“What happened to the beads, that night?”
The vet shrugged and stood up. Her voice rang with spite. “Oh, it was just a storm in a teacup at first, but it ended in disaster. Jemima accused Catriona of taking the necklace; as if Catriona would steal things. Or, maybe it was the other way round. It was so long ago. I can’t remember exactly. Anyway, they had a quarrel.” She shrugged. “It was hot, and the music was loud. Catriona went upstairs to cool down. The next thing we knew, she’d fallen out of the window.”
“She fell? You mean...”
“No one saw her fall.” Tanya’s eyes were narrow slits, “but someone found her on the pavement.” She shuddered. “We all ran out to see. There was blood all over the paving stones and Catriona was dead. Her skull was crushed by the fall, you see.”
Libby let the vet sit in silence for a moment, reliving that night, before she asked, “Had Catriona taken LSD?”
Tanya threw her hands in the air. “Catriona tried everything. She said LSD made her think she’d died and gone to heaven. She saw multi-coloured angels and flowers, and heard music. Psychedelic. That’s what we called it, in those days.”
“And taking LSD makes people believe they can fly.”
The vet nodded. “We were such fools.”
Deer Leap
“Weather doesn’t look too good.” Mandy leaned from the kitchen window, eyes on a system of grey clouds scudding across the sky. “Still, Glastonbury isn’t Snowdonia.”
“We won’t need climbing boots, but we’d better wear waterproofs,” Libby agreed. Mandy was silent, staring at her landlady’s hands. She’d taken to watching Libby, like an anxious guardian angel, since the midnight baking episode. It was touching and infuriating at the same time. Libby looked down. A dozen expensive chocolate wrappers lay under her fingers, shredded into tiny pieces. She tossed the ruined gold foil in the bin.
The first item on the day’s agenda was a visit to the Dear Leap stones. Max decreed it was a wild goose chase. He was probably right, but Libby refused to ignore even the most unlikely clue, and he’d agreed to come along. Bear, at least, was enthusiastic. His head on Mandy’s lap, he spent the drive to the Mendip Hills panting, mouth wide. Jumping from the car, he led the way up the path to the stones with tail aloft, sniffing the grass as though on the trail of some truly sensational scent, but when they arrived, he refused to go anywhere near the stones.
Rain clouds hung low, hiding the distant summit of the Tor. Libby pulled her jacket close, shivering from more than the cold. Bear snuffled her leg and she touched him, gently, behind the ears. “You remember it, too, don’t you?” Libby whispered. “That morning on the Tor. It feels like that, here. I don’t like it, either.”
They stood in the field and gazed round, disappointed. “No sign of a tunnel,” Max pointed out.
Mandy remained upbeat. “The Deer Leap stones are here.” Two upright lumps of rock, set ten yards or so apart, stood alone in the field. “They’re like a piece of Stonehenge.”
“It shows we’re in the right place.” Max threw a stick for the dog, but he ignored it, sticking close to Libby.
“Bear doesn’t like it here,” Mandy pointed out. “Maybe there really is a tunnel underground, full of ghosts, and he can sense it.”
“Nonsense.” In an attempt to throw off the gloom that weighed on her shoulders, Libby set off across the field and marched round the boundary, swinging her arms, inspecting the hedges. Mandy and Max followed her example and spread out, searching every blade of grass.
“We’re not going to find anything,” Mandy said at last, “and I’m getting cold in this wind. Shall we give up?”
Max was on the other side of the field, bending low in a corner, peering at the ground. He beckoned. Suddenly excited, Libby and Mandy ran to join him. “Have you found something?”
He straightened up, holding out one hand. “A bead.” It was covered in mud, but Max rubbed away the dirt, uncovering the glow of a reddish-yellow stone.
Mandy breathed, “It’s amber.”
“Now, there’s a coincidence.” Max turned the stone in his hand. “An amber bead, just where we thought it would be.”
Mandy squeaked. “So, it’s all true? There’s a tunnel under here? Someone came through from the Tor and dropped the bead and...” She stopped, deflated by her companions’ expressions. “It’s all nonsense, isn’t it?”
