LS 13 - Murder in a Different Place (12 page)

Chapter Twenty

Life once more settled back into its normal pattern in Steeple Martin and Nethergate. Harry went to see the solicitor, Ronald Deakin, about Matthew’s will, and discovered that he had not only inherited some money, he was also now the proud owner of Ship House and the Beach House. The sisters, Matthew’s cousins, had inherited The Shelf and the remainder of his estate.

‘So what is Harry proposing to do about that?’ asked Fran, as they lay in deck chairs on the beach at Nethergate, where they were supposed to be finalising details of the End Of The Pier Show.

‘He says he’ll settle some of the money on Jeanette, but he doesn’t know what to do about the properties,’ said Libby, squinting against the sparkle of the sun on the wavelets.

‘Doesn’t he think Matthew left them to him for a reason?’

‘They used to stay at the Beach House together,’ said Libby. ‘Perhaps it was a sentimental reason.’

‘In that letter, Matthew said he wouldn’t tell Harry the name of his father, but we know it now. Would it be worth asking the sisters if they know him, now he’s back on the Island?’

‘I don’t think Harry would like that,’ said Libby. ‘And for all we know he’s left the Island again. He’d know by now there was nothing there for him. Harry’s gran left money for him in her will, not her own son.’

‘Does he know that, though? Might he not want to find out?’

Libby bent a searching look on her friend. ‘What are you thinking? Are you having moments of insight again?’

‘I just wondered if Keith Franklin might think the money should have come to him.’

Libby looked doubtful. ‘Why would he? He was properly adopted, we’ve been told. No claim on his real parents at all. Granny only left Harry money because she knew through Matthew that Keith had abandoned him and his mother.’

Fran stared out at the sea. ‘Hmm. There’s still something odd, though.’

‘Probably, but Hal wants to leave it, so we should, too.’ Libby returned to the sheets of paper on her clipboard. ‘Now, did we ask the Alexandria to have the glitter curtain up by Friday?’

‘This isn’t like you,’ said Fran. ‘You’re usually only too happy to be nosing about.’

‘But I don’t want to upset my friend,’ said Libby firmly. ‘And he’s been upset enough already.’

Fran shrugged, and struggled to her feet. ‘Come on, then. Let’s go back and have a cup of tea before we take all this to the theatre.’

Balzac, Fran’s black and white long-haired cat, leapt straight into Libby’s lap as she sat down in the window, butting her chin with his head and purring loudly.

‘I wish Sidney was as friendly as Balzac,’ said Libby.

‘He wouldn’t be Sidney if he was friendly,’ said Fran, bringing mugs in from the kitchen. ‘And I still can’t believe Balzac is as friendly as he is, given how long he was left on his own.’

‘Oh, don’t,’ said Libby with a shudder.

Fran spread the papers from their clipboards out over the table. ‘What have we got to take up there, then?’

‘The proofs of the programme, the publicity shots and the lighting plot,’ said Libby.

‘And the music,’ said Fran. ‘For the rest of the orchestra.’

‘I can’t believe they’re paying musicians for us,’ said Libby. ‘Bass, trumpet, and saxophone. Going to sound brilliant.’

‘Are they paying Susannah and David?’ asked Fran.

Libby shook her head. ‘No, we are. I had to, as the others are being paid, but they’re part of our company, not The Alexandria’s.’

‘Well, drink up, and let’s get this stuff down to them. I promised Guy I’d go and help him change the stock around after closing today.’

Libby discharged Balzac onto the window seat beside her, finished her tea, and began to collect up the documents.

Her mobile rang.

‘Lib.’

‘Harry? What’s up?’ Libby’s eyes met Fran’s.

‘I – er –’ she heard him clear his throat. ‘I’ve had a letter.’

‘A letter? Yes?’

‘An anonymous letter.’

‘Oh, Harry! Have you called the police?’

‘Sounds so pathetic.’

‘Remember what we said the other day in London? You’d call Ian?’

‘I didn’t – you did.’

‘Well, do it. Now. Or shall I do it for you?’

‘Um.’

‘Or Fran? She’ll do it, if you like?’

Harry sighed. ‘No, I’ll do it. Has he got a private line at the station?’

‘Yes – hang on, I’ll give it to you.’ Libby looked at her phone wondering how to find a number while she was still on a call, but Fran silently held out her own, showing both Ian’s private numbers. Libby read them out.

