Murder at the Manor

by Lesley Cookman

  MURDER

  AT THE MANOR

  LESLEY COOKMAN

  First published by Accent Press Ltd – 2012

  This edition printed 2012

  ISBN 9781908917034

  Copyright © Lesley Cookman 2011

  The right of Lesley Cookman to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  The story contained within this book is a work of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the author's imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, electrostatic, magnetic tape, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the written permission of the publishers: Accent Press Ltd, The Old School, Upper High St, Bedlinog, Mid Glamorgan, CF46 6SA.

  Cover design by Sarah Ann Davies

  More titles in the Libby Sarjeant Series

  For my granddaughter, Kitty

  Acknowledgements

  Thanks to Graham and Kelly Waller for lending me Imogen, who should have been thanked in the last book, Murder to Music, and thanks to my friend Brendan, for allowing me to use his name. I must add that the character is in no way based on him!

  I have used a Writers’ Weekend in this book, but I have never been to any writers’ event like this, nor have I ever met any writers who behaved as badly. The Romantic Novelists’ Association, of which I am a proud member, gets a good press here, and I would urge any would-be writers who might be reading this to have a look at their website: www.romanticnovelists

  There is more police activity in this book, too, and I will apologise to members of the force everywhere for my cavalier treatment of their methods and procedures. This is not the way to run an investigation!

  WHO’S WHO IN THE LIBBY SARJEANT SERIES

  Libby Sarjeant

  Former actor, sometime artist, resident of 17, Allhallow’s Lane, Steeple Martin. Owner of Sidney the cat.

  Fran Wolfe

  Formerly Fran Castle. Also former actor, occasional psychic, resident of Coastguard Cottage, Nethergate. Owner of Balzac the cat.

  Ben Wilde

  Libby’s significant other. Owner of The Manor Farm and the Oast House Theatre.

  Guy Wolfe

  Fran’s husband, artist and owner of a shop and gallery in Harbour Street, Nethergate.

  Peter Parker

  Ben’s cousin. Free-lance journalist, part owner of The Pink Geranium restaurant and life partner of Harry Price.

  Harry Price

  Chef and co-owner of The Pink Geranium and Peter Parker’s life partner.

  Hetty Wilde

  Ben’s mother. Lives at The Manor.

  Greg Wilde

  Hetty’s husband and Ben’s father.

  DCI Ian Connell

  Local policeman and friend. Former suitor of Fran’s.

  Adam Sarjeant

  Libby’s youngest son. Lives above The Pink Geranium, works with garden designer Mog, mainly at Creekmarsh.

  Lewis Osbourne-Walker

  TV gardener and handy-man who owns Creekmarsh.

  Sophie Wolfe

  Guy’s daughter. Lives above the gallery.

  Flo Carpenter

  Hetty’s oldest friend.

  Lenny Fisher

  Hetty’s brother. Lives with Flo Carpenter.

  Ali and Ahmed

  Owners of the Eight-til-late in the village.

  Jane Baker

  Chief Reporter for the Nethergate Mercury. Mother to Imogen.

  Terry Baker

  Jane’s husband and father of Imogen.

  Joe, Nella and Owen

  Of Cattlegreen Nurseries.

  DCI Don Murray

  Of Canterbury Police.

  Amanda George

  Novelist, known as Rosie

  Chapter One

  ‘WHEN ARE THEY ARRIVING, then?’ Ben Wilde stared up at the newly refurbished exterior of his family home. The sun had briefly pierced the grey sky and reflected in the brightly polished windows.

  ‘Fran’s bringing Rosie at about two, and the rest are supposed to start coming in dribs and drabs between four and six,’ said Libby Sarjeant, referring to a large clipboard. ‘I hope it works all right.’

  Ben turned and gave her a hug. ‘Course it’ll work. It was your idea, remember?’

  ‘I know,’ said Libby, ‘but I can’t help feeling a bit uncomfortable. We seem to have done it so quickly. It’s not so long since your father died.’

  ‘If Mum had any objection, she’d have told you. She’s as happy as Larry in her little flat, and she just loves having people to boss about.’

