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

by Frances Evesham

  Shipley appeared from behind her back and Fuzzy hissed. Libby diverted the dog down the stairs and out into the garden.

  Back in the kitchen, she settled in Mandy's chair and looked at the business records. An hour later, she raised her head and rubbed her eyes. The business was fine. She should be excited, but despite her best attempts she couldn't raise more than a small smile. Mandy was doing a lot of the heavy lifting. The records showed increased sales, not only to Jumbles, their main outlet in Bath, but also to other department stores in Bristol and even Exeter. Three small shops in Taunton were stocking Mrs Forest Chocolates.

  Libby had to face it. Mandy was a far better businesswoman than she would ever be. She'd earned the car.

  As Libby finished adding columns of figures, her phone rang. Her heart lurched as she glanced at the display screen. Why was Robert phoning from his honeymoon?

  "Mum?" The panicked voice was almost unrecognisable. "It's Sarah. She's gone."

  Sarah

  "Where are you?" Libby managed to keep her voice calm.

  "I'm in the hotel. Mum, I don't know what to do."

  Libby guessed he was pacing, unable to settle. "Sit down, breathe out, and tell me what happened."

  "Sarah and I had a row, yesterday. It wasn't anything really, just one of those stupid arguments about which restaurant to choose. I wanted to eat in the hotel and she wanted to go somewhere new."

  "That doesn't sound too serious. Did she drive off in a huff, or something?"

  "No, nothing like that. We made it up. I took her out to the hotel she wanted, though I don't know why she was so keen to go there. It wasn't as nice as this place."

  Libby forced herself to be patient. "So when did she disappear?"

  "We finished our steaks and the waitress brought the dessert menu. Sarah can't resist a dessert. She's a Pavlova and chocolate tart kind of a girl, but before she'd even ordered, she went to the ladies and didn't come back."

  "You mean, she left the restaurant?"

  "She took the car. I had to get a taxi."

  At least, if she'd taken the car, it was Sarah's choice to leave. She hadn't been abducted. Libby had been letting her imagination run away. She opened her mouth to ask questions, but closed it again. She'd never find the truth through the telephone. Instead, she said, "I'm on my way. Don't move until I arrive."

  ***

  The hotel was a large, five star affair on the Devon and Somerset border overlooking the sea. It was hardly any distance from Exham as the crow flew, but the winding roads of rural Somerset tripled the length of the journey. Stuck behind a tractor on the steep incline from Porlock, Libby gripped the wheel with white knuckles.

  She should have asked Max to lend her the Land Rover, but they hadn't spoken since the quiz. She'd been too annoyed about Kate Stephenson. The car chugged slowly up the hill and she feared the engine was about to give up the attempt. "Hurry up," she muttered through clenched teeth.

  As the vehicle coughed its way between the tall ivy-covered walls leading to the hotel, Libby's stomach turned over as she caught sight of her son, waving from the imposing entrance. She left the car on the gravel drive. She'd argue with the hotel management later, if necessary.

  Robert's face was puffy and pink. He'd looked like that as a little boy, falling over, scraping his hands and knees, and then trying not to cry. Usually undemonstrative, he wrapped his arms round his mother in a giant bear hug. "I'm so glad you're here. I just didn't know what to do."

  Libby led him into the lounge and ordered cups of tea, judging that to be more calming than coffee. He was already hyped up.

  At last, stammering and hiccuping, he told Libby the story. He'd waited in the restaurant, choosing dessert, relieved Sarah had forgotten their quarrel. He'd topped up her glass and settled back, looking round the room. "After she'd been gone about a quarter of an hour, I thought it was part of some practical joke," he said. "You know how the lads were teasing, saying they knew where we were going for the honeymoon. I thought they might have set me up, but the place was full of couples and I didn't recognise anyone."

  He tried to laugh and Libby thought her heart would break as he screwed his knuckles into his eyes. "Eventually, I asked one of the waitresses to go into the ladies to check for Sarah."

  "But she wasn't there?"

  "She'd disappeared."

  Libby said, "Did you call the police?"

