Murder in Steeple Martin (23 page)

‘Whatever I said, I knew something was wrong. I keep telling you, sometimes I just know things as though I’ve been told them, or seen them. I don’t trust it, but this time I was sure. It was something to do with you, because I’ve got closer to you than anybody else down here. I thought at first it was an accident, but obviously …?’ She looked a question at Libby, who stared up into the apple tree to avoid her gaze.

‘Look, don’t tell me if you don’t want to, just assure me you’re OK.’

Libby bent to stroke Sidney who trotted past on his way to Fran’s lap.

‘I don’t know whether they’d want me to tell you, but you’ll just have to keep it quiet,’ she said. ‘It was Millie who caused the accidents, although I can’t see her cutting the steel wire, but anyway, she did the rest because the – er, murder when she was little affected her. When we did the play it sort of unhinged her and she thought it was all happening again.’

Fran looked thoughtful. ‘I was under the impression she was only a baby and didn’t know anything about it.’

‘She was three, I think. And she must have known something, or it wouldn’t have given her nightmares.’ No way was Libby going to tell Fran Hetty’s story. ‘Anyway, she broke down completely and David took her away.’

‘So what happened to you?’

‘Oh.’ Libby’s thoughts scrabbled round her head like hamsters in a wheel. ‘She grabbed me as I was walking home and dragged me off towards the huts. She was so strong! And I fell into a hole.’

There was a short silence. ‘A hole,’ said Fran.

‘Yes.’

‘I see.’ She looked at Libby for a moment and sighed. ‘Well, if you’re not going to tell me, you’re not. I won’t pry.’

‘I can’t. That’s all there is to tell, anyway.’ Libby took a gulp of tea.

‘OK.’ Fran stroked Sidney’s head. ‘So how’s the murder investigation?’

Libby looked up, surprised. ‘No idea. DS Cole came to the play on the first night, but I haven’t heard from him since. He wanted the names and phone numbers of the entire cast.’

‘Going in to her background, then.’

‘I assume so. Now we know about Millie and the accidents at least we know nothing’s going to happen to us now. It’s nothing to do with us.’

‘It’s to do with the family, though, isn’t it?’ said Fran.

‘Only in so far as Paula went out with James and was in our play.’

‘Was pregnant by James. Different thing.’

‘Do you think she was?’ asked Libby. ‘It wouldn’t surprise me if the whole thing was a fabrication to trap James.’

‘It wouldn’t surprise me, either, but I didn’t know her, after all.’ Fran tickled behind Sidney’s ear. ‘Are you sure about Millie causing the accidents?’

‘I think she admitted it,’ said Libby, surprised. ‘Although I don’t actually think anyone said as much. Why? Don’t you?’

‘No, I don’t.’ Fran shifted in her chair. ‘That’s what Ben brought me down for, and that’s one thing I’m sure about. It wasn’t Millie.’

Chapter Twenty-seven

L
IBBY WAS BEHIND THE
bar washing glasses when Peter came in not long before the interval.

‘I thought you weren’t coming in tonight,’ she said in surprise. ‘Harry said …’

‘I know, I know. I realised I was being a bit of a drama queen. Sorry, Lib.’ He leaned across the bar counter and kissed her cheek.

‘Sorry for what? It wasn’t your fault I fell down a hole.’

‘Yes, it was,’ he said with a sigh. ‘If I hadn’t written the bloody play …’

‘Oh, don’t talk rubbish. We’ve been over this dozens of times. You didn’t know what had happened, did you?’

‘I thought Ben told you? Mum had rambled about something, but I thought she’d got it muddled in her head. She was so young when it all happened.’

‘Well, it’s all over now, so we can forget about it, can’t we?’ said Libby briskly, drying a glass and putting it back on a shelf. ‘How is she?’

‘Still with David and Susan. I offered to take her home with me, but David insisted they kept her. I suppose it makes sense as he’s a doctor.’ Peter perched on a bar stool. ‘But what we do next, I’ve no idea.’

‘Sheltered accommodation?’ suggested Libby.

‘I don’t know if she can cope on her own any more, even in somewhere like Flo’s place. I think it’ll have to be an upmarket home for the bewildered like Lenny’s. I suppose we’ll have to wait and see.’

‘Hasn’t David told you what he thinks?’

Peter frowned. ‘No, he just says leave her with them. I don’t know what Susan thinks.’

‘Not much, I expect,’ said Libby. ‘Were Millie and Susan close as they grew up? They’re quite close in age, aren’t they?’

‘Millie was four when Susan was born, so they were brought up more or less as sisters. As far as I can make out, she wasn’t too pleased when Susan married David.’

‘Oh? Why?’

‘No idea.’ Peter shrugged. ‘Perhaps she wanted him for herself?’

Libby laughed. ‘Don’t be daft, she must have been married by then.’

‘She was, and I was on the way. I bet she wanted to be a bridesmaid and couldn’t because of me.’

‘Lord, can you imagine your mum as a nineteen-sixties bridesmaid? I can’t.’

‘Oh, I can. Just her style.’ Peter stood up and stretched. ‘Give us a drink, then, you old trout, then I’ll relieve you behind the bar.’

