Murder by the Sea - Libby Sarjeant Murder Mystery Series

by Lesley Cookman

  ‘I told Jane I needed the number of the house because you were thinking of sending flowers.’

  ‘Oh, right. Well, I can’t do that on a Sunday, can I?’

  ‘No,’ said Libby, ‘but I can go and get some nice ones from the supermarket and take them round from both of us.’

  ‘Lib, be careful. Don’t start interrogating Jane about this. Or Terry, come to that.’

  ‘What do you take me for?’ said Libby indignantly. ‘Of course I won’t.’

  ‘I know you, don’t forget,’ said Fran. ‘Just wait until I’ve done some more research. Oh, and you don’t happen to know if Jane’s parents are still alive, do you?’

  ‘No, but if her father had been, surely he would have got Peel House. Jessica treated him like a son, Jane said, didn’t she?’

  ‘Yes, that’s right. Bother. He would have known more than Jane.’

  ‘Her mother might, if she’s alive.’

  ‘Why shouldn’t she be? She’d be our age, wouldn’t she?’

  ‘Probably. I’ll let you ask Jane about that.’

  ‘Gee, thanks.’

  ‘Will you go today?’

  ‘I can do. Before lunch, though. Het’s doing us a roast and Lenny and Flo are coming.’

  ‘That’s twice in a week she’s fed you,’ said Fran. ‘Is she buttering you up?’

  ‘No, she just likes cooking for people. And I think she gets a bit lonely. Ben’s not there most of the time, and Greg’s not much company these days.’

  ‘Poor old Greg,’ said Fran. ‘Is there a prognosis?’

  ‘I don’t know. Ben just says he’s getting frailer.’

  ‘But still a charmer,’ said Fran.

  Libby called Ben to ask what time she should be at The Manor, then got into Romeo the Renault to drive to the supermarket. She didn’t like forsaking Ali at the eight-til-late, but the only flowers he ever had were of the garage forecourt variety. Having purchased a large and impressive bouquet and resisted the lure of the food aisles, she went on to Nethergate and parked on the yellow line outside Coastguard Cottage.

  ‘I thought you could sign the card,’ she said to a surprised Fran. ‘Or would you like to come with me? I’m not going to be long. I’ve got to be at The Manor by one thirty.’

  Guy appeared at Fran’s shoulder. She blushed.

  ‘Been helping with the research, Guy?’ asked Libby cheerfully.

  ‘Yes, it’s fascinating, isn’t it? Just shows how little we know about the war years.’ He gave Fran’s arm a squeeze. ‘Why don’t you go with Libby? I’ll book a table at The Swan for us for when you get back.’

  ‘OK.’ Fran was obviously still hesitant. ‘Let me do the card, anyway.’

  They went inside Fran’s living room, where she found a pen and added something to Libby’s message.

  ‘Come on, then,’ said Libby. ‘Quicker we go, the quicker we’ll get back. And you can keep me in check.’

  ‘In check?’ queried Guy.

  ‘Asking too many questions,’ grinned Libby. ‘You know what I’m like.’

  Outside Peel House, Fran stared up at the terrace.

  ‘It’s attractive, isn’t it?’ she said.

  ‘It is. And a gorgeous position. They aren’t terribly big, though. I wonder who lived in them when they were built?’

  ‘Merchants, I think. And I expect they became houses families took for the season.’

  ‘Oh, like Bella’s Shepherd family?’ Libby referred to an investigation the pair of them had become involved with last winter.

  ‘Exactly. Kitchen in the basement, nursery and servants in the attics.’

  ‘Well, it’s the attics where Jane lives now, and Terry’s got the first floor. That’s where they’ll be.’

  Libby pressed Terry’s bell and Jane’s breathy voice came through the grill.

  ‘It’s us, Jane,’ said Libby. ‘Bearing flowers.’

  Terry was sitting in a chair in his living room looking self conscious.

  ‘Thanks,’ he mumbled. ‘Nice of you.’

  Jane looked at him proudly, like a mother with a precocious toddler. ‘I’ll put them in the kitchen sink until I find a vase,’ she said. ‘Would you two like tea or coffee?’

  ‘No, thanks,’ said Fran before Libby could accept. ‘We won’t hold you up.’

  ‘So, did you think of anything else, Terry?’ asked Libby, while Jane took the flowers away.

  ‘No. Nothing was stolen. Can’t understand it.’

