Murder in the Monastery (Libby Sarjeant Murder Mystery series)

by Cookman, Lesley

  It was just after breakfast when Libby’s phone rang.

  ‘Patti! Why aren’t you at church?’

  ‘I’m in Italy, remember?’

  ‘Oh, yes. Why are you calling me from Italy?’

  ‘Catherine just called. She’d forgotten too, but she wanted you to know – Martha’s regained consciousness!’

  ‘Well,’ said Libby as she ended the call, ‘that’s that, then. Murder solved.’

  Fran was frowning. ‘I’m not sure …’

  Libby sat forward. She recognised that look. ‘What is it?’

  Fran shook her head. ‘It’s probably nothing.’

  ‘What is? Come on, what did you see?’

  ‘I don’t know. There was a sudden brightness – like a sun flare. And then that suffocating darkness – you know? That I’ve had before.’

  ‘Couldn’t that be Martha remembering the bash on the head and then losing consciousness?’

  ‘It could.’ Fran sighed. ‘I wish I could interpret these things better.’

  ‘You haven’t been having so many of your moments for the last couple of years, though, have you? Except when we rescued Rosie, of course.’

  ‘That was an easy one,’ said Fran. ‘This is more difficult. If Martha had died I could have understood it.’

  ‘But she didn’t,’ said Libby. ‘So?’

  ‘Perhaps it means she doesn’t remember anything.’

  ‘Of course. They say that after a bash on the head people don’t remember.’

  ‘Then again,’ said Fran, ‘it may not be about Martha at all. Just triggered by the mention of her regaining consciousness.’

  ‘So we ignore it?’

  ‘I don’t see that we can do anything else,’ said Fran. ‘Presumably someone will be able to question Martha and we’ll know. It just didn’t feel right, somehow.’

  All day, Libby waited to hear something about Martha. There was nothing on the news, national or local, and no phone call from Ian.

  ‘Not that you could expect him to call,’ said Ben, when he returned from the estate office in the late afternoon. ‘I doubt if we’ll hear any more until it’s all wrapped up.’

  Libby sighed. ‘You’re right. I just wonder what Fran’s moment meant.’

  ‘I doubt it’s significant. You can just relax now.’

  ‘Won’t we have to go to the inquest?’

  ‘Maybe, although it’s more likely they’ll call Peter to tell them about the play and why both the reliquary and Dominic were there. Do we know when it is?’

  ‘No, Ian hasn’t told us. If we were needed, I suppose we’d know. Oh, well, I suppose I can get down to planning the End Of The Pier Show now.’

  ‘The what?’

  ‘Remember? Yesterday – the Alexandria. I had a look at their website earlier. We’d have to hire it ourselves, but there’s nothing like it there at the moment. So I emailed.’

  ‘You did what? Without discussing it with me or Pete?’

  ‘It was only an enquiry,’ said Libby, feeling a bit red in the face. ‘Just to see how much it would cost and all that sort of thing.’

  ‘Well don’t go and do anything stupid until we’ve had a committee meeting about it,’ said Ben.

  ‘Can’t I at least plan a show in case?’

  ‘Nothing to stop you,’ said Ben, sounding disgruntled. Libby sighed.

  She was just changing channels on the television to catch the local news when her mobile rang.

  ‘Just thought you’d want to be updated,’ said Ian. ‘I knew you’d be chewing the woodwork by now.’

  ‘We heard Martha regained consciousness from Sister Catherine,’ said Libby. ‘What –?

  ‘Hold on. First – the inquest was adjourned this morning for further enquiries. One reason was that Mrs Fletcher had regained consciousness and there was a possibility that she would be able to talk to us. So far, she hasn’t.’

  ‘Oh, Ian! Why?’

  ‘Partially because the doctors say she can’t yet, but also because she hasn’t said a word about anything so far. She merely seems distressed.’

  ‘So is that the only progress? What about Estelle?’

  ‘You know I can’t give you any more information about the case, Lib. Just rest assured we’re looking into her background.’

  ‘We found out that Dominic’s death had been leaked on the social media sites the same morning,’ said Libby. ‘We thought maybe that was how she heard of it.’

  ‘The same thought had occurred to us, strangely,’ said Ian, and Libby could hear the smile in his voice. ‘We occasionally get there without you.’

  ‘Oh, all right,’ said Libby. ‘Do you know who leaked it in the first place?’

