‘No, not as far as I can see,’ said Fran.
‘I’ll go and make the tea,’ said Libby, and went back into the kitchen.
Fran sat in the garden and absent-mindedly stroked Sidney’s head while staring up into the cherry tree. Why did she still get the image of a farm? Somehow illegal immigrants working on farms didn’t seem to be the answer, yet farms were still in her head. She shook it.
‘Here.’ Libby sat a tray on her rickety table. ‘Biscuits as well. Bel showed me how to make these. They’re ginger.’
Fran peered at the plate. ‘Are you sure? They look like real ones.’
‘I know! Great, aren’t they? Fancy my daughter showing me how to make something as good as this. Mind you, I’m getting through loads of Golden Syrup.’
‘Mmm.’ Fran bit into a biscuit. ‘They are good. Not for the figure, though.’
‘Oh, I’ve given up on the figure,’ said Libby, sitting down and kicking off her sandals. ‘Now, what about the Transnistrian? Where did she live?’
‘I don’t know.’ Fran looked bewildered. ‘I didn’t ask.’
‘And have you found out any more about the country?’
‘I haven’t gone into it. It just seems a really odd place. Someone calls it the Black Hole of Europe.’
‘Sounds like somebody made it up,’ said Libby.
‘That’s what I thought at first, but it’s a real place.’
‘Right.’ Libby picked up her mug and sat up straight. ‘Ask Mr Mclean. Then we’ll go investigating.’
‘I don’t honestly see what this has to do with the body on the island,’ said Fran. ‘I think you’re grasping at straws.’
‘Maybe, but at least it gets us working. We’ve done nothing but potter about over the last week, and tomorrow you’re off to Chrissie’s, aren’t you? So Saturday we really ought to be doing something.’
‘Look, Lib, we’re not real detectives. And you’re not even supposed to be part of the investigation.’ Fran eyed her friend warily, waiting for the outburst. Surprisingly, it didn’t come.
‘I know that, but you’ve been invited into it legitimately, and you said yourself I’d be useful. And you know you want to find out really. So we act like real detectives and start with whatever we’ve got.’ Libby sat back in her chair and closed her eyes.
‘Right.’ Fran thought for a moment. ‘I suppose it makes sense. I’ll phone McLean tomorrow and ask about the Transnistrian before I go to Chrissie’s.’
‘OK.’ Libby opened her eyes. ‘And it’s the audition tomorrow night. You won’t be there for it, but can I say you’re doing Props?’
‘You can, but you can also ask for a volunteer to do it with me. I’m not doing it all on my own.’
‘Right,’ said Libby thoughtfully. ‘That’s given me an idea.’
‘Oh, no,’ said Fran with a familiar groan. ‘Don’t tell me. Jane Maurice.’
‘Well, of course,’ said Libby. ‘It makes perfect sense. She lives in Nethergate and so do you, so you could share the driving, and she wouldn’t be doing something on her own.’
‘Always supposing the poor girl actually wants to do something.’
‘Look, you’re just prejudiced because she tried to turn you into a media star,’ said Libby. ‘She’s only trying to do her job, and as I keep saying to everybody, she’s lonely.’
‘OK,’ said Fran with a sigh, ‘you ask her. And I’ll find out anything else I can about our Transnistrian.’
‘That’s the spirit.’ Libby beamed at her friend. ‘I’ve missed having something to do. And now, why did you feel it was so urgent you had to come over rather than ringing me?’
Fran looked sheepish. ‘I feel a bit silly, really.’
‘Not like you.’
‘No, I know. But I had this sudden desire to see where Jane lived, so I drove past thinking I’d go on to the supermarket afterwards.’
‘And?’
‘Well, it was really odd. You told me Jane’s Aunt had left her the house, didn’t you? And I suppose that made me think about the similarity of our circumstances, especially as Jane’s house is also converted into flats like Mountville Road was.’
‘Go on,’ said Libby, as Fran paused.
‘I said it was silly,’ said Fran, peering down into her mug. ‘I suddenly thought, as I drove past, I knew which one it was and something nasty had happened there.’
Libby stared. ‘You think it was just because of your own experience of Mountville Road?’
