Authors: Frances Evesham
Tags: #Short cozy murder mystery
“I’d been here once before―on holiday―but I’d forgotten.”
Marina gave an easy laugh. “Plenty of summer visitors come back here to retire. Not that you’ve been taking it easy. You’re always busy with something.” She adjusted the scarves at her neck, settling back onto her pale sofa.
“Did you know my husband, Marina?”
Marina glanced at Wendlebury, and away. “We met once or twice. He came here a few times, without you and the children. On business, of course.”
Libby’s next question was drowned by a crash that echoed through the house and brought Marina to her feet. “Shipley,” she shouted. “That dog. What mess has he made, now?”
She disappeared, to deal with the springer spaniel’s latest misdeeds, and Libby, increasingly uncomfortable, abandoned any idea of dog-walking. “I’d better be going. I―er―promised I’d…” She had no idea what she was saying.
“Of course.” Wendlebury stood, courteous as ever, to usher her out. “Don’t hesitate to ask if you want to know any more about Mr Forest. We were business acquaintances. Nothing more, of course, so I doubt I can help very much, but I do understand the need to talk about one’s dear departed. My wife, of course, died many years ago...” He exposed the shark’s teeth again. “Goodbye, dear lady, until we meet again.”
***
Libby leaned on Max’s doorbell.
Come on. Wake up
. Her eyes were gritty, from a night tossing and turning, puzzling over the connection between Wendlebury and Trevor. Flashes of memory from that first visit to Exham left her astonished she could have been so stupid. The children were small, then, and money was tight, but Trevor hadn’t wanted Libby to work. “We need you at home to look after us,” he insisted, and Libby, wanting to be a good wife for the man she loved, took his words as signs of affection. She’d stayed at home, worrying about her husband. He spent hours alone in his study, and when he came out he was distracted and off-hand.
Libby decided he was working too hard and suggested a holiday. “The English seaside. Buckets and spades for the kids, fish and chips for dinner.”
Trevor grinned and the lines of worry faded. “One of my clients, Pritchards, has a head office near Exham on Sea. Let’s combine business and pleasure for a week.” That was how they came to visit Exham. It was all her fault. How could she have forgotten?
Maybe she’d deliberately wiped it from her memory, because after that week, Trevor grew more distant, more angry and unkind, and more critical of his wife. He spent long hours in the office or on business trips, his hair turned grey and he drank heavily, but Libby never dared speak of it. She watched, helpless, from the sidelines as her loving husband gradually disappeared, to be replaced by a cold, angry stranger.
If only she’d stood up to Trevor, tried to find out what was going on, maybe she could have made a difference. She shuddered. What if she’d discovered his criminal dealings? What could a wife do―shop him to the police? Or, could she have put a stop to it all? She’d never know, but one thing was certain. She’d let no one make a fool of her again. That’s why she was here, on Max’s doorstep, at a crazy early hour; to discover the truth.
The door opened. “Whatever time do you think this is?” Max’s hair stood in spikes on top of his head. In dressing gown and bare feet, rubbing fingers over early-morning beard stubble, he squinted at Libby. “This had better be an emergency.”
She pushed past. “I want an explanation from you, Max Ramshore.”
“Can I make coffee, first?”
“Answers first, then coffee.”
“That serious?” He led the way to the study, his private sanctum. Part of Libby registered the gesture. Maybe she’d get some honesty, for once.
She pushed a pile of documents at him and waited, foot tapping, taut with anxiety, as he fumbled in his desk for reading glasses before scanning the first page. “We’ve already talked about these.” He sounded perfectly reasonable. “We know your husband had a portfolio of houses, bought with money from criminal activities.” He shot a glance at Libby. “You know, Trevor was just the admin man.” Libby waved a hand, impatient. This was old news.
She grabbed the pile of papers, tossed aside a handful and pointed at Ali’s letter from her father. “Five years. My daughter had to wait five years from the date Trevor gave her the house, before touching it. It didn’t even notice the date when I read this; I was too shocked.” She jabbed her finger at the letter. “Five years, Max. I finally realised. Five years after Trevor gave the properties away, he was dead. Do you see what that means?”
