Murder in the Blood (30 page)

‘Oi!'

Libby turned round and saw Harry standing outside The Pink Geranium, arms akimbo.

‘What?'

‘Why were you walking straight past?'

‘I often do.' Libby turned slowly and went back. ‘And it's afternoon. You should be closed.'

Harry peered at her. ‘Are you all right?'

‘Fine, thanks.'

He peered even closer. ‘Have you had any lunch?'

‘Oh!' said Libby, surprised. ‘No, I haven't! I went to meet Fran this morning, then went to pick up the car in Canterbury – no. I haven't.'

‘Come on, then. Low blood sugar, that's what you've got.'

He ushered her inside the restaurant and sat her at the large pine table in the left-hand window.

‘Soup and a roll? A glass of something?' he suggested.

‘Lovely.' Libby sighed and leant back in the chair.

‘Coming up, then.' Harry disappeared kitchenwards.

A very short time later, a bowl of steaming hot
Sopa de Chicharo
, Mexican green pea soup, was put before her, together with a chilli muffin and a glass of red wine. Harry sat down opposite her.

‘OK, old trout. What's up?'

‘Nothing.' Libby took a spoonful of soup. ‘Ow.'

‘It's hot, dear heart. Take a sup of wine while you're waiting.'

Libby obediently drank some wine and pulled the muffin apart.

‘Go on, then. Tell your old mate. What's up?'

‘I said – nothing.'

‘Bollocks. You don't even
look
like you.'

Libby looked up. ‘I'm backing out of the case.'

Harry raised perfectly shaped eyebrows. ‘You've said that before.'

Libby repeated what she'd said to Fran earlier.

‘Well, you're right, of course. The cases are always upsetting, particularly if they come close to home. But what about the times you've helped people?'

‘I haven't really. The police have always got to the bottom of these cases in spite of us.'

‘And sometimes because of you. Look at the times you've actually linked things together for the police. Ian's always been grateful, hasn't he?'

‘And irritated, mostly. I always said I didn't want to become one of those storybook characters always falling over bodies. And that's what I've become.'

‘You haven't fallen over them,' said Harry. ‘Well, not literally. Only once.'

‘And then it had been so long dead it didn't really count,' said Libby.

‘And usually people ask you to look into things because of the experiences you've had.'

‘I know, but I don't want to do it any more,' said Libby discovering with surprise that her soup bowl was empty. ‘It's upsetting.'

Harry looked at her thoughtfully. ‘What's got to you about this particular case? You aren't even personally connected with it.'

‘I told you. I just realised that everywhere I go in Kent is tainted by murder. Even here, at home. And Nethergate, and Creekmarsh. And all the villages.'

‘I expect everywhere in the country is tainted by murder,' said Harry. ‘That's why there are policemen everywhere.'

‘But not murder you've been personally involved with,' said Libby.

Harry sighed. ‘No, of course not. So you're backing out of this one. Have you told Ian?'

‘Yes. I handed the keys to Sally's cottage in at the police station – oh, did you know Fran and I went there this morning?'

She told Harry about Ian's request and the visit from Richard Smart. ‘So now I've handed the keys back and left a message on his office phone. I don't want anything to do with it any more.'

‘Just this?' asked Harry shrewdly.

She smiled slightly. ‘No. I don't want to get involved ever again.'

‘I wonder,' said Harry.

‘Look, unless another murder turns up on my doorstep I don't have to, do I? If anyone asks me to look into something, I don't have to. Because even that can have disastrous results.'

‘Yes, it can. But I honestly don't believe you'll be able to back off. Especially if someone comes and asks you – or Fran – for help.'

‘Fran can do what she likes,' said Libby.

‘That sounded pettish.'

‘Wasn't meant to. Fran may well be asked because of her abilities, although she hasn't really used them this time, has she?'

‘She saw someone drowning when we were on holiday, before we found the body.'

‘But nothing since. No, she can do it if she likes, but I shan't.'

‘All right,' said Harry. ‘Now, drink up your wine like a good girl and I might even get you another.'

