Murder in Midwinter (38 page)
Jane looked surprised. ‘Does she?’
‘Didn’t you find that out when you was coverin’ the story?’ George looked sly.
‘I didn’t cover it,’ said Jane. ‘Bob did.’
‘Ah, the boss. Stands to reason. Anyway, she moved in round about that time, far as I remember. Coastguard Cottage, ’er lives.’
‘Does, she now,’ said Jane, looking thoughtful.
‘Look, now.’ George pointed. ‘Ain’t got it all to yerself, now, ’ave you?’
A TV van was moving slowly along Harbour Street. Jane sighed.
‘It must be serious,’ said Fran, as they watched the Kent and Coast Television van stop by The Blue Anchor.
‘Not necessarily,’ said Libby, evincing a cynical view of local reportage.
‘They were quick, weren’t they,’ said Guy, wiping his soup plate with the last of his bread.
‘Media wire,’ said Libby knowledgably. ‘A reporter must have got on to it straight away.’
‘It’ll be on the local news tonight, then,’ said Fran.
‘Probably on the local radio news now,’ said Guy. ‘Shall we go back to mine and see if we can find out?’
‘No, thanks,’ said Fran quickly, as Libby opened her mouth eagerly. ‘Libby will have to finish her painting, or clear things away, anyway.’
‘OK.’ Guy shrugged. ‘Will you be around this evening, Libby?’
‘No.’ Libby sighed. ‘Peter wants a production meeting.’ Libby and her friend Peter Parker helped run The Oast House Theatre, owned by Peter’s family, in their home village of Steeple Martin.
‘For what?’
‘The next panto, would you believe?’ Libby sighed again. ‘I’ve written it this year, but I want to be in it, not direct.’
‘Is it mutually exclusive?’ Guy regarded her with bright brown eyes full of amusement. ‘Would you be struck off if you did both?’
‘It’s too difficult to do both, to be honest. Anyway, I don’t want to strain my poor brain any more than I have to, and directing’s such a responsibility.’
‘Are you going to do it again, Fran?’ Guy looked over at Fran, whose serene gaze was fixed on the horizon, her dark hair framing her face like a latter day – and slightly mature – Madonna.
‘No.’ Fran looked back at him. ‘I don’t learn lines as well as I used to, and it’s one thing turning out every night if you live round the corner, and quite another with a twenty minute drive each way.’
‘Shame,’ said Libby. ‘I’ll miss you.’
‘I said I’d help, Lib. Props, or something. As long as I don’t have to be there all the time.’
Guy was looking pleased. ‘So you’ll be here more often,’ he said.
‘More often than what?” asked Fran, looking surprised. ‘I’m here all the time at the moment.’
‘I meant more often than if you had been doing the panto,’ said Guy, with a cornered expression.
‘Ah,’ said Libby and Fran together.
‘Come on, then,’ said Fran. ‘Let’s go back and see how that picture’s coming along.’
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