‘But there hasn’t been much about Martha, and Ian wants it to stay that way. The police only released her proper name, so he doesn’t know about the Martha bit.’
Jane frowned. ‘Why has he come down here with all flags flying under his real name, then? If Martha was Mrs Fletcher, surely he’d realise that someone would put two and two together?’
‘Maybe, but it’s a common name, and don’t forget he knew Susannah was here and he was likely to meet her.’
‘Made a point of it, in fact,’ said Jane. ‘Coffee?’
‘Yes, please. Actually, of course, the fact that none of us have referred to the coincidence must make him realise we know nothing about her.’
‘Double bluff?’ said Jane.
‘Well, yes. And few of the details of the attack on Martha have been released, even the time difference between that and the murder.’
‘I didn’t know about that,’ said Jane.
‘And you don’t now,’ said Libby. ‘Just pretend you know nothing. I don’t suppose Susannah will say anything unless he asks directly, and she won’t know anything herself, but might think to ask you. That would be perfectly legitimate, wouldn’t it?’
‘So we say we know nothing more than was in my report.’ Jane put mugs on the table. ‘Hot, Imogen.’
Imogen slid off her chair, nodding. ‘Hot,’ she said and wandered off.
‘That’s it. Mind you, I can’t remember what you said.’
‘Not a lot, and this week even less.’
‘Not much to say, really, is there?’
‘And I suppose that’s Ian’s problem.’
‘It is rather. He’s desperately trying to find a link between Martha or Dominic and someone who knew the true value of the reliquary. Peter thinks it’s a random attack, but neither you nor Campbell made much of its value, so a random thief wouldn’t think it was worth stealing – just a bit of old finger.’
‘That’s true.’ Jane tapped her mug with a fingernail. ‘It really looks like an unsolvable case, doesn’t it? No fingerprints or anything.’
‘No murder weapon, either, except for Martha’s.’
‘Martha’s?’
‘She was pushed on to the stand, hit her head on the corner.’
‘What, and the murderer saw what he’d done and scarpered?’
‘Or heard the security guard coming.’
‘But where did he scarper to? They didn’t find anyone anywhere in the grounds, did they?’
‘No,’ said Libby, ‘but to be fair, the security guard was too preoccupied with Martha and calling in to do an immediate search. It was more how he got in.’
‘Dominic could have let him in,’ suggested Jane.
‘And then there was a falling out between thieves? Yes, it’s been considered, but how did Dominic let him in?’
‘How close a check was made after you’d all left?’
‘Not close enough, obviously, as Dominic remained hidden.’
‘There you are then. It could easily be a member of the audience.’
‘In cahoots with Dominic? Or on his own?’
‘Oh, in cahoots,’ said Jane, ‘or he wouldn’t know where to go or where to hide.’
‘It’s definitely a thought,’ said Libby.
‘I expect Ian’s thought of it, or one of his minions has.’
‘He hasn’t asked for audience details,’ said Libby, ‘and because almost all the tickets were sold by credit or debit card we could give them to him.’
‘There’s something about the data protection act,’ warned Jane, ‘although maybe that doesn’t apply to the police.’
‘Oh, well, I’ll tell him I’ve warned you and mention what you’ve said. It’s up to him, then.’
‘He asked you to warn us, then?’ Jane looked interested. ‘Does he think this David’s dangerous, then?’
‘No, I’m pretty sure he doesn’t, but he’s worried about him.’
‘We shall be on our guard, then. In fact, Susannah and Emlyn are coming to supper tonight, so it’s a good job you told me. I just hope Terry doesn’t say the wrong thing.’
‘He won’t. He doesn’t say much anyway,’ said Libby, standing up. ‘Thanks for the sandwich and coffee. I promised to pop in on Fran to update her so I’d better go.’
Libby made a detour to the Alexandria to see what ticket sales were like, and admire the posters. Then she made her way along Harbour Street and waved to Guy in his shop before knocking on the door of Coastguard Cottage.
She and Fran walked back to Lizzie’s ice-cream booth while Libby related the day’s events.
‘I think Jane could be right, you know,’ said Fran, licking rum and raisin drips from the cone. ‘A member of the audience.’
