Chapter One

‘HEY, MA, GUESS WHAT?’ Adam’s voice was jubilant.

‘Hello, darling,’ said Libby Sarjeant. ‘What’s happened?’

‘I found a body!’

Libby’s stomach seemed to roll over and her legs felt suddenly icy. She sat down abruptly. ‘A body?’ she said. ‘I knew you’d be interested,’ said Adam. ‘I told Mog you would be.’

‘Mog?’

‘The bloke I’m working with. I told you. Don’t you remember?’ Libby racked her brain. ‘Vaguely,’ she admitted. ‘What body?’

‘A skeleton,’ said Adam, his excitement clearly audible. ‘Or part of one, anyway. A skull and a few bones, although I think they’ve found a bit more now.’

‘They? The police?’

‘Yeah. They’ve been here all day.’

‘So where are you?’

Adam sighed in obvious exasperation. ‘Oh, Ma, don’t you ever listen? Creekmarsh Place.’

‘Oh, yes!’ Libby got up from the stair she was sitting on and carried the phone into the sitting room, where she turfed Sidney the silver tabby off the cane sofa. ‘Gardening for some famous person.’

‘Not gardening exactly, more redesigning,’ corrected Adam. ‘Mog’s a designer.’

‘Oh, right.’

‘This is his first big commission, and I’m helping him.’ Adam sounded proud.

‘But you’re not a gardener,’ said Libby. ‘I’ve never even persuaded you to mow the lawn.’

‘Thanks, Ma. I thought you’d be pleased.’

‘Sorry, darling, of course I am, but you’ve just graduated with a sociology degree.’

‘Not just, Ma. Last bloody year, and I still haven’t got a job. I told you, Mog asked if I’d like to give him a hand with this, as it’s big and there’s a whole load of clearing to be done.’

‘And Mog is …?’

‘That mate of Dom’s who used to be an accountant. Lives in Canterbury.’

‘Oh, right, I remember.’ Libby felt she was shaking off the onset of senile dementia. ‘He married that nice girl Fiona, didn’t he?’

‘Now you’ve got it,’ said Adam. ‘And he went back to college to learn how to be a garden designer and now that’s what he does. When he can.’

‘When he can?’

‘There isn’t so much work around now, despite the fact that people still love the gardening programmes on TV.’

‘No, I suppose not,’ said Libby. ‘More people are digging up the flowers and planting vegetables, aren’t they?’

‘Exactly,’ said Adam. ‘But this job is fantastic and could put Mog on the map.’

‘Creekmarsh Place? Where is it?’

‘Aha! Bit of a secret destination,’ said Adam.

‘Never heard of Creekmarsh?’

‘No,’ said Libby.

‘It’s just along the coast from Nethergate before the marshes begin.’

‘Where the Wytch comes out?’

‘That’s it. It’s actually on the banks of the Wytch. Tiny place, just a few houses, a pub and the Place.’

‘Stately home?’

‘Sort of. Half of it’s derelict, or almost. It’s Tudor

– fantastic place.’ ‘And who’s the famous person?’ ‘Lewis Osbourne-Walker.’ Libby sat up straight. ‘You’re not serious?’ Adam chuckled with glee. ‘Absolutely. Fantastic,

eh?’

‘Well, yes,’ said Libby, ‘but you’re not a fan of his, surely?’

‘’Course not, but the rest of the world is.’

‘But he does gardening programmes.’

‘He does home programmes,’ corrected Adam, ‘with gardens thrown in.’

‘So why isn’t he using one of his TV garden personalities to design his garden?’

‘Because they’re too famous to do that any more, and he wanted someone who could carry on looking after the garden. He met Mog at some band’s gig and asked him to show him some drawings.’

‘Wow.’ Libby stared thoughtfully into the fireplace. ‘So what’s he like? I’ve always thought he might be – er –’

‘Gay?’ suggested Adam. ‘Yes, he is, as a nine bob note, but what’s that got to do with anything? Two of your best friends are gay.’

‘I know that, but Lewis is the housewife’s favourite, isn’t he? Wasn’t he voted some magazine’s sexiest man?’

‘So what? Come on, Ma. That’s a bit of an old-fashioned attitude, isn’t it?’

‘It was a bit of an old-fashioned magazine, as I remember,’ said Libby.

‘Whatever. He’s a great bloke. I get on really well with him.’

‘Oh?’

‘Oh, Mum,’ said Adam, making two syllables of her name and reminding her how young he still was.

‘Well, I’m really pleased,’ said Libby, ‘but what about this body?’

‘There’s this part of the estate that was really overgrown, bordering on the main lawn, which we’ve already been working on, and Lewis wants to turn it into a wildlife area, but with paths so people can walk through it.’

‘Is he going to open it to the public, then?’

‘He’s thinking about turning it into a venue,’ said Adam, sounding as though he knew what he was talking about.

‘Like Anderson Place?’

‘Where? Oh, yes, where Harry and Peter got married.’

‘Civil partnered, dear,’ said Libby. ‘Harry always corrects me.’

‘Whatever,’ said Adam, ‘but yes, sort of like that.’

‘OK, but what about the body?’

‘Oh, yes. Well, I was using the mini digger to clear some of the undergrowth and Mog suddenly shouted at me. And there it was.’

‘The skull?’

‘And an arm bone. Turned me up a bit, I can tell you.’

