Murder Repeated

by Lesley Cookman

‘Leave it to the police.’

  ‘Ah!’ said Libby. ‘But that nice Rachel Trent has asked if she can come and ask me if she wants to know anything.’

  ‘She means about the village.’

  ‘Well – yes...’

  ‘And Inspector Maiden won’t want you poking your nose in.’

  Libby sighed. ‘No, all right. I just thought you ought to know. Anyway, you’re coming over tomorrow for Edward’s party, aren’t you?’

  ‘Wouldn’t miss it!’ said Fran, and ended the call.

  Edward Hall, historian, lecturer, and friend, had moved into the area just before Christmas, and although that was now some months ago, he had only just got around to having a house-warming event. Libby was looking forward to it, especially as she would be able to catch up with friends she hadn’t seen for some time.

  ‘Because,’ said Ben Wilde, her significant other, later, ‘you haven’t been delving into any murders recently.’

  Libby began to be indignant and changed her mind. ‘Yes,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘That’s really sad, isn’t it?’

  ‘It’s really only Fran and Guy and Ian, I suppose,’ said Ben.

  ‘And I do see Fran,’ said Libby. ‘Just not as often.’

  ‘Well, tomorrow she and Guy will be staying here, so we’ll see as much of them as we want.’ Ben gave her a hug. ‘And now I want my dinner, woman.’

  To Libby’s frustration, Rachel Trent did not appear to ask her any questions the following day. Nor did Fiona Darling answer her phone call, letting it go to voicemail, so she had nothing to tell Fran when she and Guy arrived in the evening.

  ‘Well, in that case, you’ll just have to let it be an ordinary police case, won’t you?’ said Fran with a grin. ‘Especially if even Ian isn’t going to be involved.’

  ‘Maybe Ian’ll be there tonight,’ Libby began.

  ‘And you will NOT bring it up!’ said Guy. ‘Leave it, for goodness’ sake.’

  Libby sighed and gave in.

  At a quarter to eight, the four of them walked down to the Pink Geranium to meet Peter Parker, Ben’s cousin, and Harry Price, his partner, who had closed the restaurant for the evening. They had delivered food to Edward earlier in the day and now they were more or less off-duty. The people carrier Ben had booked for the Steeple Martin contingent was picking up his mother, Hetty, at The Manor and coming on to The Pink Geranium before taking them all to Grove House, near the village of Shott a couple of miles away.

  ‘Who else is coming?’ Fran asked, when they were settled and on their way.

  ‘Don’t know,’ said Libby. ‘I expect he’s invited Andrew.’ Andrew Wylie was another historian, whom Edward had met during a previous adventure of Fran and Libby’s.

  ‘And Ian, of course,’ said Guy, with a sly glance at Ben.

  ‘But I expect it will mostly be colleagues from work,’ said Ben. ‘He doesn’t know many people except us locally.’

  ‘Philip Jacobs,’ said Harry. ‘They both belong to the chess club at the pub, and they have a meal in the caff on occasion.’

  ‘Who’s Philip Jacobs?’ asked Guy.

  ‘Barrister bloke we met last year when Twelfth Night was on,’ said Libby. ‘I didn’t know they were friends.’

  ‘He doesn’t have to tell you everything, Lib!’ said Peter.

  When they arrived at Grove House, a perfect small Georgian manor house set back from the road, they found several cars already on the gravelled forecourt. The big front door stood open and light spilled out into the dusk.

  ‘Hello, everyone!’ Edward suddenly appeared, sporting his famous wide grin. ‘Lovely to see you all.’

  He greeted Hetty, Libby, and Fran with kisses, and the men with manly hugs. ‘Come inside! Hetty, Fran, you’ve not been here before have you? I’ll give you the tour in a bit.’

  Inside in the long drawing room, Edward hurried them towards the long table set with drinks.

  ‘Pushed the boat out, haven’t you?’ said Libby. ‘This is lovely.’

  ‘You have a way of putting things, Libby,’ said a voice behind them.

  ‘Ian!’ Libby turned round with a delighted smile.

  ‘Hello, mate,’ said Ben, holding out a hand. ‘Haven’t seen you for a bit.’

  Detective Chief Inspector Ian Connell greeted them all in a similar, but slightly more restrained, way as Edward.

  ‘And you know Philip, don’t you?’ said Edward, waving forward a rotund, dapper man in a tweed waistcoat.