‘I don’t know what to think.’
‘Funny.’ Libby frowned. ‘When I had lunch with Harry he asked if Jane was anything to do with the body. I said only because she saw it first. But I wonder.’
Fran looked startled. ‘Oh, come on,’ she said, ‘that’s quite ridiculous. We’re talking real life here, not coincidental detective stories. Besides, since when did Harry become psychic?’
‘That’s what I said to him, but I think he was just putting two and two together like we have in the past.’
‘And made five, also as we have,’ said Fran.
‘Yeah, yeah, I know. But look, she spotted the body, didn’t she? Suppose she was a plant?’
‘You’ve met her. I don’t think she’d be capable. And you’re not suggesting she murdered someone and planted the body all by herself just to get a story, are you?’
‘Of course not.’
‘Anyway,’ said Fran, ‘I didn’t get a bad feeling about Jane but about the house.’
‘Oh, well, it was a thought,’ said Libby.
‘You’re the one who wants to befriend her. You can’t have her as a suspect as well.’
Libby grinned. ‘I know. Mass of contradictions, me.’
‘Well,’ said Fran, ‘I suppose I’d better go and do that shopping.’
‘And make that phone call.’ Libby stood up. ‘I shall phone young Jane and tell her what we’ve got in mind.’
‘I wouldn’t,’ said Fran, following her out of the garden. ‘She might not come!’
‘I shall merely invite her here first, then,’ said Libby loftily. ‘I know how to be tactful.’
Fran raised her eyebrows and shook her head at Sidney.
‘The trouble is, she believes it,’ she told him.
Chapter Nine
‘The TRANSNISTRIAN GIRL IS now in a detention centre waiting to be sent home,’ Fran reported the following morning. ‘Poor thing, straight from prison to a detention centre and now she’s got to go back. Still McLean’s going to see if the police will either let me talk to her or talk to her themselves. He seems to think it’s a long shot and is fairly dubious.’
‘But he’s got to give you the benefit of the doubt, hasn’t he? Now the police have asked for the investigation,’ said Libby.
‘Yes, but he’s not nearly as keen, now. When it was all his idea it was a real project, but now he’s got to play it by the police rules and not even feature me, he doesn’t like it.’
‘Will he feature you at the end, do you think?’
‘I hope not,’ said Fran with fervour. ‘He’s supposed to keep me out of it.’
‘But that’s cheating. How could Ian have harnessed his co-operation without you as a carrot?’
‘I don’t know. I have the feeling I might have to appear at the end, not necessarily in person, but as a hook to hang the story on.’ Fran sighed. ‘I hate this.’
‘Well, you go off to Chrissie’s and have a lovely time babysitting Cassandra, and call me when you get back,’ said Libby. ‘Meanwhile, I shall take Jane to the audition and pump her for information about her house.’
‘Oh, Libby, don’t do that,’ said Fran. ‘I’m not sure at all about what I felt yesterday. Just leave it.’
But when Libby phoned Jane at her office to invite her to come to Allhallow’s Lane before the audition, her house was obviously the first thing on her mind.
‘I’ve had three answers to the ad,’ she told Libby gleefully. ‘That was so clever of you to suggest it. I don’t know why I didn’t
think of it before.’
‘Oh, excellent,’ said Libby. ‘When are you seeing them?’
‘Actually, Terry’s going to show them round this afternoon,’ said Jane. ‘It was his idea. He said women on their own shouldn’t do it, and it was as well to show them there was a man around.’
‘Well!’ said Libby, grinning into the phone. Her instincts had been correct, then. ‘That’s good. So are you still going to come to the audition tonight? I thought you might want to come to my house first, then we can go together. I’ve got a proposition for you.’
‘Oh?’ Jane sounded wary.
‘If you still want to come, of course.’
‘Oh, yes. I think you must be bringing me luck.’ Jane gave a little laugh. ‘Or just given me a boot up the backside.’
Libby privately agreed. ‘You were trying to be pro-active with the job,’ she said, ‘it just wasn’t extending to your private life.’
‘No,’ said Jane. ‘Anyway, I’ll come to your house this evening, if I may. What time and where?’
