Murder in Bloom - Libby Sarjeant Murder Mystery Series

by Lesley Cookman

  ‘I liked that Housey Housey,’ said Edie. ‘Better than his own show.’

  ‘Really? Why?’ said Fran.

  ‘Because she don’t like watching a half hour of me without the other presenters,’ said Lewis, giving his mother a kiss. ‘Everyone all right this morning?’

  ‘Yes, thanks, and Katie tells us the police are going to be leaving you alone soon,’ said Libby.

  ‘They certainly are,’ said Lewis, looking his bright and perky self. ‘And we can start filming as soon as we can set it up. Have to get on to it quick, though, or we’ll lose the best of the season.’

  ‘Right,’ said Libby, raising questioning eyebrows. ‘’Course you will.’

  They had lunch in the kitchen, as usual, and Adam and Mog joined them. By the end of the meal Adam was complaining that he’d always assumed he had one mother, but now it seemed he had three.

  ‘Not counting me, eh, Ad?’ smiled Fran.

  ‘You don’t mother me,’ said Adam. ‘I don’t think you’re the motherly sort.’

  ‘Out of the mouths of babes,’ said Fran with a wry smile at Libby.

  ‘Anyone who’s a friend to my boy’s like a son to me,’ said Edie, complacently. ‘Aren’t you going to eat up that spinach, boy?’

  Libby snorted and Lewis roared. ‘Now you see what I had to put up with,’ he said.

  Later, he saw Libby and Fran to their cars.

  ‘That it, then?’ he said. ‘Have we finished with the mystery of Creekmarsh?’

  ‘As far as you’re concerned,’ said Fran, ‘but there’s still the mystery of Cindy Dale and Gerald Shepherd.’

  ‘But it’s nothing to do with me any more, or Creekmarsh, so we can relax, can’t we?’ Lewis put an arm round each of their shoulders and gave them a squeeze. ‘And you can get on with your wedding. Not long now, eh? Am I still coming to the evening do?’

  ‘Of course you are,’ said Fran. ‘You’re welcome to come to the whole day, if you like.’

  ‘I’ll hitch a lift with Inspector Connell, shall I?’ he said with a wink. ‘Go on. I’ll see you both then, if not before.’

  Chapter Thirty

  THE SUN NOW SEEMED to shine in earnest every day. For Fran, it was a time of anticipation and joy, only slightly marred by the occasional phone calls from her children, still complaining. In the end Guy took the receiver from her in mid-conversation with Lucy.

  ‘Lucy, I’m very sorry both your mother’s and your first marriages went wrong, but they’re both over now and I’m going to make sure that your mother, at least, spends the rest of her life happy and secure. She does not need your constant whining that things are not fair. It’s quite true that neither you nor your sister are being fair to her, but she hasn’t complained. So I suggest you leave her alone, or you’ll find you’re cut off from her altogether. I’ll make sure of that. And you can pass that on to your sister.’

  There was a confused spluttering at the other end of the line. ‘You can’t do that!’ gasped Lucy.

  ‘Oh, I can, and I will. I don’t want to, because it would upset your mother,’ said Guy, ‘but you’re upsetting her now, so it would be the lesser of two evils. We’ll look forward to seeing you at the wedding. We’ve booked you into a little hotel a mile away where several of the other guests are staying and if you wish you can stay there the night before as well.’

  ‘I can’t afford that!’ snapped Lucy.

  ‘I didn’t say you had to, did I?’ said Guy wearily. ‘It’s your mother’s treat.’

  He switched off the phone and handed it back to Fran. ‘And that’s the end of that,’ he said. ‘Presumably she’ll phone Chrissie and they’ll tear me to pieces, but it may give them pause.’

  ‘You wouldn’t really cut me off from them, would you?’ said Fran.

  ‘If they were upsetting you, yes,’ said Guy. ‘I can be ruthless, you know.’ And he twirled imaginary moustaches.

  While Fran had plenty to keep her occupied, Libby was bored. Lewis had asked to be excused from the Steeple Farm project as he was so busy with his new series, in which Adam and Mog were heavily involved, to Adam’s delight, and Ben was waiting for a builder friend of his to come over and give them a quote. So there was nothing to do on that front. Early summer kept Ben at The Manor for longer than usual and Fran was unavailable for long chats or girlie evenings.

