Murder in the Green (26 page)

‘Me neither,’ said Libby. ‘I said that yesterday.’

‘Anyway,’ said Monica, ignoring the interruption, ‘what I wanted to know was have you found anything out, and why you were asking questions in the first place.’

Another silence fell. At last, Fran, with a quick glance at Libby, spoke. She explained about Gemma Baverstock’s concerns, Trisha’s vague worries and finally Ian Connell’s request.

Monica kept her eyes fixed on Fran’s face, and when she’d finished speaking, nodded slowly.

‘So it’s official,’ she said.

‘Official?’ said Libby.

‘Your enquiry.’

‘Well – not exactly.’

‘But the police know you’re asking questions.’

‘Yes.’ Libby raised her chin a little. ‘Mind you, we don’t tell them everything.’

Fran shifted on her end of the sofa and Libby ignored her.

‘So you can tell me what you’ve found out?’ said Monica, leaning forward a little.

‘Some of it’s still confidential,’ said Fran quickly, before Libby could speak. ‘Inspector Connell trusts us to keep a lot of the information to ourselves.’

‘Even stuff
you’ve
found out?’ Monica sounded incredulous.

‘It might be prejudicial.’

‘What about –’ she paused and swallowed ‘John Lethbridge?’

Libby and Fran exchanged another quick glance.

‘You know they found his body?’ said Libby.

Monica nodded. ‘I wouldn’t have. Barry told me.’

‘He was under the impression that Lethbridge had killed your husband.’

‘Yes.’ She nodded again. ‘So was everybody.’ She shook her head, looking down into her lap. ‘So silly.’

‘Silly?’

‘John wouldn’t hurt a fly.’ Monica looked up and away towards the front windows. ‘He was so gentle.’

‘Oh.’ Libby looked helplessly at Fran, who gave a slight shrug. ‘So you never agreed with the official verdict?’

Monica looked back. ‘The police never said they suspected John of Bill’s murder. After the first few times they left me alone.’ She bit her lip. ‘I wasn’t very well, you see.’

‘The first few times?’ said Fran.

‘When they came to question me. Would you like more tea?’ She stood up and Libby and Fran handed over their cups with murmured assent.

‘Would you like to know what happened?’ asked Monica, as she handed their refilled cups back.

‘What happened?’ said Libby cautiously.

‘When they came to tell me I was just about to leave.’ She turned towards the french windows and began pacing.

‘She wants to talk,’ mouthed Fran. ‘Let her.’

‘Leave?’ prompted Libby.

‘For the parade. I always went to the finish, where they danced and had the maypole. And I was just leaving.’ Her voice quavered on the last word. Libby and Fran kept quiet.

‘And they wanted to know when I’d last seen Bill – which was stupid, because I’d seen him when he left two hours before. And after that they came back a couple of times to ask about Bill and Cranston Morris, and John, and their relationship.’ She took a deep breath. ‘I told them, John couldn’t have had anything to do with Bill’s death. They were friends.
We
were friends.’

‘Did you get on with John’s wife?’ asked Libby.

‘Willy?’ Monica gave a tremulous laugh. ‘I was scared of her. She’s terribly glamorous and a bit – er, well. Have you met her?’

‘No,’ said Fran, ‘but we were hoping to speak to her. Could you introduce us?’

‘Oh, no, she wouldn’t like that,’ said Monica firmly. ‘She never liked me.’

‘What about the night before Bill’s death?’ said Libby after a pause. ‘Do you know anything about what happened then?’

‘That was when they say John was killed, was it?’

‘Yes. Beltane night,’ said Fran.

Monica shook her head. ‘Why would I know anything about that?’ She made a face. ‘Silly business. Jumping over fires. Ridiculous.’

‘You didn’t go, then?’ said Libby.

‘No, I didn’t! I never did. I was never interested in any of the Morris stuff. Especially that Goddess business.’

‘Goddess?’ said Libby and Fran together.

Monica looked confused for a moment, and Libby wondered if she hadn’t meant to mention the Goddess.