After Libby had given directions to Allhallow’s Lane and arranged for Jane to arrive at a quarter past seven, she called Peter to discuss the audition.
‘Is it going to be a problem if I go for the Fairy?’ she asked. ‘Will people be annoyed and mutter about pre-casting?’
‘Probably,’ said Peter, ‘but I couldn’t care less. I’m going to announce Bob and Baz and Tom as pre-cast anyway, so I might as well add you. This lot aren’t all as experienced as we are, so they should be pleased we’ve got good people in the lead parts.’
‘If you say so,’ said Libby. ‘Did Harry tell you I’m bringing along a new member?’
‘Yes. He seemed a bit worried about her, though.’
‘Why? He’s never met her.’
‘It seems you met her through this new murder,’ said Peter, and Libby could imagine the expression on his patrician features.
‘I wouldn’t put it quite like that,’ said Libby, bridling, ‘but yes, she was the first one to spot the body, which is hardly an involvement, is it?’
‘If you say so. Anyway, if you think she’s OK, that’s fine by me.’
‘I thought she could assist Fran with props. Fran’s happy with that, and as they both live in Nethergate they can share lifts and so on.’
‘Sounds all right to me,’ said Peter. ‘See you there then. Oh – and don’t interfere.’
‘As if I would,’ said Libby to Sidney as she put down the phone.
Jane arrived at twenty past seven that evening full of apologies for being late.
‘I completely missed the turning,’ she said. ‘I went sailing on towards Canterbury and realised I’d run out of village.’
‘Never mind,’ said Libby. ‘You’re here now. Drink before we go?’
‘I’d better not,’ said Jane, ‘I’ve got to drive home.’
‘Tea, then? Coffee?’
‘No, I’m fine, thank you.’ Jane looked round the sitting room. ‘Oh, what a gorgeous cat.’
‘That’s Sidney. My friends call him my familiar, but I think that’s a bit mean. He’s not the friendliest cat in the world, but quite a good guard cat.’
Jane squatted down and held her hand out to be sniffed. Sidney obliged, then tucked his head back under his paw and pretended to go back to sleep. His ears gave him away.
‘So tell me,’ said Libby, waving a hand at the armchair while she sat on the creaky sofa. ‘What happened with the prospective tenants?’
‘There was quite a fight, apparently,’ said Jane, her little face lighting up. ‘The first person really wanted it, then the second offered to pay more, which is unheard of, according to the agents. The third liked it but said it was a bit too expensive, so the agents have said whichever of the first two supplies references which can be checked immediately, gets it. Oh, and if their cheque clears, of course.’
‘Won’t they use a credit card? That clears straight away,’ said Libby.
‘Oh, I don’t know, but anyway, it looks as though I shall have a tenant at last.’ Jane smiled and sat back in the chair. ‘And all thanks to you.’
‘Nonsense,’ said Libby. ‘The agents hadn’t marketed it properly or it would have gone long before this. Did Terry take the photos for you?’
‘Yes, I meant to thank you for that, too,’ said Jane innocently. ‘He came up after you’d gone and said he’d seen you and you said I’d got a favour to ask. I never would have managed that on my own, you know.’
‘I know,’ said Libby, ‘that’s why I asked him. Would have been a bit of a setback if he’d said no, but thankfully he didn’t. So what happened?’
‘He came up with his digital camera and took some shots of the rooms, then downloaded them onto my laptop, and after we’d chosen the best, I composed an ad and sent the whole package to the advertising department. It was a bit late, but they put me in on a news page, which probably made all the difference.’
‘I’m sure it did,’ said Libby. ‘What happened then?’
‘Then?’ Jane shook her head. ‘Nothing, why?’
‘Didn’t you even give the poor lad a cup of tea?’
‘Oh.’ Jane blushed. ‘Yes, of course. Actually, we had a glass of wine.’
Good start, thought Libby.
‘And I’m taking him out for a curry tomorrow to say thank you.’ Jane’s colour was by now so high she matched Libby’s rug.
‘Excellent,’ said Libby, beaming. ‘See? That wasn’t so hard, was it? A friend. And now lets go and make some more.’
On the way to the theatre, in between Jane’s exclamations of pleasure at the quaintness of the village, Libby explained about her plan to give the props job to Fran and for Jane to assist.
