Murder Out of Tune - A Libby Sarjeant Murder Mystery (8 page)

Chapter Fifteen

‘Of course I want to.’ Cassandra sat up straighter in her chair.

Libby noticed she hadn’t corrected Harry’s statement referring to “her” Mike. ‘OK, just don’t question our methods, Watson.’

‘You mean stop being a headmistress,’ Cassandra said with a wry smile. ‘I’ll try.’

‘Didn’t work on me anyway,’ said Harry, raising his brandy glass. ‘Cheers.’

‘So,’ said Lewis, ‘the suspects. So far: me and Mum because of the homophobia, Mike Farthing because of the cannabis, who else?’

‘Our Monica,’ said Harry, with a grin.

Libby and Peter laughed.

‘Who?’ asked Lewis.

‘An old battleaxe who lives in Maltby Close, over there,’ Libby gestured. ‘She’s anti everything, including the ukulele group and the female vicar, and rabidly homophobic. She accused me of bringing the whole world crashing down round her because I was involved with the theatre.’

‘However,’ said Ben, ‘she does rely on a mobility scooter to get around.’

‘Oh, deadly, then,’ said Lewis. ‘Not a serious contender.’

‘Sadly, no,’ said Libby. ‘I don’t think she’d get her scooter into the graveyard.’

‘Right, who else?’ said Lewis. ‘I suppose any member of the uke group.’

‘If they had a motive,’ said Libby. ‘But we don’t know who could have had a motive.’

‘There’s the obvious one,’ said Ben, ‘that you actually discussed with Ian.’

‘You mean the Dellington business?’ said Harry. He turned to Lewis. ‘You remember that?’

Lewis didn’t, so Harry explained.

‘So you think someone might want revenge on him for something that happened then?’

‘It’s possible. Ian was looking into it,’ said Libby. ‘Then there’s the old boy who wanted to talk to Fran. He’s a member. Bob something,’

‘Bob Alton? But what motive could he have?’ asked Lewis.

‘No idea, but he asked Fran if we were investigating the murder, because he was a member of the group, then came back to talk to her but we were out. I don’t know if she’s seen him since. But it looks as though he knows something.’

‘So that’s it?’ Lewis looked round the table. ‘Nobody else?’

‘Screwball Stewart,’ said Peter. ‘I’d be taking a close look at him.’

‘Why?’

‘He and Bowling had identical houses,’ said Libby.

‘So?’ Lewis frowned. ‘Yours is identical to the other houses in your street.’

‘No, these were both commissioned,’ Cassandra suddenly came to life. ‘By the same builder. With huge attic spaces.’

‘Bowling’s was his cannabis farm, Stewart’s is supposed to be his studio,’ explained Libby.

‘And that makes him a suspect?’ asked Lewis.

‘Well,’ said Libby. ‘Ian didn’t know.’

‘He does now,’ said Peter. ‘And really you should be letting him do his job.’

‘Without interference,’ said Ben mildly.

Harry snorted with laughter.

‘All right,’ said Libby meekly. ‘But if Mike or Lewis need help …’

Lewis patted her arm. ‘I know, Sherlock.’

Ben and Libby wandered home after Lewis announced he had to go and pick up Edie.

‘Cass doesn’t really fit in, does she?’ said Libby.

‘Too straight-laced?’ asked Ben with amusement.

‘A bit. The only reason she’s interested in the murder is because Mike Farthing’s involved. And that’s because she’s fallen for him like a ton of bricks and doesn’t know how to deal with it.’

‘You don’t think he’s guilty, do you?’

‘I don’t think so,’ said Libby, ‘because I like him, but then I’ve liked murderers in the past. They aren’t always evil through and through, are they?’

‘No, a lot are just panicking because they can’t deal with a situation,’ said Ben. ‘And that looks a bit like this one. An unprovoked attack in the graveyard.’

‘I suppose he could have arranged to meet someone after the rehearsal? Someone unconnected to the group?’

