Authors: Lesley Cookman
‘Gosh,’ said Libby, ‘aren’t you sensible?’
Fran glared and Lewis looked embarrassed.
‘Fran’s getting married,’ explained Libby, ‘so she and her fiancé are planning.’
‘Ah!’ Lewis looked relieved. ‘Sorry I can’t offer you Creekmarsh as a venue,’ he said, ‘but I don’t suppose I’ll be able to get it up and running for ages.’
‘Kind of you,’ said Fran, ‘but we’ve found a place already. If it’s not booked up,’ she added gloomily.
‘I thought you’d already booked it?’ Libby was surprised.
‘We thought so, but according to their system, we’d only made an enquiry. Guy’s waiting to hear.’
‘Bummer,’ said Lewis.
‘Fran,’ said Libby suddenly, ‘why did you say that body isn’t Gerald Shepherd?’
‘Oh, you know,’ said Fran vaguely.
‘You just knew it wasn’t,’ Libby nodded. ‘OK.’
‘You can’t be sure,’ said Lewis.
‘Of course not,’ said Fran. ‘Are you ready to go, Lib?’
Lewis and Libby, both flustered, stood up quickly.
‘Seen enough then?’ asked Lewis.
Fran smiled, still vaguely.
‘Obviously she has,’ said Libby, with a disgruntled look at her friend. ‘I’ll just collect my basket from the kitchen.’
‘Yeah, thanks for the picnic,’ said Lewis, as he followed them down the stairs. ‘I’ll have to forage for myself tonight.’
‘Will Katie not be back then?’ asked Libby.
‘I haven’t heard,’ said Lewis. ‘I knew she was going to London, but she’s not answering her phone.’
‘Is that at her flat in Leytonstone?’
‘Yeah. She told you about that?’
‘Yes. She told me how she’d worked in a bank and then in outside catering, hadn’t any children but enjoyed her job with you. Pocket biography.’
‘Yeah.’ Lewis frowned. ‘Can’t imagine her without kids, can you? Perfect mum, I’d have thought.’
‘Perhaps she’s a perfect auntie,’ said Libby. ‘Has she got family?’
‘No idea,’ said Lewis, looking surprised. ‘She’s never mentioned any.’
‘Oh, well,’ said Libby with a shrug, ‘I expect she’ll turn up. She struck me as being very reliable and responsible.’
‘Always has been.’ Lewis saw them to the door.
‘How did you meet Katie?’ asked Fran suddenly.
‘I told Lib, she was doing OB catering on that
Housey Housey
show.’
‘Right. And you got that job through Tony West?’
‘Yes.’
‘Did he know her?’
‘Blimey! No idea.’ Lewis laughed. ‘He does now, since she’s been with me.’ He caught his breath. ‘Did, I mean.’
‘Whose idea was it she worked with you?’
There was a short silence.
‘Tony’s, I think,’ said Lewis finally. ‘But only because she and me’d got on.’
‘She told me you asked her because you and your mum got on with her,’ said Libby.
‘Well, yeah, but I’m pretty sure it was Tony’s idea.’
‘Right.’ Fran smiled brightly. ‘Well, thanks for showing me round, Lewis. If I think of anything that might be of use, I’ll let you know.’
It wasn’t until they were on the main road back to Steeple Martin that Libby turned to her friend.
‘So what was that all about?’ she said. ‘You got something, didn’t you? Lewis was terribly confused.’
‘Hmm,’ said Fran.
‘Oh, come on, Fran. You asked to go there. And what was it had you so convinced that the skeleton isn’t Gerald Shepherd?’
‘Because Gerald Shepherd is still alive,’ said Fran.
Chapter Thirteen
LIBBY GAPED.
‘Don’t ask me how I know,’ said Fran irritably.
‘I wasn’t going to. I was going to ask when you found out.’
‘I didn’t “find out”.’ Fran let out a gusty sigh. ‘It’s been hovering away at the corner of my consciousness all day.’ She hit the steering wheel with a frustrated hand. ‘I do
wish
I could do this properly.’
‘You mean – to order? Focusing on items?’
Fran nodded.
‘But you can. You’ve done it before, haven’t you? With the Anderson Place business?’