‘I bet,’ said Libby. ‘So what happened next?’

‘Mog called Lewis, who’s in London – well, he was, but he’s come back now – and then the police. They’re finding out how old it is now.’

‘Is it very old, then?’ asked Libby.

‘They think so. Well, not recent, anyway. There’s been a news blackout for the moment, so don’t go telling your friends Jane and what’s-’is-name, McLean.’

‘McLean’s hardly a friend,’ said Libby, amused. ‘And I don’t even know if he’s still with Kent and Coast Television.’

‘Well young Jane’s still with the Mercury, isn’t she?’ said Adam.

‘Young Jane’s nearly ten years older than you,’ said his mother, ‘but yes, she’s still there.’

‘Anyway, I expect it’ll be on TV tomorrow when they’ve found out how old it is,’ said Adam.

‘And what sex it is,’ said Libby.

‘Oh – yes, I suppose so,’ said Adam. ‘Well, I’d better get off. I’ll keep you posted.’

‘Where are you staying?’ asked Libby. ‘I thought you were still in London.’

‘Hardly, if I’m working down here. I’m staying with Mog in Canterbury.’

‘I’ll bet Fiona’s pleased,’ muttered Libby.

‘What’s that?’

‘Nothing,’ said Libby hastily. ‘Don’t forget you can come here if you want.’

‘Sunday lunch?’ asked Adam, hopefully.

Libby laughed. ‘Of course.’

‘Otherwise it’s easier if I’m here. I can go to work with Mog as I haven’t got transport.’

‘I can always come and pick you up if you want to come here for a night.’

‘Keen to see the scene of the crime, eh, Ma?’ Adam laughed. ‘I’ll see what I can do.’

‘Don’t be daft,’ said Libby, feeling a blush creep up her neck. ‘Ring me tomorrow.’

‘Will do,’ said Adam. ‘Night night, Ma. Love you.’

The sound of the kitchen door opening heralded the entrance of Ben Wilde, Libby’s significant other, who spent most of his time at Number 17, Allhallow’s Lane, with Libby and Sidney, and the remainder with his parents, Hetty and Greg, at The Manor as estate manager. A former architect, Ben had sold his flat and partnership after meeting Libby and was trying to persuade her to move in with him permanently, or better still, marry him. Libby was having none of it. She insisted they were Living Apart Together, a fairly new phenomenon known as LAT and particularly popular with the thirty-nine to sixty age group, into which they both fell.

‘Drink?’ he asked after kissing her on the cheek.

‘Not yet.’ Libby stroked Sidney absently.

‘What’s the matter?’ asked Ben, coming to sit opposite her by the empty fireplace.

‘Adam phoned.’

‘What’s up?’

‘Nothing. He found a body.’

Ben closed his eyes. ‘Oh, no,’ he groaned.

Libby eyed him thoughtfully. ‘That’s exactly what I said, but from a totally different perspective.’

Ben opened his eyes. ‘What do you mean?’ he asked cautiously.

‘I was worried for Adam. Finding a body isn’t something you would wish on anyone, let alone your youngest son.’ She looked away into the empty fireplace.

‘Sorry.’ Ben was contrite. ‘Can you tell me about it?’

Libby told him everything Adam had told her.

‘It’s nothing to do with Adam, then, is it? Or even the owner?’

Libby shook her head. ‘It doesn’t look like it. Lewis Osbourne-Walker’s only just bought it.’

‘Who is he exactly?’ Ben got up to refill his glass. ‘Want one yet?’

‘Go on, then.’ Libby tucked her feet under her. ‘Lewis Osbourne-Walker is a television personality.’

‘I gathered that. But is he just a personality, or is he a real person?’

Libby grinned and accepted her glass. ‘Just a personality, I suppose, but quite a nice one.’

Ben snorted. ‘Don’t tell me – a reality show discovery.’

‘Not quite. He was a builder and general handyman on one of the home improvement shows and started getting so much fan mail they gave him his own show.’

‘What sort of show?’

‘Daytime magazine programme,’ said Libby. ‘Very popular, I’m told. Has a very good film critique panel.’

‘And he’s bought Creekmarsh Place?’

‘Yes.’ Libby looked across at him. ‘Do you know it?’

Ben nodded. ‘We used to go sailing there when I was a boy. There used to be a very small sailing club at the mouth of the Wytch, and the grounds of the Place come right down to the river. But we always thought it was a bit spooky. There’s a lane that leads up beside it from the club, which disappears into the trees. Goes past the church, and the pub’s a bit further up on the main road.’

‘Did you ever explore?’ asked Libby.

‘Only up the lane. That’s the only way to get to the sailing club except by sea or river. We used to cycle there.’

‘Who’s we? And whose boat did you sail?’

‘Do you remember Basil?’

‘Basil?’ Libby giggled.

‘Obviously not.’ Ben frowned at her. ‘I went to school with him.’

‘Well, I didn’t know you then, did I?’

‘No, but he was still around when we first met.’

Libby shook her head. ‘Don’t remember, sorry.’

‘Bas’s dad had a little Mirror dinghy and we used to go down and crew for him. Crewed for some of the other members, too. I got quite good at it.’

‘But you gave it up?’

‘When I went to university. Never thought about doing it again, although I sailed on holiday in Corfu a couple of times.’

‘When was that?’

Ben sighed. ‘When I was married, of course. We went to Corfu several years running.’