  Twice she went to The Pink Geranium for lunch and hovered around the kitchen getting in Harry’s way, once she went to visit old Jim Butler and his dog Lady, who lived on the outskirts of Nethergate, and once she went to see Flo and Lenny in their sheltered accommodation down by the church.

  Eventually she realised she was putting off finishing the paintings Guy had requested and made a determined effort. However, this kept her inside and the weather was beautiful, so the Friday of the week before Fran’s wedding, she borrowed the Land Rover and drove to Creekmarsh.

  A large lorry was parked on the drive, with several attendant cars. Libby left the Land Rover near the gates and walked up to the front door, which was open.

  ‘Hello, dear.’ Edie came out of the kitchen. ‘Did you want Adam?’

  ‘I was bored, Edie,’ confessed Libby, ‘so I came over to see how things were going. Are they filming?’

  ‘Not sure, dear. I go down and have a look now and then, but I don’t understand what’s going on, so I leave ’em to it. They’ll be down by that there party garden, I think.’

  ‘Thanks, Edie. I’ll take a wander down there,’ said Libby. ‘See you before I leave.’

  Sure enough, there was a crowd of people round the parterre garden, where Lewis was on his haunches with Adam’s string in his hand, while Mog and Adam stood at the back looking bored.

  ‘Hi, Ma,’ said Adam, his face brightening. ‘Come to have a look?’

  ‘Yes, but it doesn’t look as though much is happening.’

  ‘Nothing is,’ said Mog. ‘They’re planning everything out and holding us up into the bargain.’

  ‘Ah, but that means it’ll take you longer and that means more money,’ said Libby.

  ‘Hmph,’ said Mog, scowling at a young woman with tied-back hair and collapsing trousers.

  ‘Will you appear in the show?’ Libby asked Adam.

  ‘In the background doing the heavy work,’ said Adam. ‘The peasants, you know.’

  ‘No more police?’

  ‘I haven’t seen any,’ said Adam. ‘I would have told you if I had.’

  ‘Did they investigate the ice-house?’

  ‘Ice house?’ Adam wrinkled his brow. ‘N-no. Where is it?’

  ‘Don’t know,’ said Libby cheerfully. ‘Perhaps I’ll go and look for it if I won’t get in the way.’

  ‘Where do you think it is?’

  ‘Somewhere down by the river,’ said Libby. ‘Do you know where they found that little boat?’

  ‘Just round from the sailing club, I think,’ said Adam. ‘Do you think it’s there? What is it exactly, anyway?’

  Libby explained, then set off, circling the walled parterre garden and setting off towards the ha-ha. She passed the bench where she had sat with Lewis, and branched off to the right without going down to the sailing club and the pontoon. The inlet reached like a hand from the river into the Creekmarsh estate, the thumb towards the sailing club and the other fingers just round a bend. Libby went towards these, but discovered a mass of brambles and vegetation that made it almost impossible to reach, especially for a slightly overweight, vertically challenged person in sandals.

  Trees overhung the sloping ground and police tape fluttered in the breeze. No boat was thrust into the bank now, but Libby could see where it had been. Above it, roots from the overhanging trees formed an archway, almost an entrance …

  Libby’s heart thumped. An entrance. She tried leaning forward to see if there was, indeed, a tunnel, but from her vantage point she couldn’t. Besides, she thought, if there was a tunnel, the police would have found it, surely. From down there, where the boat had been, they woul
d have been able to see. Nevertheless, she started up the slope to see if she couldn’t work her way round and come out above the inlet.

  It was a scramble, and after five minutes Libby was red in the face, with bits of vegetation in her hair, feeling very glad she was wearing jeans. Suddenly, to her surprise, she came up against what appeared to be wire netting. She sat back on her heels and looked at it. It ran uphill through the bushes and downhill to disappear over a slight mound.

  ‘Must be the boundary of the estate,’ thought Libby. ‘And still no sign of a tunnel.’

  Dispirited, she hauled herself to her feet and struck off to her left, which, if her sense of direction was intact, would take her back to the meadow below the ha-ha. Sure enough, through the trees, she could see the artificial trench with its retaining wall, which must start, she thought, looking round, about here. And then her feet went out from under her and she slid inelegantly forward into darkness.

