Murder in Midwinter (6 page)

‘Good,’ said Libby, ‘I like Guy. So tell me, when are you going to ring this woman?’

‘This afternoon? Then perhaps I can arrange for us to meet her.’

‘Aha! So you do want me in on it?’ Libby was triumphant.

‘As long as you don’t interrupt,’ said Fran, ‘I suppose so.’

But when Fran dialled Bella Morleigh’s number later that afternoon, all she heard was a rather pompous male voice asking her to leave a message. She did so, being deliberately vague, and said she would call again. She was surprised, therefore, to receive a call from a breathless woman while she was getting ready to go out with Guy.

‘Mrs Castle?’ asked the woman. ‘I’m Bella Morleigh. You rang earlier.’

‘But I didn’t leave my number,’ said Fran.

‘You happened to be the last caller, so I dialled 1471,’ explained Bella Morleigh. ‘I hope you don’t mind.’

‘No, of course not,’ said Fran, cursing herself. ‘So, how can I help you?’

‘Um, well,’ said the voice dropping to almost a whisper, ‘it would be better if I could meet you. Would that be possible?’

‘Where?’ asked Fran, not wanting to commit herself to yet another trip to London.

‘I’ll be down on Thursday. Could I come and see you? Or meet you somewhere?’

‘Are you staying in Nethergate?’ said Fran.

‘I was recommended to a pub in somewhere called Steeple Martin.’

‘Right,’ said Fran slowly, with a grin. ‘Call me when you get down here and we’ll decide what to do.’

‘Thank you so much,’ whispered Bella. ‘Oh – I must go now. I’ll speak to you on Thursday.’

Well, thought Fran, as she switched off the phone. What’s she afraid of?

Guy Wolfe picked her up half an hour later, and on the way to their newly favoured out-of-the-way pub for dinner, Fran told him about Bella Morleigh and Inspector Connell’s strange request.

‘Fancies you,’ he said, echoing Libby.

‘Oh, not you, too,’ said Fran, ‘of course he doesn’t.’

‘Wouldn’t blame him,’ said Guy looking at her briefly, teeth sparkling above his neat goatee beard.

‘Well, it isn’t that. And this Bella person sounded scared of something. No, not scared exactly, nervous.’

‘Well, if she’s mixed up in a murder, no wonder. Weren’t you nervous back in the summer?’

‘Of course I was, but I don’t think it was that. It was something about where she was.’

‘At home?’

‘Yes. Her husband? Why would she be scared of him knowing she was speaking to me? How odd.’

Their meal was a success. The pub, just outside a village on the other side of Canterbury, was in danger of turning itself into a gastro-pub, but just managing to stop short. Guy was a popular guest and had even persuaded the owners to hang some of his work. Fran noticed two of Libby’s efforts in an alcove, which pleased her, as they were views from the window of her soon-to-be cottage. She sighed with pleasure, reflecting once more on the astonishing coincidence that had brought about this change in her fortunes.

‘Well,’ said Guy, when she mentioned this over their starters, ‘it didn’t really, did it? The contents of your uncle’s will would have come out whatever else happened, and you would have ended up in the same position. The only coincidence was your old Auntie being down here after Ben had brought you down to help Lib and Pete and the theatre.’ He frowned. ‘Yes, that’s right. Convoluted, but right.’

‘I suppose so. But I wouldn’t have found the cottage, would I?’

He leaned across and patted her hand. ‘Or me,’ he said.

‘So what do you know about the Alexandria?’ asked Fran, as they drove slowly home through narrow, high-hedged lanes.

‘It’s never been a theatre since I’ve been in Nethergate. It’s been a carpet warehouse, and at one point a venue for raves, but mostly it’s been shut up and falling into complete disrepair.’

‘Would it be possible to restore?’

‘Ooo, now.’ Guy tutted. ‘I couldn’t say. I wouldn’t attempt it, although it’s got a beautiful cupola worth rescuing, but not much else.’

‘What about inside?’

‘No idea. I would imagine a large empty space if it was used as a warehouse.’

‘Pity,’ said Fran.

Guy, as usual, left her after a cup of coffee in the flat, reiterating his impatience for her to move into Coastguard Cottage, which was only a few yards from his own gallery and flat. This was the only drawback as far as Fran was concerned, as she was still unsure of the importance of her relationship with Guy. She liked him, even fancied him, somewhat unusual in her experience, but having been alone for such a long time the thought of having someone permanently in her life was slightly scary. She realised how lucky she was; she and Libby had had many conversations in the recent past about the difficulties facing middle-aged women wanting relationships with men, and now she actually had someone interested in her. Two, if everyone else was right and Inspector Connell had his eye on her. She was dubious about this, as he was quite obviously younger than she was, but it was flattering.

