Murder in the Green - Libby Sarjeant Murder Mystery Series

by Lesley Cookman

  ‘I bet she’s got hidden depths,’ said Fran. ‘And I’m pretty sure there was something with Diggory, too.’

  ‘What?’ gasped Libby. ‘Come on, Fran, you’re guessing.’

  ‘Yes, I am, but it came through very strongly. I think Barry Phillips phoned her, but she phoned Diggory.’

  ‘So which one is she having an affair with now?’ Libby made a face. ‘Not that I don’t believe you, of course.’

  ‘I don’t think there’s anyone at the moment,’ said Fran. ‘That was one thing she said that was true.’

  ‘Frustrated, you mean?’ Libby laughed. ‘I thought that was what she meant, but you said by the firm.’

  ‘It was a subconscious revelation, I think,’ said Fran. ‘But she is being frustrated by Elizabeth Martin, isn’t she?’

  ‘Obviously. So she’s got two reasons to hate her; one, Martin had an affair with her husband, and two, she’s trying to prevent her, Monica, from taking over the company.’

  ‘I doubt if Monica wants to take over the company, she just wants to know what’s going on, which she’s entitled to do as the major shareholder.’

  ‘Which means she thinks there’s something not quite right going on,’ said Libby.

  ‘I expect it just means she wants to make sure she’s getting the right payout,’ said Fran.

  ‘Can they alter that?’ said Libby. ‘Don’t the accountants make the payments?’

  ‘Creative accounting,’ said Fran. ‘They’ve got an accounts department, and I expect not everything goes through it.’

  ‘You’re making a lot of assumptions,’ said Libby.

  Fran sighed. ‘I know. It all feels right, but you know what I’m like. This is probably my conscious mind telling me what I think should be going on.’

  ‘It’s logical, though,’ mused Libby. ‘What we really need is a mole in the accounts department.’

  ‘Libby!’ Fran almost stood on the brakes. ‘Who do you think we are? Some television cop series?’

  ‘No, sorry.’ Libby was abashed. ‘I get carried away sometimes.’

  ‘You’re telling me,’ said Fran. ‘Look, all that happened was that Monica Frensham asked to see us because she thought we might know more about her husband’s murder than she’d been told.’

  ‘She’s right,’ said Libby. ‘We do.’

  ‘What has not happened is us being asked to look into and find the murderers of John Lethbridge and Bill Frensham. That’s the police’s job, and Ian’s on the case. Just because he’s kind enough to let us in on part of it doesn’t mean we have carte blanche to go galloping through the evidence, or question all the suspects.’ Fran took a deep breath. ‘There.’

  Libby stared at her in admiration. ‘Gosh,’ she said. ‘You do put things well.’

  Fran shot her a narrow-eyed glance. ‘Are you being sarcastic?’

  ‘No. You’re absolutely right. But we’ve done exactly the same as this every time we’ve got mixed up with a murder. And let’s face it, you were keener than I was at the beginning.’

  Fran sighed and slowed down to turn into the road leading to Steeple Martin. ‘I know. It’s addictive, that’s the trouble. But in the first two cases we were actively involved. You were even a suspect.’

  ‘I wasn’t!’

  ‘Well, you were questioned,’ said Fran. ‘And then it was my aunt who was murdered, so I had a valid reason for being involved.’

  ‘And after that it was the police who asked you in. And Ian asked you in this time, too. Don’t forget that.’

  ‘Not until just now, though,’ said Fran. ‘And he warned you off at the beginning.’

  Libby shrugged. ‘Oh, well. We’ll just have to carry on doing it as an intellectual exercise again.’

  ‘And everybody’ll believe that,’ said Fran with a grin.

  ‘Let’s go over it all back at mine,’ said Libby. ‘Intellectual exercise or not, I’m intrigued. And don’t try and tell me you’re not.’

  ‘Wouldn’t dream of it,’ said Fran.

  A fine rain was falling as Fran pulled up behind the little Renault opposite Libby’s cottage. Sidney appeared at the window as soon as they got out of the car.

  ‘I swear he knows the sound of every car,’ said Libby, opening the front door and falling down the step.

  ‘More like November than July,’ said Fran, going to stand by Sidney at the window.

  ‘Warmer, though,’ said Libby. ‘Tea? Or are you still full of Monica’s dainty cups?’

  ‘I’d like a decent cup,’ said Fran. ‘Hers was a bit weak, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Like her,’ said Libby, going into the kitchen.

