‘And I’m in this ukulele group,’ added Mike.
‘Oh!’ Adam’s face cleared. ‘The murder. Bet Mum’s involved, aren’t you Ma?’
‘No,’ said Libby, feeling her face growing warm. ‘Just … well, no, not really.’
Adam smiled knowingly. ‘Right.’ He looked round the table. ‘You aren’t ready to order yet, are you? I’ll come back in a bit.’
‘Your family and friends obviously expect you to be in on this,’ said Mike as Adam went back to the kitchen.
‘Oh, she always is,’ said Ben.
‘Even when she isn’t supposed to be,’ said Peter.
‘Do you think Fran will be asked about anything?’ Cassandra looked at Mike. ‘I’ve told you about Fran, haven’t I?’
‘Er …’ Mike was looking confused again.
‘Fran’s psychic,’ said Libby. ‘If you don’t believe that, it doesn’t matter. But she has these insights, or “moments” as we call them, where she can sometimes pick things up which help the police.’
‘The police? I didn’t think they did that sort of thing in this country.’
‘Not often, but Ian – DCI Connell – has found it very useful at times. She’s actually saved lives. Anyway, nothing’s popped into her head yet.’
‘Yes, it did,’ Cassandra interrupted. ‘When we had lunch yesterday and we were wondering why the police were with Mike. She just said “Plants”.’
‘But I’m a plantsman. My business is called Farthing’s Plants. That’s obvious, surely?’
‘What the police wanted you about. You’re involved in a murder investigation, it could have been anything, not plants at all,’ said Libby.
‘I suppose so,’ said Mike, still sounding doubtful.
‘They could have been looking for a murder weapon,’ put in Peter.
Mike blanched. ‘God, really?’
‘Which,’ said Libby thoughtfully, ‘could have been plants.’
Mike’s mouth dropped open.
‘Well, you know, poisonous plants. Foxgloves, or laburnum, or deadly nightshade.’
‘Nicotiana,’ suggested Cassandra.
Mike looked from one cousin to the other. ‘I don’t know which of you is worse.’
Ben and Peter laughed.
‘Cass is only just learning,’ said Libby, ‘but she’s getting the hang of it.’
‘I don’t want to rush you,’ said Adam appearing in front of them again, ‘but it is Saturday night, and we are getting busy.’
This effectively put a stop to any further discussions of the murder, but when the coffee stage arrived and Harry elected to join them, still in his chef’s whites, slinging a leg across a chair to sit astride it and lean on the back, the subject bubbled up again.
‘How far have you got?’ he asked?
‘With what?’ asked Peter. ‘The coffee pot?’
‘The murder,’ said Harry, stealing a sip of Peter’s wine.
‘We haven’t talked about it since we first arrived,’ said Libby. ‘It didn’t seem appropriate.’
‘Well, I think you might have to re-think that,’ said Harry, ‘because I’ve just taken a phone call from that new Chief Detective Inspector Connell, who is on his way right now to have a word with you.’
Chapter Thirteen
‘Don’t look so worried, Mike,’ said Ben. ‘That means he’s tried the house, and tried Harry to see if we were here. It won’t be formal.’
‘At least he didn’t call the mobile,’ said Libby. ‘He was being discreet.’
Harry grinned. ‘And here he is.’ He stood up and turned the chair round. ‘Hello, Ian. I’ll go and make you some more coffee.’
Ian took the chair and raised his eyebrows at Mike and Cassandra.
‘Mr Farthing,’ he said. ‘Libby didn’t say she knew you.’
‘She didn’t,’ Cassandra said quickly. ‘I’m here visiting – she’s my cousin, you know – and Mike and I are old acquaintances.’
Ian cast Libby a suspicious glance.
‘Quite, quite true, Ian. I only found out because I took Cass to Sir Andrew’s meeting in the theatre on Thursday and she dragged Mike over to meet me.’ Libby smiled. ‘Honestly, I know it sounds like too much of a coincidence, but there it is.’
Ian sighed. ‘I’m pleased to meet you, Mrs …’
‘Oh, just call me Cassandra. Pleased to meet you, too.’
Ian looked at Mike doubtfully. ‘However, nice though it is to see you in a different setting, Mr Farthing, I think I’d better be off.’ He stood up. ‘I’ll call you in the morning, Libby.’