Libby walked home half an hour later feeling rather strange. Not because of unaccustomed wine at two thirty in the afternoon, because to be fair it wasn't all that unaccustomed, but because it felt as though part of her life had been amputated. Almost ever since she'd moved to Steeple Martin with the help of Peter and Harry, who had been the mainstay of the ‘Search for Bide-A-Wee' as they'd called it, she had been involved with murder. Her relationship with Ben was rooted in their first mutual encounter with it, her friendship with Fran was a direct result of that first encounter, and many of the people in her life nowadays were there because of the adventures she and Fran had had together over the last few years. There had been marriages – Guy and Fran, of course, and Jane and Terry Baker. Shows – the End Of The Pier show at The Alexandria and Sir Andrew McColl's concert at The Oast Theatre just two of them. No wonder the investigations had become such a big part of her life. Perhaps Harry was right. Perhaps she couldn't back away.

To her own surprise, when she got home and unpacked her shopping, she didn't even check the computer for emails or the landline answerphone for messages. She remembered switching off her mobile in the police station car park and decided to leave it off. Leaving chicken marinating in the fridge, she made tea and took it out into the garden.

‘Where have you been?'

Ben burst through the back gate from the Manor woods.

‘What?'

‘I said – where have you been? I've left messages on both the phones.'

Ben subsided on to the other unstable deckchair and pushed a hand through his short grey curls.

‘Oh, Ben, I'm sorry!' Libby's hand flew to her mouth. ‘I didn't even think!'

Ben sighed. ‘I know you didn't. But you're in the middle of an investigation and I can't get hold of you. What the hell was I supposed to think?'

‘That's just it,' said Libby. ‘I'm not.'

‘Not? Not what?'

‘In the middle of an investigation. I've backed out. Told Ian. And Fran.'

‘And Harry?'

‘Yes. Only because he found me in the middle of the high street and fed me.'

Ben grunted. He had always been slightly jealous of Libby's close friendship with Harry, in spite of the fact that it was anything but sexual.

‘What has Ian said?'

‘I don't know. The phone's been off, as you discovered.'

‘Ah. Don't want to be talked out of it?'

‘I doubt if Ian would do that. He's always been all for me to back off, hasn't he?'

‘Not always. He's asked for help often enough.'

‘You'd rather I wasn't involved any more, though, wouldn't you?'

Ben looked up in surprise. ‘What? Not ever?'

Libby nodded.

Ben looked away. ‘This needs thinking about.'

‘That's what Fran said.' Libby stood up, looking mournful. ‘I'll get you some tea.'

‘Why are you looking like that?'

‘Because it seems that everyone sees me as a little round bundle of nosiness and very little else. It's very disillusioning.'

She went into the kitchen and peered into the teapot. Ben came up behind her.

‘We don't see you like that.' He put his arms round her waist from behind. ‘But your investigations are part of you. What would we all talk about?'

‘There are several months of each year when there isn't anything going on,' said Libby, switching on the electric kettle. The heavy iron one was retired for the summer while the Rayburn remained unlit.

‘That's a nice contrast,' said Ben. ‘Are you sure about this?'

Libby told him what she'd told Harry and Fran.

‘I see.' Now Ben was looking thoughtful, as Harry had. ‘Do you remember how Peter felt about writing his plays?'

‘He was sure it was his fault there'd been murders surrounding them. In fact, it was nothing to do with him.'

‘So aren't you doing the same sort of thing?'

‘No.' Libby shook her head. ‘I didn't start the murders, if you know what I mean. I've got involved and stayed involved long after I should have. And – well, it's upsetting.'

Ben nodded. ‘OK.' He dropped a kiss on top of her head. ‘Now make me that tea.'

Nothing more was said about the subject, and feeling slightly disconnected to the word, Libby got through the rest of the afternoon, cooked a stir-fry for dinner, and went up to the theatre for the penultimate rehearsal before transferring to Nethergate.