‘Perhaps even the one who pretended to be the beneficiary on the phone?’
‘Don’t get ahead of yourself, Lib. But an audience member subsequently hidden by Dominic makes perfect sense.’
‘Yes, it does. But as Jane said, I expect Ian’s thought of that. I will tell him about David Fletcher accosting me today and just drop that in, though.’ She looked over to the little harbour. ‘I did wonder about a boat trip today, but neither of them are there.’
‘Next trips are five o’clock and five fifteen,’ said Fran, ‘so the holidaymakers can get home in time for supper.’
‘Too late for me,’ said Libby. ‘I’d better get home and do something spectacular for supper. I seem to have been neglecting my inner domestic goddess recently.’
‘It’s having Harry round the corner,’ said Fran. ‘Too easy to pop down there for something delicious.’
‘We’ve been limiting ourselves recently,’ said Libby, finishing the last of her ice cream. ‘Special occasions only. Or at least only once a week.’
‘Saturday night special,’ said Fran. ‘Are you going tomorrow?’
‘We could. Would you like to come? And I’ll ask Pete, who’d probably be there, anyway.’
‘Great. Can we stay over?’
‘Of course. You’ll have to get back on Sunday morning, won’t you? Because of the shop.’
‘Unless Sophie can be persuaded to open up for us. Did Adam tell you she’s moving to London?’
No!’ Libby stood stock still in amazement. ‘I bet that means he’s going with her.’
‘No idea,’ said Fran. ‘Anyway, we can talk about it tomorrow. You go and cook something delicious for Ben and ring me if tomorrow’s on.’
On Saturday morning Libby tentatively rang Adam.
‘Hello, Ma. What can I do for you?’
‘I hadn’t heard from you for a bit, so I thought I’d see how you were.’
Adam laughed. ‘Aha! Fran’s been talking, has she?’
‘She told me Sophie’s going to London, that’s all.’
‘And you want to know if I’m going with her?’
Libby made a face at herself in the mirror. ‘Well, yes.’
‘Bel and Dom both live in London,’ said Adam.
‘I know.’
‘But where would I get a job like mine?’
Libby let out a small breath. ‘They must have gardeners in London.’
‘Yes, they do. Fancy landscapers at even fancier prices. And I’d have to get taken on by one of them – not easy. No, Ma, I’m staying here. Mog wants to keep me on, and we’re part of Lewis’s maintenance team at Creekmarsh. Besides, helping out in the caff will keep me out of mischief, and I’ll be back living in the village most of the time.’
‘But what about Sophie? You’re not –?’
‘Splitting up? No, but we’re both young, and although we managed a long-distance relationship when Sophie was at uni, it’s not ideal. We’ll just see what happens. And my brother and sister are both up there if she needs any support, or I need to go up and stay overnight.’
‘Do Bel and Dom know this?’ Libby asked, wondering if her elder children approved of Adam’s cavalier plans.
‘Of course they do. We don’t always tell you everything, Ma!
And I’ll see you tonight – I’m working.’
‘Adam’s staying in the village,’ she told Ben, who was sorting out paint tins in the conservatory, which had been partially rebuilt earlier in the year.
‘That’s good,’ he said. ‘He can finish off replanting the garden.’
‘He’s not staying for our convenience,’ said Libby. ‘He loves his job and being on Lewis Osbourne-Walker’s team at Creekmarsh Place. Which makes me think the attachment between him and Sophie isn’t as strong as it was.’
‘They’ve both changed over the past few years,’ said Ben. ‘Adam’s much more grown up, and I expect Sophie is, too.’
‘At least I might see him more than Fran does, now,’ said Libby. ‘That’s a bit mean and ungracious, isn’t it?’
Ben put down his paint pot and came to give her a hug. ‘No, it isn’t. You’re his mum, and he’s still your baby.’
Libby had reported her encounter with David to Ian’s official mobile number, but by the time Fran and Guy had arrived to park their car and dump their overnight bags, nothing had been heard from him, officially or unofficially.
As usual, Harry had booked them in to The Pink Geranium at nine o’clock, the latest time he took bookings, in order that he could join them at the end of their meal.
