Murder in Bloom (2 page)

‘Did you ever explore?’ asked Libby.

‘Only up the lane. That’s the only way to get to the sailing club except by sea or river. We used to cycle there.’

‘Who’s we? And whose boat did you sail?’

‘Do you remember Basil?’

‘Basil?’ Libby giggled.

‘Obviously not.’ Ben frowned at her. ‘I went to school with him.’

‘Well, I didn’t know you then, did I?’

‘No, but he was still around when we first met.’

Libby shook her head. ‘Don’t remember, sorry.’

‘Bas’s dad had a little Mirror dinghy and we used to go down and crew for him. Crewed for some of the other members, too. I got quite good at it.’

‘But you gave it up?’

‘When I went to university. Never thought about doing it again, although I sailed on holiday in Corfu a couple of times.’

‘When was that?’

Ben sighed. ‘When I was married, of course. We went to Corfu several years running.’

‘Oh.’ Libby inspected her glass. Both of them had been married before, and both of them had children from these marriages, but she still hated being reminded.

‘So.’ She looked up. ‘Is the sailing club still there?’

‘No idea.’ Ben looked surprised. ‘Why? Do you fancy taking it up?’

‘No fear. Just wondered. If it was there, I thought Adam might be interested.’

‘Not as a novice without a boat,’ said Ben. ‘They didn’t have a training programme or anything. Too small.’

‘Oh, well. Just a thought.’ Libby stood up. ‘I’d better get dinner started.’

‘We can go out if you’d prefer,’ said Ben. ‘I don’t suppose Harry’s full tonight.’

‘I fancy meat,’ said Libby, who nevertheless loved The Pink Geranium, Harry’s vegetarian restaurant.

‘Pub, then,’ suggested Ben. ‘Especially if their steak and ale pie’s on.’

Libby patted his cheek and then his stomach. ‘OK, tubby,’ she said. ‘You give them a ring and I’ll put a bit of face on.’

‘I’ll give you tubby,’ said Ben, catching her as she tried to pass him and pulling her close.

‘Really?’ Libby raised an eyebrow. ‘Now?’

‘In front of Sidney?’ he whispered, running a hand down her back. Libby shivered and wondered how a greying, middle-aged man could still send her hormones spiralling out of control after nearly two years together. Then she stopped wondering.

Chapter Two

IT WAS ON THE national news the following morning. Libby turned up the volume on the kitchen radio and stood sipping tea. Ben had already left for The Manor and Sidney had sniffed dismissively at his breakfast and gone about the business of the day.

‘The skeletal remains of a body discovered in a garden in Kent have been identified as that of a male aged between thirty and fifty,’ read the announcer. ‘Police expect to know later today how long the bones have been in the ground. Meanwhile, the location of the find is not being made known to the public.’

‘Because it belongs to Lewis Osbourne-Walker,’ Libby told the kettle. ‘If it was on a council estate the world and his dog would know the actual address.’

She went to turn on the television to see if there was any more information on the local news programmes, but the phone interrupted her.

‘Fran, hello.’ Libby sat down on the sofa. ‘It’s a bit early. Is anything wrong?’

‘N-no.’ Fran hesitated. ‘I just wondered if you’d like to come down to lunch today.’

Libby frowned. ‘Sure. Any special reason?’

‘Um,’ said Fran. ‘I’d like your advice.’

‘
My
advice?’ squealed Libby. ‘That’ll be a first.’

‘Don’t get above yourself. Do you want to come down by train so you can have a drink?’

‘Too far,’ said Libby. ‘Remember when Campbell McLean took us to lunch? It took me an hour and a half to get there. I’ll drive and be good.’

‘OK. One o’clock?’

‘I’ll be there,’ said Libby, and she switched off the phone with another frown. Fran had become her best friend over the past couple of years, apart, of course, from Ben and his cousin Peter and Peter’s partner Harry, but it was most unlike Fran to ask advice, or even give much of herself away.

When Fran was introduced to Libby’s friend Guy Wolfe, who lived a few doors along from Fran in the seaside town of Nethergate, a relationship had developed between them, and Libby saw less of Fran now than she had when they first knew one another.

