Murder Out of Tune - A Libby Sarjeant Murder Mystery (6 page)

Chapter Eleven

‘
What
?’

‘I know. I couldn’t believe it. He couldn’t stay long, because he had to close up – although he’d been closed all day – but said he was still happy to come over tomorrow and tell us all about it.’

‘Did they find any? Marijuana, I mean.’

‘Of course not! Well, I don’t know, actually, he didn’t say. But if they had, he’d have been arrested, wouldn’t he?’

‘I suppose he would,’ said Libby doubtfully. ‘Is he sure about coming over tomorrow? I mean, I’m in no hurry.’

‘But I won’t be here for ever,’ said Cassandra, ‘so it has to be now.’

‘Hmm,’ said Libby.

‘So, anyway, I said ten thirty – is that all right?’

‘It’s a bit early,’ said Libby.

‘Ten thirty? Early?’

‘Oh, well, I suppose it depends on your point of view. But I might not be dressed, I’m warning you!’

All Cassandra could talk about over dinner that evening was Mike Farthing and why he should have come under suspicion. Libby was secretly glad she had rehearsal that evening, rather than having to sit and listen to her cousin all evening, however, she invited Cassandra to come and watch if she wanted to, rather than spend the evening in the flat on her own.

‘I’d love to, if you wouldn’t mind,’ said Cassandra, pleased. ‘I haven’t seen any of the stuff you do here. And I thought yesterday what an impressive theatre it was.’

‘OK. I go up about seven thirty to open up, so you can follow me when you’re ready.’

‘Do you go up, too, Ben?’

‘I’m in it,’ he grinned, ‘so, yes. And I keep an eye on any backstage work, too, as I’m the set designer.’

‘So we’d better get a move on, then?’ said Cassandra, standing up and picking up plates.’

‘Thanks, yes,’ said Libby. ‘Stick those in the dishwasher while I go and clean my teeth, will you?’

At the theatre Ben disappeared backstage and Libby went round turning on lights while Cassandra prowled round investigating.

‘It’s just like a real theatre,’ she said meeting Libby on the edge of the stage.

Libby bridled. ‘It
is
a real theatre,’ she said.

Cassandra went faintly pink. ‘Of course, sorry, I only meant …’

‘That we’re just a piddling little amateur theatre in the middle of nowhere?’

‘No!’ Cass made a face. ‘I admit that’s what I thought when you started on this project, and I thought it was a waste of your talent.’

‘Did you think that when I did amateur theatre when I was still married?’

‘No, I suppose not …’

‘We have higher standards and state of the art facilities,’ said Libby, ‘and we are pro-am. There are quite a few theatres like us up and down the country. I’m ex-pro, so is Ben, actually –’

‘I didn’t know that.’

‘Yes. He used to be a flyman in his youth, and he’s toured with TIE productions.’

‘Ah!’ said Cassandra. ‘I
do
know what TIE is.’

‘I should hope so, you being a headmistress!’

‘What is it, then?’ said a voice behind them.

‘Theatre In Education,’ said Libby, turning round. ‘Good lord, Mike! What are you doing here?’

‘I couldn’t stand my own company,’ he said with a doleful grin. ‘I was going to see if anyone wanted to come for a drink.’

As he was looking straight at Cassandra when he said this, Libby hid a grin.

‘Good idea,’ she said. ‘You can save Cass from a boring evening watching us rehearse.’

‘Oh, I –’ Cassandra began.

‘No, I mean it. Then I shall make you come down after Christmas to see the finished product without having spoilt it by seeing the shambles it is now!’

Libby watched as they left the auditorium, obviously very conscious of each other, and then turned to Ben, who had come up behind her. ‘And why did he come all the way over here to find someone to have a drink with?’ she said. ‘We have it on his own say-so that he often uses The Poacher in his own village.’

‘Perhaps he feels embarrassed having had the police all over his place today.’

‘Maybe … I think it’s young love, though.’