Max grunted. “Afraid so, Mandy.”
“But look at Bear. Why’s he so miserable?”
Max watched the dog. “Bear relies on his sense of smell. What if he’s caught the scent of someone he knows instinctively he can’t trust.”
Mandy breathed. “The murderer?”
Max scratched his chin. “Someone who left the bead for us to find, is leading us up the garden path, and is probably the killer. The question is, who?”
Libby pulled off her hat and let the wind catch her hair. “Do you think Miss Bakewell had anything to do with it? I don’t trust her.”
Max was nodding. “I think another interview with our school teacher is called for, don’t you, to find out why she sent us all on this wild goose chase?”
Libby agreed. “If you ask me, she talks about the amber beads just a little too much, as though she’s trying to make us think about them instead of something else, like some kind of sleight of hand. It’s making me suspicious.”
“Whatever we do, can we please get away from this place? I’m freezing.” Mandy’s face was pinched with cold.
“Let’s find a cafe in Glastonbury, get warmed up and have a walk up the Tor,” said Max.
***
Half an hour later, stomachs full of scones and jam from a cafe near Glastonbury Abbey, they emerged from the trees at the base of the Tor and trudged up the hill. “Cheer up,” Mandy said. The cream tea had given her a second wind.
Max walked by Libby, close, but not touching. She kept her gaze averted, like a nervous schoolchild. “Maybe it’s the weather,” she muttered. “All these dramatic thunder clouds. I think we’re in for a soaking.” They were halfway up the hill, now, and the clouds were gathering fast. “Do you think we should go back? It’s going to rain.”
“Not now,” Mandy pleaded. “I’m in the mood to see a ghost or two.”
Libby’s cry cut her off. “There she is.” She pointed up the hill, where the top of St Michael’s Tower disappeared into black clouds.
Max took her arm. “There’s no one there.”
“I saw her.” Libby pulled away. “Didn’t you? She was there―the little girl.” She whirled round. “And it’s no good making faces at Mandy behind my back, as if I’m crazy. I saw her, I tell you.”
The first heavy drops of rain began. “Well,” said Max, “Whatever you saw, we need to get up to the Tower now, if we’re going. We can shelter there. In any case, I don’t think we’ll make it back down again without getting soaked. In for a penny, in for a pound, as my mother used to say.”
His long legs soon took him ahead. Bear jogged at his side and Mandy did her best to keep up, panting hard. Libby brought up the rear. “I saw her. I did.”
“Hey, I believe you,” Max called back. “You saw something.”
“Not something. I saw the little girl.” They were almost at the top. Rain sliced into Libby’s face as she covered the last few yards to the shelter of the Tower. She found Max, Mandy and Bear in the arch at the entrance. Inside one corner of the Tower, crouched by a stone bench, the child stared from a pink raincoat, wet black curls escaping from the furry hood.
“Hello again,” Libby said. The child was motionless, except for her eyes. They flickered from the adults to the doorway and back. She was poised, ready to run.
Bear trotted over, tongue lolling. The child stretched out a hand and touched his ear. He stayed quite still, letting her pet his head. Libby took a step forward. “Does your mother know you’re here?” The little girl took no notice.
Max spoke in Libby’s ear. “I’ve got an idea. Let me talk to
her.” He pointed to the dog. “This is Bear. He’d like to know your name.”
The child squatted down, her lips close to Bear’s ear and whispered. Libby had to strain to hear. “Katy,” the child said.
Max went on, “Bear wants to know if Mummy’s here with you, Katy.” The girl stroked Bear’s head, but said nothing more. “Or Daddy?” The child pointed down the hill. The wind had dropped and the rain subsided to a steady drizzle. A figure emerged from the trees. The child waved, and it waved back. “Shall we go and talk to him? Bear will come too.” She nodded.
The man that met the little procession halfway up the hill was about forty, despite the long blonde dreadlocks tied at the back of his head. A hole in one elbow and a couple of missing buttons spoiled what must once have been a good leather jacket. “Af’ernoon,” he nodded.
Max said, “Is this your daughter? Shouldn’t she be at school?”
The man ignored the question. “Talked to you, did she?”
