Murder at the Lighthouse: An Exham on Sea Cosy Mystery (Exham on Sea Cosy Crime Mysteries Book 1) (6 page)

“You know him, then?”

“’Course I know him.” He called out, “Hey, Bear.” The dog raced over to lick his hand, happy to transfer his allegiance from Libby.

“Oh. Well, I’m walking him for Max.”

“Ah. Max.” He drew the word out. The grin was insulting. “Friend of yours, is he?”

“Not really. I’m a dog-walker. I’m just helping out Mrs Thomson while Max is away.”

The man nodded, the smile even broader. “Gone far, has he?”

About to tell him to mind his own business, Libby stopped. Instead, she tried her best smile, head on one side, eyelashes fluttering. “He’s very busy. I’ve no idea what he does all the time.”

The man laughed. “Max has his fingers poking into all sorts of pies. You be careful, now, a nice lady like you.” His eyes travelled up and down Libby’s body.

Glad of the shapeless anorak, Libby tried another tack. “Do you live around here?”

“Over yonder, t’other side of the hill. Want to come and see?”

“Why not?” Was she mad? Libby straightened her shoulders. She could look after herself.

They trudged along the lane without speaking. He was definitely the strong, silent type. They turned the corner, but there was no sign of a house. The edge of the village began a hundred yards down the road, and the nearest building bore a garish sign, “Jenkins Garage.” Libby’s spirits rose, despite the missing apostrophe. That was the garage Max had mentioned. “Is that yours?”

“Yep. Alan Jenkins at your service, Ma’am.” There was grime under his nails and oil stains on his coat. Not a farmer, after all. He’d been stringing her along. Libby wouldn’t make much of a Sherlock Holmes. She hadn’t recognised him as one of the boys in Mrs Thomson’s photo album. Twenty years made a big difference.

Still, he might be a useful source of information. “Maybe you can help me. There’s a dent in the back of my car.”

“Jag, is it?”

“I wish. Citroen.”

“You bring it round, I’ll see what I can do.”

Libby took Bear back to the house. She checked on Fuzzy in the airing cupboard, shut the dog in the kitchen, keeping a secure door between the two animals, and took the car round to Alan Jenkins at the garage.

He sucked his teeth. Libby rolled her eyes. He was ramping up the bad news so he could overcharge her. “Tell you what.”

“Yes?” She braced herself.

“Seeing as you’re a friend of Max’s, I’ll do it for nothing.”

“What? Don’t be ridiculous. Why would you do that?”

He sucked his teeth once more. “The thing is, Mrs-er…”

“Mrs Forest.”

“Mrs Forest. The thing is, I owe Max a favour, just at the minute. I reckon, seeing as you and he are good friends, like, this ’ere’ll pay it off.”

Libby’s blush rose hotly up her neck. “We’re not good friends. I hardly know him.”

“”You were out at the White House t’other night, and that’s a fact.”

“Yes, but…” Libby’s words tailed into silence as her brain raced. “Well, maybe we are friends. Max has plenty of friends.”

“Yes, and I wouldn’t want to be on the wrong side of most of ‘em.”

Libby swallowed. “So, what’s the favour you owe him?”

“Now, that would be saying.”

The man was putting on a good local yokel act, Libby had to hand it to him. “Come on, Mr-er-Alan. If you want me to help you get on the right side of Max, you’d better tell me a bit more, or else I’ll give you a cheque and tell him you threatened me.”

“I never did.”

“I know that, but Max doesn’t.” Libby coughed, fighting a snort of laughter. Alan Jenkins had turned pale.

“All right.” He looked around, to check they were alone. “There’s been some ringing.”

Libby tried to look intelligent. “Ringing? With―er―um…”

“Broken-down cars fit only for scrap, sold for next to nothing, tarted up, clock turned back, sold on to nice unsuspecting ladies, like you.”

Together, they eyed Libby’s car. “It came from a proper Citroen garage, I’ll have you know.”

He wiped his hands on the front of his overall. “Anyway, the garage got in a bit of trouble with a Bristol gang and Max―well, he sorted it out for me.” Max had enough clout to scare off a gang of criminals, had he? Alan Jenkins picked up an oily rag and polished the wing mirrors of a small Renault. If Libby wanted to know more, it appeared she’d have to ask Max.

