Murder by the Sea (5 page)

Chapter Four

SATURDAY SAW THE SUN shining once more on Nethergate. The Swan sat at one end of Harbour Street in all its black and white glory and The Sloop sat at the other in its more modest flint. Between the two strolled holiday makers, passing and re-passing Fran’s Coastguard Cottage. Lizzie’s tiny ice cream shop was doing a brisk trade, as was the Blue Anchor, and the seagulls were having a field day with discarded chips. As Libby prepared to set up her easel opposite Coastguard Cottage, she noticed Mavis from the Blue Anchor scowling at a family whose children were distributing most of their lunch across the hard in front of them. Libby shook her head in sympathy. Visitors didn’t realise how much harm seagulls could do, and how dangerous they could become.

The
Dolphin
and the
Sparkler
were both out and all signs of a police presence had been removed. Nethergate was back to normal.

Or perhaps not, thought Libby, noticing the small brown haired person making her way purposefully along the sea wall towards her.

‘Mrs Sarjeant?’ said this person, slightly breathlessly.

‘Yes,’ said Libby, cautiously, her brush poised in mid air.

‘My name’s Jane Maurice.’

Of course. The person she and Fran had seen on Thursday morning, and who had accosted Fran in her home yesterday.

‘What do you want?’

Jane Maurice looked taken aback at Libby’s tone. ‘I – I just wanted –’

‘Mrs Castle has already told you she doesn’t want to be bothered by the press, hasn’t she?’ said Libby, trying to look fierce.

Jane nodded vigorously. ‘I know. It’s nothing to do with that. I wanted to talk to you.’

‘To me?’ Libby put the brushes down. ‘What on earth for? And how did you know who I was?’

‘Mavis told me.’ Jane looked sheepish. ‘I was down here to see George and Bert, only they’ve both gone out –’

‘The
Dolphin
and the
Sparkler
?’

‘Yes. I go out with them sometimes. And Mavis just pointed you out.’ ‘Just like that?’ ‘Well, she said: “There’s that Mrs Sarjeant who

does them theatricals over to Steeple Martin” or something like that, and said you were somehow instrumental in the restoration of The Alexandria. So I thought I’d come and ask you about it.’

‘Did you?’ Libby looked sceptical. Coming hard on the heels of Jane’s attempt to get Fran to talk, this was hard to accept. The Alexandria itself had been mixed up in a murder, too, and this looked suspicious.

Jane noticed, and sank down on to the sea wall. ‘Oh, well, it was worth a try,’ she sighed. ‘I can’t seem to get anywhere in this town.’

‘What did you want to know about The Alexandria?’ asked Libby.

‘Whether it really is being restored,’ said Jane, ‘and whether it will be a performance space, and if so what kind. I know you had something to do with The Oast House Theatre in Steeple Martin. Will it be like that?’

‘It is being restored, but I’m afraid it’s nothing to do with me,’ said Libby. ‘I don’t know what use it will be put to. Could be a restaurant, or something.’

This wasn’t true, but Libby’s knowledge of The Alexandria was highly confidential.

‘Oh.’ Jane searched Libby’s face for a moment, then sighed again and slid off the wall. ‘Thanks, anyway.’

‘Are you new down here?’ asked Libby, picking up her brushes again.

‘Not that new,’ said Jane, squinting out to sea. ‘I’ve been here about a year.’

‘What brought you here? The job?’

‘No.’ Jane perched on the sea wall again. ‘I inherited a house.’

‘Goodness! That was a bit of luck,’ said Libby, ‘although not if you were very fond of the person who died, of course.’

‘Well, I was, but I didn’t know her very well. She ran a boarding house here until the 1970s, then it became too much for her, so she turned it into little flats. She’d been in a care home for some time before she died, but the house was still there.’

‘And you inherited it? Tenants and all?’

‘Two tenants,’ said Jane, ‘yes. They aren’t any trouble, and an agent looks after that side of it. I just live in the top flat. I like it better than Auntie’s ground floor one.’

‘So you moved down and got the job when you got here?’ Libby had given up all pretence of painting now.

‘No, I applied before I moved down. I was lucky. I was already working on another paper in the group and a vacancy became available.’

