Murder at the Laurels (12 page)

‘About what?' Libby pushed a mug across to him and sat at the table.

‘How do I know? That's what she said: “I could tell them a thing or two.” Then her friend said “I bet you could,” in a gossiping sort of way, you know?'

Libby nodded. ‘I wonder what she meant? Do you think she meant about the murder, or about something going on at The Laurels?'

‘Could be nothing,' said Ben, blowing on his tea. ‘Could be something like the owner not letting them have time off, or not being nice to the inmates. Something really simple.'

‘Or it could be something she saw around the time of the murder. She and Nurse Warner were both in the room just before Barbara Denver arrived.'

‘Surely she'd have told the police, then?'

Libby was getting excited again. ‘No, because perhaps she decided to blackmail whoever it was she saw!'

Ben reached over and patted her hand. ‘Don't get carried away, Lib. You don't want to be Miss Marple, remember?'

‘Sorry.' Libby grinned at him. ‘But listen, you haven't heard the latest from Fran. All sorts of excitement.'

She told him the recent developments about the will, and that Fran was certain there was a later version.

‘So I wondered if either of the nurses witnessed a new version. I want to find out, but Fran, Pete and Harry told me not to,' she concluded.

‘But you're going to anyway,' said Ben.

‘I don't see how, but yes.'

‘It really isn't any of your business, you know, Lib. But everyone will have told you that already.' He sighed. ‘At least you were more-or-less legitimately involved in the last business. This time you aren't.'

‘But you still tried to stop me last time.'

He looked uncomfortable. ‘Lib, we've been over this. Don't rake it up again.'

‘No, all right. Sorry.' She looked down at the table. ‘I know I shouldn't be prying, but it's so intriguing. Especially as Fran sort of knew about it right from the start.'

‘And she's certain about the will?'

Libby nodded. ‘Absolutely. And from what I've seen of her magic moments, I'm sure she's right. What do you think? I mean, when she's done some investigating for you, has she always been right?'

‘Well, she hasn't always found anything, if that's what you mean, which isn't to say there isn't something to find, just that she hasn't picked up on it. But when she's found something and we've checked into it, she's always been right. Goodall and Smythe would never have employed her otherwise.'

‘What kind of things did she find?' asked Libby. ‘She's never told me.'

‘Well, we told you about the thing that started it all off, didn't we? When she was showing someone round a house and started telling them about a murder that had happened?'

‘Yes, that was when she worked for an ordinary estate agent, and they lost the sale and sacked her.'

‘That's right, and when the clients went to Goodall and Smythe and told them all about her, she was offered the job. After that, she found out about hidden water courses, lost children, deaths, that sort of thing. She picked up on a couple of murders, too.'

‘Did the police get involved?' Libby was wide-eyed now.

‘No, because they were murders that had been solved years ago. Quite naturally, when the houses came to be sold, no one was told about them. People don't want to live in houses where people have been murdered.'

‘So, said Libby, sitting back in her chair, ‘you'd believe her if she had a feeling about something.'

‘I'd certainly be willing to listen,' said Ben.

‘So what do you think I should do?'

‘About Fran? Or about investigating?'

‘Both.'

‘If Fran doesn't want you to, I don't think you should. Remember last time.'

‘That's what Pete said last night. But I don't think it's that Fran doesn't want me to, it's just that she's more nervous than me.'

‘Most people are,' said Ben. ‘You just … well …'

‘Blunder in like a bull in a china shop,' Libby finished for him. ‘Pete said that last night, too. Ah, well. I'll have to think about it.'

‘While you're thinking, what are you doing tonight?' Ben caught her hand again and her stomach turned over.

‘Er – nothing.'

‘Come for a drink? We can always ask the others if they want to join us.'

‘Yes,' said Libby, mentally consigning “the others” to the farthest reaches of the county.

‘Yes what? You'll come for a drink, or we can ask the others?'

‘Well, either. Or both.' Libby felt the familiar colour creeping into her cheeks.

Ben stood up, went round the table and pulled her to her feet.

‘We can always leave and come back here,' he said, putting his arms round her.

‘Er – yes.' Libby cleared her throat. ‘But then they'll … sort of …'

‘Know we want to be together? So what's wrong with that? They knew before.'