  "They'll say she left of her own accord. After all, she is an adult, but she isn't answering her phone, and she always has it with her."

  "Maybe the battery's run out?"

  Robert gave a painful laugh. "You know Sarah. She's too efficient to let that happen."

  It was true. Libby had often envied Sarah's organisational abilities. "It's probably time to contact the police, now she's been away all night."

  Robert shrugged. "They won't do anything."

  "Not at first" Libby bit off the words. She'd been about to point out the police would be interested once Sarah had been missing for a few days. "Let's get home to Exham. You should go to the farm and tell Sarah's parents while I talk to Max."

  ***

  Max looked hurt. His first words took Libby by surprise. "Why did you go rushing off to Devon without telling me? Maybe I could have helped."

  She clicked her tongue. "I can look after myself, you know." She had no time to worry about his feelings. "Robert's beside himself with worry, and I need to concentrate. What could Sarah have been doing, running away without telling him? They haven't been married a week, yet."

  Max sighed. "Honeymoon quarrels? They're common enough. The happy couple spend a fortune on the ideal wedding, with so many details they're exhausted by the time it happens. They imagine a perfect day, a honeymoon like a holiday advertisement and never a cross word, until reality kicks in. Thousands of couples split up in the first year of marriage."

  Libby frowned. "Even if that's true, this is more than a honeymoon spat. Sarah knows Robert will be beside himself with worry and she'd contact him if she could. I think we should talk to Joe, even if we keep it unofficial, to see what he thinks. After all, having a police officer in the family should give us a few advantages, don't you think?"

  Libby winced at Max's mixed expression of amusement and irritation. She was giving out mixed messages which was unfair, although they accurately represented the confusion in her head. She'd work out whether she wanted to be part of Max's family later. "Please talk to Joe."

  Max held up his hands. "I give in. I'll text him, see if he can come round once he's off duty. He's busy on Liam's case at the moment, and that's more important than Sarah driving off in a huff. At the moment, at least."

  As he texted, Libby pondered aloud. "It's out of character for Sarah. She's always so sensible and thoughtful. She's brought Robert right out of his shell. Since she came into his life, he's sent me lovely presents on Mother's Day and hasn't forgotten my birthday once. She's too kind to let Robert worry, even if she's angry with him." She touched Max's hand. "You don't think something dreadful could have happened to her, do you?"

  Max smiled, and the tension between them disappeared. "Let's not rush ahead, imagining the worst. One step at a time. Logic and good sense are your specialties, Lib, so keep a cool head. We'll work it out."

  Belinda

  While Max phoned his son, Libby watched Shipley exploring every inch of the garden, snuffling behind shrubs and following the trail of night visitors from the kitchen window. Bear leaned against her legs, his eyes on the younger dog, like a wise teacher minding an overexcited pupil.

  Max followed them outside, dropping the phone in his pocket. "Joe agrees there's little the police can do until Sarah's been missing a while. Do her parents know she's missing?"

  "Robert's already at the farm. He dropped me home and took my car." Her son's lanky body hunched over the steering wheel of Libby's tiny car would have made her laugh under less tense circumstances.

  "Let's get over there." Max ushered the dogs into the La
nd Rover, brushing dried mud from the seats. "If Shipley's as clever as you say, maybe we could teach him to work a vacuum cleaner."

  Normally, it would have been a joy to ride through the countryside on such a day, with the mid-June sun shining, but not yet hot enough to bake the soil or dull the green of the grass verges. As they drew near Handiwater, the Carmichaels' farm, Libby's spirits plummeted further. Last time she'd visited, Mike's strange behaviour had unnerved her, and the Papadopoulos couple had set her teeth on edge, but those minor irritations paled to nothing compared to her dread of what she might find today. Belinda, Sarah's mother, would be beside herself with worry.

  Mike was at the table, rocking gently and staring into space. A slice of toast lay, neglected, on a plate. Robert whispered, "I can't get any sense out of him, since I told him Sarah's missing. He's hardly hearing me."

