Authors: Frances Evesham
Tags: #Short cozy murder mystery
He’d been one of Joe Ramshore’s team when Susie Bennett died. Libby forced a smile. “We have.”
“Made fools of us all, didn’t you?”
She swallowed. He wasn’t going to make this easy. “I like to help the police whenever I can.”
A brief smile flickered across the face of the younger officer, a slim blonde woman. “I’m Constable Sykes. Emily Sykes. We’ve just come from Sergeant Ramshore.”
“Is he home, then?”
No one answered her question. Constable Smith bit into a hob nob. “This is a very serious matter, you know.”
“Of course. Two people have died. It’s a dreadful affair, but it’s nothing to do with me, or the bakery.”
“Now, I never said it was, did I?”
Libby looked from one officer to the other. Neither was smiling, now. “Am I some sort of suspect?”
“We’re just making inquiries.” Constable Smith looked around the kitchen, shrewd eyes noting every item. “Make cakes and chocolates in here, Mrs Forest?”
“Yes.”
“Does your kitchen comply with health and safety regulations?”
She gulped. “The things I make here aren’t for sale, yet. The inspector’s due to come soon.”
He scribbled in his notebook. Constable Sykes nodded. “It’s a beautiful kitchen. Did you design it?”
So, this was ‘good cop, bad cop.’ “Yes.”
Constable Smith smiled, revealing a set of large, tombstone-shaped teeth with a gap between the front pair. “But there were chocolates at the bakery.” Libby’s heartbeat raced. “Were they yours?”
“They weren’t for sale.”
“The cycling club came in to the shop that morning, I believe.” Libby nodded. “Did they eat any of the chocolates?”
“Well, yes. I mean, we were trying them out―Frank, Mandy and me―when people came in to the shop, and I think a couple of people had a taste…” Libby’s voice trailed off, her mouth suddenly dry.
“I see.”
Forgetting her intention to answer questions as briefly as possible, Libby added, “There wasn’t anything wrong with the chocolates. I’m sure of it. I made them myself. They were samples. I’m starting a business...” She heard herself babbling, and bit her lip.
“Does Mandy live here?”
“She’s my lodger.”
“Does she come in the kitchen?”
“Of course. We often eat in here, and I’ve been showing her...”
Be quiet, can’t you?
It was too late. “Go on. What have you been showing her?”
“Just some recipes.” Libby felt sick. She’d dropped herself and Mandy in a hole, and she was still digging. They’d think Mandy might have poisoned the cyclists. “Do I need a solicitor?”
“Now, then, we’re just trying to cover all the angles. Nothing to be worried about, but we might need to talk to you again.” Constable Smith’s suddenly avuncular tone did nothing to still Libby’s nerves.
Her hands were shaking when the police left. Could the poisoning possibly have anything to do with her chocolates? She closed her eyes and tried to think back, to the moment when the cyclists arrived in the bakery.
They’d been talking about Libby and Frank’s new partnership. Mandy had a champagne truffle in each hand. “Champagne to celebrate,” she’d said. Frank bit the top layer of chocolate neatly from a coffee cream. “You either love a coffee cream, or hate it,” he remarked. “Me now, I love ’em.” It was one of the longest speeches Libby had ever heard from the baker.
Kevin had been first to poke a head round the door. His little round eyes lit up. “Chocolates?” Mandy told him at length about the plans for the shop. Kevin leaned on the counter, much too close to Libby. Uncomfortable, she offered him a free sample. Next thing she knew, the shop was full of cyclists.
But, who had eaten the free samples? If only she could remember.
Wait a minute
. Mandy and Frank hadn’t been sick, had they? It couldn’t be the chocolates.
She groaned. What if it was just one flavour? The lemon meringue, perhaps? She’d had one of those. Kevin ate several. Head thumping, Libby sank on to a stool. She tried to concentrate, through rising panic.
Come on, you’re supposed to be an investigator.
She had an idea. To rule out the chocolates as the source of poison, she needed to know who’d eaten which flavour. What’s more, she had to find out before the police decided the chocolates were to blame.
One part of Libby’s brain was shouting at her, telling her not to be irrational, but it was too late. She was sweating, her heart hammering. It wasn’t just about the police finding out, any more, or what might happen to her. She had to know it wasn’t her fault. She needed to be sure she hadn’t killed those two men.
If only Max was here, she could talk to him. It would be all right. He’d find a way to prove it wasn’t her fault. But, Max was away. There was no one else.
