Murder in the Green (25 page)

‘Yeah, go on, drink the profits.’

Adam grinned and went to the counter.

‘Deadly Morris men then, is it?’ said Harry. ‘Arrested Diggory yet?’

‘Not yet,’ said Libby, ‘but give me time.’

‘He’s a good baker. Don’t know what else he deals in, but the bread’s good.’

‘What do you mean, deals in?’ Ben asked, frowning.

Harry shrugged. ‘Just an expression. He always seems to be on the verge of giving me a nudge and a wink and offering me dirty postcards.’

‘He is a bit like that, isn’t he?’ said Libby. ‘I think he’s in with this business of the Goddess Cult. Well, I know he’s in with it. An excuse for a bit of hanky-panky.’

‘You don’t think he’s into anything else?’ Ben was looking worried. ‘Drugs, or something?’

‘Or something? Can’t think what else it would be, unless it was under-the-counter gingerbread men.’

‘So you
do
think he’s dealing?’

‘Come on, Ben, how would I know?’ Harry turned to where Adam was pouring a beer and chatting to Donna. ‘’Nother red for your mother, sunshine,’ he called and turned back to Ben. ‘No, I wouldn’t know. There’s definitely something a bit lairy about him, but apart from sounding me out about kinky goings-on when we first got the business he’s always been straight with me.’

‘Kinky goings-on?’ Libby giggled. ‘Sounds a bit dated, whatever it is.’

‘Bona!’ said Harry, and gave her a grin. ‘One has to put on the polari occasionally, dear heart. Punters expect it sometimes. But no. He was just hinting at sordid little parties as far as I could make out. I made it very clear that I was a serious young man with a reputation to uphold and he left me alone after that.’

‘So does he do all his baking himself?’ asked Libby, making room for Adam as he returned to the table.

‘Some of it. Does the decorative stuff, and to be fair he’s a great confectioner and pâtissier, but he leaves his staff to do most of the everyday stuff. He comes and takes orders and keeps on the right side of the customers. Takes orders for Frensham Supplies, too.’

He looked round the table, surprised at the effect his words had produced. ‘What?’ he said. ‘What did I say?’

‘It was Bill Frensham who was murdered,’ said Libby.

‘Yeah, even I know that,’ said Harry, uncorking the wine with an enormous corkscrew. ‘What’s that got to do with the price of fish?’

‘It’s a coincidence,’ said Libby.

‘And the great detective doesn’t like coincidences,’ said Ben.

‘Do you get stuff from Frensham Supplies, too?’ asked Libby.

‘Not into office equipment, dearie.’ Harry poured wine.

‘Office equipment?’

‘You could have worked that one out, Lib,’ said Ben. ‘Can’t see Frensham Holdings going into catering, can you?’

‘No, I suppose not. What are they? Marketing, Supplies and – what was the other one?’

‘Media. Small-scale promotional films and radio commercials.’

‘Why doesn’t that come under Marketing? Surely it’s all the same thing?’

Ben shrugged ‘Ask your friend Barry Phillips. He’s Marketing, alarming Elizabeth is Media. Bill was Supplies.’

‘Bill was MD, too, wasn’t he?’

‘Chief exec, dear, these days. Martin is executive director. Although what they are now is anyone’s guess.’

‘Excuse me, dears, but we’re still here, you know,’ said Harry.

‘You brought the subject up,’ said Libby. ‘Asking about Diggory.’

‘He can’t be a crook with a name like that,’ said Adam.

‘Out of the mouths,’ said Harry, giving him a pat. ‘Bless.’

‘What sort of office equipment?’ asked Libby, going back to the conversation before last.

‘No idea,’ said Ben. ‘The usual, I suppose. Printers, scanners, cartridges, stationery. We never used them, and they certainly didn’t push themselves.’

‘Sir Jonathan,’ said Libby. ‘I bet he did. I’ll ring him tomorrow.’

‘Why are you so interested all of a sudden?’ said Ben.

‘She’s probably unearthed a drugs distribution ring,’ said Harry. ‘Leave her alone with her fantasies.’

‘I’m just trying to find a motive for Bill Frensham’s murder,’ said Libby. ‘We can’t find one yet.’

‘But I thought you’d got two murders now. There must be a joint murderer,’ said Ben.

‘Ian thinks Bill saw who killed Lethbridge so he had to be killed.’