‘It was almost by accident, though, wasn’t it?’ said Fran. ‘Anyway, I tried just now with the photographs and all that happened was it reinforced the feeling that Gerald is still alive.’
‘Nothing about the other people in them?’
‘I’ve
told
you.’ Fran sounded even more irritated. ‘Honestly, Lib, I don’t need this.’ ‘You asked to come to Creekmarsh.’ ‘Also,’ Fran went on, as though Libby hadn’t
spoken, ‘did you notice what Lewis said when he was telling us how Tony West had offered him the house?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘He said the owner wanted a quick sale.’
Libby frowned. ‘So?’
‘Making it sound as though the owner was still alive.’
‘Oh! I see. Was he lying? Did he think the owner was dead, or did he actually
know
the owner was still alive?’
‘That’s what I think,’ said Fran. ‘Tony West knew the owner was still alive.’
Libby thought for a moment. ‘What about the girl? Cindy Dale?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Fran. ‘I haven’t thought about her.’
‘And Kenneth? He would be the owner if Gerald Shepherd was dead, wouldn’t he?’
‘Exactly.’ Fran was triumphant. ‘So Shepherd must be alive.’
‘Do we tell anyone?’ asked Libby.
‘The police will find out themselves, they always do. And I can’t see that woman Bertram listening to us.’
‘I’ve just thought,’ said Libby a few moments later as they were driving down the hill into Steeple Martin. ‘Didn’t they say the body was of a man between thirty and fifty?’
‘Who’s they?’ asked Fran, slowing down past the pub and The Pink Geranium.
‘On the radio – or the television, can’t remember. But that’s what it said. So it couldn’t have been Gerald Shepherd anyway.’ Libby turned excitedly to Fran. ‘You’re right.’
Fran looked sideways at her. ‘So I needn’t have bothered?’
Libby subsided. ‘Well, you didn’t know what you were going to come up with, did you? You could have come up with something even more startling.’
Fran made a sound that could have been agreement but sounded rather more disgruntled, and she turned into Allhallow’s Lane.
‘Do you want tea?’ asked Libby as they pulled up outside number 17.
Fran sighed. ‘Yes, please, and a bit of normality.’
‘And no more grumps,’ added Libby to herself.
The day having turned rather grey and chilly, they had tea in the front room. Sidney reluctantly moved up to allow Libby to sit beside him on the sofa, turning his back to her and flattening his ears.
‘What will you do if you can’t have that hotel?’ she asked Fran, deciding not to go any further down the murder route.
Fran shrugged. ‘Find somewhere else, I suppose,’ she said. ‘We might have to wait longer, though. People book so far in advance.’
‘Or you could get married sooner. I bet there are places with vacancies in the next month.’
Fran looked up, interested. ‘Of course,’ she said. ‘Once it gets to a couple of months before, no one’s going to book a wedding, are they?’
‘It might be difficult to get a registrar, though,’ warned Libby, ‘but you could always try. When had you intended to do the deed?’
‘October, we hoped, so it wouldn’t be bringing it forward too much.’ Fran fished in her bag. ‘Do you mind if I call Guy?’
‘Go ahead,’ said Libby, amused at the sight of her friend evincing such enthusiasm.
While Fran was talking, she turned on the television with the sound down to see if she could locate a mid-afternoon news bulletin. When she did, almost immediately a picture of the outside of Creekmarsh flashed up on the screen. Fran had seen it and switched off her mobile. Libby turned up the sound.
‘… gave a statement at lunchtime today,’ the announcer was saying, ‘which indicated that the remains found in the grounds of a house in Kent match the DNA of vanished actor Gerald Shepherd.’
Fran and Libby gasped together. A picture of Shepherd appeared on the screen.
‘Shepherd disappeared just over three years ago,’ continued the announcer, while a series of publicity stills of Shepherd were shown. ‘He was famous for his portrayal …’
Libby turned the sound down. ‘We know all that,’ she said. ‘What’s going on?’
Fran shook her head, frowning. ‘I don’t know. He’s alive, I’d swear it.’
‘Is it a bluff, do you think?’ asked Libby.