  When she’d recovered enough to know (a) she wasn’t dead and (b) she could still see daylight behind her, she sat up.

  ‘This is it,’ she whispered to herself as she got tentatively to her feet. The ceiling of the opening was the same height as the ha-ha, so it looked as though it ran under the meadow and must have been created at the same time. She looked left and right, and ahead, but could see nothing. ‘And this,’ she continued to herself, ‘is where the heroine of the film naturally goes forward into impenetrable darkness without anyone knowing where she is.’ She grinned at herself and began to look round the floor near her feet, lit slightly by the daylight behind, which seemed mainly to consist of rotting leaves. And then, just behind her, almost out of sight, something that looked slightly different.

  Gingerly, she got down on her knees and pulled at a corner, which revealed the object as a leather document case. With shaking fingers, Libby unzipped it, although the zip was both old and slightly rusty. Inside, she could see what looked like a birth certificate, and closed it again hastily. There was no reason why she shouldn’t look, but she felt instinctively that it was none of her business and that the police should see it first.

  She scrambled shakily out of the hole and stood looking at it. If it was an entrance to a tunnel, somebody else would have to investigate, but she had seen no evidence of bricks, only packed earth, so it looked as though it possibly wasn’t the ice-house. She turned and made her way along the bottom of the ha-ha until she got to the place where she could climb up to the meadow. Then, deciding not to take her find to the house, she made for the lane and from there to the Land Rover at the bottom of the drive. Once inside, she called Ian Connell, thanking her lucky stars that she still had his mobile number in her phone memory.

  It took some time for him to answer, and when he did he didn’t sound too pleased to hear from her.

  ‘No, Ian, listen,’ she said urgently. ‘I’ve just fallen into some kind of tunnel at Creekmarsh and found this case. I think it’s got a birth certificate in it.’

  ‘A what?’

  ‘Well, you know we thought Cindy Dale must be looking for documents? Couldn’t this be it?’

  There was a short silence. ‘Does anyone else know you’ve found this?’

  ‘No. I came straight to the Land Rover and called you. What shall I do? Shall I bring it in?’

  ‘No,’ said Ian, slowly. ‘We’d better have a look at this place where you found it. Can you wait there for us?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Libby doubtfully. ‘They’ve got television people here, so it won’t be easy for you to get down there without people seeing. Shall I tell anyone?’

  ‘You’d better tell Mrs North and Osbourne-Walker we’re coming.’

  ‘If I can detach him from the television people,’ said Libby.

  ‘We’ll be there as quickly as we can,’ said Ian and rang off. Libby climbed down from the Land Rover and plodded up the drive.

  Katie was in the kitchen with Edie. Libby had worked out what to say and hoped there wouldn’t be too many questions.

  ‘Just to tell you,’ she said, ‘the police are coming back shortly to have a look at the area down by the river.’

  Katie and Edie looked at her blankly.

  ‘Are they?’ said Katie. ‘What for?’

  ‘I don’t really know,’ said Libby. ‘Had I better tell Lewis?’

  ‘Well –’ said Katie.

  ‘See you in a bit, then,’ said Libby, and vanished.

  She made quickly for the parterre, where she beckoned to Adam and whispered her news to him before jogging back to the Land Rover just in time, as Ian’s car drew up in the lane, followed by a police car.

  ‘You have your uses, I suppose,’ said Ian, shaking Libby’s hand.

  ‘Here you are,’ she said. ‘I only had a quick look. I haven’t taken anything out.’ She handed over the case. Ian looked inside and drew out some documents. He nodded.

  ‘Cindy’s marriage certificate,’ he said. ‘And her original passport. This is what she was looking for all right.’

  ‘Is there anything else?’

  ‘Yes, but I haven’t time to look at them now.’ He grinned at her. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll let you know what they are, even if I shouldn’t. Where’s this hole?’

  Libby led them down the lane to avoid the company in the parterre, and along the trench.

  ‘This isn’t the first time you’ve fallen into a hole, is it?’ said Ian, with another grin.

  ‘No, but I don’t know how you know about the first time,’ said Libby.