‘OK,’ said Harry. ‘I’ll try now. Where are you?’

‘Nethergate. Just going to the Alexandria. I’ll call as soon as I get back.’

‘OK.’ Harry sounded gloomy as he ended the call.

‘Why didn’t you ask him what it said?’ asked Fran as they left Coastguard Cottage.

‘It was obviously not a good letter, and he’ll tell me when I get home. I’ll ring you, of course.’

‘He might not want you to.’

‘Of course he will. It’s got to be about this whole Island business, and you’ve been involved with most of it. We’ll find out soon enough.’

In fact, they found out sooner than Libby had hoped, as her mobile rang again while they were in the manager’s office at the Alexandria.

‘I’m so sorry,’ she said to the manager, after glancing down to see who was calling, ‘but I’d better take this.’ She moved away from the desk. ‘Chief Inspector Connell. How can help you?’

Ignoring the manager’s surprise and Fran’s frustration, she moved out of the office.

‘Where are you?’ asked Ian. Libby explained. ‘Your friend Harry’s just called me. He said you knew all about this situation. He sounded a bit confused to me.’

‘I don’t know what’s in this letter,’ said Libby, ‘but I do think, whatever it is, you should take it seriously if it’s a threat.’

Ian sighed. ‘How the bloody hell do you keep getting yourself mixed up in these situations?’

Libby was indignant. ‘It’s not my fault! I don’t go looking for these situations. They just land on me.’

Ian sighed again. ‘I want to talk to Harry, and I’d like you to be there.’

‘Do you want us to come in to the station?’

‘No. It’s Wednesday today, isn’t it? Do you still go to the pub after rehearsal?’

‘Yes,’ said Libby in surprise, ‘but you can’t do a formal interview in the pub.’

‘This won’t be formal. I’ve got to assess the seriousness of the situation before I do anything else. Harry said this started when you were all on the Isle of Wight. Does that mean all your little clan?’

‘Yes.’

‘And will they all be there tonight?’

‘All except Guy. He’s not involved with the show.’

‘What about your lady vicar?’

‘I expect she’ll be there.’

‘Does she know all about this?’

‘Only a bit. We told her about going to the memorial service last Wednesday, and she knew we’d been to the funeral on the Island.’

‘Will Harry talk about it in front of her?’

‘I don’t know. I’ll ask when I get home.’

‘All right. Ring me.’ And Ian ended the call.

Going back into the office, Libby apologised to the curious manager, answered a few more questions and left, a simmering Fran behind her.

‘What did he want?’ she burst out, as soon as they were outside. Libby told her.

‘Guy will come with me whether he’s finished his stock or not,’ said Fran when Libby had finished. ‘He actually had some ideas while we were over there, didn’t he?’

‘And there’s the notebook,’ agreed Libby. ‘He knew more than we did about getting that rescued.’

‘Go on, then. Get back to the village and talk to Hal, then I’ll see you at rehearsal. If you need to talk to me first, ring me.’

‘Of course.’ Libby leant forward and kissed her friend’s cheek. ‘Couldn’t do it without you.’

Libby pulled in to the side of Steeple Martin high street outside The Pink Geranium. Peering inside she could just make out Harry at the back of the restaurant. She switched off the engine and got out of the car. Harry was at the door before she reached it.

‘Do you want tea?’ he asked, leading her to a back table.

‘Just had some at Fran’s,’ said Libby. ‘Ian called me, by the way.’

‘Why?’ Harry frowned. ‘Didn’t he believe me?’

‘Oh, yes,’ soothed Libby. ‘He’s coming to the pub tonight to talk to us all about what we remember on the Island. He wants to assess the situation before deciding on a course of action.’

Harry’s eyebrows rose in surprise. ‘Taking it seriously, then?’

‘Seems to be. What does the letter say?’

Harry pushed a piece of paper towards her using the edge of a knife. ‘Ian said don’t handle it any more than you have to.’

Libby tucked her hands under her thighs and began to read.

“Harry Price, you must keep quiet. Do not interfere where you are not welcome or there will be serious reprisals.”

‘Is that it?’ Libby looked up. Harry nodded. ‘What did it come in? When?’

‘A brown envelope. I kept it.’

‘Postmarked?’

‘By hand.’

