Murder at the Manor

by Lesley Cookman

  ‘Oh!’ She came to a sudden halt in the doorway. ‘Nina! Whatever are you doing here? Rosie was trying to get hold of you.’

  Nina, still fragile-looking in pink cotton, got nervously to her feet. ‘I know. I’m sorry to turn up like this, but when I phoned home and my flat mate told me that Amanda George had called me and hadn’t left a number, this was the only place I could think of where I might find out how to get in touch with her.’

  ‘Oh, that’s all right, then.’ Libby smiled in relief and came forward to give the girl a hug. ‘We were worried about you.’ She turned to Ben and threw her arms round him, too. ‘Hello, you. I’ve had a bad day. Hello, Het. Sorry to burst in.’

  Ben pushed her into a chair at the table as Nina resumed hers.

  ‘Got the kettle on, gal.’ Hetty gave her a pat on the shoulder.

  ‘Worried about me?’ said Nina.

  ‘Bad day?’ asked Ben.

  ‘To answer you both,’ Libby smiled at them, ‘yes, a bad day. And you know we couldn’t get hold of Dee, Ben? Well, when we couldn’t get hold of Nina either, we feared the worst. Well, I did.’

  ‘Why?’ said Ben and Nina together.

  ‘Because when Dee was found, she was dead.’

  Hetty turned round from the Aga, Ben’s mouth fell open and Nina shrank back in her chair. ‘Dead?’ she whispered.

  ‘I’m sorry, Nina, yes.’

  Nina swallowed. ‘Why was Amanda George trying to get hold of me?’

  Libby frowned at the change of subject. ‘Actually on behalf of the police.’ She slid the two queries together. It didn’t seem to matter which came first, now. ‘They wanted to know how much you knew about the plagiarism story and where you were on Tuesday night.’

  Nina looked disappointed. ‘Oh. I thought she might have wanted to talk to me about my writing.’

  Libby and Ben exchanged puzzled looks.

  ‘So did you know about the plagiarism?’ said Libby. ‘We only just found out about it.’

  ‘We all did,’ said Nina. ‘It was awful. So unfair.’

  ‘Well, Dee obviously found out about something else, because if you all knew it couldn’t have been a motive for murder. You were going to tackle Patrick together, weren’t you?’

  ‘Oh, yes. It’s a pity we didn’t.’ Nina frowned.

  This really doesn’t add up, Libby thought, and decided to take a chance.

  ‘Although, of course, as Melanie wrote the books anyway, it probably wouldn’t have achieved much,’ she said.

  ‘Yes, once we knew Melanie had been writing the books it changed everything.’

  There was a short, charged silence.

  ‘Who knew that?’ asked Libby, in as normal a tone as possible.

  Nina shrugged. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘But you said “we” knew. Who’s we?’

  Nina went pink, but didn’t say anything.

  ‘So how did you find out?’ asked Libby, waggling fingers at Ben out of sight of Nina.

  ‘Melanie told me.’ Nina looked surprised.

  ‘You said you didn’t know Melanie. You also said you didn’t know Patrick. Yet we now know that a synopsis and ten pages of one of your books had been used by him – or Melanie – at least two years ago.’

  ‘I didn’t know Melanie then.’ Nina was still looking surprised. ‘Why would you think that?’

  ‘You knew her well enough for her to tell you she’d been writing the books.’

  Nina was beginning to look wary. Ben had silently slid from the room. Libby glanced quickly up at Hetty, who gave her the slightest of nods and placed one hand carefully on the handle of a large frying pan that stood on the Aga.

  ‘So,’ said Libby brightly. ‘You hoped Amanda George would talk to you about your book.’

  Nina’s face transformed. ‘Yes! You remember how much she liked my writing and said she was sorry I lived so far away? I thought perhaps she wanted to see some more, and perhaps mentor me. After all, if my story was good enough for Melanie to use in one of Patrick’s books – Dark Service, it was – then I must be good enough.’

  ‘You have to remember, though, that it was really only the idea Melanie used, not the whole thing.’

  ‘She used nearly all of my first chapter.’

  ‘She did that with the others, too, didn’t she?’

  ‘But I was the only one who decided that Patrick needed a lesson. No one else was going to do anything except this silly idea of confronting him at the weekend here. So I called Melanie –’

  ‘How did you get her number?’ interrupted Libby.

