‘As pubs go, this place is thriving,’ said Harry. ‘Its rooms are full a lot of the time, people come out here to eat and there’s a sizeable chunk of local custom within walking distance. And no competition.’
‘So who is the new owner?’ asked Libby. ‘Don’t tell us it’s a consortium or something.’
‘It’s a couple who have just finished turning round a village pub in Sussex that they rescued from the developers.’
‘Then why do they want to come here?’ asked Ben.
‘I only know what was in a news release,’ said Harry. ‘I haven’t actually met the man!’
Libby looked down at the menu. ‘I don’t think the food here’s bad. It’s always served us well. And Max and Owen seemed perfectly happy with it.’
Max and Owen had stayed at the pub the previous autumn.
‘By the way, did you check your improvised car park?’ asked Peter. ‘In case anyone’s decided to stay?’
‘I didn’t have to,’ said Ben. ‘The police got rid of everybody. It looks like even more of a wasteland than it did before.’
Libby was looking thoughtful. ‘Do you remember what Ian was talking about yesterday lunchtime?’
‘Eh? Oh, the festival thing.’ Ben looked up.
‘Well, maybe the new pub owner would be interested.’
‘In a music festival?’ said Ben.
‘Is that what Ian suggested?’ said Harry. ‘Blimey!’
‘He’d just been to one,’ said Libby, ‘and he thought the field would make a good venue.’
‘He’s right – but I’d suggest a beer festival. You can still have music, but that would bring in the punters more.’ Harry gazed at the ceiling, a faraway look on his face. ‘Great possibilities.’
‘Right,’ said Ben warily. ‘I’ll go and get the drinks.’
The manager himself came to take their order.
‘It was good of you to fit us back in after we’d cancelled,’ said Libby.
He sighed. ‘Only too pleased. We lost most of our bookings for tonight.’
‘Oh, of course. Not good for anybody.’
‘How was lunchtime?’ asked Harry. ‘We were all right – fully booked and they all came, but the whole – er – thing had happened much before, so …’
The manager brightened. ‘Lunchtime was fine. There were a lot of people in the village who had nothing to do, so they came in here. You did yourselves,’ he said to Libby.
‘I’ll have the soup and the lamb shank,’ said Ben, putting an end to the conversation. ‘Anyone else?’
‘I wanted to ask him about the new owner,’ complained Libby, when the manager had left with their orders.
‘I know you did. We’d have never got our food,’ said Ben with a grin. ‘You can ask him later.’
Libby got her chance when Harry asked the manager to join them for a drink at the end of their meal.
‘New owner?’ he said. ‘Seems very nice.’ He shrugged. ‘Don’t know if I’ll be out of a job or not yet, but he’s said nothing.’
‘Hal said he came from a pub in Sussex?’ prompted Peter.
‘In a village near Lewes. The brewery shut it – or were going to – and there was the usual flurry of interest from the villagers who wanted to keep it, but they couldn’t quite raise enough capital. So our new owner stepped in. He’s handing the running of it to the locals now and coming here.’
‘Is his background in the trade?’ asked Ben, frowning. ‘Seems an odd thing to suddenly turn to in his – I don’t know. How old is he?’
‘Fifties? No idea where he came from. I’m sure we’ll find out.’
The talk turned naturally to the discovery of Lisa Harwood’s body. As Libby and Ben knew far more about it than most people in the village, they soon had a small crowd round them asking questions. Libby was very glad of Ben’s foot landing sharply on her own every time a question threatened to take her into forbidden territory.
Eventually taking leave of the manager and the locals, the friends left to go home.
‘Nightcap?’ offered Peter, as they stood outside the pub.
‘I think I’d rather just go home to bed, thanks all the same,’ said Libby. ‘It’s been an odd day.’
‘Let us know if there’s any progress,’ said Harry. ‘Night, old trout.’
‘Do you think there will be?’ Libby asked, as she and Ben walked along the silent high street towards Allhallow’s Lane.
‘Will be what?’
‘Progress. In Lisa’s murder.’
‘I expect so. They’ll pull out all the stops now.’