‘Oh – golly!’ Libby’s hand flew to her mouth. ‘So he’s here?’

‘Or she.’ Harry nodded.

‘And what do they mean? Keep quiet?’

‘I guess that anything we found out while we were over there we mustn’t talk about. Not that we found out much.’

‘No.

Libby sounded thoughtful. ‘What we didn’t find out was who, if anyone, had murdered Celia.’

Harry heaved a sigh. ‘Honestly, they
are
batty. How did they think you could do that?’

‘I’ve no idea. But there’s something in their – or Celia’s – past that they don’t want to come out. And when you think about it, that’s the most likely reason she was left to drown. If she was.’

‘And is it connected to Granny and her rape?’

‘Well, don’t forget your father came back to the Island and wanted to meet Matthew. Are we assuming now that it was him Celia went to meet?’

‘In which case he’s a murderer.’ Harry shuddered. ‘Oh, bugger. I really didn’t want to have to think about this again.’

‘I know.’ Libby patted his hand. ‘But I’ll tell you something – I’m much happier now Ian’s involved.’

‘Will he be able to stay involved? Won’t the Island force take over?’

‘You’ve received that letter here. His stamping ground, not theirs. I expect they’ll work together, don’t you?’

‘If they work at it at all, and don’t say it’s all some gay bloke’s imagination.’

Libby gave him a reproving glare. ‘You know Ian better than that.’

Harry gave her a wobbly smile. ‘I hope so. Thanks, Lib. I’m glad we’ll all be together tonight.’

‘By the way, Ian asked if Patti and Anne would be there. We can adjourn to my place if you don’t want to talk in front of them.’

‘Actually, how about you lot and Ian come to the restaurant. I’ll explain to Anne and Patti none of us are going to the pub. You can tell ʼem afterwards if you like. I expect they’ll go straight back to Anne’s.’

‘Good idea,’ said Libby. ‘Will you call Ian, or shall I?’

‘I’ll do it,’ said Harry bravely. ‘And I’ll see you here just after ten.’

Chapter Twenty-one

It was a solemn-faced group of people who met at The Pink Geranium at a quarter past ten that evening. Patti and Anne had accepted the change to routine and, as predicted, gone back to Anne’s house, and Harry had made sure all the other diners had been out of the building before ten. By the time the theatre group arrived, Detective Chief Inspector Ian Connell was already at the big table in the window, and Harry was setting out glasses.

‘I’ve got the coffee on,’ he said as they came in. ‘Who wants what to drink?’

When they were settled with their choice of beverages, Ian asked Harry to begin.

‘Where, though?’ asked Harry, looking round at the others. ‘Back when I was a child?’

Ian looked startled.

‘No,’ said Libby. ‘We can fill in the background as and when. Just start with the letter from the old ladies.’

So Harry began his tale. Between them, they told Ian about events on the Island in chronological order, backtracking into explanatory side-notes if required. Ian took notes and looked thoughtful.

‘So,’ he said finally, when Harry had shown him the note and the envelope. ‘Someone thinks you have information that is damaging at best, or dangerous at worst.’

The rest of the group looked at each other.

‘That’s about what it comes down to,’ said Peter.

‘And given the reaction to your – investigations – on the Island by the Misses DeLaxley –’ he glanced at his notes, ‘they would seem to have the best motive.’

‘I know.’ Fran frowned. ‘Their whole attitude was completely irrational. One minute wanting to know who killed their sister, the next refusing to tell us anything about the background.’

‘And they were scared,’ said Libby, and went on to describe the moment she and Alicia had locked eyes at the memorial service. ‘Oh, and they aren’t DeLaxleys any more. They all married.’

‘What are their surnames?’ asked Ian, pen poised.

‘I don’t know.’ Libby looked at Harry. ‘Do you?’

‘No.’ He looked surprised. ‘When they forwarded the first letter, it was signed “Alicia, Amelia, and Honoria, Matthew’s cousins”. Nothing else.’

‘They were DeLaxleys by birth, though?’

‘I suppose so,’ said Harry.

‘I’ll look up the report of the other sister’s death,’ said Ian. ‘It’ll be a starting point. And Matthew’s obituary in the local paper.’ He looked round at them all and poured more coffee. ‘It has occurred to you that the reason they wanted to find out who killed Celia – if she
was
killed – is probably because of whatever they’re scared of.’

