Murder in Midwinter (34 page)

‘I know nothing about that,’ said Sir Jonathan, ‘and Sir Frederick and Ivy weren’t married until the following year.’ He got to his feet. ‘If you find out any more, I would be most grateful if you’d let me know.’

Fran was silent as they returned to the garden room. Libby glanced at her a couple of times, but said nothing.

‘Where have you been?’ demanded Harry, as they walked in.

‘Looking at a picture with old Sir Jonathan,’ said Libby. ‘Did you miss us?’

‘I thought you were supposed to be attending to our every whim,’ said Harry, throwing an arm round Peter’s shoulders. ‘Isn’t she, Pete?’

‘What is your whim, then?’ asked Libby.

‘Oh, I don’t know – a bath of asses’ milk, or possibly just another glass of champagne.’ Harry held out his glass.

Libby took the glass from his hand. ‘Your wish is my command, O master,’ she said.

‘So what’s it all about, then?’ she asked Fran as together they made their way to the drinks table, where a white-coated waiter ceremoniously poured more champagne.

Fran shook her head. ‘Not here. I’ve got to think about something. And to be honest, it’s more deduction than psychic mumbo-jumbo. Have a think yourself.’

Libby scowled. ‘I can’t think,’ she said. ‘And I’m sure we weren’t going to do this any more.’

‘Hmm,’ said Fran. ‘But I think we’d better.’

Libby stared at her. ‘That sounds ominous,’ she said.

‘I think it could be.’ Fran took a deep breath. ‘Now come on, let’s enjoy ourselves.’

The local band who had been booked to play during the evening had turned up by this time, and there was no more opportunity for private conversation. By eleven o’clock everyone was winding down and Peter and Harry were seen off to their suite by a cheering crowd, after which the guests trickled out in sporadic bursts.

Fran, Guy, Libby and Ben squeezed into the hired car and set off for Steeple Martin. For a while they discussed the wedding, the ceremony and reception, until Libby said: ‘How are you getting back to Nethergate, Guy?’

Ben, sitting in the front next to the driver, turned round and glowered at her.

‘I’m not,’ said Guy, amusement sounding in his voice. ‘I’m booked in at the pub.’

‘Oh,’ said Libby. ‘Well, would you all like to come in for a nightcap?’

‘Love to,’ said Guy. ‘Fran?’

‘Yes, thanks, Lib,’ said Fran, although to Libby’s ears it sounded as though Fran wasn’t actually taking much notice of what was going on.

‘So,’ said Guy after the drinks had been poured. ‘What investigations did you two get up to so inappropriately?’

Libby flushed. Fran appeared unmoved.

‘It wasn’t our fault,’ said Libby. ‘Sir Jonathan’s the owner of Anderson Place and he wanted to show us something.’

‘Connected with Laurence Cooper’s death?’ said Guy.

‘No,’ said Libby.

‘Yes,’ said Fran. They all looked at her.

‘Really?’ said Libby.

‘Oh, yes,’ said Fran, and shut her mouth firmly.

Before she went to sleep, Libby tried to work out why the portrait could have anything to do with Laurence’s death. It was beginning to look likely that Albert Cooper might have been Laurence’s grandfather, in which case there might have been a connection with Dorinda, but not with Anderson Place. Then again, there was the Importance of Being Earnest …

Christmas Eve went by for Libby in a storm of activity. Bel and Ad arrived, final presents were wrapped and put under the tree, Sidney and Balzac came to a reluctant truce and sat back to back in front of the fire and there were several panic-stricken sorties to the eight-til-late for essential forgotten items such as tins of sweets which would remain uneaten until Easter.

‘Mum,’ said Bel with amusement after the latest of these purchases, ‘we’re not even here tomorrow. We’re going to Ben’s.’

‘There’s the rest of the holiday,’ said Libby defensively. ‘Even if you’re not here.’

‘We’re not going until the day after Boxing Day,’ said Ad, peering through a curly fringe from his place on the floor, ‘if I can stand sleeping with these cats, that is.’

‘I’ll shut them in the conservatory,’ said Libby. ‘They’re getting on better now.’

Ben arrived at supper time to whisk Libby off to the pub. She persuaded him to eat first, then they collected Fran and crammed themselves into the bar.

‘Any more thoughts?’ Libby shouted at Fran over the hubbub.

‘Oh, yes,’ said Fran. ‘But I can’t talk about it now.’

‘Oh? Why not?’

‘I’m not prepared to shout it for all to hear,’ said Fran snappily.

‘Oh.’ Libby felt colour creeping into her cheeks. ‘Sorry.’

‘Hello, gals,’ said a voice, and they looked round to find Lenny piloting Flo towards them.

