Murder Out of Tune - A Libby Sarjeant Murder Mystery (14 page)

Chapter Twenty-six

‘Could I have some more tea?’ Denise asked plaintively. It was obviously a delaying technique. Fran got up and collected the mug.

‘Anybody else?’

Sandra and Libby shook their heads.

They sat in silence until Fran reappeared with a fresh mug of tea and handed it to Denise.

‘Now,’ she said. ‘You were worried enough to tell Sandra and to let her bring you here. So tell us what the problem is.’

Denise sighed. ‘I overheard some phone calls.’

‘Do you know who they were from?’ prompted Libby, when Denise seemed once more to have come to a stop.

‘No. I only heard what Vernon said.’

‘And what was that?’ asked Fran, controlling her impatience better than Libby.

‘It just sounded as if he was being threatened.’

‘How?’ Libby asked. ‘For goodness’ sake, Denise – I’m really sorry you’ve lost your husband, and I know you’re upset, but you must try and help us out here. What were his actual words and how many times did you hear these calls?’

Denise did an impression of a rabbit in headlights.

‘Would you rather tell the police?’ asked Fran, still gently. ‘We can call them now.’

‘No!’ It was almost a screech.

Startled, the other three women looked at each other.

‘We’ll have to tell them what you’ve said, though,’ Fran pointed out.

Denise stood up, knocking her tea mug into the hearth. ‘Then I shall deny everything. I thought you were going to help me.’

‘We were.’ Sandra also stood up. ‘But I think we misunderstood what you meant by help.’

‘I agree.’ Libby looked up at them both. ‘I think you wanted help to cover something up, Denise, didn’t you? So that someone couldn’t come after you?’

‘I’m going home.’ Denise turned to the door.

‘How are you going to get there?’ asked Sandra.

‘You’re driving me.’ Denise didn’t turn round.

‘Why should I? You’ve been rude to my friends – and to me. I feel no obligation to drive you anywhere.’

Libby could see Sandra was shaking and felt sorry for her. ‘Give me the phone, Fran, I’ll call a taxi for Mrs Bowling.’

When she ended the call she said, ‘Ten minutes, Mrs Bowling. You can wait outside.’

‘I’m waiting in here.’ Denise still didn’t turn round.

‘I’d rather you didn’t,’ said Libby, and Fran moved to Denise and began propelling her towards the door, when she whipped round and lashed out at Fran’s face. Fran ducked and Sandra leapt forward.

‘Out,’ she said, capturing both Denise’s arms and shoving her to the door, which Fran managed to get open. Together, they pushed the furious woman outside and locked the door behind her. Fran moved to the window and Sandra collapsed in the armchair, her hands over her face. Libby got slowly to her feet and retrieved the mug from the hearth.

‘Don’t worry, Sandra. I’ll make a fresh pot of tea.’

Fran turned a pale face towards her. ‘I’ll do it.’

‘No, I’m perfectly capable as long as I don’t move too fast,’ said Libby. ‘You ought to sit down too.’

By the time Libby had made fresh tea, the taxi had collected Denise Bowling.

‘I’m so sorry,’ said Sandra. She’d recovered her poise and tucked an errant strand of silver hair out of sight. ‘I didn’t realise …’

‘You’ve only known her since you married Alan, haven’t you?’ said Fran.

Sandra coloured faintly. ‘Yes. It’s really quite odd, marrying when you get to our age, and there were several people in the village – Alan’s friends – who didn’t take to it. Denise seemed different, but I realise I didn’t know her very well at all.’

‘I think Libby was right,’ said Fran. ‘She knows something and she wanted us to help cover it up.’

‘But is she afraid of whoever it is or the police? Strikes me it’s the police she’s more afraid of.’ Libby sat upright on the sofa and pushed her bandage back from her forehead.

‘Or of the whoever it is finding out she’s told the police,’ said Fran.