‘I wonder who called me.’ Libby scowled at her feet. ‘I wonder if that’s part of it all?’
‘Ian agreed with us that it was probably someone trying to get the police to take it seriously, so I doubt if it was the murderer,’ said Ben, fishing keys out of his pocket.
‘No, but someone who knew, or guessed, that it was more than simply a missing person.’
‘So someone who knew a lot more about her life than they’ve let on?’
Arriving at the door of number 17, Ben let them in and Sidney shot out.
‘I do wish he wouldn’t do that,’ said Libby, exasperated. ‘Now I’ll have to stand out here in the cold to get him in again.’
‘He’ll come and tell you when he wants to come in. Don’t be so daft.’ Ben pulled her inside and shut the door. ‘Now, are you sure you don’t want a nightcap?’
The following morning Libby received a phone call from Max.
‘We’ve hardly seen you this weekend, so we wondered if you’d like to have lunch with us. Pete’s got some restaurant he wants to visit, so we thought we’d have a trip out.’
‘Sounds wonderful,’ said Libby, only too glad to be torn away from the accusing gaze of the painting on the easel in the conservatory.
‘Will Ben be able to come?’
‘Give him a ring and ask him,’ said Libby. ‘He’s less likely to turn you down than me!’
As it happened, Ben was unexpectedly busy with a tenant farmer.
‘Milk quotas,’ Libby explained gloomily, when she was picked up. ‘Dairy farming’s a horrendous business these days.’
Everyone in the car nodded glumly.
‘So where are we going?’ asked Libby, after a decent pause to mourn the decline of the dairy industry.
‘That pub you went to that did the Middle Eastern night, The Dragon, remember? You and Ben said how good it was,’ said Peter.
‘Yes, but it was a special. I don’t think they do it as a regular thing. And it’s Monday.’
Harry, sitting next to her, dug her in the ribs. ‘Do you think he didn’t check, petal? And I have an appointment with the chef to learn about his tagines. He’d heard of me,’ he added proudly.
‘And we were thinking about your mystery woman who was murdered,’ said Owen.
‘You were?’ Libby was surprised. ‘Why?’
‘Well,’ he looked at her in the driver’s mirror.You remember we told you about our two boys?’
‘Who went missing? Yes.’
‘We think,’ said Max, turning round to face her, ‘that there are similarities. And that’s not good.’
Chapter Thirteen
‘How do you know it’s not good?’ asked Libby. ‘You said there was nothing to investigate.’
‘We reported them missing,’ continued Owen. ‘The police weren’t very interested. We weren’t parents, merely employers.’
‘But then there was a lot of talk amongst the rest of the boys,’ said Max. He looked at Harry. ‘You know about the sex party circuit, don’t you?’
Harry and Peter both nodded, Peter having adopted his most fastidious expression.
‘Is that what it sounds like?’ asked Libby.
‘Yes, petal.’ Harry patted her leg. ‘Not very nice.’
‘So what about it?’ asked Libby. ‘Did your boys go to them?’
‘It’s not quite like that, Lib.’ Peter leant forward to face her. ‘It’s a bit more than tha
t.’
‘Nasty goings on?’ said Libby. ‘So what was the connection?’
‘A couple of the boys said they’d been approached by people. Apparently because they were fit – as in athletically fit. Specialist tastes, that sort of thing.’ Owen looked uncomfortable and fixed his eyes on the road. ‘Where do I go now?’
Libby began giving directions, and a little later, they were pulling into the car park of The Dragon.
‘Last time I was here at lunchtime it was practically empty.’ Libby got out of the car and stretched.
‘That was in November or December, wasn’t it?’ said Peter. ‘This is the beginning of the season.’
‘This is hardly a tourist destination,’ said Libby. ‘Back of beyond.’
‘It’s recommended in all the guides,’ said Harry. ‘And its grading has improved over the last couple of years. Chef was telling me.’
‘Oh, you’ve spoken to him?’
‘Told you – he’s going to give me the secret of his tagines.’ Harry flung an arm around her shoulders. ‘Come on, inside.’