‘G&T?’ Ben asked Fran.
‘Is there any wine open?’ Fran sat down next to Libby on the sofa.
‘Red,’ said Libby holding up a glass. ‘So did you ask Sophie about Adam?’
Fran looked at her friend warily. ‘Er – yes.’
‘It’s all right.’ Libby patted her arm. ‘I talked to Adam. Everything’s fine and he’s staying here. He’ll see us tonight.’
‘Good.’ Fran accepted her glass and leant back. The cane sofa creaked alarmingly. ‘Have you heard from Ian?’
‘No. I think we’ve rather ground to a halt, haven’t we?’
‘Again,’ said Fran.
The Pink Geranium was packed, as usual on a Saturday night, and they found Peter waiting for them on the sofa in the left-hand window, a bottle of red wine and five glasses in front of him.
‘And here we are again, folks,’ he said as he poured wine for them all. ‘A murder to talk about, Ad to wait on us and Harry to cook for us. Plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose.’
‘We’re not going to talk about the murder,’ said Libby firmly. ‘Fran and I think we’ve done all we can, and Ian’s not keeping in touch with us, so that’s that.’
Ben and Guy exchanged glances. Peter smiled, leant back in his corner of the sofa and languidly lifted his glass. ‘Bonne chance.’
Adam, looking cheerful, appeared to take their order, and suffered the pats on the back and kisses thought appropriate to acknowledge his decision to stay in Steeple Martin.
‘Hub of the universe,’ said Peter. ‘I’ve always said so. That’s why we persuaded the old trout to come and live here.’
‘You did it out of the kindness of your hearts so I would have a ready-made support network, you know you did,’ said Libby.
‘And now look what’s happened,’ said Peter. ‘I knew it was a mistake.’ He ducked as a menu was aimed at his head.
The food, as always, was excellent, and after an indulgent dessert had been consumed by them all except Peter, Harry joined them.
‘So the caretaker’ll be back on a more permanent basis,’ he said, nodding at Adam. ‘And you’ll lose yours, Guy.’
‘But we won’t let Chrissie or Lucy know, or they’ll be there all the time cadging free holidays,’ said Fran, who didn’t have the best relationship with her children, except for Jeremy, living in America.
‘So update us on the murder, petal,’ Harry said to Libby.
‘Nothing to report. It’s given up on us,’ said Libby.
‘Or Ian has,’ said Harry.
‘Either way, nothing to report,’ said Libby.
‘In that case, how about coming over to Creekmarsh with Ad and me in the morning to raid the veg beds? Anyone?’ Harry looked round the table. ‘Lewis has said we ought to harvest anything we can or it’ll go to waste.’
‘I’ll come,’ said Libby.
‘We can’t, we’ve got the shop,’ said Fran.
‘Busman’s holiday,’ said Ben.
‘Right, missis,’ said Harry. ‘Report here at ten complete with gardening gloves. You’ll be back in time for lunch with Hetty.’
‘Sorry, Ma,’ said Adam, when he came to kiss her goodnight. ‘You know what he’s like.’
‘I do,’ said Libby, ‘and I shall enjoy it. I haven’t been to Creekmarsh for ages. Not since that party last year.’
‘It’s an opening day,’ warned Adam, ‘so you might have to avoid punters.’
‘No worries,’ said his mother, patting his cheek.
Fran and Guy gave Libby a lift to The Pink Geranium in the morning on their way home. She waved them off and went inside to find Adam and Harry already busy assembling large amounts of plastic bags, secateurs and string.
‘Come along then, troops,’ said Harry. ‘I’ve got to get back here for the lunchtime rush.’
It was a blessedly sunny day, and by the time they’d driven up the long shady drive to the front door of Creekmarsh Place, there was a healthy crowd queuing for tickets to see the grounds, mainly famous for being owned by a television personality, the cheeky-chappie builder and handyman Lewis Osbourne-Walker. Sadly for the crowd, he was rarely in evidence at the weekends.
Adam led them to the walled vegetable garden and set them to their tasks.
‘The punters can come in here, but they’re only allowed to keep to the path in the middle,’ he said. ‘They shouldn’t bother you.’