  Max laid a hand on Mike's shoulder. "Mike. Come on, man. Let's find out what's going on."

  Mike's eyes seemed out of focus. "What? What did you say?"

  Libby sat on the opposite side of the table, leaning across to touch Mike's hand. "Where's Belinda?"

  He heaved a long, heavy sigh. "Gone."

  "Gone? Gone where? When?"

  "A few days ago."

  Libby and Max shared a startled look. Max said, "You mean, she was already missing when you were at the quiz?"

  The farmer shrugged. "I thought she'd be back by now. But if Sarah's gone, too…" He left the end of the sentence hanging in the air.

  Max walked round the table, pulled up a chair, and sat next to Libby. "I think you'd better tell us what's going on."

  Mike was silent for a long time, until Libby's urge to give him a good shake became almost overwhelming. At last, Mike seemed to rouse himself from his thoughts. "She's been acting funny lately. We've always had the odd argument. Well, you do when you've been married awhile. She has a temper on her, does Belinda. A firecracker, that's what Sarah calls her."

  Libby felt Robert stiffen at the mention of his new wife's name, but Mike kept talking. "She's often walked out the door, saying she won't return. Always comes back, though."

  Libby put in, "How long does she stay away for?"

  "That's the thing, you see. Never more than twenty-four hours before, no matter how angry she's been."

  Robert stood up, his face pale. "But now, she and Sarah are both missing." He pressed a hand to his mouth. "Something terrible must have happened."

  He looked from Max to Libby, eyes wide, his breathing ragged. "What are we going to do? How are we going to find them?" He took a step towards the door.

  "Wait." Max's voice cut in. "We'll find them, for sure, but we need a plan, or else we'll rush around like headless chickens."

  At that moment, the door flew open and Sarah's brother, Tim, burst in. "I came as fast as I could."

  ***

  Tim's appearance in the farmhouse, looking as pale and distraught as his father, sent the tension levels in the room sky high. Libby put aside her suspicions over Tim's involvement in Liam's death, making a mental note to follow that up later. Meanwhile, his concern for his sister and mother was obvious in his strained face and staring eyes.

  Determined to be practical, Libby said, "The first thing is to go through Belinda's papers." Robert interrupted. "What do you know about all this, Tim?"

  Tim squared up to him. "Are you accusing me?"

  Robert's chin jutted. "Seems to me, whenever you're around, there's trouble."

  Tim, face brick-red and furious, clenched both hands. "At least I haven't lost my wife less than a week after the wedding."

  Robert swung a right towards Tim's face. Max intercepted, grabbing Robert's wrist and twisting it behind his back. Mike, roused from turpitude by the fight, jumped up, snatched at Tim and pinioned his son's arms, with the easy strength of a man who spent his life heaving bales of hay.

  Libby, hands on hips, almost as angry as the two young men, raised her voice. "Can't you concentrate on what's important? Does it always have to be a competition with you boys?"

  Mike changed his grip on Tim, giving his son a shove that sent him reeling back to crash into a chair. It teetered on two legs before clattering to the floor. "What would your mother say?" Mike snarled.

  Tim regained his balance and brushed his jacket, his face mutinous. "He started it."

  As Libby stifled a sudden, inappropriate urge to giggle, Max released Robert and sighed. "What are you, teenagers?"

  Robert, avoiding his mother's eyes, subsided into a chair and leaned his elbows on the table, resting his head in his hands.

  His father raised his voice. "Tim, sit down, shut up for once in your life, and listen." Tim slouched towards the table and obeyed, curling a lip at the top of Robert's head.

  Mike, apparently stirred back to life by the testosterone in the room, laid both hands on the table. "Now, if you two can stop behaving like ten-year-olds for a while, Mrs Forest was about to make suggestions. And before you argue," he forestalled Tim, who was rising from his seat, "Mrs Forest and Mr Ramshore are the experts. You listen to what they have to say or you'll leave my house. Got it?"

  Libby took the sullen silence for agreement. "I was suggesting we go through any papers that Belinda might have in the house, to see if there are any clues as to where she might have gone."