‘Young?’ Ben raised his eyebrows.

‘I’ll bet that’s what it feels like to them.’ Libby tucked her arm through her beloved’s. ‘That’s how I felt when we started seeing each other. I didn’t know quite how to behave.’

‘No, I know,’ said Ben. ‘And you thought I was the area’s prime Lothario.’

‘Well, you were.’

‘Just because I took a few people out to the theatre …’

‘Go on with you!’ Libby gave him a nudge that nearly sent him off the edge of the stage.

‘Stop fighting, children.’ Peter came through the doors from the foyer.

‘Did you pass Cass and Mike Farthing on the way here?’ asked Libby.

‘I did. Many a good tune played on an old fiddle,’ said Peter.

‘Oh, Pete, really!’

‘What happens if the fiddle’s out of tune, though?’ said Ben.

‘Mmm.’ Libby sighed. ‘Oh, well, no use us worrying about it. Lorraine’s coming in to work out where her dancers are going to fit in tonight, so we ought to get cracking.’

At ten o’clock, an exhausted and grumpy cast staggered out of the theatre doors on its way to the pub, followed shortly afterwards by Libby, Ben and Peter.

‘Susannah’s working them hard,’ said Peter.

‘Yes, but aren’t they sounding good?’ said Libby.

‘She’d get more out of them if she stopped treating them like children,’ said Ben.

‘That’s true,’ Libby mused. ‘I’ll have a word, but I don’t want to upset her.’

‘You might upset the cast otherwise,’ said Peter. ‘There were some very mutinous looks tonight.’

Libby sighed. ‘Which is worse? Losing a cast member or a musical director?’

‘Which is rarer?’

‘Depends which cast member,’ said Libby.

‘Bob,’ said Ben. ‘And, potentially, me.’

‘Oh, dear.’ Libby looked at him and shook her head. ‘I’ll ring her in the morning.’

Cassandra and Mike Farthing were still in the pub when they arrived, in the corner of the lounge bar, while the cast members were round the corner. Libby decided to leave her cast to their grumblings.

Mike stood up as she approached the table. ‘Coming to join us?’

‘Yes, please, I’ve had enough of the luvvies for tonight.’ Libby sat down. ‘Ben and Pete are getting drinks.’

Mike looked at Cassandra. ‘I’ve been telling Cass about my run-in with the forces of law and order. She thinks I ought to tell you, too.’

‘You don’t have to,’ said Libby, who was nearly dying from curiosity. ‘And do you want Ben and Peter to hear?’

‘I don’t mind,’ said Mike. ‘I don’t want to talk about it in the village, but I must talk to somebody.’

Well, that answered that question, thought Libby, as Ben and Peter arrived with drinks. ‘Go ahead, then, Mike.’

‘They arrived at the nursery at about eight,’ Mike began, ‘and of course, the place was locked up.’

‘You don’t live on site, then?’ asked Peter.

‘No. I live just down the road. So they rang me and told me to get down there and open up.’

‘Why didn’t they come and collect you? If you’d been guilty of anything you’d have done a runner,’ said Libby.

‘Actually, they said they were sending a car, but I told them I was on my way anyway. Which I was, almost. So I met the police car at the end of the nursery drive.’

‘And then what?’ prompted Ben, when Mike seemed to have dried up.

‘Then they asked me to unlock the office and started asking me questions about Vernon’s garden.’ Mike sighed and pushed his hand through his already untidy grey hair. ‘I couldn’t understand it at all. Then they asked me about his greenhouse, and I said I’d had nothing to do with that, so they asked me about his attic.’

‘His attic?’ repeated Libby.

‘Yes. I couldn’t understand that, either, so then they asked if they could look in the greenhouses, and told me they’d got a search warrant. And then the dogs arrived.’

‘Sniffer dogs?’ asked Peter.