  ‘She’s not weak,’ said Fran, following.

  ‘She’s giving a very good impression, then,’ said Libby.

  ‘Exactly,’ said Fran. ‘I should think it suited her all this time to be thought of as the little woman at home. And she admitted to being shrewder than she looks, didn’t she?’

  ‘Not shrewd enough to know what was going on in the business, though.’ Libby got two mugs from a cupboard.

  ‘But shrewd enough to know there is something. You said that yourself.’

  ‘You said she just wanted to know the money was right.’ Libby swirled hot water round her teapot.

  ‘It doesn’t matter, does it. She’s hiding something, and I’m certain it’s to do with John Lethbridge.’

  ‘They had an affair,’ stated Libby.

  ‘We think.’

  ‘And the dreaded Wilhelmina? What about her?’

  ‘I’d still like to talk to her,’ said Fran. ‘Find out why she left Cranston Morris.’

  ‘Because she and John split up, I suppose,’ said Libby, pouring boiling water into the pot. ‘But we’re not supposed to be talking to the suspects. You said.’

  ‘I know, I know. But I’d still like to.’

  ‘So what else did we find out today?’ Libby got milk from the fridge. ‘Monica and John had an affair, she didn’t like Willy or Elizabeth Martin, both of whom may have had affairs with Bill. John was kind. According to her. Martin and/or Phillips are blocking her from finding anything out about Frensham Holdings.’

  ‘Martin, not Phillips. He rang her.’

  ‘I wonder if Lethbridge had any business dealings with Frensham Holdings.’ Libby poured tea into the mugs. ‘He was a financial adviser, wasn’t he?’

  ‘He could have handled their insurances,’ said Fran. ‘Or their portfolio.’

  ‘He’d know all about their financial situation, anyway,’ said Libby, her eyes brightening. ‘Could that be why he was killed?’

  ‘You’re not suggesting Bill killed John and someone else killed Bill in revenge?’

  ‘Could be the same person,’ said Libby, warming to her theme. ‘Suppose there is something dodgy going on at Frensham Holdings – presumably in the bit that Bill looked after.’

  ‘Supplies,’ said Fran.

  ‘Yeah, supplies. Then John finds out – or is involved – and the person who’s behind it all has to kill him. Then Bill finds out so she has to kill him too.’

  ‘She?’

  ‘Sorry, I was thinking of Elizabeth Martin.’ Libby sighed and picked up her mug. ‘Suppose that’s too good to be true.’

  ‘You really didn’t like her, did you?’ said Fran, amused.

  ‘No, I bloody didn’t,’ said Libby. ‘And she made a pass at my Ben.’

  ‘If there was something going on at Frensham Supplies Bill would have been sure to know about it,’ said Fran. ‘It isn’t a huge business.’

  ‘Diggory would know.’ Libby sat on the sofa and moved Sidney.

  ‘You said you were going to ask him about the Goddess,’ said Fran, ‘but I don’t think you should. He doesn’t strike me as a very savoury character.’

  ‘You said earlier I should.’

  ‘I know, but I’ve thought about it and now I don’t think so.’

  ‘Perhaps it’s him?’ Libby suggested. ‘Perhaps Bill was fiddling the company and
–’

  ‘Oh, come on, Libby! Why would Diggory kill John?’

  ‘John found out when he was auditing the books?’

  ‘Financial advisers don’t audit books,’ said Fran.

  ‘Oh.’ Libby chewed her thumb. ‘Perhaps it isn’t to do with the firm, then. Perhaps it really is to do with the Morris stuff. Or the Goddess cult, anyway.’

  ‘Or something else entirely,’ said Fran. ‘I wonder which woman it was I could see when we were with Ian yesterday.’

  ‘Monica? No, she wasn’t there. She said she didn’t go to any of the Morris events except the end of the May Day parade.’

  ‘She said she didn’t. She could be lying.’

  ‘Hmm,’ said Libby doubtfully. ‘Then there’s Martin and Wilhelmina. Could be either of them.’

  ‘I don’t see why Martin would kill John, although I suppose as Wilhelmina was his ex, she might have a motive.’

  ‘It’s motive all the time, isn’t it?’ said Libby.

  ‘But the police don’t go for motive first,’ said Fran. ‘They go for means and opportunity. So they’ll have been all through this with everyone, and it looks as though everyone has alibis –’

  ‘Hey, we don’t know that,’ said Libby. ‘They’ve only just found John’s body. They won’t have checked everybody out yet.’

