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

by Frances Evesham

  Leaving Max to entertain his mother's old friend, Libby joined the newly-wed couple for a whispered conversation. Sarah confirmed her great aunt had frequent memory lapses. "I don't remember seeing the ring today, but she would usually wear it. It's her pride and joy, because Uncle Humphrey bought it for their first wedding anniversary. She's lost a lot of weight recently. I don't think she eats properly, now she's living alone. The ring was loose and it could easily have slipped from her finger."

  "Could we organise a quick search, in case she just dropped it?"

  Robert's eyes sparkled at the idea of gathering their friends, boisterous with champagne, to scour the surroundings. "Like a treasure hunt."

  Max had overheard. "I'm sure they'll find it. I'd lay odds the ring just slipped off her finger."

  After an hour, though, Robert and Sarah admitted defeat. The ring was nowhere to be found.

  ***

  "Time to call in the police?" Max suggested.

  Lady Antonia's enthusiasm for the local constabulary had waned. "Perhaps we should leave it until tomorrow." Her words slurred together. "We don't want to spoil the wedding."

  Libby hunted for Belinda, finally locating her outside the marquee, well away from her aunt. "Is it the alcohol talking, or is Lady Antonia really having second thoughts about calling the police? Do you know how much the ring's really worth?"

  Belinda concentrated on the nail she was nibbling, despite ruining an expensive wedding manicure. "I think she likes the attention. She's very old and forgetful. Why don't you leave her to me and I'll talk to her tomorrow. After all, we don't want to make a fuss." With a little wave of her fingers, she disappeared into the melee of wedding guests.

  "I don't know what to make of it," Libby confessed to Max. "One minute, Belinda has a problem she wants me to solve and her aunt's ring is so valuable we need the police. Then, it turns out both problems were no more than silly mistakes. I'm beginning to think Sarah's mother and great aunt have more in common than first appears."

  "Both got loose screws, you mean?"

  "Hope not. My son's married into that family, don't forget."

  Max gave an exaggerated groan. "Have you thought about the grandchildren? How are they going to turn out?" Libby just rolled her eyes as he went on, "What about this missing ring?"

  "Just thank our lucky stars Lady Antonia hasn't insisted on the police. She can claim the insurance if it doesn't turn up."

  They walked outside, enjoying the smell of newly mown hay, and the tang of dairy cows, lying in the quiet summer air. "It's been a strange afternoon."

  "I love the way mystery follows you around." Max linked his arm with Libby's. "If you're worried, we could do a little quiet sleuthing to see what's worrying Belinda. What do you know about the rest of the family?"

  "There's Sarah's father, Mike. According to Sarah, he spends every waking hour out in the fields or in his office managing the farm."

  "I don't know Mike well," Max said. "But he's a member of the skittles team."

  Libby laughed. "That's a vote of confidence, then."

  "Who's that talking to Sarah?"

  "Tim. He's Sarah's older brother, but doesn't live on the farm. Works for a feed company in Minehead, I believe."

  It was almost dark, the clear sky filling with stars. "Time for the evening entertainment?" Max took Libby's arm as they strolled inside to find a group of young farmers clutching guitars, ukuleles, and an accordion.

  The leader counted, "One, two, three, four…" the guests cheered, and the band launched into one of the Wurzels' greatest hits.

  As the quests roared out a chorus at the top of their lungs, the marquee shuddered and rocked as a heavy weight hit the canvas. A woman screamed. After a moment of stunned silence, the guests rushed outside to find a young man entangled in guy ropes.

  He staggered up, cursing. Sarah's brother Tim, smart wedding suit tight on the legs and arms, fists raised, aimed a punch at the young man's head. "I know you took it."

  This time, his opponent was ready. He ducked sideways and Tim crashed to the ground. Winded, he gasped, "Search his pockets. He's got the ring."

  "You lying…"

  Robert appeared. "What's going on? Tim, what's this all about?"

  "Liam Weston's got the ring. I saw him pick it up." Tim stood, brushing grass from his jacket.