  ‘I found it in Jennifer’s mobile address book.’

  ‘And how did you know to look there, and when did you do that?’

  ‘Last year on the holiday.’ She shrugged. ‘Jennifer wasn’t that clever and I overheard her and Patrick talking. So I looked.’

  ‘You certainly put on a good performance here the other week,’ said Libby, straining her ears for the sound of a car, or preferably, cars.

  ‘Yes, it was good, wasn’t it?’

  ‘So, you called Melanie.’ Libby wanted to keep her talking.

  ‘Yes, to tell her about Lily and Dee after the holiday. I thought that was a good excuse. But she just laughed. She said she always knew about his little peccadilloes, as she called them. So then, a month ago, I called her again and said they were planning to meet up here again. It was her idea to come here.’

  Libby noticed Hetty’s hand closing round the handle of the frying pan and hoped she wouldn’t have to use it.

  ‘How was she going to arrive without Patrick knowing? That was the point, I take it?’

  ‘That was her suggestion. She thought it was clever. She came to me. I was to drive her down. And then when she came, she told me all about it. The books. Everything.’ Nina’s eyes strayed to the window and Libby’s heart, already banging about and making her quite uncomfortable, sped up so much she was breathless.

  ‘So that’s it.’ Nina stood up. ‘Well, I’ll go now, if that was all Mrs George wanted there’s no point in me staying is there?’

  Hetty was looking incredulous and still clutching the frying pan. Libby hastily took Nina’s arm.

  ‘Come on,’ she said, praying that Ben, at least, was outside the door. ‘I’ll see you out. That was your car outside was it?’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ Nina said happily. ‘It’s been all over the place in the last few days.’

  ‘I’ll bet,’ said Libby. ‘Rising Parva on Tuesday, wasn’t it?’

  Nina turned to look at Libby, her face suddenly a mask of horror, as Ben led DC Sharif into the kitchen.

  Several hours later, the usual suspects, as Harry insisted on calling them, gathered in the back yard of The Pink Geranium.

  ‘So how come you had that Sharif bloke there?’ asked Harry.

  ‘He was already there,’ said Ben. ‘Ian had sent him over.’

  ‘His was the other car in the drive,’ said Libby, ‘but I didn’t recognise it.’

  ‘And why had Ian sent him over?’ asked Peter.

  ‘He checked up on Nina – he’d already done it before he spoke to me – and found that she’d called Dee on Tuesday. Mobile records. I don’t know why he didn’t just check all of them.’

  ‘I expect he did,’ said Ben.

  ‘I’m still confused,’ said Guy. ‘What was Nina’s story from the beginning?’

  ‘She was the most upset about Patrick’s – as she thought – use of her idea. They all were, and last year’s holiday was an attempt to get him to admit it, and to present him with another idea, which they would carefully document and use against him if it did appear in print. She knew nothing about Melanie writing the books, and neither did she know about Jennifer’s book being stolen.’ Libby paused for a mouthful of wine. ‘But she managed to get the Josephs’ home number and call Melanie to tell her about Patrick sleeping with Dee and Lily.’

  ‘Yes, I’ve got that,’ said Guy, ‘but what happened this year? And why did she k
ill Dee?’

  ‘Melanie apparently thought it would be a good joke to appear at the weekend and not only confound Patrick but his ladies, too. And Nina, who is quite obviously a bit mad, wanted some kind of revenge. So when Melanie arrived at her flat and told her the truth about the books, she flipped,’ said Ben.

  ‘Well, she didn’t actually, she planned it, carefully, she thought,’ corrected Libby. ‘She thought if she killed Melanie, Patrick wouldn’t be able to produce any more books, so he’d be doubly paid back, losing his wife and his reputation in one go. So she administered the ketamine –’

  ‘How did she get hold of that?’ asked Fran.

  ‘Don’t you remember?’ said Libby. ‘She told us she worked for a vet.’

  ‘Eh?’ said Harry.

  ‘Ketamine is used in veterinary medicine,’ said Ben. ‘Especially equine medicine. I suppose if I’d known about her job …’

  ‘You would have known she was a killer?’ said Fran. ‘I doubt it. Let’s face it, she was the most unlikely-looking murderer.’