  Tim heaved himself to his feet. "I'll have a look through her desk."

  Max caught Libby's eye, raised one eyebrow a millimetre, and suggested, "It might be better for Libby to look through Belinda's things. You know, they're both women. I'm sure Belinda would rather have it that way."

  Libby had to admire Max's guile. She wanted to get to Belinda's papers before Tim had a chance, for he was still a suspect, and Max had hit on exactly the best way to make that happen. Men were so nervous about 'women's things'. What did they think they were going to find? It was a clever move.

  Tim shrugged. "If you think you can find things quicker. I guess working as a private eye teaches you how to pry into other people's lives."

  Libby groaned as her son, hands balled into fists, scraped his chair back. She held up a hand. "Don't start again."

  Max said, "Tim and Robert, you make lists of Sarah's friends. Tim, you're likely to know her oldest friends while Robert identifies people she sees regularly. With any luck we'll end up with a full list." He turned to Mike. "Maybe you could do the same for Belinda? As soon as we've got the names, we can see if they know anything useful."

  Pathway

  Libby sat at Belinda's desk, situated in the corner of the tiny room used as a farm office. Three large filing cabinets stood in a row along one wall, each neatly labelled. "EU subsidies," she read aloud. "Milk 2000 to 2005," and, "milk 2005 to 2010". Deciding to ignore business documents and look for personal information first, Libby pulled open the top drawer of the desk. It was full of neatly arranged boxes of paper clips, Post-it® notes, staplers, scissors, and rulers. The second drawer was more interesting, containing a haphazard pile of documents. Libby lifted them out, elbowed aside the keyboard on the desktop, and began to work methodically through the pile.

  Most of the papers were letters received in the past few weeks. It seemed this drawer was used as an inbox, which meant the third drawer was probably an outbox. To test the theory, Libby pulled open the third drawer. It was half empty. Belinda clearly used a computer in preference to pen and paper. Returning to the second drawer, Libby flipped through the first few layers of documents.

  Leaflets and government instructions made up most of the correspondence. She found a couple of 'reply to wedding invitation' cards, both offering apologies from friends unable to attend Sarah's wedding. Libby recalled Sarah's excitement about her wedding day and offered up a brief prayer that the young woman had come to no harm. Robert's heart would be broken if anything happened to his new wife.

  She finished reading the letters in the pile, finding nothing of interest, dumped them back in the drawer, flipped the drawer shut, and turned to the computer.


  After the usual wait while the machine slowly woke, a dialogue box appeared requesting a password. Libby was about to return to the kitchen to ask Mike, when her eye was caught by a sticky note attached to the desk lamp. It seemed Belinda, like most people, had difficulty remembering passwords.

  Libby used to keep her own next to the computer, until Max and Mandy joined forces and insisted she set up a spreadsheet with all the passwords she needed, saving it under yet another password. She'd complained, "What if I forget that one?"

  Max had laughed. "I'll put it in my list. And you put mine in yours. So long as at least one of us manages to remember our password, we'll be all right."

  With an effort, Libby swallowed the lump in her throat. He'd probably be sharing passwords with Kate Stephenson, soon. Startled by her own thoughts, Libby dropped the note. It was jealousy, pure and simple, that was making her angry with Max.

  She shook her head. "Not now," she muttered, and entered the combination of numbers and letters. It worked. She could now access Belinda's programs. Email. That was the first place to look.

  She crossed her fingers, hoping Belinda would not have bothered with more passwords, and sure enough, the inbox opened at the first click. Libby scanned the list of senders. Most of the traffic dealt with arrangements for Sarah's wedding and lunches with friends. There was an exchange with Sarah, discussing the colour of the bridesmaids' dresses, and a note to Belinda's aunt, asking whether she needed help to get to the wedding. "And, thank you for lending us your jewellery. Sarah would love to wear the pearls," it ended. They had been the 'something old' worn by the bride.

  One name in the senders' list caught Libby's attention. The sender was X. "Xavier?" she wondered aloud.

  With one click, she opened the email. "Remember not to deviate from the Pathway."