Mangotsfield Hall

“Where are you?”

“What?” The harsh trill of the phone broke into Libby’s confused dream of sand, mud and dogs. “What time is it?”

Marina exhaled loudly. “It’s half past one, and we’re all here, waiting for you.”

Libby shook her head, to click it into gear. “I fell asleep.” She never fell asleep after lunch. She wished she’d kept Bear here, instead of walking him back to Mrs Thomson’s house. He would have kept her awake. “I’m on my way.”

Her heart sank. Today, the local history society was giving a talk about Victorian women at Mangotsfield Hall, the huge mansion nearby, owned by the National Trust. It was the place Robert mentioned. Trevor’s ancestor had worked there as a maid.

In a rash moment, Libby had promised to let Marina use her as a model in a talk about costume. She’d forgotten about it. “You might have reminded me.”

“We talked about it on Tuesday.” Marina dropped the outraged voice. “Look, don’t panic. Angela’s doing the magic lantern show first, so you’ve got a bit of time. I know how you feel, I’ve been all of a tizz ever since the Susie thing. Just get here, as fast as you can.”

“What about the refreshments?” Libby was supposed to have taken them across from the bakery this morning.

“Mandy brought them over. She said she stayed with you last night?” The question hung in the air. No problem with Marina’s gossip antennae.

Libby ignored it. “Look, my car’s in the garage. Can someone pick me up? I’ll be ready in ten minutes.”

She grimaced. She’d agreed to some crazy things, since she came to Exham, hoping to fit in with the townspeople, but it would probably take at least twenty years to be accepted as a local. She really ought to spend more time on her career. She was getting behind with the book, and it was time she booked another cooking course. Patisserie. That would be her future. Or maybe, chocolate. She’d see what Ali thought. She ran downstairs. Better not keep Marina waiting.

Marina’s car screeched to a halt at the back of the Hall, at the tradesman’s entrance. Libby dashed through the sudden downpour, frantically grasping the edges of an umbrella as the wind threatened to turn it inside out. She pasted a serene expression on her face as they walked in. “It’s OK.” Marina poked her head through a crack in the door. “Angela’s kept them busy.” Laughter blared from the hall, followed by applause as Angela finished. “Come on, then,” Marina hissed. “It’s us next.” She gave her friend a hearty shove and Libby half-fell into the hall.

She was never going to volunteer for anything, ever again. She really, really hated people staring. What had she been thinking? Well, too late now. She smiled through clenched teeth, lips stiff, as Marina dressed her up in Victorian costume and make-up, beginning with a cotton shift and working up through layers of corsets and wire crinoline cages. She wouldn’t be able to bear the weight for more than five minutes. How did Victorian ladies keep going all day?

Marina attached false ringlets to the sides of Libby’s head. “The Victorians thought it impolite for a lady to show her ears,” she explained, taking a pot of strong-smelling potion and a paint brush, and smoothing oil over Libby’s hair. As it dried, Libby shook her head, but the ringlets stayed rigidly in place.

The result was a passable imitation of Queen Victoria. As though that were not sufficient humiliation, the audience gathered round, taking photos that threatened to haunt Libby for the rest of her life. They plucked at the costume, lifting heavy layers and letting them fall. “Look, you can hardly raise your arms, those sleeves are so tight.”

“It’s all part of the Victorian way of life,” Marina said. “In fact, wearing a corset supports your back, don’t you think, Libby,”

“I could wear this every day,” Libby lied. “For one thing, it hides my waist. I could put on pounds and no one would notice.”

Slowly, the audience dispersed, chattering happily. At last, she could get rid of the costume and have a few words with Marina. “What’s in that disgusting stuff you spread all over my hair? You didn’t warn me about that. How am I going to get it off?”

The words dried up on her lips as Libby caught sight of Detective Sergeant Joe Ramshore. She shifted, embarrassed. Did Joe know she’d been out to dinner with his father? Oh, well, who cared? She was a grown woman and Max was divorced. It was none of his son’s business.

