‘No, he – or the police, anyway – were already involved. Fran and I were simply trying to help poor Patti.’
‘Poor Patti? Oh – the vicar? Yes, I gathered it was something of the sort.’
‘So are you going to do something?’
‘I’m forbidden to actually talk to the vicar, apparently, merely to report that in the wake of the murder yesterday she’s been receiving some very unpleasant threats and accusations. I haven’t quite worked it out, yet. But I’ve cleared it to go and do a piece to camera outside the church – or some other location in the village.’
‘At the top of the lane where both victims lived, I would have thought,’ said Libby.
‘Both? Did you say both?’ Campbell’s voice sharpened.
Bother, thought Libby. ‘Forget I said that,’ she said aloud.
‘Now, Libby –’
‘No, really, forget it, Campbell.’ Libby cut him off. ‘I don’t suppose Ian’s given you too much information anyway, has he?’
‘No, but he’s agreed to be interviewed tomorrow for a longer piece. Will he tell me then?’
‘Possibly, I don’t know. Anyway, do your best for Patti, won’t you? She’s having a hell of a time.’
Fran called about ten minutes afterwards.
‘I’ve just had Campbell McLean on. What’s going on?’
Libby sighed. ‘Patti called to tell me the inquest was adjourned and that Ian was going to get on to local media. So I phoned Campbell, and he said Ian had already called him. I wouldn’t tell him anything else. What was he trying to get out of you?’
‘Oh, dear.’ Fran echoed Libby’s sigh. ‘He asked me what I knew about the murders, because he’d been talking to Ian. I said not much. He said, “Oh, so there has been more than one, then.” I gave it away.’
‘I expect Ian will tell him when they meet tomorrow. Campbell’s doing a piece from the village on the news tonight.’
‘He told me. So tell me about Patti and the inquest.’
Libby related her conversations from that morning with Patti and Sergeant Maiden. ‘I guessed Ian would be asking for an adjournment in view of the second murder. I expect the full panoply of the law will descend on the village now. Next we’ll have Jane calling one of us.’
Jane Baker was assistant editor of the Nethergate Mercury, who lived with her husband Terry and baby daughter Imogen not far from Fran and Guy.
‘Well, if she does, I shall keep quiet,’ said Fran. ‘Let me know if you hear anything else.’
‘I will, but I expect we’ll be kept out of it now. No one will be able to be nasty to the vicar if it’s all made public, so our job here is done.’
‘I’m not so sure,’ mused Fran. ‘They might be even nastier to her now. See her as the cause of all the trouble.’
‘Really?’ Libby thought for a moment. ‘I suppose you could be right. Oh, well, I’m sure we’ll hear about it eventually.’
Ben was home in time to pour Libby a glass of wine before sitting down to watch Campbell MacLean doing his stuff outside the church in St Aldeberge, which looked appropriately eerie in the late autumn dusk. He spoke earnestly into the camera about the problems the vicar was having with murder on her patch, but made no mention of the death in the church. There was a subtle reference to the Black Magic aspect of yesterday’s murder, insinuating that this was a direct insult to the vicar and intended to be so.
‘Well, that wasn’t so bad,’ said Libby. ‘Let’s hope Fran wasn’t right about making it all worse.’
But Fran was right.
Chapter Eight
‘It’s absolutely disgusting!’ Alice was shrieking down the phone. ‘Blood – blood – and – oh, my God!’
‘Alice, calm down!’ Libby shouted, having tried normal-toned interruptions for the last two minutes and got nowhere. ‘Whose blood? Where? What’s happened?’
Alice took a shaky breath. ‘I told you. At the vicarage.’
‘Patti?’ Libby’s insides performed that operation usually described as stomach sinking.
‘No – you’re not listening! At the vicarage. On the doorstep.’
‘Ah. Was it a cockerel?’
‘I don’t know,’ wailed Alice. ‘It had feathers and its – its –’ she stopped with a gasp.
‘I can imagine,’ said Libby grimly. Somebody had access to a lot of chickens, she thought. ‘Did Patti find it?
‘I did,’ whispered Alice. ‘I went to see if she was all right first thing this morning. Did you see that piece on the local news yesterday?’