‘And how do you find it?’

‘All right.’

‘Not so good?’

‘I’m an outsider.’ Jane smiled a little crookedly. ‘Last year I went out on George’s boat because he’d had an operation and needed help, and this year they’ve both let me go out with them whenever I wanted. Apart from them and a couple of people in the office, that’s it.’

‘And now you can’t get a story.’ Libby shook her head. ‘That’s a shame.’

‘Thank you. But you can’t get blood out of a stone –’ here, Jane paused looking horrified. ‘Sorry. I didn’t mean that.’

‘Yes, you did,’ said Libby, cheerfully, ‘and quite right too. But really, I’ve nothing to tell you, and neither has Mrs Castle. Even when she did help the police, it was all very hush-hush and no one believed it anyway.’

‘It seems to be quite well known, though. I knew about it because I worked on the paper, but I didn’t cover the story. Was it true?’

Libby looked at her consideringly. ‘If I tell you anything, it’s likely to end up in print, isn’t it?’

‘Oh, God.’ Jane shook her head. ‘You see? People don’t trust me. Even though I’m only a reporter on a tiny provincial weekly.’

‘Who managed to get a front page story this week and something in one of the nationals.’

‘Just because I was on the spot and had my wits about me. It wouldn’t have taken them long to find out, anyway.’

Libby nodded. ‘So you’re feeling a bit hard done by this morning.’

‘I suppose so.’ Jane slid back off the wall and stood up. ‘I’m sorry to have disturbed you, Mrs Sarjeant. I’ll let you get on.’

Libby looked ruefully at the picture. ‘I don’t think I’m going to get on at all,’ she said. ‘How about we go and have a coffee in The Blue Anchor?’

‘Really?’ Jane looked stunned. ‘Why?’

‘Because I’m not going to paint this morning after all and I’ve got to wait for Mrs Castle to come home, so I might as well wait in The Blue Anchor. It would be nice to have company and I’ll buy you a coffee.’

‘Oh.’ Jane looked down at Libby’s paraphernalia. ‘Can I help you carry, then?’

‘That would be kind.’ Libby put away the brushes and covered the painting. ‘I’m parked behind The Sloop.’

Ten minutes later, when they were seated outside The Blue Anchor, Mavis delivered a large mug of coffee for Jane and one of tea for Libby, who lit a cigarette and leaned back comfortably.

‘I always sit out here with George and Bert because they smoke,’ said Jane, pushing the foil ashtray across the table.

‘That’s good of you,’ said Libby. ‘Most of us feel like pariahs.’

‘It’s not good of me.’ Jane shook her head. ‘I wouldn’t have anyone to talk to otherwise.’

Libby squinted through smoke. ‘You’re painting a very sad picture of yourself, you know.’

Jane shrugged. ‘Maybe, but I think people in your age group think anyone under thirty-five is having a whale of a time with loads of friends and places to go. It isn’t true.’

‘No?’

‘Well, look at me. In a town I don’t know, with no friends or family, working in a very small office with no one of my own age. What do I do? Go clubbing on my own? Go to a pub on my own? The most I do is come down here for a drink or a coffee with George and Bert or take myself to The Raj for a treat, to make a change from a take-away.’

‘Golly,’ said Libby. ‘You’re right. I hadn’t thought about it. What about college friends? Old school friends?’

‘Oh, I’ve kept up with some, but they’re scattered all over the country. And my school friends are mostly married with young children now, so we’ve nothing in common.’

Libby stared out to sea for a moment. ‘What about interests? Hobbies?’ she asked finally.

Jane laughed. ‘That’s always the advice on the problem pages, isn’t it? My only hobby is reading – not exactly sociable.’

‘Didn’t you belong to any societies at college?’

Jane shook her head. ‘I told you, there’s nothing I’m really interested in. At uni we worked or went drinking, the same as everybody else.’

Libby looked at her meditatively. ‘Amateur dramatics?’ she said.

‘I know you’re involved with The Oast House Theatre,’ said Jane, ‘but I’m really not that sort.’

‘You mean you’re snobbish about amateur theatre?’

Jane flushed. ‘That wasn’t what I meant.’

