Murder in Midwinter (17 page)

‘What do you think?’ asked Libby, after they’d negotiated the turn out of the gates.

‘I don’t know,’ said Fran. ‘I want to find out more about Laurence Cooper, and Danny’s the only link.’

‘You think he’s got some connection to Bella’s family, then? Or to Bella herself?’

‘I wish I knew,’ said Fran with a sigh. ‘There’s a feeling sort of buzzing around the back of my head like tinnitus, but I can’t put my finger on it.’

‘Danny didn’t do it, though, did he?’ said Libby.

‘As far as I can tell, no,’ said Fran, ‘but I don’t really know anything, do I?’

‘Let’s go back and sleuth through the documents some more,’ suggested Libby. ‘We might come up with a Cooper somewhere along the line.’

‘Or a Walker,’ said Fran.

‘Walker?’

‘The owner of Anderson Place,’ said Fran. ‘I’ve got a feeling about him.’

Chapter
Twelve

‘
D
O YOU KNOW ANYTHING
about Anderson Place?’ asked Libby, as she accepted a glass of red wine from Flo Carpenter in her little house just off the High Street the same afternoon.

‘Where our Peter and Harry are gettin’ ’itched?’ Flo sat down with a thump and lit a cigarette. ‘Not much. Horspital during the war, like Tyne Hall. Could’a been a school.’

‘Do you know who owns it?’

‘No,’ said Flo. ‘Don’t think it was ever sold, so in the same family, I expect.’

‘You didn’t know the family?’

‘Me?’ Flo let out a screech of laughter. ‘Go on with you, gal. How would I know? My Frank weren’t gentry any more’n I am. We used ter get a few of ’em in the pub during the war, but we wasn’t welcome in the pub. You know about the locals and the hop pickers, doncher?’

‘Yes, daggers drawn, weren’t they?’ said Libby. ‘But some of the Anderson Place people came down here?’

‘Nurses and doctors and some of the patients. I don’t know whether any of the family were there then.’

‘Oh, well, it was worth a try,’ said Libby. ‘How are you and Lenny getting on?’

‘Not so bad,’ said Flo, leaning back with a smug expression on her face. ‘Good job we didn’t get together when we was younger, though. We’d’a scratched each other’s eyes out.’

‘Really?’ said Libby.

‘Oh, yers. We was never suited in the early days. I told yer before. Now, though, it’s different. I tells him what to do, and he does it.’

Libby laughed. ‘Where is he now?’

‘Off up to Hetty’s. Greg’s not so good, you know. Oh, course you know. How
is
Ben?’

Libby coloured. ‘Fine, thank you.’

‘See, I told you he needed a good woman of his own age.’

‘Actually, you said a good
solid
woman of his own age,’ said Libby.

‘There you are, then. I was right, wasn’t I?’ said Flo.

Libby saw fit to leave this part of the conversation out when she reported to Fran.

‘Have you looked it up on the internet?’ asked Fran. ‘It’s bound to have a website, and probably a page about its history.’

‘Oh, of course,’ said Libby. ‘Why didn’t I think of that?’

‘Because you’re not used to having a computer yet. Don’t worry about it. Ring me when you’ve looked it up.’

‘Why don’t you come over and we can look it up together,’ suggested Libby. ‘Then, if there’s anything else you want to look up, you can.’

‘All right,’ said Fran, after a pause. ‘I suppose it makes sense.’

‘You can eat here if you like, as we’ve got rehearsal this evening,’ offered Libby.

‘No, it’s OK. I’ve got a casserole in the oven already,’ said Fran.

‘How organised,’ said Libby gloomily. ‘All right, just come over for a cuppa.’

‘I’ll be there in about fifteen minutes,’ said Fran, and rang off.

Libby lit the fire in the sitting room and switched on her computer, then put Anderson Place in to the search engine. Sure enough, it did have a website, and yes, it had a history page. She clicked on it and was still immersed when Fran knocked at the door.

‘Look at this,’ she said, drawing up another chair to the table.

‘“Anderson Place,”’ she read, ‘“was re-built in 1904 by Sir Frederick Anderson. He moved in with his wife and family, and the house has remained occupied by descendants of the family up to the present day. During the war, it was turned into a military hospital and the family moved to the gatehouse and one of the lodges on the estate. A great deal of damage was done to the house at this time, and after the war, Sir Frederick’s eldest grandson, William, began to try and repair the devastation.

