LS 13 - Murder in a Different Place (19 page)

Chapter Thirty-four

‘Are we leaping to conclusions again?’ said Fran.

‘Possibly, but as you said, it is the obvious inference.’ Libby looked up into the cherry tree. ‘At least it wasn’t one of his sisters, and we did wonder if Celia had been Hal’s granny at one point.’

‘Nearly as bad, as far as the family were concerned, I expect,’ said Fran, ‘and after all, they’d all been brought up together.’

‘We know where the castle was, but we don’t know where the DeLaxleys lived.’

‘Must have been where The Shelf is now, don’t you think? That’s why Matthew owned the land. And Reginald built the castle next door after he married Tallulah. Lovely name, that.’

‘So whoever Matthew sent Celia to meet that day was trying to find out about all this,’ said Fran, frowning, ‘and hit Celia over the head when she wouldn’t tell him. Sounds unlikely.’

‘That’s the scenario we’ve been envisaging all along,’ said Libby, ‘and none of our investigations have got any nearer the real reason or the murderer.’

‘Perhaps Ian will have some answers when he comes back. I’m getting impatient to hear from him now, too.’

However, all phones remained silent until Guy called Fran to ask what time she would be home and should he start dinner.

‘I’d better go,’ she said. ‘Let me know the minute you hear anything from Ian.’

Libby assured her she would, and went to prepare her own dinner. Ben wandered in and offered a pre-dinner drink.

‘Yes, please, G and T. I need it,’ said Libby, and filled him in on the details learned from the internet that afternoon. ‘I suppose I’d better tell Pete.’

‘Leave it until he gets home from the hospital,’ said Ben, handing her a gin and tonic. ‘You never usually drink this.’

‘It’s a hot day. Gin and tonic is cooling.’

In fact, before she could call him, Peter called her.

‘Just updating on the invalid’s condition,’ he said. ‘He’s now fretting about the caff and dying to get up. He’s also being very rude to the nurses.’

‘Oh, dear. Does this mean he’s getting better?’

‘Yes, most of the wires and things have been removed, and they’re talking about tomorrow or Friday. They need to monitor his temperature, apparently.’

‘I’m glad you called,’ said Libby. ‘Fran and I found something out today.’

‘Bloody hell,’ said Peter, when she’d finished telling him. ‘And has Ian found Franklin?’

‘No idea, he hasn’t called.’

‘Oh, well, I suppose you aren’t the police. He doesn’t have to. Have you gone through the caff bookings yet?’

‘Oh, bugger! I forgot! I’ll do it tomorrow.’

‘Don’t worry too much, Donna did all this week’s. But whatever he says, Hal won’t be fit enough to open next week.’

Libby had given up hoping to hear from Ian, so when the landline rang at just after ten thirty Ben answered it.

‘It’s Ian,’ he said. ‘Will we be in tomorrow morning?’

‘We? I will – will you? Is he coming round?’

‘Yes, Ian, we’ll both be here. Ten? Yes – oh. Really – who? Oh. All right. See you tomorrow.’

‘Well?’ Libby was practically bouncing with impatience.

‘Ian’s coming to see us tomorrow and can we ask Peter to be here, too, but ten minutes later.’

‘And he wouldn’t say why?’

‘No.’ Ben frowned. ‘It doesn’t sound like his usual de-brief, does it? More a formal interview.’

‘Three of us together? Sounds like bad news to me.’

‘Shall I call Peter tonight?’

‘No, don’t make him worry overnight, too. I’ll call him in the morning.’

Peter was as puzzled as Libby and Ben had been when they relayed the message.

‘OK – it’s got to be something to do with Hal, hasn’t it? Do you think they’ve discovered he isn’t entitled to Matthew’s money or something?’

‘If that’s all it is it won’t matter too much, will it?’ said Libby. ‘You’re quite comfortable, both of you.’

‘You’re right,’ said Peter with a sigh. ‘All right, I’ll see you about quarter past ten.’

Libby couldn’t settle to anything and eventually took her anxiety out on the kitchen worktops until Ben complained that everything would smell of bleach for weeks. At five to ten the doorbell rang.

Ian came into the front room.

‘Libby, Ben.’

Libby gestured him to a chair.

‘No, I’ll stand for a moment, if you don’t mind. I’ve got something to tell you, and someone I want you to meet.’

Libby’s solar plexus did a somersault. Ben took her hand.

