Murder in Midwintereries

by Lesley Cookman

  ‘As far as I can see, yes,’ said Fran, leafing through the contents of one of the files. ‘I don’t think she got on with any of the other women at the Alexandria.’

  ‘The performers, you mean? Well, she wouldn’t would she? Unless she had been a performer herself.’

  ‘I don’t think so. There’s a rather odd letter here, returned after Peter died, I think. From her to him. Listen: “I am glad to have dear Phyllis and her little Arthur here. Unlike my Alexandrian ladies, she has no knowledge of those unfortunate events over ten years ago. Dear Algy was too loyal to have mentioned anything to her. How we miss him!” What do you think of that?’

  ‘Algy?’

  Fran riffled through a pile of programmes. ‘Ted and Algy were a double act with the Silver Serenaders and then The Alexandrians. Algy must have been Phyllis’s husband and Arthur’s father.’

  ‘Unfortunate events? That means when she went off with Peter, doesn’t it?’

  ‘I suppose so, but why is she pleased that Phyllis doesn’t know anything about it?’

  ‘Perhaps she was pregnant after all?’ Libby leant over and took the letter from Fran’s hand. ‘Algy was too loyal. Odd wording. I don’t get it.’

  ‘There must be something else apart from being turned off for an inappropriate affair,’ said Fran. ‘That wouldn’t have mattered to the performers, would it? I bet they were always having inappropriate relationships.’

  ‘And who were the Alexandrian ladies?’ said Libby. ‘Dorinda says they know all about whatever-it-was, and dear Phyllis doesn’t. And that’s obviously A Good Thing.’

  ‘Wives and girlfriends of the original troupe? They must have been quite old by 1916, though.’

  ‘Perhaps that was all to the good,’ said Libby. ‘They would be sensible and not compete for attention.’

  ‘But there were hardly any men to compete for,’ said Fran.

  ‘Even better. The few still around would be available to the general populace, and not the painted devils.’

  ‘Maybe.’ Fran sounded doubtful. ‘Anyway, what was it they knew and Phyllis didn’t?’

  ‘And why did it matter?’

  They sat looking at each other in puzzlement.

  ‘Who were the family Dorinda worked for?’ said Libby.

  ‘I can’t remember. That was in Aunt Maria’s letter, and Bella’s kept that.’

  ‘No help there, then,’ said Libby.

  Fran returned to the letter. ‘There’s another bit here that’s interesting,’ she said, ‘listen. “Last Thursday to see dear Sir Frederick and Ivy. He keeps very well.” Sir Frederick?’

  ‘A patron of the theatre? And why does she only mention him keeping well and not Ivy, whoever Ivy is?’

  ‘Ivy sounds like a maid,’ said Fran.

  ‘And she doesn’t say “dear Ivy”. Everybody else is “dear”. Perhaps you’re right.’

  ‘We’ll come and see if we can find any other reference to them another time,’ said Fran. ‘I’m tired.’

  ‘OK. Soon, though,’ said Libby. ‘I’m intrigued.’

  They packed everything away in the shed, locked up, and, after washing their mugs and Balzac’s saucer, left to return the keys to George.

  ‘Will you tell Inspector Connell what we’re doing?’ asked Libby, as the Roller-skate bowled along towards Steeple Martin.

  ‘Yes. Simply because all he wanted was a link and I haven’t found it, so it’ll get him off my back.’

  ‘But you said there was a link,’ said Libby.

  ‘I still feel there is, but there’s nothing in any of this that provides it, is there?’

  ‘No. I suppose if you found one later you could always let him know then.’

  ‘Except he’d probably accuse me of withholding evidence.’

  ‘And bang you up!’ Libby giggled.

  ‘Libby,’ sighed Fran.

  Fran, however, didn’t have to ring Inspector Connell, as he called her five minutes after she’d arrived home.

  ‘No luck, I’m afraid, Inspector,’ she said.

  ‘Pity,’ he said. ‘Have you ever heard of someone called Laurence Cooper?’

  ‘No, who is he?’

  ‘Our body, that’s who,’ said Inspector Connell. ‘Ring a bell?’

  ‘I’m afraid not,’ said Fran. ‘Have you told Mrs Morleigh?’

  ‘I’ve called her, but she hasn’t rung me back,’ said Connell. ‘I didn’t leave a message with her husband.’