‘“It wasn’t until Jonathan Walker, Sir Frederick’s great-grandson, had the idea of turning the house into a country hotel in the 1980s that the fortunes of Anderson Place began to turn. A series of open air concerts and festivals in the grounds began to make enough money to finance the venture, as did the hiring of both house and grounds for cinema and television filming.”’ There followed a list of the prestigious films and television series in which Anderson Place had appeared.

‘“The house and grounds are still used as a film location, and concerts are still held in the natural amphitheatre, but it is as an hotel and wedding venue that Anderson Place is known throughout south eastern England.”’

‘Well, that doesn’t tell us much,’ said Libby getting up to go and make the tea.

‘I suppose William Anderson must have had a daughter as Jonathan’s surname is Walker,’ said Fran.

‘It doesn’t actually say how many of his family he moved in with, does it?’ said Libby from the kitchen.

‘It says wife and family. Do you suppose Ivy was the wife?’

‘Must have been,’ said Libby. ‘It was Sir Frederick and Ivy that Dorinda says she went to see in that letter. At the Place, I suppose.’

‘It doesn’t feel right.’ Fran shook her head. ‘Ivy doesn’t feel right.’

‘Well, it doesn’t seem to have a link to Laurence, anyway. He just worked there.’

‘He could still be a relative. Anderson was the old man’s name and Walker is the great-grandson’s name. There could be a Cooper in there, as well.’

‘You’re convinced, are you?’ Libby came in with two mugs. ‘That Laurence is an Anderson? And so is Bella? I don’t get that at all, or why you should think so.’

‘Neither do I,’ said Fran. ‘I’m just sure there’s a link.’

‘Well, Bella fell over Laurence’s body, that’s a fairly substantial link,’ said Libby.

‘Do you think that’s all it is?’ asked Fran, going to the armchair by the fire. ‘And I’m connecting things just to prove something?’

‘Not consciously,’ said Libby, settling on the creaky sofa, ‘and after all, we did find a mention of Sir Frederick and Ivy in Maria’s stuff, and he had Anderson Place re-built, so there is a sort of connection.’

‘Yes, but only because Laurence worked there. That’s probably all there is.’

‘What about Danny?’

‘What about him?’

‘He wants to find out who killed Laurence.’

‘But I don’t think Bella had anything to do with it. I can’t quite see why I’m bashing my head against a brick wall, can you?’

Libby regarded her thoughtfully. ‘No, but then, I never can. It’s your little synapses going hell for leather that make these connections, isn’t it? There must be some reason you’re trying to find things out. Why don’t we go and sleuth among the papers again, like I said?’

‘I suppose it wouldn’t hurt.’ Fran gave a tired smile. ‘For historical interest, if nothing else.’

‘Better phone Bella and let her know, then,’ said Libby. ‘Shall we go tomorrow?’

‘Haven’t you got anything else to do?’ laughed Fran. ‘Christmas? Panto? Finding an outfit for the wedding?’

‘Oh, I’ve done most of the shopping and I’m getting a supermarket delivery a few days before Christmas. Nothing I can do about the panto now, and I’ve ordered an outfit for the wedding from an online shop.’ Libby looked smug.

‘Really? That’s adventurous of you.’

‘Not really. A shop I used to know in the north east, near Newcastle, have now got a website. Smashing clothes, they all fit me and they’re my style. You know, like you were saying the other day. A bit sort of ethnic-ey. I’ll give you the name, but they aren’t quite tailored enough for you.’ Libby looked her friend up and down.

‘Oh.’ Fran frowned. ‘Am I really boring?’

‘Of course not,’ said Libby. ‘And Guy doesn’t think so, does he?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Fran. ‘I suppose not.’

‘Well, you’re not as conservative as you were when you first came down,’ said Libby. ‘You wear jeans and stuff now. You used to be all navy blue and court shoes.’

‘And what’s wrong with that?’

Libby frowned. ‘Just different, I suppose. Not very – er –’

‘Not very you,’ finished Fran, with a smile. ‘Now I’m a bit more you.’

‘Yes, well.’ Libby looked embarrassed. ‘Getting back to Bella and Laurence.’

‘I’ll do a little more research on Maria’s papers for Bella and if anything occurs to me about Laurence, all well and good,’ said Fran, ‘but I don’t see that there’s anything else I should be doing.’

‘Not even for Danny? You wanted to see him.’

‘Because Harry asked me to. Not my idea. If Danny comes up with anything, I’ll see what happens.’

Libby looked at her from under her eyebrows. ‘Hmm,’ she said.

‘Right, I’m off, then. Not much point in me coming round, was there? You could have read all that to me over the phone.’ Fran stood up and reached for her coat.

