Murder at the Laurels - Libby Sarjeant Murder Mystery series

by Lesley Cookman

  ‘I don’t think so,’ said Fran, ‘but I think Libby’s right. I think we need to find out about the new will. Or if there was one.’

  ‘Look, I don’t know what you and your friend Libby have cooked up, but don’t you think it could just be Marion Headlam hoping there was something? Perhaps Aunt Eleanor told her she could expect something in the will, but never actually did anything about it.’

  ‘It could be, but I don’t think so. We’ll find out, don’t worry.’

  ‘I thought you said the police would?’

  ‘OK, the police or me. We’ll find out between us.’

  Fran wasn’t surprised to receive a phone call from DCI Murray a little later.

  ‘You’re sure about this other will, then, Mrs Castle? Mr Wade seems a little sceptical.’

  ‘He hasn’t seen me in action, Mr Murray,’ said Fran, amused.

  ‘And he seems concerned about a bureau that was in Mrs Bridges’ room at The Laurels.’

  ‘Which is now in Mr Denver’s office in Nethergate, yes.’

  She heard a deep sigh. ‘Well, I suppose we’d better go and take a look. And I’ll be asking Mrs Headlam about it, too.’

  So will I, thought Fran and dialled Libby’s number.

  ‘You sound cheerful,’ she said, when Libby answered.

  ‘I am.’

  ‘Oh? Anything to do with you leaving with Ben last night?’

  Libby giggled. ‘Could be.’

  ‘Right. I’m very pleased to hear it. I just thought I’d let you know the latest developments.’

  ‘Well, I think our best bet is to talk to the nurses,’ said Libby, when she’d been brought up to date. ‘I’m sure they must have witnessed it.’

  ‘I don’t think either of them would talk to me. That little Nurse Warner was terrified.’

  ‘I’ll do it. I’ll go and wait outside The Laurels and then trail them home. Bet I can do it.’

  ‘Oh, Libby, you can’t! You’ll be a stalker. That’s against the law.’

  ‘Ah. You may be right. I know! I’ll look them up in the phone book.’

  ‘How would you know if you’d got the right one?’

  ‘Well, what’s-her-name, Redding, the one Ben saw at the hospital – we told you last night – that’s an unusual name, isn’t it?’

  ‘Look, Lib, I think the best bet is for me to go and ask Marion Headlam. You can come with me if you like, but I don’t think you ought to do anything on your own.’

  ‘Oh, all right. I’d like to get a look inside that place, anyway. Can we go today?’

  ‘All right. This afternoon. Will you drive?’

  ‘Of course. I’ll pick you up at about two, shall I?’

  Despite Fran’s misgivings, Libby decided to look for Nurse Redding in the phone book, guessing that she couldn’t live far away if she worked near Nethergate and had friends at the hospital in Canterbury. Sure enough, there were only a handful of Reddings in the phone book, and after ringing them all, she was left with the choice of two who hadn’t answered. One was in a village near Deal, the other in Canterbury.

  There were far too many Warners to contemplate doing the same thing with them, so Libby, still in a post romantic glow, confined herself to staring at her autumn painting and remembering the night before.

  At two o’clock, Romeo the Renault hooted loudly outside The Pink Geranium. Fran came out immediately, looking solemn.

  ‘What’s happened?’ asked Libby, as she got into the car.

  ‘Apparently, Barbara Denver told the police that Charles is the obvious suspect as he’s in a bad way financially, and now they’ve seen the will, they’ve hauled him down here for interrogation.’

  Libby gaped. ‘But how? He didn’t get to The Laurels until after them, did he? And what a cow! I told you.’

  ‘He could have got there before them and doubled back. He said so himself.’

  ‘He’d have been seen,’ said Libby, putting the car in gear and pulling away from the kerb.

  ‘By Redding and Warner. Yes, I thought of that. I’m sure those two are hiding something.’

  ‘In cahoots?’

  ‘I wouldn’t have thought so. They didn’t seem as though they liked one another at all. In fact, Warner seemed scared of Redding. Mind you, she seemed scared of her own shadow. Pretty, but ineffectual.’

  ‘So, not a murderer, then?’ Libby grinned at the road ahead.

  ‘I don’t know, do I?’

  ‘You should. Haven’t you got a feeling about any of them?’

  ‘No,’ said Fran, exasperated. ‘I can’t turn it on and off like a tap, Libby, I told you.’

  ‘OK, OK. Did I tell you I found out where Redding lives?’