‘Oh.’ Libby inspected her glass. Both of them had been married before, and both of them had children from these marriages, but she still hated being reminded.

‘So.’ She looked up. ‘Is the sailing club still there?’

‘No idea.’ Ben looked surprised. ‘Why? Do you fancy taking it up?’

‘No fear. Just wondered. If it was there, I thought Adam might be interested.’

‘Not as a novice without a boat,’ said Ben. ‘They didn’t have a training programme or anything. Too small.’

‘Oh, well. Just a thought.’ Libby stood up. ‘I’d better get dinner started.’

‘We can go out if you’d prefer,’ said Ben. ‘I don’t suppose Harry’s full tonight.’

‘I fancy meat,’ said Libby, who nevertheless loved The Pink Geranium, Harry’s vegetarian restaurant.

‘Pub, then,’ suggested Ben. ‘Especially if their steak and ale pie’s on.’

Libby patted his cheek and then his stomach. ‘OK, tubby,’ she said. ‘You give them a ring and I’ll put a bit of face on.’

‘I’ll give you tubby,’ said Ben, catching her as she tried to pass him and pulling her close.

‘Really?’ Libby raised an eyebrow. ‘Now?’

‘In front of Sidney?’ he whispered, running a hand down her back. Libby shivered and wondered how a greying, middle-aged man could still send her hormones spiralling out of control after nearly two years together. Then she stopped wondering.

Chapter Two

IT WAS ON THE national news the following morning. Libby turned up the volume on the kitchen radio and stood sipping tea. Ben had already left for The Manor and Sidney had sniffed dismissively at his breakfast and gone about the business of the day.

‘The skeletal remains of a body discovered in a garden in Kent have been identified as that of a male aged between thirty and fifty,’ read the announcer. ‘Police expect to know later today how long the bones have been in the ground. Meanwhile, the location of the find is not being made known to the public.’

‘Because it belongs to Lewis Osbourne-Walker,’ Libby told the kettle. ‘If it was on a council estate the world and his dog would know the actual address.’

She went to turn on the television to see if there was any more information on the local news programmes, but the phone interrupted her.

‘Fran, hello.’ Libby sat down on the sofa. ‘It’s a bit early. Is anything wrong?’

‘N-no.’ Fran hesitated. ‘I just wondered if you’d like to come down to lunch today.’

Libby frowned. ‘Sure. Any special reason?’

‘Um,’ said Fran. ‘I’d like your advice.’

‘My advice?’ squealed Libby. ‘That’ll be a first.’

‘Don’t get above yourself. Do you want to come down by train so you can have a drink?’

‘Too far,’ said Libby. ‘Remember when Campbell McLean took us to lunch? It took me an hour and a half to get there. I’ll drive and be good.’

‘OK. One o’clock?’

‘I’ll be there,’ said Libby, and she switched off the phone with another frown. Fran had become her best friend over the past couple of years, apart, of course, from Ben and his cousin Peter and Peter’s partner Harry, but it was most unlike Fran to ask advice, or even give much of herself away.

When Fran was introduced to Libby’s friend Guy Wolfe, who lived a few doors along from Fran in the seaside town of Nethergate, a relationship had developed between them, and Libby saw less of Fran now than she had when they first knew one another.

Later in the morning, the phone rang again.

‘Ma, it’s me again,’ said Adam. ‘I suppose you couldn’t pick me up from work this evening, could you? You did say you wouldn’t mind.’

‘Of course, darling,’ said Libby, her interest quickening. ‘Can’t you go home with Mog for some reason?’

‘Oh, it’s part of this bloody body thing,’ said Adam. ‘They’ve stopped us working in the wood – obvious, I suppose – and we’ve started on another part of the garden, but Mog hadn’t got all the plans with him, so he’s going home to work on them while I dig up some paving. He’d have to come back and get me unless you pick me up.’

‘So it’s no great desire to see me, then?’ Libby was amused.

‘Hey, Ma, I’m sorry.’ Adam sounded embarrassed.

‘Don’t be daft. I’ll be there at – what? Five?’

‘Bit earlier? Four thirty? I’ve been here since eight.’

‘OK. Will the police let me through? And do I come down the lane from the main road?’

‘Do you know it?’ Adam sounded surprised.

‘Ben does. Anyway, do I?’

‘Yeah. There’s a drive round the side of the house. I’ll tell the police you’re coming.’

‘Good-oh,’ said Libby. ‘I’ll see you then.’

At one o’clock, she parked Romeo the Renault on Harbour Street, a little way from Fran’s Coastguard Cottage. As it was still only early summer, the beach was not yet crowded, and the little boats that took out day trippers, the Dolphin and the Sparkler, rocked gently at anchor outside The Sloop at the end of the hard. Their captains, George and Bert, sat outside Mavis’s Blue Anchor café drinking huge mugs of tea. Libby waved and Bert waved his pipe back at her.

Fran was waiting with her door open, looking nervous. Libby kissed her cheek and stood back to stare at her.

‘Come on,’ she said. ‘What’s up?’

Fran closed the door and indicated an armchair.

‘It’s Guy,’ she said, taking the chair opposite.

‘Guy?’ Libby was surprised. ‘What’s the matter with him?’

Fran took a deep breath. ‘He wants to get married,’ she said.

Libby let out a whoop. ‘Fantastic, Fran! Congratulations!’