  ‘I hope so.’ Libby sighed. Ben’s mother Hetty had accepted the death of her husband Greg with the stoicism she was famous for, but when Ben suggested gently that she should sell the Manor and retire to sheltered accommodation near her brother Lenny, she had refuted the idea with some vigour. No, she was going to stay at the Manor in what had once been the housekeeper’s quarters, and Ben and his sister Susan could do what they liked with the rest.

  Which was where Libby, Ben’s significant other, had come in. Her idea, mooted some time ago, of turning The Manor into a venue for creative writing and painting holidays was put into action. Their friend Guy Wolfe was an artist, married to Fran, who was taking creative writing classes with a best-selling novelist, Amanda George, known to them all as Rosie. They already had the contacts to make the venture work, and the first outing, a painting weekend run by Guy and Libby between them, had been a success.

  Hetty had insisted on overseeing the cleaning and cooking and had recruited part-time help herself.

  ‘She’s thoroughly enjoying it,’ said Ben, giving Libby a hug. ‘Now tell me exactly what this weekend is all about. A reunion?’

  ‘Apparently,’ said Libby, letting him lead her indoors, ‘this group met on a writing holiday in Devon and this is a reunion weekend. They’ve all kept in touch with each other by email, so there shouldn’t be any awkward moments.’

  ‘But Rosie’s going to be teaching them? It isn’t just a knees-up?’

  ‘No. The organiser, –’ Libby referred to her clipboard again ‘– Lily Cooper, wanted a proper tutor. Only for a couple of sessions. So Fran asked Rosie.’

  ‘So they all eat together this evening, then what?’

  ‘You haven’t been listening to me for the last couple of weeks, have you?’ They were in the huge kitchen now, and Libby put the clipboard down on the table and went to put the kettle on the Aga.

  ‘Yes, I have.’ Ben looked vaguely guilty. ‘But I’ve been busy, too.’

  ‘I know.’ Libby turned with a smile. ‘And a brilliant job you’ve done, too. The Hoppers’ Huts are terrific.’

  ‘Well, between them and Steeple Farm we’ve got plenty of letting properties now, and there’s plenty of space for people on courses if they spill out of the main house.’

  ‘Which they have done this weekend.’ Libby checked her clipboard again. ‘We’ve only got a couple in the Huts, both men. Oh, no – one woman. She was a late booker.’

  ‘So, go on, then, what happens after dinner this evening?’

  ‘This Lily Cooper introduces Rosie and then they all go off and do what they want. They can all go down to the pub if they want to, or sit in the sitting room and talk books.’

  ‘Haven’t they got drinks here?’ Ben frowned.

  ‘We’re not licensed, are we? They get wine with their dinner and before it, that’s included in their weekend price, but we couldn’t afford to include any more, not for what they’re paying us.’

/>   ‘Then we need to do something about that,’ said Ben.

  ‘They can always bring their own. That’s cheaper for them.’ Libby poured tea into two mugs from the large brown teapot.

  ‘Hmm.’ Ben didn’t look convinced. ‘Shall I take a cup to Mum?’

  ‘No.’ Libby shook her head. ‘She hates it. Thinks we’re waiting on her. Anyway, she’s not here, she popped down to see Flo and Lenny. Said she’d be back in time to start the dinner.’

  ‘But we’ve got people coming in to do that,’ said Ben.

  ‘You know your mother.’ Libby grinned at him. ‘And tomorrow night you do remember Harry’s bringing his food?’

  ‘They’re all going to be eating veggie Mexican, are they?’

  ‘No, he’s breaking all his own rules and cooking meat and chicken as well. Pollo Verde, my favourite.’

  ‘I hope they all like spicy food, then,’ said Ben. ‘I can hear a car.’

  Outside, Fran was helping Rosie George out of her little Smart car.

  ‘Hello, both.’ Libby went forward to take Rosie’s overnight case from Fran. ‘Good to see you.’

  ‘This is lovely,’ said Rosie looking round, her grey-blonde hair flying, as usual, in uncontrollable wisps around her head. ‘You’re so lucky, Libby.’

  ‘Oh, we don’t live here,’ said Ben, coming out to give Fran a kiss and shake Rosie’s hand. ‘My mother still does.’

  ‘I was sorry to hear about your father,’ said Rosie.

  ‘Thank you,’ said Ben. ‘He’d been ill for years, but somehow we didn’t expect it.’

