Murder at the Laurels - Libby Sarjeant Murder Mystery series

by Lesley Cookman

  The builder wasn’t answering his phone. There wasn’t an address on the card, so Fran steeled herself to go into Guy’s gallery and ask to borrow a telephone directory. She needn’t have worried. Guy wasn’t in.

  ‘He’s gone to see Phillip about that sculpture,’ said Sophie, handing over the directory, ‘you know, the one for your relations.’

  ‘Has Mrs Denver been on to you again, then?’ asked Fran.

  ‘No, he’s just asking him to delay things a bit. After what you were saying yesterday. What were you looking for?’

  ‘Oh, just a builder.’ Fran leafed through the directory.

  ‘Oh?’ Sophie’s raised eyebrow invited further explanation.

  ‘Nothing important,’ said Fran, smiling at her. ‘Here it is.’ She made a note of the address and handed the book back to Sophie. ‘Thanks for that. I’d better rush off to catch the train now. Give my best to Guy.’

  Walking back up the hill to the station, she congratulated herself on avoiding the questions Sophie was obviously bursting to ask. No need to tell anyone else what she was doing.

  When she arrived back at The Pink Geranium, it was to see Libby and Harry sitting at the table in the corner deep in conversation. Assailed by a premonition of conspiracy, she pushed open the door and went in. Libby looked up.

  ‘Hello, Fran,’ she said brightly. Fran’s suspicions were confirmed.

  ‘What are you two up to?’ she asked.

  Libby and Harry exchanged looks.

  ‘Er–’ said Libby.

  ‘I’ll leave you to it,’ said Harry, standing up. ‘Tea, Fran? I’ll make some fresh.’

  ‘Coward,’ said Libby.

  ‘I’d love tea, thanks, Harry,’ said Fran, sitting on his vacated chair. ‘Come on, Libby. What have you been doing?’

  ‘Promise you won’t be angry?’ said Libby, fishing for cigarettes in her basket.

  ‘No, I don’t. I expect I will be angry.’

  Libby sighed and lit her cigarette. ‘I’ve got down to less than ten a day, now,’ she said. ‘Except when I’m stressed.’

  ‘Or nervous,’ said Fran.

  ‘OK, and nervous.’ Libby took a deep breath. ‘Well, it was like this. You know I thought we ought to ask Nurse Redding about – well, about everything?’

  ‘And I said we ought to leave it. But you have, haven’t you?’

  ‘Yes.’ Libby looked a little shamefaced. ‘I rang her and she came here to have tea with me this afternoon.’

  ‘How on earth did you manage that?’

  Libby told her.

  ‘And now Harry says he thinks she’s a witch,’ she finished. ‘What do you think?’

  Fran thought for a moment. ‘I can sort of see why. It sounds as though she might possibly be a member of a kind of Satanist group, doesn’t it?’

  ‘That’s what Harry says, although I’m not sure how he arrived at that,’ said Libby, as Harry entered with a teapot and mugs. ‘Fran agrees with you, Harry.’

  ‘And isn’t she mad?’ Harry put the tea things on the table. ‘Why aren’t you mad, Fran?’

  Fran sighed. ‘It doesn’t seem to have any point being mad with Libby. She goes ahead anyway. And it has thrown up a couple of useful things.’

  ‘Like what?’ asked Libby.

  ‘The dead driver. Redding seems to think there’s something more to that, doesn’t she?’

  ‘Isn’t that just her seeing little nasties in everything?’ said Harry, pouring tea.

  ‘You said Marion Headlam seemed distressed when she rang you up, Libby.’

  ‘Yes, but she supplied the names of the drivers, didn’t she?’

  ‘But perhaps she coerced them in some way. Perhaps the codicil wasn’t genuine.’

  ‘Well, they wouldn’t have split on her, would they? They could be open to prosecution, too. If they’d signed as witnesses without seeing Auntie sign, or something like that. So she wouldn’t have knocked one of them off, would she? She’d want them to confirm it for her.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know. It’s all so confusing.’ Fran sipped her tea. ‘Perhaps we ought to try and get in touch with the other driver.’

  Harry raised his eyebrows. ‘Well, there’s a turn up,’ he said. ‘Want to get to the bottom of it, now, do you?’