‘Who is it?’ he asked.

Ian stood aside and gestured to the man standing just outside the door.

‘This is Keith Franklin.’

Ben recovered himself first, going forward to shake hands while Libby was still gasping like a landed cod. Then he turned to Ian.

‘What happened?’

Ian smiled. ‘Shall we all sit down, now? When is Peter coming?’

‘Quarter past,’ said Libby, still staring at the man she now realised she had last seen bundled up in scarves in a wheelchair on the Isle of Wight.

‘Then I’ll save the long explanation for when he comes. I just wanted you to get over the shock before he arrived. How about some coffee, Libby?’

She turned to the kitchen, then turned back.

‘It was you we saw with Amanda Clipping, wasn’t it?’

Keith Franklin nodded and looked at the floor. Libby made a sound like steam escaping and continued to the kitchen.

‘How about the short explanation, then,’ said Ben, when the three men were seated.

‘I told you I was going to see Keith Franklin who was staying at Beech Manor, didn’t I? Well, that’s what I did.’

Libby returned with the cafetière and mugs on a tray.

‘And we still don’t know how you found out where he was,’ she said putting the tray on the table in the window.

‘The police do have some resources not open to the public,’ said Ian with a grin. ‘You’ve asked me to use them often enough in the past.’

‘What were they in this case?’ Libby jabbed the plunger down viciously.

‘Just checking all ticket sales to the Island,’ said Ian.

‘For how long? How did you …?’

‘You mentioned your mystery man was on the Island for Matthew’s funeral, so I started with that.’

‘Did you think he was the man I saw?’

‘I didn’t know,’ said Ian. ‘There’s Peter. Will you let him in?’

Libby opened the door and grabbed Peter’s arm. ‘This is going to be a shock,’ she said, drawing him into the sitting room.

Ian and Keith Franklin had risen.

‘Peter, this is Keith Franklin. Mr Franklin, this is Peter Parker, Harry’s partner.’

Peter looked as shell-shocked as Libby had been. Franklin looked nervously at Libby and made no move to shake hands.

‘Sit down, Pete.’ Ben pushed Peter towards the sofa. ‘Ian’s just going to tell us what’s going on.’

Libby distributed coffee and sat next to Peter. ‘Go on, Ian.’

‘The day before Matthew DeLaxley’s funeral Amanda Clipping made a ferry booking for herself, Keith Franklin, and Robert Jones.’

‘Who’s Robert Jones?’ asked Libby.

‘My nephew.’ Keith Franklin spoke for the first time. His voice was a trifle husky, as though he hadn’t tried it out yet.

‘How did you know Amanda Clipping? Why were you there?’ she asked.

‘Libby, if you’ll let me go on, I’ll tell you the whole story,’ said Ian. ‘If you keep interrupting we’ll never get anywhere, and I want Peter to know it all before he goes to see Harry.’

‘All right.’ Libby subsided.

‘I asked the Island police to see if Mr Franklin was still on the Island, and they went to call on Ms Clipping, who wasn’t there, but Mr Franklin was. Sensibly, they didn’t say it was him they wanted to speak to, but retreated and called me, as you know.’ He paused for a sip of coffee.

‘So I went over to the island and went straight to Beech Manor. I did, however, stop at the village shop to speak to your Bernie Small. Most helpful. Mr Franklin opened the door of Beech Manor for me himself and confirmed that he was staying there alone, Ms Clipping being back at work on the mainland.

‘Naturally, I asked why he was there, and why he had been at Matthew’s funeral. Eventually, when he was convinced of my credentials, and I of his, we arrived at the complete story.’

‘May I tell it?’ Franklin sounded diffident.

Libby smiled at him for the first time. ‘That would be better, wouldn’t it?’

He smiled back. ‘Well, it all began at a party. My mother – my adoptive mother – is very old now, but had a birthday party a few months ago, arranged by my sister. Robert is her son. My sister had managed to trace many old friends of my mother’s, including two couples, the Dougans and the Clippings, and a Lady Bligh.’

Peter, Ben, and Libby exchanged glances.

‘I was doing the good son routine, going round with bottles to refresh glasses and I heard those five, with my mother, talking about the Isle of Wight. It’s never been any secret that I was adopted, and during this conversation it became obvious that the Dougans had arranged for me to go to my parents. It was probably crass of me, but I’m afraid I butted in to the conversation and asked if they knew who my parents were.’ He looked round at the assembled company. ‘They clammed up immediately. My mother said she’d never been told, and they all agreed on that. Eventually, old Lady Bligh said that the person to ask was Matthew DeLaxley and he lived on the Island. They seemed to think everyone knew who he was.’

