‘Fran, excuse me, but what’s it got to do with you? You never visited her,’ said Paul. His mother opened her mouth as if to say something, but Paul pressed her shoulder and she stopped, like a gasping cod.
‘That’s beside the point,’ said Charles, irritated. ‘You didn’t tell me. I had Power of Attorney and I’m the executor of the will – which, you tell me, now can’t be found.’
‘That’s hardly our fault, is it? And as to moving the belongings, Mrs Headlam wanted to clear the room as soon as possible. I would have thought,’ said Paul, smiling sweetly, ‘we were doing everybody a favour.’
‘Well, if you don’t mind, you can have everything packed up and moved to Mountville Road.’
‘Why should we?’ Paul’s manner was beginning to turn belligerent.
‘Because you removed it without permission. Now you put it back. All those items are covered by the will, and the will has to go to probate, or didn’t you realise that?’
‘Of course we did.’ Barbara had obviously recovered. ‘There was no intention of removing anything for ourselves. I told you, most of it’s gone to the office – we haven’t room for it here.’
‘Plenty of room at the office, though,’ said Charles, with a nasty little smile. ‘Nothing much else there, is there?’
Paul looked uneasy and Barbara furious.
‘Anyway, get a van and have it delivered to Mountville Road. Tell me when it’s coming and I’ll be there to receive it. You can send the bill to the solicitors and the estate will settle it.’ Charles began to move towards the door.
‘But we can’t find the will, and we don’t know who the solicitor is.’ Barbara’s voice was a harsh contrast to her previous cooing tones.
‘As soon as I’ve found out, I’ll let you know,’ said Charles, ‘and they’ll have a copy of the will, so I shouldn’t worry about it.’ He continued to the door. ‘Come on, Fran.’
Fran smiled nervously at the Denvers, who watched her leave with defiant expressions on their faces, and scurried out to Charles’s car.
‘Well!’ she said, as, with another scattering of gravel, they pulled out of the drive of Blagstock House. ‘I hope you can find the solicitor’s letter. Otherwise, everybody’s in a right old state.’
‘I’ll find it,’ said Charles, grimly. ‘Did you see their faces? They didn’t expect me to know who the solicitor was. That was a shock to them.’
‘They didn’t want you to know anything. That was the whole point.’
‘Are you having a Moment?’ Charles darted a look at her from the corner of his eyes.
‘I don’t know. I just knew it.’
Charles sighed. ‘But I’d have asked about the funeral eventually. If it hadn’t happened, they could hardly say it had, and what excuse would they have had for not letting me know?’
‘No idea.’ Fran turned to look out of the window. ‘What they did was perfectly reasonable, you know. Barbara and Paul visited regularly and, as Mrs Headlam said, she dealt mainly with Barbara, so what more normal than for her to clear the stuff? And sort out an undertaker. I expect the Headlam told her to use Stalker and Stalker.’
‘Stallwood and Stallwood.’
‘Whoever. But don’t you see? It was all perfectly normal. The only thing they didn’t do was let you know what was going on. And Barbara did say Paul was supposed to have phoned you.’
‘So why didn’t he?’
‘Ah, well, that’s the point. For some reason they didn’t want you to know. I’m certain of it. Where are we?’
‘Going towards Steeple Martin. That’s what you wanted, wasn’t it?’
‘Yes, but we’re a bit earlier than I expected. I’d better make sure Libby’s ready for me.’
Predictably, Libby’s mobile was either switched off, or out of credit. The landline went straight to answerphone, so Fran left a message asking Libby to call her back.
‘Where do you want to be dropped, then?’ asked Charles. ‘Do you want me to wait with you?’
‘We could go to the pub,’ suggested Fran, ‘and I’ll buy you a pint and a sandwich.’
‘It hasn’t changed much,’ said Charles, as they walked from the car to the pub. ‘Fancy being able to park almost in front of the pub.’
‘Not at night, though,’ said Fran. ‘All the spaces are taken up by residents. There’s a free car park down one of the side streets where the new houses are.’
‘New houses? I didn’t think they’d be allowed!’