  ‘Word gets around.’ Ian bent his head and went into the opening carefully, motioning his minions to do the same. Libby watched from a safe distance. Eventually, Ian came out looking grubby and beckoned her over.

  ‘There seem to be passages leading both ways from here,’ he said.

  ‘Down to the river and an ice house,’ said Libby.

  ‘How do you know that?’ Ian frowned.

  ‘An educated guess,’ said Libby. ‘And the other way will lead to the house with some kind of offshoot tunnels to the pub and the church.’

  ‘Fran told me about the tunnels, but as we didn’t find any sign of them inside the house we didn’t pursue it,’ said Ian, still frowning. ‘You think there’s an ice-house near the river?’

  ‘That’s where they were always built, for easy access,’ said Libby, ‘and of course it helped the smugglers.’

  ‘Where we found the boat?’

  ‘Probably. It looked to me as though there could be an entrance up on the bank.’

  ‘When were you there, or is that a silly question?’

  ‘This morning. I was on my way back when I fell into the hole under the ha-ha.’

  ‘Show me,’ said Ian, and motioned her to take the lead.

  ‘Shouldn’t you tell your mates to try the left-hand tunnel and see if we meet up?’ asked Libby. Ian scowled at her.

  ‘I’ll do that when I’ve had a look from this end,’ he said.

  He was more adept at crawling through the vegetation than Libby, and soon confirmed that there was what looked like an opening, shielded by brambles, above the still fluttering police tape.

  ‘I don’t know why we didn’t notice it before,’ he said, as he slithered back down to join Libby.

  ‘You weren’t looking for it,’ said Libby.

  ‘Did Cindy come this way? Instead of across the field?’ Ian pulled at his lower lip. ‘Was that a blind? Leaving the boat where it was?’

  ‘Or perhaps she came down, took the boat, sailed it or rowed it round into the inlet and escaped through the tunnel,’ suggested Libby.

  ‘How did she know about the tunnel?’

  ‘She was living here when she disappeared, wasn’t she? And was supposedly looking after Gerald, who we now know was already suffering from Alzheimer’s. He could have told her without realising.’

  Ian nodded. ‘Possible,’ he said. ‘Probable, even.’ He gave Libby a quick smile and she could see what Fran had seen in him. ‘Thanks, Libby. You and Fran between yo
u might be a bloody nuisance sometimes, but as I said before, you have your uses.’

  Libby grinned. ‘I know,’ she said.

  They returned to the entrance under the ha-ha and Ian went in after his officers. Libby sat on the ground with her back against the retaining wall and squinted in the sunlight. Muffled sounds and voices came from behind her, but she was unable to distinguish anything other than the odd call of ‘Sir!’ She wondered who was in charge of the search of the passage towards the house, and whether it would be open, or if all the theories would go tumbling down in the face of a rockfall or an extended root system.

  Her thoughts were disturbed by a much louder scuffling and confusion and Ian, followed by a constable with a mobile to his ear and a green look about his face, stumbled out into the open.

  ‘What?’ said Libby.

  ‘I shouldn’t really tell you,’ he said and held out a hand to help her up. ‘But you’ve a right to know.’

  Libby scrambled upright. ‘Know what?’

  ‘Cindy Dale. She didn’t go anywhere. We’ve just found her body.’

  Chapter Thirty-one

  ‘IN THE ICE-HOUSE,’ Libby told Fran over the phone. She was sitting in the Land Rover feeling distinctly shaky. ‘It was where we thought, by the river. And there is a tunnel right through to the house. They’re trying to find out where it comes out at the moment.’

  ‘What about the tunnels to the pub and the church?’ asked Fran.

  ‘I haven’t asked. Ian was too busy. I was lucky he told me what he did. Trouble is, I’m now a witness, because I told him where I thought the entrance from the river was and showed him the opening where I fell in. I’ve got to make a statement.’

  ‘You’ve done that before,’ said Fran, ‘don’t worry about it.’

  ‘I’m not, but I want to go home.’ Libby shivered. ‘I’m beginning to hate this place.’

  ‘Can’t you go home? They can always come out and see you.’

  ‘Not unless Ian says I can, and he’s a bit tied up at the moment. He told me to wait here.’