  ‘I always have, in a way. I ought to just walk away, really. It’s nothing to do with me.’

  ‘Bollocks,’ said Libby. ‘Of course it is. And where have you been, anyway? Your mobile’s been switched off all day.’

  Fran looked out of the window. ‘I went to Nethergate.’

  ‘Again? Is this a flourishing relationship with our Guy?’

  Fran blushed faintly. ‘No, nothing like that.’ She looked at both of them. ‘I didn’t want to say anything, especially as Libby’s bound to jump to all sorts of wild conclusions, but I need to get it into perspective. I don’t think it’s anything to do with Aunt Eleanor’s death, but it’s odd.’

  Libby and Harry sat, spellbound, while Fran told them everything from the dinner party and Libby’s paintings to this morning’s visit to the cottage.

  ‘So I’ve got the address of this builder, and I’m going to ask him who he bought the cottage from,’ she concluded.

  ‘Gosh,’ said Libby.

  Harry frowned. ‘How sure are you about this, Fran? Could it be just – well – wishful thinking?’

  ‘Harry!’ Libby turned a shocked face to him.

  ‘No, Lib, he’s right. It could be. But I got all sorts of feelings about it, and now I’m sure I stayed there, and I’m also sure my mother had some connection with it. What I can’t understand is why she was frightened, and why Eleanor’s face came up.’

  ‘So how will finding out who the builder bought it from help?’ asked Harry.

  ‘I want to try and find out who owned it when I was a child, and if it belonged to my family.’

  ‘Or Eleanor’s?’ said Libby. ‘But I still don’t see that it will get you anywhere. Even if it was in your family, or hers, she and your mother are dead, so no one will be able to tell you what happened.’

  Fran sighed again. ‘I know. It’s so frustrating.’

  ‘Couldn’t the dodgy Denvers help?’ asked Harry. ‘Aren’t they Auntie’s relatives rather than yours?’

  ‘I couldn’t ask them. Not under the circumstances. Anyway, I don’t expect they’d know.’

  ‘Why not?’ said Libby. ‘Barbara’s much the same age as we are, so she’d know if her family owned it. She lived in Nethergate herself, after all.’

  ‘I couldn’t ask, anyway,’ said Fran firmly. ‘Let’s change the subject. Who are you going to interrogate next?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Libby, eyeing her cautiously. ‘Does this mean you want to be in my gang, now?’

  ‘Well, I’ve already done my bit by helping Charles find the original will, haven’t I? And I’ve talked to Inspector Murray. So I suppose I do want to be in your gang.’ She looked at Harry. ‘Are you in it, too?’

  ‘Tea boy only, dear heart,’ he said, ‘and my best beloved will tell me off about that, I shouldn’t wonder.’ He stood up. ‘And now I’ve got to get ready for this evening, so push off, both of you.’

  ‘OK, Harry, we’re going. Ring me if you have any ideas,’ said Libby.

  ‘Especially about witches,’ added Fran mischievously.

  ‘Are you seeing Ben tonight?’ she asked when they got outside.

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Libby. ‘To tell you the truth, I’m still not sure where I stand with him.’

  ‘I thought lying down would be a better description,’ said Fran.

  ‘Fran, I’m shocked.’ Libby grinned at her. ‘No, it’s just that when I was a gel, if you were courting, you actually said when you were going to see each other, you didn’t leave it until five minutes before and then say “are you in?”, did you?’

  ‘Oh, I suppose not, but our courting days were thirty years ago. Nowadays they do it all by text anyway, don’t they? And sleep together o
n the first date.’ Fran pulled a face. ‘I know I sound old-fashioned, but I still can’t get used to it.’

  ‘It’s difficult, isn’t it? I can’t get used to feeling like I’m still sixteen, when I should be mature and responsible and know exactly what I’m doing.’ Libby sighed. ‘First I wonder if Ben’s just using me, then I think he can’t be, because he could find someone much younger and better-looking, then I wonder if I should go to bed with him, or should I hold off. And of course, I can’t bear the thought that he can see my appalling body.’

  Fran nodded gloomily. ‘It’s enough to boost recruitment for a nunnery.’

  ‘Anyway, why?’

  ‘Why what?’

  ‘Why did you want to know whether I was seeing Ben? What did you want to do?’