‘Yes. So I unlocked all the doors and off they went. Eventually I asked what they were looking for, and made the rather stupid mistake of suggesting marijuana. So, of course, that started them in on me again. Had I smoked it, had I ever been a user, was I supplier – the lot. They even took me back to the house and searched that.’ He shook his head and Cassandra laid a hand on his arm. He smiled briefly and continued. ‘Eventually they seemed to be convinced that there were no marijuana plants in the nursery or my house and never had been, and disclosed the fact – which by now I’d guessed – that the whole roof space of Vernon Bowling’s house had been turned into a marijuana factory.’

Ben whistled.

‘Good God,’ said Peter.

‘Blimey,’ said Libby. ‘The same area that Ron Stewart has his studio in his house.’

‘I told them I’d only ever been in the garden and knew nothing about the house. I was never invited in. I’ve been in Ron’s house, but he’s a different kettle of fish.’ Mike looked at Cassandra. ‘I was quite a Jonah Fludde fan in my youth.’

‘But they shared an architect – or a builder, didn’t they?’ said Cassandra. ‘I wonder …?’

They must have done,’ said Libby. ‘We were talking about that yesterday, but you didn’t know, did you, Mike?’

‘I still don’t. The police didn’t mention Ron this morning.’

‘I wonder if they’ve tumbled to the coincidence of the duplicate houses yet?’ said Libby. ‘Do you think we ought to mention it?’

‘I don’t want to set them on to Ron,’ said Mike, shaking his head.

‘So presumably they came after you this morning thinking you’d helped Bowling to set up his cannabis factory?’ said Peter. ‘What about his wife? Did she know about it?’

‘I’ve no idea,’ said Mike. ‘I don’t know much about the cannabis factory, either. I expect that’ll be on the news, don’t you? The police love showing things like that.’

‘Couldn’t you smell it when you were in the garden?’ asked Ben. ‘I always thought you could.’

‘If it was in the attic he’d have had venting systems of some sort and it would have dispersed quickly in the air,’ said Mike. ‘I looked it up after the police had gone.’

‘Do you think he had the house actually designed for it?’ asked Cassandra. ‘They’ll be after the builder, if so, won’t they?’

‘Bound to be, I would have thought,’ said Ben. ‘And the architect.’ His mouth turned down at the corners. ‘I wonder who that was.’

Libby patted his hand. ‘He used to be an architect, you see,’ she said to Mike.

‘But it might not have been designed for it,’ said Peter. ‘It could just as easily have been set up afterwards. Perhaps he was going to have a studio up there like Ron Stewart.’

Libby was frowning. ‘What puzzles me is why they came after you. I mean, I know you helped him set up the garden, but why should they assume you helped with the marijuana?’

‘I suppose because I grow plants.’ Mike shrugged helplessly. ‘I don’t know.’

‘I wouldn’t have thought that was enough to sick them on to you,’ said Ben, ‘they must have had a lead from somewhere.’

‘But where? I’ve never had anything to do with cannabis or any drugs, except for once at college and it made me ill.’ Mike took a morose gulp of coffee. ‘I could do with a real drink.’

Ben stood up. ‘Let me …’

‘No.’ Mike shook his head and smiled. ‘I daren’t. I need my licence.’

‘You’ll have to come over and have dinner and stay overnight,’ said Libby.

‘How about tomorrow?’ suggested Cassandra. ‘I’m taking Ben and Libby to Peter’s restaurant –’

‘Harry’s,’ corrected Peter.

‘Harry’s, then. Why don’t you join us?’

‘You could stay in our spare room,’ said Libby.

‘Ours is almost next door,’ said Peter, sending Cassandra a wicked look.

‘Well …’ Mike looked round the group, looking bewildered. ‘It’s awfully nice of you …’

‘But you’ve got other things to do on a Saturday night, I bet,’ said Libby.

‘No.’ Mike sat up straight and grinned. ‘I’d love to, actually.’ He shook his head. ‘I only met you a couple of days ago and suddenly you’ve become friends. Things like that don’t happen to me.’

