Murder at the Laurels (15 page)

Chapter Nineteen

B
UT ALL QUESTIONS ABOU
tthe cottage in Nethergate flew out of Fran's mind when she spoke to Charles.

‘It looks as though I'm in trouble, Fran,' he said heavily.

‘Why? You didn't kill her,' said Fran, aware that her heart was beating so hard she could hardly breathe.

‘No, but … it's her money.'

‘What about it.'

There was a silence.

‘Come on, Charles, what's the problem?'

‘I'm afraid I used rather a lot of her money,' he said baldly.

‘Charles!' Fran took a moment to assimilate this. ‘As Power of Attorney, I suppose.'

‘Yes.'

‘And the police have found out?'

‘Yes.'

‘Well, they would, wouldn't they. They can get access to bank accounts and all sorts. What made you do it?'

‘I was broke, I told you. I always intended to put it back.'

‘They always say that, don't they?

‘Who do?'

‘Embezzlers,' said Fran. ‘That's what it is, Charles. Make no mistake. What are they going to do to you?'

‘I've no idea at the moment. They've let me go home – no bail or anything.'

‘Well, you're off the hook for the murder, then.'

‘How do know that?' asked Charles, sounding surprised.

‘It would be in your interest to keep her alive until you'd sorted out the money, wouldn't it? If she died it would all come to light – as it has done. Barbara and Paul would have found out, and all hell would have broken out. Which it will do now.'

‘Oh, God,' groaned Charles. ‘I can't take any more.'

‘You shouldn't have taken it in the first place,' said Fran, with an ill-placed attempt at humour. ‘Hadn't you better see a solicitor?'

‘I suppose so. The one I saw before, do you think?'

‘If he knows you. And he certainly knew about the Power of Attorney, didn't he. He'd be best.' Fran thought for a moment. ‘Perhaps you could have used the money for essential repairs to her property.'

‘I'd have to produce bills and receipts and things, wouldn't I?'

‘Yes, you would.' Fran sighed. ‘Oh, well. It was a thought.'

‘You're not too shocked?' said Charles.

‘No, I'm not. I suspect a lot of us would do the same in your circumstances,' said Fran. ‘But before you go, Charles, you told me you grew up in Steeple Mount. Did the whole family come from here?'

‘Yes, I thought I told you. Barbara's always lived around here as well.'

‘Any of you in Nethergate?'

‘Barbara and her family did. I went to school there.'

‘Did anyone have a cottage on the sea wall?'

‘Harbour Street? Good Lord, no. When I was a child they were ramshackle old places, and after I grew up they were beyond my reach. Why?'

‘I thought I recognised one, that's all,' said Fran evasively.

‘A magic moment, was it?' For the first time in the conversation Charles's tone lightened. ‘Well, you couldn't have done. I don't think you ever came here after Uncle Frank and Aunt Eleanor married.'

‘No, it does seem unlikely,' said Fran slowly. ‘It wasn't long after their marriage that we left Mountville Road.'

‘Must be leading you astray, then,' said Charles.

‘Yes, it must be. Well, Charles, let me know how things go, and if you're coming down this way again, soon.'

‘I will, Fran, and thanks for being so understanding,' said Charles, his voice as warm and friendly as it had been when they first met and before the layers of his personality had been stripped off. How attractive he had seemed at first, when they met in La Poule Au Pot. Fran took herself to task for not having seen below the surface at that first meeting, and phoned Libby to tell her what Charles had said.

‘I said I didn't like him, didn't I?' said Libby.

‘I don't remember you saying that,' said Fran. ‘You did call him a wimp, though.'

‘There you are then,' said Libby. ‘So, what are you going to do now?'

‘Nothing. What should I be doing?'

‘Finding out what your – your –
experience
meant. Is it to do with Auntie's murder?'

‘Of course it isn't. My mother's been dead for years, and we never had much to do with Eleanor when Frank married her anyway.'

‘Just a thought. She could have been jealous of your mum.'

‘What
are
you on about? How could she be?'

Fran could almost hear Libby's shrug. ‘I can think of reasons. Anyway. What about the nurses?'

‘The nurses?' Fran was bewildered by Libby's change of direction.

‘Redding and Warner. I still want to get to the bottom of them. Don't you?'

‘I told you, no. I can't see what they've got to do with anything.'

Libby let out an exasperated sigh. ‘Don't you care about your aunt's murder?'

‘Of course I care. But it's nothing whatsoever to do with me, I hardly knew her, I'm not a suspect, and I don't gain anything from her death. So why don't you let it alone?'