‘Oh, yes it was. I’ve seen it too often not to recognise it,’ said Libby, stubbing out her cigarette. ‘But there are amateur companies and amateur companies, you know. You might get a shock. After all, you did come asking me about The Alexandria.’

‘Well … yes. I wondered if it was going to put on amateur performances for the town. We haven’t got a theatre here.’

‘You’ve got the Carlton Pavilion.’

‘It’s not a proper theatre, though, is it?’ said Jane.

‘True, but it does put on live events.’

‘Music, mainly,’ said Jane, her eyes going towards where the Carlton Pavilion sat almost on the sand just below The Swan.

Libby sat up straight and stretched. ‘Well, I was going to invite you over to have a look at us, but I can see you wouldn’t be interested.’

‘Look at you?’

‘Our little theatre,’ said Libby, deliberately injecting a disparaging note into her voice.

Jane looked sheepish. ‘Actually, I’d love to,’ she said.

Libby beamed. ‘I thought you might,’ she said.

Chapter Five

‘SO WHAT HAPPENED?’ LIBBY had left Jane at The Blue Anchor when she saw Fran arrive at Coastguard Cottage.

Fran shrugged. ‘Nothing. Ian showed me some clothes and that was it. No stunning revelations. Just clothes.’ She poured boiling water into a mug. ‘Sure you don’t want one?’

‘No, I’m awash.’ Fran looked up. ‘Yes. So tell me, what were you doing having tea with Jane Maurice?’

Libby told her. ‘She’s OK, really, Fran,’ she concluded, ‘just lonely. So I thought if she came over to the theatre she might meet people of her own age.’

‘We haven’t got any young people,’ said Fran.

‘There’s Harry – he’s young.’

‘Not available, though.’

‘And James.’ Libby’s eyes lit up. ‘Ah! Now, James will be just about ready –’

‘Libby, stop it! Don’t start matchmaking. Invite the poor girl by all means, but don’t try and interfere with her life, or James’s, come to that.’

‘OK.’ Libby went into Fran’s sitting room and to the window.

Fran frowned, suspicious of the ready acquiescence. ‘Come on, Lib. What are you planning?’

‘Nothing.’ Libby turned and beamed. ‘Honestly, nothing.’ She came towards Fran and sat down in one of the armchairs. ‘So tell me what Ian said. Has he asked you to investigate anything?’

‘No, of course not.’ Fran was looking uncomfortable, Libby noticed.

‘What did he say, Fran? There’s something isn’t there?’

‘If you must know, he said it was a pity I hadn’t taken up Kent and Coast’s invitation.’

‘Wha-a-a?’ Libby’s eyes widened in astonishment.

‘I know.’ Fran shook her head. ‘He seemed to think they could investigate undercover much better than the police could, and if I was on the spot I could – er – report to him.’

‘Spy, you mean? Gosh, what a cheek!’

‘Well, yes. But he also thought I might pick up something, you know, hidden, if I was on the spot rather than remotely.’ Fran sighed. ‘I suppose he’s right in a way.’

‘Are you going to do it?’

‘What, after I sent that poor young man packing?’

‘I’m sure you could get round that. Didn’t you say he told you to get in touch?’

‘I’ll think about it.’ Fran stood up and took her mug back into the kitchen. ‘Did you want some lunch, by the way?’

‘No, thanks, I said I’d meet Ben at the pub.’ Libby stood up and stretched. ‘We’re going to the caff tonight. Would you and Guy like to come too?’

‘I’ll ask him,’ said Fran, blushing faintly. ‘Funny, isn’t it? I still don’t like instigating anything in the relationship.’

‘This isn’t you, it’s me,’ said Libby bluntly. ‘I’ll go and ask him, if you like.’

‘No, don’t be daft. I’ll do it. I’m relieving him in the shop later, anyway.’ Fran went to open the front door. ‘I expect we’ll see you tonight.’

Libby relayed her morning’s doings to Ben back at the pub in Steeple Martin.

‘Are you,’ said Ben, nonchalantly lifting his pint, ‘starting to interfere a bit?’

‘Interfere? Me?’ Libby was outraged.