‘Yes,’ said Libby. ‘I thought it might stop people having a go at Patti.’
‘Well, it didn’t. And nobody knows what’s going on. And it all seems to be since you turned up.’
‘What?’ gasped Libby. ‘But you asked me to!’
‘You said you wouldn’t come.’
‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, Alice. You’re being stupid. And by the way, the police hadn’t shelved the matter, you know. They were still looking into it.’
‘Why didn’t they tell us, then?’ Alice was obviously affronted.
‘Why should they? It was nothing to do with you.’
‘So why did they tell you?’
‘Because –’ Libby searched for the right answer, ‘because we gave the police some information.’
‘What information?’ Alice’s voice was rising again.
‘I’m afraid I can’t disclose that, obviously,’ said Libby, feeling cornered.
‘Well, I just wished I’d never mentioned it, that’s all.’
‘Alice, why did you call me this morning? If you wish you’d never mentioned it in the first place.’
‘I –’ Alice stopped. Libby heard her clear her throat. ‘I don’t know. I thought you ought to be told. Patti says you know all about the other murder.’
‘Yes. Thank you for telling me about this, too, Alice. Is Patti all right? Has she told the police?’
‘Yes, while I was there. I stayed until someone arrived.’
‘Who was it, do you know?’
‘It was bobby in a police car – what do you think?’
‘No plain clothes?’
‘No! But I think he was just there to sort of – guard it. He said someone else was coming. So I came home. And then I phoned you.’
‘Thank you, Alice. I’m so sorry this has upset you, but it really isn’t my fault, you know.’
‘I know.’ Alice sounded tired now. ‘I was just –’
‘In shock,’ supplied Libby. ‘And so would I be. Make a cup of tea and sit down. And let me know if there’s anything I can do.’
Fran, it transpired, was looking after the shop. Her husband Guy was an artist who ran a shop-cum-gallery a few yards away from their cottage on Harbour Street in Nethergate. His daughter Sophie now lived in the flat above where he had lived before his marriage to Fran.
‘He’s gone off on some buying trip,’ said Fran, ‘and with business so bad at the moment it would be mad to shut the shop even with so few tourists.’ She sighed. ‘In fact I’m not sure how long we can afford to keep open anyway.’
‘Bad as that, eh?’
‘Fraid so. Anyway, what did you call about?’
Libby told her.
‘Do you know,’ said Fran eventually, ‘this gets odder and odder.’
‘You’re not kidding!’
‘No – not in the obvious way. Look at the facts. Mrs Biddle –’
‘Bidwell.’
‘Bidwell – gets murdered in the church. It looks like a concealed murder made to look like a natural death.’
‘Except for the wheelchair.’
‘Yes – I wonder why that hasn’t come up? Anyway, the next thing is the start of the rumours about poor Patti and her anonymous letters. This obviously brings up the thought that perhaps it was murder after all. So then we get the flower lady’s murder which, with its references to Black Magic is an attempt to point at Patti. That backfires, and then we get the cockerel on Patti’s front step. Making it
look as though there is a Black Magic community – or coven – and they’ve set their sights on the poor woman.’
‘It does seem as though someone’s playing it by ear, doesn’t it. And panicking, maybe?’
‘On the one hand suggesting that Patti has something to do with Black Magic or covens or Satanism, and on the other suggesting that she is their target. But I would guess that none of it’s real. As you say, panicking.’
‘So what we need to do is find out why Mrs Bidwell had to die. Because if she was murdered, there was a reason for it. The other things follow on from there.’ Libby pulled at her lip and stared out of the window at the soggy November day.
‘We?’ said Fran.
‘Well, yes. We can’t leave it now. And we can at least go and poke about in the village. Once Alice has calmed down she’ll help. And Patti would like us around, I’m sure.’
‘I don’t know.’ Fran was doubtful. ‘We might have to make do with it as an intellectual exercise.’
‘Look,’ said Libby firmly. ‘I know I said in the beginning we shouldn’t get involved, but we are now, especially since we told Ian about Patti. And every time we dither about we end up in the middle of it eventually, whatever we say.’