And I was embarrassed before, Libby wanted to say.

‘What is it that keeps worrying you?' Ben pressed cool lips to her forehead.

‘Nothing,' muttered Libby into his chest.

He pulled back and smiled down at her. ‘All right. I won't push. Not now, anyway.' He let her go. ‘So, are we on for tonight?'

Libby nodded.

‘I'll pick you up about eight, then, OK?' He leaned forward and kissed her again. ‘See you then.'

Chapter Sixteen

D
ESPITE
L
IBBY'S BEST EFFORTS
, when Fran, Peter and Harry joined her and Ben in the pub later that evening, the subject of “Libby's investigation” came up yet again. Fran seemed more amused by it than anything else, and in the end, Ben gave up and insisted on calling her Miss Marple all evening. When he walked her home, he slung a casual arm round her shoulder, and called attention to it by calling good night to everyone they passed.

‘So now,' he said, as they settled down in the living room, ‘tell me what's worrying you about me.'

‘It's very silly,' said Libby, not looking at him.

‘Is it to do with me or what happened before?'

‘No, it's me.' Libby took a deep breath. ‘I've been alone a long time, and out of the dating game for donkey's years. I hate the thought of people talking about me behind my back and saying …' she stopped.

‘Saying what? Isn't it nice for Libby and Ben that they've got together?'

‘But is that what they'll say? Won't they think I'm being a sad old woman and you could do much better for yourself?'

‘Is that really what you think?' Ben said.

‘Well, sort of.'

There was a pause, while Libby stared into the empty grate and wished she'd never said anything.

‘I think,' said Ben carefully, ‘you're afraid I'll do a runner like your ex. And you think you'll be left looking foolish.'

Libby looked up. ‘Yes.'

‘Well, I can't say we're going to be together for ever, can I? It's far too soon to say anything like that.'

‘I know, but we've already had one – er – upset.'

‘Because of the exceptional circumstances. I don't suppose anyone thought you were foolish then.'

‘I did.' Libby looked back at the fireplace.

‘Oh, come here,' said Ben, standing up and pulling her into his arms. ‘I don't think you're foolish, and I
don't
think I could do any better for myself.'

‘Thanks.'

‘In fact, I think it's completely the other way round. What about Guy Wolfe? He fancied you rotten.'

‘Guy? No, he didn't. Anyway, I think he's taken a fancy to Fran, now.'

‘Has he, now? Good job, too. When did he meet her?'

‘In The Swan when I went to pick her up last week. Gosh, what a long time ago it seems.'

‘Well, a lot's happened.' He nuzzled her neck and she shivered. ‘So what happens next?'

‘Next?' asked Libby in a strangled voice.

‘Now,' he whispered.

Fran had spent two very comfortable nights in the flat over The Pink Geranium. On Sunday she pottered around unpacking and refused Harry's offer of Sunday lunch downstairs.

‘I'll start relying on you too much, and then I'll stop cooking entirely,' she said. ‘Besides, I still have a hankering for an old-fashioned English roast.'

She had her roast, a lamb chop from the eight-til-late and slightly underdone roast potatoes, and, much to her surprise, dozed in the chair by the window in the afternoon. In the evening, after Ben phoned, she joined the others in the pub, and felt pleasingly like a part of the community.

‘I don't ever want to go back to London,' was her last thought before she fell asleep.

Monday morning she phoned Charles.

‘I thought you were going to tell me what the police said yesterday,' she said when he answered.

‘Not much. They didn't take the will away, but read the contents and took the name of the solicitors. I've just rung them, and someone's going to ring me back.'

‘Charles, since I saw you on Saturday I've had a thought.' Fran sat in her window chair and looked down on the high street. ‘I think there's a later will.'

‘What are you talking about?' Charles sounded impatient. ‘Why would there be?'

‘Perhaps that's why Barbara and Paul were so keen to find it. And remember Marion Headlam thinks she's been left something? Well, there couldn't possibly be anything in the old will, could there? Auntie was still living at Mountville Road when she made that. Where were you, then?'

‘I was still married and living in Surrey.'

‘So it's an old will. See what I mean?'

‘Yes,' said Charles slowly. ‘And possibly in the new one I'm not executor.'

‘Well, I wouldn't worry too much about that. But I think you ought to tell the police.'

