Murder in the Green (17 page)

Fran and Libby introduced themselves.

‘What sort of companies does Frensham Holdings own, then?’ said Libby.

Trisha looked surprised. ‘Well, they’re more divisions, I suppose. There’s Frensham Marketing, Frensham Supplies and Frensham Media. That’s how I got in, because I’d been working for the paper. Mr Phillips is the director in charge of the media division.’

‘Ah,’ said Libby, nodding.

Jane chose that moment to call her party to order and marshal them into the restaurant, where Libby was unsurprised, but pleased, to be greeted by Melanie, the events manager, who had organised Peter and Harry’s civil partnership, and was now, obviously, organising Jane’s wedding.

‘Did you recommend us?’ she asked Libby quietly.

‘I think I mentioned you,’ said Libby with a grin.

‘Well, thanks. Word of mouth is the best recommendation.’

‘How’s Sir Jonathan?’ Fran leant across Libby.

‘Very well. Still pottering about upstairs. You can pop up and see him if you like.’

‘Maybe after dinner,’ said Libby. ‘I think we’re at Jane’s beck and call just now.’

‘I’ll tell him you’re here, anyway,’ said Melanie.

‘Of course, you’d know Melanie, wouldn’t you?’ said Jane. ‘It was that other murder, wasn’t it?’

A sudden silence fell around the table.

‘Murder?’ squeaked Trisha. ‘Oooh!’ She leant forward. ‘Someone from our firm got murdered, you know.’

‘Oh,’ said Libby weakly, while various other questions erupted from other guests.

‘Sorry,’ said Jane, and clapped her hands. ‘I shouldn’t have said that. And there wasn’t a murder here, so don’t worry about it.’

Not here
exactly
, thought Libby, and sighed. The guests subsided, trying not to look too obviously at Libby and Fran. Trisha, however, was not to be subdued.

‘Did you know about our murder?’ she asked, still leaning forward. ‘It was Mr Frensham himself.’

‘Yes, I heard,’ said Libby.

‘Awful, it was,’ said Trisha with a certain ghoulish relish. ‘He was in some silly costume with the Morris dancers.’

‘I know,’ said Libby.

‘Miss Martin was gutted.’ Trisha said with satisfaction and sat back in her seat.

‘Miss Martin?’ asked Fran.

‘Elizabeth Martin. She’s the exec director of Frensham Holdings. My Mr Phillips fancies her rotten.’

‘Office politics and romances, eh?’ said Libby with a laugh, trying to hold these new names in her head for later.

Jane leant across and tapped Trisha’s arm. ‘Not murder on my hen night, Trish,’ she said.

Trisha coloured. ‘Sorry,’ she said, including them all in a shamefaced smile. ‘I’ll shut up.’

‘What do you think of that?’ said Libby sotto voce, as a waitress placed a bowl of soup in front of her.

‘Interesting, but I thought we weren’t investigating?’ said Fran, with a sly grin.

‘Again!’ said Libby, with an answering grin.

The meal was as excellent as Libby had expected, and after it they retired to the bar, where Jane was presented with various slightly risqué presents, which amused Libby and vaguely shocked Fran.

Melanie appeared and leant over Libby’s shoulder. ‘If you can be spared, Sir Jonathan would be pleased to see you,’ she said.

Libby looked across at Jane. ‘How long are you gong to be here?’ she asked. ‘Only we’d like to pop up and see the owner, if that’s OK?’

Jane shrugged and smiled. ‘I’m staying overnight,’ she said, ‘so it’s fine by me.’

Libby and Fran followed Melanie up to the room they had been to before, where, beyond the double doors, Sir Jonathan himself stood before the great marble fireplace. Tall and well-built, his hair was completely white, but still plentiful, as were his large moustache and eyebrows.

‘Libby and Fran!’ he said coming forward and shaking them both by the hand. ‘Come and sit down. Would you like coffee?’

They sat together on the same small sofa Libby remembered from their previous visits.

‘No thank you, Sir Jonathan,’ said Fran. ‘We’ve just had some downstairs.’

‘Of course, of course.’ He beamed on them and sat down. ‘So tell me. What adventures have you been having since we last met?’