‘But we haven’t even got the excuse we had last time, when it actually happened on your premises.’
‘No, but we haven’t had that excuse in the past either. The point is that people locally know we’ve been involved in the past and ask us to help. Whether we can or not – well. We can always try. And we do pick up the odd bits that the police don’t. Especially if you have the odd moment.’ Libby paused. ‘Like you did at that woman’s cottage on Thursday.’
‘It was only a picture,’ said Fran.
‘But it meant you’d tuned into it.’
‘Maybe not,’ said Fran. ‘After all, we already knew the woman had been found dead. It could have been my imagination.’
‘I doubt it,’ said Libby. ‘Anyway, when will you be free?’
‘It’s Saturday, Lib. And Guy and Sophie are both away. I can’t just leave the shop. If you’re so keen, why don’t you go over to St Aldeberge on your own?’
‘I might later, if Ben is going to be up on the estate. He’s going to go and check on Rosie and the cottages.’
‘Oh, yes, Rosie. How’s she getting on?’
‘Driving me mad,’ said Libby. ‘She keeps phoning and asking me to go up and help her with this bloody dating site. I’m avoiding her.’
‘I’m still not sure about her reasons for renting Steeple Farm,’ said Fran. ‘Oh, listen, I’ve got a customer. I’ll try and sell one of your paintings.’
Libby switched off the phone and sighed. Outside, Romeo the Renault stood gently rusting on the little curved green opposite Number 17 Allhallow’s Lane. The almost bare hedge above it dripped disconsolately. She turned away and rang Ben.
‘What’s up?’
‘Where are you? You sound as if you’re outside.’
‘Walking across to the Hoppers’ Huts. Why?’
‘I just wanted to know if you’re coming home this afternoon?’
‘I can do. I was going to do a bit in the office –’
‘No, it’s all right. Something else has happened at St Aldeberge, and I thought I’d pop over and see if Patti’s OK. I won’t be long.’
She heard Ben sigh. ‘All right. But don’t forget we’re out tonight.’
‘Oh, Lewis’s party. I’d forgotten. Are we sharing a taxi with Pete and Harry?’
‘With Pete, yes. Harry’s driving over after he’s closed the caff.’
‘Poor soul won’t be able to have a drink,’ said Libby.
‘I think they’re staying overnight. We were invited, too.’
It was Libby’s turn to sigh. ‘I know. But I’d prefer to come home, and I’ll pay for the taxi. What about Ad?’
‘What about him? He’s your son. Don’t you know if he’s going?’
‘Not exactly. And I forgot all about it when I was talking to Fran just now. They’re coming, aren’t they?’
‘Look, Lib, it’s not my party! I expect Lewis has invited all the usual suspects. So off you go to St Aldeberge and try and be back in time to get yourself ready.’
Before she called Patti, to see if it was all right for her to visit, Libby called Adam.
‘Yes, of course we’re going,’ he said. ‘Sharing a taxi with Fran and Guy.’
Libby felt a twinge of jealousy. Adam and Fran’s stepdaughter Sophie had been seeing one another for a couple of years now, and although she occasionally stayed over at the flat above The Pink Geranium, Adam was more frequently to be found at the flat over the gallery. Therefore, he spent more time with Fran and Guy than with Libby.
‘OK,’ she said. ‘We’ll see you there. Is it dinner? Or nibbles?’
‘Dinner, of course,’ said Adam. ‘He’s got that woman who does the TV catering in again. He loves her food.’
Libby agreed appreciatively. Lewis had filmed an entire series at his estate, Creekmarsh, showing the development of the house and garden and Libby had been lucky enough to sample the crew’s food.
She then called Patti.
‘I thought I might come over if you need support.’
‘You’ve heard, then?’ Patti sounded shaky.
‘Alice called.’
‘Oh, God. She was hysterical.’
‘Yes, she was on the phone. Look I won’t come if you don’t want me to –’
‘No, please! Come over. I need to talk to someone.’
‘OK. I’ll be there in half an hour,’ said Libby. ‘Can I bring anything?’
‘Oh – yes, if you wouldn’t mind. I can’t get out at the moment.’