‘Hey!’ Fran looked startled. ‘I didn’t say I’d said yes. You won’t marry Ben, after all.’

‘But that’s me,’ said Libby. ‘I’m a stubborn old cow –’

‘Old trout,’ corrected Fran with a grin.

‘All right, old trout,’ agreed Libby, ‘but you aren’t. You’re much more sensible than I am, and more conventional.’

‘Thanks,’ said Fran. ‘That makes me sound like a right old bore.’

‘Oh, you know what I mean,’ said Libby. ‘And you said after you’d moved in here that you wanted to be on your own to savour it for a bit. Well, you’ve done that. You’ve had the cottage for well over a year and your relationship with Guy has got much closer, hasn’t it?’

‘Yes.’ Fran twisted her hands together. ‘I don’t think I could live without him, now.’

‘What’s the problem, then?’

‘The children,’ said Fran, looking anguished.

‘The children?’ gasped Libby. ‘Your children?’

Fran nodded.

‘What the hell have they got to do with anything?’

‘They don’t approve.’

Libby sat back in her chair and shook her head. ‘And just what don’t they approve of? You getting married again?’

‘Oh, I haven’t told them that,’ said Fran. ‘It’s just the girls, of course. They think I’m too old to have a new relationship with anyone, and they’re also worried about money.’

‘Money?’ repeated Libby stupidly.

‘Oh, you ought to hear Chrissie on the subject.’ Fran smiled wryly. ‘She’s convinced that my inheritance should have been divided between the children. She can’t understand why I couldn’t just sign over most of it to them. Lucy feels the same. They’re both convinced that Guy will deprive them of their own inheritance.’

‘I’ve never heard anything like it!’ Libby shook her head in disbelief. ‘I’d marry him quick and then change your will!’

‘That’s what you’d do,’ laughed Fran, ‘but then your lot would never behave like this.’

‘With a lovely mum like you, I can’t understand why yours do,’ said Libby.

‘I’ve told you,’ said Fran with a sigh. ‘I wasn’t there for them enough when they were growing up. Too intent on pursuing my career.’ She shrugged. ‘All to no avail.’

‘Well, I say go for it,’ said Libby. ‘And don’t invite them to the wedding.’

‘I can’t do that, it wouldn’t be right,’ said Fran.

‘And what happens if they go all sniffy and horrid on the day and spoil it for you?’

‘Do you think they would?’

‘From what I’ve heard about them – and don’t forget I have met them – I bet they would. We’ll just have to station bouncers all round the place to keep them in order.’

Fran laughed again. ‘So you say go for it?’

‘Of course.’ Libby bounced up and gave her friend a hug. ‘With bells on.’

‘Then I’ll get out the champagne,’ said Fran. ‘You can have just one glass before lunch, can’t you?’

Libby rubbed her hands together. ‘You bet!’ she said.

Guy joined them for lunch, obviously delighted at Libby’s reception of their news. Watching them together, she realised that Fran’s mind had been made up before she asked Libby’s advice, even if she wouldn’t acknowledge it to herself. Fran’s lack of self-confidence was still very much in evidence, even though she now owned a beautiful cottage in a highly desirable location, in the past two years had not one but two men interested in her romantically and had been successful in helping the police in four previous murder cases.

But now there was a glow about her. Seeing Fran throw back her head, dark hair swinging, when she laughed at one of Guy’s wicked sallies, Libby was proud of having introduced her to him, a middle-aged puckish figure with a dark goatee and snapping brown eyes.

At four o’clock she got up to go, having helped clear away the champagne glasses and the remaining crumbs of the lunch.

‘You don’t have to go,’ said Fran, freeing herself from Guy’s arm about her shoulders.

‘I do,’ said Libby. ‘I promised to pick Ad up from his job.’

‘What job?’ Guy stood up.

Surprised at herself, Libby realised she hadn’t told either of them about Adam’s discovery, let alone his illustrious employer. She explained.

‘You’re not going to interfere, are you?’ Guy looked suspicious and Libby sighed.

‘Why does everybody think I will?’ she said. ‘Ad hasn’t got transport back to Mog’s, so he asked me. That’s all.’

‘I didn’t see anything about it on the news,’ said Fran.

‘It was on the national news this morning, but it didn’t say where, exactly, or who owns the garden. Ad says they’re keeping it under wraps, and as it’s an old body it isn’t a big thing.’

Fran looked dubious. ‘But old bodies are often very big news,’ she said. ‘Remember those girls who were buried? They were old, but that was a huge investigation.’

‘Yes, well,’ said Libby, feeling uncomfortable, ‘that may be so, but Ad says it’s all very low-key so far.’

‘Perhaps for once the media are being respectful to one of their darlings,’ said Guy. ‘Lewis OsbourneWalker’s a celebrity, isn’t he?’

‘With nothing known about him,’ said Fran.

‘Except he’s gay,’ said Guy.

‘Guy!’ Libby and Fran turned on him.

‘I only meant it’s the sort of thing they make a big thing of, isn’t it?’ Guy looked defensive.

‘Hardly.’ Fran was scornful. ‘Half the celebrities on TV are gay these days. It makes no difference.’

‘I did mention that to Ad yesterday,’ said Libby. ‘He told me off, but I said Lewis was a bit of a housewives’ favourite and wouldn’t that make a difference.’

‘Of course not,’ said Fran. ‘Only the very oldest housewives would be put off.’

