Murder at the Laurels (21 page)

‘Why didn't the others go?'

‘Only room for one, apparently.'

‘So have you, in theory.'

‘Oh, well, they don't mind bunking on the floor,' said Libby. ‘So, I'll ask Ben for Jim's number tonight, and phone in the morning, shall I?'

Next, Fran phoned Charles.

‘You must have known about Coastguard Cottage,' she said, ‘you were still here at school when I was visiting.'

‘I know my grandfather owned a couple of cottages,' he said, sounding bewildered, ‘but nothing else.'

‘And you don't know if Aunt Eleanor had anything to do with it?'

‘No, I'm sure she didn't. Actually, no, I don't know, but I don't see how she could. I know she worked in her dad's office, though.'

‘So she might have been involved in letting out the cottage?'

‘I suppose so. I just don't know. For heaven's sake, Fran, I was a child. Eleanor was just my aunt, the same as Barbara's father was my uncle. I don't know about anything else.'

‘So you never stayed there?'

‘Fran!' Charles sounded exasperated. ‘I've just told you, no. What is this, anyway?'

Fran gave him an edited version of the facts and he calmed down.

‘Well, I can see that it's very interesting,' he said, ‘but I don't see what it's got to do with Aunt Eleanor's murder.'

‘Neither do I,' said Fran, ‘but I wanted to find out for myself. Do you know when Uncle Frank died, by the way?'

‘Why, don't you?'

‘No, I told you, we never spoke again.'

‘As far as I know, he died quite young. Must have done, because I never saw him after I grew up. I don't think they were married that long.'

‘Poor Uncle Frank.' Fran's throat felt tight. ‘He should never have married her.'

‘Steady on!' said Charles. ‘That's not a very nice thing to say.'

‘I don't think she was a very nice woman, Charles.'

‘No,' Charles sighed. ‘She wasn't.'

‘So why did you continue to visit her?'

‘Duty,' said Charles. ‘I hated to think of her down there all on her own.'

‘She had your cousin Barbara and Paul.'

‘I know, I know.' Charles sighed again.

‘So, has the furniture turned up, yet?' Fran changed the subject.

‘On its way, apparently. Should arrive tomorrow. I've actually had confirmation from the haulage company.'

‘Well, that's a good thing, surely. And they'll have had a good look, so you can be sure the codicil isn't in any of it. I think you should forget about it.'

‘How can I? I'm still the prime suspect,' said Charles. ‘If I could find the codicil, perhaps I wouldn't be.'

But the following morning, Fran learnt that Charles was no longer chief suspect. Marion Headlam had been taken in for questioning.

Chapter Twenty-eight

‘
H
OW DID YOU FIND
out?' asked Libby, going into the kitchen to put the kettle back on the Rayburn.

‘Charles phoned me. He'd phoned The Laurels to speak to her about something that was missing, apparently, and that little Nurse Warner answered, all of a tizzy, and blurted it out.' Fran perched on the edge of the table. ‘Sorry to barge in like this.'

Libby grinned, and pulled her dressing gown slightly tighter. ‘Ben was just going anyway,' she said.

‘No, I wasn't,' said Ben, appearing now clad in jeans and a t shirt. ‘I was just going to ravish her again.'

Libby and Fran both blushed, and Ben apologised.

‘Anyway,' he said, ‘I've left Jim's number by the phone, if you want to go and see him. He's a nice old boy, isn't he, Lib?'

‘Yes, he is, but he's not really old. Just gives that impression. He's got a lovely dog.'

‘Who smells a bit,' said Ben. ‘I must go. See you later, Lib.'

‘So what was that about something missing?' asked Libby. ‘I didn't quite get that bit.'

‘Charles told me yesterday that the furniture would be arriving today, although I don't suppose he thought it would be this early, and when it came, there was an item missing. He phoned Barbara, who didn't know anything about it, then The Laurels.'

‘What was missing?'

‘Do you know, I never thought to ask,' said Fran, surprised. ‘The Headlam put it out of my head.'

‘Do you suppose she found the codicil?'

‘No idea,' said Fran, accepting a mug of tea. ‘But the police must have come to the same conclusion that we did, mustn't they? That there was something fishy about it?'

‘Hmm.' Libby led the way into the sitting room. ‘We might be jumping to conclusions.'

‘That's rich, coming from you! Mistress of jumped conclusions.'

‘All right, all right, but she could literally just be answering questions, couldn't she? Maybe she's in deadly earnest. Perhaps there really is a genuine codicil. After all, didn't that woman say her husband had received something from Aunt Eleanor?'

‘But Marion Headlam could have sent that.'