  ‘Oh, well, at least now you can move ahead,’ said Fran. ‘I’m just going to carry on looking into Mrs Morleigh’s family history for her.’

  ‘Let me know if you come across anything interesting,’ said Connell.

  ‘Of course,’ said Fran, and rang off. She punched in Libby’s number straight away.

  ‘They know who the body is,’ she said when Libby answered, ‘so that lets me off the hook.’

  ‘Who is it, then?’

  ‘Someone called Laurence Cooper –’ said Fran, and was cut off by a shriek from Libby.

  ‘Laurence Cooper? Pete and Harry know him! Knew him – he was the one who recommended the Place. He worked there!’

  ‘Really?’ Fran sat down rather suddenly. ‘Oh, dear.’

  ‘Well, oh dear for him, of course,’ said Libby.

  ‘No, I meant – there’s the connection.’

  ‘Eh? Connection? Who to?’

  ‘I’m not sure yet,’ said Fran slowly, ‘but that’s it.’

  ‘Can’t see it myself,’ said Libby, ‘but I’ll leave you to work on it. I must phone the boys and tell them.’

  ‘Should you tell Inspector Connell?’ asked Fran.

  ‘Tell him what? That he recommended his workplace to some friends?’

  ‘I see what you mean. Oh, well,’ said Fran, ‘you carry on. I’m going to lie down in a darkened room.’

  Libby sat on the stairs staring at the phone. How did you announce the death of an acquaintance?

  Hoping Harry and Peter were home from their shopping trip, she called their cottage first. Peter answered.

  ‘He’s gone to prep up, dear heart,’ he said. ‘Conscientious to a fault, my Hal.’

  ‘I thought he said he wasn’t working today? I just wanted to let you know something,’ said Libby, feeling awkward. ‘How did your shopping go?’

  ‘Very well, thank you, and he wasn’t working during the day. He’s got a Christmas do tonight. Wanted to let us know what?’

  ‘You know you were telling us about that chap at the Place? Laurence Cooper?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Peter.

  ‘Well, he’s the body in the theatre,’ said Libby.

  Chapter Nine

  THERE WAS A SHORT silence. ‘I don’t believe it,’ said Peter.

  ‘It’s true. Fran just called me. Inspector Connell told her in case it meant anything to her. It didn’t, of course.’

  ‘I’ll tell Harry. He knew him better than I did. What a godawful thing to happen. Does Fran know how?’

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘This is a bit different from the other two, isn’t it?’

  Correctly interpreting this as the other murder investigations they’d been involved in over the past year, Libby agreed. ‘I do come over all Lady Bracknell about it, though.’

  ‘Lady Bracknell? Oh, The Importance of Being Earnest, you mean? How?’

  ‘To be involved in one murder, Mr Parker, may be regarded as misfortune, to be involved in two looks like carelessness.’

  ‘Three,’ corrected Peter.

  ‘Yes, but I’m not involved in this one. And we didn’t get personally involved, either, it was a police matter.’

  ‘Well, I feel a bit personally involved now,’ said Peter. ‘Especially as our whole wedding is on his recommendation.’

  ‘Well, anyone who has anything to do with Anderson Place could feel like that,’ said Libby. ‘And anyway, you said he’d left. Did he tell you he was leaving?’

  ‘No, there was no reason why he
should. When we confirmed the menu, we were just told his assistant was in charge.’

  ‘You also said they were still using his menus. But he was restaurant manager, not chef.’

  ‘He decided on the menus in consultation with the chef. He was trained himself. Why are you asking all these questions?’

  ‘Habit,’ said Libby. ‘Anyway, Fran will ask me. And we need to know if Inspector Connell asks.’

  ‘Inspector Connell will already know if he knows who the body is. Now get off the line, dear heart, so I can call Hal.’

  Libby rang Ben, who was duly surprised and said he’d see her that evening, after which she wandered aimlessly into the conservatory and stared at the pristine canvas on her easel.

  ‘It’s no good,’ she told Sidney, who had come to admire her work in case it got him an extra tea. ‘I shall have to talk to Fran again.’

  She took the phone into the living room and curled up on the sofa. Giving up his quest, Sidney came too.

  ‘Listen,’ she said when Fran answered, ‘Peter said that chap never told them he was leaving.’ She repeated her conversation with Peter.