Installed at a large round table overlooking the garden, which Libby hadn’t been aware of the last time, after the chef himself had been out to greet them and taken their orders, Max and Owen bought drinks and returned to the subject of their missing dancers.
‘When we talked it over,’ said Max, ‘we thought that perhaps it was similar, because your missing runner apparently had become obsessed with running and everything else seemed to have been cut out of her life. Our boys were the same.’
‘They haven’t turned up dead, have they?’ said Harry.
‘Not as far as we know, but suppose they’d given us false names?’ said Owen. ‘We couldn’t find any trace of them online or at the school they’d attended.’
‘Doesn’t make any sense.’ Libby frowned.
‘Do you think they joined you because for some reason they knew they’d be approached by these people?’ asked Peter.
Owen and Max looked horrified.
‘I bloody well hope not!’ said Max.
‘If your other boys had been approached –’ began Harry.
‘And they told us.’ Owen’s mouth was a grim line.
‘Not until after the other boys had gone, though, didn’t you say?’ said Libby.
Silence fell around the table, broken eventually by Max’s sigh.
‘Can’t have been just us, though. Think of all the ballet companies in London,’ he said.
‘You perhaps should ask around,’ said Libby. ‘Don’t you all talk to each other?’
‘Of course we do, but this is a bit – well – under the counter, isn’t it?’ said Owen.
‘Oh, come on! Surely you’d know?’ said Harry.
‘Anyway,’ said Libby, ‘I can’t see that there are any similarities other than obsession. And if your boys were danseurs then obsession was a good thing.’
Owen sighed. ‘Maybe. I think perhaps your detective instincts are catching.’
‘Well, she isn’t doing any detecting at the moment,’ said Peter, ‘are you, dear trout?’
‘Trout?’ said Max and Owen together.
‘That’s her,’ said Harry. ‘Our dear old trout.’
‘Do you really let them talk to you like that?’ asked Max.
‘It’s become a bit of a habit,’ said Libby apologetically.
‘I have to tell you,’ said Harry, banging the table with a spoon, ‘that we saved this woman’s life. Languishing, she was, all the way over there the other side of Canterbury. So Pete and I started the Search For Bide-a-Wee, found her the cottage and here she is. With a theatre to run, a man to look after and a pillar of the community.’
‘Golly, am I?’ Libby was impressed.
‘Did you actually ask them to find you a cottage in their village?’ Max asked.
‘No, I was just complaining. They told me I had to move.’
‘And how right we were,’ said Harry. ‘Ah – food!’
The food was exceptional, and as the only customers for lunch, the chef was able to come and join them, while Harry ruthlessly pumped him for culinary secrets. Owen, Max, Peter and Libby left him to it and strolled out into the garden.
‘Very focussed on his food, isn’t he?’ said Owen.
‘Very.’ Peter looked amused. ‘People take him for a bit of a clown until they know him really well.’
‘Andrew said he knew an old friend of his?’ Max sent a quizzical look in Peter’s direction.
‘Yes. Quite a coincidence,’ said Peter firmly.
Sir Andrew McColl was the actor who had introduced Max and his company to Libby and Ben.
‘How is he? Have you seen him lately?’ asked Libby, as determined as Peter that the conversation shouldn’t be led into the realms of Harry’s background, which was still a little painful to him.
‘I saw him at a charity thing at the Coliseum a couple of months ago,’ said Max. ‘Opera, though, not ballet. I’m never sure about opera.’
‘Me neither,’ said Libby. ‘Although I’m a huge fan of Gilbert and Sullivan.’ She assumed a beatific expression. ‘I did Pitti-Sing and Lady Angela in a G&S tour when I was young.’
‘I didn’t know you sang.’ Peter looked surprised.
‘I sing every year in The End Of The Pier Show,’ said Libby rather huffily.
‘But that’s not proper singing, is it?’ Peter said innocently, and Max and Owen roared with laughter. Peter winked at Libby.
‘Subject closed,’ he whispered, coming up and taking her arm.
After refusing complimentary liqueurs, the little party left The Dragon with many promises to return, and the chef waved them off with a promise to come to The Pink Geranium on his next day off.
