Murder at the Bridge: An Exham on Sea Cosy Murder Mystery (Exham on Sea Mysteries Book 5)

by Frances Evesham

  Contents

  Wedding

  Lady Antonia

  Bridge

  Dinner

  Farm visit

  Local pub

  Mandy

  Abbott House

  St Mary's

  Sultana cake

  Croissants

  Sarah

  Belinda

  Pathway

  Meeting

  Séance

  Lunch

  Supper

  Handiwater

  The house

  Candles

  Champagne

  Thank you

  Acknowledgements

  The Exham on Sea Mysteries

  The Thatcham Hall Mysteries

  About the author

  Copyright

  Wedding

  Libby Forest dropped into a wooden chair, exhausted. She'd spent the afternoon on tenterhooks, half-expecting an unforeseen disaster to ruin the wedding, but the ceremony had passed without a hitch. Now, in a sturdy marquee pitched in a field, the reception was underway. The level of excited chatter rose as guests finished their meals, nibbling cheddar cheese and biscuits, their stomachs full of Somerset beef and local apple pie. The temptation to giggle grew until it was almost irresistible and Libby had to turn it into a sneeze.

  Max Ramshore, even more handsome than usual, squeezed her hand. "Are you coming down with a cold? Or is it an attack of maternal emotion at seeing your son marry?"

  "Neither. It's pure relief. I can hardly believe the wedding's over and everything went well. I've been expecting the worst all day."

  "Don't count your chickens. Remember what happened at the Oscars. Nothing's over until it finishes."

  "That sounds very cryptic," Libby said, "but at least Bear was on his best behaviour." Libby let her fingers sink into the warm fur of the huge Carpathian sheepdog by her side. "He didn't smell the cathedral cat and chase him down the aisle. He thinks cats exist on this earth for his personal entertainment. I hope no one's planned any practical jokes."

  "Don't look at me. I've never found old tin cans tied to cars especially amusing."

  Libby took a moment to gaze round the marquee. The happy couple looked radiant, the service had been touching, and old friends of the bride's family had filled the cathedral. Libby, still new to Somerset, had fewer guests to invite, but the sight of a row of customers from the bakery in the congregation had lifted her heart. Even Mrs Marchant, the old lady who collected stray cats from the streets of Wells, had attended, her dress so old and lace-covered it surely counted as vintage.

  Libby shot a glance at Mandy, her apprentice. Dressed in full Gothic splendour, including a tight black bodice and voluminous skirt, Mandy sat beside Reginald, Max's basketball-playing American colleague. Libby recognised Steve, Mandy's ex-boyfriend, at the same table. She winced. Would he cause a scene?

  Max wagged his finger. "Stop worrying about Mandy."

  Libby wriggled. "Did you talk to Reginald? You know, about being too old for her?"

  "I most certainly did not. I thought we'd agreed she's an adult and can look after herself. She's having a ball with both her admirers in attendance. From the way Steve's looking at her, all big brown puppy eyes, I think he's hoping to get her back. They only broke up because she wouldn't visit him in London."

  "Couldn't visit," Libby corrected. "She still has a phobia that stops her travelling by train."

  "Well, maybe she could get some help. There are therapists, you know. Anyway, it's not your responsibility. Just relax for once and enjoy your son's wedding reception. The marquee's full of people you don't know, any one of whom may be plotting murder. Look." He nodded towards a small huddle of Robert's friends. "Do you think one of those might be a candidate?"

  "Don't even think it. I want a perfect day today, with no crises."

  Max wandered away, seeking out old friends, while Libby breathed a happy sigh, slipped her feet out of new, painfully high heels, and watched Sarah's mother approach. Belinda looked beautiful and voluptuous as always. In a powder blue jacket, navy shoes and wide brimmed hat, she would be every inch the serene mother of the bride, were it not for the tense lines on her forehead and the occasional anxious glance to left and right.

  She sank into the chair next to Libby. "I know this isn't the time…"

  Libby suppressed a groan as she recognised the tone of voice. Belinda had a favour to ask. Libby's fame as an investigator had grown locally, and she was approached in the most inappropriate places. At least Belinda hadn't followed her into the ladies.