‘Unlikely, surely? If it was someone from outside the group it would have been better to meet them on neutral territory. No, it’s got to be someone from the group,’ said Ben.

Libby sighed. ‘And we aren’t going to get any more from Ian, are we? I suppose we’ll just have to hope something falls into our laps.’

Ben laughed. ‘Honestly, Lib! You’re incorrigible. But don’t forget Ian did ask you to let him know if you heard anything.’

The next morning Libby was dying to call Lewis to find out what Ian had said the previous evening when she was pre-empted by a phone call from Fran.

‘Bob Alton came to see me yesterday.’

‘Why didn’t you call me?’

‘Because I knew you had been to Hetty’s and had Cassandra with you. You couldn’t have come over.’

‘But I would have wanted to know what he said.’

Fran sighed impatiently. ‘And that’s what I’m going to tell you now. Bob Alton’s son was killed at Dellington.’

‘No!’ Libby gasped. ‘So he has a motive, too?’

‘I suppose he does,’ said Fran reluctantly, ‘but I’d hate to believe it. He’s such a nice old boy, and so lonely.’

‘We were only saying yesterday how we’d met and liked a few murderers,’ said Libby. ‘It could be him.’

‘It could, but his son’s death is a matter of record, so I’m sure the police know about it. After all, we know Ian was going to look into the Dellington angle.’

‘What was his name?’ Libby pulled her laptop towards her.

‘Roland Alton. Are you looking it up?’

‘Yes,’ said Libby. ‘And ugh!’ She read a little more of the entry. ‘What a way to die. And how angry their relatives must have been.’

‘Bob says they were. But the MOD just closed ranks and the whole thing sank without trace until that Operation Antler brought it out into the open again.’

‘So what did Bob Alton have to say about the murder?’

‘Not much. He said he found out who Bowling was some time after he’d joined the group. He was introduced to people by their first names, and it wasn’t until there was a list sent round of the people who were going to be in the Christmas concert he saw the surnames. He didn’t even know Eric Robinson was a Doctor. Or that Stewart was a rock musician.’

‘Come to think of it, we still don’t know what Robinson is a doctor of,’ said Libby. ‘So was he there on Tuesday night?’

‘Robinson?’

‘No, silly, Bob Alton.’

‘Yes. He didn’t go to the meeting on Thursday, though. He felt as if he was being a hypocrite.’

‘Poor bloke,’ said Libby. ‘So what next?’

‘What do you mean, what next?’

‘What are we going to do?’

‘Do?’ Surprise sounded in Fran’s voice. ‘Nothing. We aren’t investigating this.’

‘No, that’s what the others said yesterday. So I said unless Lewis or Edie, or, of course, Cass’s Mike are involved …’

‘Lewis or Edie?’

Libby explained. ‘And I was just going to ring Lewis to see how they got on last night when you rang.’

‘And it’s already “Cass’s Mike”, is it?’

‘Seems to be. But I was saying to Ben, she doesn’t really fit in, does she? With us.’

‘You were all for her moving down here last week.’

‘I know – and I think it would do her good. But perhaps not too close to us.’

‘She could move in with Mike.’

‘Bit early for that,’ laughed Libby. ‘I think she’d be horrified.’

When Fran rang off, Libby rang Lewis’s mobile.

‘Where are you?’

‘In the back of a car being driven somewhere for a shoot,’ said Lewis. ‘If you want an update, why don’t you ring Edie. No handcuffs, you’ll be pleased to know.’

Libby rang the Creekmarsh landline.

‘No ducks, he were lovely. Well, he is a nice man, isn’t he? Why don’t you pop over? I’ve got a lovely lemon drizzle cake I made for yesterday, but after we’d been to Hetty’s we couldn’t manage it. The Inspector had a slice. And what about your friend Fran?’

Libby called Fran back.