‘That was lovely,’ said Libby. ‘You wouldn’t believe how gloomy the whole area was when we saw it before.’
‘Amazing what a drop of sunshine will do,’ said Harry.
‘Your young dancers,’ said Peter suddenly. ‘Couldn’t it have been the ballet school where they trained which was the link to the sex parties?’
‘That occurred to me when the boys – my boys, I mean – told me about the approaches that had been made,’ said Max.
Owen frowned at the road ahead. ‘But the approaches were made – hang on, where were they made?’
Max looked at Owen, Libby looked at Peter and Harry looked at Max.
‘Yes, where were they made?’ said Libby and Harry together.
‘I have no idea.’ Max shook his head. ‘I’ll ask when we get back, but it doesn’t really help your poor young woman, does it?’
‘No,’ admitted Peter. ‘I was just curious.’
‘It’s the Steeple Martin disease,’ said Harry.
As Max and Owen were returning to London on Tuesday morning, Libby and Ben joined them and Harry and Peter in the pub that evening for a farewell drink.
‘Have you managed to keep Stan’s lovely set?’ Libby asked, referring to the original set of Pendle used in the Oast Theatre last autumn.
‘Amazingly, yes. Scaled up of course,’ said Max. ‘Young Seb’s turned out to be a godsend. I think Stanrather kept him under his thumb.’
Sebastian Long had been the assistant stage manager, now promoted.
‘He told me he wanted to do “real” theatre,’ said Libby. ‘He’s got his wish, now, hasn’t he?’
‘Some good came out of it all, then,’ said Ben. ‘Shame that can’t be said for all Libby’s adventures.’
‘Oi!’ said Libby. ‘They aren’t my adventures! I don’t start them.’
‘You just get involved by accident,’ said Harry. ‘Fall down the rabbit hole, like.’
‘It isn’t my fault,’ insisted Libby.
‘Well, I think you should get involved with this lady’s disappearance,’ said Owen.
‘It’s not a disappearance any more,’ said Libby gloomily.
‘No, but no one knows where she was between last weekend’s run and this one,’ said Peter.
‘That doesn’t usually stop you,’ said Ben. Libby sent him a fulminating glare.
‘Anyway, I wouldn’t know where to start, it’s not as if I know anything about the woman – or the Harriers, come to that. The whole thing’s a closed book to me.’
‘Didn’t you tell us you had a phone call telling you to back off last week though?’ said Owen.
‘Yes, why?’
‘I would have thought that would have piqued your interest.’
‘It scared me,’ said Libby. ‘And Fran and I and the police all decided it must be someone who wanted the police to take notice of Lisa’s disappearance, not actually a direct threat to me or Fran.’
‘And it was someone who knew your phone number – or where you lived in order to find it. So it does make you directly involved,’ said Owen triumphantly.
‘Oh, Gawd, don’t tell her that,’ groaned Harry.
‘I suppose we could try to find out who that was,’ said Libby, casting a wary look at Ben, who rolled his eyes.
‘I shall blame you two if she gets mixed up in this,’ he said, wagging a finger at Owen and Max. ‘Now, who’s ready for another drink?’
Libby called Fran on Tuesday morning.
‘Owen and Max suggested we try and find out who made the threatening phone calls last week,’ she said bluntly. ‘What do you think?’
There was silence for a moment.
‘Fran? Did you hear me?’
‘Ye-es,’ replied Fran slowly.
‘Well?’
‘I’m a bit worried about it.’
‘In what way?’
‘Um …’ There was another silence.
‘Look, Fran, if you just don’t want to do anything about it, just say so. We aren’t involved, other than being parents of two of the runners, so we can just walk away. Everyone else will.’
‘The two runners who found the body.’
‘Well, yes, but that was an accident.’
‘Was it?’
Libby’s solar plexus contracted involuntarily. ‘What?’
Fran heaved a long, irritated sigh. ‘Oh, I don’t know. I suppose I ought to talk about it.’
‘OK. Would you like to come here? I can do lunch. Soup or something.’
‘I’ll be there about twelve. Is that all right?’
Murder on the Run Page 9