‘In that case,’ said Harry, ‘assuming Lethbridge is this person who vanished like the mist in May, it would be the motive for
his
murder that mattered, wouldn’t it? So you’re looking in the wrong direction.’

Adam, Ben and Libby stared at him.

‘Bugger,’ said Libby.

Chapter Twenty-five

‘Listen,’ said Libby on the phone to Fran. ‘It’s John Lethbridge we should be looking at.’

‘Yes,’ said Fran. ‘So?’

‘Well, we’ve been looking at Bill Frensham.’

‘You have. Ever since we came back yesterday I’ve been thinking about the motive for Lethbridge’s murder, if what Ian said was right.’

‘Oh,’ Libby said, deflated. ‘Harry pointed it out last night. I hadn’t thought of it.’

‘Wilhelmina would be a good place to start,’ said Fran. ‘How do we get to her?’

‘She has kept cropping up, hasn’t she? I could ask Gemma.’

‘What about that Diggory person?’

‘He cropped up again last night, too,’ said Libby, and repeated the conversation.

‘You could always get on to him about the Goddess business,’ suggested Fran.

‘Yeah, right,’ said Libby.

But the next person she spoke to on the phone came as a total surprise.

‘Is that Mrs Wilde?’ The female voice was soft and hesitant, timorous almost, thought Libby.

‘Not exactly,’ she said. ‘I’m Ben’s partner, Libby Sarjeant. Can I help you?’

‘I don’t really know,’ said the voice. ‘Did you go and see Mr Phillips at Frensham Barn yesterday?’

‘Ye-es,’ said Libby.

‘Oh, I’m sorry, I should have introduced myself.’ The voice gave a nervous laugh. ‘I’m Monica Frensham.’

Libby’s eyebrows flew up. ‘Mrs Frensham?’ she repeated.

‘Er – yes.’ Monica Frensham cleared her throat. ‘I hope you don’t mind my phoning you, only I understand you’ve been asking some questions.’

Libby’s stomach rolled in acute embarrassment. ‘I’m sorry –’ she began.

‘No, no, please,’ interrupted Monica. ‘I don’t mind at all. In fact, I was wondering – could we meet?’

Meet? Libby’s brain started flying in all directions. ‘Of course, if you feel –’

‘Yes, please. And your friend? Mrs – Wolfe, is it?’

‘No,’ said Libby. ‘I mean, yes.’ She stopped for a moment. ‘May I ask how you know – um – about us?’

‘Oh, yes, of course. Barry Phillips called me yesterday. And Gemma Baverstock has called once or twice to see how I am – was.’

‘I see,’ said Libby slowly. ‘Well, of course we’d love to see you, if you think we can help in any way. Where and when do you suggest?’

‘Oh, I don’t mind. Shall I come to you? Or would you like to come to me? Or somewhere else?’ Monica’s voice sounded stronger now.

‘Why don’t Fran and I come to you?’ suggested Libby, deciding it would be a good plan to have a look at Bill Frensham’s home ground.

‘Certainly. Whenever you want.’

‘I’ll get in touch with Fran – Mrs Wolfe – and call you back. And thank you for calling.’

‘Well!’ said Libby to Sidney as she dialled 1471 to obtain the Frensham number. ‘That takes the biscuit. Would you believe it?’

She punched the button for Fran’s number and prowled round the sitting room waiting for it to be answered.

‘Hello,’ said Fran’s surprised voice. ‘Did you forget something?’

‘Not exactly,’ said Libby, and explained.

‘Well I’ll be –’ said Fran.

‘So was I,’ said Libby. ‘So we want to go, don’t we?’

‘I’ll say we do,’ said Fran. ‘Any time she says.’

‘Today?’

‘Whenever she wants,’ said Fran.

‘This afternoon?’ suggested Monica when Libby called back.

‘Yes, if you’re sure that would be convenient,’ said Libby. ‘About three?’

The Frensham house turned out to be in a hamlet deep into hop-farming country. Fran picked Libby up on the way, and after negotiating some very narrow lanes between very high hedges, they came out on a ridge looking down into a shallow valley, where a cluster of houses huddled round a church. Hop gardens lay to one side, while rolling green fields lay to the other, a wood topping the rise on the other side of the valley.