‘Really?’ Libby looked doubtful. ‘What about those people who disapprove of Peter and Harry?’

‘Particularly Harry!’ grinned Guy.

‘So who are they?’ asked Fran. ‘I’ve never met any, and you said yourself how lovely it was in the village with everyone cheering them on when they got married.’

‘Partnershipped,’ corrected Libby automatically. ‘But there was that letter, wasn’t there?’

‘What letter?’ asked Guy, sitting down again.

‘Oh, it was from an old lady in a home, saying that it was an abomination against the Lord, or something,’ said Libby.

‘Don’t be dismissive, Lib,’ said Fran. ‘She was expressing the view that the Bible says it’s illegal and marriage was for the procreation of children.’

‘Oh, I hope not,’ said Guy, making a face at her.

‘I know, bless her, and unfortunately, you can’t argue with someone like that, who’s so entrenched in her own views that she can’t appreciate any other, and certainly wouldn’t want to discuss the truth or authority of the Bible.’ Libby smiled. ‘I can just see her sticking her fingers in her ears and going “La-lala-la!”, can’t you?’

Fran sighed. ‘I know what you mean. It’s such a shame that devotion to religion like that is so blinkered and nothing to do with reasoned argument.’

‘That’s why it’s called “blind faith”,’ said Guy.

‘Anyway,’ said Libby, gathering up her basket, ‘I meant to leave ten minutes ago. I shall be late for Ad, especially as I don’t know exactly where I’m going.’

‘Coast road out and turn left after Canongate Drive instead of straight on to Steeple Martin,’ said Guy. ‘Takes you right along the coast to Creekmarsh.’

‘Oh, you know it, too?’ said Libby, stopping at the door.

‘Of course. Creekmarsh Place was used as a military base or something during the war, like Anderson Place was.’

‘That’s what Lewis wants to do with it,’ said Libby. ‘Turn it into a venue.’

Guy looked at Fran. Fran looked back at Guy. Libby looked at both of them.

‘But not yet,’ she said, ‘it won’t be restored for ages.’

‘Oh,’ said Guy and Fran together.

‘And they’ve got to sort out this body first, anyway.’ Libby opened the door and grinned over her shoulder. ‘Bit gruesome for a wedding, wouldn’t you say?’

Chapter Three

THE ROAD ALONG THE coast twisted and turned, alternately hiding and revealing glimpses of the sea. Banks clothed thickly in cow parsley, campion, bent and windblown hawthorn and elder crowded in on either side, until the road widened and turned sharply to the right. A pub stood on the right-hand side, and a heavily wooded lane led off to the left, with an old signpost pointing to ‘The Church’ and a small wooden finger post announced ‘Creekmarsh Place’. Libby braked suddenly and with a hasty look in her mirrors swung into the lane.

The trees overhung the lane, blocking out the sunlight, before opening out to show the little church on the left. To the right, all Libby could see was thick woodland, part of which, no doubt, Adam had been clearing. Finally the lane began to slope down and she could see the sea. Now there was a lawn to her right, an old wall and what appeared to be gateposts. Adam stood beside them in very grubby jeans and a shirt, looking forlorn.

‘Hello, darling,’ said Libby. ‘Hop in.’

‘Thanks, Ma.’ Adam stopped looking forlorn and came round the other side of the car. ‘You can turn round on the drive there.’

‘Through the gateposts?’

‘Yeah. Lewis is having new iron gates made by some blacksmith who’s won awards. We park on the drive.’

Libby drove carefully between the gateposts and began to manoeuvre the car. A figure appeared in the

mirror and she stood on her brakes.

‘Shit,’ she muttered.

Adam swivelled round.

‘Oh, that’s all right, Ma,’ he said. ‘That’s just Lewis.’ He wound down the window and waved. The figure came round and leant in.

‘Whatcher, Ad,’ said Lewis Osbourne-Walker. ‘This your mum?’

‘Yes. Ma, this is Lewis, Lewis, my mum, Libby Sarjeant.’

‘Howjer do?’ Lewis stuck his hand across Adam. ‘Bit of a detective, Ad says.’

‘Hello,’ said Libby, awkwardly shaking his hand.

‘Just off home, then?’ Lewis withdrew his hand.

‘To Ma’s,’ said Adam. ‘Give Mog’s pregnant missus a bit of a rest.’

‘Your mum looks as though she didn’t know about that,’ said Lewis.

Libby laughed. ‘I didn’t, but he’s welcome.’

‘Can always stay here, y’know, Ad. Plenty of bedrooms done up already.’

‘’S OK, thanks, Lewis,’ said Adam. ‘Don’t see enough of Ma, anyway.’

‘Right.’ Lewis stood away from the car, his spiked blond hair glinting in the sun. ‘Don’t forget to tell her all about our body.’

‘He seems nice,’ said Libby, as she drove back down the lane.

‘He’s a great bloke,’ said Adam. ‘I never thought a celeb would be an OK person, but he is.’

‘What did he mean, tell me all about your body?’

‘Oh, the police were back again today, doing more searching, and some woman came to talk to us

all.’

‘Woman?’

‘Policeman. Well, police person, I suppose. Higher up than your mate.’

‘Chief Inspector?’

‘No – Superintendent. That was it.’

‘Really?’ Libby turned back on to the coast road. ‘So it’s become a big thing, then? Have they released details to the press?’