‘Thought I’d find you ’ere,’ said Flo, as they found her a seat at their crowded table. Lenny began pushing through the crowd to get to Ben at the bar. ‘Something to tell you.’

‘Oh? What’s that?’ Libby leant nearer in order to hear. Flo didn’t want to shout, either.

‘That Eric. Seems his flat was broken into.’

‘No!’ Libby looked at Fran.

‘I was afraid of that,’ she said.

Chapter
Thirty-one

‘
Y
OU WERE
?’
LIBBY STARED
, mouth open.

‘He saw the murderer, didn’t he?’ Fran looked down at the table, fiddled with a beer mat.

‘Oh, God, yes.’ Libby’s hand flew to her mouth. ‘So the murderer thought he would be there?’

‘Looks like it, doesn’t it?’

‘So why ’asn’t ’e been back before?’ asked Flo, squinting through the smoke of her cigarette.

‘Because he’s only just found out that Eric’s been asked to do a photofit,’ said Fran.

‘And how has he found out?’ asked Libby.

Fran looked uncomfortable. ‘I don’t know,’ she said.

‘You do,’ said Libby. ‘You’re just not going to tell us.’

‘I might be totally wrong, so I’m not going to say anything in case I am. You could probably work it out yourself, anyway. I told you the other day, it’s deduction more than psychic revelations.’

Libby looked puzzled, Flo confused and Fran unhappy. Ben and Lenny arrived back at the table carrying the drinks between them. Lenny had managed to spill his down his front, and Flo tutted at him.

‘Silly old fool,’ she said.

‘What’s up with you lot?’ asked Ben, looking round at the three solemn faces. ‘It’s Christmas Eve.’

‘Eric’s flat’s been broken into,’ said Libby.

‘Oh.’

‘Thinkin’ ’e’d be there, o’ course,’ said Flo. ‘You know more about it than me, but I reckon it’s someone who you’ve told, one of you.’ She looked at Fran and Libby. ‘That’s right, isn’t it, young Fran?’

Fran nodded.

‘What?’ said Libby, aghast. ‘But who? I haven’t told anybody.’

‘We’ve discussed it between us,’ said Ben, ‘and all of us sitting round this table know. I expect Fran’s told Guy, too.’

‘Yes,’ said Fran.

‘So it could be anyone we’ve spoken to in the last couple of days,’ said Libby, ‘but I haven’t told anyone else about it, honestly.’

‘Don’t forget Edna,’ said Flo. ‘She knows. And she wouldn’t think anythink of talking about it to all ’er mates. At the shop, fer instance, or in the Close.’

‘Oh!’ Libby looked at Ben and Fran. ‘Of course! She could have told anyone, couldn’t she?’

‘But nobody in Maltby Close is connected with Laurence,’ said Ben.

‘How do we know?’ said Libby.

‘No, he’s right,’ said Fran.

‘What about the shop? Do we know anything about her friends there?’

‘It’s in Steeple Mount,’ said Flo with a sniff. ‘Course we don’t.’

‘Ian Connell will ask all these questions,’ said Fran. ‘I don’t think we need to worry about it.’

‘But it could be our fault,’ wailed Libby.

Fran shook her head. There was a short silence.

‘Well, come on, everyone,’ said Ben, ‘cheer up. It’s the best night of the year.’ He lifted his glass. ‘Cheers!’

Somehow, but with an effort, the subject was changed and the atmosphere lifted. By the end of the evening, when an impromptu carol concert broke out, they were all in considerably better spirits.

Ben and Libby left Fran at the door of her flat.

‘Don’t worry about it,’ said Libby, as she kissed her friend on the cheek. ‘We can’t do anything over the holiday, anyway.’

‘I know,’ said Fran. ‘I feel uncomfortable about it, though.’

‘Forget it,’ said Ben, giving her a kiss on the other cheek. ‘Just look forward to tomorrow. Presents under the tree, turkey, Christmas pud – the works. And us, too!’

There had been some discussion between Ben and Libby as to whether he would stay at Number 17 that night with Libby’s children in residence. Libby was dubious, but Ben said he wanted to wake up with her on Christmas morning, and promised to be very quiet and leave early. As Belinda and Adam hadn’t yet returned from their night out in Canterbury, where they had met up with some old schoolfriends, no problems were incurred, so it was with some concern that Ben woke suddenly an hour later to find Libby sitting bolt upright in bed whispering ‘Oh, my God!’

‘What? What’s happened?’ he muttered.

‘I know who it is,’ said Libby shakily. ‘Oh, my God. I know who it is. No wonder Fran was so miserable.’

‘Who, then?’ said Ben, now thoroughly awake.

‘No.’ Libby lay down again. ‘I’m not saying anything until I’ve talked to Fran. As she said earlier, I could be wrong, and I’d hate to have accused the wrong person.’