  ‘Anyway, Lib, carry on. Nina gave Melanie the ketamine. And?’ Peter topped up glasses all round.

  ‘Got her and her bag into the boot of her car, which is actually a large van, on account of transporting animal cages. She actually talked about the van, saying she often used it. Of course, the car was tested for forensics, not the van. Anyway, she calmly drove her down here, and in the middle of the night set up the scene as we found it next morning. Even the knife was a surgical knife, and veterinary nurses have access to surgical suits and gloves, and she had those with her. Despite being completely barmy, she planned it very cleverly.’

  ‘What about the check-in?’ asked Fran.

  ‘She didn’t say, but I expect she kept an eye on who was arriving and nipped out to pinch the key and tick the name when no one was looking.’

  ‘What about the stab wound?’ asked Peter.

  ‘We don’t know that either, but as it was done post-mortem it could have been done here or before they left Reading.’

  ‘And Dee? Why was she killed, and why at Rising Parva?’ asked Fran.

  ‘Dee had called Nina to find out if the police had seen her yet, and somehow, we don’t quite know how, Nina must have let something slip about Melanie writing the books. And Dee was furious. Told Nina she was going down there now to confront Patrick.’

  ‘And presumably emailed you at the same time,’ said Fran. ‘And she knew from your reply Ian was in Dorset. I suppose she thought she would tell all to the police as well as confronting Patrick.’

  ‘That’s what it looks like,’ said Libby. ‘Anyway, Nina shot down to Rising Parva, nearer to her than it is to Dee’s London home, and called Dee to say they could confront Patrick together and to meet at Bonny Henge, as Dee knew where that was.’

  ‘But why kill her?’ asked Guy.

  ‘I’ve told you, Nina let something slip, we think. Anyway, Nina thought Dee would say something about her knowing that Melanie had been writing the books, and as far as Nina knew at that time nobody else knew. So it was safer to kill Dee.’ Libby shook her head. ‘Not sure she was thinking very clearly by then.’

  ‘So why on earth did she admit to you that she knew about Melanie?’ asked Peter.

  ‘Ah, there I was a bit sneaky,’ said Libby, ‘I dropped it in the conversation as though I knew she knew. And when she didn’t act surprised, but confirmed what I said, it all fell into place.’

  ‘You were already suspicious of her, then?’

  ‘A bit, yes. Her story about the row between Patrick and Lily didn’t ring true somehow.’

  ‘So why did she make up that story?’ Harry asked.

  ‘She must have hoped to point the finger at Patrick, or Lily, I suppose. After all, she went to all the trouble to bring the body here and set up the hut, when she could have dumped it deep in a wood somewhere, so she must have thought the police would suspect someone here, presumably Patrick, and the row story was to give them a nudge.’

  ‘Did she tell you all this today?’ said Fran.

  ‘After DC Sharif appeared, all she wanted to do was talk. And she wanted me to stay, so I did. So did Ben and Hetty. Until Sharif’s back-up arrived.’

  ‘Poor Hetty,’ said Fran.

  Ben and Libby laughed. ‘Poor Hetty!’ said Libby. ‘She was standing there with an iron frying pan ready to bop Nina on the head.’

  ‘So all’s well that ends well,’ said Harry. ‘Shall we have another bottle?’

  ‘It hasn’t ended well for some of them,’ said Libby. ‘Patrick has completely lost all his credibility, and I’m not sure that his publishers won’t have some sort of case against him. I suppose the other writers will be careful who they send material to in the future and may have lost faith in the whole business. It doesn’t look as if Jennifer is likely to step into Melanie’s shoes, either. I expect Patrick will quietly disappear.’

  ‘Lily Cooper might take him on,’ said Fran. ‘She was never as committed to writing as the others.’

  ‘What about you, Fran?’ asked Ben. ‘Will you carry on?’

  ‘Of course.’ Fran smiled round at them all. ‘Rosie’s been so helpful, and I understand the business much better now. I might even write this whole case as a story.’

  ‘Blimey!’ said Harry. ‘Watch it, kids. We might all end up in a book.’

  ‘In that case,’ said Peter, ‘we definitely need another bottle.’