‘It’s the Libby effect,’ said Peter. ‘I think you’ve just been gathered into the select bunch of Libby’s Loonies.’

Chapter Twelve

‘It never occurred to me to ask last night,’ said Libby, curling herself round Ben under the duvet, ‘if Mike was still coming over this morning.’

‘Oh, Lord,’ groaned Ben. ‘I know he said we were all his new friends, but enough is enough.’

‘Shall I ring Cass? She could perhaps put him off. I’m sure the original suggestion was only a ploy to get them together, and now that he’s coming tonight …’

‘I must say,’ said Ben, struggling into a sitting position, ‘I’ve never seen a relationship develop so quickly.’

‘Not since we were teenagers, anyway,’ said Libby. ‘Although we don’t know there’s a relationship yet. He drove away last night, and the only time they’ve spent alone together was in the pub.’

‘It’s pretty obvious,’ said Ben. ‘I just hope your cousin isn’t throwing her cap over the windmill too soon.’

‘Well, she can’t get up to much tonight, he’s staying with Pete and Harry.’

‘She could still invite him up to the flat for coffee.’

‘That
would
be obvious,’ said Libby. ‘She’d be too embarrassed.’

The phone rang beside the bed.

‘Talk of the devil,’ said Libby. ‘We were just wondering if you and Mike were still coming over this morning, because we’re still in bed.’

‘I don’t need to know that,’ said Cassandra crisply. ‘I was ringing to say we aren’t. Mike has a lot of clearing up to do, and as he’s coming over this evening …’ Her voice trailed off.

‘You’ve spoken to him this morning, then?’

‘He rang to say he wasn’t coming.’ Cassandra cleared her throat. ‘And that he was looking forward to this evening.’

‘Sounds as if he doesn’t get out much,’ said Libby wickedly.

‘He admitted that, didn’t he? That’s why he joined the ukulele group.’

‘All right, all right.’ Libby grinned at Ben. ‘So my garden’s safe for now. We’ll see you at The Pink Geranium later, or would you like to do something today? Go and see something?’

‘I was thinking of driving into Canterbury, actually. Would you like to come?’

‘Sightseeing?’

‘Well, yes. I haven’t been to the Cathedral for years.’

‘There’s a Wagamama there,’ said Libby. ‘We could have lunch.’

‘Do you never think of anything but food and drink, Libby?’

‘Um …’

‘I was going to see the Cathedral, walk through Dane John Gardens, and go and see the new Beaney Gallery.’

‘Right,’ said Libby. ‘Would you like company or would you prefer to go on your own?’

‘Actually, I would quite like company,’ said Cassandra, her voice thawing a little. ‘What time? I’ll drive.’

At eleven o’clock Libby walked down Allhallow’s Lane and met Cassandra on the corner by the vicarage.

‘I must meet the new vicar,’ she said as she climbed in to the car. ‘Flo tells me her name is Bethany.’

‘Apropos of what?’ asked Cassandra, swinging the car round to the right and the Canterbury road. ‘And who’s Flo?’

‘That house behind the wall where you picked me up is the vicarage, and Flo is Ben’s mum Hetty’s best friend. They both came down here hop picking during the war, and ended up marrying locals. Ben’s father was the heir to the estate (that’s the Manor) and Flo’s husband was a farmer with a great taste in wine. That’s the short version, anyway.’

‘Didn’t you open the theatre with a play about it?’ Cassandra glanced curiously at her cousin.

Libby shuddered. ‘Yes. Peter wrote it, and someone was murdered. Then when he wrote another play, someone else was murdered, so now he’s got a bit of a phobia about it.’

‘Ah.’ Cassandra slowed down behind a tractor. ‘One of the hazards of living in the country.’

‘You get used to it,’ said Libby.

‘So what about the pantomime? What is it?’

‘It’s one of mine,’ said Libby. ‘You remember I used to write them in the bad old days when I was still in the job?’

