Murder in Midwinter - Libby Sarjeant Murder Mystery Series

by Lesley Cookman

  ‘Bella.’

  ‘Oh, hi, Viv.’ Bella wrenched her trolley to a halt and surreptitiously wiped her damp top lip.

  ‘You look hot.’ Viv, an acquaintance from Bella’s amateur drama society, squinted up from under a cloud of dark hair which surrounded an unseasonably tanned and painted face, sharply pointed like a snooty weasel. Heavy gold chains clanked painfully against protruding collar bones and wrists, but she never seemed to either notice or get bruised.

  ‘I am hot. And bothered.’

  ‘So, did you go down to Kent?’ She fixed Bella with a beady brown eye.

  ‘Yes, I did. Got back yesterday.’

  ‘Golly.’ The other woman’s eyes widened even further than normal. ‘I never thought old Andy’d let you go.’

  ‘What do you mean? Let me go? It wasn’t up to him.’

  ‘Rubbish. He treats you like one of the children – and you let him. I must admit I was surprised when you said you were going.’

  ‘Well, I went. And I’m going back.’

  ‘Back? When?’

  ‘I don’t know when.’ She stared at the contents of her trolley. ‘In fact, I don’t quite know what I’m going to do at all, but I’m definitely going. I’ve been left a derelict theatre.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I didn’t actually go inside, but I know where it is. I want to open it up.’

  ‘Open it?’ Excitement swept across Viv’s sharp features. ‘As a theatre?’

  ‘Yes. If I can find out how to go about it.’

  ‘Fantastic. Will you take us down there? I mean the Monday Players.’

  ‘Oh, Viv, I couldn’t.’ Bella shook her head. ‘I don’t know how to go about it all – really.’

  ‘But what does Andrew say about it all? I bet he’s mad.’

  Bella sighed. ‘Yes, he is. He can’t understand why I want to do it. He thought I should sell the site for “us” to get some capital out of it. And he doesn’t want me swanning off to Kent every five minutes.’

  ‘I don’t suppose the children do, either,’ the other woman nodded sagely, ‘not if it means them being left with Andrew.’

  ‘No.’ Bella sighed again. ‘I thought it would be all right. After all, Tony’s seventeen and Amanda’s nearly sixteen, but they missed me.’

  ‘So how would they cope? I can’t see them being over-enamoured of moving to Kent.’

  ‘Oh, no, there’s no question of that.’ Bella realised that she was lying and rushed on. ‘I’ll just have to commute until I see what’s going to happen.’

  ‘Well, I don’t know how. You haven’t got any money and Andrew won’t fund you.’

  ‘Something’ll work out.’ Bella made to push her trolley further on. ‘See if it doesn’t.’

  Viv couldn’t refrain from a final valedictory comment. ‘It’ll work out in the divorce courts if you’re not careful,’ she said. ‘Mark my words.’

  Chapter Three

  FRAN OPENED THE DOOR to the flat with her phone in the other hand.

  ‘Yes,’ she was saying, ‘of course, but I don’t see why …?’

  Libby followed her up the stairs.

  ‘All right, I suppose so.’ Fran frowned. ‘Give me her number. No, she can’t have mine. And I don’t know why you think I can help her, anyway.’ She waved Libby towards a bottle on the table. ‘All right. Yes, I’ll let you know. Goodbye.’ She switched off the phone and looked at Libby. ‘That was Inspector Connell,’ she said.

  ‘Really?’ Libby put her own bottle down next to Fran’s. ‘Which wine?’

  ‘Don’t mind,’ said Fran. ‘You’ll never guess what he wanted.’

  ‘To ask you out?’

  ‘Don’t be daft, Lib. Didn’t you hear my side of the conversation?’

  ‘Something about giving someone your number.’

  ‘Exactly. Pour me a glass and I’ll tell you all.’

  Libby poured two glasses and sat on the window sill. ‘Go on then.’

  ‘Apparently, Inspector Connell has suggested I can help some woman who’s just found a body.’

  ‘What?’ Libby’s mouth dropped open.

  ‘This woman’s inherited a theatre or something. In Nethergate.’

  ‘In Nethergate? I didn’t know there was a theatre in Nethergate. There’s the Carlton Pavilion, of course.’

  ‘No, it’s disused. I think I remember it on the seafront.’