Silence.

‘Well, Lib?'

‘Because I want to know,' said Libby in a small voice.

‘Because you're bloody nosey.'

‘Yes, there is that.'

‘Well, just don't tread on anybody's toes, that's all.'

‘Yes, Fran.'

After ringing off, Libby stood and looked at the telephone. Fran was quite right. She shouldn't interfere. Ever since the business over
The Hop Pickers
, people had been telling her not to interfere, and she was still uncomfortable about maybe having precipitated someone's death during that investigation. Was she likely to do that in this case?

She moved slowly back towards the conservatory, where the autumn painting was almost finished. She couldn't see how asking a few questions of the nurses at The Laurels would precipitate anything, except her own vilification as a nosey parker. But, you had to accept that not only could
they
have murdered the old lady, so could Marion Headlam. She, at least, had a motive, or thought she had. And that reminded Libby, what about those two witnesses to the will? Had the police found them?

She retrieved her basket from under Sidney, and rooted about until she found the old envelope on which she had copied the names down after Mrs Headlam had given them to Fran. She wasn't sure Fran had approved of this, but it was always better to have a back up, wasn't it?

Fran would definitely class this as both interfering and bull-in-a-china-shopping, but Libby still dialled the first number on the envelope.

‘Oh, I'm so sorry to bother you,' she said, when a woman's hesitant voice answered, ‘but I was hoping to speak to Mr Edwards.'

‘Which Mr Edwards?' asked the voice.

‘Mr Len Edwards?'

‘I'm afraid my husband died six weeks ago,' said the voice.

‘Oh!' Libby couldn't think what to say. ‘I'm sorry. I didn't know.'

‘Obviously,' said the voice. ‘Could you tell me what it was about?'

‘I believe he witnessed a will, or a codicil to a will, a little while ago,' said Libby.

‘Oh, yes, he did. The old woman wrote to him – sent him a couple of quid for his trouble.'

‘Can you remember her name?' asked Libby, almost holding her breath.

‘Afraid not, love, but she was in a home over to Nethergate in Kent. Is that any help?'

‘Oh, yes, very much so,' said Libby, although she wasn't sure it was any help at all, merely confirmation of Marion Headlam's conviction that there was a new, or updated, will. ‘Thank you so much, and I'm sorry to have bothered you.'

Libby heard a sigh. ‘No trouble, love.'

Well, what did you expect, she asked herself as she went to put the kettle on. Witnesses to wills were hardly likely to know what it was they'd witnessed, were they? At least they knew there was one.

Deciding that what Fran didn't know wouldn't hurt her, Libby sat down on the sofa with her tea and found her mobile. The phone book was still out from when she tried to trace Nurses Warner and Redding, and, settling back, she dialled one of the two remaining numbers for Reddings. Rather to her surprise, the second one was answered.

‘Could I speak to Nurse Redding?' she asked, after clearing her throat.

‘Speaking,' said a surprised voice.

Libby realised she had no idea how she was going to continue.

‘I believe you were in the Kent and Canterbury hospital the other day,' she said eventually, falling back on the book.

‘Visiting only. I don't work there any more.'

‘No, no, my friend saw you in the Friends' Café,' said Libby.

‘Oh, yes. I was there last week.'

‘Well,' Libby cleared her throat again, ‘my friend thought you left a book behind and wanted to return it.'

There was silence for a moment. ‘I don't think I had a book with me,' said Nurse Redding, ‘and anyway, how did he know who I was if I don't know him?'

Libby felt as if she were going down in a lift. Bugger. Why hadn't she thought this through?

‘I'm afraid,' she said slowly, thinking on the hoof, ‘he overheard something about someone dying and the police. As we know someone who's recently died and the police are involved, he rather put two and two together.' And that's the truth, thought Libby. He did.

‘Oh, really? And how do I know who you really are and what you want? You know I didn't have a book.' Nurse Redding sounded definitely suspicious now.

Feeling perspiration break out on her brow, Libby took a deep breath and decided to lay her cards on the table. With an ace up the sleeve, of course. Although it felt more like a joker.

‘Actually, we're a bit worried about it all,' she said. ‘I'm sure if I could have a word with you, and perhaps the other little nurse, it would help enormously.'

‘Are you the papers?'

‘No, no,' said Libby, wondering if perhaps she should have said yes. Nurse Redding didn't sound as though she would have minded seeing her name in print. ‘I'm a friend of the family.'

‘You don't need to talk to anyone else. I can tell you what you want to know.'

Libby felt her heart leap with excitement. A breakthrough!