Wednesday was a quiet day. Fran and Libby met in the butchers and Fran told Libby about her phone call from Bella Morleigh.

‘So you’re seeing her tomorrow. During the day?’

‘Well, yes. We’re rehearsing tomorrow evening, aren’t we?’

‘Yes, we are, but I could jiggle things around a bit.’

‘No,’ said Fran, ‘Ben would be cross. He wasn’t pleased because I wasn’t there on Monday.’

‘Well, tough. But I’d obviously prefer you to be there.’

‘Well I’m going to see her in the afternoon I hope. I thought I might ask Harry if he’d open in the afternoon for tea.’

‘Like we did for Nurse Redding?’ Libby smiled at the memory. ‘He does a lovely tea.’

‘Do you think he would?’

‘Sure he would. Let’s go and ask him now,’ said Libby, picking up her parcel of stewing steak and bidding a cheerful farewell to Bob the butcher. ‘See you tonight, Bob.’

‘Which one’s he?’ asked Fran as they walked along the High Street towards The Pink Geranium, over which was Fran’s flat.

‘One of the funny men, stoopid.’

‘I know that,’ said Fran, ‘I meant, which one of the double act.’

‘Oh, sorry. Bob’s Smashitt and Baz is Grabbum.’

‘You could have kept their real names,’ laughed Fran.

‘Bob and Baz. Yes we could.’ They stopped outside The Pink Geranium. ‘In you go.’

Harry was open every day for lunch in December, The Pink Geranium being one of the most highly thought of vegetarian restaurants in the area. Donna, his waitress, was already taking orders from a large and noisy party in the corner. Harry, luckily, was standing behind the till looking resigned before going into the kitchen to produce his masterpieces.

‘Hello, dear hearts,’ he said. ‘Come to cheer me up?’

‘No, to ask you a favour,’ said Libby, smiling winsomely. She hoped.

‘Ah.’ Harry looked nervous. ‘Will I like it?’

‘No.’ Fran took over. ‘I wondered if you’d do me a tea tomorrow like you did for Libby in the summer.’

‘Oh?’ Now Harry looked interested. ‘Not another case, surely?’

‘Well –’ Fran looked at Libby, ‘– just someone who wants to talk to me.’

‘Oh, go on then. Carrot cake and banana bread again?’

‘Yes please,’ said Fran smiling happily. ‘Thanks, Harry.’

‘No probs. Let me know what time,’ said Harry. ‘Right, here we go.’ He nodded towards the party in the corner. ‘Izzy wizzy, let’s get busy.’ He disappeared into the kitchen.

‘He’s too young to know “Izzy wizzy let’s get busy”,’ said Libby.

‘Repeats,’ said Fran. ‘Anyway, Sooty came back when he was a child, didn’t he?’

‘Suppose so.’ Libby followed Fran outside. ‘I must go and see what they’re doing at the theatre. I’ll see you there tonight.’

Peter was chewing the end of a pencil and staring blankly at the stage when Libby arrived that evening.

‘What’s up?’ she said, unwinding a scarf and throwing off the blue cape.

‘I’m trying to fill that space we’ve got now you’ve cut one of the songs,’ he said. ‘Might have to be a standard. A money gag, or something.’

‘Not the busy bee joke,’ said Libby. ‘I can’t stand it when they blow water all over each other.’

‘No, all right, I’ll use one of the others.’ He sat up and rubbed his hands together. ‘Have we got a full complement tonight?’

‘I think so, but you can never be sure,’ said Libby. ‘I must get myself a production assistant one of these days to check up on things.’

The cast arrived in dribs and drabs and eventually the rehearsal got under way. Libby noted that Bob the butcher and his on-stage partner, Baz the undertaker, were shaping up to be a very good double act, and Tom, playing Dame Trot, was better than many of the professional Dames she’d seen. Mind you, she thought, he ought to be after all the years he’d been playing it in the society from which Libby had purloined several on and off stage members for the new company at The Oast House Theatre.

It was when the Fairy Queen tripped over her fairy helpers for the third time that Libby decided to call a halt.

‘If you can’t manage that run on we’ll think of something different,’ she said with a tired sigh. ‘Meanwhile, let’s have a tea break.’

Outside the auditorium in the foyer bar, the cast were queuing at the coffee machine.

‘I hear you and Fran have got another case?’ Ben handed Libby a hot chocolate and pushed her into one of the little white-painted iron chairs.

‘No, we haven’t.’ Libby took a sip and pulled a face. ‘And who told you?’

‘Pete. He got it from Harry.’

‘Can’t keep anything to yourself in this place,’ said Libby.