  The other lad narrowed his eyes. Built like a boxer, he looked capable of giving Tim Carmichael a hammering. "I dropped a coin, that's all."

  "Prove it."

  Sarah was sobbing. "Tim, please don't do this. You've had too much to drink."

  "Look here, Sarah." Liam Weston held out his hands. "You know I'd never steal from your family. You've known me all your life."

  Sarah gulped.

  "Tell you what, I'll turn my pockets out. Prove my innocence."

  He handed his jacket to Sarah. "Look in the pockets."

  Sarah slid her hand into each pocket, one after another, inside and out. "There's nothing there." She held out one hand, showing the stub of a pencil and a few coins. "That's all he's got."

  Tim's mouth twisted. "What about his trouser pockets?"

  "Oh, really." Sarah snapped. "You're going too far."

  Tim thrust his hands into the pockets of Liam's trousers and, with a triumphant flourish, held up the ring. "See. Here it is."

  Bridge

  "A dose of fresh air is just what we need." Max turned off the Land Rover's engine and opened all the doors. Bear leapt out and waited, tongue lolling, for Shipley to follow. "Should we keep Shipley on the lead?"

  Libby came round the car and leaned against the door, breathing in the scent of summer on Exmoor. "I think we should. He's only lived with you a few days. He's always been a bit wild, and he's hard to control when he's over-excited. I wouldn't trust him around sheep."

  Libby had walked Shipley for his former owner when she first arrived in Exham on Sea. It broke her heart when he was abandoned. Tanya, the local vet, had taken him in on a temporary basis, but Libby begged Max to take him on as a companion to Bear. She wondered if she'd made a mistake. Shipley was a springer spaniel, a breed known for excitability. He'd chased her cat, Fuzzy, into hiding in the airing cupboard on his first visit.

  A warm breeze whipped Libby's hair against her face. "That was some wedding reception."

  "I used to think my job was exciting until you came to Exham."

  Libby giggled. "The past two years have been like a roller-coaster. I never know what's going to happen next. Good job I like surprises. It was a funny day, yesterday. I mean, apart from that stupid fight. Watching my only son get married made me feel old…" Her voice died away. She avoided mentioning marriage when she was with Max. He'd made it plain he wanted Libby in his life, and he'd mentioned marriage, but he'd never asked in so many words if she would be his wife. She was glad of that, for she found it impossible to decide how she'd answer. Marriage seemed so final.

  Libby's friend, Angela, had suggested Max was scared she might turn him down, but Libby had snorted. The man was so confident, so self-assured. If he wanted something, he'd ask for it. Angela had raised an immaculate eyebrow and given a knowing smile. "People put on a good front, sometimes, to avoid disappointment. Is Max really as confident as you imagine? Maybe his divorce put him off another wedding."

  Libby grimaced. Her own marriage hadn't worked so well the first time, with Trevor. Her law-abiding, insurance agent husband had turned out to be a criminal. If he hadn't died suddenly, he'd probably be in prison right now. As a result, reluctant to make another mistake, she'd reached some kind of impasse with Max. They'd agreed they wanted a relationship, but each kept stepping back from the brink of marriage.

  As though following her train of thought, a discomforting knack he possessed, Max asked, "Have Robert and Ali recovered from the shock of finding their father was a crook?"

  "Ali's seeking solace in fixing the world's problems. She's still in Brazil, volunteering. Robert was close to Trevor, but now he has Sar
ah." Libby tugged Shipley's lead, pulling him back from Bear, who'd tracked down an interesting scent. "I've recovered, too, mainly thanks to you, Max."

  "Stop. You'll make me blush." As Max laughed, Libby breathed more easily. She'd navigated the awkward moment in safety.

  They followed a path through a field. Nearby, the hedges rustled with life. The air was filled with the song of blue tits and wrens, and from time to time a sparrow flashed across the path, driving Shipley mad with frustration. Dunster Castle dominated a hill in the distance. By the side of the field trickled one of the rivers that criss-cross Exmoor, its banks wooded with oak and beech. A lark rose, singing its heart-lifting song. Libby stopped and shaded her eyes against the sun, trying to spot the bird as it spiralled high in the air. "Bear. Come here." Bear looked over his shoulder, hesitated, finally lumbering back to her side. "Should we find out more about the ring, do you think?"