  ‘So?’ said Fran.

  ‘Well, it sounds as if he just disappeared, doesn’t it?’ said Libby.

  ‘If he did, then Inspector Connell will know by now.’

  ‘That’s what Peter said. By the way, did Inspector Connell tell you how they identified him?’

  ‘Of course not,’ said Fran. ‘He only wanted to know if it meant anything to me. He won’t go around giving out privileged information.’

  ‘Dental records, do you think?’

  ‘How on earth would I know?’ Fran sounded exasperated. ‘It’s nothing to do with us, anyway.’

  ‘Oh, here you go again,’ said Libby, exasperated in her turn. ‘One minute saying you’ve found a connection, and the next saying it’s nothing to do with us. You were like this all last summer.’

  ‘OK, so I’m ambivalent,’ said Fran. ‘Half the time I don’t know what I can see. I’ve told you, I don’t pick and choose, it’s just presented to me.’

  ‘But you’re getting better,’ said Libby. ‘You can focus on something these days, can’t you? Like that picture, and the letter.’

  ‘I know.’ Fran heaved a sigh. ‘But I never seem to get a clear picture. For instance, when you told me Pete and Harry knew this Cooper person, I knew instantly there was a connection of some sort, but to what I haven’t a clue.’

  ‘Was it a connection to Pete and Harry? Or to Bella?’

  ‘I’ve already said, I haven’t a clue. Just a – oh, I don’t know – a sort of familiarity. Nothing to tell Inspector Connell, as you said.’

  ‘Well, I wish I knew how he was identified,’ said Libby, ‘and how he was killed. We don’t know that, either, do we?’

  ‘Look, Libby, this is nothing to do with us. Honestly, I’d have thought you’d had enough of murders this year. Forget all about it and start concentrating on the pantomime.’

  Libby took this in good part, and dutifully took out her script and began making notes. Not that there was anything she could change, now, with opening night only just over three weeks away and the Christmas break between now and then, but there were a few sections which could be tidied up.

  She was in the process of tidying up one of these sections between Jack and the Princess that evening at the theatre, when Peter arrived.

  ‘I didn’t think you were coming,’ she said, after sending Jack and his Princess off to do it again.

  ‘News,’ said Peter. ‘Tell you later.’

  The rehearsal plodded on, the cow sat on the fairy and the beanstalk fell down, but apart from that Libby was reasonably pleased. After brushing down the fairy and consoling the set builders, she returned her attention to Peter.

  ‘So what’s this news?’

  ‘I called Harry to tell him about Laurence Cooper, and he already knew!’

  Libby’s jaw dropped. ‘No!’

  ‘Only just, apparently. The chef at Anderson Place rang to tell him. They’d had the police there all afternoon. Everybody questioned. If you want to come back for a drink he’ll tell you all about it.’

  ‘At your place or the caff?’ asked Libby.

  ‘Oh, home. The do was an early one. They’ve all gone off to their beds, now.’ Peter stood up. ‘Shall I get Ben? Is he backstage?’

  ‘Interfering as usual,’ grinned Libby. ‘Yes, do get him. Wasn’t a bad rehearsal, was it?’

  ‘I’ve seen worse,’ said Peter, as he threw a long scarf round his neck and went to find his cousin.

  Back at the cottage, Harry, still in his checked trousers, gave them drinks and a plate of hors d’oeuvres left over from tonight’s “do.”

  ‘Tell all, then,’ said Libby, from the chintz chair.

  ‘Well, this bloke Terry, the chef, called me here at about six in a high old state. Apparently, when they told us Laurence wasn’t with them any more, it was because he’d just disappeared.’

  ‘Exactly what I said,’ Libby said triumphantly.

  ‘He didn’t come in one morning, and when no one could get hold of him and he didn’t turn up the next day either, someone went round to his flat. He wasn’t there, either, and they thought he’d done a runner.’

  ‘Why would he do that?’ asked Ben. ‘Was he in trouble?’

  ‘Not that anyone knew,’ said Harry. ‘He didn’t seem to be a big spender, didn’t gamble, or drink much, lived alone.’

  ‘How long had he been at Anderson Place?’ asked Libby.

  ‘Oh, years. It was turned into a hotel first in the eighties, but not like it is now. Laurence went there about ten years ago, I think.’

