Murder in the Monastery (Libby Sarjeant Murder Mystery series) (15 page)

‘
Y
ou startled me!’ Libby fought down an irrational panic.

She was sitting in a public place, for goodness’ sake. And David Fletcher was hardly dangerous.

‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to.’

‘No, of course not.’ Libby tried a smile. ‘I just didn’t expect to see you.’

‘Oh, I come in to Nethergate every day to shop or eat. The cottage I’m renting is a little way out of town so there’s nothing nearer.’

‘Was there nothing available in town?’ asked Libby.

‘Oh, yes, but not as peaceful.’

‘So you sacrificed amenities for peace?’

‘You could put it like that. So what are you doing here?’

‘Visiting friends,’ said Libby.

‘Oh?’

‘Yes,’ said Libby, smiling determinedly. ‘And I must go now, or I’ll be late.’

‘Oh, I was hoping I might persuade you to have lunch with me.’

‘Sorry,’ said Libby, desperately hoping he would not decide to walk with her. However, the hope was doomed. He stood up with her and walked beside her to the end of Victoria Place.

‘I was talking to Peter about your murder last night,’ he said.

Libby’s heart sank. ‘My murder?’

‘The chap who was murdered in your last production.’

‘Oh, he wasn’t,’ said Libby, remembering what Peter had said the night before. ‘If you mean the person who was killed in the Monastery, that was after our play. We’d gone by then, thank goodness.’

‘Oh.’ David looked disappointed.

‘Why are you interested?’ Libby turned to look directly at him. ‘We know very little about it, and even less about the man who was murdered.’

‘I thought he was a member of your company.’

‘Only for that production. None of us knew him. Why do you want to know?’ Libby took a deep breath. ‘Did you know him?’

David now looked horrified. ‘No – no, of course not! I was just interested.’

‘Well, I must say we aren’t,’ Libby lied. ‘It’s quite different when you find yourself questioned in a murder case, even when you had nothing to do with it.’

‘No, of course, I understand. I’m sorry. I was being the worst sort of ghoul, wasn’t I?’ He smiled.

‘I understand, too,’ said Libby. ‘People do find this sort of thing interesting, but it’s quite different when you’re mixed up in it, as I said.’

‘Yes, you’ve been involved with several murder cases, haven’t you?’

Oh, bugger, thought Libby. Aloud, she said ‘Yes, a few, quite by accident. And now you must excuse me – I’m late already.’

And, sure enough, she could see Jane approaching Cliff Terrace out of the corner of her eye, although she didn’t want David to see exactly who she was meeting.

‘Right. I’ll see you next week, then.’ David held out a hand. Libby took it.

‘See you then,’ she said and turned away to follow Jane, hoping David wouldn’t watch her. However, by the time she reached the top of the steps to Jane’s mother’s flat and could legitimately turn round, he’d gone, so letting out the breath she didn’t know she’d been holding, she went down the steps and knocked on the door.

Ten minutes later she was sitting in Jane’s kitchen while Jane made large ham sandwiches.

‘Imogen’s had her lunch with Mum,’ she said, handing over a plate, ‘but she likes to sit with me while I eat mine.’ She sat down at the table. ‘What’s this all about, then?’

Libby explained the situation, including her meeting with David that morning.

‘Ian doesn’t think he’s a suspect, as far as I know, but he’s obviously after something. He’s tried questioning me and Peter now, and virtually invited himself into our production.’

‘So what do you want us to do? Question Susannah about him?’

‘No, no! You mustn’t do that! Just don’t talk about the murder, and especially Martha, to anyone.’

‘It’s a bit late for that, isn’t it?’ said Jane doubtfully. ‘It’s been in the papers – even the nationals – and on local TV. Campbell made sure of that.’

‘But there hasn’t been much about Martha, and Ian wants it to stay that way. The police only released her proper name, so he doesn’t know about the Martha bit.’

Jane frowned. ‘Why has he come down here with all flags flying under his real name, then? If Martha was Mrs Fletcher, surely he’d realise that someone would put two and two together?’

‘Maybe, but it’s a common name, and don’t forget he knew Susannah was here and he was likely to meet her.’

‘Made a point of it, in fact,’ said Jane. ‘Coffee?’

‘Yes, please. Actually, of course, the fact that none of us have referred to the coincidence must make him realise we know nothing about her.’

‘Double bluff?’ said Jane.

‘Well, yes. And few of the details of the attack on Martha have been released, even the time difference between that and the murder.’

‘I didn’t know about that,’ said Jane.