  First Chapter of Murder by Magic

  The voices receded and the heavy iron-studded door swung shut. Silence fell, and the weak sun sent pastel-coloured lozenges of colour on to the stone floor before the altar. A few dead leaves rustled in the breeze from under the door, which also lifted the sparse grey hair of the woman in the brown coat, whose now sightless eyes stared at the prayer book still clutched in her claw-like hands. Someone looked out of the vestry, paused and silently withdrew. All was well.

  ‘I wish you’d come and look in to it,’ said the querulous voice on the other end of the phone. ‘I’m sure you could help poor Patti.’

  ‘Poor Patti?’ repeated Libby Sarjeant. ‘Who’s that?’

  ‘I’ve just told you! The vicar!’

  Libby sighed. ‘Look, Alice, I’m not a private detective, you know.’

  ‘But you’ve been involved in all those murders. And the police are stumped. Or else they really don’t think there’s anything fishy about it.’

  ‘They could be right,’ said Libby. ‘After all, didn’t you say this was an old lady? Couldn’t she have had a heart attack or something?’

  ‘Oh, they looked into all that.’ The voice that was Alice sounded impatient. ‘There was a whadyercallit – a post – post …’

  ‘Autopsy. Post mortem. Yes, there would be in a case of sudden death.’

  ‘There, you see,’ said Alice in triumph. ‘You know all about it. Why won’t you come?’

  ‘Because I’m not a detective, I’ve already said. And I don’t know any of the people, so I can’t go round asking questions.’

  ‘Oh, but I told Patti you would!’ wailed Alice. ‘What can I say now?’

  Libby sighed again. ‘Exactly what I’ve just told you.’

  ‘What about your friend? The psychic one. Would she come?’

  ‘Even less likely,’ said Libby. ‘Alice, I’m sorry, but the less I have to do with mysteries and possible murder the better I like it. And the police hate interference.’

  ‘I don’t see how they could hate interference in this, they’ve written it off.’ Alice was now indignant. ‘If I can’t change your mind, I’ll let you go, you’re obviously busy.’

  ‘Er – yes. Thank you.’ Libby cleared her throat. ‘How’s Bob, by the way?’

  ‘Fine. Getting under my feet as usual.’

  ‘Ah. Right. Nice to hear from you Alice,’ Libby lied, and switched off the phone feeling guilty.

  ‘I can’t just go butting into things which are none of my concern,’ she complained when her signific
ant other arrived home in time for a drink before dinner. He cocked an ironic eye at her. ‘You know what I mean,’ she said, grinning.

  ‘Yes,’ said Ben, ‘I do. I also know that given the slightest excuse you’ll be off after the scent.’

  Libby shook her head firmly. ‘Not this time.’

  ‘Where does this Alice live?’ asked Fran Wolfe the next day when she and Libby met for lunch at The Sloop Inn, yards from Fran’s cottage overlooking the sea at Nethergate.

  ‘Not that far from you, round the coast a bit. One of those funny little villages on a cliff top. Rather isolated.’ Libby perused the menu. ‘Did I like the sausages here?’

  ‘How do I know?’ Fran looked up in surprise. ‘Don’t change the subject. What’s the name of the village?’

  ‘St Aldeberge.’ Libby looked a little guilty. ‘I looked it up.’

  ‘You surprise me. Why, in particular?’

  ‘It’s a funny name. Apparently it’s the alternative – and presumably the original – name of Queen Bertha.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘She was married to – er – Ethelbert, I think. There’s a church in Canterbury that’s all about her. Near the prison.’

  ‘Right. So why else did you look it up?’

  ‘Just to see if there was anything about the murder on the net.’

  ‘But you said it probably wasn’t a murder.’ Fran was looking suspicious.

  ‘It didn’t hurt to have a look. And there was something. But although the police called it “unexplained” it doesn’t seem to have been followed up.’

  ‘And why does this Alice want you to look into it? Who is she, by the way?’

  ‘A friend from years ago when I was still living the other side of Canterbury. She moved away too, to St Aldeberge, I suppose. But we’ve been in the local papers, haven’t we? She tracked me down. Because there’s a whole lot of suspicion and gossip been stirred up, mostly against the vicar, I think.’

  ‘Poor man.’ Fran grinned. ‘Always a target.’

  ‘No, this one’s a lady vicaress. Patti. Or Poor Patti, as Alice referred to her.’

  The waitress arrived to take their order. When she left, Fran looked thoughtful.