Murder in the Green (30 page)

After the buffet, the speeches and the cutting of the cake, Libby looked round for Wilhelmina, but she was nowhere to be seen. Diggory had taken the cake into the kitchens, presumably to divide it into guest-size pieces. Perhaps Wilhelmina would reappear handing it out.

But neither of them reappeared, and Libby was left wondering if she would, in fact, ever see Wilhelmina again.

After six o’clock, evening guests drifted in and the party took off. Terry’s talented sister unsurprisingly had a cabaret spot during the evening, playing the piano and singing, and a local band supplied danceable music the rest of the time. Jane and Terry floated round the marquee on a cloud of champagne and happiness, and, all in all, Libby thought, it was the third lovely wedding she been to in the last couple of years. The thought did make her wonder if she should be planning her own, but the involuntary shudder it provoked made her reconsider immediately. Poor Ben, she thought, stealing a look at him as he danced gracefully with Jane’s mother, who was visibly thawing.

On the way back to Allhallow’s Lane, as they shared a people carrier taxi back to the village, Libby invited Harry and Peter to join them for a nightcap.

‘She looked lovely, didn’t she?’ said Libby, when they arrived. ‘Gorgeous dress.’

‘All brides are lovely,’ said Guy, sitting on the arm of Fran’s chair. ‘Especially mine.’

‘Oh gawd,’ said Harry. ‘Young lurve.’

‘Not so young, whippersnapper,’ said Guy. ‘You were, though.’

‘Old married couple now, aren’t we, me old dutch?’ He poked Peter with his foot from his place on the hearthrug.

‘Don’t you start taking me for granted,’ said Peter. ‘I’m still a desirable property.’

‘Anyway, I agree with Lib,’ said Fran. ‘She did look lovely. And Terry looked so smart. His mum’s nice, isn’t she?’

‘So’s his sister,’ said Ben, ‘But Jane’s mother. How difficult is she?’

‘We told you that last year,’ said Fran, ‘when we went to see her in London.’

‘And Jane wants her to live with them? She’s mad.’ Harry lifted his glass for a refill.

‘She’s not, you know,’ said Libby getting to her feet and fetching the gin bottle. ‘Her mother would always be on at her to go up to London to look after her as she gets older, and Jane’s still upset that she wasn’t nearer when her aunt died. If her mother’s in the flat downstairs, she’s independent but Jane and Terry are on hand. I think it’s a great idea. I’m busy planting it in Ad’s mind already.’

‘Adam?’ scoffed Harry. ‘He couldn’t look after himself, let alone anyone else.’

‘Come off it, Harry,’ said Peter. ‘He’s a sensible young man, is Adam. And he’s holding down two jobs. Yours and the one at Creekmarsh. And even the flat over the caff’s quite clean and tidy.’

‘Really?’ Libby was interested. ‘Can I come and have a look?’

‘No.’ Harry glared at her. ‘He’d never trust me again.’

‘So,’ said Ben, deeming it wise to change the subject, ‘you found out what Diggory was doing there.’

‘Well, yes,’ said Libby. ‘You were there. It was obvious really.’

‘Diggory?’ said Harry surprised.

‘Who’s Diggory?’ asked Peter, whose life as a journalist in London precluded him from knowing a lot about Libby’s various, and nefarious, doings.

‘He’s a baker,’ said Libby, ‘and he’s involved in this funny cult with Cranston Morris, where Bill Frensham was killed. And he knew John Lethbridge who was also killed. And he’s friends with Lethbridge’s wife, who was there today as a waitress. He made the wedding cake, by the way.’

‘Right,’ said Peter, wrinkling a patrician brow and pushing back a lock of straight blond hair. ‘I think I get all that. Does this mean you two are up to your old tricks again. Miss Marple and Miss Silver join forces?’

‘No!’ said Libby and Fran, while Harry was heard to mutter ‘Miss Silver? Who’s Miss Silver?’

‘Yes, they are,’ said Guy. ‘Libby was asked by a member of this Morris side, then Fran was asked by her old flame.’

‘Oh, yes! I didn’t see him there tonight,’ said Libby, hoping to change the subject again.

‘No,’ said Fran. ‘Jane said he’d sent his apologies, but he was called out.’