  ‘That’s true,’ said Fran slowly. ‘Of course they haven’t. Monica said she wouldn’t have known had Phillips not phoned her.’

  ‘I wonder if Jane’s heard?’ said Libby. ‘It would have missed this week’s edition, but she could get it on to the Mercury’s website.’

  ‘We’re not thinking about Jane,’ said Fran, ‘we’re thinking about our suspects.’

  ‘Would they have told Wilhelmina? After all she was his wife.’

  ‘That’s another point,’ said Fran. ‘We don’t know if they were divorced or merely separated, do we?’

  ‘Does it make a difference?’

  ‘It will if he’s got anything to leave,’ said Fran. ‘If she’s his widow she’ll be entitled to the estate unless there are children.’

  ‘It all depends on whether she was still dependent on him,’ said Libby. ‘But otherwise it won’t make any difference. She only left last year, didn’t she?’

  ‘Perhaps you ought to get in touch with Diggory after all,’ said Fran. ‘He’d probably have all the answers, especially if Wilhelmina was the Goddess.’

  ‘Perhaps.’ Libby looked thoughtful. ‘I could ring while Ben’s here. I’d feel safer.’

  ‘He’s not going to do anything to you over the phone,’ said Fran. ‘When I said don’t get in touch with him, I meant in person.’

  ‘I know, but I’d still feel safer. So what else do we know?’

  ‘We know there’s a subversive branch of Cranston Morris, which it would appear they are glossing over by inviting Gemma and Dan to take leading roles.’

  ‘Not in the subversive branch.’

  ‘No, but as Goddess and one of the Kings they’re figure heads. Makes me wonder if they have a real Goddess and King hidden away for nefarious purposes.’

  ‘Wouldn’t they have taken them with them to Cornwall, though?’ said Libby. ‘They all went off into the woods, so they were indulging in their nefarious practices down there, but they had Dan and Gemma as Goddess and Holly King.’

  ‘Told you, as cover. Don’t forget Lewis was going to film them.’

  ‘Oh, yes! I didn’t think of that. But – hang on, Lewis didn’t decide to film them until the last minute.’ Libby finished her tea. ‘I’ll call Diggory tonight.’

  ‘What will you say?’

  ‘No idea. I shall wait for inspiration to strike.’

  ‘You can’t do that. You’ve got to have a cover story. What did you say to him at Harry’s?’

  ‘I just said I was interested in the Goddess Cult and I would ask Gemma. He said not to do that but to talk to him.’ Libby shook her head. ‘Which means that Gemma doesn’t actually know anything about the Goddess Cult.’

  ‘We’d already figured that out,’ said Fran. ‘So what will you say?’

  ‘As I’ve already ridiculed the whole thing it’s going to be difficult. I think I just go in for a bit of nudge, nudge, wink, wink.’

  ‘Well, be careful.’ Fran put down her mug and stood up. ‘We haven’t got much further have we?’

  ‘Perhaps we won’t,’ said Libby. ‘Perhaps that’s the last we’ll hear about any of it until the police announce they’ve caught the murderer.’

  ‘Except for whatever Diggory tells you tonight,’ said Fran, and opened the front door. ‘Keep me posted.’

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  BUT DIGGORY WAS NOT destined to tell Libby anything that night. Libby tried his phone number, obtained from Gemma on the flimsiest pretext, several times during the evening with no result. Ben, getting tetchy around ten o’clock, suggested sarcastically that she went and staked out the bakery.

  ‘Not a bad idea, actually,’ she said. Ben snorted.

  ‘No really. I’ll pop over there tomorrow. It’s Saturday, so there’ll be lots of people around.’

  ‘So no chance to chat him up about nasty goings-on,’ said Ben.

  ‘But it will make him see I’m serious,’ said Libby. ‘Make him think so, anyway.’

  ‘Do you want me to come with you?’

  ‘That would rather defeat the object, wouldn’t it?’

  ‘You wanted me here tonight.’

  ‘I know,’ said Libby uncomfortably, ‘but in broad daylight on a Saturday morning I won’t feel so bad.’

  Ben sighed. ‘All right. But I could always come and wait in the car, or in a pub.’

  Libby brightened. ‘Yes, you could! And I could just be shopping, and be meeting you for lunch.’