Libby said, “Not us. To Bear―the dog.”
“Ah. She’ll talk to animals, will Katy. Not to people, though.”
“Why not?”
He pulled at his goatee beard as though deciding whether to answer. “She don’t like people, much.”
“Fair enough.” Max nodded and walked on, a hand on Libby’s elbow.
“Why did you drag me away? We should have asked a few more questions,” she hissed, as soon as they were out of earshot.
“None of our business, is it? Katy’s with her father. She’s perfectly safe.”
“I wonder why she won’t talk. Do you think there’s something wrong with her?”
Max shook his head. “Some children can’t bring themselves to talk out loud. Especially to grown ups. Animals are different. Less scary.”
Libby thought back over her first meeting with the little girl. “I wonder where her father was, last time I saw her. Down in the mist, I suppose. I let my imagination run away with me, that day. I was almost ready to believe in fairies.”
“Wait.” The man called. “Aren’t you that detective woman. The one that was in the papers, when the rock singer died?”
Max murmured, “You’re famous.”
Libby ignored him. “Yes, that’s me? Why?”
“Maybe you can help us. We’ve lost something, you see. Something that matters to Katy. We need to find it.”
“Is that why Katy’s on the Tor?”
He nodded. “She runs away, that’s the trouble. Any chance she gets, she runs up here, looking for it.”
Libby had a moment of inspiration. “The necklace?”
The man laughed. “Fancy you knowing that. She’s attached to those old beads. Been in the family for forty years or more.”
Libby, spirits rising, reached into her bag and fumbled with the zip. “Here it is.” She held up the necklace. She’d polished the beads until they gleamed and threaded them on a length of stout leather. “The wire was broken. I expect that’s how she lost them.”
Katy’s father took the beads, running them through his fingers. “Katy,” he shouted. “Get over ’ere.” The child saw the beads and held out a grubby hand. Libby dropped the necklace on the palm. A grin spread over the child’s face, colour flooded her cheeks and she looked, suddenly, just like any other happy little girl. “Thank the nice lady,” said her father.
The child’s smile died. She inspected her feet.
“Actually,” Libby said, “it’s Bear you have to thank. If it hadn’t been for him, I wouldn’t have found the beads.” Katy sank on to her knees and threw her arms round the dog’s neck. “Thank you, Bear,” she whispered.
Truffles
“You’ve got some explaining to do.” Libby had hammered on Jemima Bakewell’s door until the woman came running. Libby was furious. “All that nonsense about the beads and the legends.”
The older woman held the door ajar. “I suppose you’d better come in.”
“It’s about time you started telling the truth.” Libby refused to sit, choosing instead to stand by the window, so she could see every twitch of Miss Bakewell’s face. “Who is Katy, how do you know her, why does she have your beads, and why didn’t you tell me the truth from the beginning?”
Miss Bakewell perched on the edge of the sofa. “What do you know about Katy?”
“We went up the Tor and she was there again, looking for the beads. We met her father.”
Miss Bakewell snorted. “He’s a useless article, that young man. Always been a cup short of a tea service. Even at school.” She rolled her eyes. “I taught him, once. Nothing stayed in that head. Had to be kind to him, though, given...” she stopped.
“It’s no good, Miss Bakewell.” Libby was stern. “You won’t get away with half answers, not this time. Nor talking about ancient history, or myths and legends. I need the truth.”
“No.” The woman suddenly stopped twisting her hands. She folded her arms. “What’s past is past.”
“But John Williams is dead. Have you forgotten? Don’t you care?”
Miss Bakewell’s face crumpled. “Of course I care, but there’s nothing more I can do.”
“You can tell us the truth.”
The woman strode across the room and threw the door open. “I can’t tell you anything. Now, please leave my house and don’t come back.”
***
Libby met Max on the beach. He’d rung, sounding uncertain, to suggest they walk Bear together. “Are we still partners?”
“Of course we are, but we’re no farther forward.” She tried to sound neutral. “Miss Bakewell called my bluff, just when I thought she was about to tell me everything.”