Cassandra stood up so hurriedly she nearly knocked her chair over. ‘No, no, please don’t do that. I understand you want to talk to Libby, and not in front of Mike, so we’ll take our coffee upstairs, shall we, Mike?’
Harry arrived with the fresh pot of coffee.
‘Top your cups up, then, and go up through the kitchen,’ he said.
Cassandra topped up the cups and led a bemused Mike away through the kitchen, while Harry took over Mike’s seat and Ian sat down again.
‘Your cousin?’ he said to Libby. ‘She made me feel like my old headmistress.’
‘That’s exactly what she was until she retired. I think she’s going to manage Mike within an inch of his life.’
‘Really? I thought she said acquaintance …?’
‘Yes, but I think it’s becoming more than that.’
‘She’s become protective of him,’ said Ben. ‘I just hope her faith isn’t misplaced.’
‘I hope so, too,’ said Ian. ‘You see, we got a tip-off about his nursery.’
A shocked silence fell around the table.
‘But – but he said nothing was found,’ said Libby, finding her voice.
‘Nothing was, but that didn’t mean there hadn’t been something there,’ said Ian.
‘There would have been forensic traces,’ said Peter. ‘Wouldn’t there?’
‘But we hadn’t really got the grounds to dig everything up, or the resources at the time,’ said Ian. ‘And there was no evidence of anything having been got rid of. No burning material, or evidence of recent burial.’
‘Compost heap?’ said Harry.
‘Dogs would have smelt it, and they got absolutely nothing.’
‘Well, there then,’ said Libby. ‘He’s in the clear.’
Ian frowned. ‘We have to find out why we were given a tip-off.’
‘Who told you? You can ask them.’
‘That’s just it. It was anonymous.’
‘And you still had to look into it?’ Peter raised his eyebrows in his unintentionally superior manner.
‘Of course. I’m afraid I can’t go into the details with you.’ Ian poured himself coffee. ‘But what I really wanted to ask you was –’ he looked at Libby ‘– if anything has been said about the ukulele group to you or in your hearing.’
‘Gossip,’ said Libby.
‘Unofficial gossip?’ said Ben.
‘Obviously.’ Ian gave a deprecating smile. ‘These chats are always unofficial.’
‘But often useful,’ said Libby. ‘Well, no, I haven’t. Except what Mike’s told us, and I expect he’s told you all that, too.’
‘Tell me what it is, then.’
‘Just how he was the one who brought Lewis into the group. Mike works with Adam and Mog and is Lewis’s plant supplier. He was talking about the group to Edie one day when he was over there, and she wanted to join, so Lewis came too.’ Libby thought for a moment. ‘Then there was the fact that Vernon Bowling and Ron Stewart had identical houses, both with large attics –’ she glanced at Ian ‘– and must have used the same builder, but he didn’t know how long they’d been friends.’
‘They had the same builder?’ Ian frowned. ‘Identical houses?’
‘Yes. Didn’t you know?’
‘I haven’t been to Mr Stewart’s house, only Mr Bowling’s. Are you sure about this, Libby?’
‘Yes. I’ve seen them both. It’s very obvi
ous. Of course, Ron Stewart uses his attic as a studio. Recording, you know.’
Ian looked thoughtful. ‘That’s interesting.’
‘I said Mike should tell you, but he said he didn’t want to get Ron into trouble.’
Ian looked up sharply. ‘And what did he mean by that?’
‘Well …’ Libby looked confused. ‘I guess it meant he didn’t want to involve Ron unnecessarily. I mean, look what’s happened to Mike himself. Someone’s said something about him and his plants and brought the mighty force of the law down on his head.’
Ian nodded. ‘But this is exactly why I wanted to talk to you. You hear things we don’t.’
‘So now I’m your snitch.’ Libby sniffed.
Ian, Peter, Harry, and Ben laughed.
‘Or snout,’ said Ben.
‘Stool pigeon,’ added Peter.
‘Look, Libby, you want this cleared up, don’t you? If it isn’t, it could mean your Sir Andrew’s concert could be in jeopardy.’ Ian leant his elbows on the table and stared at her.
‘And he wouldn’t be pleased,’ said Harry, letting the chair he’d been leaning back in crash to the floor. ‘Especially as they approached him and he altered the concept to include them.’
‘And what happened to nosy Libby trying to solve murders?’ said Peter. ‘What happened to her.’
