’d be on the phone to Fran, or trying to tell your bloody Inspector Connell as soon as I did.’
‘I thought you liked Ian?’ said Libby artlessly.
Ben let out a gusty and somewhat irritated sigh. ‘Don’t change the subject.’ He shifted position and leant forward. ‘Look. I knew, whether you admitted it or not, as soon as Gemma Thing got in touch with you you’d be like a dog aft
er a rabbit. Eventually, you’d want to get in touch with Elizabeth Martin and Barry Phillips. And I could just see you breaking into their offices or something and getting into real trouble. Look what happened to you over that business in Nethergate.’
‘I wouldn’t break into anywhere!’ said Libby, shocked. ‘I haven’t yet, have I?’
‘No, but you’ve been in a couple of tight places, and you know exactly what your nearest and dearest think of that. I’m surprised Guy’s so laid back about it.’
‘Actually, so am I,’ said Libby. ‘Especially as Fran’s been more interested in this one than the others. Except her old aunt’s death, of course.’
‘Perhaps he doesn’t know,’ said Ben.
Libby shook her head. ‘No, she tells him everything. Anyway,’ she stood up and held her hand out for his glass. ‘That’s beside the point. What decided you to help?’
‘Because I could at least save you from getting into worse trouble.’ He handed over his glass. ‘Elizabeth Martin is a seriously scary lady, and I don’t want you falling foul of her.’
‘You don’t think..?’ Libby stopped in the act of pouring whisky.
‘That she killed Bill? No, of course not. That really is far-fetched – although some of the other murders you’ve been involved in have stretched credulity a bit. No, but I do think the company has been guilty of some – er – creative thinking, and –’
‘Oh, I get it!’ Libby turned excitedly. ‘That’s what Trisha heard them quarrelling about. They think because of Bill’s death the company will be investigated and it will all come out!’
‘Well,’ Ben looked startled, ‘I hadn’t quite got that far, but I did think Martin and Phillips would be extremely unhappy if you started poking your nose in.’
‘So why introduce me?’
‘Because I might find out what has been going on, and, incidentally, get back the last of the money they screwed me out of, and so that any interest you have in them will be legit.’
Libby screwed up her face. ‘Just because I’ve been introduced formally, I can hardly go up to them and say “Right, now we know each other, did you murder Bill Frensham to keep your dodgy dealings under wraps?’
Murder in the Green - Libby Sarjeant Murder Mystery Series Page 14