Frustrated, Ben, too, lay down again and tried to go back to sleep, mentally cursing all murderers and his beloved’s insatiable curiosity.

He left early in the morning, stepping carefully over Adam’s body on the sitting room floor, to go and help with preparations at The Manor. Libby came downstairs and sat in the kitchen with the cats and a cup of tea, brooding over the night’s revelations, or, at least, what she thought of as the night’s revelations. The more she thought about it, the more likely her theory appeared, although the finer details still escaped her. Finally, at eight o’clock, she could bear it no longer and phoned Fran. She was unsurprised when Fran answered immediately, sounding wide awake.

‘You’ve worked it out, haven’t you?’ said Fran.

‘I think so,’ said Libby warily, ‘although it doesn’t seem very likely.’

‘Inevitable, though,’ said Fran. ‘Tell me what you think.’

Libby told her.

‘I think so, yes,’ said Fran with one of her doom-laden sighs. ‘I’ve just called Ian. I think he’d more or less come to the same conclusion.’

‘What’s he going to do?’ asked Libby. ‘It’s Christmas Day.’

‘I don’t know. There isn’t much evidence, and they can hardly get old Eric in to do his photofit today, so I suspect he’ll leave it at least until tomorrow.’

Libby heaved a sigh of her own. ‘And we still don’t know all the connections, do we? I suppose Ian didn’t say anything about Colin Cooper’s birth certificate?’

‘No. I don’t suppose it was urgent enough to do anything quickly. And I suppose it wasn’t, really.’

‘No. I still want to know, though.’

‘I think I know,’ said Fran, slowly.

‘You what? And you haven’t told me?’

‘It’s only guesswork,’ said Fran.

‘Not entirely, I bet,’ said Libby.

‘I think I saw something.’

‘As in “saw”,’ said Libby.

‘Yes. Like the attack on the landing, although I think that was misleading.’

‘True, though.’

‘Yes. But this time – well, I think Albert Cooper was Colin Cooper’s adoptive father.’

‘The receipt!’ gasped Libby.

‘Yes. I think he “bought” Colin –’

‘From Dorinda!’ Libby finished for her. ‘So Colin was really Dorinda’s son! But by who? Whom?’

‘Dorinda was dismissed from the Shepherd household, wasn’t she?’ said Fran. ‘Why?’

‘I can’t remember,’ said Libby, frowning in concentration and pushing Sidney off the table.

‘Remember the piece in the paper about the diamond necklace, and we couldn’t find another report saying it had been recovered?’

‘Well, it obviously was,’ said Libby, ‘because Ivy’s wearing it in the portrait, and Jonathan told us Nemone didn’t much care for it. Don’t know why, though. It looked beautiful.’

‘Don’t you think it could have been a set-up?’ said Fran. ‘Dorinda dismissed for stealing the necklace when in fact it was something quite different?’

‘She was pregnant?’

‘At a guess.’

‘By Peter?’ Libby snorted. ‘I’ve just realised how ridiculous that sounds, knowing our Peter.’

‘I don’t think so. Just think about Laurence’s attachment to Anderson Place, and those pictures.’

‘So, Colin took him there when he was young. What does that prove?’

‘And do you remember those letters? Jonathan’s letters from his Mum? About the unwelcome visitor? And the ones we found from Dorinda and Julia?’

‘Remind me.’

‘Julia said her mother, that would have been Nemone Shepherd, wouldn’t have told unless – what was the phrase? – the circumstances hadn’t demanded it. Something like that. And Dorinda said please don’t blame Mrs Shepherd, she’d been kindness itself.’

‘Yes – and that was about a visitor, too! Wasn’t it?’ said Libby.

‘I think so. So what have we got? You see, I told you it was deduction rather than my dubious psychic powers.’

‘Hang on,’ said Libby, hearing sounds of movement from the sitting room. ‘Ad’s alive. I’ll work it out and call you back.’

‘I’ll be seeing you in a couple of hours,’ said Fran, ‘don’t bother to ring.’

‘I don’t think we can talk about this at The Manor,’ said Libby. ‘Tell you what, I’ll pop round to you half an hour before we’re expected up there and we can go together.’

‘What about Bel and Ad?’

‘They can go on their own. They know the way.’

Libby found Belinda sitting on Adam in the sitting room and wished her children Merry Christmas. After a pleasurable half an hour exchanging family presents, she sent them to get showered and dressed while she cooked breakfast. Adam, predictably taking longer than Belinda, then complained that his egg was hard.

‘Tough,’ said Libby appropriately. ‘Now you two can clear away while I get ready, then I’m going over to Fran’s for half an hour. I’ll see you both at The Manor at twelve sharp. OK?’