  ‘Too difficult to trace,’ said Ian. ‘But unlikely to have been the murderer.’

  ‘No. But I do wonder what it is Estelle is so scared will be discovered.’

  ‘So do we, but I expect we’ll find out. We’re going back to Mr Butcher’s house tomorrow, and we’ll be looking at any other places connected with him.’

  ‘How was he paying his bills?’ wondered Libby. ‘You said he left nothing but debts and didn’t have a job.’

  ‘And I shouldn’t have said that much,’ said Ian. ‘I’ll let you know progress if and when I’m able, but there’s nothing more you can do.’

  ‘Except carry on looking into Jolly Tolly,’ said Libby.

  ‘Who?’

  Libby grinned. ‘The will of Bartholomew Tollybar, of course.’

  Chapter Eighteen

  It was Friday before Libby heard any more about Martha’s condition, when, once more, Patti called her from Italy.

  ‘Will you call the Abbey?’ asked Patti. ‘Catherine seems not to be able to keep a telephone number in her head. She wants to tell you about Martha.’

  So Libby called the Abbey and asked for Sister Catherine.

  ‘Oh, Libby, I’m so glad you called. Now before I forget, I’ve got a pencil and I’ll write down your number. I felt so silly phoning Patti in Italy.’

  Libby told her both numbers. ‘And now, what about Martha? Patti says you have some news.’

  ‘Indeed, I do, although not entirely good news. I was allowed to go and see her yesterday, because she is, at last, speaking.’

  ‘And what did she say?’

  ‘Well, nothing really.’ Libby could hear the puzzlement in Sister Catherine’s voice. ‘She kept saying she was sorry, and she couldn’t remember anything. Well, that’s not quite true. She says she remembers going down early to check that the reliquary was all right because it was going to be collected that morning, but nothing more. Apparently, that’s quite normal. But she seems very agitated.’

  ‘Because she can’t remember, I expect,’ said Libby. ‘She felt it was her responsibility, didn’t she. Does she know about Dominic yet?’

  ‘Dominic –? Oh, the poor man who was murdered. No, I don’t think so.’

  ‘She’ll feel even worse then,’ said Libby. ‘Poor woman. I wish I could see her. Do you think they’d let me?’

  ‘I think you have to have permission from the police,’ said Sister Catherine. ‘You could ask your friend.’

  ‘What do you reckon?’ said Libby to Fran later. ‘Shall I phone Ian?’

  Fran, who had come to Steeple Martin to talk about Libby’s End of The Pier show, was dubious. ‘He might feel you’re interfering.’

  ‘But I was the one who saw her most,’ objected Libby. ‘We got really friendly.’

  ‘Call his private mobile, then,’ said Fran. ‘Then he can answer if he chooses, or ignore you if he feels like it.’

  Ian, however called back within half an hour.

  ‘Yes, you may visit her, but check with the hospital. She’s still very fragile, and she doesn’t know about the murder yet. They had to leave her in a medically induced coma to let the brain swelling go down. At least I think that’s right.’

  ‘And is there any other news?’

  Ian sighed. ‘No, Libby. Oh – ex
cept that we’ve found the old man who left Bernard Evans the reliquary in the first place. His name, anyway.’

  ‘You have? Gosh! Who was he?’

  ‘A Ronald Barnes, who died childless at the age of ninety. We’ve got someone looking into the possibility that Bernard was a distant relative. If it doesn’t impact on the enquiry, I’ll let you know more when I have it.’

  ‘So there we are,’ said Libby, relating this to Fran as she made tea. ‘Shall we see if we can trace Ronald Barnes?’

  ‘You think we’d do better than the police?’ laughed Fran. ‘I hardly think so! Anyway, we’ve got Andrew tracking down your Jolly Tolly, we don’t need any more, do we?’

  ‘Spose so.’ Libby sat down at the kitchen table. ‘I shall phone the hospital in a minute. Do you want to come, too?’

  ‘No, one’s enough. Just don’t upset her.’

  Libby was allowed to visit Martha the following afternoon. She was still in intensive care and attached to an alarming number of tubes and machines, but when a nurse showed Libby in, she opened her eyes and tried to smile.

  ‘Don’t talk if you don’t want to,’ said Libby, leaning to give her a kiss on the forehead. ‘I brought grapes, but I don’t suppose you’re allowed them. I just wanted you to know we’re all thinking of you.’