‘Really? That would be so kind. Could I meet you? Buy you tea?'

‘Not here. Not in Nethergate.'

‘No, no, of course not. How about – Steeple Martin? There's a very nice café where they do a good tea.' Libby crossed her fingers and hoped Harry wouldn't mind. ‘When would be convenient?'

‘I'm on earlies this week, so tomorrow afternoon.'

‘About this time?'

‘All right. Where is this café?'

‘In the high street. It's called The Pink Geranium,' said Libby. I'll sit at the table in the window. My name's Sarjeant. Libby Sarjeant, with a J.'

‘All right,' said Nurse Redding again. ‘I'll see you tomorrow. Oh, and how did you get my number? They wouldn't have given it to you at The Laurels.'

‘Oh, I looked it up,' said Libby hastily. ‘Goodbye. See you tomorrow.'

And before Nurse Redding could say another word, she switched off the phone. Now all she had to do was to convince Harry to open up for her tomorrow afternoon, and hope Fran didn't barge in on the tête-à-tête.

Chapter Twenty

D
ECIDING THAT THE FACE
to face approach was preferable, Libby strolled down to beard Harry in his den later that evening. She wasn't sure about disturbing him on his evening off, but trusted in his innate curiosity – almost as bad as her own – to carry her through.

‘Hello, ducks,' he said, opening the door. ‘To what do we owe this doubtful pleasure?'

‘Aren't you pleased to see me then?' said Libby, sidling past him into the living room, where Peter sat at the scuffed old oak table, sheets of paper strewn around him.

‘If it's an excuse for a drink, yes,' said Peter, pushing a hand through his limp blond hair, ‘if you want something, no.'

‘Sit down, petal.' Harry put a hand on Peter's shoulder. ‘Wine? Whisky? Beer?'

When all three of them were supplied with their particular tipple, Libby began.

‘Actually, Pete, it is a favour.'

‘I knew it.' Peter threw up his hands. ‘This bloody investigation of yours and Fran's, I suppose?'

‘Fran's not exactly investigating,' said Libby.

‘No, she's got more sense,' said Peter. ‘Well, get on with it. What do you want?'

‘I just wondered if Harry would open up the caff for me tomorrow afternoon?' She smiled in what she hoped was a winning manner. ‘Would you, Hal?'

‘If you stop glaring at me like some demented Cheshire Cat, I might,' said Harry. ‘Who are you going to interrogate?'

‘How do you know I'm interrogating anyone?'

‘Why else would you want the caff? Unless you're pretending to be a gourmet chef or something.'

‘Actually, I'm going to talk to one of Fran's nurses.'

‘Fran's nurses?' echoed Peter.

‘Who looked after her old auntie in the home.'

‘Oh, I see. You think she might have bumped her off for her money.'

‘Well, no,' said Libby. ‘As far as we know, the nurses weren't mentioned in her will, although the home was.'

‘So, why do you want to talk to her?'

‘Because Fran thought they were hiding something.'

‘They?' said Peter and Harry together.

‘The two nurses. One of them seemed frightened, Fran said.'

‘And this is the one you want to talk to?' asked Harry, beginning to look interested.

‘No, the other one. You'll see if I can meet her in the caff tomorrow.'

‘Oh, all right. I can be prepping up. What time?'

‘I'd better be there about three thirty, just in case. Is that OK?'

‘What about Fran?' asked Peter. ‘Is she in on this?'

‘Er – no. She's not as, um, interested as me.'

‘Bloody nosy, you mean,' said Peter.

‘That's exactly what she said.' Libby nodded thoughtfully.

‘Great minds, ducks. Drink up, and I'll get you a refill. You can give Pete a hand now.'

‘A hand with what?' asked Libby, handing over her glass.

‘I'm planning the panto.' Peter cleared a space for her beside him.

‘Have you finished writing it?' Libby picked up a brightly covered drawing. ‘This looks like a child's picture book.'

‘That's just what I want for the sets. Almost Disney. Pity we haven't still got Steve.'

They were all quiet for a moment, considering the unfortunate Steve.

‘What about Guy?' suggested Libby. ‘He's an artist.'

‘So are you, you old trout, and I don't see you volunteering to do our sets.'

‘I couldn't do big stuff, but he can. He used to do murals. And he restored some old wall paintings.'

Peter looked dubious. ‘Panto sets are hardly in the same league, are they?'

‘Can but ask. He might advise. When's the audition?'

‘In a couple of weeks. I've got all the rest of the backstage team in place.'

‘Are you directing?'