‘I wish I’d never got involved,’ said Sandra, looking wretched. ‘I just wanted to help.’

‘I think,’ said Libby, ‘as long as she doesn’t try and get back at you, you just stay away from her. We’ll have to pass on what she’s told us, and we’ll have to give your name as corroboration, after that it’s up to the police.’

Sandra nodded. ‘I hope Alan won’t be cross. He’s never been fond of Denise.’

‘Was he close to Vernon?’ asked Fran.

‘Not especially.’ Sandra frowned. ‘I mean, they knew one another, had a drink together, that sort of thing, but we never went to dinner with them or anything like that. I got friendly with Denise through darts. In fact, over the last few months it struck me that Alan rather disapproved of Vernon, and that was why he didn’t really like me being friendly with Denise.’

‘Has he ever said why?’

Sandra shrugged. ‘I never asked him.’

‘Well, I should,’ said Libby. ‘And if there’s anything you think the police should know, get him to tell them. I don’t suppose you were questioned because you weren’t around the night he was killed.’

‘And we will be now?’ Sandra sighed. ‘I suppose we must.’

‘We’ll tell our friendly policeman,’ said Libby, ‘and he’ll decide what to do with it all.’

‘Are you feeling better now?’ asked Fran. ‘Do you feel able to drive?’

‘Oh, I’m fine,’ said Sandra. ‘I lived alone for years after all. I’m very independent. And at least I don’t have to go near Shott or Bowling House on the way home.’

‘Fancy naming your house after you,’ said Libby. ‘He wasn’t self-effacing, then?’

‘Actually, that’s what’s so odd. He was, rather. Quiet, you know. That’s why everybody’s so surprised about all this.’

‘Well, I must be going,’ said Fran. ‘Can I do anything for you before I go, Lib?’

‘Yes, so must I.’ Sandra stood up. ‘I don’t know what to say. Thank you for trying to help, and I’m so sorry it turned out the way it has.’

Libby stood and gave her a hug. ‘Not your fault. Keep in touch.’

‘Are you really going?’ Libby eyed her friend askance after their guest had left. ‘Or was that just to get rid of her so we could talk it over?’

‘Of course.’ Fran resumed her seat. ‘I thought we ought to discuss what we’re going to tell Ian and who’s going to call him.’

‘You can do that. He’d probably come over and strap me into bed if I did it.’ Fran raised an eyebrow. ‘Oh, you know what I mean. So what do we tell him?’

‘Everything. Perhaps a little truncated.’

‘Omit Sandra’s first visit and run the whole thing together?’

‘Without the pauses,’ said Fran. ‘She really was a piece of work, wasn’t she?’

‘I can’t believe Sandra was friends with her. I wonder what she’ll do now.’

‘Sandra or Denise?’

‘Denise, of course. You don’t think she’ll disappear, do you?’

‘Actually,’ said Fran, reaching for her phone, ‘I think she may do just that. I’ll try Ian.’

She was able to reach him on his official police phone and after a brief conversation, she ended the call.

‘He’s sending someone to question her right now, so let’s hope she hasn’t already done a runner, and he’s calling in here to get the lowdown.’

‘Here? Where is he now?’

Fran grinned. ‘In the churchyard!’

Ian arrived ten minutes later.

‘It really is no use telling you to keep out of things, is it?’ he said to Libby, as he sat down opposite her.

‘Wasn’t my fault,’ she said indignantly. ‘Sandra called me and brought Denise to see us.’

‘It’s true, Ian,’ said Fran. ‘It wasn’t anything to do with Libby.’

Ian sighed. ‘Well, whatever it was, it sounds as though you got hold of something.’

‘Speaking of which,’ said Libby, ‘did you get hold of Denise?’

‘I haven’t heard anything to the contrary,’ said Ian warily.

‘Right. Well, what happened was …’

‘And that’s it,’ she concluded five minutes later. ‘Sounds very strange to us.’