  ‘Libby, how? I told you not to.’ Fran turned to look at her.

  ‘Oh, I’m supposed to do what you tell me, now, am I? Sucks to that. No, I looked in the phone book, like I said. I’ve narrowed her down to an address in Canterbury.’

  Fran looked dubious. ‘I still don’t see what good it’ll do us.’

  ‘She’s a suspect, isn’t she? Best to know where she lives.’

  Fran sighed.

  The Laurels looked slightly better than when Fran had first seen it a week ago. Since then, there’d been rain to perk up the few plants and the grass looked much greener. Marion Headlam, on the other hand, looked slightly worse.

  ‘Mrs Castle,’ she said, with an effort. ‘What can I do for you?’

  It’s about the will, Mrs Headlam,’ began Fran.

  ‘Have you found it?’ Marion Headlam broke in eagerly.

  ‘Well, yes, but I’m afraid it’s an old one, made before she came here. It doesn’t mention The Laurels at all.’ Fran glanced awkwardly at Libby. ‘I’m sorry.’

  Marion Headlam looked from one to the other. ‘Is this your solicitor?’ she asked.

  ‘No, this is my – er – colleague, Libby Sarjeant,’ said Fran.

  ‘With a J,’ said Libby helpfully.

  ‘Well, I can assure you there is another will, Mrs Castle. Or at least, a codicil. I saw it. And I saw it witnessed.’

  Libby found she was holding her breath.

  ‘Did the nurses witness it?’ asked Fran, after a pause.

  ‘Good Lord, no, that wouldn’t have been right. Or ethical.’

  Marion Headlam looked doubtful for a moment, as if she wasn’t sure if it was ethical or not, then went on. ‘No, we had a delivery that day, and the driver and his mate witnessed it.’ She brightened up. ‘You can check if you like. I’ve got their addresses. Mrs Bridges wanted to send them each something for their trouble.’

  ‘Did she? That was nice of her,’ said Libby.

  ‘Have the police asked you about this, Mrs Headlam?’ said Fran.

  ‘No. They’ve talked to all us several times, but not about the will.’

  ‘They will,’ promised Fran. ‘And now, perhaps I could have those addresses?’

  ‘She didn’t ask why you wanted them,’ said Libby, as they got back into the car.

  ‘She didn’t have to. She offered them as a means to check what she said was true.’ Fran fastened her seat belt. ‘It’s got even more complicated now, hasn’t it?’

  ‘I know,’ said Libby as they drove down the drive more sedately than Charles had, ‘let’s go and see Guy.’

  ‘Why?’ asked Fran. ‘He’s got nothing to do with all this.’

  ‘No, but he’d like to see you, and he’ll probably know where Nurse Redding lives.’

  ‘What areyou on about?’

  ‘I’ve got the address, but I don’t know where it is. I bet Guy does.’

  ‘Look, Libby, it doesn’t matter if he does. We know now that the nurses didn’t witness the will.’

  ‘But they’re hiding something. So we need to find out what.’

  ‘Probably nothing,’ said Fran, unconsciously echoing Ben. ‘Some corner they cut, minor theft … I don’t know. Could be anything.’

  ‘Suit yourself.’ Libby shrugged.

  Li
bby parked in The Swan car park and showed Fran where she and Ben had eaten on Friday. Guy was delighted to see them.

  ‘So, to what do I owe the honour?’ Guy’s dark brown eyes twinkled at Fran and brought her out in a nervous glow.

  ‘We thought you might give us tea,’ said Libby, sitting on one of the brown leather armchairs provided for Guy’s wealthier clients, ‘hello, Sophie.’

  ‘Hi.’ Sophie waved a languid hand. ‘Shall I make the tea, Dad?’

  ‘Thanks, darling.’ He sat on the edge of his desk. ‘So, is tea the only thing you want?’

  ‘No.’ Libby fished in her basket. ‘Do you know where this address is?’

  Guy wrinkled his brow as he took the piece of paper. ‘Up at the back of the town, somewhere, I think. Near the cricket ground? Why do you want to know?’

  ‘One of the nurses at the home where Fran’s aunt died lives there,’ said Libby.

  ‘Libby, please. Everyone doesn’t need to know,’ said Fran.

  ‘Oh, of course!’ Guy looked at Fran curiously. ‘I didn’t put two and two together. It was your aunt who was murdered, was it?’

  ‘I’m afraid so,’ said Fran, trying to look discouraging.