Wait. Simon Logan had been in the shop, had eaten chocolates, and hadn’t died. Libby could find out which ones he’d sampled. He was so calm and in control. Even the thought of speaking to him made Libby feel better. He’d know what to do. Why hadn’t she thought of him before? He’d made it clear he liked her.
How could she get in touch? Mandy would know. Mandy knew everybody. It took Libby three attempts to dial the numbers on the phone, her fingers shook so much. As Mandy answered, Libby gabbled, “Simon Logan, he was in the bakery with the cycle club. Do you know where he lives.”
“Ooh, Mrs F. You do fancy him, after all. I knew it. I said he was perfect for you.”
“No, I don’t fancy him.” Was that strictly true? “Stop giggling, Mandy, this is important. I need to speak to him.”
“Well, that’s easy. He’s here.”
“Here? Where are you?”
“I told you. I’m with Steve at his aunt’s house, rehearsing for the concert. Her room’s got good acoustics, apparently, whatever that means. Simon’s here too. He plays the violin.”
“I’m on my way.”
***
Angela lived in a small village, just outside Exham. The Citroen crunched up the gravel entrance and Angela waved from the window. “So glad you’ve come. Yes, let Bear come in. He’s very well-behaved.” She took off her spectacles and peered at Libby’s face. “You’re rather pale.”
“I’m fine, thanks. Still tired, that’s all.”
Angela patted her hand. “We wanted to get on with our rehearsal as soon as we could. Let me introduce you to everyone. You know Mandy and my nephew, Steve, don’t you?” Steve winked. “Marina’s here, of course, although she doesn’t play an instrument.” Marina never missed a social occasion. “And here’s Chesterton Wendlebury. Have you met?”
Libby’s hand was engulfed in Chesterton Wendlebury’s warm grasp. “Delighted to meet you again, dear lady.”
Angela explained, “Chester plays the cello. And here’s Alice Ackerman, a friend of Steve’s from Wells, who’s helping us out on the viola.”
Alice wore a very low-cut red T-shirt, skin-tight jeans and a winsome expression, and Steve was standing very close to her. Libby glanced at Mandy. Arms folded across her chest, eyes narrowed, she held Steve’s friend, Alice, in a steely glare.
Libby extracted her hand from Chesterton Wendlebury’s, “I’m sorry to interrupt you all.”
His voice boomed. “Quite all right, my dear. We needed a breather.”
Angela steered Libby to the back of the room. “Have a cup of tea while we finish, then we’ll all have a glass of wine.”
Libby whispered. “I had a visit from the police, just now.”
“No wonder you’re looking pale. Was it Ian Smith? He’s always been a bully. No wonder he’s still only a constable.”
Desperate to talk to Simon, Libby had no option but to wait and listen to the rehearsal. The players stopped from time to time, to repeat a phrase or correct a mistake, and Chesterton called a complete halt at one point. “I’ve lost my place, sorry to say. Afraid I’m getting old.” Libby had no chance to get near Simon.
Champagne
For what seemed like hours, the musicians played. Libby began to think they’d never stop. She ached with tension. At last, Chesterton declared himself exhausted, and offered everyone a glass of the ice-cold champagne he’d slipped into the fridge earlier. Angela dispensed cheese and biscuits while Bear squatted, alert for fragments of food to fall, ready to snaffle every tit-bit before it hit the carpet.
Simon handed a full glass to Libby. “Did you enjoy listening to our mistakes? I’m afraid age and lack of practice takes its toll. Chester and I are a bit past it, really. Most of the time I only teach, these days. Young Steve’s very talented, though, don’t you think? He’ll go far.”
Libby couldn’t wait any longer. She abandoned small talk. “I wanted to ask you about that morning in the bakery. You know, the day of the cycling club picnic.”
“I’ll never forget it.” Simon shook his head. “Two good people killed on a day out. I was one of the lucky ones. Hardly ill at all. Whatever it was, I hadn’t had much of it.”
Libby blurted out, “That’s the trouble. I think it might all be my fault.”
“You?” Simon’s eyes widened. “What nonsense. What could you have done?”
“The chocolates.” It was almost a whisper. “I’m afraid there might have been something wrong with them. I need to know which one you had. You see, I was ill, as well, and so was Joe. Kevin was in the shop with us. I’m not sure about Vince, because I never met him, but he might have been.” Libby’s voice squeaked. She slowed down. “What if everyone who was ill had the same kind of chocolate? There were some chili flavoured, some with parma violet, and a batch of lemon meringue.”
“And which did you have?” Simon’s voice was very gentle.
“Violets and lemon meringue.”