‘The strangest thing is the way she turned on you at the end,’ said Ian. ‘It definitely sounds as if she’s hiding something.’

‘What I don’t understand is why she allowed Sandra to bring her to see us,’ said Fran, ‘unless it really was to see if we would help her cover something up.’

‘I’m pretty sure of that,’ said Libby. ‘Look how hesitant she was at first, and she gradually realised we wouldn’t do that, so she had to get out of the situation, somehow.’

‘I’m wondering now if the taxi actually took her home or somewhere else,’ said Ian. ‘Do you happen to know the name of the taxi firm?’

‘Of course,’ said Libby. ‘I called it.’ She found the number in her phone and passed it over. Ian made the call.

‘Odder and odder,’ he said as he ended the call. ‘She took the taxi to Derek Chandler’s house.’ He made another call, directing the officers who had gone to pick up Denise back to Itching.

‘Oh, dear, Sandra lives in Itching,’ said Libby.

‘Does she now? And we haven’t spoken to her or her husband. I think I’d better do just that. Meanwhile, you two, stay put.’ He stood up.

‘I’ve got to go home,’ said Fran. ‘I can’t stay here.’

‘And I’m going to the rehearsal tonight,’ said Libby.

‘Is that wise?’ said Ian and Fran together.

‘Of course. I’m being far too cosseted. I shall just sit and regard my poor cast with an evil eye and let Peter do the shouting. No music tonight, which is a relief.’

‘Don’t do too much,’ said Ian as he went to the door. ‘And thanks for letting me know.’

‘Will you …?’ began Libby, but Fran frowned at her.

‘If I can.’ Ian grinned. ‘I may just see you on Wednesday evening.’

‘Well, what about that?’ said Libby, when he’d gone. ‘He was actually grateful.’

‘He often is,’ said Fran. ‘But I wonder why Denise has gone to Derek Chandler’s? Sandra said she didn’t have friends in the ukulele group.’

‘For protection,’ suggested Libby. ‘He’s a solicitor.’

‘Oh, yes. But that’s virtually admitting there’s something to hide.’

‘Why didn’t she just go home and phone him, though?’

‘Perhaps because she thought we’d send the police after her?’

‘Which we did,’ said Libby, with a smug smile. ‘I do hope Ian tells us what happens.’

‘Should we let Sandra know?’

‘Good idea.’ Libby found the number in her phone. ‘I hope she’s home. How long ago did she leave here?’

‘She’ll be home. It was well before we even called Ian.’

Sandra was home.

‘I’ve just seen the police car outside Derek Chandler’s house. He lives in our road. What’s going on?’

‘Denise went there instead of home,’ explained Libby. ‘The police want to talk to her.’

‘Oh, lord.’ Sandra sounded upset.

‘It isn’t your fault, Sandra. And by the way, Ian said he will be talking to you and your husband.’

‘Ian?’

‘Our DCI friend, Ian Connell.’

‘Did he say when?’

‘No, sorry. But if you see anything happening in your road, let us know.’

‘Providence Row has never seen anything like it,’ said Sandra with a wry laugh. ‘I expect the whole village will know by tomorrow if anything happens.’

‘Well, that’s it,’ said Libby, putting her phone on the table beside her. ‘Now we just wait and see if anything happens.’

‘Your cousin will tell you if anything else happens to Mike Farthing, won’t she?’

‘I expect so. But I don’t think anyone else will be keeping us up to date, do you?’

‘I suppose Dr Robinson might, because of the concert, but he’d tell Andrew, not us.’

‘What?’ said Fran. ‘You mean if they have to back out?’

‘Having the victim in the band is one thing, but if the murderer’s in it, too, that might just be a tad too far, don’t you think?’

Chapter Twenty-seven

Libby survived the rehearsal, but declined the offer to go to the pub afterwards and, to Ben’s relief, obediently went to bed as soon as they got home.