  ‘Oh!’ Libby’s face lit up. ‘Of course. The Alexandria! They used to have summer shows there, revues and things. I believe it had been going since the First World War. Not sure of the details, but I remember being taken to see shows there.’

  ‘That’s it.’ Fran nodded. ‘Well, this woman’s inherited it.’

  ‘Lucky bugger,’ said Libby.

  ‘It’s derelict apparently, so I assume it’s going on the market. Should fetch a good price. Anyway, when she was looking over it this woman found a body.’

  ‘And Inspector Connell wants you to help?’ asked Libby, excited. ‘See! I told you we could do it.’

  ‘No, no, Lib. She wants to know about the theatre and her relatives. She didn’t know anything about them.’

  ‘So what made Connell suggest you?’

  Fran shrugged. ‘Connections with local theatre? Keep me out of trouble? I don’t know.’

  ‘An excuse to keep in touch with you?’

  ‘Oh, do stop, Libby,’ said Fran. ‘You were just like this with Guy. Stop match-making.’

  ‘I only want you to be as happy as I am,’ said Libby, climbing off the window sill.

  ‘I am happy. Deliriously. I’ve suddenly come into money and the loveliest cottage in the world – almost.’

  ‘And some new clothes,’ said Libby. ‘Did you get those in London?’

  Fran stared self-consciously down at her new jeans and jumper. ‘Yes. I thought I ought to get a bit more up-to-date.’

  ‘Very nice too,’ said Libby. ‘Wish I could.’

  ‘You couldn’t change your look, though, could you?’ Fran went into the kitchen.

  ‘That’s probably because of where I shop.’ Libby followed her. ‘Can I carry anything?’

  ‘Salad,’ said Fran, handing it to her. ‘And I take it you mean charity shops?’

  ‘Of course,’ grinned Libby. ‘I couldn’t possibly desert them.’

  ‘There are some lovely clothes of your kind, now,’ said Fran sitting down at the table and passing Libby a plate of something savoury.

  ‘Very expensive,’ said Libby. ‘I get the same effect for next to nothing. I mean, look at my cape.’

  They both turned and looked at the slightly moth-eaten blue blanket hanging on Fran’s coat hook.

  ‘That’d cost a fortune these days.’ Libby helped herself to salad. ‘Now, back to this woman. Who is she?’

  ‘A Bella Morleigh.’ Fran pulled a piece of paper towards her. ‘A London number. That’s all I know.’

  ‘So she isn’t local.’

  ‘Doesn’t look like it.’

  ‘Exciting, isn’t it?’ Libby looked up at her friend, her eyes sparkling. ‘This is just what I was suggesting.’

  ‘This is pure coincidence, Libby, and, forgive me for saying it, nothing to do with you.’

  Libby gasped. ‘Fran! How could you? You can’t keep me out of it.’

  Fran shifted in her chair, looking down at her plate. ‘Well, I’ll tell you about it, of course, but –’

  Libby looked at her through narrowed eyes. ‘Oh, I get it. Connell warned me off, did he?’

  ‘Sort of,’ said Fran, looking uncomfortable.

  ‘Keep that meddling bitch out of it, I suppose?’ said Libby.

  ‘Something like that.’ Fran looked even more uncomfortable.

  Libby laughed. ‘Oh, don’t look so bad, Fran. After all, if it hadn’t been for my meddling we wouldn’t have got very far last time, would we?’

  ‘I know.’ Fran sat up straight, looking happier. ‘But I think he wants me to report back to him, so we’ll ha
ve to keep you low profile.’ She raised an eyebrow. ‘If possible.’

  ‘Now why,’ said Libby, resting her chin on her hand, ‘does he want you to report back to him? Does he suspect this woman of something?’

  ‘If he did, he would be questioning her, not turning her over to me.’

  ‘Must be he thinks something in her background is a clue, then,’ said Libby. ‘I told you he was more intelligent than Inspector Murray.’

  ‘Inspector Murray at least believed in me,’ said Fran. ‘It was only right at the end that Connell had to give in.’

  ‘Fancies you,’ said Libby. ‘I keep saying.’

  ‘I know you do, and I wish you’d stop. And I’m going out with Guy tonight, anyway.’

  ‘Good,’ said Libby, ‘I like Guy. So tell me, when are you going to ring this woman?’

  ‘This afternoon? Then perhaps I can arrange for us to meet her.’

  ‘Aha! So you do want me in on it?’ Libby was triumphant.

