Murder at the Lighthouse: An Exham on Sea Cosy Mystery (Exham on Sea Cosy Crime Mysteries Book 1) (11 page)

Libby held out her hand, struggling to stop it trembling. “That was good timing, Max. Come on in and join the party.” She stretched the meal to four, adding extra salad leaves, cutting chicken breasts in half, slicing chunks from a loaf of Frank’s finest rustic bread, and opening another bottle of wine.

They ate in the kitchen. Bear settled down to mangle a dog chew; a gentle giant once more. The cat was nowhere to be seen. Elaine, shaking with reaction, refused to go to Accident and Emergency or call the police, but swallowed aspirin and let Mandy lead her upstairs to make up a bed. “I’ll go to my sister’s in Bristol, on Monday. Bert won’t come back tomorrow, not while the dog’s here. And not if it means losing drinking time.”

Libby stacked plates in the dishwasher. “Now, Max, why are you back so soon, and what did you find out?”

He insisted on making coffee, talking loudly over the grinder and frothing milk with enthusiasm. “Well, I heard about poor old Mrs Thomson. It looks like all the action’s over here after all. What?”

Libby was laughing. “Mrs Thomson told me your name’s really Maxwell.”

“Anyway,” he glared, “I was worried about you. I wasn’t sure how you and Bear would get on, after that unfortunate affair with your car. I can see I needn’t have worried.”

He stretched out in an armchair. “That was a wonderful meal, by the way: better than a restaurant.” Fuzzy appeared from his hiding place behind the settee, stretched and sauntered over to sit on Max’s knee.

“Thanks. The car’s been fixed and Bear’s looked after me. He’s even made friends with the cat. I’ll tell you about Guy Miles and James Sutcliffe in a minute, but first, what did you find out in America?”

“I didn’t take to our friend Mickey, that’s for sure. Too rich for his own good, that one, with a trophy wife, a mansion in Beverley Hills and a great opinion of himself.”

“Did you see his house?”

Max laughed. “No, he graciously offered me half an hour of his time in a hotel. But I’d hired a car, so I did a little snooping around the area. You know, see how the other half live?”

“And?”

“You know, I never would have thought I’d say it, but the heat was too much for me. It’s good to get back to some Somerset weather.”

Libby shivered. “Gales and rain, you mean. I suppose, at least we don’t need air conditioning. Anyway, was Mickey what we expected?”

“Exactly so. I met his wife, by the way. Maybe you’ve seen her? She’s starring in that sci-fi blockbuster that came out last month, and she was giving interviews at the same hotel. Mickey whisked me in and out of the room. I think he was trying to impress me.”

“Hm. So, he was rattled?”

“Hard to tell. Trouble is, he’s got a great alibi. He spent most of Monday night at a televised award ceremony. Even with the time difference, he couldn’t have attacked Susie and got back to the States in time. In any, case, he hasn’t really got any reason to want her dead, what with the sparkly new wife and all.” He peered into Libby’s face. “Why are you looking like the cat who got the cream?”

Libby took a moment to savour her triumph. She curled her legs up on the settee. “I just found out today that he and Susie were never divorced. If that film star thinks their wedding was genuine, she’s in for a disappointment. He’s a bigamist.”

The news stunned Max into open-mouthed silence. Then, he threw back his head and laughed. Libby struggled to keep the triumph from showing in her face, as she filled him in with the day’s events. “Why didn’t you tell me Susie was from a traveller’s family?”

“Didn’t seem relevant. She lived with her mother, and I knew Alice Bennett died.”

“Well, it matters. That’s why she didn’t like official documents and solicitors. Why she didn’t make a will.”

Max grunted. “Plenty of people don’t make wills. Susie wouldn’t have cared where her money went, once her little girl was gone.”

“But, if she didn’t bother to make a will, and she never divorced Mickey, then he has the best possible motive for having her killed.”

“Money? You really think that’s what it’s about?”

“Why not. Aren’t most murders committed for money?”

Max removed Fuzzy from his knee and poked at the logs on the fire, prodding until flames shot up the chimney. “There are plenty of reasons people kill each other. Money, of course, but then there’s jealousy, and revenge, and sex crops up, too, pretty often.”

Libby clicked her tongue. “Well, what’s your theory, then?”