‘He was quite famous, in his way,’ said Peter, almost apologetically.

‘I realised that at the memorial service,’ said Franklin. ‘Anyway, after the party I talked to my mother about it, and she genuinely didn’t know anything about it. Apparently, she and my father had met the Dougans on holiday on the Island and they’d introduced them to this little crowd of people who belonged to a sort of arty group,’ the corners of his mouth turned down, ‘and they’d spent several weeks with them that summer. My father was a schoolteacher.’

‘The Clippings, the Dougans, and Lady Bligh?’ asked Ben.

‘Yes, although she was plain Lily Cooper then. They kept in touch until in nineteen forty-nine, the Dougans wrote asking if they still wanted to adopt. They’d discussed this, obviously.’ He shrugged. ‘And they arrived with me. I knew none of this. I just assumed I’d been adopted the usual way, through whatever Social Services was called in those days.’

He sipped coffee.

‘So I got in touch with Amanda Clipping. My mother had all their addresses, but I thought Amanda was a better bet than her parents, and I’d met her once or twice before. She gave me DeLaxley’s address and phone number and I called him. He wasn’t very forthcoming, but he did eventually confirm that yes, my mother had come from the Island, but she was now dead. I asked about my father, but he merely said that he was dead too. I really couldn’t understand his attitude until at last, he let slip that he knew about my son. I argued that my father had also abandoned me, but he brushed that aside. I began to wonder if my father had been killed in the war, but I realised that couldn’t be the case as I wasn’t born until 1949.’

‘When did you write that letter?’ demanded Libby.

‘Not until later.’ Franklin didn’t seem put out. ‘I spoke to Matthew again, and asked after my son, but he wouldn’t say anything. Anyway, I said I was going to come to the Island to see him, and would he tell me anything then. He said he’d think about it.’

‘And you went,’ said Peter, in a tight voice.

‘I went.’ Franklin was sounding tired, now. ‘And Matthew said he didn’t want his cousins who lived next door to see me, so he gave me directions to this Beach House. And then as I was on my way over, he sent me a text to say he wouldn’t be able to meet me, he was too ill, but he was sending his youngest cousin instead.’ He passed a hand over his face. ‘Well, you know what happened next. By the time I got to the Island the storm had broken and I couldn’t even get close to – what’s it called? Overcliffe?’

‘The road was blocked,’ said Ian. ‘We checked.’

‘So you didn’t go to the Beach House?’ said Libby. ‘Not ever?’

Franklin shook his head. ‘And I didn’t know what had happened to the cousin until later. I couldn’t even get off the Island until the following morning, and there was no mobile signal, so I couldn’t call Matthew. I know now that would have been useless.’

‘So who was at the Beach House?’ asked Peter. ‘And who killed Celia?’

Chapter Thirty-five

‘Don’t you think it now looks unlikely that anyone did?’ said Ben. ‘The police said it was an accident.’

‘I want to know about the letter you sent,’ said Libby accusingly.

Keith Franklin took a healthy swig of coffee and sighed. ‘I made several mistakes, didn’t I? I addressed the letter to the DeLaxleys, which was wrong, of course, and I said I knew all about the scandal. I was thinking of the scandal of my birth, of course, even though I didn’t know that much about it. I was sure Matthew, or his youngest cousin, was going to tell me more about it. And I wanted to know about Harry.’

‘You could have asked Jeanette,’ said Libby. From his bewildered expression it seemed certain Franklin was going to ask who Jeanette was, but he surprised her.

‘How? I didn’t know where she was. Anyway, Matthew had told me Harry was taken into care, so how would she have known?’ He shook his head. ‘If only Matthew had come to me then …’

‘Would he have known where to find you?’ put in Peter.

‘Apparently he always knew where to find me,’ said Franklin bitterly. ‘My adoption had been an open secret between him, the Dougans, Lily Cooper, and the Clippings. They kept tabs on my parents and me.’

‘Why didn’t he tell you, then?’ asked Ben.

‘I’d abandoned Jeanette. I’d acted badly.’ Again, he passed a hand over his face. ‘If only he’d told me.’

‘So what do you know now?’ asked Peter.