  ‘No family?’

  ‘Again,’ said Harry, ‘my mate Terry said he’d never heard of any family, but it was his sister who reported him missing. The police assumed somebody at the Place had told her, but no one there knew she existed.’

  ‘So they didn’t need dental records, then,’ said Libby. Everyone looked at her. ‘Well, I wondered how he’d been identified,’ she explained.

  ‘It was sister Dorothy, so Terry says. She came to the Place this afternoon and went into a huddle with the manager.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘And what? That’s it. Isn’t that enough?’

  ‘I thought there might be a bit more detail,’ said Libby, reaching for an hors d’oeuvre.

  ‘No, Lib. Why would there be?’ said Ben. ‘We’re not involved in this one, remember?’

  ‘That’s what everyone keeps telling me,’ muttered Libby.

  ‘Then everyone’s right,’ said Ben, sitting on the arm of her chair and patting her shoulder. ‘Leave well alone.’

  Libby nodded, holding out her glass as Harry approached with a bottle. Looking up, she caught his eye and received a quick wink. Startled, she opened her mouth, but an almost imperceptible shake of his head made her keep quiet.

  When she and Ben left half an hour later, he whispered, ‘Ring you,’ in her ear as he kissed her goodnight. She puzzled over this all the way home, and even in bed Ben complained that she wasn’t concentrating.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said, sliding her hand downwards, ‘my teacher always used to say that.’

  ‘Well,’ said Ben, slightly breathlessly, ‘I hope you didn’t respond in the same way.’

  The following morning she couldn’t settle. She didn’t dare ring the cottage in case Peter, as he so frequently did, was working at home, and she had no idea what time Harry would get to The Pink Geranium. When he finally rang at eleven o’clock, she nearly jumped down his throat.

  ‘All right, all right, knickers and knots, dearie,’ he said.

  ‘I know, but the suspense is killing me,’ said Libby plaintively.

  ‘Well, if you’re a good girl and eat up all your greens, you can come here for lunch. There won’t be many in, and we can have a good old goss.’

  ‘But what about Fran? She might see me,’ said Libby, thinking of Fran’s flat above The Pink
Geranium.

  ‘Has she been telling you to leave it alone, too?’ asked Harry. ‘Oh, well, in that case we’ll have to hide you under a table. Don’t be daft, Lib. If she sees you, so what. Come around twelve. I’ll finish prepping up, then Donna can do most of it.’

  Libby filled in the remaining hour by doing some unaccustomed housework, and so surprised Sidney that he left home without the usual detour round the food bowl. Feeling dusty but righteous, Libby washed her hands, attacked her hair with some hairpins and lost the battle, slung her cape and a scarf round her shoulders and set off for the caff.

  Harry was still in the kitchen when she arrived, but Donna sat her on the sofa in the window with a glass of wine as she had been instructed.

  ‘Are you exhausted yet?’ Libby asked. ‘Have you had any help?’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ said Donna, ‘Harry’s got a couple of lads in the kitchen and one of them helps out waiting in the evening as and when. And he never expects me to be here if we open at odd times.’

  ‘No? That’s good,’ said Libby. ‘You like working for him, then?’

  Donna smiled. ‘Wouldn’t work anywhere else.’

  ‘Where did you work before? Were you always in catering?’

  ‘I worked up at the Place,’ said Donna.

  ‘Anderson Place?’ gasped Libby. ‘Does Harry know?’

  ‘Of course he knows.’ Donna looked surprised. ‘He had to ask them for a reference. Oh, and he told me about old man Cooper, too. Sad, that.’

  ‘Old man Cooper?’ Somehow, Libby had thought of Laurence Cooper as a young man.

  ‘Dear Larry,’ said Harry, coming up behind Donna. ‘Off you go, poppet. You’re in charge.’

  He sat down next to Libby as Donna went back to the kitchen.

  ‘I didn’t know Donna worked at the Place,’ said Libby accusingly.

  ‘Why on earth should you?’ said Harry.

  ‘Um – I don’t know.’ Libby took a sheepish sip of her wine. ‘I didn’t know Laurence Cooper was old, either.’

  ‘He isn’t – wasn’t. About 60, I suppose.’

  ‘Old to Donna, then,’ said Libby.

  ‘She was only 16 when she started there, so he would have seemed old to her.’