‘Well, I’m not terribly distressed about that,’ said Guy, with a grin.

‘Oh, you!’ said Fran, giving him a nudge which nearly sent him off the arm of the chair.

The conversation turned in another direction and Libby relaxed. She didn’t want anyone peering too closely at her proposed activities, which she had a strong suspicion might appear dangerous to those of her friends who had been involved involuntarily in her past escapades. She thought particularly of the adventure last year where she, Fran, Ben and Guy had all been in the way of a murderer, and not only interrupted a failed attempt at burglary, but she and Fran had been attacked personally.

Taking a healthy swallow of scotch, she put it all from her mind and set out to be entertaining.

Chapter Thirty

On Sunday morning Libby braced herself to tell Ben she was going over to Nethergate. She could hardly say she was going to interview a suspect, and as she’d spent most of the previous day, and breakfast that morning, with Fran, she couldn’t use visiting the Wolfes as an excuse.

However, Ben announced as soon as Fran and Guy had left that he was going up to Steeple Farm if Libby didn’t mind, and he would see her at the Manor around one o’clock for lunch.

‘Won’t you come back here to change?’ she asked, surprised.

‘No, I don’t need to. I’ve kept some overalls at the farm. What will you do?’

‘Oh, I don’t know. Washing? Change the spare bed?’

‘They’ve only just got out of it,’ grinned Ben. ‘You’re not usually that efficient.’

But he left it at that and disappeared as soon as he’d helped clear away the breakfast things. Libby watched him drive away and then scrabbled in her handbag for Wilhelmina’s phone number.

It rang for a long time, and Libby’s heart was beginning to beat uncomfortably fast when a sleepy voice answered.

‘Wilhelmina?’ said Libby. ‘It’s Libby Sarjeant. You said you’d like to meet. I’m free this morning.’

‘Oh.’ It sounded as though Wilhelmina was struggling to sit up. ‘Sorry I was still asleep. What time is it?’

‘After ten,’ said Libby, trying to keep disapproval out of her voice. After all, she frequently stayed in bed until after ten on a Sunday herself.

‘Do you want to come over, then?’

‘If you still want to talk to me.’

‘Yes,’ said Wilhelmina, her voice stronger. ‘I do. I need some advice.’

‘OK,’ said Libby. ‘Can I bring my friend with me? She’s the clever one in our investigations. I promise you, she’s very discreet.’

‘She the one who sees ghosts?’

‘Ghosts? No. But you’ve obviously heard of her.’

‘Yes.’ There was silence for a moment. ‘She can see things, can’t she?’

‘Some things, yes.’

‘That sounds a bit – well, dangerous.’

‘She’s never actually had a vision of somebody killing someone else,’ said Libby.

‘Right.’ More silence. ‘OK, then. Give me an hour. You know where it is?’

‘I know where it is,’ said Libby, and rang off.

‘Lib, I’ve only just got in,’ complained Fran, when appealed to. ‘I don’t know what I’m going to say to Guy.’

‘You said he didn’t mind you taking an interest. Anyway, won’t he be opening the shop? It’s a summer Sunday – good for trade.’

‘Oh, all right,’ said Fran with a sigh. ‘Where shall I meet you?’

‘On the prom,’ said Libby, ‘And we can always have an ice cream afterwards if we don’t take long.’

Déjà vu, thought Libby an hour later as she waited for Fran on the promenade at Nethergate. In the second adventure she and Fran had together they had come to Nethergate (Fran didn’t live there then) and watched elderly holiday-makers braving the summer weather. It was much the same today, sea whipped up into meringue points, threatening steely clouds in the sky and a nasty little wind blowing up swirls of dust and sweet wrappers. Thank goodness yesterday had been sunny. Libby turned and looked up at Cliff Terrace, where Jane and Terry lived in Peel House. Not that they were there now, of course.

‘Ready then?’

Libby turned to face Fran and beamed. ‘Come on then,’ she said.

Marine View was a tall Victorian house in a terrace. Most of the others appeared to be guest houses, but this one was divided into flats. Libby found the bell marked Lethbridge and pushed.

‘Nothing as fancy as an entryphone,’ she said, as they waited for a response. Eventually the wide front door opened a crack and Wilhelmina’s tousled head appeared.