Adam shrugged. ‘There haven’t been any of the vultures around, so no, I don’t think so. We’ve been told to keep quiet.’

‘So why did Lewis say tell me?’

‘’Cos I told him all about your cases.’

‘They aren’t my cases!’ Libby was exasperated. ‘I was just a bit involved.’ ‘Oh, yeah?’ Adam turned and grinned at her. ‘I couldn’t help it,’ said Libby grumpily. ‘Anyway, when we get home I’ll tell you what Big Bertha said.’

‘Big Bertha?’

‘The super Super.’ Adam grinned again. ‘She’s scary.’

However, Libby had to wait for her explanation, as Adam demanded a shower before he did anything else, so she made tea and phoned Ben to tell him Fran’s news.

‘Hmm.’ He was non-committal.

‘What’s the matter? Aren’t you pleased?’ Libby frowned.

‘Of course. Good luck to them.’

‘Well, you don’t sound pleased,’ said Libby.

‘I said, I am.’

‘Oh, well,’ said Libby with a sigh. ‘Just thought I’d tell you, and that Ad’s here for supper. I had to pick him up today.’

‘Had to?’

‘He had no transport.’ Libby frowned again. ‘Ask him if you don’t believe me. What’s up with you?’

‘Nothing.’ There was a pause. ‘I’ll see you later – if you’re still expecting me?’

‘Of course,’ Libby’s voice rose in surprise. ‘Come when you like.’

Ben’s voice softened. ‘About six, then,’ he said.

Libby was still frowning when Adam came downstairs in a clean T-shirt and jeans.

‘What’s up, Ma?’ he took his mug of tea and sat down at the kitchen table.

Libby sat opposite him. ‘I think you’d better tell me about your body now, and then not mention it when Ben comes round.’

‘Aha!’ Adam laughed. ‘Getting shirty about the detective business, is he?’

‘Suspicious, anyway,’ said Libby, with an unwilling smile, ‘so please tell him it was your idea that I picked you up.’

‘’Course I will.’ Adam took a mouthful of tea and reached round for the biscuit tin on the dresser. ‘And now I’ll tell you all about our body.’

‘Go on, then,’ said Libby, and settled back in her chair.

‘Well, apparently, they found about seventy per cent of the skeleton, and the scientist bloke –’

‘Pathologist?’

‘That’ll be the one. He thought the body was only a few years old, not ancient, like we thought at first. So they did some tests, and he’s right. They’re doing more, but it looks like murder.’

‘And not very old?’

‘Well, not brand new, but only perhaps three or four years old. They’ve found some bits of stuff that might help identify him –’

‘It’s definitely a him, then?’

‘Oh, yeah, didn’t I say? Yes, a him. So Big Bertha comes along and interviews us all about how long we’ve known the place, and how long Lewis has been here. Daft, isn’t it? As if we’d dig up someone we buried, or Lewis would ask us to do it.’

‘Yes, but she’s got to ask,’ said Libby. ‘She’s the SIO is she, then?’

‘SIO?’

‘Senior Investigating Officer.’

‘Like that Inspector who fancies Fran?’

‘No, Ian Connell is only an Inspector, and he works under an SIO who directs operations from the office. Chief Inspector Murray is often SIO.’

‘That’s the bloke who did Paula’s murder, isn’t it?’

‘Nicely put,’ said Libby. ‘He was in charge of the investigation, yes. But a superintendent – that means it’s a bit higher profile. Because of Lewis, do you think?’

‘Don’t know,’ said Adam with a shrug. ‘Maybe.’

‘I’d wondered if it was really old, from when it was occupied during the war.’

‘Didn’t know it was.’

‘Guy told me. Oh – and I meant to tell you – Guy and Fran are getting married.’

‘Wicked!’ Adam laughed. ‘That’s one in the eye for old Ben, then, isn’t it?’

Libby went cold. ‘What do you mean?’

‘You’ve been refusing him all this time. He’s not going to take kindly to this, is he? You’ve been together longer than Fran and Guy.’

‘Ah.’ Libby understood. So that was why Ben hadn’t sounded like himself. This was going to take careful handling.

It wasn’t until after supper that either the body or Fran and Guy were mentioned. Ben and Adam discussed ground management, to Libby’s amusement, followed by the difficulty of getting a job and, finally, sailing.

‘Who was this Basil, then?’ asked Adam.

‘I went to school with him back in the dark ages,’ said Ben, leaning back in his chair and twirling his wine glass.

‘Where is he now?’

Ben raised his eyebrows. ‘Why? Fancy a sail?’

‘Well, yeah,’ said Adam, with a grin, ‘but I just wondered if he might know anything about Creekmarsh before Lewis bought it.’

‘I expect the police will have done all that,’ said Libby.

‘Just wondered,’ said Adam. ‘Like you do.’

Libby shifted in her chair. ‘Not this time,’ she said, deliberately not looking at Ben.

‘Bas is still around, actually,’ said Ben, ignoring this exchange, ‘but I haven’t seen him for ages. Not since he came back to the area, in fact.’

‘What about his dad? He still alive?’

‘No idea. I would have said no, but both my parents are still alive, so perhaps he is.’

‘Why, anyway, Ad?’ asked Libby. ‘He wouldn’t know anything about this body.’

A small silence descended as all three realised that they were actually discussing the murder despite Ben’s reluctance. He sighed.