Libby laughed. ‘Oh, lots!’ she said. ‘Somebody must have been talking.’

‘You can’t keep anything quiet in a place like this,’ said Sir Jonathan. ‘As you know, I like to pop round and have a look at each of the departments and chat to people. And Melanie always tells me if you’ve made the papers.’

Libby and Fran exchanged glances. ‘We’ve only been mentioned briefly,’ said Libby.

‘Oh, I know, but there was that business with the body on the island, wasn’t there? Didn’t that concern the young lady downstairs, your hostess?’

‘Yes,’ said Fran. ‘That’s how we met her.’

‘And this year, the young man at Creekmarsh Place?’ They nodded. ‘Well, tell me all about it, then!’

Briefly, they filled Sir Jonathan in on their “adventures” since they had last seen him eighteen months before.

‘And nothing going on now?’ he said when they’d finished. ‘What about old Bill Frensham? You ought to have a look into his death, you know.’

Libby’s mouth dropped open.

‘Did you know him?’ asked Fran.

‘Of course! Frensham Holdings have used Anderson Place for meetings and conferences for years.’ He narrowed his eyes at them. ‘You
are
looking into it, aren’t you?’

‘Not exactly,’ said Libby hastily. ‘A friend of mine from the Morris side he belonged to asked me to – well – to speak to the other members, although why, I can’t think. We’re not investigators.’

‘No, but you’ve been involved, unwillingly, I admit, but definitely involved in several murder investigations. And with Mrs Castle’s rather – ah – unusual talents,’ he winked at her, ‘it’s not surprising if people think you
are
investigators.’

‘Hmm,’ said Libby.

‘It’s an interesting case,’ said Fran, ‘but Inspector Connell – do you remember him? – has more or less told us to keep off.’

‘Ah, well.’ Sir Jonathan shrugged. ‘I suppose he would have to say that. But if you came up with anything useful, he’d be pleased, wouldn’t he?’

‘What do you mean, Sir Jonathan?’ Libby frowned suspiciously.

‘I know you haven’t got time now, but if you fancied popping along for a coffee one morning, There are one or two things I might be able to tell you.’ He grinned like a naughty schoolboy and stood up. ‘Now you must get back to your party. You will come and see me, won’t you?’

‘The old rascal,’ said Fran as they made their way back to the bar. ‘If he’s got anything to say, he should have told the police.’

‘If he has, it’s probably something the police would dismiss,’ said Libby. ‘Ian would, anyway.’

Fran looked at her. ‘He’s not that bad,’ she said.

‘He scared me to death the other morning at the Mount,’ said Libby. ‘But I can see that you would find him – um – appealing.’

‘Well, don’t you go finding him appealing,’ warned Fran. ‘You’re having enough trouble with the relationship you’ve already got.’

The taxi booked to take them home arrived after another half an hour, and they said goodbye to Jane after settling their part of the bill. As they went out of the bar, Trisha scooted up behind them.

‘I say,’ she said in a breathless whisper, ‘somebody was just saying that you are actually detectives.’

‘No,’ said Libby and Fran together, ‘we’re not.’

‘But you’ve done murders? I mean you’ve sort of – been involved?’

‘Yes,’ said Libby reluctantly.

‘Only I think there’s something funny going on at work. I don’t know whether it’s to do with Mr Frensham, or what. I don’t know what to do.’

‘If you think there’s anything going on that could possibly be to do with Mr Frensham’s death you should go to the police,’ said Fran.

‘Yes, but it doesn’t seem like much,’ said Trisha, looking uncertain. ‘Couldn’t I tell you?’

Libby sighed. ‘OK. But not now.’ She took out her mobile and pressed a few keys. ‘There – put your number and name in. I’ll ring you.’

‘So much for not ferreting things out,’ said Libby in the taxi. ‘Who would have thought it?’

‘Two people offering us information on a crime we’re not involved with,’ said Fran, amused. ‘And somewhere we wouldn’t even have dreamed could have any connection.’

‘Mad.’ Libby shook her head. ‘I suppose we’ll have to talk to them, now.’

‘Don’t sound so smug,’ said Fran. ‘You know you wanted to, all along.’

