Murder by the Sea (13 page)

Jane looked from one to another. ‘Is that the Ben I met the other night? He’s involved with The Alexandria? What’s happening to it?’

‘I told you last week, I have no idea,’ said Libby. ‘If Ben was consulted, it was in his capacity as an architect. I wouldn’t know about any of that.’

Fran, looking chastened, had sat down again.

‘So, Jane, when can we go out on the other trip?’ said Libby.

‘Most days, really. It’s just that the body seemed to make everybody want to go round the island,’ said Jane.

‘Ghouls,’ said Fran.

‘Well, yes, but good for business. It’s a shorter trip, so they can do more. Normally George would go round the island a couple of times, while Bert would go to the cove once, then the next day they’d change over.’

‘So somebody goes every day?’

‘Unless the weather’s bad. Sometimes if there aren’t many people about they’ll have a day off, or one of them will.’

‘Look we’re nearly there, now,’ said Libby. ‘Any more of those olives left, Jane?’

‘So what was all that about The Alexandria?’

said Libby, as they walked back along Harbour Street after thanking Jane and George. ‘You know it’s supposed to be under wraps.’

‘Sorry,’ said Fran. ‘I just had an idea.’

‘One of those special ideas? Or just an idea?’

‘Just an idea.’ Fran looked up at The Alexandria. ‘I just wondered if any of the Polish community were working there.’

‘Oh.’ Libby looked up too. ‘Actually, that
is
a good idea. I suppose Ian’s made enquiries among all the immigrant workers in the hotels? Wouldn’t he have done the same with any builders? They’re supposed to be very good, aren’t they?’

‘As builders? I think so.’

‘Well, wouldn’t he have asked them?’

‘I suppose so.’ Fran took out her key. ‘Are you coming in?’ ‘No, I’ll get back home,’ said Libby. ‘But I really want to go to that cove. When do you want to go?’ ‘I’m not sure I do,’ said Fran, unlocking her door. ‘Won’t Ben go with you?’ ‘Spoilsport. Oh, I’ll get someone. And will you ask Ian about the builders? And your sea moment?’ ‘Yes, yes and yes,’ said Fran with a sigh. ‘Just give us a chance.’

Libby drove home to Steeple Martin in a thoughtful frame of mind. She had thoroughly enjoyed the boat trip and wished it could have been longer, but what was worrying her more was Fran’s state of mind. From warning Libby that she had nearly put her foot in it at the beginning of the trip to doing it herself at the end, she had been most unlike herself. Her “moment” had been the most dramatic Libby had witnessed, and was worrying in itself, but it was Fran’s apparent searching for other ideas that had her friend puzzled.

Libby fully believed in Fran’s intermittent psychic predictions as they had been proved right every time, but she was convinced that being put under pressure by the police in the shape of Ian Connell was forcing Fran to come up with ideas for which there was no evidence, psychic or otherwise.

‘So what exactly is going on at The Alexandria?’ she asked Ben a little later. ‘It all seems to be so hush-hush.’

Ben shrugged. ‘It’s because it’s still legally owned by Bella,’ he said. ‘although that lawyer Robert Grimshaw’s formed a trust to administer it, according to Bella’s wishes. He thinks it will be adverse publicity if any of the details come out. And he’s got a soft spot for Bella.’

‘Right. And the builders? Are they Polish?’

‘Some of them, why?’ Ben eyed her for a moment. ‘Oh, I see. The body on the island again. Well, nobody’s been reported missing, so I doubt it’s one of them. Anyway, there are loads of immigrant workers in Nethergate this year. Could be any one of them.’

‘Fran’s got farms in her head.’

‘Well, yes, fruit pickers. Although the numbers are down this year because of the new government legislation.’

‘Oh, dear,’ Libby sighed. ‘More restrictive laws.’

Ben grinned at her. ‘Absolutely. When are you going to cut and run, Lib?’

Libby sighed again. ‘If it wasn’t for you and the children, I’d go now.’

‘Where to, though? Everywhere in Europe is subject to the same laws.’

‘And not the same interpretation,’ said Libby. ‘You know that full well. And I’m not going to get into an argument with you, so that’s that.’