‘All right, but I mustn’t be long,’ she said. ‘You do realise we’re now into December and trade is picking up? I don’t want to leave Guy here all on his own too long.’

The road to Creekmarsh led out of Nethergate along the coast, twisting and turning, alternately hiding and revealing glimpses of the sea. Banks that in spring were clothed thickly in cow parsley and campion now had bare, bent, and windblown hawthorn and elder crowding in on either side, until the road widened and turned sharply to the right. A pub stood on the right-hand side, and a heavily wooded lane led off to the left, with an old signpost pointing to “The Church” and a small wooden finger post announced “Creekmarsh Place”.

The bare trees overhung the lane, before opening out to show the little church on the left. Finally the lane began to slope down and she could see the sea. Now there was a lawn to her right, an old wall and the gateposts.

Libby drove up to the house, where Edie stood waving.

‘Fran’s coming on her own,’ she said getting out of the car. ‘You all right?’

‘I’m fine, lovie,’ said Edie. ‘You come along in out of the cold. We’ll leave the door open for Fran.’

In the kitchen a kettle sang on the hob and on the big scrubbed table sat a huge lemon drizzle cake on an old-fashioned cake stand. As Libby sat down, they heard the crunch of wheels on gravel, and in a moment Fran blew in through the door.

‘Now,’ said Edie, when they were all seated, with tea and cake. ‘You’ll want to know about that nice inspector. Ian, isn’t it?’

‘Yes. What did he want to ask you?’ said Fran.

‘Well, he just wanted to know what that Bowling man had said about my Lewis and if there was anyone else whoʼd said the same thing.’ Edie drew herself up and folded her arms. ‘I told him, I didn’t listen to anything any of ʼem said. Didn’t hold with it.’

‘But you kept on going to the group?’ said Libby.

‘Well, I enjoyed the playing. And the company, when Lewis was there. And I know Mike. Nice boy.’

Libby suppressed a smile at Mike Farthing, sixty-five if he was a day, being referred to as a boy.

‘But nobody else was nasty about Lewis?’ asked Fran.

‘Nobody I heard, but you can’t never tell, can you?’ Edie shook her head. ‘There was that Stewart person, some sort of pop star, dunno what he was doing there, but he was thick with that Bowling, so I never had nothing to do with him. And that Doctor Whatsisname. He was the leader. Not sure about him.’

‘You didn’t speak to Bob Alton?’ asked Fran.

‘Bob …? Oh, I know. Old boy from Nethergate. Always looked sad. Yes, I spoke to him. Quiet, but lovely.’

‘He used to go for the company, he said,’ Libby put in. ‘He’s been to see Fran.’

‘About the murder?’ Edie’s eyes sparkled. ‘I could ask him round here, couldn’t I? He might like a chat.’

‘He might,’ said Libby, failing to suppress another smile. ‘What about the solicitor?’ She turned to Fran. ‘What was his name?’

‘No idea,’ said Fran.

‘Derek Chandler.’ There was scorn in Edie’s voice. ‘You won’t want to have nothing to do with him. I told you. He was another one thick with that Bowling and Stewart. I wouldn’t trust him as far as I could throw him.’

‘Why’s that?’ asked Libby.

‘He’s the one that tried to swindle that woman out of her savings. Lives in your village. Vi Little.’

Chapter Sixteen

The stunned silence that followed this statement was obviously a surprise to Edie.

‘You didn’t know about that?’ She looked from one shocked face to the other. ‘Thought she’d told everybody.’

‘How do you know?’ asked Libby, recovering. ‘I thought you didn’t know anyone in Steeple Martin except Hetty.’

‘And Flo,’ said Edie. ‘That woman with the mobility scooter was going round telling everybody in her close about it. Dunno why she didn’t hire the town crier.’

‘What, she even told Flo? I thought they were daggers drawn.’

‘Nobody likes her, but she wanted the world to know about her mate’s troubles. Don’t know what good she thought it’d do. Only made her look barmy.’