Libby sighed. ‘Like a bloody drug, isn’t it? I know I shouldn’t, yet I want to. It’s like Steeple Farm in reverse.’

‘Eh?’

‘Well, I know I ought to love Steeple Farm, but I can’t.’ She turned to her friend and grinned. ‘So, which one do we start with, then?’

Chapter Seventeen

As it was Sunday the following day, Libby decided it would not be politic to start making enquiries. Hetty had once more invited everybody to lunch, after which Ben played chess with his father, who was looking considerably better, and Libby and Harry went out into the garden for a cigarette.

‘Well, petal?’ Harry sat down on a bench. ‘How are things now?’

‘Much better.’ Libby perched on the stone wall that ran round the terrace. ‘I’ve told Ben I don’t want to move to Steeple Farm.’

‘And?’

‘He was fine with it. I wasn’t being fair to him, was I?’

‘No. And how was Cornwall? It was Cornwall, wasn’t it?’

Libby told him all about Cornwall.

‘Did you find anything out about your murder?’

‘It isn’t my murder. Although –’ she paused.

‘Don’t tell me. Fran has had one of her moments and you’re hot on the trail.’ Harry shook his head at her. ‘It’ll all end in tears.’

‘No, it won’t.’ Libby hesitated. ‘What’s happened, you see, is that we’ve been presented with a couple of leads. No –’ she held up a hand as Harry opened his mouth ‘We didn’t look for them. It happened last night.’

‘And they were?’

Libby told him.

‘So Cornwall was no use, then.’

‘It made my mind up about Ben and Steeple Farm. And although there was all the spooky goings-on in the woods I couldn’t see that any of that had anything to do with Bill Frensham’s murder.’

‘Unless they’re part of a cult that gets together down there,’ suggested Harry. ‘They do that sort of thing in Cornwall, don’t they?’

‘Well, in a way that’s what Mannan Night is all about,’ said Libby, ‘although it appears to be a once a year sort of cult.’

‘How do you know?’ asked Harry.

‘Cranston Morris only go down there once a year, so they couldn’t be part of it.’

‘It doesn’t have to be your Mannan stuff,’ said Harry. ‘It could be a cult that has branches everywhere.’

‘Like the WI?’ Libby laughed. ‘I suppose so. I did wonder if there was any connection to the group that used the old chapel for black masses.’

‘Why not? Satanists or something. That’s what the lot at Tyne Chapel were, wasn’t it?’

‘I’m not sure we ever found out. I thought they were just in it for the sex.’

‘I reckon most of these odd groups are in it for the sex,’ said Harry. ‘The witchcraft, or devil worship or whatever just adds spice.’

‘I don’t think they’d agree with you.’ Libby stubbed out her cigarette and poked it into a flowerpot. ‘I do wonder what the point of frightening poor Gemma with all the sacrifice business was, though.’

‘Do you think it was simply to frighten her?’

‘Well, she said everyone knew about it, but I wonder who told her that?’

‘Her husband? Whats’isname?’

‘Dan. He seemed as bewildered as she did. I think there’s a sort of splinter group of Cranston Morris, and I think Bill Frensham was in it, and so was – or is – Richard Diggory. He went off into the woods with the Goats Head lot.’ She thought a bit. ‘And I bet John Lethbridge was in it, too.’

‘Who?’ said Harry.

‘The bloke who disappeared. Who might have murdered Bill.’

‘Blimey, it’s complicated,’ said Harry, shaking his head. ‘Come on, let’s go back inside. I must sweep my young man off home soon.’

‘Will he want to be swept?’

‘Yes,’ said Harry firmly. ‘He needs to unwind in the comfort of his own bathrobe. He went to see Mad Millie this morning and it always upsets him.’

‘It’s such a shame that seeing your own mother should upset you,’ mused Libby. ‘I hope I don’t do that to my kids.’

‘Oh, you already upset them,’ said Harry, ducking. ‘I practically live with your son, don’t forget.’

It wasn’t until the following morning that Libby phoned Fran.

‘I wondered if I ought to phone Trisha and you ought to go and see Sir Jonathan,’ she suggested. ‘I think he likes you better than me.’