Max frowned. “Frankly, no.”
Libby could hardly get her tongue round the words. “What if Trevor’s death wasn’t an accident? He had a sudden heart attack. Not uncommon, I know, in a middle aged man who drank and smoked and took no exercise, so how hard did the pathologist look for another cause of death? How did Trevor really die?”
Max leaned forward and took Libby’s hands. “You said it yourself. Your husband was a middle-aged man under a huge amount of stress. Why would you imagine he died from anything but a heart attack?”
Libby snatched her hands away and stared at Max, wondering what she was really seeing. Her voice was hard. “Trevor had links to Exham on Sea. We came here when the children were young, and things changed. Trevor became a different person. He’d been kind, and loving, when we first married.” Tears slid down her cheeks. “I know he loved me, once. Over the years, he became more controlling―telling me I was stupid, stopping me seeing friends. It was gradual, and I didn’t realise it was happening until he’d turned me into some sort of door mat. But I can see, now, that person wasn’t the real Trevor. Maybe he was just weak. He got into bad company, couldn’t find the way out of the mess he was in, and the result was terrible stress.” She could hardly speak, for tears. “If only he’d told me the truth, we could have sorted it all out.”
“Even if it meant prison?”
Libby wiped the tears away, with the back of her hand. “Even then. He should have trusted me. I could have helped, somehow.” Max walked to the window and back. Libby let the silence grow, but as each second ticked past, the knot in her chest tightened until every breath hurt and she couldn’t stand it any longer. She whispered. “Did―did you know about Trevor? Tell me, Max. Stop pretending.” When he turned, his face told the truth. “You did. You knew what my husband was up to. You knew about the money, and the properties, from the start.”
Her fingers shook. Trevor’s letter slid to the floor. “You knew who I was, before I even arrived.” Every moment with Max flashed through Libby’s mind. That first meeting, when he’d walked past her house, taking Bear for exercise. Why had he chosen to walk that way, when he could be on the beach or in the fields? Later that same day, he’d come into the shop as if by accident and whisked Libby away for coffee. She shook her head, trying to clear it, letting in the stark truth. “You’ve been watching me, ever since I arrived in Exham.”
He put a hand on her arm, but she shook it off, spitting out bitter words. “I understand, Max. I can see it all, now. You thought I was one of Trevor’s―what should I call it―accomplices? You got close to me, deliberately, so I’d lead you to my husband’s ill-gotten gains. And all the time I thought―I hoped...” She clenched her jaw, refusing to cry. “Just tell me one thing, Max. How did Trevor die? Did you, or one of your shady friends, kill him?”
There. She’d said it. The shocking words were out. Her head was spinning, her heart thudding, blood hammering in her ears. She feared she was about to faint. Max gripped her arm, fingers digging in to her flesh. His eyes, usually so blue, glowed dark in a white face. “Is that what you think? Do you honestly believe I’m a killer?”
Libby gulped. “I―I don’t want you to be.” She forced the words through dry lips.
Max let his hands drop. “I had nothing to do with Trevor’s death. That’s the truth, although I can’t blame you if you don’t believe me.” With gentle fingers, he took one of Libby’s hands. “I’ll tell you the truth. You’re right about some of it. I did know who you were, when you moved to Exham. I thought you’d come to tidy up Trevor’s loose ends, and my job was to stop you. I was looking for the mastermind behind the whole criminal conspiracy, and I needed to get close to you, so you could lead me there.”
Libby pulled her hand away. Her throat burned. “You followed me.”
“You didn’t notice a thing, until I made the mistake of walking Bear too close to your house, one morning, and he got into a scrap with Fuzzy.”
“Which Fuzzy won.”
“She did. That cat’s as feisty as her owner. Believe me, Libby, I soon realised you had nothing to do with your husband’s crimes.”
“Am I supposed to be grateful?” Her fingers itched to slap his face. It would serve him right. “Anyway, what made you decide I was innocent?”
“You were too keen to get involved in police business. If you’d been a real criminal, you’d have let the authorities deal with the body under the lighthouse. I could see you were one of two things. Either you were a criminal and hopelessly incompetent, or you were innocent and nosy.”