Simon frowned. Libby’s heart thumped. He looked so serious. “Do you know,” he said, “I think you’re suffering from some sort of guilt. Survivor guilt, I think they call it. I had one of those parma violet chocolates, and I was fine. Of course, there was nothing wrong with them. They were wonderful, by the way. You’re a very talented lady.”
Nothing wrong with the chocolates.
The lump that had been stuck in Libby’s chest had gone.
It wasn’t her fault. She hadn’t poisoned anyone.
Simon was smiling. His teeth were very white and even, and his smile lit up his face. He was a most attractive man. Libby felt a delicious glow start in the pit of her stomach and spread through her body, until she knew her cheeks were flaming. It was a good job she was sitting down, for her knees felt wobbly. Simon leaned in. “Libby Forest, I’d like to get to know you better.”
Libby bit her lips to keep from grinning like an idiot. Deliberately, she sat back and looked around. No need to seem too keen. Nearby, Alice Ackerman flicked a strand of hair behind an ear, smiled and turned her back on Mandy, speaking exclusively to Angela. “Steve gets his talent from his Uncle Geoff, I expect?”
Steve shook his head. He looked very young and earnest. He’d dispensed with the earrings and nose piercings, today. “I wish I had half his ability.”
Simon murmured in Libby’s ear. “Look at that young chap. Talented, young, not a care in the world: just like his uncle. Not surprised that Alice girl is keen.”
Libby whispered, “Mandy’s furious.”
He laughed, his voice very musical. “All’s fair in love.”
Was Simon flirting? Libby changed the subject. “Did you know Geoff Miles, then?”
“Oh, yes, we were old friends. At university together. That’s where he met the lovely Angela, of course, and cut me off, as a matter of fact. I’d had hopes of her for myself.” Simon grimaced. He pointed towards the window. “Look. The sun’s shining. Shall we take our glasses outside and make the most of it?”
Why not? Weak with relief that she wasn’t the poisoner, with a glass of champagne acting on her empty stomach, Libby was in the mood to enjoy a bit of flattery from an amusing, intelligent man. She stood up. “It’s certainly very hot in here.”
Bear followed them out, velvety brown eyes never leaving Libby’s back. She ignored a twinge of guilt. She was tired of Max’s on-off approach to their odd, arms-length relationship. She owed him no loyalty. If only Bear wouldn’t look at her like that.
They sat at a picnic table on the patio, surrounded by the scent of rosemary and lavender bushes. Libby raised her face to the sun’s rays. Bubbles of champagne flooded her bloodstream, adding to the warm glow. Simon raised his glass. “Chesterton always has good taste, in wine and in women. Have you noticed the way he looks at Marina?”
Libby giggled. “They go riding together.” She bit the inside of her lip. The wine was loosening her tongue.
Mandy had come outside, too. She leaned on the garden wall, watching. “Are you all right, Mrs F?”
The child was smirking.
“I’m fine, thank you.”
Simon held out a bottle to Mandy. “Can I pour you a glass of Mr Wendlebury’s champagne?”
She shook her head. “I don’t drink.” Libby opened her mouth, about to protest. That certainly wasn’t true. Mandy wouldn’t meet her eye. What was the girl up to?
The patio door slid silently open and Steve ushered Alice through. She tripped over the step and giggled. Steve rolled his eyes. Bear paced back and forth across the patio. Simon watched. “Is there something the matter with your dog?”
“He’s not mine. I’m looking after him for a friend.” The dog whined. Libby called him over. “What’s the matter, Bear? It’s not like you to make a fuss.” She scratched his head and he curled round her feet. “Did you feel left out?”
Alice stumbled to a patio chair and flopped into it, not noticing her skirt was caught on the arm. Libby looked at Steve. “How much did she have?”
“Just a couple of glasses.” Steve shrugged. “Empty stomach, I suppose.”
Simon’s arm touched Libby’s, warm through his wool jacket. “You played well, today, Steve. A chip off your uncle’s old block.”
“Oh. Right. Thank you. My uncle used to talk about you. He said the two of you used to be a team.”
“We were, but Geoff was the one destined for great things.” Simon lifted one shoulder. “Can’t all be legends.”
“Uncle Geoff said you were more talented than him, but...” Steve stopped in mid-sentence, blushing.
“But, he said I wasted my ability on advertising jingles.” Simon laughed. “It’s all right. Geoff called it selling my soul, but I made a good living from advertising for a few years, before I went into lecturing. Geoff stuck to his guns. He wasn’t rich, at first, but he wrote good music. You should be very proud of him.”