‘Vaguely, but that sounds as though you were in the police!’

‘All right, when I was a pro actor. We revive them now and then, and sometimes other people use them, too, although that isn’t always a pleasant experience.’

‘Oh, don’t tell me – not another murder.’

Libby looked surprised. ‘Well, yes, actually, but that wasn’t what I meant.’

Cassandra sighed. ‘Good God.’

Libby trailed after her cousin through the Cathedral, the Beaney Art Gallery and Museum, and finally persuaded her to sit in Dane John Gardens and eat a sandwich.

‘Do you want to do any shopping?’ she asked hopefully.

‘No, thanks. We might as well get back now.’ Cassandra looked at her watch. ‘It’s getting on for three.’

‘OK.’ Libby brushed crumbs off her coat. ‘We can have a cup of tea at home.’

‘Is tea your answer to everything?’

‘No, sometimes wine or whisky will do,’ said Libby with a grin. ‘Sorry, am I a bad influence?’

‘Yes.’ Cassandra gave her an affectionate hug. ‘Sorry if I’m still doing the headmistressy thing.’

‘That’s all right, you can’t help it, but don’t expect me not to answer back.’

Cassandra smiled ruefully. ‘I deserved that.’

On the way home, the conversation turned somewhat inevitably to the murder.

‘I wonder if Fran’s heard any more from that chap who was asking for her yesterday?’ said Libby. ‘What was his name?’

‘I don’t remember.’

‘Alton – that’s it. Bob Alton. I never looked him up after all.’

‘Why don’t you ask your friend Lewis about the other members?’

‘He wouldn’t know. He’s the celebrity feather in the group’s cap, but he doesn’t always go to the meetings, which is why I went once with Edie to keep her company. We know he knows Mike, but I don’t know that he knows anyone else.’

‘I’ll ask – er – you can ask Mike about that.’ Cassandra glared through the windscreen.

‘Cass, give it up. You’ve already admitted you like Mike. Stop trying to hide it.’

‘I’m just not used to this, Lib. I was married for thirty-three years, and I never had so much as a flirtation with anyone but my husband, and I’ve never had a flicker of interest in anyone since he died.’

‘What about the dates you went on?’

‘I did that because I felt I ought to. They were people I already knew, and it felt wrong, somehow.’ Cassandra sighed. ‘So where this has come from, I’ve no idea. I mean, neither of us are strikingly attractive, are we?’

‘Mutual interest and the fact that you’d built up a relationship over the phone and online gave it a healthy start, I imagine.’

‘That’s what internet dating is supposed to do, isn’t it?’

‘Supposed to,’ said Libby, ‘but a friend of ours got into rather hot water trying it out a couple of years ago.’

Cassandra turned her head to look at Libby briefly and smiled. ‘And which murder was that?’

Libby laughed. ‘One of the black magic ones, actually!’

‘Mike’s meeting us at the restaurant,’ said Cassandra as she dropped Libby at the end of Allhallow’s Lane.’

‘You can have a drink in the flat first, then,’ said Libby, with a wink.

Cassandra laughed. ‘You’re incorrigible, young Lib!’

The sky was already darkening as Libby hurried up the lane, and there was a definite nip in the air. Well, she thought to herself, it is just about turning into December, and before they knew it, Andrew’s Christmas Concert and then the pantomime would be upon them. And tonight, Harry would have decorated The Pink Geranium with his less than tasteful swags of lights.

In fact, when Libby and Ben arrived, they found Cassandra and Mike seated together on the sofa in the left-hand window, beneath quite tasteful bowers of pink and silver lights and vegetation.

‘I thought I’d stick with signature pink,’ said Harry coming up with menus and a bottle.

‘It looks very nice,’ said Cassandra. ‘When did you do it?’

‘Between lunch and dinner today,’ said Peter, arriving along with a rush of cold air. ‘We’ve been spraying twigs silver for days.’

