Murder in the Green (6 page)

‘If there is,’ said Fran, amused, ‘I’m surprised you didn’t start questioning him.’

‘That’s exactly why I left,’ said Libby, starting down the other side of the Mount towards the high street. ‘It would have warned him off and made the atmosphere even more uncomfortable than it was.’

Fran looked thoughtful. ‘Yes, there was a certain amount of discomfort there, wasn’t there?’

‘Gemma’s really uncomfortable.’ Libby frowned. ‘I don’t know what it is, or why she’s asked me to talk to people. She can’t really mean that, can she?’

‘She wants us to look into the murders,’ said Fran calmly.

‘Now
you’ve
said murders plural,’ said Libby accusingly.

Fran nodded. ‘And one of the reasons Gemma’s uncomfortable is Richard Diggory.’ Fran stopped outside the bakery. ‘Notice anything about this window?’

‘Apart from the Oak King and the sun?’

‘And the Holly King on the floor.’ Fran pointed to another bread sculpture of a Father Christmas head at the Oak King’s feet.

‘But that’s just symbolic of the battle between them,’ said Libby.

‘But you said today the Holly King kills the Oak King, so this should be the other way round.’

‘Oh.’ Libby made a face. ‘So Diggory’s jealous of Dan? Why?’

‘Oh, honestly, Libby!’ Fran laughed. ‘He’s after Gemma.’

‘Gemma?’ Libby squeaked. ‘But she’s…well, she’s…’

‘Not very glamorous?’ suggested Fran. ‘No, maybe not, although I haven’t seen her in mufti. But she’s certainly got that sort of earthy sensuality that appeals to men.’

‘Has she?’ Libby’s brows flew up into her hairline. ‘Good lord! How do you know?’

Fran shrugged. ‘I just do.’

‘You’ve been having one of your moments, haven’t you?’

‘I suppose so.’ Fran turned and began to walk towards the car park. ‘I’m completely sure that whatshisname Letchworth –’

‘John Lethbridge.’

‘– was murdered, and that Richard Diggory has evil designs on your friend Gemma.’

‘But the two aren’t connected.’ Libby hurried to keep up.

‘Not on the face of it.’

‘Oh, Fran, how could they be? Bill Frensham had nothing to do with Gemma; neither, as far as I know, had John Lethbridge, so Diggory wouldn’t be knocking them off as rivals, would he?’

‘As I said, on the face of it,’ said Fran. ‘I don’t know. I’ll have to go home and think about it. And talking of home,’ she turned to Libby, ‘will you give me a lift? Guy wasn’t coming to get me until after closing time.’

‘Of course,’ said Libby.

They drove out of Steeple Mount and Libby glanced over to where the woods concealed Tyne Chapel.

‘Reminds me a bit of all that Satanism at the chapel,’ she said with a shudder.

‘The Morris?’ Fran nodded. ‘It’s all based in the old beliefs, and there’s a connection with horned gods. The Morris is good, though, surely?’

‘Oh, yes. Cranston Morris do loads of fund raisers and dance at church festivals.’

‘I meant basically. The origins of Morris.’

‘Oh. Right. Well, yes, as far as I could tell. Have a look online, but I warn you, there’s absolutely loads of stuff on there, and you have to stop yourself going down all the unnecessary byways.’

‘That’s the same with all research,’ said Fran.

Libby looked at her sideways. ‘So we’re looking into it, then?’

Fran, smiled through the windscreen as a view of her adopted town appeared over the horizon.

‘Just for interest’s sake,’ she said.

Chapter Six

Libby couldn’t sleep that night. Every time she began to drift off, she caught herself involuntarily and woke up. Eventually, thoroughly frustrated, she slid out of bed carefully, leaving Ben emitting whiffling little snores as he turned on to his back, and crept downstairs.

Sidney appeared in the kitchen in happy surprise and immediately started asking for breakfast. ‘Ssssh!’ she told him. ‘It’s not morning yet.’ She felt the top of the Rayburn, which was barely warm, sighed, and dug out the electric kettle. Waiting for it to boil, she wandered out in the dark garden and noticed the slight lightening in the east.