Libby’s colour was becoming alarmingly high. ‘So I’m only useful because I’m a nosy cow?’
The four men sighed in unison.
‘It wouldn’t be much use if policemen weren’t nosy, would it?’ said Ian. ‘Come on, Libby, I’m not asking anything illegal.’
‘But very unorthodox,’ countered Libby.
‘Yes,’ conceded Ian, ‘but my consulting – or helping – you and Fran over the years has always been unorthodox. I don’t exactly broadcast it.’
‘But Fran and I have managed to get into the papers.’
‘Yes, but not always for the right reasons,’ said Ben.
‘And you’re lucky to have media contacts,’ said Harry.
‘If you mean Jane Baker on The Mercury, she’s hardly national broadsheet, is she?’
‘And that Campbell person from Kent and Coast TV,’ added Peter.
Libby let out a huge sigh. ‘Oh, all right. But I’ve told you everything now, anyway. Except about Monica Turner.’ She giggled. ‘I’d love to see you question her as a suspect.’
‘Monica Turner?’ Ian frowned.
‘She’s an old battleaxe who lives in Maltby Lane,’ explained Ben. ‘And she accused Libby of bringing down murderers and ukulele players on the community.’
‘And she hates gays and lady vicars,’ said Harry.
Ian looked amused. ‘Perhaps I’ll have to question her myself.’
‘I wonder who’d come off best?’ said Harry. ‘She thinks Pete and I are an abomination.’
‘I suppose there weren’t any signs of homophobia among the members of the group?’ asked Libby suddenly. ‘I was thinking of Lewis. He can provoke people badly if he feels like it.’
Ian looked wary. ‘I couldn’t say.’
‘That,’ said Libby triumphantly, ‘means there is! Although if Bowling was homophobic, I can’t see Lewis killing him because of it.’
‘There, you see?’ Peter turned to the other men, spreading his hands. ‘After all her protestations, she’s off again.’
‘I only wondered.’ Libby finished her coffee. ‘Was there anything else, Ian, or can we rescue Mike?’
‘Not unless you’ve got any more revelations.’ Ian stood up. ‘You’ve given me something to think about, anyway. And don’t go investigating on your own.’ He turned to the other three men. ‘As if she would.’
They all nodded sagely.
‘And,’ he said to Libby, ‘you could just ask Fran …’
‘Nothing yet,’ said Libby, and blushed again. ‘Not that …’
‘Keep in touch,’ said Ian, and lifting a hand in farewell, vanished through the front door.
Libby went out through the kitchen and called up the spiral staircase. Cassandra appeared after a moment or two.
‘He’s gone,’ said Libby. ‘You can come down now.’
When Mike and Cassandra rejoined the group round the table, Harry had provided a bottle of brandy, a fresh coffee pot, and a new bottle of wine.
After they had all chosen their preferred beverages, Libby sat back in her chair and looked at Mike.
‘I’m afraid I told him about Ron and Bowling having the same houses. I thought he would already know, but he didn’t.’
‘He would have found out anyway,’ said Mike. ‘You didn’t find out why they’d picked on me?’
‘He wouldn’t tell us,’ said Ben. ‘Just that they’d had a tip-off.’
Mike shook his head. ‘I still don’t understand it.’
Libby let out another gusty sigh. ‘I know, but I’ve just told him about Ron’s house, and he’ll be bound to go and look at that – that’s a tip-off, too. And none of it actually might mean anything.’
‘Did you tell him anything else, Libby?’ Cassandra had on her headmistress look, fixing her cousin with a gimlet eye.
‘Only about Monica Turner,’ said Harry with a grin.
‘Monica …?’
‘I told you about the mad old woman on the mobility scooter who thinks Pete and Harry are – what did she call it, Hal?’
‘An abomination,’ said Harry.
‘Well, he wouldn’t take that seriously, would he,’ said Cassandra sharply. ‘Be sensible, Libby.
Five pairs of eyes turned to her in surprise.
‘I don’t think that’s fair, you know,’ said Mike gently, and Cassandra went bright crimson.
‘I’m doing it again, aren’t I?’ she said. ‘Sorry, Lib.’
‘Hmm.’ Libby didn’t look at her cousin. ‘Anyway, as Ian’s asked me, I shall be taking notes on anything I hear from now on.’