‘You should have let me know,’ said Mike. ‘I’ve got some in the shop. We don’t sell much of it, as we’re not known for this sort of thing, but I keep a small stock.’

‘Well, I didn’t know that, did I?’ said Harry. ‘But I’ll know next year. Now, here’s a bottle of red to be going on with. Anyone want anything else? And Adam will be over to take your orders when you’re ready.’

‘I didn’t know Ad was working here tonight,’ said Libby.

‘He doesn’t have to tell you everything he does,’ said Ben. ‘He’s all grown-up now!’

Adam, in his long white apron, appeared at that moment with the white wine Cassandra had requested.

‘Hello,’ said Mike, standing up and holding out a hand. ‘You look different from the last time I saw you.’

Adam, surprised, shook his hand, ‘What are you doing here’ obviously hovering on his lips.

‘Mike’s an old acquaintance of Cassandra’s,’ said Libby, hoping neither Mike nor Cassandra would dispute this. After all, they had known one another for a long time, just not in person.

‘And I’m in this ukulele group,’ added Mike.

‘Oh!’ Adam’s face cleared. ‘The murder. Bet Mum’s involved, aren’t you Ma?’

‘No,’ said Libby, feeling her face growing warm. ‘Just … well, no, not really.’

Adam smiled knowingly. ‘Right.’ He looked round the table. ‘You aren’t ready to order yet, are you? I’ll come back in a bit.’

‘Your family and friends obviously expect you to be in on this,’ said Mike as Adam went back to the kitchen.

‘Oh, she always is,’ said Ben.

‘Even when she isn’t supposed to be,’ said Peter.

‘Do you think Fran will be asked about anything?’ Cassandra looked at Mike. ‘I’ve told you about Fran, haven’t I?’

‘Er …’ Mike was looking confused again.

‘Fran’s psychic,’ said Libby. ‘If you don’t believe that, it doesn’t matter. But she has these insights, or “moments” as we call them, where she can sometimes pick things up which help the police.’

‘The police? I didn’t think they did that sort of thing in this country.’

‘Not often, but Ian – DCI Connell – has found it very useful at times. She’s actually saved lives. Anyway, nothing’s popped into her head yet.’

‘Yes, it did,’ Cassandra interrupted. ‘When we had lunch yesterday and we were wondering why the police were with Mike. She just said “Plants”.’

‘But I’m a plantsman. My business is called Farthing’s Plants. That’s obvious, surely?’

‘What the
police
wanted you about. You’re involved in a murder investigation, it could have been anything, not plants at all,’ said Libby.

‘I suppose so,’ said Mike, still sounding doubtful.

‘They could have been looking for a murder weapon,’ put in Peter.

Mike blanched. ‘God, really?’

‘Which,’ said Libby thoughtfully, ‘could have been plants.’

Mike’s mouth dropped open.

‘Well, you know, poisonous plants. Foxgloves, or laburnum, or deadly nightshade.’

‘Nicotiana,’ suggested Cassandra.

Mike looked from one cousin to the other. ‘I don’t know which of you is worse.’

Ben and Peter laughed.

‘Cass is only just learning,’ said Libby, ‘but she’s getting the hang of it.’

‘I don’t want to rush you,’ said Adam appearing in front of them again, ‘but it is Saturday night, and we are getting busy.’

This effectively put a stop to any further discussions of the murder, but when the coffee stage arrived and Harry elected to join them, still in his chef’s whites, slinging a leg across a chair to sit astride it and lean on the back, the subject bubbled up again.

‘How far have you got?’ he asked?

‘With what?’ asked Peter. ‘The coffee pot?’

‘The murder,’ said Harry, stealing a sip of Peter’s wine.

‘We haven’t talked about it since we first arrived,’ said Libby. ‘It didn’t seem appropriate.’

‘Well, I think you might have to re-think that,’ said Harry, ‘because I’ve just taken a phone call from that new Chief Detective Inspector Connell, who is on his way right now to have a word with you.’