‘Sorry, Ben,’ said Adam. ‘But honestly, Ma hasn’t tried to find out anything. I’m interested – perhaps it’s in the genes – but it was Lewis who told me to tell her all about it.’

‘Why?’

‘Because when we found the skeleton I told him about her murders.’

Libby winced.

‘And did you also tell him how much trouble she got into?’

Adam looked at Libby in apology. ‘No,’ he said.

‘That’s why I don’t want to know about this one,’ said Libby firmly, ‘unless it affects Lewis’s ambition to turn Creekmarsh into a venue.’

‘It might put a damper on a wedding,’ said Ben, with a degree of relief at the change of subject.

‘That’s what I told Fran and Guy,’ said Libby, and could have bitten her tongue out.

‘That’d be cool, wouldn’t it?’ Adam rushed in to cover the awkward moment. ‘D’you reckon Lewis would let Harry do the catering?’

‘I’m sure he’d love Harry,’ laughed Libby, ‘but I doubt that Fran and Guy want veggie food.’

‘What do they want?’ asked Ben.

‘No idea.’ Libby shrugged. ‘I didn’t discuss it with them.’ ‘I bet,’ said Ben, and stood up. ‘Shall we clear

away?’

Adam and Libby exchanged a complicit glance. ‘OK,’ said Libby.

Ben left an hour later, saying he knew how much Libby wanted to have time with Adam.

‘Honestly, Ad,’ she said, coming back into the sitting room and removing Sidney from the sofa. ‘Whatever is the matter with him? He practically lives here, and now he’s behaving like a mere acquaintance.’

‘You know what’s the matter with him. I said earlier. He wants to marry you, or at least put your relationship on a firmer footing so he has the right to protect you and share in your life properly.’

Libby looked at him admiringly. ‘Gosh, Ad, you are grown up,’ she said. ‘But what you don’t realise is that the tax position would change radically if we moved in together. And if we got married. And not to our advantage.’

‘So why do people ever get married, then?’ asked Adam, slinging long legs over the arm of the armchair. ‘I thought the older generation were supposed to be in favour of it and encourage us lot to stop living in sin.’

‘I don’t think it means very much any more,’ said Libby, leaning over to top up his wine glass. ‘It didn’t stop your father or Ben’s wife from going off with someone else, did it? What price marriage vows, then?’

Adam frowned. ‘Protection?’

‘From what? People can be left destitute after the breakdown of any relationship, including marriage.’

‘Children?’

‘How many children did you know at school who came from a traditional family? How many of your friends had double-barrelled surnames because the school included both parents’ names?’

‘That’s true.’ Adam held his glass up to the light and squinted through it. ‘I can’t think of anything, then. But surely, the whole commitment thing is living together? Ben wants commitment and you don’t.’

Libby was feeling more and more uncomfortable. It just wasn’t right discussing this sort of thing with her son.

‘I do want commitment,’ she said slowly, ‘but I want my independence, too.’

‘That’s a man’s argument,’ said Adam with a knowing grin. ‘And a woman would say it meant he didn’t love her enough.’

‘But it’s an acknowledged thing nowadays,’ Libby persisted. ‘LATs are more and more popular. Even with married couples. I know several.’

‘Several?’

‘Well, one or two,’ admitted Libby. ‘Do you remember Marsha? When you were little?’

‘Your mate at the theatre? With all that black hair?’

‘That’s the one. Well, she met this man a few years ago and they got married. Went to live in London. But they bought separate homes. He’s got a flat and she’s got a little mews house with a huge studio space.’

Adam frowned. ‘How far apart? And when do they get together? Does she invite him over for dinner? Or does he ask her back for coffee?’

Libby sighed. ‘Only round the corner from each other, and I suppose they handle it like Ben and I do. He spends most of his time here, but goes back to The Manor when he’s finished work for the day to have a shower, and back there in the morning to change into his work clothes.’

‘But that’s because he lives with his mum and dad and works for them, in a way.’ He held out his glass for a refill. ‘Mind you, I think it’s weird that someone in his fifties is still living with his mum and dad.’

‘It’s not quite like that, is it?’ said Libby, feeling that this conversation was becoming positively mired in the unexplainable. ‘He only went back to live there the year before last.’

‘He could have moved in with you then,’ said Adam.

‘We’d only just got together,’ said Libby. ‘Anyway, Ad, I think this conversation’s gone far enough. I’ll have a chat with Ben and see if we can’t smooth things over.’

Adam looked doubtful. ‘Have a chat with Pete and Harry first,’ he suggested. ‘Pete knows Ben better than nearly anybody else, doesn’t he?’

‘OK,’ said Libby, more because she wanted to end the conversation rather than in a spirit of agreement. ‘So tell me more about your Superintendent.’

Chapter Four

LEWIS OSBOURNE-WALKER SAT in the solar at Creekmarsh Place. His laptop sat open but ignored beside him as he watched darkness falling over the inlet that led to the Creekmarsh Sailing Club and the sea beyond. The sky, streaked with orange and greyish purple, looked like an improbable picture painted by a four-year-old.

Lewis sighed, and looked back at the email he had just opened.

‘Just remember who helped you buy that sodding awful house,’ it said, ‘and remember where you came from.’

It was unsigned, but Lewis knew where it came from, and what it meant. He sighed again, and returned to the sunset.

Libby went up to The Manor the following morning after driving Adam back to Creekmarsh Place, and asked Hetty where Ben was on the estate.