‘Would you have told me?’

‘Of course. Anyway, it’s nothing to do with us personally. This came via Inspector Connell. Someone’s found a body.’

‘Oh, come on!’ Ben threw his head back and laughed. ‘He’s not asked for your help to find a murderer?’

‘No,’ said Libby, irritated. ‘He’s asked Fran’s help on behalf of the woman who found the body.’

‘Why?’

‘I don’t know. I’ll probably know tomorrow.’ Libby stood up and picked up her mug. ‘I’m going back. Drag the others through as soon as you can.’

Fran and Libby had no chance to do more than say goodnight to one another after the ritual drink in the pub, and Libby was uncharacteristically reserved with Ben when they went back to Allhallow’s Lane.

‘What’s up?’ he asked after she’d served him with a glass of the whisky he’d bought her.

‘Nothing.’ She took her own glass to the creaky cane sofa and put it down before giving the fire a good poke.

‘Come on, Lib, don’t try and pull the wool over my eyes.’ Ben sat down in the armchair and shifted his feet to avoid Sidney, who gave him a look.

‘I don’t know what you mean,’ Libby curled her feet under her and looked longingly at the packet of cigarettes on the table beside her.

‘Go on, have one,’ said Ben. ‘You know I don’t mind. Then you can tell me what I’ve done.’

‘You haven’t done anything,’ said Libby, lighting the cigarette with relish.

Ben looked at her in silence for a long moment. ‘I know what it is,’ he said. ‘You thought I was making fun of you.’

Libby looked at the fire.

‘I knew it. Well, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to. Tell me all about it.’

‘I don’t actually know any more than I told you,’ said Libby. ‘This woman’s inherited a theatre and she found a body. I think Fran said she wants to find out about the relations who left her the theatre.’

‘She doesn’t know them?’

‘I suppose not. I’ve told you, that’s all I know.’

‘And Harry’s giving you all tea tomorrow?’

‘Oh, you know that, too, do you?’

‘I told you, Pete told me. Harry tells him everything.’

‘Yes, I know,’ said Libby.

Ben stood up, stepped delicately across Sidney and moved Libby’s feet before squeezing onto the sofa. ‘Now I’ve apologised, be nice to me,’ he said.

Libby smiled reluctantly. ‘How nice?’ she said.

‘Oh, this’ll do to begin with,’ said Ben, and kissed her.

Bella Morleigh phoned Fran the following morning and Fran invited her to tea at The Pink Geranium.

‘Is three o’clock all right?’ she asked.

‘I think so. I have to go and see my solicitor and then I can take a taxi.’

‘Is he in Nethergate? That’ll be an expensive taxi ride. It’s a long way.’

‘The solicitor will advance me money from the estate,’ said Bella, ‘he told me he would. And I’ve got to find out if the cottage is habitable. He was arranging to have the services switched on.’

‘Right,’ said Fran. ‘Well, we’ll see you around three?’

‘We?’ said Bella, sounding apprehensive.

‘My colleague, Libby Sarjeant,’ said Fran airily, ‘see you later.’

When she phoned Libby she warned her that Bella might baulk at her presence, but Libby was confident. ‘I’m the down-to-earth one,’ she said, ‘she’ll trust me.’

Fran wasn’t so sure, but nevertheless arranged to meet Libby just before three in The Pink Geranium.

Harry had set their favourite table with a cloth, cups and plates of carrot cake and banana bread.

‘Kettle’s on the boil,’ he said, turning the door sign to open. ‘Shout when you’re ready.’

‘Well, here goes,’ said Libby, as he went back to the kitchen. ‘There’s a taxi pulling up now.’

They both watched as Bella Morleigh paid the driver. She looked to be around their own age, middle-fifties, although, in Libby’s opinion, she could have been at least ten years older, judging by her clothes. True, she was wearing jeans, but they looked more like slacks made in imitation denim, and her shoes were sensible and worn with white socks. Fran caught Libby’s eye and frowned. ‘Don’t say a word,’ she said as the door opened. ‘Bella? Come and sit down. I’m Fran and this is Libby.’

Bella sat down with a nervous smile.

‘I’ll ask Harry for the tea,’ said Libby, with rare tact. ‘Tea for you Bella? Or coffee?’

‘Oh, tea, please.’ Bella cleared her throat.

‘Right,’ said Libby, and made off towards the kitchen.

‘So.’ Fran sat back and looked at Bella. ‘Inspector Connell recommended you speak to me.’

‘Yes.’ Bella was obviously ill-at-ease.

‘Why, exactly?’

Bella’s fingers played jerkily with the strap of handbag. ‘I – I’m not sure.’