She let that pass. “So that’s why you were keen to work with me. To see if I was what I seemed to be.”
He nodded. “When I realised the truth, I was―well...” He fell silent. “I’m sorry.”
“Sorry? Is that supposed to make it all right? You lied to me. And all the time I thought...” She shook her head, trying to clear it, struggling to think. What would she have done, in Max’s shoes? She didn’t have to think for long, before recognising the answer. She’d investigate, of course, as he’d done.
Max had known she was innocent since last autumn’s murder at the lighthouse. She’d been no more use to him in his hunt for the person at the top of the criminal tree, but nevertheless, he’d stayed by her side, ready to help, watching out for her. She whispered, “In Bristol, I asked if we had a relationship...”
Max slid one arm round her shoulders and pulled her close. “I was cruel. You took me by surprise. I’d taken so much care to keep my distance, trying to pretend I wasn’t falling for you. I never imagined you gave a fig for me. I thought it was all one way. In Bristol, I panicked and had a few second thoughts. What if I’d got it wrong, and you were Trevor’s accomplice, after all? Maybe, because I wanted you to be innocent, I was making a big mistake.” He grimaced. “I’m not much good at relationships. Never have been. I couldn’t believe my luck, that I stood a chance of getting this one right. So I blew it all.”
“You should have trusted me.”
“I know. I was a fool. But I want to put it on the record, now. I’ve cared about you the whole time, Libby Forest, from the moment you first shouted abuse at me in the street. I’d love you, even if you were a master criminal.”
French toast
“Well, that was worth waiting for.” Max’s kiss lasted a long time, until Bear, whose humans had spent far too long ignoring him, finished all the food in his dish, gobbled a few tidbits left on the table, and came looking for action. He arrived on the sofa, all over-sized paws and wet nose, forcing Max and Libby apart. Which was just as well, Libby decided, as she had a hundred questions to ask.
Max grabbed the dog by his collar and led him away. “He lives in the back place. Used to be a gun room, I suppose, when the squire lived here, but Bear’s learned to open the door. I’m going to have to change the lock.”
As Max filled the dog bowl, Libby made tea and French toast, and laid down a few ground rules. “I’m not standing for any more secrets. I lived half my married life in the dark. If we’re going to―you know.” She knew she was blushing. “If we’re going to be together, I need to trust you. You have to tell me everything you know about Trevor.”
“Fair enough, I suppose. Trouble is, I’ve got used to being secretive. It’s a habit, these days. Let me try to put it all in order.” He chewed in silence for a moment. “I’ll start at the beginning. I was called in as part of an investigation into Trevor’s insurance company, because there seemed to be some creative accounting going on. I’m afraid Trevor wasn’t a very efficient fraudster.” Libby winced, bracing herself for the worst. “HMRC picked it up first, and passed it on. My job then was to re-audit the finances.”
Libby nodded. “The tax people never miss a trick, do they?”
“We could see Trevor was a weak link. He came down to Exham several times, after that first visit with you and the family, and that made us curious. I wasn’t living here, at that time. You and I didn’t meet.” He stopped talking, his eyes on Libby. She knew what he was thinking, because Libby was wondering, as well. What would have happened if the two of them had met, back then?
He looked away and the spell broke. “He had plenty of insurance customers here, but all the paperwork seemed above board. I realised someone around here was running things. That’s when I moved back. I had the perfect cover, because I grew up in Exham. Local people trust me, and I was the best one to untangle the relationships in the area. Families are so closely woven. Everyone is somebody’s aunt, or step-brother, or second cousin twice removed, and they all look out for each other.”
“It’s rather lovely, in a way,” Libby put in. “Families are sometimes all you have.” She thought of Ali, on the other side of the world, sending ludicrously short weekly emails, and Robert, planning to bring his girlfriend home. She was almost sure he’d be announcing their engagement.
She bit into her toast. Max looked so serious, his brows almost meeting. Libby had to pick up her coffee cup to keep from stroking his hair. “I found a reference to property in Leeds, and we sent one of our men up there to rent it, under cover.”