  ‘No.’ Rosie shook her head. ‘One never does.’

  Libby led the way inside and across the hall to the wide staircase. ‘You’re sure you want to stay overnight, Rosie?’ she said. ‘You can go home if you like.’

  ‘No, I’ve arranged for Talbot to be fed, and I want to immerse myself in the weekend.’ Rosie beamed. ‘It’s quite exciting. Different from my adult ed classes. And Fran’s staying, too.’

  ‘I know.’ Libby sighed again. ‘I said she and Guy could come and stay with us, but she refused.’

  ‘Getting my money’s worth,’ said Fran with a grin. ‘The only writers I know are the ones in Rosie’s class. I need to network a bit more.’

  ‘Don’t forget that most of these people know each other already,’ said Libby. ‘They may be cliquey.’

  ‘If they see I’m best friends with their tutor I’ll be welcome, I’m sure,’ said Fran, with a smile at Rosie. ‘After all, Rosie’s quite a famous name.’

  ‘We’ve got another quite famous name, too,’ said Libby, consulting her clipboard again. ‘Patrick Joseph.’

  ‘Oh, I’ve heard of him,’ said Ben, looking interested. ‘Is he really coming?’

  ‘Doesn’t he write crime?’ asked Fran.

  ‘Yes, rather gritty urban stuff,’ said Rosie. ‘I’ve met him several times. Seems a nice enough man.’

  ‘Well, there you are. He won’t try and take over, will he?’ said Libby.

  ‘No, I shouldn’t think so. I might ask him to field a few questions, just to be friendly,’ said Rosie.

  ‘Speaking of which,’ said Libby, going into the kitchen to shift the kettle back on to the hob, ‘I’m not being very friendly. You must be parched.’

  ‘Could I go to my room first?’ asked Rosie. ‘Then I’ll come and join you.’

  ‘Come on, then,’ said Ben, picking up her case. ‘I’ll show you.’

  ‘How’s it going?’ asked Fran, following her friend into the kitchen and sitting at the huge, scrubbed pine table. ‘Did you get the leaky shower pod fixed?’

  Libby pulled a face. ‘Just in time. After all that money they cost.’

  The all-in-one bathroom pods, similar to those found in student accommodation, had been installed in all the bedrooms, Libby having stated unequivocally that en-suite facilities would be a necessity for the kind of operation they were trying to run.

  ‘I know.’ Fran was sympathetic. ‘Especially after Ben had to buy Susan out.’

  ‘That was awful.’ Libby brought the tea to the table. ‘She always said she couldn’t care less what happened to the Manor, and she didn’t want anything to do with it, until we told her what we were going to do.’

  ‘You told me. Although I still don’t know why he had to buy Susan out. Technically, it isn’t even his yet.’

  ‘I think it’s his active conscience. It also makes sense, in that when Het dies, she can leave it to him alone.’

  ‘As long as they’ve got that in writing,’ said Fran.

  ‘Well, of course. It was all done legal-like, but as you say, it was an expense he could have done without.’

  ‘Pity you’re not rich.’ Fran grinned across the table.

  ‘No, but I’m a fully paid-up director of the company, so I’m a real person. And a grown-up.’

  ‘Nearly,’ said Fran, and ducked the tea cosy aimed at her head.

  ‘Nice room,’ said Rosie coming into the kitchen. ‘Ben said to tell you he’d gone to the office.’

  ‘Glad you like it,’ said Libby. ‘Tea?’

  By half-past five, the rest of the group had assembled. Most were in their rooms, although some, including Patrick Joseph and Rosie, were in the sitting room renewing old friendships. With Patrick, sullen and rather bored, was the organiser of the weekend, Lily Cooper. A tall woman with highlighted dark hair and a striking figure, she was obviously unused to being ignored. On her way to the kitchen to see how the dinner was getting on, Libby paused in the doorway. Pasting on a professional smile, she went over to the little group.

  ‘Everything all right?’ she asked, addressing Lily.

  ‘Fine, thanks,’ she said, her tone implying that it obviously wasn’t.

  Patrick Joseph and Rosie both looked up.

  ‘Yes, thanks, marvellous,’ said Patrick, in a smooth, chocolatey voice.