‘Nearly solstice time, then,’ she said to Sidney. ‘I suppose I could go and watch with the mayor.’ She went back inside and peered at the clock. What time had Gemma said? Sunrise? 5 o’clock? Just time if she drank her tea while getting dressed.

Fifteen minutes later, in jeans, scarves and a denim jacket, Libby drove down Allhallow’s Lane, hoping that the solstice celebrations were on the Mount. She hadn’t thought to ask Gemma, having had no intention of coming. And now she wondered why she was. Had her sleepless night been somehow self-induced? Had she subconsciously intended to come all along?

She was surprised to find the Steeple Mount car park almost as full as it had been 12 hours earlier. A few stragglers were hurrying along the high street towards the Mount, where Libby could see a large group of people already surrounding Grey Betty. To her left, she noticed another group emerging from the direction of the woods.

‘Don’t be silly,’ she told herself, ‘they’ve come from the back lane. Plenty of houses down there.’ But she found herself veering to her right and climbing the Mount as far away from the woods as she could.

The sight at the top was impressive. To one side stood the dancers and musicians, the accordionist and fiddler, to the other, several figures in long white robes, (Druids? wondered Libby) and in the centre, the fully clad Kings, Oak and Holly. And between them, to Libby’s surprise, a female figure festooned in summer vegetation. The Goddess, the Earth Mother, obviously.

Libby stopped on the outskirts of the crowd and looked round. She saw the Mayor, looking uncomfortable with his chain of office sitting on top of a lightweight linen jacket, a gaggle of local press photographers, two of whom she recognised, and other members of Cranston Morris, the women in their traditional peasant girl costumes.

The sky began to get lighter and the Oak King began to speak. In spite of a certain amount of scepticism, or possibly cynicism, Libby found it impressive. As the light increased, so the two kings took up their positions, and as the sun weakly penetrated the cloud, they began to fight. It was a purely symbolic fight with staves, but to Libby it was chilling. As the Oak King fell, the Holly King took the Goddess by the arm and they ceremonially began a descent of the Mount. Behind them the dancers fell into formation, the musicians struck up, and the whole procession moved off, amid flashing cameras. The solstice song was sung again, and this time, Libby found herself remembering the words.

‘Enjoy that?’ Richard Diggory, mask hooked on to his belt, came up behind her, wiping his brow.

‘Impressive,’ said Libby. ‘Do you ever hurt yourselves? Those staves must weigh a ton.’

‘We’re used to it. Dan isn’t as – shall we say, committed? – as Bill was.’

‘Doesn’t hit so hard, you mean?’

Richard looked at her through narrowed eyes. ‘You could say that.’

‘Libby,’ said another voice at her shoulder. She swung round.

‘Ian! What on earth are you doing here?’

Detective Inspector Ian Connell’s black eyebrows were, as usual, drawn down over his equally dark eyes. ‘The same as you, probably,’ he said.

Libby started. Aware of Richard Diggory on her other side, she shook her head. ‘I – er – doubt it,’ she said.

‘I was watching the sunrise celebrations,’ said Ian. ‘Weren’t you?’

Confounded, Libby gave a shaky laugh. ‘Oh, of course.’ She darted a look at Richard Diggory who had dropped behind and was watching thoughtfully. ‘Do you know Ian Connell, Richard?’

‘Detective Inspector.’ Richard inclined his head. ‘We’ve met.’

‘Oh.’ Feeling foolish, Libby realised that a) Ian was probably here to keep a watching brief over Cranston Morris and b) that if so, Diggory would have been questioned by him after Bill’s death.

‘Mr Diggory.’ Ian’s own head bent slightly in acknowledgement. ‘Are you going home now, Libby? Have you got your car?’

‘Of course,’ said Libby. ‘I didn’t walk from Steeple Martin.’

‘I didn’t suggest you did,’ said Ian equably. ‘I thought someone else might have given you a lift.’

‘Fran’s not here,’ said Libby, and could have bitten her tongue out.

‘No.’ Libby could have sworn Ian’s mouth quirked in a smile. ‘I was merely going to offer you a lift if you needed one.’

‘Oh. Thanks, Ian. No, I’m fine. The car’s in the car park.’

‘You’re not still driving that rattletrap Renault, are you?’