  "How can I help?"

  Sarah's mother licked her lips and hesitated. Libby nodded towards Sarah. "Your daughter looks beautiful; the perfect bride."

  "The thing is…" Belinda swallowed and picked at the skin of her thumb.

  Libby took pity. "Why don't we have a cup of tea? Sarah and Robert are still circulating, so we've got time for a chat."

  Belinda visibly relaxed. "It's a bit embarrassing. Confidential. I need to know you'll be discreet." A hint of steel underpinned the words.

  "Of course."

  "It's about money, I'm afraid."

  Libby hid a smile. Aside from marital problems, financial embarrassments were the most common reason people asked for private investigations. "Before you begin, is this an official request or are you asking as a friend?"

  Belinda seemed taken aback. "Oh, I suppose it's official." She'd probably been hoping for free professional advice, but experience had taught Libby it was best to establish from the outset that a formal private investigation carried a price tag.

  The bride's mother coughed and fiddled with an earring as she recovered her dignity. "I just need to recoup some money. I had a small legacy when my mother died a couple of years ago. I invested it, but the―er―the shares collapsed and I made a loss." She bit her lower lip. "I promised Sarah help with the wedding expenses. We don't have much spare cash in the farm, what with the milk prices over the past year, so I didn't want to worry Sarah's dad about it, but soon I'm going to have to stump up the money."

  Libby offered a sympathetic smile, secretly intrigued. It was obvious Belinda was only telling half the story. Did she suspect she'd been cheated? Or perhaps she'd done something foolish. Had she been borrowing money from loan sharks?

  Libby glanced over her shoulder. This wasn't a good place for further confidences. "I'll need as much detail as possible. Perhaps we could meet tomorrow and go through your accounts?"

  Belinda chewed harder on her lip. Libby waited, giving her time. Max, her business partner, would be able to help with the woman's financial problems. Until recently, he'd worked for the government on international fraud and money laundering. He could sort out poor accounting and advise on improved budgeting and wealth management, but Libby suspected Belinda's problems extended further.

  "It's a bit complicated…" Belinda's voice wavered as a man wearing a grey linen kaftan approached. Tall and striking, he stood out among the other guests, who mostly wore more conventional wedding clothes. Long grey hair was drawn back into a ponytail, and the man's bushy grey eyebrows framed a strong face characterised by sharp cheekbones and a hooked nose. Belinda stiffened as he approached.

  He smiled, but his light grey eyes peered intensely into her face. "Belinda, my dear. I haven't seen you for a while. Thank you so much for the invitation to your daughter's wedding, but I'm afraid my wife sends her apologies. Her mother is unwell. Nothing serious, but the old lady has a heavy cold and Olivia felt she shouldn'
t be left alone."

  His words were commonplace, but the man's effect on Belinda was electric. She jumped to her feet, cheeks reddening. "It's a-a pleasure, Sandy." In the awkward pause that followed, Libby slipped her feet back into her shoes, stepped forward, and held out a hand. With a little start, as though recollecting her manners, Belinda said, "Let me introduce Xavier Papadopoulos. He's a sort of distant cousin of mine."

  "And you're the mother of our handsome groom, Mrs Forest." He pronounced the name slowly, rolling it round his mouth as though tasting each syllable.

  The back of Libby's neck prickled with discomfort. "We're delighted Robert found Sarah. She's a lovely young woman."

  Unblinking, the man watched her face, his smile enigmatic. "Indeed." After an unnerving pause, he seemed to lose interest. The snake-like eyes re-focused on Belinda. "I'm sure we'll have plenty of time to talk this evening, while the young people dance, Belinda."

  She cleared her throat. "I-I'll look forward to it." The lie was obvious.

  Without another word the grey man left. He strolled through the marquee with slow, measured steps, his back ramrod straight. Heads turned as he passed, as though his personal magnetism sucked in everyone within range. Libby breathed out, suddenly tired. "Your cousin's a most unusual person."

  Belinda's head turned towards Libby, but her eyes were vague. "I'm sorry. What did you say?"