Later in the morning, the phone rang again.

‘Ma, it’s me again,’ said Adam. ‘I suppose you couldn’t pick me up from work this evening, could you? You did say you wouldn’t mind.’

‘Of course, darling,’ said Libby, her interest quickening. ‘Can’t you go home with Mog for some reason?’

‘Oh, it’s part of this bloody body thing,’ said Adam. ‘They’ve stopped us working in the wood – obvious, I suppose – and we’ve started on another part of the garden, but Mog hadn’t got all the plans with him, so he’s going home to work on them while I dig up some paving. He’d have to come back and get me unless you pick me up.’

‘So it’s no great desire to see me, then?’ Libby was amused.

‘Hey, Ma, I’m sorry.’ Adam sounded embarrassed.

‘Don’t be daft. I’ll be there at – what? Five?’

‘Bit earlier? Four thirty? I’ve been here since eight.’

‘OK. Will the police let me through? And do I come down the lane from the main road?’

‘Do you know it?’ Adam sounded surprised.

‘Ben does. Anyway, do I?’

‘Yeah. There’s a drive round the side of the house. I’ll tell the police you’re coming.’

‘Good-oh,’ said Libby. ‘I’ll see you then.’

At one o’clock, she parked Romeo the Renault on Harbour Street, a little way from Fran’s Coastguard Cottage. As it was still only early summer, the beach was not yet crowded, and the little boats that took out day trippers, the
Dolphin
and the
Sparkler
, rocked gently at anchor outside The Sloop at the end of the hard. Their captains, George and Bert, sat outside Mavis’s Blue Anchor café drinking huge mugs of tea. Libby waved and Bert waved his pipe back at her.

Fran was waiting with her door open, looking nervous. Libby kissed her cheek and stood back to stare at her.

‘Come on,’ she said. ‘What’s up?’

Fran closed the door and indicated an armchair.

‘It’s Guy,’ she said, taking the chair opposite.

‘Guy?’ Libby was surprised. ‘What’s the matter with him?’

Fran took a deep breath. ‘He wants to get married,’ she said.

Libby let out a whoop. ‘Fantastic, Fran! Congratulations!’

‘Hey!’ Fran looked startled. ‘I didn’t say I’d said yes. You won’t marry Ben, after all.’

‘But that’s me,’ said Libby. ‘I’m a stubborn old cow –’

‘Old trout,’ corrected Fran with a grin.

‘All right, old trout,’ agreed Libby, ‘but you aren’t. You’re much more sensible than I am, and more conventional.’

‘Thanks,’ said Fran. ‘That makes me sound like a right old bore.’

‘Oh, you know what I mean,’ said Libby. ‘And you said after you’d moved in here that you wanted to be on your own to savour it for a bit. Well, you’ve done that. You’ve had the cottage for well over a year and your relationship with Guy has got much closer, hasn’t it?’

‘Yes.’ Fran twisted her hands together. ‘I don’t think I could live without him, now.’

‘What’s the problem, then?’

‘The children,’ said Fran, looking anguished.

‘The
children
?’ gasped Libby. ‘
Your
children?’

Fran nodded.

‘What the hell have they got to do with anything?’

‘They don’t approve.’

Libby sat back in her chair and shook her head. ‘And just what don’t they approve of? You getting married again?’

‘Oh, I haven’t told them that,’ said Fran. ‘It’s just the girls, of course. They think I’m too old to have a new relationship with anyone, and they’re also worried about money.’

‘Money?’ repeated Libby stupidly.

‘Oh, you ought to hear Chrissie on the subject.’ Fran smiled wryly. ‘She’s convinced that my inheritance should have been divided between the children. She can’t understand why I couldn’t just sign over most of it to them. Lucy feels the same. They’re both convinced that Guy will deprive them of their own inheritance.’

‘I’ve never heard anything like it!’ Libby shook her head in disbelief. ‘I’d marry him quick and then change your will!’

‘That’s what you’d do,’ laughed Fran, ‘but then your lot would never behave like this.’