‘I know who Harry is. My nephew found out where he lived. I’m not sure how.’

‘Ah.’ Libby shot a triumphant look at Ian, who smiled. ‘So is it your nephew who attacked Harry and tried to break into the ca – restaurant?’

Franklin looked shocked. ‘Of course not! He’d never do anything like that.’

‘He was here last week,’ said Libby. ‘I saw him.’

‘I asked him to come down. I wanted him to – well, to mediate between us, I suppose.’

Libby looked at Ian. ‘Is that true?’

‘So he says.’ Ian sat forward and put down his mug. ‘Robert Jones is living in London and was perfectly happy to talk to us. He says he came down last week and there was no one in the restaurant. He didn’t have the home address.’

‘Well, that’s true. Harry was in the pub with Andrew,’ said Peter. ‘So Robert Jones wasn’t the one who attacked Harry because he didn’t know our address.’

‘It wouldn’t have been difficult to find out,’ said Libby. ‘He could have asked anyone.’

‘He didn’t,’ said Ian. ‘Certainly not in any of the shops.’

‘Not the first day he was here, no,’ said Libby, ‘but Saturday night?’

‘He would have had to go into the pub or the restaurant itself,’ said Ian, ‘which, if he simply wanted to talk to Harry, he would have done. Someone with an attack in mind wouldn’t advertise their presence, would they?’

‘No,’ said Libby reluctantly.

‘Do you think Harry will see me?’ Franklin asked Peter.

‘I’ll talk to him this afternoon if he’s well enough, but I don’t think you ought to meet him until he’s out of hospital.’

‘Have you met the sisters?’ Libby asked.

‘No,’ said Franklin.

‘Yes,’ said Ian. ‘I’ll tell you about that another time. Now I’m going to take Mr Franklin back to his hotel.’

They all stood and bade Keith Franklin goodbye. He went miserably out of the door, and Ian turned back.

‘Pub tonight?’

Libby nodded. ‘See you then.’

‘Well,’ said Peter, sitting down again as the door closed. ‘There’s a bolt from the blue.’

‘Somehow, I never imagined that happening,’ said Libby. ‘Why do you suppose he was still staying at Beech Manor?’

‘Hoping Harry would come back to the Island?’ suggested Ben.

‘Maybe. Where does he live?

‘We don’t know anything about him. He has a mother, a sister and a nephew who seems to be helping him in whatever his quest is,’ said Peter.

‘I’m deeply suspicious of that nephew,’ said Libby. ‘If all he’d been doing was looking for Harry that day, why did he shoot off so quickly? And why didn’t he ask around? And why is Ian taking it at face value?’

‘Look, Lib,’ said Ben, ‘Ian brought Franklin here as an act of good faith, partly to tell us the story and partly as an ice-breaker for Harry. I believed Franklin, by the way. I don’t think he has anything to with anything, and I don’t think he knows who either of his birth parents are.’

‘This is ridiculous,’ said Libby, collecting the tray. ‘There’s no one left who could have killed Celia, or had it in for Harry, unless it’s someone we haven’t heard of. And that goes against the principles of every mystery story there’s ever been.’

‘I’m sure Ian will have more news for us tonight,’ said Peter. ‘I’m not needed for rehearsal, am I? I’ll go straight to the pub from the hospital.’

Libby fretted over Keith Franklin’s story for the rest of the day. When she called Fran, who told her to calm down, it scarcely mattered now, she uncharacteristically snapped at her friend.

‘Look, Ben was quite right,’ said Fran, without taking offence. ‘It looks quite likely that Celia wasn’t murdered after all, which means you – and I – got involved for nothing. The rest of the story, about Harry, is almost tied up now. We, and soon, he, know both his mother and father – and grandfather, too. Ian’s looking into the attacks and may well come up with something. Anyway, he’ll tell us tonight.’

With The Pink Geranium still closed, Patti Pearson and Anne Douglas had eaten in the pub and were waiting for the theatre group when they arrived just after ten o’clock.

‘So tell us what’s been going on,’ said Patti. ‘What have you all been up to, and what’s happened to Harry?’

Peter arrived in the middle of their explanation of the more public side of the adventure, and one look at his face told Libby he wouldn’t relish going through Harry’s story with outsiders.

‘Anyway,’ she said as Peter put his drink on the table, ‘that’s it, really. We don’t know who hit Harry, but it’s a good bet that it was a burglar he surprised. How is he, Pete?’