‘Because it might have got out, you mean?’ said Ben.

‘Yes, it had,’ said Libby. ‘And I think all the people we’ve come into contact with know about whatever it was – or is. The Clippings, and Lady Bligh – although we’ve never met her – and the Dougans. We’ve never met them, either.’

‘They were at Matthew’s funeral,’ said Peter, ‘even if we didn’t meet them. Don’t forget we’re sure it was someone there who then knew who Harry was and left the note at Ship House.’

‘I still don’t understand,’ said Guy, ‘why Harry is such a threat.’

‘Because obviously someone thinks he knows more than he does,’ said Ben.

‘Except that I don’t know anything at all,’ said Harry, thumping the table with a large fist.

‘You know the names of your parents,’ said Ian, ‘and you know that your father was adopted, being the result of a rape.’

‘Can you follow that up?’ asked Libby hopefully. ‘You must have better resources than we have.’

‘Only if I’m investigating an actual crime,’ said Ian. ‘I don’t know yet whether I am.’

‘What about the Malicious Communications Act?’ asked Peter. ‘That covers indecent, offensive, and threatening letters, doesn’t it?’

‘It does. What I meant was, I don’t know if I shall be allowed to act. I shall ask the top brass and see what happens. Meanwhile –’ he took an evidence bag from his pocket and carefully slid the letter and envelope inside using tweezers. ‘We’ll get these finger-printed, but I doubt there’ll be any. And the envelope, as you saw, was a self-sealer.’

‘It’s quite mad,’ said Harry. ‘There I was, leading a perfectly happy and normal life, and suddenly I’m in the centre of some bad third-rate melodrama.’

Ian looked amused. ‘You should be used to that. You’ve known Libby long enough.’

The mood was broken and everyone laughed, including Libby.

‘Tell me how you enjoyed the Isle of Wight apart from the melodrama,’ said Ian, leaning back in his chair with his mug of coffee. ‘I used to go there regularly.’

‘Did you?’ Libby leant forward eagerly. None of them knew anything about Ian’s past, except that he obviously had Scottish ancestry, even Fran, whom he had briefly dated.

‘With my parents,’ he elaborated, giving her a look that said he knew what she was up to.

They described their impressions of the Island and Harry finished up by surprising everyone and saying, ‘Well, if probate comes through and I really do own Ship House, you can go over and stay there, Ian.’

Ian looked as surprised as everyone else felt. ‘I’d love that, thank you, Harry.’

Libby opened her mouth and was silenced by Ben’s well-aimed foot.

‘There’s no doubt that you own it, surely?’ said Guy.

‘No, but Mr Deakin has to wait for probate. It’s only a few weeks since Matthew died.’

‘And you don’t think the bequest is a cause for someone to send anonymous letters?’ asked Ian.

‘Well, we did sort of wonder …’ said Libby.

‘But who would?’ asked Ben.

‘His cousins are the obvious people,’ said Ian. ‘They might resent the fact that Harry’s walked in and taken over what they’ve always thought of as theirs.’

‘Hang on,’ Libby tapped the table with a spoon. ‘Ian’s just made the same mistake as the writer of that first letter did. He said the Misses DeLaxley.’

They all looked at her, and Harry tipped his chair forward with a bang.

‘Of course! They were cousins on his mother’s side – they weren’t DeLaxleys at all!’

‘So, no claim on the estate, then?’ said Ian.

‘There was something about them all growing up at Overcliffe Castle,’ said Fran.

‘Probably staying in the holidays, something like that,’ said Guy.

Ian sighed. ‘It’s complex, isn’t it? But when wasn’t it, when you lot are mixed up in something?’

There was a chorus of indignation, but Libby and Fran both saw the twinkle in Ian’s dark eyes. He stood up.

‘Now I’m going to go home and get some sleep before I tackle the powers that be about investigating any further. Harry, I’ll be in touch.’ He laid a hand on Harry’s shoulder and was gone.

‘He’ll do his best, Hal,’ Fran said into the silence that followed his departure. ‘He always does.’

Harry nodded, and Libby saw Peter grip his hand under the table.

‘He didn’t say anything about who might have put that letter through the letter box,’ said Guy.

‘No, but he’s having it finger-printed,’ said Peter.

‘That won’t help if the writer’s not a criminal,’ said Libby. ‘No fingerprints or DNA on record.’

