‘So, what do you think of Edward’s flat?’ asked Guy when they were all settled. ‘And what about Ian? That was a surprise.’
‘Did you really not know, Ben?’ asked Libby. ‘You’ve been over there often enough,’
‘Not a word,’ said Ben. ‘It’s a lovely building, though, isn’t it? And so well divided.’
‘Who did that, do you know?’ asked Fran.
‘What, the dividing? No idea. It was already done when Edward bought the ground floor.’
‘It wasn’t Ted Sachs, then?’ said Libby.
Ben frowned. ‘Not as far as I know. Look, Lib, I don’t think there’s anything suspicious about the man.’
‘It’s just that he gave Fiona the keys to that place. I wonder why he did that?’
The other three looked at her in puzzlement.
‘To get in with her?’ suggested Guy.
‘I think he’d already done that,’ said Libby.
‘Well, let’s face it,’ said Ben, ‘he wouldn’t have let her have the keys if he knew anything about the body.’
‘That’s true, Lib,’ said Fran. ‘Come on – not our problem. Let Rachel and DI Maiden get on with it.’
‘Yes, you’re right.’ Libby nodded and beamed at them over the rim of her glass. They all heard Ben’s sotto voce comment: ‘Where’ve I heard that before?’
Despite Libby’s avowed intention to stay clear of the Garden Hotel case, it seemed this worthy ambition was doomed, as DI Maiden appeared on the doorstep of number seventeen Allhallow’s Lane the following morning.
‘I’m sorry, Libby – Mrs Sarjeant,’ he said, sending Ben an apologetic glance. ‘I know you weren’t actually with Mrs Darling at the time she – er – found...’
‘The body,’ supplied Libby. ‘Come in, DI Maiden.’
‘I don’t suppose you could bring yourselves to call me Rob, could you?’ he said, hesitating by the table. ‘This is fairly informal.’
Libby beamed. ‘Of course!’ she said. ‘Is it Robert? Robin?’
‘Robert,’ he supplied with a grateful smile. ‘But only my mother ever calls me that.’
‘When she’s annoyed with you,’ said Ben. ‘I know. Would you like coffee? Tea? As this is informal.’
‘Coffee would be great.’ Rob Maiden sat down in the chair by the table and looked round the room. Sidney the silver tabby stared back disdainfully from the hearthrug. ‘I’ve always liked this room.’
‘I quite like it, too,’ said Libby, sitting down in a corner of the sofa. ‘Now, what’s up? I told Rachel – DS Trent – she could come to me if she needed anything.’
‘And she said I might need a word, didn’t she? Well, although I’ve worked on several cases around here, I haven’t got the detailed knowledge that DCI Connell has, so I thought you might give me some background.’
‘Is Ian not in charge at head office?’ Ben came in holding mugs of coffee.
‘Nominally he’s SIO,’ said Rob. ‘But I’m Deputy SIO. He’s just supposed to direct operations from on high.’
‘Some hopes,’ muttered Libby. ‘But he actually warned me off this case yesterday evening.’
‘He did?’ Rob’s eyebrows rose. ‘But surely he can’t object if I ask you for information?’
‘Oh, no, I don’t suppose so. I’m just not supposed to go nosing around on my own.’
Rob laughed. ‘As you said yourself, some hopes!’
Libby grinned. ‘OK, then, what do you want to know?’
‘What do you know about Fiona Darling, and, if anything, this builder Ted Sachs?’
Ben and Libby exchanged glances.
‘What?’ said Rob.
‘We met him last night,’ said Libby, trying and failing to suppress another grin. ‘At DCI Connell’s new flat.’
‘Wh-aat?’ Rob Maiden almost choked on his coffee.
‘I’ll explain,’ said Ben. ‘We were all at our friend Edward’s house-warming party, and Ted Sachs was also there. He’s doing some work for Edward. Ian – DCI Connell - was also there.’ Ben didn’t enlarge on Libby’s statement about Ian’s new flat.
‘And so was Fiona Darling. She and Sachs came together.’ She paused to consider the euphemism. ‘Sachs has been doing work for her and her husband on their barn. She must have told you this.’
‘She has,’ said Rob. ‘What I can’t get over is why Sachs should just hand over a bunch of keys for a building neither he nor she owns. It’s just plain irresponsible. And we haven’t been able to track Sachs down, either.’
Chapter Four
‘Is Sachs local?’ Ben asked. ‘I’ve never heard of him.’