‘Tell them what, exactly? That my cousin
thinks
there might be a new will? On no evidence other than a feeling?'

Fran thought for a moment. ‘If you ask for DCI Murray and tell him exactly that, and that it's me who had the feeling, you may find he'll listen.'

‘Oh? Knows about you, does he?'

‘Yes. I told you, he came to interview me on Friday morning.'

‘Well, I'll try,' said Charles, not sounding too hopeful, ‘but I don't know what they can do.'

‘They can insist on having a look at the stuff Barbara and Paul removed from The Laurels. Or have they sent it up to you already?'

‘You must be joking. I phoned Barbara yesterday to tell her about the will and asked if they'd made any arrangements yet and she said Paul was going to do it today.'

‘Was she relieved about the will?'

‘Very. Said she wanted to talk to me about the house.'

‘Oh, yes?' Fran's mind went into overdrive. ‘They want to buy you out, I suppose?'

Charles was surprised. ‘Yes, I think that's what she wants. Not sure I can be bothered to argue.'

‘Don't do anything yet,' said Fran. ‘Not that you can anyway, until probate's sorted out.'

‘I know. Are you coming up to London again soon?'

‘I don't think so,' said Fran, ‘but I think Libby's right. I think we need to find out about the new will. Or if there was one.'

‘Look, I don't know what you and your friend Libby have cooked up, but don't you think it could just be Marion Headlam hoping there was something? Perhaps Aunt Eleanor told her she could expect something in the will, but never actually did anything about it.'

‘It could be, but I don't think so. We'll find out, don't worry.'

‘I thought you said the police would?'

‘OK, the police or me. We'll find out between us.'

Fran wasn't surprised to receive a phone call from DCI Murray a little later.

‘You're sure about this other will, then, Mrs Castle? Mr Wade seems a little sceptical.'

‘He hasn't seen me in action, Mr Murray,' said Fran, amused.

‘And he seems concerned about a bureau that was in Mrs Bridges' room at The Laurels.'

‘Which is now in Mr Denver's office in Nethergate, yes.'

She heard a deep sigh. ‘Well, I suppose we'd better go and take a look. And I'll be asking Mrs Headlam about it, too.'

So will I
, thought Fran and dialled Libby's number.

‘You sound cheerful,' she said, when Libby answered.

‘I am.'

‘Oh? Anything to do with you leaving with Ben last night?'

Libby giggled. ‘Could be.'

‘Right. I'm very pleased to hear it. I just thought I'd let you know the latest developments.'

‘Well, I think our best bet is to talk to the nurses,' said Libby, when she'd been brought up to date. ‘I'm sure they must have witnessed it.'

‘I don't think either of them would talk to me. That little Nurse Warner was terrified.'

‘I'll do it. I'll go and wait outside The Laurels and then trail them home. Bet I can do it.'

‘Oh, Libby, you can't! You'll be a stalker. That's against the law.'

‘Ah. You may be right. I know! I'll look them up in the phone book.'

‘How would you know if you'd got the right one?'

‘Well, what's-her-name, Redding, the one Ben saw at the hospital – we told you last night – that's an unusual name, isn't it?'

‘Look, Lib, I think the best bet is for me to go and ask Marion Headlam. You can come with me if you like, but I don't think you ought to do anything on your own.'

‘Oh, all right. I'd like to get a look inside that place, anyway. Can we go today?'

‘All right. This afternoon. Will you drive?'

‘Of course. I'll pick you up at about two, shall I?'

Despite Fran's misgivings, Libby decided to look for Nurse Redding in the phone book, guessing that she couldn't live far away if she worked near Nethergate and had friends at the hospital in Canterbury. Sure enough, there were only a handful of Reddings in the phone book, and after ringing them all, she was left with the choice of two who hadn't answered. One was in a village near Deal, the other in Canterbury.

There were far too many Warners to contemplate doing the same thing with them, so Libby, still in a post romantic glow, confined herself to staring at her autumn painting and remembering the night before.

At two o'clock, Romeo the Renault hooted loudly outside The Pink Geranium. Fran came out immediately, looking solemn.

‘What's happened?' asked Libby, as she got into the car.

‘Apparently, Barbara Denver told the police that Charles is the obvious suspect as he's in a bad way financially, and now they've seen the will, they've hauled him down here for interrogation.'