Max was thoughtful. “She knows who killed John Williams, and she knows why.” He walked faster. “Come on. I think best when I’m moving. Let’s find some sticks for the dogs.” The sun was back, there were no signs of yesterday’s rain clouds, and the beach was thronged with visitors enjoying the heat.
Libby pulled off her jacket and a sweater as her spirits rose. “This is proper summer weather.”
“Now, let’s have look at the facts,” Max suggested. “Come on, Libby, this is what you do best. Sort out the truth from all this misdirection.”
“Misdirection.” Yes, that was the problem. Someone had been orchestrating events to throw Libby off the scent. “It’s like a magic show,” Libby said, trying to untangle her thoughts. “We need to keep the facts separate from the special effects.”
She used Shipley’s stick to write numbers in the sand. “Number one fact; the death of John Williams on the Tor. That really happened. That day was a muddle because after I was caught in the mist, I met Katy on her own, then found the beads. Then, Bear was chilled and unhappy, and I panicked, thinking he was ill. I can see things more clearly, now. The beads are 2,000 years old, but the myths around them are just that―stories. The beads belonged to Katy―or, at least, she had them in her possession.”
Max put in, “How did she come by them in the first place?”
“Her father said they’d been in the family a long time. Forty years. Miss Bakewell had them first.”
“Right, that’s one question we’ll have to answer. How did the beads get from our teacher to Katy? We’ll need to find that out. But, going back to the facts...” Max drew the number two, then threw the stick for Shipley to chase. “Miss Bakewell, Tanya Ross and the professor all admit they knew each other, plus Catriona and John Williams.”
Libby nodded. She looked around for another stick, but found nothing. She used a finger to draw in the sand, instead. “Fact number three. The body was found on the Tor, the day before the exhibition. John Williams was killed because someone wanted to stop the exhibition.”
Max nodded. “That didn’t work and Miss Bakewell stole the photos. Fact number four.”
“Don’t forget number five, the explosion, the day Miss Bakewell went to see the professor. That’s another coincidence. A lot of them about, aren’t there?”
They looked at each oth
er. Libby was the first to speak again. “Things don’t look too good for Jemima Bakewell. She’s involved in everything. No wonder she won’t talk to me any more.”
“But we still don’t understand what else links all our facts together. If Miss Bakewell’s been going around killing people, there must be some sort of a reason.”
“Unless she’s just a nut case.”
***
The doorbell rang. “Mandy, can you get it?” Libby called, forgetting Mandy was out. She cursed, shouted, “Just a minute,” and elbowed the tap. Tempering chocolate helped her think, but it was a messy business. She was still drying her hands as she opened the door. “Miss Bakewell?”
“Can I come in?”
“I suppose so.” When would Libby remember to use the safety chain? She ushered the teacher to the sitting room, wondering how to tell if her visitor had any sort of a weapon in that familiar brown handbag.
Fuzzy, stretched on the sofa, opened one eye and, to Libby’s surprise, stayed where she was. “What a lovely animal.” Miss Bakewell held out a hand. Fuzzy sniffed at the fingers and allowed the newcomer to stroke her cheek. “I’ve always had cats, you know, until a few months ago when poor Sebastian had to be put down.”
Fuzzy seemed to trust the woman. Weren’t cats supposed to have a sixth sense? Maybe Fuzzy lost hers by spending too much time asleep in the airing cupboard. Libby asked, “Do you eat chocolate?” Miss Bakewell beamed.
Libby piled a tray with coffee, cream, and a plate of chocolate mis-shapes from the kitchen, seizing the opportunity to send a text to Max. Get here now. Miss B’s about to confess.
Cheeks pink with delight, Miss Bakewell considered, fingers hovering over odd-shaped coffee creams and squashed strawberry shortcakes before settling on a wonky white chocolate truffle. “You sell these in the bakery in Exham, don’t you? I bought a box recently. For a friend, of course.” She wagged a finger. “Now, just a word of warning. Don’t let that dog of yours anywhere near chocolate. It’s poison to dogs, you know.”
Murder on the Tor: An Exham on Sea Cosy Mystery (Exham on Sea Cosy Crime Mysteries Book 3) Page 8