  While greetings were being exchanged, and Edward went off to meet more new arrivals, Libby took the opportunity to have a quiet word with Ian.

  ‘No, Libby,’ he said with a smile, before she’d got started. ‘I can’t tell you anything about the body you nearly found yesterday. A – I don’t know very much myself, and B – I’m currently confined to the office.’

  ‘Yes, Rachel told me that.’

  ‘Rachel? Oh, yes, DS Trent. You’re busy getting her on side, are you?’

  ‘Well, she was asking about the village, and -’

  ‘She’s very sensibly getting a little local background knowledge and went to the most qualified person she knows.’ Ian patted her shoulder. ‘And if you don’t know, you’ll know someone who does, won’t you?’

  ‘That’s what I told her,’ said Libby. ‘It’ll probably be the Steeple Martin Mafia again.’

  ‘Mafia?’

  ‘You know – you’ve used them,’ said Libby with a grin. ‘Hetty and Flo and their cohorts.’

  ‘So we have. But what would they know about a boy – I gather the body is of a young male – hiding in a derelict hotel?’

  ‘But what if he was hidden before it became derelict?’

  Ian shook his head. ‘No, the body is comparatively recent. Well, within the last six months, the pathologist thinks.’

  ‘So really, looking back into the history of either the village or the hotel is pretty useless?’

  ‘Oh, I wouldn’t say that.’ Ian smiled down at her again. ‘Cheer up, Libby. You can have a lovely time ferreting about on the outskirts of the investigation for a change.’

  Disgruntled, Libby turned back to her friends, who had been joined by Professor Andrew Wylie, small and dapper, with a neat white beard. She asked after his health and that of Talbot, his adopted cat.

  ‘I gather you found another body?’ he said, taking a sip of his red wine.

  ‘No, I didn’t – I just nearly did,’ said Libby. ‘I had been with the woman who did find it, though.’

  ‘I used to know the Garden Hotel,’ said Andrew, smiling reminiscently. ‘Very pretty it was.’

  ‘Yes, I used to go there for the odd dinner,’ said Libby. ‘Pink and green decor. Very “in” back then.’

  Andrew nodded. ‘Such a shame what happened.’

  Libby’s ears pricked up. ‘Why? What happened?’

  Ben groaned. ‘Oh, don’t, Andrew, you know what she’s like.’

  ‘Oh, it’s nothing awful – just that the owner died and his wife couldn’t keep it up on her own. The son didn’t want it, either, so it was closed up and more or less left to rot.’

  ‘Why didn’t they sell it?’ asked Fran. ‘From what you and Libby have said it was a thriving going concern.’

  ‘I’ve no idea.’ Andrew shrugged. ‘You’ll have to ask one of those remarkable village ladies of yours. One of them will know.’

  ‘That’s what I was thinking,’ said Libby. ‘What Ian calls ferreting about on the outskirts.’

  ‘Ah.’ Andrew turned to look at Ian, who was now deep in conversation with someone on the other side of the room. ‘Is he in charge again?’

  ‘Confined to headquarters, apparently,’ said Ben. ‘His superiors obviously think he spends too much time out of the office.’

  ‘They’ve tried to do that before,’ said Fran. ‘It never works for long.’

  ‘Will they set up an incident room again?’ asked Guy.

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Libby. ‘Perhaps not, as it isn’t
a recent body.’

  ‘I thought I heard Ian say it was recent – within six months,’ said Fran.

  ‘What I meant was, it hadn’t been killed in the last week or so.’ Libby turned a bright smile on to their host who was approaching with a tray of canapés.

  ‘Harry’s best bites,’ he announced. ‘Have one, do. Have two!’

  A little later, when darkness had fallen, and the terrace outside the french windows was subtly lit and inviting, Edward took them on a tour of his new home. Apart from the large drawing room, there was a smart kitchen with room for a small table.

  ‘ For proper dinner parties, there’s a big Victorian gateleg in the drawing room,’ said Edward, and two en suite bedrooms.

  ‘What about upstairs?’ asked Hetty.

  The staircase to the upper floor went straight up from the Georgian porch, while the door to Edward’s flat was to one side of it.

  ‘Has it finally been sold?’ asked Ben. ‘You weren’t sure last time I came over.’

  Ben had got into the habit of helping Edward with small DIY jobs – something at which the academic was notoriously bad.

  ‘Yes, it has.’ Edward nodded. ‘Come on and I’ll take you to see the new owner.’

  ‘Oh, no,’ said Fran, hanging back. ‘We can’t be that intrusive.’