Half an hour later, Libby, stood up straight to stretch her aching back and gasped.
Heads together at the entrance to the vegetable garden were David Fletcher and Estelle Butcher.
Chapter Twenty-five
Libby scrambled out of the vegetable garden and stumbled over to the greenhouse, where Harry was gathering baskets full of tomatoes.
‘Dominic’s wife,’ she whispered, ‘with Martha’s husband! They mustn’t see me!’
Puzzled but obliging, Harry stepped in front of her as she fished out her mobile and rang Ian’s official number. When she was asked to leave a message, she did so, then tried his personal number.
‘Can you keep them there?’ asked Ian, sounding as if he was already on the move.
‘I don’t know how,’ said Libby. ‘I can’t let them see me, or they’d bolt. They obviously met here thinking no one would see them. And Estelle’s met Harry, so he can’t do it.’
‘What about Adam?’ Libby heard a car door slam.
‘If I can find him,’ said Libby. ‘Go on, we’ll do our best.’
She rang off and tried to ring Adam, who obviously hadn’t taken his mobile into the garden with him.
‘I’m going to try and track them,’ said Libby. ‘If I make my way down this wall, I can come up behind them.’ She peered over Harry’s shoulder. ‘Yes, look, they’re walking very slowly down the middle path. I’ll work my way through the beans and potatoes and try and keep them in sight. If I see Ad, I’ll wave.’
Luckily the rows of bean sticks that bordered the central path provided a little cover as Libby proceeded slowly, pretending to check each plant. She couldn’t hear what David and Estelle were saying, but it was obvious that this was not the first time they had met.
As they came up to the exit gate from the vegetable garden, Libby was surprised to see Adam appear there pushing an oversized wheelbarrow which he proceeded to get stuck in the gateway. Libby looked over to the greenhouse and saw Harry put up a thumb.
Adam was now arguing with David and Estelle, who looked furious. Without warning, she turned on her heel and marched back the way she had come, David following reluctantly behind her. Adam was doing his best by calling: ‘Hey, you can’t go out that way!’ but the pair continued to the end and left through the entrance gate, Libb
y sidling cautiously after them.
But she was too late. By the time she emerged, neither was in sight. She turned and saw Adam coming out behind her.
‘Can you get back to the car park and see if they’ve gone?’ she said. ‘I’ll go this way.’
Pushing the wrong way through happily ambling visitors, Libby swore under her breath. She reached the car park in time to see Adam scowling down the drive.
‘Two cars,’ he said, ‘leaving as I got here. And look – here’s Ian.’
Adam led the way into the big kitchen of the house, where Lewis’s mother Edie held sway. Today, however, it was empty.
‘Tell me what happened,’ said Ian, as Harry entered looking bewildered.
Libby explained.
‘And I can’t even begin to think why they were together,’ she said. ‘I mean, the estranged husband and wife of the two victims. It doesn’t make sense.’
‘Put that way, it does,’ said Ian. ‘We’ve been wondering about a connection between Butcher and Martha, and now there seems to be one.’
‘David and Estelle were having an affair? Is that why they broke up with Martha and Dominic?’ said Libby.
‘I wouldn’t think so. Martha left David long before Estelle and Dominic split up.’ Ian rubbed a hand over his face. ‘I wonder where they’ve gone.’
‘Back to David’s cottage?’
Ian shook his head. ‘Are you sure neither of them saw you?’
‘Pretty sure. I stayed in the greenhouse,’ said Harry, ‘and managed to get hold of Ad who tried to hold them up with his massive wheelbarrow.’
‘It didn’t work, though,’ said Adam. ‘Sorry, Ian. Mind you, I don’t even know the story behind all this, so I’m not sure why I was trying to stop them.’
‘I’ll tell you later, love,’ said Libby. ‘So, what now, Ian?’
‘I’m putting a tail on Fletcher. Estelle Butcher hasn’t been seen at either her London address or the hotel she was staying in when she was last down here, so I can’t tail her. But if you’re sure about them not having seen you – and they don’t know Adam – they might try and get in touch with you again. There’s obviously something they either want or need to hide.’
Murder in the Monastery (Libby Sarjeant Murder Mystery series) Page 18