  ‘Don’t push the boat out too much,’ said Ben. ‘I didn’t say lunch was on offer.’

  ‘Don’t be a skinflint. Anyway, I’ll buy you lunch as a thank-you.’

  The following morning the rain had disappeared leaving everything sparkling. Ben went to the Manor to fetch the four-wheel drive, whose existence he justified by driving it over the track and into the top – unmade – of Allhallow’s Lane.

  Steeple Mount high street was almost as busy as it had been on the Saturday of the Solstice Parade. Ben disappeared towards the strangely named Bell and Butcher and Libby wandered across the road and tacked slowly towards Diggory’s shop. This time, there were no crowns or other cultish regalia in the window, simply some beautiful decorative loaves and an iced cake covered in bronze roses.

  A woman wearing an alice band and pushing a pushchair manoeuvred her way out of the shop looking harassed. Libby hurried to hold the door for her.

  ‘I suppose they didn’t have pushchairs when this shop was built,’ she said cheerfully. The woman gave her a look and scurried off without saying thank you. ‘Charming,’ muttered Libby, and went inside.

  To her surprise, the shop was empty.

  ‘Hello?’ she called. She heard a chair scrape on the floor and a rustling as the curtain covering the doorway behind the counter was pushed aside.

  Diggory, in full old-fashioned baker’s costume, stood in the doorway, his mouth a big O of surprise.

  ‘Richard!’ beamed Libby. ‘Ben had to come over this way today so I cadged a lift with him. Did you get my messages?’

  ‘Er – yes.’ Diggory turned his head slightly as if to look over his shoulder. ‘I was going to ring you back.’

  ‘That’s all right.’ Libby looked round. ‘There’s no one here. You can tell me what I want to know now, can’t you?’

  ‘Not really.’ Diggory’s colour was changing. Libby thought she’d never met a man whose face went red so frequently.

  ‘Oh, why not? I only want to know what goes on at your underground meetings.’ Libby gave him her best salacious smile. ‘I found out about another group a couple of years ago, but they were broken up.’ She nodded knowingly at him. ‘I mentioned the Tyne Chapel mob to
you before, didn’t I?’

  ‘So you’re interested are you?’ A woman’s voice came from the back room, followed immediately by a woman. And what a woman, thought Libby.

  Tall, with wavy blonde hair and raspberry glossed lips, her figure wouldn’t have looked out of place on page 3 of one of the redtops. Libby gained an impression of a lot of leather and a good sprinkling of lace, before returning her gaze to the sculpted face.

  ‘Are you Wilhelmina?’ she asked.

  Both the man and the woman stared at her.

  ‘Yeah,’ said the woman eventually. ‘Who wants to know?’ she clicked her fingers. ‘Oh, of course! The person who’s interested in the Goddess. Gemma’s little friend.’

  Libby swallowed an instant rush of anger. ‘Hardly little, I feel,’ she said, abandoning any attempt to fool Diggory. ‘And you probably know why I’m here.’

  ‘I know why you said you were here,’ said Wilhelmina.

  ‘You have no idea?’ Libby peered at her as closely as she dared. ‘Have the police not been in touch with you?’ She knew Fran would by now be warning her not to say anything else, but she was determined to establish some kind of ascendancy over this woman. Childish, but understandable, she thought.

  ‘The police?’ Wilhelmina and Diggory exchanged glances, Diggory’s colour fading to white.

  ‘Why would the police want to talk to me?’ asked Wilhelmina, a catch now in her voice.

  With a belated sense of propriety, Libby shook her head. ‘I’d better not tell you until they do,’ she said, aware of how annoying that would be. ‘I don’t suppose Monica’s spoken to you?’

  ‘Monica?’ Diggory’s voice sounded as thin as a reed. ‘Why?’

  ‘No, of course she hasn’t.’ Libby was now feeling out of her depth. She really had no excuse to be here asking questions, and now she didn’t know how to extricate herself.

  ‘Who are you, exactly?’ Wilhelmina started forward and came up against the counter.

  ‘Libby Sarjeant,’ said Libby. ‘I thought you said you knew who I was?’

  Wilhelmina shrugged.

  ‘Are you still the real Goddess?’ Libby was all interest. ‘I was going to ask Richard about that, wasn’t I, Richard?’ She turned to him with a smile. He smiled weakly back.

  ‘Oh, come on, Diggory! You didn’t fall for that?’ Wilhelmina swung round and glared at him. ‘She’s nosing around.’