  Maybe she didn't want to discuss the man. Instead, Libby made a suggestion. "Would you like an appointment? I'll ask Max to come. He'll help with your money worries. He's something of a financial genius, and very discreet."

  Belinda let out a little gasp, grabbed her bag, and hurried towards the exit. "N-no thanks. Forget I said anything. It's nothing really. I'll talk to Mike and we'll sort things out." She threw the words over her shoulder a she hurried away.

  Libby's mind seethed with curiosity. Why had the arrival of Xavier Papadopoulos upset Belinda so? Was it just that she was worried about being overheard?

  Libby doubted that was the reason for the woman's change of heart. Instinct told her Belinda was frightened of Xavier Papadopoulos.

  Next moment, she'd forgotten about Belinda Carmichael. The atmosphere in the marquee had changed, the gentle hubbub of cheerful conversation died away. Libby rose, confused, as an angry voice carried from the far end of the marquee. Libby couldn't make out the words. Then, her son Robert was at Libby's side. "Sarah's aunt's causing an almighty fuss. She's saying her ring's been stolen. Can you come and help sort it out?"

  Libby closed her eyes. Everything had been going too smoothly. She'd known something would go wrong.

  Lady Antonia

  Like a ship in full sail, a regal figure in lilac satin bore down on the group of three, wearing a hat apparently constructed entirely of pearls. Libby recognised Lady Antonia Appleby, the widow of Sir John Appleby, one of Somerset's wealthiest farmers. Lady Antonia drew near, face purple, chin vibrating. "No one's leaving until my ring's been found."

  "One of these people…" She spat the word as though swearing, one arm sweeping in a wide gesture that encompassed everyone in the marquee. Ears strained to catch every word of this new entertainment. "One of these guests has stolen a valuable family heirloom and I insist the police are called immediately."

  Sarah, face pale and pinched, took her great aunt's arm. "Aunt Antonia, there's no need for that. You must have dropped the ring somewhere. It won't take long for us to find it."

  "Nonsense," the woman barked. "I don't drop things. I pride myself on taking care of my possessions. When you have responsibilities like mine, you learn to pay attention to the things that matter. Now, are you going to call the police, or shall I?"

  "Please, wait a moment," Sarah sounded desperate. "This is Mrs Forest. She's a private investigator—"

  The woman interrupted. "I'm not interested in some kind of amateur sleuth. My diamond ring is worth thousands of pounds and I insist on calling in the professionals."

  Max, who'd been chatting with friends outside the tent, strolled inside, his smile relaxed as though he remained entirely unaware of any tension in the air. "Why, Lady Antonia." He turned the full force of his blue eyes on her, and Libby felt a small jolt of pride as he took control of the situation. "I hadn't seen you here. I wonder if I can help."

  "Maxwell Ramshore. It's been a long time since we met. I don't believe you've visited for years. Not since my old friend, your mother, died."

  "My loss."

  Libby was constantly meeting friends and acquaintances of Max, from all walks of life. Women seemed to melt when they saw him. Libby tried not to be jealous. After all, it was his easy charm that had first attracted her to him. More importantly, though, she'd soon learned to recognise and admire the steel that underpinned his warm smile and Scandinavian blue eyes.

  Max took Antonia Appleby's arm, conjured a comfortable chair from nowhere, and within seconds had seated her in front of a tall glass of champagne. Libby joined them and Max shot a quick glance at her face, followed by the faintest wink. "Now, Lady Antonia. Tell me about your missing ring. Is it that beautiful diamond cluster I remember you wearing at some of those parties you used to throw? My, those were some evenings."

  The woman nodded and tossed back half a glass of champagne. Perhaps her purple face was not due solely to fury at losing a ring. Several previous glasses of champagne were probably to blame. She beamed at Max. "Ah, those were the days, when my husband was alive. We used to dance until dawn, and if I remember correctly, you were one of the most eligible bachelors in the room. You and poor William."

  Max murmured in Libby's ear, "William was their son. He was a merchant banker when I started at my first firm, but he joined the army and died in Bosnia."