“Mrs Forest, I’m glad to see you.” Joe focused on Libby’s hair and smirked. “So sorry I missed the meeting. That costume looks terrific. And the hair…” He made a noise halfway between a laugh and a cough. “Actually, I’m one of the trustees of Mangotsfield Hall and it’s my day off today, but I’d like to have a word with you.”

Libby swallowed. Was she in trouble? About to be accused of obstructing the police by moving the body, and taken into custody? “Of course.”

“I wanted to tell you we’ve had the pathologist’s report. It’s no more than we expected. The cause of death was drowning while intoxicated. He found alcohol and drugs in Susie’s blood. Not a deliberate overdose, just enough to stop Susie taking proper care around the water.”

“No sign of anything else?”

“A bruise on her head, but that would be the tide bashing her against the lighthouse. It was a rough old storm on Monday night.”

Libby tried to think. “What about the time of death?”

“It’s hard to tell. The body was in the water for a few hours, but it was so cold the pathologist can’t tell when rigor mortis set in.” Libby winced. It was the stiffness of rigor mortis that had kept Susie’s hand in her pocket, until Libby pulled it out to point at the sky.

“Look, Detective―”

“Call me Joe.”

“Look, aren’t you going to investigate further? I mean, you said she was bruised. Don’t you think that’s suspicious? What if someone else was there?”

Joe sighed, looking suddenly tired. “Please, Mrs Forest. We’re grateful to you for calling us in as soon as you found the body, but now, you must leave it to us. We’ve seen hundreds of accidental deaths, you know, especially when there’s drink and drugs involved.”

The patronising tone infuriated Libby. “I know that, but common sense―”

“Common sense tells us there was nothing suspicious.” He’d raised his voice. “Now, let me give you a bit of advice.” Joe’s mouth smiled, but the eyes, so like his father’s, told a different story. Libby resisted a shiver. “You’re new here. You didn’t know Susie. People feel strongly about her, around here. They’re proud. Not many from Exham end up famous. Folk don’t like anyone suggesting she’s more than just unlucky.”

The blue gaze bored into Libby. “We need to keep everyone calm. Talk a bit less about the drink and drugs, if you see what I mean. It was just an unfortunate accident.” His tone was reasonable. “Walking on the beach at this time of year is dangerous. The sea comes in fast. Susie’s been away a long time and she forgot about the power of the tide.” He leaned towards Libby and spoke with emphasis. “It was an accident, Mrs Forest. Leave it be. No more gossip.”

Gossip?
That was rich. The whole town was abuzz with scandal. Libby shrugged. “I didn’t know her. I just found the body.” She hoped he hadn’t heard details of her conversations with Max or her visit to Mrs Thomson.

“Exactly. You didn’t know her. I’m just saying, some folks here don’t take kindly to a stranger, who wasn’t here in the old days, stirring things up.” His words silenced Libby. She tried to think of a sufficiently cutting reply, but before she could gather her wits, Joe walked away, leaving Libby, arms akimbo, mouth open.

Marina took her elbow. “Are you OK?”

“I don’t know. I think I’ve just been told to keep my nose out of town affairs.”

“By Detective Sergeant Joe?” Libby nodded. Marina waved a hand. “Don’t worry about him. He can’t get over his father coming back to town, just when Joe’s been promoted to Chief Inspector’s bagman. He wants to be top dog around here. You know, a big fish in a small pond. Max tends to cramp his style. It’s family stuff.” She laughed. “He’s giving you a hard time because Max doesn’t take enough notice of him.”

“You mean, Joe knows I’ve been out with Max?”

Marina snorted. “Of course he knows. It’s the talk of the town, Libby. That’s why the room was packed, this afternoon. Everyone wanted to get a look at you.”

Libby’s eyes threatened to pop out of her head. “You mean, they’re judging me?” She glanced over her shoulder. The few stragglers left in the hall stood in small knots, staring at her, fascinated. Libby choked back fury, took a breath and stalked, fists clenched, eyes straight ahead, out through the door, as whispers chased close behind.

Mandy

The afternoon at Mangotsfield Hall had confirmed every one of Libby’s fears about making a new life in a small town: gossip, cliques and the cold shoulder. London neighbours warned her, but she’d thought she knew best. So much for those great plans for opening a patisserie and chocolatier here. She was a laughing stock.