‘I thought you might want to research further and I don’t know how,’ said Libby. ‘You could have said no.’

Fran stopped with one arm in a sleeve. ‘Are we having a row?’ she said.

Libby stuck her chin up. ‘Yes,’ she said.

Fran continues putting on her coat. ‘I don’t expect it will be the last,’ she said with a sigh. ‘See you at rehearsal.’

Libby glowered at her and went to open the front door.

‘Cheer up, Lib. You’ll still be in on anything I do find out.’ Fran gave her a kiss on the cheek and set off down Allhallow’s Lane in the dark.

And what about what
I
find out? thought Libby, as she shut the door. She went and collected the tea mugs and stood staring at the computer screen, which was now dark. Putting the mugs down, she pressed a key and the history of Anderson Place reappeared. Where could she go from there?

She typed William Anderson into the search engine, but nothing relevant appeared. Jonathan Walker, however, produced a few items, but they all related to Anderson Place or hotels, and occasionally to the use of the Place in a film or television series. Laurence Cooper produced nothing. Following some obscure train of thought, she typed in Andrew Morleigh, and was surprised when he came up as a partner in a company of financial advisors with several branches in London and within the M25 envelope. So not exactly poor, then. Switching off the computer, Libby took the mugs through to the kitchen and rang Ben.

‘I just feel so pushed aside,’ she said, after explaining what had happened. ‘We’ve been the ones who welcomed Fran down here and found her somewhere to live, and now she’s got all this money she doesn’t need us any more. And she wouldn’t even be here if it wasn’t us. And if it wasn’t for me, she wouldn’t even been buying Coastguard Cottage. She wouldn’t even know about it.’

‘All right, Lib, all right,’ said Ben in a soothing voice. ‘I’m sure if she thought you felt like that she’d be horrified. We were all thrilled for her when she came into the money, weren’t we? You’re not jealous, are you?’

‘Of course not,’ said Libby, squashing a horrible little flutter in her stomach which acknowledged that this was probably not the truth. ‘I just feel sidelined.’

‘Because she doesn’t feel she should be investigating any more
you
feel sidelined? I don’t get that.’

Libby frowned. ‘I can’t explain it. I feel she’s in charge, and – well, I suppose I don’t like it.’

Ben chuckled. ‘You’re in charge at the theatre, aren’t you? You can give her hell tonight and make yourself feel better.’

Libby laughed reluctantly. ‘As if I would,’ she said. ‘I’m being pathetic, aren’t I?’

‘I didn’t say that,’ said Ben. ‘Go on. I’ll see you later. And forget about Bella and Laurence and Danny. Concentrate on
Jack and the Beanstalk
and the wicked Baron.’

‘All right, wicked Baron,’ said Libby. ‘I can’t wait.’

Chapter
Thirteen

T
HE DANCERS WERE DEMONSTRATING
that Happy Days Were Here Again all over the stage in unitards and leg warmers that Libby thought had gone out with Irene Cara. The rehearsal pianist, who was also the musical director, was shouting at them, as was the choreographer. The dancers were, apparently, taking notice of neither.

‘How did the meeting with Danny go?’

Libby swung round to face Peter.

‘Eh?’

‘Harry told me.’ He grinned and chucked her under the chin. ‘Can’t keep anything from me, the silly boy. Are you going to help?’

‘That’s debatable,’ said Libby, throwing her cape onto the back of one of the seats.

‘Surely you’re not losing interest?’ Peter unwound his scarf and bent a sardonic gaze on her.

‘No, of course not.’ Libby was indignant. ‘But I think Fran is.’

Peter raised his eyebrows. ‘Dear, dear. Fed up with us, is she?’

‘What makes you say that?’ asked Libby, although remembering Peter’s attitude when Fran first came among them, she thought she knew.

‘Oh, I don’t know.’ Peter shrugged. ‘But she won’t be in Steeple Martin for much longer, will she?’

‘She’ll only be in Nethergate.’ Now, illogically, Libby wanted to stand up for Fran.

‘And apart from last summer’s little escapade, how often do you go to Nethergate?’

‘When I need to see Guy. And Ben’s taken me to The Sloop.’

‘Once? And how often will Fran need to come here?’

‘Whenever she wants to see us – me. And I’ll go there.’

‘Not the same as living within walking distance, is it?’ said Peter, sitting down and propping his long legs on the back of the seats in front. ‘Can’t pop out for a drink together.’

Libby sent him a fulminating look and stomped off to the stage.