But before Libby could reach for a clean glass, the foyer doors swung open. Peter scowled.

‘What do you want?’ he said.

‘Evening, Mr Parker. I just wanted a word. Evening, Mrs Sarjeant.’

‘Mr Cole.’ Libby looked nervously towards the doors to the auditorium. ‘Will you be long?’

‘I don’t know, madam.’ DS Cole turned to Peter. ‘It’s about Mrs Parker, sir.’

‘What about her?’

‘DCI Murray needs to ask her some questions, sir, and Doctor Dedham says he can’t.’

‘That’s right. My mother is – er – somewhat confused at the moment. I believe Doctor Dedham has her under sedation.’

‘Ah. Senile, is she?’ asked Cole.

‘Bloody hell! Of course she’s not senile! She’s only 65.’ Peter swung away from the bar and took a deep breath.

‘We think she’s had some kind of breakdown, Sergeant,’ put in Libby. ‘That’s why she’s staying with Doctor and Mrs Dedham.’

‘Right. So when did she have this breakdown? Was it recent?’

Peter turned back. ‘Does it matter? She’s been acting a little strangely for some weeks. It’s obviously been building up.’

‘Ah,’ said the sergeant.

Libby, seeing that Peter was only just holding on to his temper, said ‘Would you like to talk somewhere else, Sergeant? The audience will be out here for the interval any minute.’

Peter let out his breath in a rush. ‘Come up to The Manor,’ he said. ‘It’s nearest.’ He turned and made for the doors.

‘Right, sir,’ said DS Cole. ‘Thank you, madam.’

Libby watched them go with some trepidation. What did the police want with Millie? Surely the police didn’t know what had happened the other night?

A burst of clapping indicated the end of the first act, and one of the first through the auditorium doors was Fran.

‘What did you think?’ asked Libby, having passed over the wine Fran had pre-ordered.

‘Excellent,’ said Fran. ‘I’ll get out of your way.’

‘No, that’s OK, Fran. Stay here, I can still talk to you in between customers. Most of them pre-ordered like you.’

But Fran shook her head, smiling abstractedly, and moved away from the bar. Libby watched her go over to the big windows which opened on to a tiny terrace for smokers and sit at one of the little metal garden tables. This was worrying. Did Fran really not like
The Hop Pickers
, or had some nasty telepathic thought surfaced in her brain? Libby sighed and turned to her next customer.

Listening to comments made by members of the audience, who had no idea who she was, Libby was gratified to hear a good deal of praise, which distracted her temporarily from worrying about what was happening with Peter and DS Cole, and Fran’s unnatural reticence. When the interval bell rang and Fran came to put her glass on the bar, her worries returned.

‘What’s up, Fran?’

‘Nothing. I’m really enjoying it.’

‘There’s a problem, though, isn’t there?’

Fran looked away. ‘I’d better go in. I’ll see you afterwards.’

That was that then. Libby frowned at Fran’s back as she disappeared through the auditorium doors and went to collect glasses.

‘Here, I’ll do that.’ Peter appeared behind her and took the tray from her hands. ‘You go and do the washing up.’

‘You look more cheerful,’ said Libby, as she resumed her place behind the bar.

‘They’re going to have to get another doctor to have a look at Mum to see if she’s fit to be questioned. So she won’t be bullied.’

‘No, but why do they need to question her? They don’t suspect her of Paula’s murder, surely?’

‘God knows. What worries me is that if they start asking her questions she’ll go burbling on about Hetty and Warburton and then we really
will
be in the soup.’

Libby blew thoughtfully on a soapy mass of bubbles. ‘Do you remember anyone saying where it happened? Paula, I mean, not Warburton.’

Peter dumped a trayful of glasses in front of her. ‘In the car. You know that.’

‘No, she was found in the car. Do we know whether she was murdered there?’

‘Bloody hell. I never thought of that.’ Peter rubbed the end of his nose. ‘Well, that’d let my mum out, wouldn’t it? If the body was moved.’

‘Also,’ said Libby slowly, ‘it could be that the
car
was moved.’

‘We’ll ’ave to get you in the force, missus,’ grinned Peter, ‘but you’re right. And that would let my mum out, too. She can’t drive. Never learned.’

‘Perhaps we ought to find out,’ said Libby. ‘I mean, they’d know by now. They’d know by – er – lividity, and post thing blood patterns, or something, wouldn’t they? The scene of crime people look into all that straight away.’

‘I think it’s the medical examiner who does that. The post-mortem’s been done, I know that much. David said.’

‘Well, anyway, they’d know if she was moved or whatever, wouldn’t they?’

‘I suppose so. What made you think of it?’

‘Something Fran said. I hadn’t thought of it, either.’

‘Fran again.’ Peter frowned. ‘What did she have to say in the interval?’

‘Nothing much. Just said it was good and she’d see me later. A bit odd, really.’

‘Hmm.’ Peter gave his tray a cursory wipe and set off for more glasses.

By the time the curtain came down, he’d taken Libby’s place behind the bar and she was able to slip in at the back and watch the final scene. The reaction, while not as ecstatic as the previous two nights, was enthusiastic and prompted three bows from the beaming cast. Libby heaved a sigh of relief and went back to the bar.