  ‘Have you met properly?’ asked Rosie. ‘Patrick, this is my friend Libby, who runs the Manor. Libby this is Patrick and – um –’

  ‘Lily Cooper,’ said the woman in an icy voice.

  ‘Yes, actually, Rosie, I introduced myself when they booked in,’ said Libby hastily. ‘Well, if there’s nothing I can get you, I’ll see you for drinks before dinner.’

  ‘If looks could have killed,’ she said to Ben a few minutes later, when they went to change in the privacy of the estate office. ‘She couldn’t bear it that this Patrick was enjoying talking to Rosie.’

  ‘Rosie wasn’t up to her old tricks, was she?’ Ben’s head popped through the neck of his collarless shirt.

  ‘She wasn’t flirting as far as I could see. Anyway he’d be too young for her. He can’t be more than fifty.’

  ‘Would that be a barrier?’

  ‘Maybe for him, if not for her.’ Libby grinned as she wrapped a long lilac scarf round her neck. ‘Anyway, she doesn’t flirt any more. Not now she’s more-or-less settled into a semi-detached relationship with Andrew.’

  ‘Like we used to be.’ Ben opened the door. ‘Come on, attached one. Let’s go and make the party swing.’

  Rosie, Patrick and Lily were nowhere to be seen when Libby re-entered the sitting room, but several of the other guests were drifting aimlessly around. She smiled round brightly.

  ‘Please help yourself to a drink,’ she said waving a hand in the direction of a chiffonier laden with drinks, glass and an ice bucket. Slices of lime and lemon were in a lidded glass dish. Immediately the guests converged and there was some fairly well-mannered jostling for position.

  ‘Everybody, here, gal?’ Hetty appeared in the doorway.

  ‘I think one person was missing.’ Libby went over to her. ‘I left the clipboard in the kitchen.’

  They went back to the kitchen together.

  ‘Oh, no – look. All the names are ticked.’ Libby frowned. ‘Did you check anyone in, Het?’

  ‘No, gal. Wouldn’t have asked you if I had, would I?’

  ‘Suppose not.’ Libby put
down the clipboard. ‘Oh, well. I’ll wait until the last three put in an appearance in the sitting room, then we can serve dinner.’

  When she got back, Patrick had reappeared and was being lionised by several of the other guests. Rosie and Lily arrived a few moments later, and Libby clapped her hands.

  ‘Dinner’s served, everyone. If you’d like to follow Ben over there into the dining room, I’ll join you in a moment.’

  Fran paused by her friend as she watched the guests shuffle obligingly out of the room.

  ‘So far so good,’ she murmured.

  ‘Keep your fingers crossed,’ said Libby. ‘Although I honestly don’t see what could go wrong unless one of them gets food poisoning.’

  ‘Don’t tempt fate,’ said Fran. ‘With our record, that could be fatal.’

  Libby gave her A Look.

  Chapter Two

  LILY COOPER DEVIATED SLIGHTLY from the programme she’d sent to Libby by welcoming the guests and introducing Rosie before dinner rather than after.

  ‘Not that it matters,’ said Libby to Ben as they went back to the kitchen to eat their own dinner with Hetty and the casual cooking and waiting staff. ‘And, by the way, did you tick off the last guest? I was sure there was one to come, but when I looked they’d all been ticked off.’

  ‘Not me.’ Ben shook his head. ‘After I’d seen Rosie to her room I went straight to the office.’

  ‘I wonder who it was, then?’ Libby frowned. ‘Unless someone arrived, found the clipboard and no one with it and checked himself, or herself, in.’

  ‘How would he have got his key or known where to go?’

  Libby sighed. ‘Oh, I don’t know. Anyway, they all seem fine in there at the moment, and I’m sure if there’s someone missing or something wrong, that Lily will be only too keen to tell us. She’s the least happy of the lot.’

  ‘She’s jealous.’ Ben smiled his thanks at his mother as she put a plate of food in front of him.

  ‘Of what? Who?’

  ‘Anyone, I would think.’ Ben laughed at her puzzled face. ‘Oh, come on, Lib. I would think they’re having an affair – or at least she thinks they are, probably after a one-night stand at their last gathering. She’d be jealous of anyone he took an interest in, knowing her own precarious position.’