Murder in the Green (7 page)

‘Well, he’s sort of famous, isn’t he? And he painted the dancers once, a few years ago. It was in the Royal Academy.’

‘No! Really? Wow!’ Libby was impressed.

‘It was in the papers and everything,’ said Gemma seriously. ‘But I think it was before you moved to Steeple Martin, so you might not have seen it.’

‘I’m surprised I didn’t hear about it,’ said Libby. ‘I knew Guy long before I moved here. He’s been selling my pretty peeps for some time.’

‘Your -? Oh, yes, you paint, too, don’t you?’

‘Not as much as I used too, but yes. I do.’

‘And do you still act? I haven’t done anything with the old Players for ages.’

‘Occasionally,’ said Libby. ‘I’m involved with our theatre in Steeple Martin now.’

‘Oh, yes, of course. You had that murder, didn’t you? That was the first one you investigated.’

‘Look, Gem,’ said Libby, standing still and turning to face her, ‘I don’t investigate murders. I’m not a private detective, or, God help me, a Miss Marple. That first time we were all suspects and it involved a lot of my close friends. My friend Fran came to help because she’s –’

‘Psychic, yes, I know,’ said Gemma.

‘And then her own aunt was murdered. After that, because she has this strange sort of – well, power, I suppose – the police asked her to help. And I helped her. That’s all.’

‘But there was that business over at Creekmarsh a few weeks ago, wasn’t there?’

‘My son Adam was working there.’ Libby began walking again. ‘Still is, as a matter of fact.’

‘Really?’ Gemma looked interested. ‘So what’s Lewis Osbourne-Walker like? He’s gay, isn’t he?’

Libby sighed gustily. ‘Yes, he is, and he’s a lovely bloke. Quite gorgeous to look at, of course.’

‘Right,’ said Gemma doubtfully.

‘Oh, come on, Gemma! Surely you aren’t homophobic?’

Libby watched unlovely colour flood Gemma’s face. ‘Of course I’m not,’ she said. ‘I just –’

‘What?’ said Libby, now determined to make Gemma squirm. ‘Just what? Don’t know any?’

‘I –’ Gemma seemed to dry up.

‘I expect you do,’ said Libby. ‘You just don’t know you do. They are perfectly ordinary people, like you or me. They don’t have a badge, or the mark of Cain. They just happen to have a different sexual orientation, and when I think how long and how effective their fight for non-discrimination has been, it makes me absolutely –’

‘All right, all right!’ broke in Gemma, as Libby’s voice got louder and louder. ‘Sorry. I guess I still haven’t broken away from my parents’ 1950s mentality.’

‘A lot of people haven’t,’ grumbled Libby, quietening down. ‘And I really, really object to making a fuss about it when no fuss should be needed.’

‘I know.’ Gemma placed a hand on Libby’s arm. ‘I’m sorry.’

They walked to the bottom of the hill in silence.

‘Right, I’m off home for breakfast,’ said Libby. ‘I hope the rest of the day goes well.’

‘And are you going to…’ Gemma trailed off.

‘Look into Bill’s death after all?’ Libby sighed. ‘If Fran gets any sort of feeling about it, maybe. But that’s all, Gemma.’

Shaking her head, Libby stomped off down the high street towards the car park, trying to subdue the investigating imp that was bouncing up and down beside her. Fumbling in her pocket for her keys and realising she was now too warm, she arrived at her car. Unwinding the scarves with relief, she got in and started the engine.

‘Well?’ said a dark brown voice at the window. Libby screamed.

Chapter Seven

‘Ian!’ Heart thumping, Libby wound down the window. ‘You scared me to death.’

Ian looked sceptical. ‘Am I going to get in, or are you getting out?’

Libby sighed, leant across and unlocked the passenger door. Ian folded himself inside and turned to face her. ‘Well?’ he said again.

‘Well what?’ Libby swallowed.

‘I assume you
were
there for the same reason I was?’

‘Watching the sunrise,’ said Libby, avoiding his eyes.

‘Bollocks. You’re interfering again.’

‘Ian!’ Libby’s voice trembled on the verge of a laugh. ‘Are you swearing on duty?’

‘I’d like to do a lot more than that on duty,’ said Ian glowering at her.