‘Now who's jumping to conclusions? Anyway, we'll hear soon enough. Or you will, anyway.' Libby picked up the phone. ‘Shall I phone Jim Butler?'

‘Oh, go on, then. Take my mind off it.'

Jim Butler professed himself delighted to receive guests, especially, Libby gathered, two ladies. Would they like to come to lunch?

‘No, that's fine, thank you,' said Libby hastily. ‘We don't want you to go to any trouble, and we have to go into Nethergate at lunchtime.'

‘Do we?' asked Fran, when Libby put down the phone.

‘I thought we'd pop in and see Guy as we'll be in the area. And you can have another look at Coastguard Cottage.'

It was nearly mid-day when they arrived at Jim Butler's bungalow, and Libby was worried in case he might still press them to lunch.

‘Just in time for elevenses,' said Jim, leaning them into his conservatory. ‘You won't want much if you're going to lunch, though, will you?

Relieved, Libby agreed, and introduced Fran.

‘Ah, you'll be the lady who used to stay in that cottage on Harbour Street, then,' said Jim. ‘Well, I don't know as I can tell you any more than I told young Ben the other day. I didn't know the Stones very well.'

‘We know that Frank Bridges bought the cottage from the Stones,' said Fran, ‘and it must have been him who sold it to you, but we don't know when or why.'

‘Oh, it weren't long after 'e bought it. I don't remember ever meetin' 'im, like, it was all done through solicitors. Good job, 'e did, though, dying so soon after.'

‘Dying?' said Libby and Fran together.

Jim looked surprised. ‘Didn't yer know? I say soon, but it must 'a been a year or so.'

‘No, I didn't know,' said Fran, looking upset.

‘How did you come to know he'd died,' asked Libby, ‘if you didn't keep up with the family?'

‘Oh, it were in the papers. 'Im bein' connected to the Stones. Accident, it were.'

‘Accident?' Fran's voice was shrill.

‘Don't remember what sort of accident. Just remember seein' it. Missus pointed it out to me in the paper. I wouldn't of noticed it otherwise.'

That was all Jim could tell them, and after drinking a suspicious cup of coffee each and making a fuss of Lady, they made their way into Nethergate to meet Guy in The Swan.

‘I can't get over the fact that he died so soon after we moved out,' said Fran, as Libby drove down the hill towards the sea. ‘Why did no one tell us?'

‘You said you thought someone might have told your mother.'

‘Only guessing. It's just awful. He'd been like a father to me all through my childhood.'

Libby looked sideways. Fran still looked upset. ‘Well,' she said, ‘you could always find out by looking up his death certificate. You know, tracing your family like they do in those television programmes. Or even the local paper, if Jim meant that's where his death was reported. They keep everything on microfiche, don't they?'

‘But we don't know when it was.'

‘About a year after he sold the cottage to Jim, he said.'

‘I don't know,' said Fran, and turned to look out of the window. Libby frowned, and edged into a parking space in the square. She wished now she hadn't rung Guy and arranged lunch if Fran was going to be like this.

Guy took one look as they went into the bar, stood immediately and put an arm round Fran, who promptly dived in her bag for a handkerchief. Much pleased by this evidence of affection, Libby smugly sat herself down at the bar and waved at Tony.

‘I'll have a glass of mineral water, Tony, and my friend will have a gin and tonic,' she said.

‘Looks as though she needs it, Mrs – er – Libby.' Tony turned down the corners of his mouth in sympathy and went off down the bar.

Guy had settled Fran at a little round table at the corner of the bar, and beckoned Libby to join them.

‘So tell me what it's all about,' he said, as Tony came over with the drinks.

Fran told him, with frequent interruptions from Libby.

‘And is this all connected with your aunt's death?' he asked when they'd finished.

Fran shook her head. ‘We don't know, but I'm sure it is, somehow. I just can't get over losing Frank like that. He might have come back to us if only he hadn't died so soon.' She stopped, her drink half way to her mouth, her expression frozen. Libby and Guy glanced at each other.

‘He was,' she said, putting her glass down. ‘He was coming back to us.' Her face crumpled again, and Guy rushed into the breach with his comforting arm, while Libby handed over a rather creased, but clean, tissue.

‘Doesn't this put a different complexion on things?' said Libby, after a decent interval. ‘I mean – accident? Sounds suspicious to me.'

Guy nodded and looked at Fran. ‘And me. Where was this accident?'

‘I don't know,' said Fran. ‘Jim didn't say. He just said it was in the papers, and we assumed he meant the local papers.'

‘That was because he said he was connected with the Stones,' said Libby. ‘That must mean the local paper, but it doesn't follow that it happened here.'