On Tuesday, however, she was determined to resume normal service. She walked to the doctor’s surgery on the corner of Maltby Close to have her bandages removed and the slight wound on the bump examined, bought a few things in the eight-til-late and went in to The Pink Geranium to see Harry.

‘Coffee?’ he offered doubtfully. ‘Pete said you didn’t go for a drink last night.’

‘No, but I’m not having to stay off the alcohol for ever. I’ve been given the all clear on that, and I can even wash my hair, thank goodness.’

‘I must say, it doesn’t look its usual immaculately coiffed self.’

‘You can’t do much with a rusty Brillo pad,’ said Libby, fondly patting her wiry mop.

‘So, coffee or wine? Although it’s a bit early for wine.’

‘Coffee, please. I don’t want to get blind drunk the first day I’m allowed to drink. What’s been going on in the village?’

‘Nothing much, or you’d have heard about it. Apparently our Beth, the goodly vicar, preached a very strong sermon against violence on Sunday and had a full house. She put that down to the fact that you’d just been to see her when you were clobbered. Fame by association.’

‘I’d like to have heard that,’ said Libby, accepting a mug. ‘Pity Monica Turner didn’t hear it. Although her violence isn’t exactly physical, more vituperative. I’d love to know what she thinks about me being attacked. Probably stood on the sidelines cheering the bloke on. And I know Ian was in the churchyard last night, so I bet that pleased her. He didn’t tell me what he’d been doing, though Do you know?’

‘How would I know? I’m closed Mondays, aren’t I? And he hardly confides in me and Pete. So what was he doing with you?’

Libby related everything she and Fran had heard.

‘So I’m waiting to find out what happened when the police caught up with Denise,’ she finished. ‘And who was threatening her husband.’

‘She sounds certifiable,’ said Harry.

‘Mmm. And poor Sandra feels guilty.’

‘Was she one of the knitting circle?’

‘The knitting circle? What knitting circle?’

‘You know, the old biddies who meet up every now and then. Hetty and Flo and the others.’

‘Why did everyone seem to know about them except me?’

‘I only know because they come in here sometimes. I do them a special lunch.’

‘At a special price, I bet!’

‘Of course! Your mate Edie comes over sometimes.’

‘Yes, and Una from Steeple Lane and Dolly from the New Farm bungalows.’ Libby shook her head and was delighted to find it didn’t hurt. Well, not much. ‘Anyway, what were you asking?’

‘If she was one of their friends. There were two women who used to come together – one was Una, I think, and a very smart woman who was a bit younger than the others. Lovely silver hair.’

‘That’s Sandra. Doesn’t she come with them any more?’

‘Not when they come here, any road. She moved?’

‘Yes, to Itching. Married again.’

‘That reminds me – what’s happened to the headmistress?’

‘Cassandra? Oh, she’s going back to London, but will be back for weekends to stay with Mike Farthing. Unless he’s convicted of something.’

‘I was thinking about that,’ said Harry slowly. ‘I can’t believe the bloke’s into anything dodgy. He stayed with us, after all.’

‘Not a guarantee of innocence.’

‘Snarky. No, listen. He’s got people working for him, hasn’t he?’

‘Two lads in the office, I gather, who look after most of the mail-order business. I suppose there would be gardening type people, too. Why?’

‘Well, why couldn’t it be one of them who did whatever it was? I bet he’s fairly computer clueless. They’ve taken the computer, haven’t they?’

‘I think so,’ said Libby, frowning.

‘And you said something about a heating and ventilating system.’ Harry’s bright eyes were watching her as it sunk in.

‘Oh, of course! They would have the know-how to find and order the right kit, wouldn’t they?’ Libby pulled out her phone. ‘I must tell Cass. And I wonder if Ian knows?’

‘He might not, if the drugs boys are keeping things to themselves,’ said Harry. ‘But I wouldn’t try calling him again. Didn’t you say he said he might come in tomorrow?’