  ‘Libby said drawers and a cupboard were attacked, is that right?’ asked Fran.

  ‘Yeah. And a window frame.’ He shook his head and winced. ‘Mad.’

  Libby noticed Fran’s face was alight with interest. ‘Do you think it’s the house they were interested, not you?’ she said.

  ‘The house?’ Jane had come back into the room. ‘Why on earth would it be the house?’

  ‘I don’t know. I know nothing about it, except that your aunt owned it.’

  ‘Would your parents know anything about it, Jane?’ asked Fran. ‘You said your father was like a son to Jessica.’

  ‘My father died years ago,’ said Jane, ‘or he would have got the house. I don’t think mother liked Aunt Jessica very much, although she did her duty by her. It was Mum who organised the home. And it was a very good one.’

  That confirms that, thought Libby.

  ‘Anyway, what’s the house got to do with it?’ asked Jane. ‘It was Terry who was attacked.’

  ‘Just a thought, as nothing of his was stolen,’ said Fran carelessly. ‘Anyway, glad to see you’re recovering, Terry.’ She stood up. ‘We’ll leave you in peace.’

  Libby opened her mouth to protest, but stood up silently on meeting Fran’s steely gaze.

  ‘Bye Jane,’ she said. ‘Call if you need anything.’

  ‘So?’ she said to Fran as soon as they were back in Romeo. ‘What was that about?’

  ‘I’m going to phone Connell,’ said Fran, getting out her mobile. ‘It’s the house. There’s something there.’

  ‘Connell’s got nothing to do with this case,’ said Libby, starting the car. ‘He’s doing the body on the island, if you’ve forgotten.’

  ‘I know, but he’ll know who’s handling this case.’

  ‘Which is probably only down as GBH and burglary, not murder.’

  ‘GBH is serious enough,’ said Fran, holding the phone to her ear. ‘Now shut up.’

  ‘Ian’s not on duty at the moment,’ she said, switching off after a short conversation. ‘But they’ll pass on a message.’

  ‘And what do you expect to happen then?’ asked Libby, drawing up outside Coastguard Cottage. ‘I don’t suppose you’re Ian’s favourite person after letting him down over the body on the island.’

  ‘I’m sure he understands what I do isn’t an exact science,’ said Fran, unfastening her seat belt.

  ‘At the beginning of the week you had convinced yourself it wasn’t a science at all,’ said Libby. ‘In fact, it didn’t even exist, if you mean your own particular brand of science.’

  ‘I know,’ sighed Fran, pausing with her hand on the door handle. ‘But as soon as I realised that this feeling about Peel House was getting stronger and stronger, I had to give in to it.’

  ‘And now you’ve justified it.’

  Fran nodded.

  ‘So what about that connection you invented about the body being connected to our Transnistrian girl?’

  ‘I was just looking for connections – anything. It was tenuous, to say the least, wasn’t it?’ She smiled faintly at Libby.

  ‘I’ll say! But interesting. Pity we couldn’t follow that one up as well.’

  ‘Lib,’ warned Fran. ‘Don’t go trying to investigate things on your own. It’s nothing to do with us. You’re welcome to help me with the research into Jessica Maurice and Simon Madderling if you really want to.’

  ‘Of course I want to, it’s fascinating, as Guy said. But you must tell Jane. It wouldn’t be fair to keep her in the da
rk.’

  ‘No.’ Fran looked thoughtful. ‘But I’d really like to speak to her mother first. I wonder how I could manage that?’

  ‘I’ll find out,’ said Libby. ‘I’m good at that sort of thing.’

  ‘Just don’t get into trouble,’ said Fran opening the car door. ‘You’re good at that, too.’

  Chapter Twenty

  HOWEVER, IT WASN’T AS easy as Libby had hoped to trace Jane’s mother. Short of asking outright, she couldn’t decide which way to go. She didn’t even know Jane’s birth date, so the Family Records office route was closed to her. When she got back to Allhallow’s Lane after lunch at The Manor, she spent the afternoon on the computer trying to work out how to do it, but decided eventually there was no way it was possible. She phoned Fran.

  ‘Can’t get Jane’s mother’s name without asking Jane,’ she said. ‘What do you want to do now?’

  ‘Ask Jane, I suppose. Damn.’

  ‘You’ll have to tell her why.’