‘Neither have I.’ Libby frowned. ‘How did Edward get hold of him?’
‘Didn’t you ask him?’ Ben looked surprised. ‘No – I asked how he knew Fiona, and he said Ted introduced her.’ Libby looked up. ‘That’s rather odd, isn’t it?’
‘We gather Sachs set up as an independent builder a few months ago, based near Felling,’ said Rob. ‘He appears to work from home – at least we can’t trace any actual premises.’
‘Well,’ said Ben slowly, ‘he could have done a leafleting campaign, which would be how he picked up Fiona Darling and Edward, both new to the district, who wouldn’t know any builders themselves -’
‘But Edward could have asked us,’ Libby interrupted.
‘I expect he didn’t want to bother us,’ said Ben reprovingly. ‘Was that how it was, Inspector?’
‘Please call me Rob,’ said Rob, ‘and yes, we assume that’s how it was with Mrs Darling. But what we can’t understand is why he had the keys to the Garden Hotel.’
‘The owner picked him up from a leaflet?’ said Libby.
‘I doubt it.’ Rob shook his head. ‘He doesn’t live in the village.’
‘Who is the owner?’ asked Ben. ‘I don’t remember who owned it when I lived here before.’
‘It’s registered to a Colin Hardcastle of Hardcastle Holdings.’ Rob consulted his notebook. ‘And they’re based in London, so I doubt if that was a leaflet.’
‘Hmm.’ Ben was frowning. ‘Shall we ask around, Rob? See if anyone remembers anything about who owned it?’
‘You can do.’
‘More likely to do with the current owner,’ said Libby.
‘I doubt it,’ said Rob. ‘He never comes down.’
‘And if Sachs the builder isn’t local, it can’t be anything to do with him, either,’ said Ben.
‘Well,’ said Rob, ‘he did have the keys, remember.’
‘But he’d never have let Fiona have them if he knew there was a body there,’ said Libby.
‘It was concealed,’ said Rob doubtfully.
‘Not very well, if Fiona found it.’
‘It was behind a blocked cellar door,’ said Rob. ‘Only don’t you dare say I told you.’
‘How did she find it, then?’ asked Ben.
‘The door had warped, and she just picked away at it until it fell in.’ Rob tried to hide a smirk. ‘And so did she.’
‘Oh, poor Fiona,’ giggled Libby. ‘Sorry, I shouldn’t really, should I?’
‘So what do you know about her?’ asked Rob, getting back to the subject of his original enquiry.
‘Only what I told Rachel the other day. She and her husband moved into a converted barn in Steeple Well. Her husband’s in the City, or something, and she gets lonely, so she’s managed to get herself involved in all sorts of village activities.’
‘And now she wants this Garden Hotel as a – what? Community project?’
‘So she said. But I’m not really sure why. She seemed to think she could get funding for it, although where from I’ve no idea.’
‘And what exactly is it?’
Libby shrugged. “A community café, she said. And craft centre? Honestly, I’m not sure.’
‘We haven’t been able track down her husband, either,’ said Rob, standing up. ‘He’s away, apparently. Well, thanks for the coffee, Ben. I’d better be getting on. If you do hea
r anything...’
‘I know, we’ll be in touch,’ said Libby. ‘By the way, what about the body? Do you know who that is yet?’
‘Not definitely, but house to house has picked up that some lads used to get in and use it for – well, who knows? Nothing reputable, that’s certain.’
‘I noticed signs that a fire had been lit on the floor,’ said Libby.
Rob nodded. ‘So did we. Well, keep your ears open.’
When Inspector Maiden had gone, Ben and Libby began to get ready for lunch with Hetty at the Manor, a Sunday ritual. Had Fran and Guy stayed, rather than going back to open Guy’s gallery and shop in Nethergate, they would have accompanied them.
‘Never mind,’ said Libby. ‘Flo and Lenny will be there. We can ask Flo and Hetty if they remember anything about the Garden Hotel.’
Flo Carpenter was Hetty’s oldest friend. They had come down from London in their youth for the annual hop-picking harvest. Now living with Hetty’s brother Lenny in their comfortable bungalow in Maltby Close near the church, Flo was a good source of old gossip from the village, as well as a provider of extremely good wines, with an expertise learned from her late husband.
‘Don’t go poking around too much,’ said Ben.