‘So, then. Fruit pickers. Legal numbers are down, so presumably illegal immigrants are taking up the slack,’ said Ben.

‘And this bloke must be one of them.’ Libby gazed down at the soup she was stirring. ‘I wonder why the police haven’t traced him yet?’

‘He probably hasn’t been reported missing if he’s not supposed to be here.’

‘But they must have some idea of which farms are using these people?’ Libby looked up. ‘They’re being exploited, aren’t they?’

‘I’m sure the police are onto them, but it’s probably quite a big operation. Connell will have already done something about that.’

Libby ladled soup into two bowls. ‘I hope so,’ she said, ‘but I still don’t really see what the Transnistrian woman and the Italian girl have to do with anything, do you?’

‘No. I think it’s Fran making assumptions.’

‘Exactly. She’s under too much pressure.’ Libby put a bowl down in front of Ben and sat down herself. ‘And yet she did have this very convincing “moment” on the boat.’

‘That’s what’s so interesting,’ said Ben. ‘She’s had those before, hasn’t she? When she went to The Laurels after her aunt had died? But this was even more dramatic, you said?’

‘She all but passed out.’ Libby sighed. ‘The other times are when she sort of knows things without being told. And that’s what she’s trying to find now, I’m sure. Ian’s investing in her to the extent of pushing her into the arms of Kent and Coast Television and she feels she’s got to justify his faith, yet the only things that have really come out of it have been her sea moment and her feeling about Jane’s house, which has nothing to do with anything at all.’

Ben paused with his soup spoon half way to his mouth. ‘Are you sure Jane’s got nothing to do with all this?’

‘Not you, too.’ Libby frowned at him. ‘That’s what Harry said. How can she have anything to do with it? She’s only been here a year, and she just happened to be on the boat when the body was spotted.’

Ben sipped his soup. ‘But that’s the point,’ he said. ‘She
was
on that boat.’

Libby put her spoon down and stared at him in horror. ‘You’re not suggesting she was actually
supposed
to be on that boat? To spot the body?’

Ben shrugged. ‘Well, it makes a sort of sense, doesn’t it? No one else had spotted it.’

Libby stared at him for a moment longer. ‘I just don’t believe it,’ she said finally. ‘And why, for goodness’ sake?’

Ben sighed. ‘I don’t know, do I? You’re the detective. I was just saying what seemed obvious.’

Libby thought. ‘It doesn’t seem obvious to me,’ she said eventually. ‘And it’s no good asking Fran at the moment, is it? She’ll go off on a wild goose chase.’

‘And that’s usually you, isn’t it?’ Ben grinned slyly.

‘They haven’t turned out to be wild goose chases, have they?’ said Libby. ‘I admit I’m not very scientific, but I’ve got there in the end.’

‘Well, let’s forget about it, now,’ said Ben. ‘We’ve got the whole weekend to look forward to without thinking about bodies and Italians, so finish your soup and let’s get on with it.’

Chapter Thirteen

FRAN WAS SOMEWHAT PUZZLED to find herself outside Jane Maurice’s house later that afternoon. Feeling confused and unsettled, she’d decided to go for a walk without thinking about where she was going. And now, here she was.

She gazed up at the house wondering why it seemed important. Turning to sit on a bench overlooking the sea, she tried to analyse the feeling. As usual, she was unable to do so. There was none of the suffocating blackness that she now associated with death, simply a feeling that the house was important. Not Jane herself, Fran acknowledged, just the house. But important to what? Surely not the body on the island? She searched her mind trying to find connections, aware as she was doing so that this was just what Libby said she’d been doing – trying too hard – when the front door opened and a man came down the whitewashed steps. Terry? she wondered. But this man looked older than Terry, whom Libby had described as around thirty.

Good-looking, she thought, very dark and going grey. This must be Jane’s new tenant. Her eyes followed him down the hill and past The Alexandria.

‘Fran?’

Fran jumped and turned round. ‘Oh, Jane! You startled me.’

‘I just wondered what you were doing sitting here outside my house.’ Jane stood with her arms folded, frowning suspiciously.