‘There won’t be that much to do,’ she said, ‘especially not at first.’
‘It’s very early, isn’t it?’ said Jane, as they turned into the Manor Drive, which also led to The Oast House Theatre. ‘I thought panto was at Christmas.’
Libby looked at her. ‘Of course it is.’
‘Then why are you having auditions at the beginning of August?’
‘Because we have to start rehearsing in October and people need to know what they’re doing. If they don’t get a part in this they might want to go for something else with another company. We’ve got several people who belong to more than one group.’
‘Oh, I see.’ Jane nodded. ‘But you have one of the best reputations, don’t you? I looked you up on the group files.’
‘The group files?’
‘Yes, the group which owns the Mercury. I looked you up.’
‘Well, I don’t know about that,’ said Libby, preening nevertheless. ‘My old group had one of the best reputations, and we had several pros and ex pros on both the technical and acting sides. I borrowed quite a lot of them when we did our first production here.’
‘Oh, that was the play when the murder happened, wasn’t it?’
‘Yes.’ Libby pushed open the glass doors of The Oast House Theatre. ‘Here we are.’
Impressed, Jane looked around. ‘I didn’t expect anything like this,’ she said.
‘It helps when the son of the family who own the building is an architect,’ said Libby proudly, looking round with satisfaction.
‘And who is also the best beloved of the company’s best director,’ said Ben, coming up behind them and putting an arm round Libby’s shoulders. ‘You must be Jane.’ He held out his hand. ‘I’m Ben.’
‘It also helps, of course, when the nephew of the family happens to be the best playwright and second best director,’ said Peter, descending the spiral staircase from his favourite place, the lighting and sound box.
‘Oh.’ Jane looked slightly overwhelmed as she shook hands with them both.
‘And you’re going to be our new props assistant,’ said Peter.
‘Well, I –’ began Jane, but Peter clapped her on the back.
‘Excellent,’ he said. ‘Ben, can I have a word?’
Later, when the auditions were well under way and Libby could slip away, she took Jane on a tour of the theatre.
‘This is the play that will be on stage next,’ she said, waving a hand at the jigsaw of pieces which would eventually make up the set. ‘Wycherly’s Country Wife.’
‘Oh?’ Jane looked blank.
‘Restoration piece,’ said Libby. ‘Some of the group members wanted to try something serious, although The Country Wife is hardly serious. Very bawdy, in fact. But classic English drama.’
‘Ah,’ said Jane.
‘Anyway, look, here’s what I wanted to show you. Their props table.’
Set in the wings, but well back from the stage was a long trestle table, laden with odd items, tankards, handkerchiefs and parchment letters.
‘There’s another the other side of the stage,’ said Libby, ‘and a props cupboard in the corridor by the dressing room.’
‘It’s all a bit complicated,’ said Jane, looking scared.
‘Nothing to it,’ said Libby. ‘We have two tables, and it’s the responsibility of each actor to pick up his or her personal props before going on stage. Large props are sorted out by the props team, and in the panto, that’ll be you and Fran.’
‘Right,’ said Jane looking round at the stage and up into the flies. ‘Will they have finished the audition yet?’
Peter had the harassed look of someone who had heard the same thing too many times over. Libby waggled her fingers at him and he sat up straight.
‘Right, thank you,’ he said to the actors before him, who stopped mid-sentence. ‘Now we’ll try something with our pre-cast members and see how you all get on with them.’
This part of the audition turned into an entertainment in itself, and Libby was gratified to see Jane laughing heartily. When invited for the customary drink afterwards, in the theatre bar rather than the pub, she accepted happily and was made a fuss of by several of the middle aged men, who should, she said to Ben, have known better.
‘But at least she’ll feel accepted,’ said Ben, ‘and that’s what you wanted.’
‘Yes, but I don’t want her to lose out on Terry,’ grumbled Libby, seeing her matchmaking plans melt away.
‘Who’s Terry?’ Ben looked bewildered.
‘Oh, never mind,’ said Libby. ‘Come on, let’s rescue her.’
Murder by the Sea - Libby Sarjeant Murder Mystery Series Page 7