  Lady Antonia was still talking. "When William was a little boy, he used to love that ring. He would make me take it from the safe and let the sun shine through it so he could see rainbows." Emotion glinted in her eyes.

  Max touched her hand. "I can tell your ring's very precious. Let's see if we can't track it down. First, I think we should make sure it isn't in your bag." He held up a finger, forestalling any objections. "I know, we won't find it there, but the police would insist. After all, it could have slipped off your finger when you reached for a handkerchief or pulled out some confetti…"

  Mollified, Antonia Appleby clicked open her bag and emptied the contents in a small heap on the pristine white tablecloth. Handkerchief, comb, lipstick, and powder compact, the indispensable accompaniment to a formal occasion for a woman like Lady Antonia. She opened a small silver case and held it out for Max to see. "See, there's William in his uniform with his father. Both of them gone, now."

  Libby leaned across to catch a glimpse of a tall, tanned man in the uniform of the Coldstream Guards, his arm around an older man. Both men shared similar Roman noses, but the older of the two had an impressive shock of white hair and wore a mayoral chain around his neck. Libby swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat and forgave the lonely widow her need for alcohol.

  "Nothing there. I told you so." Lady Antonia snatched up the handkerchief and touched one corner delicately to her eyes.

  Max helped replace the items in her bag. "Indeed you did. Now, why don't you talk to my business partner, Libby Forest. She works miracles, finding missing treasures." Max's gaze met Libby's. The last thing Libby had retrieved was a missing cat, but there was no need to tell Lady Antonia. "If she can't find your ring, of course we'll call the police."

  "Isn't your son, a what-do-you-call-it? Locks people up? A policeman, that's the word. Don't suppose he's of sufficiently high rank to lead an important investigation like this."

  "Joe's recently been promoted. He's a detective inspector, now." Max spoke casually, but there was no mistaking the pride in his voice.

  "In that case," Lady Antonia pronounced, "I can't think of anyone better to help, if necessary. Still, I'll let this young lady try first. Ask me your questions." She pushed her face close to Libby's. "Let's see what
you're made of."

  Confused by the elderly lady's sudden mood changes, but happy to be called young, for once, Libby asked, "I believe you're Sarah's aunt?"

  "Exactly so. Great aunt. No, aunt." The woman frowned, waved a hand in the air, and took another gulp of wine. "Something like that."

  "What time did you arrive at the cathedral?"

  "I was one of the first. It gave me the opportunity to catch up with the man in charge. Wearing one of those red robes. Family friend, you see. We had a good old chat. What was his name, now?" She frowned, but after a moment her brow cleared. "Oh, never mind. Now, where was I?"

  Was Lady Antonia's difficulty with names just due to the wine, or was there a problem? Libby couldn't tell. With care, she led the old lady through the details of the wedding day. It turned out Lady Antonia always travelled by taxi. "Did you have the ring on your finger when you arrived at the cathedral?"

  "Cathedral? What cathedral? I haven't set foot in the place since they refused to let me bury my husband in the crypt. Ridiculous rules and regulations. A man of my husband's importance should rest in the most prominent position, don't you know?"

  She peered at Libby. "What was I saying? Oh, yes. I talked to the rector at the church."

  Libby let the confusion pass. It hardly mattered if the old lady thought Wells Cathedral was just a church. "When you arrived here, at the farm, you were wearing the ring?"

  "I especially remember because I saw several of the local people glancing at it. I only remove it from the bank for special occasions. Weddings and funerals." She pointed at Sarah, who was watching proceedings from a distance. "She's wearing my family pearls, today."

  "Something borrowed," Libby acknowledged. "I expect you were looking forward to a family celebration."

  The woman drained the remainder of her champagne and Max replaced it with a full glass. "I felt an obligation to represent my side of the family, although a wedding reception on farmland seems a little…" Lady Antonia surveyed the marquee from one end to another, "A little unusual."

  With every word, Libby grew more convinced the poor woman was struggling with memory problems. It complicated matters. Had she really been wearing the ring, or had she left it at home? There was no way to tell, unless someone had noticed it on her finger. Perhaps Sarah had seen it.