‘La, sir!’ said Libby, and fluttered her eyelashes.

‘Shut up, Libby.’ Ian took a deep breath. ‘Are you interfering in Bill Frensham’s murder?’

Libby turned to face him. ‘No, Ian. Gemma Baverstock asked me to, but I said no. I am not an investigator.’

‘No, you’re not,’ said Ian, ‘but that hasn’t stopped you before. What about Fran?’

Libby wriggled in her seat. ‘She came with me to the parade yesterday.’

Ian’s brows drew down even more than before. ‘Don’t tell me,’ he said.

‘No – she hasn’t had any moments,’ said Libby hastily, ‘she’s just a bit bored.’

Ian’s brows flew up. ‘Bored? She’s only just back from honeymoon!’

‘Ah – um – that’s the trouble,’ floundered Libby. ‘Guy’s had to go back to work, Sophie’s gone off to Europe and she’s got nothing to do. Before the wedding there was all the preparation and – well –’

‘Your little investigation at Creekmarsh,’ Ian finished for her. ‘Yes.’ He settled himself more firmly in his seat. ‘Now listen. We have been investigating Bill Frensham’s murder for nearly two months –’

‘And John Lethbridge’s?’

Ian let out a breath. ‘There, you see? You already know about that.’

‘I didn’t know he was dead,’ said Libby innocently.

‘I didn’t mean that,’ said Ian testily, ‘I meant you know about Lethbridge’s disappearance, presumably.’

‘Oh, yes.’

‘And is there anything else you know?’

‘No more than you,’ said Libby, looking out of the windscreen.

‘Libby.’ Ian took hold of her chin and turned her to face him. She blinked. ‘Now listen. Don’t go barging in to this investigation. It’s complicated and fairly wide-ranging and nothing to do with you.’

Libby opened her mouth.

‘No,’ said Ian. ‘Don’t speak. I’m not saying that if Fran has some sort of vision about it I wouldn’t be willing to listen, but that’s it. Understand me?’ He shook her chin a little for emphasis. She nodded, or tried to.

‘Good girl,’ he said patronisingly, and patted her cheek, opening the door with his other hand. ‘Now off you go back to your Ben.’

Libby stared after him open-mouthed, forgetting to be annoyed about his uncharacteristic chauvinism. No wonder Fran had nearly been seduced by him.

‘I’m going on a diet,’ said Libby to Fran over the phone later in the morning. ‘I’m far too fat.’

‘You’ve been saying that for ages,’ said Fran. ‘What’s changed suddenly?’

‘I got very out of breath climbing the Mount.’

‘I noticed.’

‘No, this morning,’ said Libby.

‘You went to the sunrise?’ Fran’s voice rose. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

Libby explained about waking early. ‘I couldn’t ring you at that time in the morning, could I?’

‘No,’ said Fran grudgingly. ‘So what happened?’

Libby told her.

‘And Ian’s warned us off in no uncertain terms,’ she finished. ‘Unless you have a spectacular moment about it all.’

‘So what’s new?’ said Fran. ‘We’ve been warned off every time.’

‘Except when he’s asked for your help.’

‘Yes, but he only ever wants limited help,’ said Fran. ‘And we have got into trouble in the past.’

‘I have, anyway,’ said Libby, settling on the bottom stair more comfortably. ‘You’re more sensible.’

‘Mmm.’ Fran didn’t sound convinced.

‘Come on, Fran! Are you still bored?’

‘I suppose I am a bit,’ said Fran with a sigh. ‘Although today we’re going to Chrissie and Brucie baby’s for lunch. That won’t be boring.’

‘Blimey! That’s brave of Guy!’

‘She is my daughter, when all’s said and done,’ said Fran, ‘and I mean to start building bridges.’

‘Even after they were so awful while you were away?’

‘I’m going to tackle that over lunch,’ said Fran. ‘Then after I’ve talked to her, I shall go up to London and see Lucy.’

‘Well, if you have any flashes of intuition don’t forget to let me know.’

‘I’ll phone Ian direct,’ said Fran, ‘then you needn’t get involved.’

‘Oh,’ said Libby, feeling a nasty little worm of disappointment. ‘OK.’

‘What was all that about?’ asked Ben, rustling the Sunday papers at her from the sofa.