‘What happened, then?’ asked Fran. ‘How did he swindle her?’

‘Well,’ Edie looked away evasively, ‘actually, turned out he didn’t have nothing to do with it. So he said.’

‘But what
happened
, Edie!’ Libby leant forward and fixed her eyes on the older woman’s face.

‘Oh, she made some kind of investment through him – or his firm – and it lost money.’

Libby sat back, looking puzzled. ‘Well, that happens, sometimes.’

‘Yes, but turned out it was on their paper, like, but not really from them. And when they looked, the money wasn’t there. And he said he’d never told her about it, and didn’t know nothing about the company, neither.’

‘So somebody was pretending to be from the solicitors and she believed them?’ said Fran.

‘Something like that. But we was all sure he had something to do with it. Shifty, ʼe is.’

‘Who’s we?’ asked Libby.

‘Flo and Hetty and a couple of others from Maltby Close, and Dolly Webley from New Barton Lane. Oh, and Una, up Steeple Lane.’

‘Goodness! I didn’t realise. Why haven’t you been to see me?’

‘We’re all old biddies,’ chuckled Edie. ‘Flo lets us meet in the room they’ve got named after her old man. We have a good gossip and a cuppa. Dunno why Hetty hasn’t mentioned it.’

‘I’ve met Dolly and Una,’ said Libby. ‘You remember, Fran? Auntie Dolly, and Freddy’s grandma Una?’

Fran nodded. ‘So you’ve all talked about Vi Little’s problem?’

‘That woman –’ Edie turned to Libby. ‘What’s ʼer name? Mobility scooter?’

‘Monica Turner.’

‘Yes – ʼer. Well, she comes in when we’re there – can’t very well stop ʼer, can we? – and tells us all about it. Then the next time we see ʼer, we ask what’s ʼappened. And she says this Chandler’s denyin’ it. Was in the paper.’

‘The local?’ asked Libby.

‘Yeah – your mate’s paper – the
Mercury
.’

‘Well, thank you, Edie, that’s really useful,’ said Libby. ‘Do you mind if we tell Ian?’

‘Your nice inspector? No, you go ahead, lovie. Would’a told ʼim meself if I thought it was useful.’

Half an hour later, they left Edie’s warm kitchen.

‘Shall I tell Ian, or will you?’ asked Libby, as they stood outside on the gravel drive.

‘It’s really nothing to do with me,’ said Fran. ‘But if I were you, I’d check with Jane about the piece in the paper. It might be completely irrelevant.’

‘Well, of course it is,’ said Libby, much struck. ‘It’s nothing to do with Vernon Bowling, is it?’

‘Unless he was scammed as well, but it sounds to me like one of those that are used on the elderly and vulnerable, not on an astute cannabis grower.’

‘True.’ Libby sighed. ‘Oh, well, maybe I won’t tell Ian. I might ask Flo, though. And Jane.’

On impulse, when Libby reached Steeple Martin, instead of going straight through the village and home, she turned left up Steeple Lane. Past Steeple Farm she drove, and on to the row of cottages where Una lived.

She got out of the car and looked over the road to where she could see the dewpond, half surrounded by bare trees, the little river Wytch dribbling sluggishly into it. Below that, the village lay spread out like a whimsical painting. Libby turned and knocked on the farthest green front door.

‘Well, my duck! Haven’t seen you for a bit.’ Una pulled the door wide.

‘Hello, Una.’ Libby stooped to kiss the little woman’s cheek. ‘How are you?’

‘Just dandy, I am, you ask your Auntie Flo.’

‘Yes, I’ve just been hearing how you all meet for tea and a chat. Why didn’t anyone tell me?’

Una looked surprised. ‘You don’t want to know about us oldies, duck. Now, tea?”

Libby knew she’d never get away with a refusal, so nodded and followed her hostess into the sitting room. Una, wearing her usual thick hand-knitted jumper and comfy slippers tottered through to the kitchen and soon came back with a tray. Libby jumped up to take it from her.