Peter looked surprised. ‘No, I thought you were.'

‘Me?' Libby gasped. ‘You never asked me. I want to be in it, not direct it!'

Peter looked down his patrician nose. ‘I didn't think I needed to. I assumed we were the Oast Theatre's permanent team.'

‘Well, in a way, we are. I just didn't know I was official director.'

‘Do it between you, then she can be in it,' said Harry, placing replenished glasses on the table. ‘Stop squabbling, children.'

As she walked home a little later, Libby looked up at Fran's lighted window above The Pink Geranium, and wondered whether to tell her about tomorrow's meeting. If she kept quiet, Fran might see them if she came downstairs and would not only be annoyed, but would ruin the whole thing, then again, if Libby warned her, she would still be annoyed and might still ruin the whole thing.

When Ben called just after she arrived home, she asked his advice.

‘If the nurse said she could tell you something, it's worth seeing her, isn't it?' he said.

‘Yes, but I keep remembering your Uncle Lenny saying he could tell me a thing or two, when he couldn't. Well, he could, but not the right thing.'

‘Well, maybe what she tells you won't be the right thing, but might help anyway. What you really want to know is whether you should tell Fran, isn't it?'

‘Yes.' Libby sighed. ‘I know she'll say I should mind my own business, but she really wants to know herself. Otherwise she wouldn't have come down in the first place, and she certainly wouldn't have come down the second time with Charles, or gone looking for the will. She's just confused.'

‘Tell her, then. Say what you've just said to me. She might want to sit in.'

‘Oh, no. I don't want that. Nurse Redding might clam up.'

‘Play it by ear, then,' said Ben, ‘and now let's change the subject. I didn't phone you to talk about murderous nurses.'

By the time Libby switched off the phone, she decided it was too late to call Fran, and feeling happier, fed Sidney and went to bed.

When she summoned up the courage to confess all the following morning, however, Fran's mobile was switched off. Frustrated, Libby called Harry and asked him to see if Fran was in when he went to the caff for the lunchtime session. He called back just before midday to say that Fran wasn't in, and had been seen by Ali from the eight-til-late getting on a bus before nine o'clock. Puzzled, Libby tried Fran's phone again, and this time went straight to voicemail. She left a message asking Fran to call her back, but took the precaution of turning her own mobile off before setting out to meet Nurse Redding.

Harry had stayed on after lunch and was sitting at the favourite corner table with newspapers spread in front of him.

‘I've made a carrot cake and some banana bread,' he announced, as Libby sat down in front of him. ‘You'd better eat it.'

‘Of course I will. Not all of it, though.'

‘I'll take the rest home for Pete, unless I get any other customers. I just hope it won't set a precedent.'

‘People might expect an afternoon cuppa, you mean?' Libby grinned at him. ‘You'll have to invest in some doilies.'

‘Doily yourself.' Harry stood up. ‘What time's Miss Nightingale coming?'

‘Any time in the next hour, I should think. If she turns up,' said Libby.

However, within ten minutes, Nurse Redding pushed open the door, looking vaguely surprised that Libby was the sole customer.

‘How nice of you to come,' said Libby, standing up and pulling out a chair. ‘I'll order tea, shall I? Or would you prefer coffee?'

‘Tea'll be fine.' Nurse Redding, in an unsuitable tweedy skirt under the anorak Ben had described, or its twin, unhooked a large capable handbag from her shoulder and dumped it on Libby's chair.

Harry appeared from the kitchen and raised his eyebrows. ‘Goodness, what strange friends you have, Miss Marple.'

‘Shut up,' hissed Libby, then, raising her voice, ‘Pot of tea for two, please, and have you any cakes?'

‘Carrot and banana,' grinned Harry. ‘Lovely.'

‘So, what was it you wanted to know?' asked Nurse Redding without preamble.

‘Er –' said Libby, taken aback.

‘You said you were a friend of the family.' Nurse Redding sniffed. ‘Can't say I took to the family much.'

‘I'm actually a friend of Mrs Castle,' said Libby.

‘Who? Oh, she came the day after the old woman died, that who you mean? Funny thing to do, if you ask me.' Nurse Redding unzipped her anorak and pursed her lips.

Harry appeared with a tray, which he unloaded as slowly as was humanly possible, with much fluttering of eyelashes at Nurse Redding. Libby felt a bubble of hysterical laughter rising and tried desperately to stifle it.

Nurse Redding leant across the table when Harry returned to the kitchen.

‘Here. Is he queer?'

Libby opened her eyes very wide and took a deep breath. ‘I think so. It doesn't bother you, does it?'