‘So whoever it is could still be in Steeple Martin – even know we’ve been visited by the police tonight?’ said Harry, eyes widening. ‘Reprisals, here we come!’

‘That would be a bit too obvious, wouldn’t it?’ said Fran.

‘I won’t go an inch from his side,’ said Peter. ‘I shall be a human – er – bodyguard.’

‘But, seriously,’ said Libby later, as she and Ben walked home, ‘the only way whoever this is could stop Harry inheriting or finding out about this secret, is to … to …’

‘To harm him.’ Ben gave her arm a squeeze. ‘I know. Don’t think about it. Peter’s right there with him, and, if I know Pete, he’ll be a human limpet until this is sorted out.’

To Libby’s annoyance, Ian didn’t get in touch with Harry over the next few days, and, luckily, neither did anyone else. The weather was getting warmer, and the school holidays were getting nearer. Libby took the chance to spend as much time on the beach at Nethergate as she could before it became overrun with holiday-makers, spending far too much on Lizzie’s ice creams and Mavis’s lunches. Occasionally she took her materials with her and did a little desultory painting, sometimes borrowing the top room at Peel House, Jane and Terry Baker’s home, with its commanding view of the bay. She tried a few new positions, the most ambitious of which was on Dragon Island itself, when George took her out on the
Dolphin
and Bert picked her up an hour later on the
Sparkler
. This gave her a new view of Nethergate Bay, which, although she’d seen it from the boats before, appeared quite different when stationary.

It was on the Monday following Ian’s visit that Harry called.

‘I’ve just heard from Alicia,’ he said.

‘Did she ring you?’

‘No, it’s a letter. Want to see?’

‘Yes. Shall I come round?’

‘No, I’ll come to you. It’s Monday – I’m closed.’

‘Where’s Peter?’

Harry chuckled. ‘I’ll unzip him before I come round. He’s been stuck like a fly to flypaper since last week.’

Libby put on proper coffee, and went to unearth biscuits. Luckily, Nella from the garden centre made wonderful home-made ginger biscuits, to which Ben was addicted, so there were always plenty of those.

Harry arrived and they took their coffee into the garden to sit under the cherry tree. Harry took a letter from his pocket and handed it over.

‘Wouldn’t you rather tell me what it says,’ said Libby, before opening it.

‘Much easier if you read it yourself.’ Harry helped himself to a biscuit.

“Dear Harry,” the letter began. “We, my sisters and I, have heard from Mr Deakin, the solicitor, that you are now sole owner of Ship House and the Beach House. As we have been keeping the keys here, shall we send them to you? I’m afraid we have let Ship House for a couple of weeks in August, but we will send the rental money on to you, if you tell us where.

“We saw you at Matthew’s memorial, and I would like you to apologise to dear Libby. I am so very sorry we caused you all so much trouble when you came to the Island. I can only say we were not thinking very clearly, and were deeply upset by both Celia’s and Matthew’s deaths. We understand now, of course, that without knowing the background of any event, it is not possible to find out the truth.

“I hope, that now you are the owner of Ship House, we see you on the Island again at some time in the future.

“Very best wishes

“Alicia Hope-Fenwick.”

Libby looked up. ‘Well, that tells you precisely nothing.’

‘Except her surname,’ said Harry. ‘I called Ian this morning and told him that. Well, left a message, anyway.’

‘Apologise to me?’ Libby ruminated over the letter. ‘What for? Lying? Looking horrified when she saw me at the memorial?’

‘That, yes. And just a blanket apology, I think. For messing you about.’

‘Well, you did a bit of that, too, remember,’ said Libby.

‘All right, all right. I’ve already said I’m sorry.’

Libby shrugged. ‘Doesn’t matter now. So what do you think Alicia wants you to do? It doesn’t sound as though they’re bothered about you getting Ship House, or the Beach House.’

‘No, but they’ve got the keys.’ Harry looked up. ‘Do you think they’ll go and strip everything before I get there?’

‘Not if they’ve let it for August.’

‘No, but the Beach House. They know we found the address book there. They might think there’s something else there to find.’

‘They could have done that at any time.’

‘Well, they hadn’t when we got there, had they?’

‘It hadn’t occurred to them,’ said Libby.

‘But it has now,’ said Harry. ‘I think I’d better get out there, fast.’