  ‘Borrow Peter’s computer again.’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘To look up witches. And Satanism.’

  ‘And local covens,’ grinned Libby. ‘Oh, yes! I like it!’

  Chapter Twenty-two

  ‘THIS IS NO USE.’ Disgusted, Libby pushed the mouse away from her.

  ‘It’s a very nice computer, thank you,’ said Peter, looking up from his book.

  ‘I didn’t mean that.’ Libby reached across and filched a cigarette out of the packet on the desk.

  ‘She means all we can find is nice white witch, pagan and wiccan links. No nasty satanic ones.’ Fran leaned over Libby’s shoulder.

  ‘Well, I don’t suppose they want to advertise themselves, do you?’ Peter closed his book. ‘If it’s one of those dancing naked around the fire jobs.’

  Libby looked doubtful. ‘Maybe. I’m still not sure why Harry latched on to it. We could be barking up the wrong forest, let alone tree.’

  ‘And I don’t know that it’s got anything to do with Eleanor’s death, anyway,’ said Fran, collapsing into the sofa.

  ‘It was your idea to look it up,’ said Libby.

  ‘I know,’ Fran sighed, ‘it was her saying something about those delivery drivers and the wages of sin. I thought she might know something.’

  ‘Well, yes, she might,’ said Libby, ‘but what it’s got to do with witchcraft, I don’t know.’

  ‘What I think is that you ought to buy your own computer,’ said Peter, returning to his book. Fran and Libby stared at him, affronted.

  ‘Well, we know where we’re not wanted, don’t we, Fran?’ Libby stood up.

  ‘Don’t be stupid, you old trout,’ said Peter, without looking up. ‘Sit down and look up that delivery driver’s name. I meant that you probably need a computer if you’re going to carry on investigating things.’

  ‘Of course I’m not! This is only because it Fran’s auntie,’ Libby said indignantly.

  Peter looked up under his brows. ‘Oh, yeah?’ he said.

  ‘Why look up the delivery driver?’ asked Fran.

  ‘Type his name into the search engine and see if anything comes up. Then, if you’ve got it, do the same for the other one.’

  Libby and Fran looked at each other, then Fran took Libby’s seat at the computer. Libby dug out the scrap of paper with the names, and Fran typed the first one in.

  ‘Gosh! Look at that!’ gasped Libby, as the search engine provided thousands of results.

  Peter got up to look. ‘Most of those won’t be relevant,’ he said, ‘but these first few are, look.’ He pointed. ‘See? They’re news reports. That means he probably didn’t die in bed.’

  Fran and Libby looked at him. ‘How do you know?’ asked Libby.

  Peter shook his head at her and patted her shoulder. ‘How long have you known me, Lib? What is it I do for a living, exactly?’

  ‘Ah.’ Libby felt herself turning pink. ‘He’s a journalist,’ she said to Fran. ‘I forgot.’

  ‘I know,’ said Fran, and clicked on the first result.

  After trawling through the first five entries, they knew what they were looking at. Len Edwards had been had been knocked down by a hit and run driver when he was inexplicably out of his car on a lonely road some miles from his home. No further information was available. The police were keeping the case open and still asking for witnesses.

  ‘Now put in the other one,’ said Peter, by now perching on the side of the desk.

  Little to their collective surprise, Kyle Watson turned out to have been found dead in his car which appeared to have been involved in a crash on a remote road not far from his home. “This incident is consistent with a vehicle being run off the road” a police spokesman was quoted as saying.

  They looked at each other. Peter gave a small smile and returned to his seat and his book.

  ‘That does it.’ Libby lit another cigarette. ‘They were murdered.’

  ‘But who by?’ said Fran.

  ‘I think you ought to put your talents to work on this,’ said Peter. ‘Classic case for remote viewing, if you ask me.’

  ‘Look,’ said Fran, a little desperately, ‘I’ve told you all before, I can’t do it to order.’

  ‘You used to for Ben,’ said Libby, in a faintly accusing manner.

  ‘I walked round buildings and sites. I was in places where, if something had happened, it was going to pop up at me. Like the cottage in Nethergate.’

  ‘Cottage in Nethergate?’ asked Peter.

  Libby explained.

  ‘You do see life, you two,’ said Peter admiringly, and returned once more to his book.