  ‘The play?’ whispered Martha.

  ‘Yes, all of us connected with the play,’ confirmed Libby.

  Martha’s smile faded and she frowned. ‘It’s still there?’ she said.

  ‘The play? Oh, the reliquary. No, that’s gone back to the auction house, I believe, although it won’t be sold yet. In fact, the police might have it, for all I know. I think they think you saved it from being stolen.’

  Martha’s expression lightened a fraction. ‘I did? They didn’t tell me that.’

  ‘What – um – what did they tell you exactly?’ asked Libby hesitantly.

  ‘That I’d been hurt at the Abbey and did I remember anything. I couldn’t at first, then they mentioned the play and the reliquary and gradually I began to remember a little. Just getting up early and going to –’ She frowned. ‘Where did I go?’

  ‘The atrium?’ suggested Libby nervously, hoping she didn’t trigger a setback.

  ‘Ah – the atrium.’ Martha’s eyes closed. ‘And then …’ her voice faded. ‘No,’ she said after a moment. ‘Nothing. A bright light.’

  ‘That’s –’ began Libby, and stopped. She daren’t tell Martha that was what Fran had seen. And what did it mean, anyway?

  The nurse opened the door and sent Libby a significant look.

  ‘I’ve got to go, now, Martha.’ She leant over to give her another kiss. Martha caught her arm.

  ‘Will you come again, Libby? I’m only allowed to see Sister Catherine apart from you.’

  ‘Yes, of course. But what about relatives?’

  ‘I have none,’ said Martha, and closed her eyes again.

  ‘No relatives?’ Libby asked Ian when she reported on her visit as requested.

  ‘Apparently not. Her parents are dead, she said. There are only some distant relatives – second cousins, or something.’

  ‘Second cousins aren’t distant,’ said Libby. ‘That simply means that their parents were first cousins. I’ve got very close cousins and second cousins.’

  ‘Well, it didn’t sound as though Martha had,’ said Ian, ‘and I could hardly question her closely about it.’

  ‘What about the husband?’

  ‘She has no desire to see him, according to Sister Catherine, but we are, obviously, tracing him.’

  ‘Could he be a suspect?’ asked Libby.

  ‘Unlikely,’ said Ian. ‘They’ve been estranged for some time. How would he have known about the reliquary?’

  ‘Are you sure it’s all about the reliquary?’

  ‘It’s hardly going to be about anything else, is it? If someone had a grudge against Mrs Fletcher they wouldn’t break into the Abbey at dawn to have a go at her. Much more likely to attack her on the outside.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Libby reluctantly, ‘and she does go out and about. She was going to come and see us. So may I go and see her again?’

  ‘Yes, and let me know if she remembers anything else. I don’t want to pester her.’

  ‘And is there a guard? I didn’t see one.’

  ‘Despite what you see on the television, vulnerable patients aren’t easy to get at, Libby. There is no way in to that ward except through various security measures. I’m sure you went through them.’

  ‘Yes, I did,’ said Libby. ‘Oh, well. I just wouldn’t like her to get attacked again.’

  ‘You don’t say?’ Ian laughed. ‘Go on with you. Enjoy your Saturday night.’

  Sunday was damp. Libby, trudging up the Manor Drive towards Hetty’s traditional rib of beef with Yorkshire pudding, was joined by Lenny and Flo, who carried a precious bottle from her late husband’s cellar.

  ‘You needn’t have brought that, Flo. Hetty’s got a good few left.’

  ‘Special, this is gal. My Frank laid down a case for me birthday.’

  ‘Oh, Flo! Is it your birthday?’ Libby stopped and stared at Flo in horror.

  Flo cackled. ‘Yeah – and I’m not sayin’ which one. Don’t carry on about it these days, but we always have a bottle of this.’ She patted the bottle.

  Lenny winked. ‘Knew what I was doin’, didn’t I?’

  ‘Taking up again with Flo?’ said Libby. ‘I don’t think it was your decision, Lenny.’

  Ben, who had gone to the Manor earlier, opened the door to them.

  ‘Happy birthday, Flo!’ he said, giving her a kiss.

  Libby looked at him accusingly. ‘You knew. Why didn’t you tell me?’

  ‘She doesn’t like a fuss,’ said Ben. ‘Just happens that this year her birthday falls on a Sunday. Mum’s done something special.’