‘Nothing.’ Fran laughed a little guiltily. ‘I just found myself here. I expect it was a result of our conversation on the boat.’ She nodded down the hill. ‘Is that your new tenant?’

Jane’s expression cleared. ‘Mike, yes. He seems very pleasant.’

‘I thought he wasn’t moving in until Monday?’

‘Oh, the agents cleared his money and his references, so there didn’t seem any point in waiting,’ said Jane. ‘Besides, the quicker he’s in, the quicker I start getting rent.’

‘Is he English?’

‘English? With a name like Mike Charteris? I should say so. Why do you ask?’

‘He looks so dark.’ Fran smiled brightly. ‘Don’t take any notice of me, I’ve got foreigners on the brain.’

‘Understandable, I suppose,’ said Jane. ‘Look, would you like to come up and have a cup of tea? Terry might come up as well in a minute. He’s been doing something to the locks on the downstairs flat, so I owe him a cup.’

‘Love to.’ Fran stood up and smoothed down her skirt. ‘Won’t Terry mind?’

‘No, of course not. Why should he?’ Jane led the way up the steps to the front door. Fran admired its stained glass panels and then, as she stepped inside, felt a shiver of recognition. She stopped.

‘Anything the matter?’ Jane turned back.

‘No.’ Fran shook her head. ‘Just struck cool coming in from that sun.’

‘I know. Quite cold, these old Victorian houses, aren’t they? Come on up.’

So she’d been right, thought Fran. There was something about this house. But it was nothing to do with the body on the island.

While Fran was admiring the view over the bay, she heard the door open behind her.

‘Oh, sorry.’

Fran turned round to find herself face to face with a tall, good-looking young man in a T-shirt and jeans.

‘You must be Terry?’ she said. ‘I’m Fran.’

‘Oh, right.’ He wiped his hand on his jeans and held it out. ‘The lady who lives on Harbour Street?’

‘That’s right. Jane told you, did she?’

Faint spots of colour appeared on Terry’s cheeks. ‘Yeah, well. We had a drink the other night.’

‘Right.’ Fran nodded. Libby was right, then. Romance was in the air.

Jane came in carrying two mugs, and went a similar shade of pink. ‘Oh, Terry,’ she said. ‘I’ll get another mug.’

‘Doesn’t matter,’ said Terry, backing towards the door. ‘You’ve got a guest.’

‘No, no,’ said Jane hastily, ‘I was telling Fran about you.’

This time they both went even pinker, to Fran’s amusement.

‘I believe you met my friend Libby, too,’ she said, to diffuse the situation.

‘Yes.’ Terry nodded and looked towards the kitchen. ‘Shall I get myself a mug, Jane?’

Gosh, they’ve progressed quickly, thought Fran, remembering what Libby had told her about their relationship.

‘No, I’ll get it.’ Jane hurried back towards the kitchen and Fran sat down.

‘Lovely view this flat’s got,’ said Fran. ‘I suppose yours is similar?’

‘Not as good, because it’s lower down, but yeah. Good.’ Terry offered a small smile.

‘And you were here when Jane’s aunt still lived in the ground floor flat?’

‘Only just. Before she went into a home.’ Terry shifted in his chair and looked towards the kitchen. His expression changed to one of relief as Jane came through the door.

‘Aunt Jessica?’ She put Terry’s mug on a side table by his chair. ‘She went into a home a year before she died, didn’t she Terry?’

‘Yes.’ Terry took an unwise sip of his hot tea and winced. ‘I wasn’t here all the time, and Mrs Finch couldn’t get up and down from the basement, so no one could look after her.’

‘Basement?’

‘What they call a garden flat. The ground floor is actually above ground level.’

‘Of course, the steps up to the front door. So Mrs Finch has her own entrance?’

‘Yes, which is at the back with no steps to go down. Ideal for her. She’s quite old.’ Jane sipped her own tea and flashed a glance towards Terry. ‘You help her, though, don’t you, Terry?’

Terry shrugged. ‘Now and then. Little jobs, you know. Like I do for you.’

Fran looked from one to the other and hid a smile. It was rare in her experience, to see a young couple in the throes of this sort of old fashioned courtship. She hoped it would last.