  ‘As long as you don’t interrupt,’ said Fran, ‘I suppose so.’

  But when Fran dialled Bella Morleigh’s number later that afternoon, all she heard was a rather pompous male voice asking her to leave a message. She did so, being deliberately vague, and said she would call again. She was surprised, therefore, to receive a call from a breathless woman while she was getting ready to go out with Guy.

  ‘Mrs Castle?’ asked the woman. ‘I’m Bella Morleigh. You rang earlier.’

  ‘But I didn’t leave my number,’ said Fran.

  ‘You happened to be the last caller, so I dialled 1471,’ explained Bella Morleigh. ‘I hope you don’t mind.’

  ‘No, of course not,’ said Fran, cursing herself. ‘So, how can I help you?’

  ‘Um, well,’ said the voice dropping to almost a whisper, ‘it would be better if I could meet you. Would that be possible?’

  ‘Where?’ asked Fran, not wanting to commit herself to yet another trip to London.

  ‘I’ll be down on Thursday. Could I come and see you? Or meet you somewhere?’

  ‘Are you staying in Nethergate?’ said Fran.

  ‘I was recommended to a pub in somewhere called Steeple Martin.’

  ‘Right,’ said Fran slowly, with a grin. ‘Call me when you get down here and we’ll decide what to do.’

  ‘Thank you so much,’ whispered Bella. ‘Oh – I must go now. I’ll speak to you on Thursday.’

  Well, thought Fran, as she switched off the phone. What’s she afraid of?

  Guy Wolfe picked her up half an hour later, and on the way to their newly favoured out-of-the-way pub for dinner, Fran told him about Bella Morleigh and Inspector Connell’s strange request.

  ‘Fancies you,’ he said, echoing Libby.

  ‘Oh, not you, too,’ said Fran, ‘of course he doesn’t.’

  ‘Wouldn’t blame him,’ said Guy looking at her briefly, teeth sparkling above his neat goatee beard.

  ‘Well, it isn’t that. And this Bella person sounded scared of something. No, not scared exactly, nervous.’

  ‘Well, if she’s mixed up in a murder, no wonder. Weren’t you nervous back in the summer?’

  ‘Of course I was, but I don’t think it was that. It was something about where she was.’

  ‘At home?’

  ‘Yes. Her husband? Why would she be scared of him knowing she was speaking to me? How odd.’

  Their meal was a success. The pub, just outside a village on the other side of Canterbury, was in danger of turning itself into a gastro-pub, but just managing to stop short. Guy was a popular guest and had even persuaded the owners to hang some of his work. Fran noticed two of Libby’s efforts in an alcove, which pleased her, as they were views from the window of her soon-to-be cottage. She sighed with pleasure, reflecting once more on the astonishing coincidence that had brought about this change in her fortunes.

  ‘Well,’ said Guy, when she mentioned this over their starters, ‘it didn’t really, did it? The contents of your uncle’s will would have come out whatever else happened, and you would have ended up in the same position. The only coincidence was your old Auntie being down here after Ben had brought you down to help Lib and Pete and the theatre.’ He frowned. ‘Yes, that’s right. Convoluted, but right.’

  ‘I suppose so. But I wouldn’t have found the cottage, would I?’

  He leaned across and patted her hand. ‘Or me,’ he said.

  ‘So what do you know about the Alexandria?’ asked Fran, as they drove slowly home through narrow, high-hedged lanes.

  ‘It’s never been a theatre since I’ve been in Nethergate. It’s been a carpet warehouse, and at one point a venue for raves, but mostly it’s been shut up and falling into complete disrepair.’

  ‘Would it be possible to restore?’

  ‘Ooo, now.’ Guy tutted. ‘I couldn’t say. I wouldn’t attempt it, although it’s got a beautiful cupola worth rescuing, but not much else.’

  ‘What about inside?’

  ‘No idea. I would imagine a large empty space if it was used as a warehouse.’

  ‘Pity,’ said Fran.

  Guy, as usual, left her after a cup of coffee in the flat, reiterating his impatience for her to move into Coastguard Cottage, which was only a few yards from his own gallery and flat. This was the only drawback as far as Fran was concerned, as she was still unsure of the importance of her relationship with Guy. She liked him, even fancied him, somewhat unusual in her experience, but having been alone for such a long time the thought of having someone permanently in her life was slightly scary. She realised how lucky she was; she and Libby had had many conversations in the recent past about the difficulties facing middle-aged women wanting relationships with men, and now she actually had someone interested in her. Two, if everyone else was right and Inspector Connell had his eye on her. She was dubious about this, as he was quite obviously younger than she was, but it was flattering.