‘I wonder if this valley continues to Steeple Mount,’ said Libby, as Fran set the car to drive slowly down the steep lane to the hamlet.

‘It’s called Steeple Cross,’ said Fran, ‘so it’s sure to be connected. I bet we could have got here easier than coming via Steeple Martin.’

‘All right, all right,’ said Libby. ‘Here, look. That’s the house.’

The road flattened out just as two redbrick gateposts topped with white pineapples appeared on their right. A curving gravelled drive led to a pristine neo-Georgian house, flanked on all sides by manicured lawns, regimental cypresses and depressed shrubs. Libby and Fran looked at each other.

‘I’m glad we didn’t bring Romeo,’ muttered Libby, as they got out of Fran’s little Roller Skate. ‘He’s not half smart enough for this place.’

Monica Frensham opened the panelled front door before they could get near it.

‘Hello,’ she said breathlessly. ‘I’m so glad you could come.’ She stood back to allow them entry, then with a quick, bird-like nod, showed them into a huge room on their left.

Windows looked out over the drive, and at the other end, french doors led into what appeared to be an enormous conservatory. A faux fireplace sat against the side wall, with a spiky and formal arrangement of twigs and silk flowers on its hearth and a group of photographs on the mantel. Monica gestured to a corner sofa arrangement in pale green and took a large leather rocking chair herself, her thin body and mouse-brown hair overwhelmed by its opulence.

‘I’m so pleased you’re here,’ she said again. ‘I can’t tell you how frustrated I’ve been.’

Libby swallowed and blinked.

‘Oh – oh, I’m sorry.’ Monica stood up. ‘Tea? Would you like tea? I should have asked as soon as you got here. And cake. I won’t be a moment.’ And she hurried out the way they had come in.

‘Frustrated, eh?’ murmured Libby.

Fran nodded. ‘By Frensham Holdings. But let her tell it.’

Libby nodded and went to the mantelpiece to look at the photographs. There were two family groups, one from several years ago when the two children were small and one comparatively recent. She was surprised at Bill Frensham’s appearance, which she barely remembered. Tall and good-looking, with a sharp, pointed face which was reflected in the two children’s features, he bent solicitously towards his wife, who was turned slightly away from him, her own sharp features softened as she looked at her children.

Monica must have had everything prepared, for she returned in a very short time pushing a tea trolley – a tea trolley! thought Libby – with cups, teapot, milk jug, sugar bowl and two-tier cake stand. She gave a nervous little laugh.

‘I never get to have proper tea any more,’ she said. ‘You must excuse me for indulging myself.’ She sat down and sighed. ‘This is such a treat.’

When they were all served with tea and Libby had taken two small chocolate cakes, Monica put her cup on a side table and looked down at her hands.

‘I know this must have seemed an odd request,’ she began, ‘but when I heard you’d been asking questions, I though you might help me. I’ve been wanting to ask questions too, you see, and no one will answer them.’

‘I’m not sure I quite understand how you knew we
were
asking questions,’ said Fran.

‘I told Mrs Wilde – I mean Sarjeant – Barry Phillips told me.’

‘But I didn’t actually ask him questions,’ said Libby, feeling uncomfortable. ‘I went there to hire the barn for my – for Ben. It was Eliz – Mrs Martin – who put the cat among the pigeons.’

Monica’s eyes narrowed and her expression changed. She looks like an angry mouse, thought Libby. ‘Elizabeth Martin. Yes.’ She was silent for a moment and Fran and Libby exchanged stealthy glances. Eventually, she took a deep breath and looked up.

‘Barry said he’d told you Martin and my husband had an affair?’

Omigod, thought Libby. ‘Yes,’ she said aloud.

‘And that it was over but she wouldn’t let go?’

Libby nodded.

‘Well, that’s only half the problem.’ Monica picked up her cup and took a sip. ‘She’s actively preventing me from looking into the firm’s business. I’m the major shareholder now, and although when he was alive Bill never wanted me to get involved in the business, unless I sell out to Martin and Phillips, or float my shares, I need to know what’s going on.’ She smiled. ‘I’m shrewder than I look, and without Bill’s knowledge I kept up with a lot of the firm’s dealings. Not so much the supplies side – he’d have been down on me like a ton of bricks, but I could always poke around media and marketing.’ She put her head on one side. ‘I could never understand why those two divisions were separate.’