‘They’ve asked us to,’ said Libby. ‘Carte blanche.’
However, to Libby’s annoyance, when they arrived at the Manor, they found not only Flo and Lenny already ensconced at the big kitchen table, but Edward and Ian too.
‘I thought you’d be working today as you’ve got a murder,’ said Libby accusingly to Ian.
‘I have DI Maiden and DS Trent on the ground, Libby,’ said Ian, amused, ‘and actually, I am working, in a sense. Information-gathering.’ He indicated Flo and Hetty.
‘Oh.’ Libby eyed him with disfavour.
‘And we was just going to tell ’im all about the Hardcastles,’ said Flo. ‘Do you know about them?’
‘We know about Colin Hardcastle and Hardcastle Holdings,’ said Libby, sitting down and accepting a glass of red wine from Edward. ‘Are there more of them?’
‘It was them that owned the Garden,’ said Hetty, emerging from the Aga with a huge leg of lamb. ‘Colin was their son.’
‘When was this?’ asked Ian.
‘Oh, years ago, wasn’t it, Het?’ said Flo. ‘When would it have been?’
‘Bin closed nigh on fifteen years,’ said Hetty. ‘When Lil died.’
‘At least,’ said Flo. ‘She closed it after Bert died.’ She turned to Ian. ‘See, when Bert died, Lil couldn’t carry on and she wanted young Colin to come back and help her run it. But he weren’t interested, and in the end she shut up shop. He ain’t been there since, far as I know.’
‘Where had he gone? Colin, I mean,’ asked Libby.
‘London, didn’t he, Het? Made money.’ Flo nodded portentously.
‘Hence Hardcastle Holdings,’ said Ben. ‘What was it, property?’
‘We haven’t found out yet,’ said Ian, ‘but I wouldn’t be surprised.’
‘If it is property, why hasn’t he capitalised on the Garden Hotel?’ asked Libby.
‘That’s what I was going to say,’ said Edward. ‘Apartments, surely, if he didn’t want to run a hotel.’
‘Planning permission,’ said Ben.
‘I wouldn’t have thought that would be a problem,’ said Ian.
‘Bat and Trap,’ said Hetty suddenly.
‘What?’ said Edward and Ian together.
‘Bat and trap! Of course,’ said Ben, laughing. ‘It’s an old pub game – being revived now, I believe – and the Garden ran a team, didn’t they, Mum?’
‘What – like shove ha’penny?’ said Edward.
‘No, no,’ said Libby excitedly. ‘It’s an outdoor game – you have to have a proper pitch and everything. Mainly played in Kent, isn’t it, Hetty?’
Hetty nodded. ‘Greg used to play.’
‘So did I when I was young,’ said Ben. ‘The pitch is still there, but completely overgrown.’
‘Wouldn’t it be great to revive it,’ said Libby.
‘You’d have to get permission from this Colin Hardcastle,’ said Ian. ‘And if he hasn’t done anything about the building except let it fall into disrepair, he’s hardly likely to be interested in reviving a pub game.’
‘But,’ said Libby, thinking hard, ‘he’d given the keys to a builder, so perhaps he was thinking about doing it up at last.’
They all looked at her in surprise.
‘Of course!’ said Edward. ‘There, Ian. It’s not a mystery, after all.’
Ian looked doubtful, but as the roast potatoes arrived at the table just then, the subject was dropped.
They had reached the apple pie when Hetty said, ‘Old Mrs Mardle. She’d know.’
‘Eh?’
‘What?’
‘Who?’
Hetty nodded. ‘Your next door neighbour, gal. Jinny Mardle.’
‘Mrs Mardle?’ Libby looked surprised. ‘But I don’t really know her.’
‘Has meals on wheels, don’t she?’ said Flo.’
‘Yes. I pop in if she needs a lightbulb changed or something like that,’ said Ben.
‘And we put her bins out,’ said Libby.
‘So you do know her.’ Hetty offered more pie.
‘Well, yes...’ said Libby.
‘Why do you think she’d know? Do you mean about the Hardcastles?’ asked Ian.
‘Used to clean up at the Garden,’ said Flo.
‘But she would have known the parents, not the son,’ said Ben.
‘Very thick with Lil, she was.’ Hetty looked at Libby. ‘Lil Hardcastle.’
‘Wouldn’t hurt to ask, would it, Ian?’ Libby raised questioning eyebrows.