‘I don’t know about that. I’ve only visited a couple of times.’ Fran pushed open the door to the pub. The barman caught her eye and nodded, although she was sure he couldn’t place her.
Charles was ordering drinks when Fran’s mobile rang.
‘Hi!’ said Libby. ‘Where are you? I was out stocking up for your visit when you rang. There was no signal inside the supermarket.’
‘I’m in the pub with Charles. Do you want to come and join us?’
‘Will he want that? Won’t I be butting in?’
‘No, of course not. He says he wants to meet you.’
‘OK. See you in five.’
In fact it was nearer ten minutes when Libby erupted into the bar in a flowing of scarves. Charles looked startled.
Fran introduced them and gave Libby a succinct, edited version of the morning’s events. Libby thoughtfully sipped her lager and regarded Charles over the edge of her glass.
‘So, Charles, what are you going to do now?’ she asked.
‘I’m going back home to try and find the solicitor’s letter. I can’t have been mad enough to destroy it.’
‘Home?’ asked Fran. ‘I’ve just realised I don’t know where you live.’
‘Why, Mountville Road, of course,’ he said. ‘I thought you knew.’
Chapter Nine
‘SO THERE YOU ARE,’ said Fran. ‘Barbara and Paul were trying to keep the whole thing from Charles.’
Charles had dropped them at 17 Allhallow’s Lane after refusing a sandwich. Libby had rifled through her recent supermarket purchases, and now carefully placed a tray with tea, bread and cheese on her unpredictable garden table.
‘That’s ridiculous,’ she said, flopping down on to one of the equally unpredictable chairs. ‘They’d never have got away with it for a minute. The Headlam person would know about the coroner business, and Charles would have asked about the funeral anyway. I can’t understand why he got into such a state about it.’
‘He was a bit flaky about it all,’ said Fran, thoughtfully. ‘When we met for dinner he said he didn’t know what happened about funerals, and was he supposed to arrange it.’
Libby snorted. ‘He seems a bit up his own backside, doesn’t he? Is he one of these people who expects everyone else to do all the dirty work?’
‘I think he may be.’ Fran chewed absent-mindedly on a piece of bread. ‘I thought he was really attractive at first, but I’m not so sure, now.’
‘Oh, he’s attractive, all right. But if they’re attractive and single at his age, it usually means there’s something wrong with them.’
‘Like Guy and Ben, you mean?’ Fran looked sideways at her.
Libby sniffed. ‘Well, they’re both divorced. Not easy to live with. Ladies’ men.’
‘God, Libby, you’re so suspicious.’
Libby stared at her for a moment, then dropped her gaze. ‘I’m going out with Ben Friday night.’
‘Fantastic! I’m so pleased, Lib. When did this happen?’
Libby told her about the meeting in the supermarket. ‘But what about you? I’ve just realised, no funeral booked, what are you going to do?’
‘Oh!’ Fran looked nonplussed. ‘Oh. Well, go home, I suppose.’
‘Are you sure you want to? You’re welcome to stay here.’
‘You’ve got the kids coming soon, haven’t you? And who knows how long I’d have to stay until the funeral? And I don’t want to cramp your style with Ben.’
Libby felt the colour rising up her neck. ‘He�
��s staying with his mum on Friday.’
‘I didn’t mean Friday, necessarily. I meant – well, anytime.’
Libby thought about it. ‘Suppose you stay here tonight, at least, and think about it. You might hear from Charles, and there might be something you could do while you’re here.’
‘Thanks, Libby. I’ve got enough clothes for a few days. I might even go over and see Barbara Denver again.’
‘What on earth for?’ Libby sat upright. ‘I seriously think Charles is making a fuss about nothing. I don’t think there was any intention of concealing anything from him, it was just the natural thing to do. She shouldn’t have removed the stuff without asking him, perhaps, but that’s all.’
‘That’s the point. I want to know why she did it. Was it just to look for the will? Charles was concerned about the will, as well. And come to think of it, if he had power-of-attorney, how come he didn’t know who her solicitors are?’
‘You can do that without a solicitor,’ said Libby. ‘Peter’s done it for Mad Millie.’ Her eyes widened. ‘Whoops. Mustn’t call her that.’