  ‘Oh, don’t worry,’ said Edward carelessly, ‘I wasn’t going to gatecrash the flat. He’ll be somewhere in mine.’

  ‘It’s a he, then,’ muttered Libby to Fran, as they followed the others back into the drawing room.

  ‘Could be a they,’ said Fran. ‘A couple? Those two over there. They look likely.’

  She indicated a couple chatting animatedly to Philip Jacobs. ‘Or them?’ She pointed to a slightly older-looking couple and Libby gasped.

  ‘Not them!’ whispered Libby, turning her back.

  ‘Why, what is it?’ Fran frowned down at her.

  ‘That’s Fiona Darling – the woman who found the body!’

  ‘Oh!’ Fran surveyed the slender, well-preserved blonde with interest. ‘And her husband?’

  ‘I suppose so,’ said Libby, ‘I’ve never met him.’

  ‘She looks a bit anxious. She’s shying like a nervous horse.’

  ‘I expect she’s still getting over the shock.’ She turned round slowly. ‘Oh, look – Edward’s coming back.’

  ‘Now,’ he said, ‘Fran didn’t want to intrude on my new neighbour.’ He beamed. ‘It’s all right, isn’t it, Ian?’

  Chapter Three

  ‘Ian?’ Fran gasped.

  ‘Really?’ Libby’s voice went up into a squeak.

  Everyone else was expressing varying degrees of delight.

  ‘Won’t be stayin’ so much then,’ said Hetty gruffly. ‘Neither of you.’

  Ian put an arm round her shoulders. ‘But we’ll both be around for more Sunday lunches.’

  Libby sniffed. Ben scowled at her.

  ‘Are we going to get the grand tour of yours, now?’ asked Fran. ‘I can’t believe we’re actually going to see where you live.’

  ‘I haven’t moved in yet,’ said Ian apologetically, ‘so it’s not really where I live. But yes, of course we can go up.’

  Libby held back as the party moved back towards the hall, and went to greet Fiona.

  ‘Hi, Fiona.’ She smiled, sympathetically, she hoped. ‘I’m sorry you had to face that on your own. Although I can’t say I wish I’d stayed.’

  ‘Oh, hi.’ Fiona was unenthusiastic.

  ‘Is this Mr Darling?’ Libby turned to the man standing silently at Fiona’s side.

  ‘Er – no.’ A faint colour came up under Fiona’s cheeks. ‘This is Ted – Ted Sachs. My builder.’

  ‘Oh! The man who had the keys?’ Libby gave him a friendly smile and jumped as she felt a hand on her shoulder.

  ‘Come on Libby, you’ll miss the tour.’ Ian smiled impartially at all three and firmly ushered Libby away.

  ‘This is not a fishing trip, Libby,’ he said, once they were out of earshot. ‘Yes, I do know she was the person who discovered the body, but it isn’t up to me – or you – to question her. At the moment,’ he added as she opened her mouth to protest.

  ‘But why is that builder here with her?’ Libby wanted to know. ‘Why not her husband?’

  ‘That builder happens to be doing some work for Edward and me. Edward invited him. If he and Mrs Darling chose to come together, that’s their business.’

  ‘Oh.’ Libby mused on this as they climbed the shallow stairs to the first floor apartment. ‘But -’

  ‘No buts, Libby. Look here’s my impenetrable fortress at last.’

  Ian’s flat was similar in layout to Edward’s, but with the added advantage of a staircase to the attic space, which had been converted into a spacious bedroom suite. Libby and Fran were able to surmise nothing of Ian’s taste, as the whole place was still empty, but they both approved of its appurtenances. Large airy rooms, a modern kitchen and bathrooms, and a beautifully solid balcony leading out from the main room, which looked out over the garden and the countryside beyond.

  ‘It’s quite similar to my present flat,’ said Ian coming up behind them, ‘but bigger. I can use one of the bedrooms here as an office.’

  ‘It’s lovely, Ian,’ said Fran. ‘Perfect. And is it closer to Steeple Martin and Nethergate than where you are now?’

  Ian grinned at her. ‘Still trying to find out, Fran?’

  Fran went slightly pink. ‘No need to, now, is there? And it was always Libby -’

  ‘Oi!’ said Libby. ‘You were always as curious as I was. Especially when you took to coming by on a Wednesday evening to join us at the pub on your way home, Ian.’