‘Oh, you know, the Oak King and all the extra stuff.’ She turned back to the french windows. ‘All the brother and sister gods.’

‘Is that what it is?’ said Libby surprised. ‘I thought the Goddess was the mother figure.’

Monica turned back towards them and shrugged. ‘Oh, I don’t know. It’s all fairly disgusting, isn’t it?’

‘And Bill was into all that, was he?’ said Libby. Fran frowned at her.

‘Yes. He said it was all part of our cultural heritage.’ She came and sat down again in the leather chair. ‘Wilhelmina was always the Goddess.’

‘But Gemma was the Goddess this year, and she doesn’t seem to want to be part of – of – well, all of that.’

‘No. Sensible of her.’ Monica sat up straight and lifted her chin. ‘Wilhelmina had left though. After she and John split up.’

No one seemed to know what to say after that, and eventually, Libby cleared her throat and edged to the front of the sofa.

‘Well, if we’ve answered your questions, Mrs Frensham, I think we ought to go now,’ she said.

‘But you haven’t answered my questions.’ Monica’s voice was tremulous again. ‘You haven’t really told me anything.’

‘I told you everything that’s happened since Gemma Baverstock got in touch with Libby,’ said Fran gently. ‘There isn’t any more.’

Monica’s face twisted. ‘But what about John’s body? You must know more about that?’

‘I’m afraid not,’ said Fran.

‘Except –’ began Libby.

‘Except what?’ Monica turned to her eagerly.

Libby felt her cheeks growing hot and turned to Fran for help.

‘Where it was found,’ said Fran. ‘In the woods near Steeple Mount.’

‘Woods?’

‘Where they walked to the Mount.’

‘Oh.’ Monica frowned. ‘So that’s when he was killed? When they were walking to the Beltane fire?’

Fran sent Libby a warning look. ‘They think so,’ she said. ‘But you said you knew it was Beltane night just now.’

‘But I don’t see…’ Monica stopped. ‘How did no one notice?’

‘We don’t know,’ said Libby. ‘The police only give us a small amount of information. We’re not part of the inner circle.’

Monica gave a short laugh. ‘Sounds like Cranston Morris,’ she said.

‘Oh?’ said Libby innocently.

‘You already know about the Goddess business, and the Oak and Holly kings. All that incestuous stuff.’ She looked as though there was something rotten under her nose.

‘You’re saying not everyone was part of that? That it was a separate – um – organisation?’

Monica surveyed her shrewdly. ‘I’m sure you know that already.’

Libby’s cheeks began to burn again.

‘I think we ought to be going, Libby,’ said Fran, standing up hastily. ‘Thank you for the tea, Mrs Frensham.’

Monica stood up, a slight figure in pale blue. ‘You’ve spoken to Richard Diggory, haven’t you?’ she said.

‘Yes.’ Libby was on her feet, too. ‘Why?’

‘No reason.’ Monica’s voice was hard. ‘He knows all about the Goddess. You know that.’

‘Er – yes.’ Libby cleared her throat.

Monica looked at her. ‘Yes. He told me.’

‘You’ve spoken to him as well as Barry Phillips?’ said Fran.

‘I’ve spoken to everybody,’ said Monica, moving to the door. ‘And no one will tell me anything.’

Chapter Twenty-six

‘Well!’ said Libby, as she climbed into the car beside Fran. ‘That was a most uncomfortable session.’

‘But telling,’ said Fran, putting the car into reverse. ‘Especially who she’d talked to.’

‘We should have taken Sir Jonathan with us,’ said Libby. ‘He said he liked her, and we did promise him.’

‘She would have gone all sugary if he’d been there,’ said Fran. ‘At least we saw her more-or-less normal.’

‘That was normal?’ said Libby, leaning back out of the way while Fran negotiated the turn into the road. ‘She started out by putting on an act, didn’t she?’

‘Seemed like it,’ said Fran. ‘And she certainly isn’t overcome with grief about her husband.’

‘I couldn’t quite work out what she
was
concerned about,’ said Libby. ‘John Lethbridge mainly, I thought.’