Libby gaped. ‘But how? He didn't get to The Laurels until after them, did he? And what a cow! I told you.'

‘He could have got there before them and doubled back. He said so himself.'

‘He'd have been seen,' said Libby, putting the car in gear and pulling away from the kerb.

‘By Redding and Warner. Yes, I thought of that. I'm sure those two are hiding something.'

‘In cahoots?'

‘I wouldn't have thought so. They didn't seem as though they liked one another at all. In fact, Warner seemed scared of Redding. Mind you, she seemed scared of her own shadow. Pretty, but ineffectual.'

‘So, not a murderer, then?' Libby grinned at the road ahead.

‘I don't know, do I?'

‘You should. Haven't you got a feeling about any of them?'

‘No,' said Fran, exasperated. ‘I can't turn it on and off like a tap, Libby, I told you.'

‘OK, OK. Did I tell you I found out where Redding lives?'

‘Libby, how? I told you not to.' Fran turned to look at her.

‘Oh, I'm supposed to do what you tell me, now, am I? Sucks to that. No, I looked in the phone book, like I said. I've narrowed her down to an address in Canterbury.'

Fran looked dubious. ‘I still don't see what good it'll do us.'

‘She's a suspect, isn't she? Best to know where she lives.'

Fran sighed.

The Laurels looked slightly better than when Fran had first seen it a week ago. Since then, there'd been rain to perk up the few plants and the grass looked much greener. Marion Headlam, on the other hand, looked slightly worse.

‘Mrs Castle,' she said, with an effort. ‘What can I do for you?'

It's about the will, Mrs Headlam,' began Fran.

‘Have you found it?' Marion Headlam broke in eagerly.

‘Well, yes, but I'm afraid it's an old one, made before she came here. It doesn't mention The Laurels at all.' Fran glanced awkwardly at Libby. ‘I'm sorry.'

Marion Headlam looked from one to the other. ‘Is this your solicitor?' she asked.

‘No, this is my – er – colleague, Libby Sarjeant,' said Fran.

‘With a J,' said Libby helpfully.

‘Well, I can assure you there is another will, Mrs Castle. Or at least, a codicil. I saw it. And I saw it witnessed.'

Libby found she was holding her breath.

‘Did the nurses witness it?' asked Fran, after a pause.

‘Good Lord, no, that wouldn't have been right. Or ethical.'

Marion Headlam looked doubtful for a moment, as if she wasn't sure if it was ethical or not, then went on. ‘No, we had a delivery that day, and the driver and his mate witnessed it.' She brightened up. ‘You can check if you like. I've got their addresses. Mrs Bridges wanted to send them each something for their trouble.'

‘Did she? That was nice of her,' said Libby.

‘Have the police asked you about this, Mrs Headlam?' said Fran.

‘No. They've talked to all us several times, but not about the will.'

‘They will,' promised Fran. ‘And now, perhaps I could have those addresses?'

‘She didn't ask why you wanted them,' said Libby, as they got back into the car.

‘She didn't have to. She offered them as a means to check what she said was true.' Fran fastened her seat belt. ‘It's got even more complicated now, hasn't it?'

‘I know,' said Libby as they drove down the drive more sedately than Charles had, ‘let's go and see Guy.'

‘Why?' asked Fran. ‘He's got nothing to do with all this.'

‘No, but he'd like to see you, and he'll probably know where Nurse Redding lives.'

‘What
are
you on about?'

‘I've got the address, but I don't know where it is. I bet Guy does.'

‘Look, Libby, it doesn't matter if he does. We know now that the nurses didn't witness the will.'

‘But they're hiding something. So we need to find out what.'

‘Probably nothing,' said Fran, unconsciously echoing Ben. ‘Some corner they cut, minor theft … I don't know. Could be anything.'

‘Suit yourself.' Libby shrugged.

Libby parked in The Swan car park and showed Fran where she and Ben had eaten on Friday. Guy was delighted to see them.

‘So, to what do I owe the honour?' Guy's dark brown eyes twinkled at Fran and brought her out in a nervous glow.

‘We thought you might give us tea,' said Libby, sitting on one of the brown leather armchairs provided for Guy's wealthier clients, ‘hello, Sophie.'