‘And you don’t now,’ said Libby. ‘Just pretend you know nothing. I don’t suppose Susannah will say anything unless he asks directly, and she won’t know anything herself, but might think to ask you. That would be perfectly legitimate, wouldn’t it?’

‘So we say we know nothing more than was in my report.’ Jane put mugs on the table. ‘Hot, Imogen.’

Imogen slid off her chair, nodding. ‘Hot,’ she said and wandered off.

‘That’s it. Mind you, I can’t remember what you said.’

‘Not a lot, and this week even less.’

‘Not much to say, really, is there?’

‘And I suppose that’s Ian’s problem.’

‘It is rather. He’s desperately trying to find a link between Martha or Dominic and someone who knew the true value of the reliquary. Peter thinks it’s a random attack, but neither you nor Campbell made much of its value, so a random thief wouldn’t think it was worth stealing – just a bit of old finger.’

‘That’s true.’ Jane tapped her mug with a fingernail. ‘It really looks like an unsolvable case, doesn’t it? No fingerprints or anything.’

‘No murder weapon, either, except for Martha’s.’

‘Martha’s?’

‘She was pushed on to the stand, hit her head on the corner.’

‘What, and the murderer saw what he’d done and scarpered?’

‘Or heard the security guard coming.’

‘But where did he scarper to? They didn’t find anyone anywhere in the grounds, did they?’

‘No,’ said Libby, ‘but to be fair, the security guard was too preoccupied with Martha and calling in to do an immediate search. It was more how he got in.’

‘Dominic could have let him in,’ suggested Jane.

‘And then there was a falling out between thieves? Yes, it’s been considered, but how did Dominic let him in?’

‘How close a check was made after you’d all left?’

‘Not close enough, obviously, as Dominic remained hidden.’

‘There you are then. It could easily be a member of the audience.’

‘In cahoots with Dominic? Or on his own?’

‘Oh, in cahoots,’ said Jane, ‘or he wouldn’t know where to go or where to hide.’

‘It’s definitely a thought,’ said Libby.

‘I expect Ian’s thought of it, or one of his minions has.’

‘He hasn’t asked for audience details,’ said Libby, ‘and because almost all the tickets were sold by credit or debit card we could give them to him.’

‘There’s something about the data protection act,’ warned Jane, ‘although maybe that doesn’t apply to the police.’

‘Oh, well, I’ll tell him I’ve warned you and mention what you’ve said. It’s up to him, then.’

‘He asked you to warn us, then?’ Jane looked interested. ‘Does he think this David’s dangerous, then?’

‘No, I’m pretty sure he doesn’t, but he’s worried about him.’

‘We shall be on our guard, then. In fact, Susannah and Emlyn are coming to supper tonight, so it’s a good job you told me. I just hope Terry doesn’t say the wrong thing.’

‘He won’t. He doesn’t say much anyway,’ said Libby, standing up. ‘Thanks for the sandwich and coffee. I promised to pop in on Fran to update her so I’d better go.’

Libby made a detour to the Alexandria to see what ticket sales were like, and admire the posters. Then she made her way along Harbour Street and waved to Guy in his shop before knocking on the door of Coastguard Cottage.

She and Fran walked back to Lizzie’s ice-cream booth while Libby related the day’s events.

‘I think Jane could be right, you know,’ said Fran, licking rum and raisin drips from the cone. ‘A member of the audience.’

‘Perhaps even the one who pretended to be the beneficiary on the phone?’

‘Don’t get ahead of yourself, Lib. But an audience member subsequently hidden by Dominic makes perfect sense.’

‘Yes, it does. But as Jane said, I expect Ian’s thought of that. I will tell him about David Fletcher accosting me today and just drop that in, though.’ She looked over to the little harbour. ‘I did wonder about a boat trip today, but neither of them are there.’

‘Next trips are five o’clock and five fifteen,’ said Fran, ‘so the holidaymakers can get home in time for supper.’

‘Too late for me,’ said Libby. ‘I’d better get home and do something spectacular for supper. I seem to have been neglecting my inner domestic goddess recently.’

‘It’s having Harry round the corner,’ said Fran. ‘Too easy to pop down there for something delicious.’

‘We’ve been limiting ourselves recently,’ said Libby, finishing the last of her ice cream. ‘Special occasions only. Or at least only once a week.’

‘Saturday night special,’ said Fran. ‘Are you going tomorrow?’

‘We could. Would you like to come? And I’ll ask Pete, who’d probably be there, anyway.’

‘Great. Can we stay over?’