  Max snorted. "I was waiting for you to suggest it―I knew you couldn't resist the temptation. Of course, we won't get paid―not that you ever charge enough."

  Libby winced. She'd been a successful baker and chocolatier, but the fledgling private investigation service posed a far greater financial challenge. She often undertook inquiries for nothing.

  "The really interesting cases are too exciting to resist, even when no one's paying for our services. Like the body in the cathedral library…"

  Max threw a stick for Bear. "I'm glad you said that, because you're right. It's hard to make ends meet on an ad hoc basis. I've been doing a few calculations of my own, and after a lot of negotiation, I've agreed an arrangement with my previous employers."

  "The government. You mean, you haven't entirely given up spying?"

  He laughed. "I think describing my financial audits as spying is going a bit far. Still, I heard from the police head honcho the other day. I did some work with them, if you remember, over a ring of vehicle thieves. The Chief Constable is looking at some kind of consultancy, paying a retainer, so he can call on private investigation services at short notice."

  Libby fell silent.

  "What's wrong?" Max frowned into Libby's face. "Don't you like that idea?"

  She wriggled. "I know it's ridiculous, but I feel a bit like the junior partner in this business. You're paying your way already."

  "You didn't let me finish." Max stopped walking. "It's not just my skills the police are interested in, but yours as well. That business at the cathedral—"

  "Didn't earn any money from that, did I?"

  "But once again, you were ahead of the police. They've reorganised since Chief Inspector Arnold moved on. Joe's been promoted to detective inspector, and he's working for a new guy, Detective Chief Inspector Morrison."

  "And I suppose this Morrison is one of your secret handshake Masonic Brotherhood."

  Max laughed. "You know I'm not a Mason. Wasn't it Groucho Marx who said he'd never join a society that would have him as a member? I think that applies to me. Anyway, those days are pretty much over. The Chief Constable can't go further than saying they're interested in working with us, but they'd like to," he put on a pompous, official voice, "interview us with a view to retaining us both as consultants."

  Libby felt a grin steal across her face. "Imagine that. It would make me feel like a proper investigator." She thought aloud. "Mandy's been doing well with the chocolate business, so I could pass more of that to her. Still, it doesn't help our decision. Are we going to investigate the mystery of why Liam Weston stole the ring?"

  "Look on it as a chance to hone your skills," Max said. "You know you want to."

  A little knot of excitement formed in Libby's stomach at the thought of working officially with the police. Maybe this private investigator business would work after all.

  She jumped as Shipley tugged the lead. The dog's nose was close to the ground, following an interesting scent. Libby slid her hand through his collar. "Come on Shipley. You can't follow every rabbit down its hole." The dog ignored her.

  She hauled on the lead, but the dog resisted, paws planted firmly on the grass. Max looked back. "What's bothering Shipley?"

  "I don't know. Springers are bred as gun dogs. When they catch a scent, they stop and point with their noses. I don't think Shipley's been trained for that, but he's inherited a great sense of smell. He can find things even Bear doesn't notice."

  "Maybe we should let Shipley lead us. He seems very sure there's something interesting ahead. Maybe there are deer nearby."

  Libby let the lead go slack. "Go on, old fellow. Show us what's bothering you."

  Shipley, no longer constricted, crept forward with legs bent, his belly close to the grass. He led the way down through the trees towards the river, following a muddy path. As they rounded a bend, a small stone bridge appeared in the distance, spanning the water.

  "What's that?" A splash of red, ruby bright, caught Libby's attention.

  "Not sure." Max broke into a run. "Looks like an accident."

  A tractor lay on its side where the bridge met the bank. Libby gasped. "There's someone underneath." Panting, she knelt by the man's side. "He's not dead, is he?"

  "I'm very much afraid so." Max's fingers searched for a pulse.