Many compliments later, and Fran was offering to help clear the glasses.

‘Nay bother,’ said Peter, running hot water into the sink. ‘You and Lib get off home. She’s done enough for tonight.’

‘You sure?’ asked Libby, drying her hands on a paper towel.

‘Absolutely. Off you go and I’ll phone you in the morning.’

Libby and Fran walked down the drive to the High Street in silence.

‘Come on, Fran, out with it,’ said Libby. ‘What’s wrong? Was it crap?’

Fran walked along looking at the ground in front of her. ‘No, of course it wasn’t. I’ve already told you, it was good.’

‘Then what is it? Is something to do with Ben?’

‘Why on earth would it be something to do with Ben?’ Fran looked up.

‘I don’t know,’ Libby muttered. ‘Just wondered.’

‘There’s nothing between Ben and me, I’ve told you. No, it’s Paula.’

‘Paula? The murder?’

‘Yes.’ Fran sighed. ‘It’s just one of those facts. I know she wasn’t killed where she was found.’

Libby was puzzled. ‘We were talking about that earlier, Peter and me. But why should that worry you?’ She looked at Fran’s averted profile. ‘Unless you know who killed her.’

‘No, I don’t think I do,’ said Fran. ‘But I’m worried about Millie.’

‘So are we. They’re getting in a doctor to see if she’s fit to be questioned tomorrow. I think we ought to find out who really killed Paula so they don’t bother Millie. No sense in upsetting the family all over again.’

‘It’ll upset the family anyway,’ murmured Fran.

‘Why? Why do you say that?’

Fran looked uncomfortable. ‘Oh, well, you know, James and all that.’

Libby shot her a suspicious look, but said nothing, and they walked the rest of the way back to Allhallow’s Lane in silence.

‘When are you going back to London?’ asked Libby later, as she handed Fran a substantial-looking scotch.

‘Tomorrow sometime. Is there anything I can do for you before I go?’

Libby raised her eyebrows. ‘No – should there be? Like what?’

Fran shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I seem to have been enjoying your hospitality a bit too much.’

‘You bought me dinner on Saturday.’

Fran’s lips twisted. ‘And that wasn’t an unqualified success, was it?’

‘Oh, come on, water under the bridge and all that.’ Libby sat down and took out her cigarettes. ‘All these problems have had a good effect on me. I haven’t smoked half as much over the last couple of weeks.’

Fran nodded. ‘You’ve had too much else to think about.’

‘Certainly have,’ said Libby. ‘Anyway, tomorrow I’m going to go with Peter to see Millie.’

‘Do you think that’s wise?’

‘Wise? What do you mean? She’s Pete’s mum. He needs to see how she is.’

Fran looked agitated. ‘Will David be there?’

‘No idea. Probably at work. But don’t worry, we won’t upset her. She won’t need medical intervention.’

Fran looked at her oddly. ‘No,’ she said.

‘Oh, honestly, you don’t think Pete’s going to hurt her, do you? How could you?’

‘No, no, of course not. I know he loves her.’

Libby was perplexed. ‘Then what’s the matter?’

Fran shook her head. ‘Oh, nothing. Take no notice of me. I’m being pathetic.’

Libby privately agreed, but couldn’t help the little niggle of doubt that kept her awake for far too long after she and Fran had gone to bed. Fran hadn’t actually demonstrated any startling evidence of psychometry or remote viewing, but Ben’s recommendation had carried some weight, and Fran was certainly worried about something. And she still hadn’t heard from Ben.

Peter phoned while Libby was having her early morning cup of tea.

‘I want to go and see Mum before they get anybody else out there. Are you still coming with me?’

‘Do you need me? I’m not dressed yet.’

‘No, not really, but you said you wanted to give me moral support.’

‘I’ll catch you up. I’ll keep my mobile on so you can get in touch if you go anywhere else.’

‘I’ll go and see James after Mum. He’s a bit wobbly.’

‘I’ll catch up with you somewhere, then,’ said Libby, and went upstairs to tell Fran and get dressed.

Fran was still disconcertingly edgy this morning, thought Libby as she made her way down Allhallow’s Lane in the spring sunshine. She obviously suspected someone but didn’t dare say who it was, but whether it was psychic intuition or simple deduction, Libby didn’t know. If it was deduction, she reasoned, she should have worked it out herself by now, although perhaps she was too close to all the protagonists to do that.

Blossom decorated the orchard that bordered the lane in pink and white, and Libby could smell the lilac that hung over the vicarage wall. The daffodils were over, and the remains of the tulips bent blowsily in their beds around the horse trough. Spring had well and truly arrived, but it was failing in its duty, thought Libby. It was supposed to cheer people up, to reaffirm life and love. Instead of which, it was insensitively showing off. It should have stayed appropriately wet, windy and depressing. She hadn’t even heard from Ben since the debacle of Tuesday night, which added to her own feeling of dejection, and the little niggle of doubt which had kept her awake last night was now turning into a knot of fear somewhere in her stomach.