‘Come in,’ she said, standing back.

Libby and Fran trooped in and waited for her to close the door and lead the way. Libby couldn’t help comparing the way she looked now with the glossy image she’d presented yesterday and last Saturday. Her hair stood out round her head in a halo of spikes, her eye make-up had slipped under her eyes and her lipstick had spread up to her nose and down to her chin. Grey sweat pants and a grubby T-shirt completed the effect. Exchanging glances with Fran, she followed Wilhelmina up the stairs.

The flat was on the first floor. The front room had tall windows and a beautiful fireplace which had been boarded up. Wilhelmina sat down on a sagging sofa and indicated chairs on the other side of the room.

‘This is Fran Castle,’ said Libby.

‘Wolfe,’ said Fran.

‘Oh, yes. I keep forgetting. Fran Wolfe. She’s just got married.’ Libby leant forward. ‘So, what did you want to talk to us about? You said you wanted advice.’

‘Yes.’ Wilhelmina tucked her feet under her and examined her nails. ‘You know my husband was killed.’

‘Yes,’ said Fran. ‘On Beltane night. Before Bill Frensham was killed.’

‘Yeah. So it couldn’t have been him, could it? John, I mean. He couldn’t have killed Bill?’

‘Of course not,’ said Libby.

Wilhelmina shifted uncomfortably. ‘Only you see, I went to see him that day.’

‘The day he died? Have you told the police?’ said Fran in a surprised voice.

‘No. That’s why I wanted advice.’

‘But why me?’ said Libby. ‘You were fairly angry with me last week.’

‘But you were right.’ Wilhelmina’s colour was rising. ‘We were all part of this Goddess thing, and Bill and Diggory had got it all tied up with some coven thing.’

‘I knew it,’ said Libby.

Wilhelmina looked up under her brows. ‘Yeah. Some black magic thing that happened and they broke up.’

‘And reformed as the Goddess cult as an offshoot of Cranston Morris,’ said Libby.

‘John joined in, but he didn’t like it when I got too friendly with people, especially Bill.’ She was looking down at her hands again.

‘And Diggory?’ said Fran.

‘Only since John left,’ said Wilhelmina. ‘Bill and I had broken up by then.’

Libby raised her eyebrows. ‘Really?’

‘Really what?’ Wilhelmina looked belligerent.

‘You’d broken up?’

‘He was off with that woman from his work, wasn’t he.’

‘Ah, yes. Anyway, you went to see John the morning he died, you were saying,’ said Fran.

‘Yes.’

‘Why?’

‘I needed money.’ Wilhelmina lifted her chin.

‘So what do you need advice about?’ Libby was frowning. ‘You can tell the police that, can’t you?’

‘Not that.’ Wilhelmina stood up. ‘I’m going to have a coffee. Want one?’

Libby and Fran both shook their heads and she wandered off, presumably into the kitchen, leaving them looking at each other in puzzlement.

‘What’s she on about?’ said Libby quietly.

‘Something he told her, I expect,’ said Fran. ‘She’s working up to telling us.’

Wilhelmina returned carrying a large blue mug.

‘You were saying?’ prompted Libby.

‘Well.’ Wilhelmina sighed, took a sip of coffee and winced. ‘See, it was John. He said he couldn’t give me much at the moment but he would soon.’

‘Meaning?’ said Libby, after a pause.

‘I don’t know. He was angry.’ Wilhelmina looked up. ‘This is why I thought I’d talk to you.’

Libby regarded her silently for a moment, then heaved a deep sigh.

‘Look, Willy,’ she said, ‘let’s get this straight. You’re not making much sense at the moment. Start from the beginning. You were married to John Lethbridge. He and Bill Frensham were friends, right?’

‘Some kind of business connection,’ said Wilhelmina. ‘They knew one another before we got married.’

‘Right. So did Bill suggest you both joined the coven?’

‘I never belonged. I think John did, but there was this murder, you see –’

‘We know about the murder,’ said Fran.

‘Oh, do you?’ Wilhelmina looked surprised. ‘Well, anyway, then John suggested this Goddess thing, and it sounded fun, you know, one up from wife swapping. Sort of gave it an extra – I don’t know – thrill, somehow.’