  He put his head on one side, looking a little like an inquisitive, middle-aged faun. Fran couldn’t see the chimp likeness at all.

  ‘We’re looking into it,’ said Libby, importantly, and Fran sighed.

  ‘Oh, dear.’ Guy smiled at her. ‘Worrying for you.’

  ‘Why does everybody seem to think I’m some kind of … of … clumsy …’

  ‘Bull in a china shop,’ Fran finished for her. ‘I don’t know, Lib, but as it seems to be the general consensus of opinion, I’m inclined to believe it.’

  Sophie emerged from the back of the gallery with four mugs on a tray.

  ‘I put milk in all of them, if that’s all right,’ she said. ‘I’ll go and get the sugar.’

  ‘Pretty girl,’ said Fran, watching her go.

  ‘Thank you. One of my better efforts,’ said Guy.

  ‘So you’re related to the Denvers, then?’ he said later, when they were all sitting round the coffee table with their mugs.

  Fran looked up, surprised. ‘Not really,’ she said. ‘I was a niece by marriage, they’re blood relatives – I think. How did you know?’

  ‘Barbara came in to order a piece of sculpture as a headstone. Didn’t she, Soph?’

  Sophie peered up from between curtains of pale lemon hair. ‘One of Philip’s.’

  ‘Philip Massey?’ Libby’s face was a picture. ‘My God, how much will that have cost her?’

  ‘Who?’ asked Fran.

  ‘Famous sculptor and neighbour. Lives up the back. I think he’ll be doing a cut-price number for our Barbara, won’t he, Sophie?’

  ‘That’s all very well, but it’s not her job to do that, is it? I assume it’s for our mutual aunt?’

  ‘So she said. Not mentioning you, of course.’

  ‘Bit of a cheek, though,’ said Libby, ‘much like all the other stuff.’

  ‘I’ll have to tell Charles,’ said Fran.

  ‘Not till he comes out of durance vile,’ said Libby.

  ‘Libby!’ Fran sent her a reproving glare.

  ‘Don’t mind me,’ said Guy, looking amused.

  ‘Anyway,’ said Libby, oblivious, ‘now we know roughly where Nurse Redding lives.’

  Fran shook her head and cast her eyes up to Guy’s pretty coving.

  He laughed. ‘How about you two staying down here for dinner? My treat?’

  Fran noticed Libby’s colour surge up her neck. ‘I’ve got to get back,’ she said, but thanks for the thought. But –’ she sat up straight in her chair – ‘how about you coming to dinner with us? Fran? Is that all right with you?’

  ‘When you say us …?’

  ‘I mean, I’ll cook. Ben’s coming over, and you could come, and Guy. How about it?’

  Fran looked at Guy.

  ‘I’d like that, if it’s not too short notice,’ he said. ‘And Ben’s back on the scene, is he? Why, only last week …’

  ‘Yes, yes, all right,’ said Libby hastily, and stood up. ‘Now, Fran, all we’ve got to do is find out where Nurse Warner lives.’

  Sophie looked up. ‘Do you mean Sue Warner who works at The Laurels? Oh, I know her.’

  Chapter Seventeen

  ‘DO YOU?’ IT WAS left to Guy to ask, as Libby and Fran seemed deprived of speech.

  ‘We were at school together. She lives in Canterbury somewhere, I think.’

  ‘Could you find out?’ asked Libby.

  ‘I suppose, I could. Is it important?’

  ‘No, don’t bother, Sophie,’ said Fran, ‘but it’s very kind of you.’

  ‘But –’ began Libby.

  ‘No, Libby. It’s nothing to do with us.’ Fran stood up. ‘Come on, if you’ve got to cook dinner for us all.’

  ‘Oh, all right.’ Libby got to her feet. ‘Do you want to come back with us, Guy?’

  ‘How would I get home?’ He patted her shoulder. ‘No, it’s all right. I’ll drive over and possibly beg a bed from Ben.’

  Libby reddened and opened her mouth, then thought better of it.

  ‘Bye, Sophie,’ said Fran. ‘Nice to meet you.’

  Guy ushered them out of the gallery. ‘See you about eight, then?’ he said.

  ‘We do seem to do a lot of eating, don’t we?’ said Libby, as they walked back down Harbour Street.

  ‘Most people do,’ said Fran.

  ‘Yes, but we always seem to have our important chats over food and drink.’

  ‘Well, you don’t suggest meeting friends to watch television, do you? Eating and drinking are social pastimes.’

  ‘I enjoy them, anyway,’ said Libby. ‘Hop in.’