‘Becoming a difficult patient,’ said Peter with a rueful smile. ‘I think they’ll let him come home tomorrow.

Libby turned to Patti and Anne. ‘I know this sounds rude, but Ian’s coming to talk to us about it all – you know how he does – but I think this will be more on the record than off, if you know what I mean.’

‘So we’ll push off,’ said Anne. ‘Don’t worry, we know the score by now.’

‘We don’t want to drive you away,’ said Fran. ‘We’ll just move.’

Patti laughed. ‘It’s fine. We have more wine at Anne’s house and we’re recording something to watch when we get in, so we’re more than happy. In fact,’ she put down her empty glass and stood up, ‘we might as well go now.’

Anne grinned and let the brake off her wheelchair. ‘Fine by me. And do tell us the rest of the story some time.’

With immaculate timing they passed Ian as they left. He stopped and spoke to them, then with a wave saw them off the premises.

‘That was tactful of them,’ he said as he joined them and Peter went to fetch his customary coffee.

‘Well brung up, both of them,’ said Libby. ‘Pete hasn’t been able to tell us yet how Harry took the news.’

Peter returned, put the coffee in front of Ian and sat down.

‘Inclined to explode at first, and then, when a nurse came rushing in thinking he’d had some kind of fit, calmed down. We talked about it most of the afternoon, and I think he’s decided to see Franklin, but – and this will surprise you – he wants to see him on the Island and wants him to meet the sisters.’

‘Oh!’ said Libby and Fran in surprise.

Ian frowned. ‘Did he say why?’

‘He’s got some sort of idea that if they both show up together, the sisters will crumble. Especially if we tell them we know that Keith’s dad is their brother.’

‘Perhaps I’d better tell you what I found out when I saw the ladies,’ said Ian.

‘Don’t tell me they opened up to you?’ said Libby.

‘Not completely, no,’ Ian settled back into his chair. ‘At first they definitely didn’t want to talk to me. Wouldn’t even let me in to the house.’

‘I bet,’ said Ben. ‘Did they flutter?’

Ian grinned. ‘They did. It was far too late, ladies on their own – you know the sort of thing. Anyway, eventually, when all three of them were crowded round the doorway, I told them Harry had been attacked hard on the heels of finding out who his grandfather had been.’

‘Gawd!’ said Libby. ‘Bombshell!’

‘It certainly was. The first one – Alicia? – looked as if she would faint, the little snappy one went as red as a beetroot, and the third one went as white as a sheet.’

‘Really?’ Fran was interested. ‘Honoria’s usually quite threatening.’

‘She spent the rest of the meeting glowering at me, certainly,’ said Ian.

‘So what happened next?’ asked Peter.

‘The first sister – Mrs Hope-Fenwick, isn’t it? – said I’d better come in and we all sat round the kitchen table. She asked after Harry, I reported and they all looked nervously at each other, almost as if they knew who’d attacked him. I don’t think they did, though.’

‘What
did
you think?’ said Libby.

‘I think they felt it was their fault for having dragged you all into this business and caused so many problems.’

‘So did you tell them we knew who granddad was?’ said Peter.

‘Yes.’

‘I wish I’d been there,’ said Libby.

‘It wasn’t pleasant,’ said Ian. ‘I should have done it by the book and gone officially with a female officer. Mrs Hope-Fenwick cried, the snappy sister –’

‘Amelia,’ put in Libby helpfully.

‘Amelia, then, erupted. Swore she’d have my badge, my stripes, and sue me for every penny. The biggest one –’ he looked at Libby.

‘Honoria,’ she supplied.

‘She just sat there looking as though she would quite cheerfully murder me.’

‘All of that sounds in character,’ said Fran. ‘That’s how they were with us. Did you ask them why they asked us to find out who Celia’s killer was without telling us why they thought she might have been killed?’

‘They were very muddled about it, but it appeared that they all thought Celia had been killed because of the scandal, as they put it, and they were anxious to know who else knew the secret.’

‘I still can’t see why Celia was killed though, if she was,’ said Libby. ‘She knew the secret and presumably Matthew had sent her to meet Keith to tell him – or tell him about Harry, perhaps. I still don’t get it.’

‘I think there’s something else, though,’ said Ian. ‘I think there’s still something we don’t know, which may well give us all the answers.’

‘About Harry’s attacker as well?’

‘Oh, I think we know who that is, don’t you?’ Ian grinned round the table.