  There was a short silence. ‘Is she going back to work tomorrow?’ Fran asked eventually.

  ‘I expect so. She was only off for one day last week. Terry seems well enough to cope on his own during the day.’

  ‘It’ll have to be today, then. I’ll ring her.’

  ‘Do you want me to do it?’

  ‘No, I will.’ Fran sighed. ‘I’ll ring you back and let you know how I get on.’

  ‘What’s going on now?’ asked Ben coming in through the kitchen. ‘Are you interfering again?’

  ‘No, I’m not!’ Libby scowled at him. ‘I tried to find something out for Fran and couldn’t, so she’s going to do it on her own.’

  Ben looked dubious. ‘Is this to do with the body?’

  ‘No. Something entirely different and nothing to do with the police.’

  ‘What, then? I thought Fran had retired.’

  ‘So did she, but it appears that her psychic energy, or whatever it is, is still in full working order.’ Libby thought for a moment. ‘But not to order, if you see what I mean.’

  ‘I always thought that was the case,’ said Ben, sitting down on the cane sofa with a creak. ‘We really must get you a better sofa.’

  ‘When she did stuff for you and Goodall and Smythe it was to order,’ objected Libby.

  ‘Just wandering round buildings to see if anything came to her. Bit different.’

  ‘I suppose so,’ said Libby.

  ‘So what is it that’s got her interested this time?’

  ‘Jane Maurice’s house,’ said Libby.

  ‘Ah! See, that’s obviously what she does best. Houses.’

  ‘But it’s what she’s discovered that’s so interesting,’ Libby went on, coming to sit in the armchair. ‘It turns out Jane’s aunt who left her the house was the mistress of some famous bloke in the war.’

  ‘Famous bloke?’

  ‘Fascist sympathiser, but a double agent working for MI5. Simon something.’ Libby wrinkled her brow.

  ‘Madderling?’ said Ben. ‘Good God, that is high flying.’

  ‘You’ve heard of him?’

  ‘Yes, although I don’t know much. I read a lot about the politics of the second world war when I was younger. But it’s only recently it came out that he was a double agent.’

  ‘Yes, that’s what Fran said. Anyway, she thinks there’s something in the house, and that’s why Terry was attacked.’

  ‘Lost me.’ Ben shook his head.

  ‘Terry was attacked and his flat searched, although nothing was taken except his wallet and keys.’

  Ben frowned. ‘Why attack Terry? Jane would be the one to attack, surely?’

  ‘Apparently there was an attempted burglary before Jane moved in. Perhaps whoever it is is trying the flats one by one.’

  ‘If they do, it’s going to look very suspicious, isn’t it?’

  ‘Well, that’s Fran’s theory, anyway. She’s phoning Jane to tell her all about her aunt right now.’

  ‘You mean Jane didn’t know?’ Ben lifted his eyebrows in surprise.

  ‘Doesn’t seem like it.’ Libby stood up. ‘Tea?’

  It wasn’t until the tea was poured that the phone rang.

  ‘What happened?’ asked Libby.

  ‘She was – well, she was –’

  ‘Gobsmacked?’ suggested Libby.

  ‘You could put it like that! Anyway, she confirmed that she hadn’t known anything about it, and was going straight upstairs to check it all out on the computer.’

  ‘So what about her mother?’

  ‘She wants to talk to her herself.’ Fran made an irritated sound. ‘Which I really didn’t want. I don’t suppose the mother will talk to me after that.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Oh, Lib, can you imagine? Jane saying, “well, now you’ve told me all about it there’s this strange psychic woman who wants to talk to you”?’

  ‘If she’s a sceptic Jane will convince her.’

  ‘I haven’t given Jane much reason to trust me, have I?’

  ‘What about your blackout on the Dolphin?’

  ‘Not much to go on, is it?’

  ‘Buck up, Fran,’ said Libby. ‘At least Jane might find out a few more facts for you. And then you can tell Ian in the morning.’

  ‘That’s if her mother tells her anything, and if she does it tonight.’

  ‘Well, there’s nothing else you can do, now,’ said Libby, ‘so just get on with having a nice Sunday evening and forget all about it.’

  ‘That’s rich, coming from you,’ said Ben, when she switched off the phone.

  ‘I shall,’ said Libby. ‘I shall sit on the sofa with you and watch mindless television all evening.’

  ‘There’s a charity quiz at the pub,’ said Ben.