Fran smiled. ‘Is she still bonkers?’
‘You heard what he said the other night. As well as can be expected. The companion’s a bit dim, but just what Millie needs. An ex-nurse, apparently. Goodness knows how long they’ll be able to afford her.’
‘Will they sell Steeple Farm, do you think?’
Libby shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I can’t see Peter and Harry living there, but if James gets married he might want to.’
‘James? Already?’
‘No,’ Libby laughed. ‘I meant if ever he gets up the courage to have another relationship.’
‘Unlikely, I’d have thought, after Paula.’
They both fell silent, thinking of James’s dead girlfriend.
‘Then there’s another thing,’ said Libby, slowly.
‘Mmm?’
‘How come Charles is living in Mountville Road? And how come you didn’t know?’
‘He’s Eleanor’s nephew, and if it was her house, I expect he was offered the flat. After all, he must have needed somewhere to live after his divorce.’
‘Eye to the main chance, if you ask me,’ said Libby. ‘If your old auntie’s estate is divided between him and Barbara.’
‘What, you mean possession’s nine points of the law?’
‘He’s in situ. They can’t chuck him out.’
‘But he’d have to buy them out if he wanted to stay there. And the will might state the house must be sold to divide the proceeds. Suppose that’s all there is in the estate? They’d have to sell it then, to pay for the solicitor and everything.’
‘Do you suppose they want to sell it anyway?’ Libby leant back in her chair and looked up at branches of the cherry tree.
‘It’ll be worth a fortune, even if it does want doing up. No wonder they’re concerned about the will. She could have left it to just one of them, couldn’t she?’
‘Well, whether I like him or not, if she has, I hope it’s Charles. I’d hate that cow Barbara to get it.’
Fran frowned. ‘She didn’t seem that bad to me,’ she said. ‘A bit nervous and ineffectual, if anything.’
Libby raised her eyebrows. ‘You must be joking! She’s a bloody good actress, then. She’s the one who holds the whip hand in that family. Most manipulative bitch I’ve ever known.’
Sidney appeared under the table, ecstatic at Fran’s return. She bent down and lifted him on to her lap. ‘I still don’t know,’ she said, stroking his head, ‘what all this is about. Why I got all those unpleasant feelings. Nothing since.’
‘It’ll come to you,’ said Libby, comfortably. ‘Now, I’ve got loads of food for us tonight, and a choice of DVDs from the village shop, so stop worrying about it all, and lets talk about something else.’
But when Charles phoned in the morning, Fran started worrying about it all over again.
‘The coroner’s ordered a post mortem. Apparently it had already been ordered when we went galloping all over the area yesterday.’
‘Why weren’t we told?’ Fran’s suddenly shaky legs let her down on to Sidney’s step.
‘I’ll give you three guesses.’
‘Not Barbara. If she’d been told, she would have said, surely? And the undertakers didn’t know. Perhaps it all happened after we’d gone?’
Charles sighed. ‘Look, Fran, I’m really sorry I got you involved with this. It’s nothing to do with you anyway.’
‘I washer niece.’
‘You hadn’t seen her for years.’
‘That wasn’t my fault.’
‘Oh, well, I’m sorry.’
‘And did you find the solicitor’s letter?’
‘Oh, yes.’ Charles sounded gloomy. ‘It’s not the right solicitor. We had to seek Power of Attorney when Auntie became unable to look after herself and we wanted to get her into a home. She’d consulted a solicitor about some neighbour trouble a couple of years before, and I went to him because I found the letter. I assumed he did the will, too, but he says no. As it happens, all he had to do for me was witness my signature, but anyone could have done that.’
‘Yes, Libby’s friend Peter did that for his mum. She told me yesterday. So where do we go from here?’
‘Look, Fran, I’ve already said, you don’t have to go anywhere with it. It’s not your problem.’
‘Well, I’m staying down with Libby for a few days, so if I can do anything while I’m here, let me know. And let me know when the coroner’s ready to release the – er – Aunt Eleanor.’
‘Will do. And Fran,’ added Charles, sounding slightly worried, ‘don’t go having any of your moments, will you?’