  ‘Why did you invite Guy over?’ asked Fran, as they bowled along a tree shaded country road. ‘Wasn’t it a bit sudden?’

  ‘He invited us to dinner in Nethergate, didn’t he? And as I’d already made arrangements with Ben, I couldn’t go, but I didn’t want to put him off.’

  ‘He would have understood.’

  ‘Yes, but you have to strike while the iron’s hot,’ said Libby obscurely.

  ‘You want him to help us?’ Fran frowned.

  ‘No! He’s interested in you. I didn’t want him put off.’

  ‘Oh, Libby, really. Surely, it’s up to him? Or me, come to that.’

  ‘Well, yes, but a little helping hand now and then never did anyone any harm.’

  ‘Did it occur to you that my life might be my own?’

  ‘Fran!’ Libby turned to look at her. Fran squealed and Libby hauled the car back on to the road. ‘Am I interfering?’

  ‘Yes, Libby,’ said Fran firmly. ‘Not only with Guy, whom I don’t know at all, but with this business of Aunt Eleanor. I told you, it’s nothing really to do with me, so it’s certainly nothing to do with you.’

  ‘It was you who said we should find out about the other will,’ said Libby huffily. ‘Make your mind up.’

  ‘I know,’ sighed Fran, ‘I’m being inconsistent. I feel I’ve got to find out about it, yet I know I shouldn’t.’ She sighed again. ‘It’s all very muddling.’

  ‘Well, look on it as me helping sort out the muddle,’ said Libby, cheering up. ‘I’ll let you sort yourself out over Guy.’

  ‘Gee, thanks,’ said Fran, ‘but I don’t think there’s anything to sort out.’

  ‘He fancies you,’ said Libby firmly. ‘Definitely.’

  ‘Well, aren’t we lucky? Two middle-aged, over-the-hill women, and according to you, we’ve both got suitors.’

  ‘Suitors. What a lovely word.’ Libby swung on to the main road. ‘Or possibly swains. Middle-aged swains. Or should it be swain?’

  ‘I’ve no idea, but whatever it is, you’re cooking for it, so hadn’t we better get a move on?’

  Back at Number 17, Libby left a message for Ben telling him that their dinner à deux had been expanded and surveyed the con
tents of the larder and fridge.

  ‘Keep it simple,’ she muttered to herself, and wondered if she was doing the right thing.

  Wouldn’t the conversation automatically turn to Aunt Eleanor? And even, possibly, to Fran’s moments, which she hated being discussed? Libby sighed. Bull in a china shop, she told herself. They’re right.

  Ben, amiably accepting the ruination of his tête-à-tête, arrived early and helped set the kitchen table. Sidney, indignant at being turned off both Rayburn andtable, was shut protesting inside the conservatory.

  ‘Bit of a squash, really,’ said Libby, squeezing between the table and the sink. ‘Once we sit down we won’t be able to get up.’

  ‘What do you do when the children are here for Christmas?’ asked Ben.

  ‘Clear the conservatory and put the table in there.’

  ‘Couldn’t we do that now?’

  ‘Too much effort. I have to start thinking about it days in advance. Besides, I’ve got a painting half finished.’

  ‘Oh, the autumn cottage window. You can show Guy this evening.’

  Libby stopped and pushed her hair off her face. ‘Am I being an interfering old matchmaker?’ she said.

  ‘Yes,’ said Ben, ‘but you’re myinterfering old matchmaker, so that’s all right.’

  Libby, well-pleased with this statement, allowed herself to be kissed.

  Despite the cramped conditions, the impromptu supper party was successful. Libby’s simple menu went down well, and Ben and Guy’s wine contributions even better. Guy had sensibly thought to ring Ben before he set out regarding a bed for the night, and Ben had coerced Peter and Harry into giving him their spare room. Ben had heard Harry loudly protesting in the background about being left out of the party.

  ‘Coffee in the sitting room?’ suggested Libby. ‘I’ve even got some brandy, I think.’

  ‘Before we go in, can I see what you’re up to in the conservatory?’ asked Guy. ‘I’ve been trying to see what’s on that easel all through dinner.’

  ‘Come on, then,’ said Libby. As she opened the door, Sidney shot out like a champagne cork.

  They all crowded into the conservatory, and Guy turned the easel towards the light. ‘Hmm,’ he said.

  ‘What’s up, Fran?’ Libby turned as she heard a tiny sound from her friend, and wasn’t surprised to see her with a rather startled look on her face.