‘How’s Sandra?’ she asked, referring to Una’s next door neighbour. ‘I haven’t seen anything of her for ages.’

‘Didn’t you hear, duck? She went and got married again. Very quiet it was. Lives over to Shott, now.’

Shott, again. ‘No, I didn’t know. Who’s in next door now?’

‘No one, dear. They let people use it now and again, but her husband, he says they’ll have to do it up before they sell it, and he’s worried it might disturb me.’ She twinkled at Libby. ‘So let ʼem have mine it when I go, I reckon.’

Libby laughed.

‘So what is it you want to know, then?’ asked Una, handing over a proper cup and saucer.

Libby looked up in surprise. ‘Nothing, actually. Edie was just talking about you this morning and I realised I hadn’t seen you for – oh, must be a year, now.’

‘Oh, I thought it must be about this ʼere murder.’ Una appeared unconcerned.

‘Why – what on earth would you know about that?’

‘Sandra’s new husband and her. They’re in that banjo group.’

Libby’s mouth fell open for the second time that morning. Una gave a nod of satisfaction.

‘Very pally with that Vernon Bowling’s missis, she is. Phoned me to tell me all about it last Wednesday. They didn’t know, see. They’d been away to see her husband’s son’s new baby.’

‘Well!’ Libby sat back in her chair and regarded the other woman in awe. ‘How is it you always seem to have so much information?’

‘Just an older version of yourself, duck.’ Una chuckled. ‘Nosy, I am. I’ll tell her you asked after her.’

Ten minutes later, Libby excused herself.

‘How’s Freddy, by the way? Is he still enjoying himself over in Maidstone?’ she asked as she left.

‘He says so. Seems to come back a lot, though. Wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t come home. Now you come in again, my duck. Don’t be a stranger.’

Libby drove back down Steeple Lane, on into the high street and parked almost outside The Pink Geranium. Harry waved, but Libby indicated that she was going up to see Cassandra. Harry opened the door.

‘Mike’s there,’ he said. ‘Come in here for a minute.’

‘What are you doing here, anyway?’ asked Libby, as she followed him inside. ‘It’s Monday, you’re closed.’

Harry sighed. ‘How many times do I have to tell you I have to come in to sort out the books and the ordering? Pete works all morning, and, let’s face it, we live practically next door. It’s no hardship.’

‘So why have you stopped me from going up to see Cass?’

Harry grinned evilly. ‘I thought you might walk in on a scene of debauchery.’

‘I was going to knock, not barge in.’

‘Anyway, he’s only been there half an hour, I thought they ought to have a bit of time alone.’

‘Thoughtful.’

‘It was, wasn’t it? And now you can yell up the back stairs and ask them if they would like coffee.’

‘I expect she’s already given him coffee.’

‘Don’t make difficulties. We want to know what they’re talking about, don’t we?’

Libby eyed him suspiciously. ‘What’s all this about?’

Harry patted her arm. ‘I’m getting as nosy as you, petal, that’s what.’

‘All right. I’ve got stuff to tell Cass, anyway.’

‘What?’

‘I’ll call them down and you can hear.’

Libby went into the back yard and called up the spiral staircase. Cassandra appeared at the top.

‘Harry’s got the coffee on and I’ve got something to tell you. Do you and Mike want to come down?’

Cassandra looked over her shoulder and Mike came out behind her. They both started down the stairs.

‘Well,’ began Libby, when they were settled at the big table in the window, ‘Cass will have told you, Mike, what Lewis said yesterday.’

‘Yes,’ said Mike doubtfully. ‘I don’t see what help it is.’

‘You were the one who suggested homophobia as a motive,’ said Libby.

‘The reverse, actually dear,’ said Harry. ‘Someone killing Batty Bowling
because
he was homophobic.’