  Wednesday was a quiet day. Fran and Libby met in the butchers and Fran told Libby about her phone call from Bella Morleigh.

  ‘So you’re seeing her tomorrow. During the day?’

  ‘Well, yes. We’re rehearsing tomorrow evening, aren’t we?’

  ‘Yes, we are, but I could jiggle things around a bit.’

  ‘No,’ said Fran, ‘Ben would be cross. He wasn’t pleased because I wasn’t there on Monday.’

  ‘Well, tough. But I’d obviously prefer you to be there.’

  ‘Well I’m going to see her in the afternoon I hope. I thought I might ask Harry if he’d open in the afternoon for tea.’

  ‘Like we did for Nurse Redding?’ Libby smiled at the memory. ‘He does a lovely tea.’

  ‘Do you think he would?’

  ‘Sure he would. Let’s go and ask him now,’ said Libby, picking up her parcel of stewing steak and bidding a cheerful farewell to Bob the butcher. ‘See you tonight, Bob.’

  ‘Which one’s he?’ asked Fran as they walked along the High Street towards The Pink Geranium, over which was Fran’s flat.

  ‘One of the funny men, stoopid.’

  ‘I know that,’ said Fran, ‘I meant, which one of the double act.’

  ‘Oh, sorry. Bob’s Smashitt and Baz is Grabbum.’

  ‘You could have kept their real names,’ laughed Fran.

  ‘Bob and Baz. Yes we could.’ They stopped outside The Pink Geranium. ‘In you go.’

  Harry was open every day for lunch in December, The Pink Geranium being one of the most highly thought of vegetarian restaurants in the area. Donna, his waitress, was already taking orders from a large and noisy party in the corner. Harry, luckily, was standing behind the till looking resigned before going into the kitchen to produce his masterpieces.

  ‘Hello, dear hearts,’ he said. ‘Come to cheer me up?’

  ‘No, to ask you a favour,’ said Libby, smiling winsomely. She hoped.

  ‘Ah.’ Harry looked nervous. ‘Will I like it?’

  ‘No.’ Fran took over. ‘I wondered if you’d do me a tea tomorrow li
ke you did for Libby in the summer.’

  ‘Oh?’ Now Harry looked interested. ‘Not another case, surely?’

  ‘Well –’ Fran looked at Libby, ‘– just someone who wants to talk to me.’

  ‘Oh, go on then. Carrot cake and banana bread again?’

  ‘Yes please,’ said Fran smiling happily. ‘Thanks, Harry.’

  ‘No probs. Let me know what time,’ said Harry. ‘Right, here we go.’ He nodded towards the party in the corner. ‘Izzy wizzy, let’s get busy.’ He disappeared into the kitchen.

  ‘He’s too young to know “Izzy wizzy let’s get busy”,’ said Libby.

  ‘Repeats,’ said Fran. ‘Anyway, Sooty came back when he was a child, didn’t he?’

  ‘Suppose so.’ Libby followed Fran outside. ‘I must go and see what they’re doing at the theatre. I’ll see you there tonight.’

  Peter was chewing the end of a pencil and staring blankly at the stage when Libby arrived that evening.

  ‘What’s up?’ she said, unwinding a scarf and throwing off the blue cape.

  ‘I’m trying to fill that space we’ve got now you’ve cut one of the songs,’ he said. ‘Might have to be a standard. A money gag, or something.’

  ‘Not the busy bee joke,’ said Libby. ‘I can’t stand it when they blow water all over each other.’

  ‘No, all right, I’ll use one of the others.’ He sat up and rubbed his hands together. ‘Have we got a full complement tonight?’

  ‘I think so, but you can never be sure,’ said Libby. ‘I must get myself a production assistant one of these days to check up on things.’

  The cast arrived in dribs and drabs and eventually the rehearsal got under way. Libby noted that Bob the butcher and his on-stage partner, Baz the undertaker, were shaping up to be a very good double act, and Tom, playing Dame Trot, was better than many of the professional Dames she’d seen. Mind you, she thought, he ought to be after all the years he’d been playing it in the society from which Libby had purloined several on and off stage members for the new company at The Oast House Theatre.