‘With a lovely mum like you, I can’t understand why yours do,’ said Libby.

‘I’ve told you,’ said Fran with a sigh. ‘I wasn’t there for them enough when they were growing up. Too intent on pursuing my career.’ She shrugged. ‘All to no avail.’

‘Well, I say go for it,’ said Libby. ‘And don’t invite them to the wedding.’

‘I can’t do that, it wouldn’t be right,’ said Fran.

‘And what happens if they go all sniffy and horrid on the day and spoil it for you?’

‘Do you think they would?’

‘From what I’ve heard about them – and don’t forget I
have
met them – I bet they would. We’ll just have to station bouncers all round the place to keep them in order.’

Fran laughed again. ‘So you say go for it?’

‘Of course.’ Libby bounced up and gave her friend a hug. ‘With bells on.’

‘Then I’ll get out the champagne,’ said Fran. ‘You can have just one glass before lunch, can’t you?’

Libby rubbed her hands together. ‘You bet!’ she said.

Guy joined them for lunch, obviously delighted at Libby’s reception of their news. Watching them together, she realised that Fran’s mind had been made up before she asked Libby’s advice, even if she wouldn’t acknowledge it to herself. Fran’s lack of self-confidence was still very much in evidence, even though she now owned a beautiful cottage in a highly desirable location, in the past two years had not one but two men interested in her romantically and had been successful in helping the police in four previous murder cases.

But now there was a glow about her. Seeing Fran throw back her head, dark hair swinging, when she laughed at one of Guy’s wicked sallies, Libby was proud of having introduced her to him, a middle-aged puckish figure with a dark goatee and snapping brown eyes.

At four o’clock she got up to go, having helped clear away the champagne glasses and the remaining crumbs of the lunch.

‘You don’t have to go,’ said Fran, freeing herself from Guy’s arm about her shoulders.

‘I do,’ said Libby. ‘I promised to pick Ad up from his job.’

‘What job?’ Guy stood up.

Surprised at herself, Libby realised she hadn’t told either of them about Adam’s discovery, let alone his illustrious employer. She explained.

‘You’re not going to interfere, are you?’ Guy looked suspicious and Libby sighed.

‘Why does everybody think I will?’ she said. ‘Ad hasn’t got transport back to Mog’s, so he asked me. That’s all.’

‘I didn’t see anything about it on the news,’ said Fran.

‘It was on the national news this morning, but it didn’t say where, exactly, or who owns the garden. Ad says they’re keeping it under wraps, and as it’s an old body it isn’t a big thing.’

Fran looked dubious. ‘But old bodies are often very big news,’ she said. ‘Remember those girls who were buried? They were old, but that was a huge investigation.’

‘Yes, well,’ said Libby, feeling uncomfortable, ‘that may be so, but Ad says it’s all very low-key so far.’

‘Perhaps for once the media are being respectful to one of their darlings,’ said Guy. ‘Lewis OsbourneWalker’s a celebrity, isn’t he?’

‘With nothing known about him,’ said Fran.

‘Except he’s gay,’ said Guy.

‘Guy!’ Libby and Fran turned on him.

‘I only meant it’s the sort of thing they make a big thing of, isn’t it?’ Guy looked defensive.

‘Hardly.’ Fran was scornful. ‘Half the celebrities on TV are gay these days. It makes no difference.’

‘I did mention that to Ad yesterday,’ said Libby. ‘He told me off, but I said Lewis was a bit of a housewives’ favourite and wouldn’t that make a difference.’

‘Of course not,’ said Fran. ‘Only the very oldest housewives would be put off.’

‘Really?’ Libby looked doubtful. ‘What about those people who disapprove of Peter and Harry?’

‘Particularly Harry!’ grinned Guy.

‘So who are they?’ asked Fran. ‘I’ve never met any, and you said yourself how lovely it was in the village with everyone cheering them on when they got married.’

‘Partnershipped,’ corrected Libby automatically. ‘But there was that letter, wasn’t there?’

‘What letter?’ asked Guy, sitting down again.