Lesley Cookman - Murder to Music

Fran was worried. ‘Something’s happened to her. I think she’s been pursuing her own agenda all the time.’

‘But she honestly didn’t know about Findon or the legacy,’ said Libby. ‘I really believe that.’

‘So do I, but it’s since she found out about it she’s become so strange.’

‘And flighty,’ said Libby. ‘Do you really think she was out to seduce Hugh Weston? After all that romping in the sack with Andrew?’

‘But again, why?’ Fran was silent for a moment. ‘Do you think we should go over and ask Weston?’

‘I knew you were going to say that,’ said Libby. ‘Ben told me not to go haring off on my own, that Ian would deal with it, but I can’t help feeling that we should try on our own.’

‘As long as he doesn’t think we’re chasing him,’ said Fran.

‘Who, Ian?’

‘No, stupid, Weston. Why should he? We’re just concerned about our friend.

‘Huh,’ said Libby. ‘Friend. She’s caused me more trouble than any real friend has in years.’

‘Shall I meet you at the pub again?’ Fran sounded as though she was already halfway out the door.

‘No, I couldn’t bear that. Let’s meet at The Red Lion. George will let me leave my car in his car park.’

‘OK. Twenty minutes?’

‘I’ll try.’

It was, in fact, nearly half an hour before Libby drew in to the car park of the Red Lion. The doors weren’t open yet, so Fran was still sitting in her car.

‘Off we go again,’ said Libby, climbing in beside her.

‘What do you think about Andrew’s confession that they’ve been having rampant sex?’ she asked a few moments later as they set off for Cherry Ashton.

‘What do you mean? Don’t you believe him?’

‘He seemed to be telling the truth.’

‘But you’re not sure? It is odd for a man to boast about it to a woman, I suppose.’

‘I thought blokes did that all the time? Or perhaps they don’t in these enlightened times?’ said Libby. ‘I’m out of touch.’

‘True or not, he knew about the legacy, so someone told him, and if not Rosie, who?’

‘Oh, don’t start suspecting Andrew of anything,’ said Libby. ‘He only came into the picture after we suggested an expert.’

‘I seem to remember you thinking he might be part of a plot at one time.’

‘Yes, yes, all right.’ Libby looked out of the window. ‘It’s raining again.’

‘Do we park in the pub car park again?’ asked Fran as they approached the crossroads.

‘Couldn’t we park in front of Ashton Court?’ said Libby. ‘It’s him we’ve come to see, after all, and he won’t be at the pub yet. It’s only just about opening time.’

‘It’ll advertise our presence, but yes, I suppose so.’

‘So would parking in the pub car park,’ said Libby.

Fran drove slowly under the arch and came to a halt behind a large Land Rover.

‘Here goes,’ said Libby, and climbed out.

Hugh Weston appeared at the door wearing his hat and coat as usual.

‘Ladies!’ he said genially. ‘Again! What can I do for you this time?’

‘We’re worried about Rosie,’ said Fran without preamble. ‘She’s been missing since yesterday.’

His face went blank. ‘Really?’

‘Yes, we just wondered if you knew where she went when she left here?’ said Libby.

‘No idea.’ He turned and pulled the door closed behind him. ‘I’m just off for a drink. Join me?’

‘No thanks,’ said Fran. ‘Are you sure she said nothing that might give us a clue?’

‘Nothing. Why should she have done?’

‘How long was she here?’ asked Libby.

He frowned. ‘Not long. I showed her the rest of the house and she left. Didn’t she come back to the pub?’

‘Of course not,’ said Libby, ‘or we wouldn’t be asking you. When we came out of the pub her car had gone.’

‘So why ask me, then?’ He was looking quite aggressive now. ‘She obviously went off on her own.’

‘Yes, but she hasn’t been seen since. Hasn’t been home and she wouldn’t leave her cat.’ Fran sighed and turned back to the car. ‘Sorry we troubled you.’

‘No trouble.’ He was back to normal and holding the door open for her. ‘Do let me know when she comes home. Rather a nice lady.’

‘We will,’ said Libby. ‘Thank you.’

Weston watched as Fran reversed carefully back under the arch and out on to the lane.

‘Well!’ said Libby, blowing out a long breath. ‘That was a waste of time. And obviously the police hadn’t been to see him yet.’

‘We don’t know that. He was unlikely to tell us,’ said Fran.

‘Oh, he would. If the police had already been he would have greeted us with a concerned air and, “So sorry to hear about your friend, ladies.” He’d know we’d know if Ian had seen him.’

‘True. Where now?’ said Fran, halting at the crossroads.

‘Right. Let’s see if we can spot a turning anywhere.’

But there wasn’t, only a track leading to the farm they’d seen in the distance.

‘Actually, it was a bit of a foolish idea,’ said Fran. ‘What on earth did we think we’d find out? We could hardly search the house.’

‘Let’s turn on the radio. There might be something on the local radio,’ suggested Libby.

But the local news bulletin contained nothing about the White Lodge case or Rosie, only more about the two bodies discovered in the Medway area, which had now been discovered to be those of itinerant builders.

‘Oh, well,’ said Libby. ‘Let’s go back to The Red Lion. We could have a coffee with George.’

But before they reached the pub, Libby’s mobile rang.

‘Where are you?’ said Ian.

‘In the car with Fran on the way to The Red Lion. Why, have you found Rosie yet?’

‘No, I’ve just been to see Colonel Weston, and he told me you’d beaten me to it.’

‘Ah.’ Libby glanced at Fran and made a face.

‘When will you keep out of things, Libby? He was warned I was coming, and if there’d been anything suspicious he could have made sure there was no evidence.’

‘But we didn’t say the police knew,’ said Libby.

Ian made an unprintable sound. ‘Don’t be so naive.’

‘Sorry.’

‘Just don’t go getting into anything else.’

‘No. Sorry.’ Libby took a deep breath. ‘What about the cellar?’

‘I don’t know when I’m going to get around to that. You’ll just have to wait.’ The phone went dead.

‘Telling off?’ asked Fran, as she pulled in to The Red Lion car park.

Libby sighed. ‘As usual. And now it looks as though we won’t get to see the cellar.’

‘You didn’t say anything about the cellar.’

Libby told her as they went into the pub and across to the bar.

‘I expect he’ll let you see soon enough – or Ben, at least.’

‘Hmm.’ Libby nodded gloomily.

‘Hello, ladies.’ George beaming appeared at the door from the kitchen. ‘Where’ve you been this time. Not back over to Cherry Ashton again?’

‘Yes,’ said Libby. ‘Can we have two coffees, George?’

‘How’s that old cat of yours, then?’ He asked as he busied himself at the coffee machine.

‘Balzac’s fine, thank you, George.’ Fran hoisted herself onto a stool next to Libby.

‘I’ll tell you what, your coffee’s a darn sight better than at The Red Lion,’ said Libby. ‘Although they do a good sausage pie.’

‘I said they did good food, didn’t I?’ George set their foaming mugs before them. ‘Funny place, though.’

‘Yes. We met the owner,’ said Fran.

‘Oh, Colonel Bloody Weston?’ George rolled his eyes. ‘Thinks he’s God’s gift, he does.’

‘Yes, his manager said he’s a bit of a lad with the women,’ said Libby.