‘I suppose not, but I’m inclined to agree with Ben,’ said Ian. ‘Lovely pie, Hetty.’
Shortly after this, again following tradition, Hetty retired to her sitting room, Flo and Lenny to Maltby Close, and Ben and Libby were left to do the clearing up, this time with Edward’s help. Ian had excused himself to go back to work.
‘So, how are you getting on with Ian?’ asked Libby, as Edward handed her another pile of plates for the dishwasher.
‘Fine – why?’
‘Well, we were all so surprised when we found out that he’d bought your upstairs flat. You never said a word.’
‘It wasn’t my place to tell.’ Edward grinned at her. ‘And anyway, he only decided a month or so ago. I happened to tell him that the original buyer had fallen through, so...’
‘But he didn’t tell us he wanted to move,’ said Libby.
‘He doesn’t have to tell you everything, Lib,’ said Ben. ‘You’ve always been so nosy as far as he was concerned.’
‘Just interested.’ Libby was defensive. ‘Anyway, I didn’t know he and Edward were such friends.’
‘We weren’t particularly.’ Edward plunged his hands into the sink and began scrubbing at a roasting tin. ‘But we met up for a drink occasionally in Canterbury. Don’t look like that, Libby. We weren’t excluding you, it was just if I happened to be at the Canterbury campus. And we’ve been to The Poacher a couple of times.’
Ben laughed. ‘But she does look as if she’s been slighted, Edward, doesn’t she?’
Libby sniffed. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘Are you coming down to Pete and Harry’s with us?’ Ben asked Edward.
‘No, I’ll get off home if you don’t mind,’ said Edward. ‘I’ve got work to do before tomorrow.’
It was Ben and Libby’s habit to drop in on Peter and Harry on Sunday afternoons, and after saying goodbye to Edward, they strolled down the drive towards the high street. Peter and Harry’s cottage stood just next to the drive, and as they arrived, Harry, still in his chef’s whites, was letting himself in.
‘Was that Edward I waved at just now?’ he asked. ‘Or a handsome stranger?’
‘You know it was Edward. He and Ian were both at lunch.’
‘Oh? Hetty trying to
pull them into the family circle?’ Harry flung himself into a corner of the deep sofa. Peter appeared in the kitchen doorway.
‘Drink?’ he asked.
‘Yes, please,’ said Libby. ‘My amour propre, or whatever it is, needs soothing.’
‘Edward and Ian have had the temerity to become friends without Libby’s say-so,’ said Ben.
‘God help either of them if they want to get married,’ said Harry.
‘Oi! I’m not that bad!’ protested Libby.
‘So what about this murder, then?’ asked Peter, once they were settled with drinks. ‘Ian have any more to say about it?’
‘Rob Maiden’s in charge,’ said Ben. ‘Or Inspector Maiden, as we should call him.’
‘He of the carroty hair and very blue eyes?’ said Harry. ‘Quite liked him.’
‘Yes, him. Ian was there today, information-gathering apparently, to see if either Mum or Flo could remember anything about the Hardcastles who used to own the hotel. The son is apparently being hard to track down.’
‘And Hetty suggested my next-door neighbour,’ said Libby. ‘Mrs Mardle. Do you know her, Pete?’
‘Mardle?’ Peter frowned. ‘Can’t say... Oh! Hold on – Jinny Mardle?’
‘That was it, wasn’t it, Ben? We only know her to say hello to, really.’
‘She used to clean at the Garden Hotel,’ said Peter. ‘Did a bit of waitressing, too, if I remember rightly. Very fond of the boy.’
‘Ah! That’s why Hetty thought we might ask her,’ said Ben. ‘I don’t remember that.’
‘That’s because you’re such an old man,’ said Peter, and ducked the cushion thrown at him. ‘He’s nearer my age. What happened to him?’
‘That’s what we’re trying to find out,’ said Libby. ‘Well, the police are.’
‘That’s easy enough, surely?’ said Harry. ‘Land registry will tell them who the owner is.’
‘Yes, it has. Hardcastle Holdings. But they want to speak to Colin Hardcastle, and he’s proving hard to track down. Sorry – no pun intended.’ Libby made a face.
‘But it sounds like a company – so why aren’t there other people in the offices?’ asked Peter.
‘Don’t ask me.’ Libby shrugged. ‘They want to find out why he gave the keys to Ted Sachs the builder, and then why he gave them to Fiona Darling.’
Murder Repeated Page 3