‘Oh, yes. Even though she made sure we realised that, I think it’s safe to say they were having an affair. Or
had
had an affair.’

‘Really?’ Libby turned to Fran in surprise. ‘Her?’

‘Not a likely candidate for an affair, you think?’ said Fran with a grin.

‘Well, no. Too thin, and not in the least glamorous.’

‘I bet she’s got hidden depths,’ said Fran. ‘And I’m pretty sure there was something with Diggory, too.’

‘What?’ gasped Libby. ‘Come on, Fran, you’re guessing.’

‘Yes, I am, but it came through very strongly. I think Barry Phillips phoned her, but she phoned Diggory.’

‘So which one is she having an affair with now?’ Libby made a face. ‘Not that I don’t believe you, of course.’

‘I don’t think there’s anyone at the moment,’ said Fran. ‘That was one thing she said that was true.’

‘Frustrated, you mean?’ Libby laughed. ‘I thought that was what she meant, but you said by the firm.’

‘It was a subconscious revelation, I think,’ said Fran. ‘But she is being frustrated by Elizabeth Martin, isn’t she?’

‘Obviously. So she’s got two reasons to hate her; one, Martin had an affair with her husband, and two, she’s trying to prevent her, Monica, from taking over the company.’

‘I doubt if Monica wants to take over the company, she just wants to know what’s going on, which she’s entitled to do as the major shareholder.’

‘Which means she thinks there’s something not quite right going on,’ said Libby.

‘I expect it just means she wants to make sure she’s getting the right payout,’ said Fran.

‘Can they alter that?’ said Libby. ‘Don’t the accountants make the payments?’

‘Creative accounting,’ said Fran. ‘They’ve got an accounts department, and I expect not everything goes through it.’

‘You’re making a lot of assumptions,’ said Libby.

Fran sighed. ‘I know. It all feels right, but you know what I’m like. This is probably my conscious mind telling me what I think should be going on.’

‘It’s logical, though,’ mused Libby. ‘What we really need is a mole in the accounts department.’

‘Libby!’ Fran almost stood on the brakes. ‘Who do you think we are? Some television cop series?’

‘No, sorry.’ Libby was abashed. ‘I get carried away sometimes.’

‘You’re telling me,’ said Fran. ‘Look, all that happened was that Monica Frensham asked to see us because she thought we might know more about her husband’s murder than she’d been told.’

‘She’s right,’ said Libby. ‘We do.’

‘What has
not
happened is us being asked to look into and find the murderers of John Lethbridge and Bill Frensham. That’s the police’s job, and Ian’s on the case. Just because he’s kind enough to let us in on part of it doesn’t mean we have carte blanche to go galloping through the evidence, or question all the suspects.’ Fran took a deep breath. ‘There.’

Libby stared at her in admiration. ‘Gosh,’ she said. ‘You do put things well.’

Fran shot her a narrow-eyed glance. ‘Are you being sarcastic?’

‘No. You’re absolutely right. But we’ve done exactly the same as this every time we’ve got mixed up with a murder. And let’s face it, you were keener than I was at the beginning.’

Fran sighed and slowed down to turn into the road leading to Steeple Martin. ‘I know. It’s addictive, that’s the trouble. But in the first two cases we were actively involved. You were even a suspect.’

‘I wasn’t!’

‘Well, you were questioned,’ said Fran. ‘And then it was my aunt who was murdered, so I had a valid reason for being involved.’

‘And after that it was the police who asked you in. And Ian asked you in this time, too. Don’t forget that.’

‘Not until just now, though,’ said Fran. ‘And he warned you off at the beginning.’

Libby shrugged. ‘Oh, well. We’ll just have to carry on doing it as an intellectual exercise again.’

‘And everybody’ll believe that,’ said Fran with a grin.

‘Let’s go over it all back at mine,’ said Libby. ‘Intellectual exercise or not, I’m intrigued. And don’t try and tell me you’re not.’

‘Wouldn’t dream of it,’ said Fran.

A fine rain was falling as Fran pulled up behind the little Renault opposite Libby’s cottage. Sidney appeared at the window as soon as they got out of the car.