Fuzzy stretched and turned a complete circle, yawned and subsided, eyes fixed on the fire. Max waved one hand. “No theory, yet, but plenty of questions. I think we should keep an open mind. Anyway, you look tired out. Let’s leave it for now.”

The Other Lighthouse

Mandy and Elaine slept in on Sunday morning. Libby enjoyed a quiet breakfast with Bear and Fuzzy. She’d see Max again, today. Her stomach performed an odd little flip. Exham had suddenly become a much more interesting place.

They’d arranged to meet in the Lighthouse Inn for Sunday lunchtime drinks. The venue seemed appropriate. Determined not to make too much effort, Libby wore a minimum of makeup: just mascara and lipstick, with the slightest blush of pink on her cheeks. Well, she excused herself, no need to go around looking tired. She pulled on jeans and a raspberry-coloured sweater, brushed her hair until it shone and shrugged on a light grey jacket.

The pub was crowded with pre-dinner drinkers. Libby recognised some of them. Samantha Watson was in the corner, head bent close to Chief Inspector Arnold. She waved a limp hand in the air, without meeting Libby’s eyes. “We must have lunch, some time, Libby dear.”

Max leaned on the bar, an air-force blue sweater picking up the colour of his eyes. Libby slid onto a stool. “Why did you want to meet here?”

“I thought we should talk to a few of Susie’s old friends. See who you recognise from Mrs Thomson’s photos.”

He hadn’t asked her out to enjoy her sparkling wit, then. Libby slipped the Christmas photo onto the bar. “Mrs Thomson told me some of the names. The full names, of course. No nicknames. I wonder if Bert still answers to Albert?” She pointed to one of the boys in the picture, “Who’s that, with black hair?”

“That’s Chief Inspector Arnold.”

Libby snorted. “He’s changed a bit. I suppose the beard makes a difference, and the thinning hair.
Everyone’s changed since this was taken, but I can recognise you. You’re just the same.”

“Apart from the wrinkles.”

“I guess Bert won’t be coming in today?”

“Don’t bet on it. He’ll be looking for sympathy. He thinks he’s untouchable. There he is, with Alan and Ned.” The garage owner waved. Ned winked. Bert kept his eyes on his shoes.

Samantha, elegant in tight white jeans and a navy cashmere sweater, looking years younger than her age, with not a trace of grey showing through expensive highlights, left the inspector and shimmied over to kiss Max on both cheeks. “Libby and I know each other.” Her eyes picked out every detail of Libby’s appearance, before she turned her attention to Max, eyelashes aflutter. “We’re in the history society together.”

Max grinned. “History society. Really?”

“One has to find something to do, here.” Samantha heaved a heavy sigh. “It’s not Bath, you know.” Her voice held a bleak note and a little of Libby’s antagonism drained away. Samantha had no children. Libby’s two had left home, but they phoned regularly. Lately, she even seemed to have a surrogate child in Mandy, but Samantha, with her lovely face and figure, and lucrative career, was sad, bored and lonely. Ned joined them at the bar, but his wife’s lip curled in contempt.

Ollie slid his pint mug along the bar. “Is there a date for Susie’s funeral, yet?”

Max shrugged. “Not until the police release her body.”

“Your lad Joe was round at our place,” Ollie went on. “Asking whether we’d seen her lately.”

Samantha tossed her head. “She pretty well walked away from us all when she was famous.”

“She was back recently.” Libby spoke without thinking. Max glared, sending her a silent message. Maybe she’d stolen his thunder. Samantha blinked. In a flash of inspiration, Libby realised why she looked so young.
Botox.

Ollie frowned. “Susie was back here? When? Did anyone see her?”

“She went to visit a member of the band. James Sutcliffe’s a farmer, now, making cheese, out in the sticks beyond Bristol. Susie came back to visit his wife before she died.”

Ollie whistled. “Phew, wish we’d known. Could have had a reunion.”

Samantha put a hand on his arm. “I don’t think Susie would want to be seen with us, these days, Ollie.”

Libby felt an absurd need to defend Susie. “She kept in touch with Mrs Thomson over the years, you know, sending photos.”

Samantha’s tinkling laugh jarred on Libby’s ears. “I don’t know why Susie would bother with that nosy old woman. Such a busybody.”

