Lesley Cookman - Murder to Music

‘Your doctor?’ asked Libby. ‘Oh, congratulations!’ She stood up to hug Donna to the imminent danger of the table.

‘What’s all this?’ said a voice, and Harry appeared, grinning, over Donna’s shoulder. ‘Destroying my restaurant?’

Ben stood to kiss Donna, too. ‘You know what our Libby’s like,’ he said, sitting down again. ‘Hello, Hal. Is Donna allowed champagne on duty?’

‘Oh, no,’ said Donna, flustered. ‘Thank you, but I’ve got to drive to Canterbury when I’ve finished.’ She coloured faintly again. ‘But thank you, all the same.’

‘Her chap’s a doctor at the hospital, isn’t he?’ said Libby, after Donna had gone to fetch a bottle of red wine.

‘Yes. Nice bloke, but very unsociable hours,’ said Harry, sitting down astride a chair. ‘Just hope she’s not going to start breeding and leave me.’

‘Harry!’ Libby slapped his arm. He grinned.

‘So, to what do I owe the pleasure?’

‘Libby forgot to do dinner,’ said Ben.

‘You could have done it,’ said Harry, with a lifted eyebrow.

‘I know, I know, but she suggested we came here.’ Ben made a face at his beloved.

‘Oh, no, you aren’t?’ Harry peered at Libby’s face. ‘Not another investigation?’

‘I don’t know why you should think that,’ said Libby huffily. ‘We eat here all the time.’

‘There’s something about the way Ben said you forgot to do dinner,’ said Harry. ‘Come on. What’s it all about?’

Libby relented and explained.

‘So you see, it isn’t a proper investigation. It’s just to find out something about the house.’

‘Well, it’ll keep you out of mischief,’ said Harry, standing up. ‘I shall now go back to my arduous duties in the kitchen.’

Adam appeared just as they were finishing their meal.

‘Hi, Ma,’ he said, kissing her cheek. ‘Hi, Ben.’

‘Hello, darling.’ Libby peered round his shoulder. ‘Hello Sophie.’

Fran’s step-daughter Sophie squeezed past Adam to kiss Libby.

‘Hi, Lib. Sorry I’ve been keeping him out till all hours again!’

‘Shocking. Why it’s almost ten o’clock,’ grinned Libby. ‘Will you have a drink with us?’

‘Yes, please,’ said Adam. ‘I’ll go. Red wine? Sophie?’

When they were all settled with fresh drinks, Adam tackled his mother.

‘What’s all this Harry’s telling me about a new investigation?’

‘Oh, for f – goodness’ sake,’ said Libby. ‘Hasn’t anybody got anything better to do than poke their noses into my business?’

Adam and Ben roared with laughter.

‘That’s rich, coming from you,’ said Ben, wiping his eyes.

‘Look, once and for all, it’s simply to find out about a house for Fran’s writing tutor. She hasn’t got time herself and knowing Fran’s – um – intuition – thought she’d be the ideal person to look into it.’

‘With you,’ said Adam.

‘Of course with me. She couldn’t do it without me.’ Libby slid a quick glance at Sophie and saw her grinning.

‘So there we are. That’s it and all about it. So now shut up and, Ad, tell me about Creekmarsh.’

THE FOLLOWING DAY, LIBBY called the agent on whose books White Lodge had been.

‘That monstrosity,’ he said. ‘Sorry, I hope it’s nothing to do with you, but I’ve never handled a property that was so difficult.’

‘Oh.’ Libby sat back in her chair, surprised. ‘Really? It looked rather a grand place.’

‘Have you seen it?’

‘Well – no, not actually seen,’ said Libby.

‘You’re welcome to go and look at it if you like,’ said the agent, surprisingly. ‘We’ve still got the keys, but I’ll have to trust you to go on your own. I can’t spare anyone to go with you, and frankly, even if I could, no one would.’

‘Really?’ Libby’s metaphorical ears pricked up. This seemed to confirm Rosie’s dream impressions. ‘Why? Is it haunted?’

There was a short silence. ‘I daresay it’s nothing,’ the agent said eventually, sounding uncomfortable, ‘but do you know exactly where it is?’

‘Ah!’ said Libby. ‘Do you mean the Cherry Ashton workhouse?’

‘Yes.’ The agent sounded relieved. ‘It was the atmosphere, you see. We took a few prospective purchasers to see it, but no one would go in to the attic rooms. Most didn’t even get as far as the kitchen.’

‘I see.’ Libby thought for a moment. ‘I would like to see it, if possible, and if it’s all right with you. What about the vendor? Somebody still owns it, don’t they?’

‘It’s a probate sale,’ said the agent, ‘and very complicated.’

‘Who was the owner?’ asked Libby.

The agent became wary. ‘I’m not sure I can tell you anything else,’ he said.

‘No, no, of course not,’ said Libby hastily.

‘And could I ask you what your interest is in the property?’

‘A friend remembered it and asked if it was still on the market,’ lied Libby. ‘She seemed to think it was boarded up.’

‘It is, I’m afraid,’ said the agent. ‘Will she be coming to see it herself?’

‘Oh, yes,’ Libby lied again.

‘Well, you can pick up the keys any time from the office. You’ll have to sign a receipt and probably leave a deposit – because of squatters, you know.’

‘Oh, yes, of course,’ said Libby, wondering how usual it was for estate agents to let viewers go unaccompanied to empty houses.

‘So,’ she said later to Fran on the phone, ‘we can go any time. Today?’

‘You were going to go to the library, and I was going to pop in and see Jane this afternoon,’ said Fran. ‘She’s finished work now.’

‘Oh, yes, I’d forgotten,’ said Libby. ‘She’s almost due, isn’t she?’

‘A week or so, I think. Look why don’t you come, too? She’s as bored as hell and very uncomfortable.’

‘OK, and perhaps we can go and see White Lodge tomorrow.’

‘Tomorrow’s Saturday,’ said Fran, ‘and I shall be helping in the shop. Guy’s busiest time, a summer Saturday. I might even sell one of your pretty peeps.’

‘Oh, right. Monday, then, I suppose. Shall I ring the agent and make an appointment?’

There was a short silence. Then, ‘No,’ said Fran slowly. ‘Don’t do that.’

‘Why? What’s the matter?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Fran. ‘But he did say any time?’

‘Yes.’

‘Can you go and pick them up on your way to Nethergate this afternoon?’

‘The agent’s in Nethergate,’ said Libby.

‘Riley’s?’ asked Fran.

‘Yes.’

‘Then I’ll pick them up on the way to Jane’s.’

Libby explained about the receipt and the deposit, ‘So I’d better go,’ she finished.

‘Park here,’ said Fran, ‘and we’ll go together. I can be the friend who wants to view.’

‘Brilliant.’ Libby beamed. ‘What time shall I be there?’

‘Why did you not want me to make an appointment?’ Libby asked, as Fran pulled her front door closed behind her.

Fran shook her head. ‘Something -’

‘Something what? Did you have a “moment”?

‘I don’t know. I just felt that if you made an appointment something would happen to prevent you keeping it.’

‘Prevent me?’

‘Well, prevent it from happening.’

‘But why?’

‘I’ve told you,’ said Fran, irritated. ‘I don’t know. Did you go to the library?’

‘Yes. They had two of Rosie’s books.’

They walked along Harbour Street next to the low sea wall, the other side of which families played with buckets and spades, balls and frisbees as though the words “computer games” had never been invented. They waved at Lizzie in her tiny ice-cream shop and at Sophie rearranging items in her father’s shop window.