Peter opened his mouth and closed it again, Ben looked at the ceiling and Harry snorted into his brandy glass.
‘Well,’ said Mike carefully, ‘I think you ought to tell him there was homophobic element in the ukulele group, too.’
Chapter Fourteen
This time the brandy went up Harry’s nose and he had to be patted on the back by Peter.
‘What do you mean?’ asked Libby, leaning forward. ‘Against Lewis?’
Mike nodded. ‘I’m afraid so. And your friend Edie made it very clear that she was very unhappy about it.’
‘Oh, no,’ groaned Libby.
‘What happened?’ asked Ben.
‘Do I have to say?’ Mike looked shifty.
‘Someone has to,’ said Peter. ‘There could be something in this, and Libby could hardly go to the police with hearsay.’
‘If you didn’t want me to ask questions,’ said Libby firmly, ‘you shouldn’t have made the suggestion.’
‘I thought you could just tell the police what I said.’
‘I could. And they’d want to know a) how I knew and b) who was involved.’
‘Couldn’t you speak to Lewis?’
‘Adam,’ Libby called, and her son’s head poked out of the kitchen. ‘Is Lewis at home at the moment?’
‘Until Monday.’ Adam’s head withdrew, no doubt to continue his conversation with the PhD student he was so taken with, who was also one of Harry’s casual staff.
‘I’ll call him tomorrow then,’ said Libby. ‘And I’ll probably take Fran with me if he’s up for a visit.’
Cassandra looked hopeful. ‘Can I –’
‘No. And don’t forget we go to Hetty’s for lunch tomorrow.’ Libby finished her wine and coffee and stood up. ‘Well, I’m tired. Lovely meal as usual, Hal. See you tomorrow, Cass. Mike, nice to meet you in a civilised manner.’ She gave Peter a kiss on the cheek. ‘Come on, Ben.’
‘Mike, are you coming with me?’ asked Peter. ‘Hal’s just got to make sure everything’s OK in the kitchen.’
‘Oh, the lovebirds can lock
up,’ said Harry. ‘See you tomorrow, everybody.’
On their way along the high street, Libby looked round and saw Mike being escorted out of The Pink Geranium between Peter and Harry.
‘No hanky-panky for Mike and Cass tonight, then!’ she said.
‘Don’t be disgusting,’ said her beloved, giving her a suggestive squeeze. ‘At least, not here.’
A phone call on Sunday morning assured her that Lewis and Edie would be in all morning, and Libby called Fran to ask if she’d like to meet her at Creekmarsh.
‘I can’t, Lib. Sophie’s coming for lunch and I’ve got to slave over a hot stove. Tell me about it afterwards.’
‘Bother,’ said Libby, turning to Ben. ‘Now I’ve got to go on my own – and don’t suggest I take Cass.’
‘I wasn’t going to,’ said Ben with a grin, ‘but Hetty is at this moment ringing Edie to suggest they come to lunch with her.’
‘Oh.’ Libby was taken aback. ‘So I don’t have to go to Creekmarsh?’
‘If they say yes, no,’ said Ben. ‘If you see what I mean.’
A few minutes later, Lewis was on the phone.
‘We’re coming to Hetty’s, lovie, so if we come early we’ll come down to you before we go to the Manor. OK?’
‘Well, that solves that problem,’ said Libby. ‘Will Hetty have enough of everything?’
‘When have you ever known my mother do a small roast?’ Ben laughed. ‘She’ll probably ask Flo and Lenny, too, just to make up the numbers.’
Lenny was Hetty’s brother, who had been sweet on Flo in his youth, and, now in their twilight years, as Flo put it, they had found each other again.
Lewis and Edie arrived at twelve o’clock, and Libby offered coffee.
‘Only a little drop for me, ducks,’ said Edie. ‘I don’t want to spoil one of Hetty’s lunches.’
‘So, Libby. Come on. This is about Vernon Bowling the homophobe, I suppose?’ said Lewis.
Libby and Ben were stunned into silence.
‘He was, you know, dear,’ said Edie. ‘Made me so cross, he did.’
‘What did he do?’ said Libby, finding her voice at last.
‘Oh, it started the first time we went,’ said Lewis, sounding amused. ‘Eric Robinson introduced us to the group – you knew Mike was the one who told us about it?’
Libby and Ben nodded.
Murder Out of Tune - A Libby Sarjeant Murder Mystery Page 9