  ‘Even better,’ said Libby. ‘Let’s go and win.’

  The red light on the answerphone was winking when they returned, having come a respectable third in the quiz. Libby pressed the button.

  ‘Lib, Jane phoned back and says her mother will talk to us,’ came Fran’s voice.

  ‘Us!’ said Libby to Ben.

  ‘So I’ve to ring in the morning to arrange a convenient time. Can you ring first thing and tell me when you’ve got time to go up to London? Bye.’

  ‘She doesn’t say what Jane told her,’ said Libby, following Ben into the kitchen, where he was collecting whisky and glasses for a nightcap.

  ‘She’ll tell you in the morning. Don’t worry about it,’ said Ben. ‘You’ve got your wish, you’re on the investigating trail again, so just relax and enjoy it.’

  ‘Is that your way of telling me I’m a pathetic, obsessive nerd?’

  ‘Absolutely,’ said Ben.

  ‘You haven’t yet told me what Jane said about her mother,’ said Libby, as Fran turned what Guy called her roller-skate onto the Canterbury Road the following morning.

  ‘I haven’t had time, have I?’ Fran changed into fifth gear and settled back. ‘It isn’t much.’

  ‘Well, what did she say when you told her about Jessica?’

  ‘She was angry at first. She started telling me off for prying into her business, until I said it was all available on the internet and I’d come across it accidentally because I was interested in the house.’

  ‘Which was true,’ said Libby.

  ‘In a way, yes, it was. So then she calmed down and asked me about it. You remember she said her mother didn’t like Jessica? Well, she said she first thought that when she was a child and heard this vague mention of a man. It would make sense, wouldn’t it? It was dreadful in those days to live in sin, and especially if the man was known to be a spy.’

  ‘But he wasn’t known as a spy, then,’ objected Libby. ‘He was only known as a Fascist sympathiser, and follower of Mosley.’

  ‘Well, even worse,’ said Fran. ‘I expect most ordinary people thought any Fascist sympathisers were spies.’

  ‘We can put her mind at rest about that, anyway,’ said Libby. ‘He was a spy, but on our side.’ S
he looked out of the side window. ‘I wonder what happened to him?’

  It was lunchtime by the time they hit London and Fran made her way along the Embankment towards Battersea.

  ‘Where is it?’ asked Libby.

  ‘Somewhere between Battersea Park and Wandsworth Road,’ said Fran. ‘Not my side of the river.’

  ‘It is mine, but I don’t think I could find my way round there any more. Wandsworth and Wimbledon, possibly, but not this bit. And even if I could, they’ll have turned all the roads one way and shut them off, won’t they?’

  ‘True. Anyway, you’ve got the road map I printed off, so once we get across the bridge you can direct me.’

  Libby glowered at her, but took the maps and tried to figure out where they were. Across the bridge, and Battersea Park looked familiar, but that was about all. However, they eventually found 31 Jubilee Road, one of the Edwardian terraced houses that proliferate all across London, where Jane’s mother lived in the downstairs flat. After finding a parking space several streets away, by the time they rang the doorbell they were nearly fifteen minutes late.

  ‘Mrs Maurice?’ said Fran, as the door opened. ‘I’m so sorry we’re late. We couldn’t find a parking space.’

  The woman gave a very small smile. Libby could see traces of Jane in her face, but it was stronger and less good-humoured. Flawless make-up could not disguise the crêpey lines, and the rigidly set hair could not completely cover the glimpses of pink scalp beneath. Only a few years older than Libby and Fran, she seemed like a completely different generation.

  ‘I understand you want to talk about my husband’s Aunt Jessica,’ she said, after ushering them into a sitting room at the back of the house, whose tall French windows opened onto the garden, as rigidly arranged as Mrs Maurice herself.

  ‘If you don’t mind,’ said Fran. Libby was wondering why this woman had even allowed a phone call about Jessica, let alone a whole interview. The answer soon became clear.

  ‘First you must tell me why, and how you much you already know,’ said Mrs Maurice.

  Fran took a deep breath and glanced at Libby.

  ‘I’m sure Jane has told you about the attack on one of her tenants?’ she began.

  ‘No,’ said Mrs Maurice, looking surprised. Libby wasn’t.

  ‘He was attacked last week, and it appears that the attacker wanted to search the house. There had been an attempt over a year ago, before Jane moved in, as well.’