Libby sighed and told him.

‘You want to investigate, don’t you?’ Ben put the paper down.

‘Not really,’ lied Libby. ‘Fran said she did, the other day. She’ll talk to Ian if she thinks of anything.’

‘And today they’re going to lunch with her daughter?’

‘Yes. Don’t know how Guy can bear it.’

‘Well, I put up with your lot,’ grinned Ben.

‘Very true.’ Libby nodded seriously. ‘And I put up with your dreadful family.’

Ben laughed. ‘How about us having lunch with them, then?’ he said. ‘Shall I phone Mum?’

‘If you like,’ said Libby, brightening at the thought of not having to cook Sunday lunch. ‘Will she mind?’

‘Of course she won’t. You know she’d feed us every day if we’d let her.’

Two hours later, when Ben and Libby arrived at the Manor, Libby wasn’t surprised to find her son Adam already there, together with Peter, Harry and Peter’s younger brother James.

‘Turned it into a party, then, Mum?’ said Ben, kissing Hetty’s cheek.

‘Caff closed today?’ said Libby, as Harry gave her a hug.

‘No bookings. So when Het called we decided to make a break for it.’

‘Run away,’ murmured Libby.

Harry lifted an eyebrow. ‘And?’

‘Nothing.’ Libby smiled brightly at him.

Harry frowned. ‘I’ll be watching you, young Lib,’ he said quietly.

Libby felt a rush of adrenalin as though she’d been caught out in some awful misdeed. She turned her back on Harry and went to give Ben’s mother Hetty a hug.

‘Hi, Ma.’ Adam gave her a kiss on the cheek.

‘You OK?’ Libby returned the kiss. ‘Haven’t seen you for a few days.’

‘Before I lived down here you didn’t see me for months on end.’ Adam was amused.

‘Ah, but I’ve got used to you being around now. And your washing,’ said Libby, giving him a poke in the ribs.

‘He’s got his own washing machine, the rat,’ said Harry. ‘He uses the caff’s whenever he wants.’

‘Mum can peg it out, though,’ said Adam, faintly colouring.

‘If you did yours overnight you could peg yours out in the yard before you went to work,’ said Harry.

‘It’d be in your way,’ said Adam, the colour getting deeper.

‘Don’t tease him, Harry,’ said Libby, laughing. ‘I don’t mind.’

Adam and Harry grinned at one another and Harry turned back to Peter, who was having a low-voiced conversation with his brother.

‘So how’s the garden?’ asked Libby. ‘And Lewis?’

‘Garden’s coming on. Lewis was only saying yesterday you must come over when he’s next down.’

‘When will that be?’

‘Next weekend possibly. He’s got a job on for tv somewhere this week, then the whole crew will be down for some more filming. His mum’s coming to look after him.’

‘How is Edie?’ Libby had only met Lewis Osbourne-Walker’s mother a couple of times, but liked her.

‘She’s fine. I think having more to do has helped her. She seems much brighter and livelier. She’s a fab cook, too.’

‘Glad to hear you’re not starving,’ said Libby. ‘I suppose Harry feeds you, too?’

‘I get the scraps,’ said Adam, trying to look soulful.

Hetty called them in to the kitchen, where they sat round the huge table. Libby noticed Greg wasn’t there, and leant over to whisper to Ben.

‘Not very well today,’ he whispered back. ‘I’ll go in and see him after lunch.’

Ben’s father, wounded and imprisoned during the last war, had become increasingly frail over the last few years. He was an old-school gentleman who had deeply regretted having to hand over the management of his farm and hop gardens to his young wife after the war, although he was still able to run the estate office. Now, however, Ben, retired from his architect’s practise, did it for him, though the hop gardens and most of the land had long gone.

How Hetty had managed it with such short notice, Libby didn’t know. The enormous piece of beef must have been in the freezer, she supposed, but how had she thawed it out in time? Even in the microwave – if it had fitted – it would have taken ages. Still, thought Libby, tucking in to perfect roast potatoes, there it was, and hers not to reason why.

Lunch finished and cleared away, with Hetty insisting on doing her own “pots” as she always did, Ben went off to visit his father and the rest of them lay in various somnolent attitudes around Hetty’s sitting room.