‘I don’t think the police are allowed to bluff,’ said Fran. ‘And why, anyway?’
Libby’s phone rang. ‘Lewis, I bet,’ she said, going to answer it.
‘Did you hear that police statement?’ Lewis sounded agitated.
‘Yes,’ said Libby, ‘we just saw it on television.’
‘So it’s that Gerald Shepherd all along. Your mate got it wrong.’
‘I don’t think so,’ said Libby cautiously. ‘There must be an explanation.’
‘Well, until old German Shepherd turns up alive and well we ain’t got one,’ said Lewis. ‘I’ll see you, Lib.’
‘He doesn’t sound too impressed,’ said Libby, going back to the sofa. ‘What do we do now?’
Fran sighed. ‘Why do we have to do anything? The police think it’s Shepherd. They’ll presumably investigate further and get to the bottom of it.’
‘But they’ll be looking in the wrong direction,’ protested Libby. ‘If it isn’t Gerald, they need to find out who it
really
is. They’ll be looking into Gerald’s past instead.’
Fran closed her eyes. ‘So what do you want to do?’ she asked in a resigned voice.
‘Find out who it is, of course,’ said Libby.
‘And how do you propose to do that? And what about Ben?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Libby, frowning.
‘The how? Or Ben?’
‘Both,’ admitted Libby. ‘I’ll just have to play it by ear.’
Fran opened her eyes and leant forward. ‘There’s no way you can find out who those bones belonged to without a forensic anthropologist, Libby. And the police are stretched financially as it is. They probably won’t investigate any further, they’ll simply find some contributory evidence and thankfully close the file.’
‘Without finding out who did it?’ asked Libby, shocked.
‘If it isn’t Shepherd, they can’t, can they?’
‘Heavens, how complicated,’ said Libby, starting to search for a cigarette. ‘Sorry, Fran, but I really need one.’ She found a packet in the log basket and lit up. ‘They’ll start a hunt for Kenneth and Cindy, won’t they? They’ll have to. Because Kenneth would be Gerald’s heir.’
‘Not to Creekmarsh any more,’ said Fran.
‘No, but if Tony West had the power of attorney legally, as it seems he had, the money must be somewhere.’
‘Unless he spent it.’
‘No, he wouldn’t be able to do that,’ said Libby, ‘it would have to go into a client account, or something.’
‘Well, I’m sure we can leave the police to find out,’ said Fran. ‘We can’t.’
For a moment Libby looked mutinous, but then she sighed and leant back. ‘You’re right, of course.’ She smiled. ‘What did Guy say?’
‘Oh –’ Fran coloured slightly, ‘he thought it was a great idea and said he’ll get on to it straight away.’
‘So we could have a July wedding? Or even a June one?’ Libby grinned. ‘Better get a move on with those outfits, then!’
Later, after Fran had gone home and before Adam appeared, Libby rang Ben.
‘Would you like to come to supper this evening?’ she asked.
‘I’d love to. Just us, or will there be any waifs and strays?’
Libby gritted her teeth. ‘Just us, unless Ad’s staying in,’ she said.
‘Sevenish, then?’ said Ben. ‘I’ll see you then.’
Adam was quite happy to rustle himself up a snack when he came in, saying he was going to meet a couple of old school friends in Canterbury and would go in by bus. Libby had a long bath, tried to tame her rusty hair and put on her favourite velvet skirt and floaty blouse.
‘Wow!’ said Adam when she came downstairs. ‘I’m tempted to hang around and see Ben’s reaction.’
‘Oh, stop it, Ad.’ Libby tied an apron over her finery and fetched a basket of vegetables. ‘Do you want to help me do these?’
‘Ah. No, I’d better be off after all.’ Adam came to give her a kiss. ‘Be good, Ma.’
‘Always am,’ she said as he left the cottage. ‘Sadly.’
When Ben arrived, chicken was simmering in a cream sauce and vegetables waited in a steamer.
‘You look gorgeous,’ he said, kissing her cheek and handing over a bottle of wine.
‘Thank you,’ said Libby, ‘so do you.’
‘So, how have you been getting on with the investigation?’ asked Ben, as Libby poured drinks. She winced.