  ‘No roast?’ Libby’s face fell.

  ‘Pudding.’ Ben leant forward and whispered. ‘Spotted Dick tied up in a cloth in the old iron stock pot.’

  ‘Do they not mind being reminded of their hop picking days after all that trouble we had?’ Libby frowned.

  ‘Of course they don’t. That’s why they’re here in Steeple Martin, isn’t it?’

  Peter joined them, and to their surprise, so did his younger brother James, both of whom had brought flowers. Flo pretended to be annoyed, but was obviously pleased, and quite delighted when the Spotted Dick made an appearance.

  ‘So what’s happenin’ about the young fella that got killed?’ she asked, after Hetty had produced coffee and Ben offered brandy.

  ‘Not a lot, at the moment,’ said Libby. ‘Even the lady who was attacked has come round now, and doesn’t remember a thing.’

  ‘What lady?’ asked James. Libby explained.

  ‘So we’ve no idea who killed Dominic, who attacked Martha, if it was the same person or even why they were attacked,’ said Peter.

  ‘To steal that weird thing,’ said Flo, who had been to one of the performances and peered disparagingly at the reliquary.

  ‘But no one did. It was still there,’ said Ben.

  ‘That woman protected it,’ said Lenny, after giving it some thought.

  ‘That’s what it looks like,’ said Libby, ‘but there seem to be at least two hours between the attacks.’

  ‘How d’yer know?’ asked Flo.

  ‘The security guard’s rounds. Four a.m. and six a.m.’

  ‘Now, ’ang on,’ said Lenny. ‘Do yer mean he didn’t see this Dominic on his first round?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Libby, Peter and Ben together.

  ‘So, ’ow do yer know he was dead then?’

  ‘Doctor’s evidence,’ said Ben. Lenny sniffed.

  ‘And ’ow was ’e killed?’ asked Flo.

  ‘Blunt instrument, wasn’t it?’ said Peter.

  ‘But what with? Have they found the murder weapon?’

  ‘Pity it wasn’t that thing,’ said Flo. ‘Horrible, it was. Dead fingers. Ugh.�
��

  They all laughed.

  ‘She had a point, though,’ said Libby to Ben, as they strolled home through the drizzle a little later. ‘It would almost have been right if he had been hit with the reliquary.’

  ‘Which was still in its case,’ said Ben.

  ‘I wonder if it had any fingerprints on it?’ mused Libby.

  Ben sighed. ‘I don’t suppose you’ll ever know, Lib. And don’t go asking Ian.’

  The light on the answerphone was flashing as Libby let them into number 17. As Ben headed for the kitchen and the kettle, she pressed the button.

  ‘Libby, it’s Andrew Wylie. I’ve had a good poke around and come up with some information, although I don’t know how useful it will be. It won’t solve your murders, anyway. Give me a ring when you can.’

  ‘I’ll leave it till tomorrow,’ said Libby, following Ben into the kitchen. ‘Let’s have a murder-free night.’

  ‘That doesn’t sound like you,’ said Ben. ‘And anyway, he says it won’t solve the murder – or is that why you’re willing to leave it?’

  Libby grinned. ‘I just fancied having a night of ordinariness and watching some Sunday evening telly.’ She gave him a kiss on the cheek. ‘Like normal couples do.’

  ‘He called me, too,’ said Fran the following morning when Libby rang her. ‘I said I’d talk to you.’

  ‘Does he want us to go and see him?’

  ‘I think that would be best, don’t you?’

  ‘Rather than have him drag everything to you or me. When shall we say?’

  ‘I could do this afternoon,’ said Fran. ‘Believe it or not, Chrissie and the baby are coming over this morning. It will give me an excuse to get rid of them.’

  ‘Poor baby Montana,’ giggled Libby. ‘Have you got used to it, yet?’

  ‘I keep calling her Monty, to Chrissie’s annoyance, but I think that’s what everyone will call her eventually. Go on, you call Andrew and text me the time he wants to meet.’

  Andrew was quite happy to see them at any time, he said, but they settled on two thirty that afternoon.

  ‘And we’ll have tea,’ he said. ‘I have cake!’

  ‘Really? Did you make it?’

  ‘No, Rosie brought it back from Westmorland. It’s Pepper Cake.’

  ‘Oh, well, they say black pepper is good on strawberries, so why not in cake?’