  ‘Well, to put your minds at rest, I was further over on the Sussex side. It’s just as easy to come down here and cut across.’

  Libby frowned. ‘Quite a long way. Is this quicker?’

  ‘Yes, and I can even walk into Steeple Martin if necessary.’ Ian laughed. ‘Although I don’t plan to.’

  ‘You’ve got your own pub, here,’ said Fran. ‘The Poacher’s really nice.’

  ‘I know – I remember it,’ said Ian. ‘And your cousin’s not far in her nursery, isn’t she, Libby?’

  ‘Cassandra – yes. And her Mike. Yes – I suppose you would remember the whole area.’ Libby stared into the distance.

  ‘What are you thinking about now?’ asked Fran suspiciously.

  ‘Just old cases.’ Libby turned and smiled at her friends. ‘I wasn’t plotting. Honest.’

  Ian and Fran looked at each other and sighed.

  ‘It’s rather romantic, isn’t it?’ Libby murmured to Fran as they returned to Edward’s domain.

  ‘What is?’ said Fran, startled.

  ‘That flat. With that view. The perfect seduction site.’

  ‘Oh, Libby, honestly! Do you really think that’s why Ian’s bought it?’

  ‘Well, no. But I can’t quite work out why he’s bought it.’

  ‘It’s nearer to Canterbury and nearer to all of us.’

  ‘But,’ Libby turned puzzled eyes on her friend, ‘surely we aren’t that important in his life? After all, he’s never let us in, has he? He must have a whole other life. We know he’s got relatives in Scotland...’

  ‘Look,’ said Fran with a sigh, helping herself to a refill of Prosecco from the bar set up in the corner, ‘he’s an exceptionally busy man. I don’t suppose he has time to have a varied social life. He just happened to find us all congenial, and so it makes sense to live near enough to spend whatever time he has got with us – or some of us. And he and Edward get on, and they’re both single, slightly older men.’

  ‘Slightly older?’ Libby grinned. ‘Middle-aged!’

  ‘Ian, maybe – he must be in his fifties by now - but Edward can’t be more than early forties. Still a young man.’

  ‘Funny how one’s point of view on age changes as we get older ourselves.’ Libby turned back to the crowded room. ‘I suppose we ought to circulat
e.’

  To Libby’s chagrin she was unable to find Fiona Darling and Ted Sachs during the rest of the evening, neither did Edward have any information about the builder, other than the fact that he was repairing a small summerhouse in the garden.

  ‘I gather it’s a bit beneath him, actually,’ he said with a grin. ‘He normally works on larger projects and restorations.’

  ‘He was with Fiona Darling this evening,’ said Libby, ‘he’s doing work for her, too. How do you know her?’

  ‘Oh, Ted introduced us,’ said Edward looking slightly surprised. ‘He said she was lonely, with her husband working away a lot.’

  ‘She’s got herself involved in a lot of the village activities,’ said Libby. ‘And she wants to convert the Garden Hotel into a community space.’

  ‘Oh, that’s where the body was found.’ Edward nodded. ‘And she found it. How did she know about the hotel?’

  ‘Ted told her.’ Libby shook her head. ‘It’s all a bit mysterious, really.’

  Edward looked at her with a dubious frown. ‘Libby, you’re not -?’

  Libby sighed. ‘No. I’ve been warned off. Although I think it’s a bit thick. After all, if I hadn’t left five minutes before, I’d have found the body with her.’

  ‘With her? You were there?’

  Libby nodded mournfully. ‘Just my luck.’

  Edward shook his head. ‘Honestly, Libby, you take the biscuit.’

  ‘I know, I’m just not a nice womanly woman, am I?’

  ‘But no one should regret not finding a body, man or woman,’ said Edward.

  Libby nodded, a little shamefaced. ‘I’m not natural, am I?’

  Edward laughed, put his arm round her shoulders and gave her a squeeze. ‘Just normally nosy.’

  It was late by the time the Steeple Martin contingent was collected by their people carrier and ferried home.

  ‘Nightcap?’ asked Ben, as Fran, Guy, and Libby trailed into the cottage.

  ‘Should we?’ Fran looked doubtfully at the bottle of whisky Ben was flourishing.

  ‘Go on, then,’ said Guy gleefully.

  ‘I will,’ said Libby. ‘Fran, would you prefer wine?’

  ‘I’d actually prefer tea,’ said Fran. ‘Sorry!’

  Libby went into the kitchen to make Fran’s tea while Ben poured three generous whiskies.