  Libby's stomach heaved. "Max, don't you see who it is?"

  Max's face was grim. "I'm afraid I do. It's that lad from the fight."

  "Liam Weston. The farmhand who works for Mike. The one who stole the ring."

  Max had his phone pressed to his ear, speaking to the police. Libby took a step back. The first time she'd found a body in Exham, she'd moved it. She still blushed at the memory. Joe Ramshore had been furious.

  Still, it wouldn't hurt to look, as long as she didn't touch. Keeping her distance, she let her eyes run over every inch of Liam's body, from the baseball cap a few inches from his head, to a single battered brown boot. His other leg was twisted under his body.

  Blood had trickled from a head wound and soaked into the ground, leaving ominous brown stains on the grass. Liam's eyes, sightless, stared up at the sky, where the lark still sang. Libby shivered.

  Dividing the ground into imaginary quadrants, she tried to examine every tuft of grass with her eyes. Here and there, daisies poked cheerful heads above the grass. The ground was dry around Liam's body, since there had been no rain for days. She could see no sign of footprints.

  Max called, "They're on the way."

  Libby didn't reply. Something was glinting in the sunlight. She squinted. It was metallic and shiny. "Max, can you see?" She pointed.

  "What is it?"

  "I can't tell exactly, but it looks like a key. A tiny, gold key."

  A car pulled up a hundred yards away, decanting the first police arrivals. Libby's fingers itched to pick up the key, but the police sergeant waved her away. In minutes, the area was sealed off with bright yellow tape, officers in white suits bent over the body and tractor. Photographers recorded every inch of the scene.

  Libby's head swirled with questions.

  ***

  "I'm afraid this has put the cart before the horse." An air of gloom suffused Detective Chief Inspector Morrison's long face. Sitting opposite Libby and Max at a plain wooden table in the police station, he sucked coffee through a voluminous moustache.

  Libby's heart had returned to normal but she couldn't shift the sick feeling inside her stomach. She would never get used to seeing a dead body.

  DCI Morrison took a Hobnob from the plate, sighed, bit into it and continued. "We were planning to meet with you to work out the kind of consultancy contract we need, according to all these EU rules and regulations we have to abide by for now." He sighed again. "It seems events have overtaken us, and you two have got yourselves involved already, so let's work together, see how things go, and use this nasty business as a trial run." He took another bite of the biscuit, sat back in his chair, and narrowed his eyes, watching Libby's reaction. She hoped her expression conveyed the right amount of interest and gave no sign of her internal wobbles.


  Morrison pursed his lips, nodded once, sharply, and continued, "I'm the Senior Investigating Officer. Joe Ramshore will be leading the inquiry team, so you need to liaise with him. Max, I'm well aware he's your son, which is tricky, but I'll make sure that information goes up the line to the Commissioner, so there's no suspicion of nepotism."

  Max nodded. "The last thing I want to do is tread on Joe's toes. I'm aware he's newly promoted and he'll want to do things properly."

  Morrison rotated the biscuit in his hand, regarding it intensely, as though wondering whether it was poisoned. Libby debated whether the man was naturally melancholy, or whether his job had driven him to despair. "Of course. The police will handle all aspects of the investigation. Your role will be providing background checks where necessary. Be aware that at present this is an investigation into an accident."

  Libby said, "Is there any evidence that it might be more than just an accident?"

  The DCI took a long drink, replaced the mug on the table, and grimaced. "Our minds are open at the moment. Given your past record of finding murder victims even when all the evidence points towards an accident, we're not ruling anything out." His eyes were sharp. "I appreciate the low profile you've kept in the past, and the fact that your name rarely appears in the newspapers. I would very much like that to continue." The police officer was giving her a warning.

  She smiled, as innocently as possible. "What are you expecting us to do?"

  "Make use of your local knowledge. Find out whether there's any possibility of foul play. There are one or two points I've asked my team to follow up, even before the pathologist's report arrives. For example, there are several bruises on the body, especially the arms. The bruises match, as though someone grabbed hold of the victim from behind. They could have been made by a thumb and fingers."