‘Same thing.’ Libby brushed it away. ‘And then Edie confirmed it this morning. And told me that the solicitor, Derek Chandler, apparently tried to swindle Vi Little out of some money. You know, the friend of the Turner battleaxe. And then I saw someone else who told me that a mutual acquaintance has moved to Shott and is a bosom buddy of Mrs Bowling. And her husband’s in the ukulele group.’

Harry regarded his friend with amusement, Mike and Cassandra with bewilderment.

‘So you’ve found all this out,’ said Harry, ‘and what are you going to do with it?’

‘Er …’ Libby looked round at the three faces. ‘Actually, I don’t know.’

Mike turned to Cassandra. ‘How does she do it?’

Cassandra shook her head. ‘I’ve no idea. I’ve never been around before when she’s been mixed up in murder.’

Harry gave a theatrical shudder. ‘How awful. Sounds like a murder mystery.’

‘It is – oh, I see what you mean. A book.’ Cassandra was now looking even more confused.

Harry grinned at her, then turned back to Libby. ‘So, dear heart, what are you going to do?’

Libby’s face fell. ‘Well, nothing I suppose.’

A silence fell.

‘Unless,’ said Cassandra suddenly, ‘Mike is arrested.’

‘What?’ Mike started to get up, but Libby flapped a hand at him.

‘What she means is that then I would be compelled to investigate on your behalf.’

‘I’d rather you didn’t,’ said Mike, looking nervous.

‘Oh, she’d never make things worse for you,’ said Harry. ‘In fact, she’s been known to make things better. If she believes in you, of course.’

‘Oi!’ said Libby. ‘I am still here, you know.’

‘All right, petal, all right.’ Harry patted her arm. ‘Drink your nice coffee.’

‘I’m awash with tea. Elderly ladies always ply one with tea.’

‘Who was the acquaintance who knew the Bowlings?’ asked Cassandra.

‘She used to be Sandra Brown, and lived up Steeple Lane. Then she remarried and moved to Shott. I should think she’s about your age, Cass.’

Cassandra’s eyes slid sideways to Mike and quickly back to Libby. ‘You don’t know her name now?’

‘I think I do,’ said Mike. ‘One of our members married a widow called Sandra a couple of years ago. Very smart woman with silver hair.’

‘That’s Sandra!’ said Libby. ‘What’s her husband’s name?’

‘Alan Farrow, and actually, they don’t live in Shott, but Itching. In Perseverance Row.’

‘What does he do? Was he a particular friend of Bowling’s?’

‘I didn’t think so, and I think he’s retired.’ said Mike. ‘I didn’t know his wife was a friend of Bowling’s wife.’

‘And are you suddenly going to discover a reason to stage a reunion with the lovely Sandra?’ asked Harry.

‘No.’ Libby glared at him. ‘As I said before, only if there’s a threat to someone I know.’

‘And it’s not really surprising that people should know each other in small communities like ours,’ said Mike. ‘I bet there are lots of people with friends in all the villages.’

‘Well, yes,’ said Libby, ‘but when Ian showed us the list of people in your group none of us knew any of the names except Patti. Now I come to think of it, I’m surprised she only recognised Ron Stewart, as she’s vicar of the church in Shott.’

‘She’s in charge of several parishes, isn’t she?’ said Mike. ‘And not many of us go to church.’

‘True. She didn’t even know the Bowlings until her churchwarden told her.’

‘And what’s this about old Vi Little being swindled?’ asked Harry. ‘Mind you, she’s such a wet weekend, anyone could do it.’

‘You know her?’ said Libby.

‘Course I do. She won’t come in here, because Monica Turner told her not to, but I see her around the village.’

‘That’s not a motive for murder, though,’ said Cassandra. ‘It wasn’t the solicitor who was murdered.’

‘No.’ Libby let out a sigh. ‘In fact, the only one who’s got a real motive is poor old Bob Alton.’

‘Unless, of course, there’s someone else who had a son who died at Dellington,’ said Harry.