‘Of course. You’ll have to get back on Sunday morning, won’t you? Because of the shop.’

‘Unless Sophie can be persuaded to open up for us. Did Adam tell you she’s moving to London?’

No!’ Libby stood stock still in amazement. ‘I bet that means he’s going with her.’

‘No idea,’ said Fran. ‘Anyway, we can talk about it tomorrow. You go and cook something delicious for Ben and ring me if tomorrow’s on.’

On Saturday morning Libby tentatively rang Adam.

‘Hello, Ma. What can I do for you?’

‘I hadn’t heard from you for a bit, so I thought I’d see how you were.’

Adam laughed. ‘Aha! Fran’s been talking, has she?’

‘She told me Sophie’s going to London, that’s all.’

‘And you want to know if I’m going with her?’

Libby made a face at herself in the mirror. ‘Well, yes.’

‘Bel and Dom both live in London,’ said Adam.

‘I know.’

‘But where would I get a job like mine?’

Libby let out a small breath. ‘They must have gardeners in London.’

‘Yes, they do. Fancy landscapers at even fancier prices. And I’d have to get taken on by one of them – not easy. No, Ma, I’m staying here. Mog wants to keep me on, and we’re part of Lewis’s maintenance team at Creekmarsh. Besides, helping out in the caff will keep me out of mischief, and I’ll be back living in the village most of the time.’

‘But what about Sophie? You’re not –?’

‘Splitting up? No, but we’re both young, and although we managed a long-distance relationship when Sophie was at uni, it’s not ideal. We’ll just see what happens. And my brother and sister are both up there if she needs any support, or I need to go up and stay overnight.’

‘Do Bel and Dom know this?’ Libby asked, wondering if her elder children approved of Adam’s cavalier plans.

‘Of course they do. We don’t always tell you everything, Ma! And I’ll see you tonight – I’m working.’

‘Adam’s staying in the village,’ she told Ben, who was sorting out paint tins in the conservatory, which had been partially rebuilt earlier in the year.

‘That’s good,’ he said. ‘He can finish off replanting the garden.’

‘He’s not staying for our convenience,’ said Libby. ‘He loves his job and being on Lewis Osbourne-Walker’s team at Creekmarsh Place. Which makes me think the attachment between him and Sophie isn’t as strong as it was.’

‘They’ve both changed over the past few years,’ said Ben. ‘Adam’s much more grown up, and I expect Sophie is, too.’

‘At least I might see him more than Fran does, now,’ said Libby. ‘That’s a bit mean and ungracious, isn’t it?’

Ben put down his paint pot and came to give her a hug. ‘No, it isn’t. You’re his mum, and he’s still your baby.’

Libby had reported her encounter with David to Ian’s official mobile number, but by the time Fran and Guy had arrived to park their car and dump their overnight bags, nothing had been heard from him, officially or unofficially.

As usual, Harry had booked them in to The Pink Geranium at nine o’clock, the latest time he took bookings, in order that he could join them at the end of their meal.

‘G&T?’ Ben asked Fran.

‘Is there any wine open?’ Fran sat down next to Libby on the sofa.

‘Red,’ said Libby holding up a glass. ‘So did you ask Sophie about Adam?’

Fran looked at her friend warily. ‘Er – yes.’

‘It’s all right.’ Libby patted her arm. ‘I talked to Adam. Everything’s fine and he’s staying here. He’ll see us tonight.’

‘Good.’ Fran accepted her glass and leant back. The cane sofa creaked alarmingly. ‘Have you heard from Ian?’

‘No. I think we’ve rather ground to a halt, haven’t we?’

‘Again,’ said Fran.

The Pink Geranium was packed, as usual on a Saturday night, and they found Peter waiting for them on the sofa in the left-hand window, a bottle of red wine and five glasses in front of him.

‘And here we are again, folks,’ he said as he poured wine for them all. ‘A murder to talk about, Ad to wait on us and Harry to cook for us.
Plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose
.’

‘We’re not going to talk about the murder,’ said Libby firmly. ‘Fran and I think we’ve done all we can, and Ian’s not keeping in touch with us, so that’s that.’

Ben and Guy exchanged glances. Peter smiled, leant back in his corner of the sofa and languidly lifted his glass. ‘
Bonne chance
.’

Adam, looking cheerful, appeared to take their order, and suffered the pats on the back and kisses thought appropriate to acknowledge his decision to stay in Steeple Martin.

‘Hub of the universe,’ said Peter. ‘I’ve always said so. That’s why we persuaded the old trout to come and live here.’