‘Wimp,’ said Libby, when Fran told her. ‘I’d want you to have as many moments as possible – find out what’s going on.’
‘They don’t come to order, you know,’ said Fran, with a smile. ‘Remember when I went down to the theatre to see if I could find anything out? Not a dickey bird.’
‘I know, but you did know who the murderer was.’
‘Who it wasn’t, more like,’ sighed Fran. ‘And you know what? I’ve just remembered, Charles said he had a letter from the solicitor when he was made executor. Not the power-of-attorney solicitor. So he must have a letter from the proper solicitor somewhere.’ She stood up. ‘I’m going to ring him back.’
But Charles’s land line went straight to answerphone, and his mobile to voice mail.
Chapter Ten
FRAN’S PHONE RANG WHILE she was chopping vegetables for one of Libby’s eclectic stir fries that evening. Wiping her hands on a tea cloth, she fumbled for the buttons.
‘Fran, it’s Charles.’
‘Oh, Charles, I’m glad you rang,’ she began, but he interrupted.
‘Bad news, I’m afraid.’
‘What? Did you find the other solicitor’s letter? Because that’s what I –’
‘She was murdered, Fran.’
Fran’s whole head tingled with the shock of it, and she found herself gasping for breath. Libby looked at her sharply.
‘You can’t mean it,’ she said, although the memory of the black suffocation told her it was true. She had known all along.
‘I don’t know all the details,’ said Charles, with the suspicion of a sigh, ‘but apparently the evidence is conclusive. We’re all being interviewed by the police.’
‘All?’ Fran’s voice came out in a squeak.
‘Barbara, Paul and I. And the staff at The Laurels, presumably.’
‘What about me?’
‘Why on earth should they interview you? You weren’t there.’
‘Marion Headlam will tell them about my visit. She wondered why I was there.’ Fran knew as surely as if she’d heard Marion Headlam speak that this was what she would do.
‘I can’t see it myself,’ said Charles, sounding faintly irritable. ‘Anyway, it means there’ll be an inquest, which will be adjourned for the police to make further enquiries. You certainly won�
��t have to attend that. Oh, and if Mrs Headlam does contact you …’
‘Why should she?’
‘She called me, first of all on the pretext of discussing the murder, but really to find out about the will. Apparently she’s expecting to be left something.’
‘Well, she’s not going to find out about it from me, is she?’
‘I know, but don’t say anything about all the shenanigans over the funeral yesterday, will you? I don’t want her thinking we’re all at each other’s throats.’
‘But you are.’
‘Fran! Don’t be difficult.’
‘All right, all right. So are you coming back down here? Or will they interview you in London?’
‘I’ve got to give evidence at the inquest. They’ve established I’m the next of kin, and I get a little leaflet about what to do and so on. The inquest’s tomorrow.’
‘Thursday! Inquest instead of a funeral. Do you want me to come with you?’
‘You can come if you want, but I can’t see why.’
‘To keep you company, for God’s sake! For support. I won’t bother.’
‘Sorry.’ Charles was contrite.
‘Let me know what happens.’
‘Of course. Sorry, Fran. You were right about something being wrong, weren’t you?’
‘Do you think it was him?’ asked Libby, after Fran had finished filling her in on Charles’s side of the conversation.
‘What, Charles as a murderer? Of course not. He’s suave, when he wants to be, irritable and a bit insensitive. I don’t think he’s a murderer. Anyway, why would he have involved me, and gone round making a fuss yesterday? No, it’s nothing to do with him.’
‘And why do they think she was murdered?’
‘Do you mean what was the evidence for it, or what was the motive? Because I don’t know either.’
‘I meant evidence. The coroner ordered an inquest, so something turned up in that. That’s one reason for an inquest. The others are work related deaths, deaths in custody …’
‘All right, Libby, I get the picture. And I haven’t got a clue. Charles didn’t say.’
Libby darted back out of the way of spitting olive oil as she poured chopped vegetables into the pan. ‘Are we going then?’ she asked.
Murder at the Laurels - Libby Sarjeant Murder Mystery series Page 7