‘So what are we saying,' said Guy, waving a menu at Tony. ‘Somebody bumped off Uncle Frank to prevent him coming back to you and your mum?'

Tony appeared with a pad and pencil and they all ordered lunch.

‘That can only mean Aunt Eleanor,' said Libby, when Tony had gone.

Fran nodded. ‘It was the cellar steps,' she said, matter-of-factly.

‘You saw it?' asked Libby. Guy just stared.

‘Yes. Like I saw Eleanor being smothered.'

‘I don't think we need to tell DCI Murray about this,' said Libby, with a worried frown.

‘Why not?' Fran looked surprised. ‘Surely it must have some connection with her death, now?'

‘That's exactly what Libby means,' said Guy, ‘and the connection is you.'

Fran looked at him with her mouth open.

‘Oh, God,' she said.

‘Precisely.' Libby rummaged in her basket for her cigarettes. ‘Murray's reasonably sympathetic about your moments, but if you go telling him about having seen Eleanor push Frank down some cellar steps, and follow it up with a graphic account of
her
death – what's he going to think?'

‘That I did it for revenge,' nodded Fran. ‘God, I'm so angry.' Her expression was indeed ferocious, and Libby moved her glass out of reach. ‘That bloody woman. It's so frustrating. There's nothing I can do about it.'

‘No,' said Libby, ‘and as you didn't do it, it gets us no further forward, does it?'

Fran looked up, surprised. ‘No.'

Guy looked relieved. ‘So you can let it all go, now. Just let the police get on with it.'

‘Yes.' Fran looked down as Tony placed a plate in front of her. ‘I suppose so.'

‘Won't know what to do with ourselves, will we,' said Libby, only half humorously.

‘You could get on with doing some more paintings,' said Guy, nodding his thanks to Tony. ‘I've got a nice little cheque for you. Those that I picked up the other night walked straight out of the shop.'

‘But they weren't even of Fran's cottage,' said Libby.

‘The punters aren't wedded to those pictures. They seem to like them, but they like most things you do. And don't forget, we're nearly at the end of the season, so if you've got any more, I'll take them all. Then you can concentrate on getting some more up for next year.'

‘I'm not a bloody production line,' said Libby.

‘No, but we're not talking fine art, here, are we?' Guy reached over and patted her arm. ‘Don't get bolshie with me, just be grateful that you sell.'

‘Hmm,' said Libby, and addressed herself to her jacket potato.

They went back to the gallery after lunch and Guy gave Libby her cheque, and on the pretext of letting her have another look at the cottage, took Fran outside. Libby raised her eyes at Sophie.

‘Oh, I got Sue Warner's parent's address,' said Sophie, ‘but I don't think she's living there any more. From what I hear, she's got herself a new boyfriend, and I think she might have moved in with him.'

‘Oh, well, it was worth a try,' sighed Libby. ‘But I think we're going to stop sleuthing, now, and leave it to the professionals. All we do is go round in circles and make wild assumptions.'

‘I didn't realise it was proper sleuthing you were doing,' said Sophie, looking interested.

‘It wasn't,' said Libby, with a grin.

Fran was quiet on the drive back to Steeple Martin.

‘Did Guy ask you out?' said Libby, eventually.

‘Yes.' It came out on a sigh.

‘You don't sound very pleased. I thought you liked him.'

‘I do.' Fran looked at Libby. ‘But it's difficult. You know what it's like.'

‘Go out with him. Where did he want to go?'

‘He said dinner. But I don't want to go to Harry's. Or the pub.'

‘There are plenty of other places, you know.' Libby changed gear as they went up the hill round Steeple Mount. ‘I hope you said yes.'

‘Yes. He's coming over on Saturday,' said Fran, and turned back to the window.

Ben took Libby to The Pink Geranium that evening, despite Libby protesting that she'd already eaten out once today. There was no table when they arrived, so they sat on the sofa in the window and drank Harry's best Sancerre while Libby filled him in on the day's events.

‘So that's it, really. We're giving up. It was all a bit pointless, anyway,' said Libby.

‘Well, I can't say I'm sorry,' said Ben, taking her hand and squeezing it. ‘You never know what you might have run in to. But how sad for poor old Fran. You think she's right about Eleanor and Frank?'

‘About her killing him? Well, she seems to get things right, doesn't she? And she seemed certain he was going to go back to them.'

‘Horrible. No wonder she's frustrated.'

‘Well, let's hope Guy can help in that department,' said Libby innocently, caught Ben's eye and blushed. ‘Sorry. That wasn't in the best of taste, was it?'

He leant across and kissed her cheek. ‘No,' he said.

‘Oi. None of that there here,' said Harry, looming over them in his whites and checks. ‘Your table's ready.'