  ‘In that case,’ said Libby, ‘we’ll have to go and find these places, won’t we? And let you walk round them.’

  Fran looked troubled. ‘Is it going to help? Shouldn’t we just tell the police?’

  ‘Tell them what? They should have found this out for themselves, shouldn’t they? Donnie Murray was looking into the will, wasn’t he? He pulled Charles in for questioning, so he must have been.’

  Fran sighed. ‘I suppose so. When do you want to go?’

  ‘Tomorrow? How far is it?’

  ‘They’re both in Sussex,’ said Peter, looking up. ‘What puzzles me slightly is that the police looking into their two cases haven’t twigged.’

  ‘Perhaps they have,’ said Libby. ‘We haven’t got the full case history here, have we? There might have been further reports later on that we just haven’t got to yet.’

  ‘Well, I don’t want to take up any more of Peter’s time trawling through the internet,’ said Fran. ‘I’m going home.’

  ‘OK.’ Libby stood up and, slinging her basket over her shoulder, bent to kiss Peter’s cheek. ‘Thanks, Pete. We’ll let you know what happens.’

  ‘Ring me when you get back,’ he said, ‘and mind you don’t get my Hal involved in anything else.’

  ‘Where have we got to, then?’ asked Libby, as she and Fran strolled down the high street towards The Pink Geranium.

  ‘There’s something wrong with the codicil, we can’t find it anyway, we think the deaths of the drivers might have something to do with it, and we think Nurse Redding knows something.’

  ‘Fair enough.’ Libby hoisted her basket more firmly on to her shoulder. ‘What abut your cousins?’

  ‘They aren’t my cousins. But I really don’t think they’ve got anything to do with it all, do you? Any of them. Paul and Barbara are far too anxious to find that will.’ Fran stopped by her front door. ‘And it still hasn’t got anything to do with me, either.’

  ‘I thought we’d dealt with that?’

  ‘Curiosity killed the cat,’ sighed Fran. ‘Do you want a coffee or anything?’

  ‘No, I’ll get back if we’re going out in the morning,’ said Libby.

  ‘And Ben might call, mightn’t he?’ grinned Fran. ‘OK. I’ll see you in the morning. What time?’

  Ben did call. In fact, he called in person, and Libby forgot all about being too old, used or even investigating a murder. Until the morning.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  ‘IDON’T KNOW ABOUT a computer, I think I should have a satnav,’ said Libby, pulling in yet again to the side of a high banked
lane. ‘Let’s have another look at that map.’

  Fran sighed. ‘I told you, it just doesn’t show the road number on this map. It’s not detailed enough.’

  ‘What did that report say? Near Applestone? Was that on the last signpost?’

  Fran gave her the print out of one of the reports from Peter’s computer. ‘This is the one from the BBC website. I think it came from the local news service.’

  Libby peered at it and shrugged. ‘Oh, well, I suppose I just go on until I hit another main road and start again,’ she said, and let off the handbrake.

  ‘Look!’ Fran yelped after they’d gone another ten yards.

  ‘What?’ Libby stood on the brakes.

  ‘I can see some police tape over there.’ Fran pointed to her left. ‘There must be a turning. Do you suppose that’s it?’

  Libby inched the car forward. ‘Could be. Bit unlikely, though. It looks as if it’s in the middle of a field.’

  But a turning there was, and it led to a slightly wider lane, at the side of which blue and white police tape fluttered, tied to two trees. Libby pulled up opposite, and Fran got out.

  ‘Shall I come too?’ Libby wound down her window.

  ‘No, I’ll poke around on my own, thanks.’ Fran crossed the road and stood with her hands in her pockets. Libby lit a cigarette and waited. Finally, Fran turned and came back across the road.

  ‘Well?’ said Libby, as she got into the car.

  Fran shook her head. ‘I don’t know. I did see someone’s face, I think, but it looked dead.’

  Libby grimaced. ‘Len Edwards, then.’

  ‘I suppose so.’ Fran looked out of the window. ‘There’s something, though …’

  Libby waited.

  ‘Red. A red car?’

  ‘A bus?’

  Fran looked doubtful. ‘Could be, but I don’t think so. I couldn’t see it properly. And I didn’t get the automatic knowledge thing like I used to sometimes. Or at Nethergate.’