At various points in the evening she noticed Ben and Fran in conversation, Ben and Peter in conversation, and even Fran and Susannah in conversation. She correctly deduced that the conversations were about her. Why were they so concerned, she wondered? Everyone had been telling her for years not to get involved. Why were they not all cheering with relief?

Ian had already arrived at the pub and was sitting with Patti and Anne when the theatre crowd trouped in. He greeted everyone, including Libby, quite normally, and went to the bar with Ben for drinks.

‘And guess who they're talking about,' said Libby gloomily to Fran.

‘You have rather thrown the cat among the pigeons,' said Fran. ‘It just seems so unlikely.'

‘I know. Harry doesn't think I'll be able to resist if something comes up.'

‘And will you?'

‘I've no idea. But if I keep a low profile, nothing should come up, should it?'

Ian placed a half of lager in front of her. ‘Is that what you've been keeping today? A low profile?'

Libby looked up at him warily. ‘I kept the phone off.'

‘I know. And when you turn it on, and listen to your landline messages, you will find several from me.'

‘And Ben,' said Libby.

‘And me,' said Fran.

‘Well, I've seen you all now, so I can delete them all.' Libby buried her nose in her glass.

‘May we ask what's going on?' Anne moved her wheelchair a little closer to the table. ‘What's Libby done?'

‘She's retiring from the investigation business,' said Harry, appearing behind them. ‘And if you believe that, you'll believe anything.'

Chapter Thirty-five

It appeared that Libby's resolve was to be tested as soon as she turned on her mobile phone in the morning and played the answerphone messages.

Ian's message was the most tantalising.

‘For all the good it will do, we traced Jean and Bob Burton to an address in Wales. Jean died fifteen years ago, and Bob followed her two years later. There is no trace of Gerald, who appears to have vanished completely. This, of course, will lead you to think he must be Alec Wilson. If so, there is a possibility that he knew Sally Weston.'

‘Of course he did,' Libby said out loud in exasperation.

‘What?' Ben came through from the kitchen.

‘Listen.' Libby replayed the message.

‘I thought you weren't going to have anything to do with it any more?'

‘I'm not.' Libby sat down at the table in the window and scrolled through the messages on her mobile. ‘I can delete your messages from yesterday, can't I?'

‘Yes.' Ben came and sat down opposite her. ‘Look, if you need to follow this up with Ian –'

‘No,' said Libby firmly. ‘I said yesterday.'

‘What happens if someone else gets in touch with you?'

‘Like who?'

‘The estate agent?'

‘He'll get in touch with Fran. Or Ian.'

‘Are you sure he hasn't already?'

‘Fran would have told me last night, even if Ian didn't.

Ben sighed. ‘OK. But if you do have to do something – just don't feel bad about going back on your decision.'

Libby looked up in surprise. ‘Do you think I would?'

‘I think you might.' Ben stood up. ‘I'm going up to the office. You know where I am if you want me.'

Libby stared, still surprised. Ben never said that. When he'd gone, she pulled the laptop towards her.

‘I'd better email the others,' she told Sidney.

Just to let you all know
, she wrote,
Walter Roberts was arrested here in Kent two days ago. He and Geoff Croker in Erzugan were involved in a people trafficking scheme, and the police are assuming that Alec Wilson's murder is connected, although Sally's seems to be a puzzle. Justin Newcombe was supposed to meeting someone also connected to the organisation whom we assume is the murderer. Walter Roberts denies being that person, and the police seem satisfied that this is the case. I don't suppose we'll hear any more about it unless we have to give any more statements to the police – although I can't think why we should!

All the best to everyone, and hope to see you in Erzugan another year.

And that's that, she thought as she pressed ‘send'.

The phone started ringing as soon as she set foot in the conservatory.

‘Walter!' said Greta. ‘I don't believe it! He never went anywhere!'

‘Only when Betty was well out of the way, apparently,' said Libby. ‘He went out to check up on his investment in the business.'

‘Poor old Betty. Did she know, I wonder?'

‘The police think she did but was too scared to say anything.'

The next to call was Neal.