Nurse Redding shrugged. ‘Doesn't bother me either way. Long as people get what they want. That's all that matters.'

Silenced by this startling announcement, Libby could only stare. Nurse Redding picked up the teapot and helped herself to tea, then cut a generous slice of both carrot cake and banana bread.

‘Anyway, what was it you wanted to know?'

Libby pulled herself together. ‘Well, you see, my friend, Mrs Castle doesn't really know the rest of the family, and seeing that the old lady was killed when they were all there, she thinks it must have been one of them. You saw Mrs Bridges just before she died, so you might have seen something.'

Nurse Redding chewed silently for a moment.

‘Well, I did and I didn't,' she said. ‘That Sue Warner was in the room when I went in. She followed me out. Then Marion Headlam came along the corridor, but didn't go in. Just asked Warner if the birthday cake was ready.'

‘Birthday cake?'

‘All the residents have a cake on their birthday, even if they don't know what's going on. The relations like it.' Nurse Redding looked as though she thought the relations were a bit dim-witted.

‘So what happened next?'

Nurse Redding shrugged again and took a huge bite of banana bread. ‘Mrs Denver arrived. The buzzer went. Mrs Headlam sent me.'

‘And when you came back?'

‘I opened the door and let her go in, then I closed the door behind her.'

‘You didn't go in?'

There was that shrug again. ‘No need to. I could see the old lady in the chair near the windows.'

‘Alive?'

‘I don't know, do I? I couldn't see her face. She looked like she did –' Nurse Redding stopped suddenly.

‘Like she did when? When you came in the last time?'

‘No,' said Nurse Redding slowly.

‘What was different?' asked Libby, after a moment.

‘I could see her face,' said Nurse Redding, staring at the carrot cake. ‘I couldn't before.'

‘So she'd moved?'

Nurse Redding looked up. ‘Yes.'

‘And that was between you leaving and Mrs Denver entering?'

‘I told you, yes. After that I don't know what happened. That Mr Charles arrived.'

‘And Paul Denver?'

Libby was surprised, and a little entertained, to see faint colour stain Nurse Redding's swarthy cheeks.

‘Yes,' she said shortly.

‘Did they arrive together?'

‘More or less. I didn't see them come in. There was a hoo-ha going on.'

Libby watched the woman eating her way through the carrot cake for a few moments.

‘Was that all you wanted to tell me? You said you could tell me everything.'

‘I have.' Nurse Redding emptied her mouth. ‘But watch that Warner. She's sly. And she was in the room with the old woman.'

‘Yes, but you said she left with you. You'd have seen if anything had been wrong, wouldn't you?'

Nurse Redding stared defiantly at the banana bread. ‘I know what I know,' she said.

‘Well, what?' said Libby, exasperated. ‘Something about the Denvers? You said you didn't take to them.'

‘Untrustworthy,' said Nurse Redding, ‘both of them.'

‘Not Mr Wade?'

‘He didn't come as often as them. Didn't try anything on.'

‘What?' gasped Libby, appalling images invading in her mind.

‘Borrowing money.' Nurse Redding spared her a glance. ‘
They
was always trying it on.'

‘Ah,' said Libby, wondering if she dared ask about Marion Headlam.

‘Wouldn't have got any. She was going to leave it to us.'

‘Us?'

‘The home. Mrs Headlam said. When she got those men to witness the will.'

‘Right. Yes, we knew about that,' Libby nodded.

‘Serve them right.'

‘What?' Libby wasn't quite sure where she was in this conversation. Nurse Redding seemed to be in charge and Libby didn't know the lines.

‘Got their comeuppance, didn't they?'

‘I'm not sure what you mean.'

Nurse Redding showed Libby a sly smile. ‘Wages of sin,' she said, and laughed.

Libby was so perplexed she couldn't answer. Instead, she picked up the teapot. ‘More tea?' she said.

Nurse Redding pushed her cup forward. ‘Course,' she said, ‘they wouldn't know.'

‘Know? About what?'

‘Sin.' The woman leaned forward and Libby saw a thin trickle of saliva at the corner of her mouth. ‘It isn't always what it seems. Unless you know.'

Thoroughly confused, and by now alarmed, Libby put down the teapot with a thump. ‘I'm still not sure –' she began.

‘Thought you had a look about you,' said Nurse Redding, leaning back and picking up her cup. ‘What do they call it – New Age.'

‘New Age?' repeated Libby faintly.

‘Crystals and all that. Those shops. Course, they're useful, but what a lot of crap.'