Patti gave her a list and Libby drove down to the eight-til-late to fill it, before driving off to St Aldeberge.
Chapter Nine
The village was busier than it had been last time Libby was here, only four days ago, she realised. There were people in the street, people outside the church. It wasn’t until she arrived that Libby realised she didn’t know where Patti lived. Making a snap decision and an emergency stop which frightened Romeo into a stall, she turned into Birch Lane and parked outside Alice’s house.
‘What do you want?’ Alice appeared with a tissue clutched in one hand, the other hand pulling at a cardigan the twin of the first, and red eyes.
‘Patti asked me to come over,’ said Libby, ‘and I realised I don’t know where she lives.’ She stepped forward and took Alice’s arm. ‘Why don’t you come in and let me make you some tea? Where’s Bob?’
‘At the allotment.’ Alice seemed to sag, and let Libby guide her into the kitchen, where she sat down at the kitchen table and waved listlessly at the kettle.
‘Have you called him?’ Libby was opening cupboards looking for tea.
‘No. He hasn’t got his mobile with him. He never has.’
‘Well, you take it easy,’ said Libby, finding teabags and mug. ‘You’ve had a shock as I said before.’ She poured water into the mug. ‘I’ll call in on my way home, shall I? Or will you be all right? What about your daughter?’
‘Oh, no, she’s got enough on her plate,’ said Alice. ‘I wouldn’t want to bother her. No, I shall be fine, don’t worry.’ She managed a wan smile. ‘It was kind of you to call and make me this.’
‘No problem,’ said Libby. ‘If you could just tell me where Patti –?’
‘Oh, yes. Take the left-hand fork past the church and the vicarage is next door. Far too big for one, of course.’
The vicarage, a sturdy, double-fronted Victorian edifice, had a gravel sweep where Libby was able to park. To her surprise, part of the doorway had police tape across it, and a small plastic tent had been erected over the step. A window to her right opened and Patti stuck her head out.
‘Can you come round the side, Libby? They don’t want anyone to use the front door until forensics have finished.’
Libby found the side gate into the large untidy gard
en which backed on to the church, and where Patti stood at the kitchen door.
‘Forensics?’ she asked, as she followed Patti into her study. ‘But I gather it was a cockerel. What other forensics are they going to find?’
‘It wasn’t a cockerel,’ said Patti. ‘They don’t think it was a bird at all. Just a lot of entrails and feathers, but apparently from different animals.’
‘Oh.’ Libby frowned. ‘Alice thought … She does seem terribly shocked, doesn’t she?’
‘Yes. Odd. I mean, it was unpleasant, but …’ Patti stopped and shook her head. ‘Her reaction seems out of proportion.’
Libby nodded. ‘I know. She was screaming at me down the phone – said it was all my fault. And just now – I had to sit her down and make her tea. She’s in an awful state.’
‘How could it be your fault?’
‘I think because we talked to you and after that the second murder was discovered. She seemed to think that was cause and effect. Although she did apologise when she calmed down a bit. I wonder what she’s frightened of?’
‘Fear. Of course, that’s what it is.’ Patti looked out of the window where a small white van had just pulled up. ‘More forensic people I suppose.’ She opened the window and leaned out. ‘Do you need anything?’ she called as two figures emerged.
‘No thanks,’ called a female voice. ‘We’ll just carry on, and after that you can use your front door.’
‘They’ve already had half a dozen people scouring the garden and drive,’ said Patti, closing the window. ‘I don’t know what they thought they’d find.’
‘I’m surprised Alice was the first one to find the – um – remains. Hadn’t anyone else noticed them?’
‘The postman doesn’t come until mid-day at least, and I don’t suppose anyone walking past could see what was on the doorstep, it’s too far from the road.’
‘Pity we don’t have milkmen any more,’ said Libby. ‘Then you could say what sort of time it was left.’
‘There is a milk van which delivers here, but I don’t use it. I don’t use that much milk being on my own.’
‘What time does it come round? Does it pass here?’
‘I think about seven, but I don’t know where it delivers. Anyway, the driver would hardly be looking at anyone’s doorstep where he didn’t deliver, would he?’
Murder by Magic Page 6