‘Yes,’ said Libby happily. ‘Be nice to get back to normal.’

‘If that’s what you call normal,’ said Harry with a snort.

Libby called Cassandra that afternoon, who confirmed that Mike had had to close the business – temporarily, he hoped – although his part-time glass-house staff were still coming in, as the plants didn’t understand the concept of ‘Closed’. Patrick and Gary, however, were not at work.

‘Did Mike tell them not to come in?’ asked Libby.

‘I suppose so. Why?’

‘Just wondered,’ said Libby, not quite willing to share Harry’s theory yet. ‘Are you back in London?’

‘Yes, just finishing wrapping Christmas presents. I’ll be back at the weekend.’

‘Right,’ said Libby guiltily. ‘I’d better buy some then.’

‘Oh, Libby! You are
so
disorganised.’

On Wednesday, Ben drove them both to Joe and Nella’s Cattlegreen Nursery to choose a Christmas Tree, and, leaving Ben to dig up the one they’d chosen, Libby wandered into the shop where Joe’s son Owen had proudly made his famous hot chocolate for her.

‘Lovely, Owen, thank you.’ She wrapped her hands round the mug.

‘So you gets bashed on the head, then? OK now?’ Joe leant against the counter and peered at her.

‘Yes, I’m fine, Joe. I don’t really know what happened.’

‘All that pokin’ yer nose into murders,’ said Joe, voicing the opinion of all Libby’s well-wishers. ‘Don’t do yer no good.’

‘No, I suppose not. Joe, do you know Mike Farthing?’

‘Course I do. He does more plants, like, but sometimes someone might ask me for something, so I send ʼem to him. Nice bloke. Why?’

‘Oh, nothing, really. My cousin’s really friendly with him,’ said Libby. ‘He certainly seems very nice.’

Joe narrowed his eyes at her. ‘This something to do with that murder? The ukulele bloke?’

Libby felt her face growing hot. ‘Um – sort of.’

Ben came in and smilingly accepted his hot chocolate from Owen.

‘What’s going on, Ben? Your lass getting into murder again?’ Joe fixed Ben with a suspicious eye.

Ben sighed. ‘Yes, Joe. Has she been asking questions?’

Libby opened her mouth, but Joe got in first.

‘Yes – about Mike Farthing. Don’t tell me he’s mixed up in it?’

‘We don’t think so,’ said Ben, glaring at Libby. ‘He was just in the same ukulele group as the victim.’

‘Ah. Surprised me, that did. Mike’s a quiet sort. Don’t get out much.’

‘That’s what he told us. That’s why he joined, I think.’ Ben took out his credit card. ‘I’ve tagged the one for the Manor as well, Joe, so I’ll come back in the van and collect them both.’

‘Don’t start spreading gossip about Mike,’ he said, when they were back in the car. ‘It’s not like you to be so irresponsible.’

‘I only asked if Joe knew him,’ said Libby. ‘I thought he might, being in the same sort of business. He just jumped to conclusions.’

Ben sighed. ‘Just don’t say anything to anybody. Try and keep safe.’

‘Well, Joe’s hardly going to attack me, is he?’

‘You never know,’ said Ben darkly.

Libby spent the rest of the afternoon ordering Christmas presents online and revising her Christmas card list. After dinner, she and Ben walked to the theatre, where she was surprised to find Sir Andrew waiting for them.

‘I came down to find out if there was any news about the murder,’ he said, following them into the foyer. Ben switched on lights and went through to the auditorium.

‘Not really,’ said Libby, ‘except that someone bashed me on the head. Mind you, we don’t know if that was connected to the murder or not.’

Andrew paled a little and sat down abruptly on the edge of a table. ‘My dear girl! Are you badly hurt? Should you be out?’

‘I’m fine, Andrew. It was nearly a week ago now.’

‘No idea who did it?’

Ben came back. ‘Someone who doesn’t like her poking about, we suspect,’ said Ben.