Max’s eyes flashed steel. “Haven’t you heard?”

“Heard what? I’ve been away the past few days. I only got back from London yesterday.” Samantha was very close to Max, her elbow almost touching his.

He took a step away. “Mrs Thomson’s dead. She fell down the stairs.”

“Oh.” Samantha recoiled. “Well, how would I know that? Anyway, it’s true, she was a busybody, standing at that window of hers, spying on us all. She used to tell tales to my parents.” She looked round the circle of appalled faces and her voice changed. “It’s very sad, all the same.”

Libby said. “Anyway, she seems to be the only one in Exham that Susie told about her―” She broke off as Max repeated the glaring routine. She coughed. “About her visit.”

Max took her arm. “If we’re going to do that walk, Libby, we’d better get going. Joe will let us know as soon as there’s a date for the funeral; either of the funerals.”

The Knoll

Libby’s back tingled as they walked away. She could swear Samantha’s eyes never left her. She hissed, “What was that all about, Max?”

He grinned. “I wanted to see some reactions.”

“Not about Susie’s daughter, though. That was what you stopped me saying, wasn’t it?”

“I thought we should keep that under wraps for a while.”

She waited, but he seemed in no hurry to explain. “OK, Max. What aren’t you telling me?”

“Let’s get out of here, first.”

Ten minutes later, they arrived at the foot of the Knoll. Max let Bear out of the car. He jumped up, panting at the prospect of a walk. Libby wasn’t so sure. The hill was steep. “You said we were having lunch.”

“We’ll do a round trip and finish up back at the pub, when everyone’s left. We don’t want half the town eavesdropping.”

She shrugged and set off. “Then, why did we come to a pub where you knew we’d find all your school friends?”

“Told you: for reactions. Like Samantha’s. What did she have against Mrs Thomson?”

“Or against Susie?” Libby shot a glance his way. “Max, why didn’t you let me tell them about Annie Rose?” The hill grew steeper. Max’s legs were long and Libby found it hard to match his stride. “Can’t we slow down a bit?”

“What? Oh, all right.” He slowed the pace a tiny fraction.

“You’re blushing, Max. Come on, spill the beans. I thought we were supposed to be partners.” She was tired of wondering about Max’s history. A hint here, a tiny piece of information there: he was so secretive. “What happened with you and Susie, when you were growing up together?”

“Susie and I were good friends, back in the day. Before she left school. I suppose you’d call us childhood sweethearts.”

“And Samantha was jealous.”

He chuckled. “A bit, maybe. Susie and I were together for over a year. She was a dear, sweet girl. At first, anyway. Then, the band took off and things changed. She got drunk too often, even for a teenager. She started smoking pot. Everyone was doing it in those days, but when Susie got high, she was wild. She didn’t seem to know when to stop.”

“I suppose it’s easy to get carried away, if you’re in a successful band.” Libby panted, struggling to keep up as Max climbed faster.

“Guy didn’t go to our school. He was at a public school nearby: his father was a wealthy man. Guy kept Susie supplied, not only with pot, but LSD and then coke, later. I was more jealous than shocked, if I’m honest, because she spent more time with Guy than with me. I suppose I could see the writing on the wall.”

Max’s face took on a far-away look, as though he was reliving the past: a past when he was in love with Susie. “One day we had an argument.” He breathed hard, from walking and talking, and slowed his pace to let Libby catch up. “Susie had a Saturday job in the newsagents. One afternoon, I went in to get cigarettes.”

He glanced sideways, caught Libby’s eye and grimaced. “Everyone smoked, back then. The owner went into the back room. When Susie put my money in the till, she lifted a handful of cash. It wasn’t much, but it gave me a jolt. We had a row, and I accused her of being a drug addict. She laughed at me.”

Max bent over, picked up a handful of stones and tossed them into a hollow. “She said: ‘You go around with your eyes shut, Max. If you only knew…’ I had no idea what she was talking about. I suppose I was a bit dim, in those days. I wouldn’t let it go. I got mad, accused her of preferring Guy to me, of sleeping with him. She just roared with laughter and I stormed off. Neither of us apologised and we broke up. That’s it, really. An everyday story of teenagers.”