‘Romeo’s very reliable,’ defended Libby, crossing her fingers.

‘If you say so,’ said Ian, with a proper smile this time. ‘I’ll say goodbye then.’

Libby watched him stride off down the hill and wondered what he had really been doing here.

‘So you know the saturnine Inspector?’ Richard Diggory said.

‘Yes,’ said Libby.

‘Well?’

‘Good heavens.’ Libby turned wide eyes on Diggory. ‘What business is it of yours?’

He shrugged. ‘Just wondered. Given your reputation and his.’

‘Reputation?’

‘Both investigators – of a sort.’ Diggory gave a sly smile and veered off to his right. ‘Got to go and join the others. See you around.’

Libby scowled and stomped off down the hill.

‘Libby!’

‘Good God,’ muttered Libby and turned round to see Gemma hurrying down the hill after her, clad, surprisingly, in the draperies and vegetation of the Goddess.

‘I didn’t realise it was you under all that stuff,’ said Libby, waiting for Gemma to catch up with her. ‘I thought it was all very impressive.’

‘Thanks,’ said Gemma breathlessly. ‘I didn’t think you were coming.’

‘I wasn’t, but I couldn’t sleep. Seemed like a good opportunity.’

‘You haven’t talked to anybody, though?’

‘Gem, I didn’t say I would. Richard Diggory talked to me, though.’ Libby pulled a face.

‘You don’t like him?’

‘Do you?’ Libby raised her eyebrows. Gemma blushed. ‘Oh, dear. Well, far be it from me –’

‘But stay away,’ finished Gemma on a sigh. ‘I know. It’s so flattering, though.’

‘How long has he been – what? Flirting with you? Or is it more than that?’

‘Oh, only while we’ve been preparing for this weekend, really. Because we did the King and the Goddess together.’ Gemma looked away. ‘It doesn’t mean anything.’

It does to you, thought Libby. Oh, dear.

‘How long have you been the Goddess?’ she said aloud.

‘Only this year. Willy Lethbridge used to do it.’

‘Willy? Wilhelmina?’

‘Yes. Even after they split up, they were both still members of the group. Willy only really did the Goddess, though. She always used to do the May Day parade, too, although she didn’t this year.’

‘So did you do it because you’re Dan’s wife?’

‘They all thought it made sense. Bill’s wife Monica never used to do it, though. She’s never been a member of the group.’

‘What’s she like?’ asked Libby, as they resumed a path down the hill.

‘Monica?’ Gemma frowned. ‘I don’t really know her. Quiet. Didn’t like being on show. She never even came to May Day or the Solstice.’

‘So she never joined in socially?’

‘Oh, yes, parties and things, and she even came to the pub after practice nights sometimes. A bit clingy, I always thought.’

‘She must be devastated, then,’ said Libby.

‘Oh, she is,’ nodded Gemma. ‘She wouldn’t see anyone after the murder, and she very nearly collapsed at the funeral. The children looked after her, but she didn’t appear at the wake.’

‘Where was that?’

‘Oh, at their house. But the daughter – Julie, is it? – came down and said we were to carry on, it was what Dad would have wanted.’

‘Poor kid. So did you?’

‘We tried, but it was all too sad. Some of the other girls and I cleared it all up and we sort of crept away.’

‘Have you seen her since?’

‘No. No reason to, really. I suppose if they ever find out who – um – did it, we might see her.’

‘Where though?’ asked Libby. ‘Still no reason to see her, I would have thought.’

‘That’s true.’ Gemma nodded again. ‘Oh – and by the way, did you see the police were here today?’

‘I saw Ian Connell,’ said Libby.

‘Who?’

‘Detective Inspector Connell. Was he in charge of the investigation into Bill’s death?’

‘Is he the very dark, sort of Celtic-looking bloke?’

‘That’s him.’ Libby smiled. ‘Fancied my friend Fran for a time.’

‘I wouldn’t have said no,’ said Gemma, with a grin.

‘She was in two minds at first,’ said Libby, with an answering grin, ‘but true love weighed, as they say, and now she’s married to lovely Guy.’

‘That’s not Guy Wolfe? The artist?’

‘The smallness of this part of the world never ceases to amaze me,’ said Libby. ‘How do you know Guy?’