‘The murderer, then?’ Andrew looked even paler.

‘If it was he didn’t hit me very hard,’ said Libby. ‘It seems odd, after he’d killed Vernon Bowling.’

‘Perhaps,’ said Andrew, showing signs of reviving, ‘he didn’t mean to kill Bowling, but lashed out in anger, and only meant to warn you?’

‘Possible,’ agreed Libby. ‘Anyway, that’s about all. The police have been making all sorts of enquiries, and questioning suspects, but nothing concrete so far.’

‘Are you worried about the concert?’ asked Ben.

‘Well, I am, rather.’ Andrew pulled out the chair beside him and sat on it. ‘It seems to me, with a murder victim and a possible murderer in the band, it’s not quite the right feel for a Christmas concert. I suppose there are no suspects who
aren’t
in the band?’

‘Not that we’ve heard,’ said Libby, ‘but the police wouldn’t tell us that sort of thing.’

‘You can’t tell me that your lovely policeman – Ian, is it? – hasn’t kept you up to date? Or isn’t he in charge of the case?’

‘Yes, he is, and yes, we’ve had conversations, more because of our personal connection to some of the suspects.’

‘No!’ Andrew looked horrified. ‘I didn’t know you knew any of them.’

‘You knew we knew Lewis and his mother,’ said Ben.

‘Oh, yes, but they’re not suspects.’

‘And my cousin Cassandra – remember she came to the meeting? – she’s – ah – in a relationship with Mike Farthing, another member.’

‘Dear me.’ Andrew frowned at his steepled fingers. ‘So you’re in the middle of it again?’

‘Yes, she is, and she’s been warned off again by me and the police.’ Ben came up and draped an arm across Libby’s shoulders. ‘However, that’s never stopped her before, and we think that our lovely policeman may be joining us at the pub tonight. So you’ll be there, won’t you?’

Andrew brightened up. ‘Wouldn’t miss it! I was going to see if I could call on Dr Robinson, but I’ll stay here instead.’

‘Are you going to watch?’ asked Libby nervously.

‘Of course!’ Andrew twinkled at her. ‘I love a good panto.’

‘Then you might not love this one,’ muttered Libby.

However, her cast behaved impeccably. Andrew sat next to Libby, and surprised her by whispering a couple of suggestions as they went along, which when implemented improved the scenes, especially, to Libby’s astonishment, the slapstick scenes.

‘I didn’t know you did that sort of comedy,’ she said, when they took a break.

‘I’ve done everything,’ said Andrew. ‘I’d love to do a Dame again.’

‘It’s not unheard of for theatrical knights to play dames,’ said Libby.

‘True, but nobody’s asked me,’ said Andrew with a wink.

‘Well, don’t think I’m going to ask a theatrical knight to take part in an amateur pantomime!’ Libby laughed.

‘Oh, I don’t know. There are lots of small independent theatres around the country that do. Pro-am, I suppose.’

‘I think that’s what we are, in a way. We have a pro MD and this year, a pro choreographer and dancers, and we have pro lighting designers. Even Ben’s an ex-pro, so am I, and several others are, too.’

‘And you do good shows.’ Andrew patted her hand. ‘I would like to see you do a straight play. I’ve only seen the summer show and this.’

‘I’ll let you know,’ said Libby, ‘if you’re sure.’

‘Of course, I am. Look, I’m going to pop down and see Harry now, and I’ll join you in the pub at what – ten-ish?’

‘Or a bit earlier if I can get away,’ said Libby and stood up. ‘Right back to work everyone. Go back to the beginning of scene three.’

In fact, it was just before ten o’clock when Peter, Ben and Libby walked into the pub and found Harry, Andrew, Patti, Anne, and Ian sitting round a table looking solemn.

‘What’s happened?’ Libby came to a standstill.

Ian stood up. ‘Denise Bowling tried to commit suicide.’