‘In the office, gal.’ Hetty looked at her oddly. ‘You can go on in.’

‘Thanks, Hetty,’ said Libby, her solar plexus fluttering like a teenager’s. She walked along the dark passage and knocked on the green painted door.

‘Lib?’ Ben looked up in surprise. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘I – um – well, I’ve come to –’ Libby paused and took a deep breath. ‘I’ve come to apologise.’

Ben stood up. ‘What for?’ He came round the old partners desk and pulled up a chair. ‘Sit down, for goodness’ sake. Do you want coffee? I’ll ask Hetty–’

‘No, of course not.’ Libby sat down feeling distinctly uncomfortable.

Ben went back behind the desk, which made her feel like a naughty schoolgirl in the headmaster’s office.

‘What’s up, then?’ he said, after a long silence.

‘You weren’t happy last night.’ She swallowed. ‘Adam says I haven’t been fair to you, and I quite see what he means.’

Ben smiled slightly. ‘Well, I would have preferred you to have realised without your son’s intervention, but you can’t have everything.’

‘Oh, Ben.’ Libby looked up. ‘This isn’t like us. Can’t we go back to being normal?’

‘Normal? On your terms?’ Ben sighed. ‘I suppose if I want to continue seeing you, that’s the way it’ll have to be.’

‘I thought you were happy with the way things were,’ said Libby, the little worm of doubt and fear growing bigger inside her.

‘In a way,’ said Ben, ‘but both I and my Mother have tried to persuade you to come and live here, haven’t we? Didn’t that give you a clue? And I have, I’m sure, mentioned it several times.’

‘Well, yes, but not seriously,’ said Libby, ‘and I remember you telling me all about the LAT relationships and saying you were happy with it. That was just after your mother asked if I wouldn’t be happier moving into The Manor.’

‘I was trying to put our relationship on some kind of formal footing,’ he said, leaning back in his chair. ‘But that was nearly eighteen months ago. We’d only been together six months – less, actually.’

Libby nodded and looked down at her hands. ‘So what do you want to do?’

‘Nothing right now,’ said Ben. ‘I want you to go home and see if there’s any chance of our relationship lasting without either of us having any rights in each other’s lives. Think about what you want from it.’ He stood up. ‘Go on, off you go. I’ll do the same and perhaps we could meet up in the pub this evening?’

‘This evening?’ Libby frowned. ‘Not lunchtime?’

‘I’m working, Lib,’ Ben said gently. ‘Come on. I’ll see you about seven, unless you’ve got something else on?’

Libby stood up and turned to the door. ‘You know I haven’t,’ she said.

Hetty was in the hall as she went out.

‘All right, gal?’ she asked, flicking a duster over the carved door-frame.

‘Yes, thanks, Het,’ said Libby. She turned and frowned at her. ‘Did Ben tell you Fran and Guy are getting married?’

‘Yeah. Makes yer think, don’t it?’ She gave Libby a penetrating look and stuffed the duster in her apron pocket.

‘Mmm.’ Libby smiled and nodded and started down The Manor drive feeling like the victim of a natural disaster. When her mobile rang in her pocket, she answered it thankfully, glad to take her mind off her unexpected romantic problems.

‘Hey, Ma, it’s me again.’

‘Ad? What’s up?’ Libby slowed to a stop.

‘I don’t suppose you could pop over here again, could you? Lewis wants to talk to you.’

‘Lewis does? What on earth for?’

‘He’s being very secretive about it, but I think it’s something to do with the body.’

‘Then he should tell your friend Big Bertha, shouldn’t he,’ said Libby, wondering what Ben would say about this new development. She straightened her shoulders and decided he couldn’t tell her what to do. He had no right. She bit her lip. ‘Yes, definitely,’ she went on. ‘He should tell the police.’

‘I don’t think it’s quite like that, Ma,’ said Adam. ‘Just come over and have a word with him. Please. Unless you’ve got something else to do?’

Libby thought. ‘Not really,’ she said. ‘I suppose I could, but Ben won’t like it.’

‘Come on, Ma, what’s it got to do with Ben? I’ll square it with him, if it’s that important.’

‘Remember our conversation about him last night?’ said Libby. ‘I’ve just spoken to him.’

‘And?’

‘He wants me to think about our relationship.’

‘Ah.’ Adam was quiet for a moment. ‘Well, I think you ought to, as well, but meanwhile, pop over here and let Lewis give you some lunch. Just see what he wants.’

Libby sighed. ‘OK,’ she said. ‘I’ve got to go home and clear up first – don’t forget I drove you over at the crack of sparrow’s fart – then I’ll make myself presentable. I’ll ring you when I’m on my way.’

‘Great.’ Libby could hear the bounce in Adam’s voice. ‘See you later.’

It was half past eleven when Libby drove down the lane towards Creekmarsh Place. Wondering whether to drive right up to the house, she was glad to see Lewis coming towards her down the drive.

‘Leave it here, Mrs S,’ he said. ‘It’s a bit boggy up near the front door.’ He held the door open for her and waited while she locked it.

‘Thanks for coming.’ He stared down at his boots as they walked towards the house. ‘After what Ad said I thought you’d be the one to talk to.’

‘But I’m not police,’ said Libby, casting him a worried glance, ‘or a private investigator or anything.’

‘No, I know. Ad told me all about the other stuff, like that woman at your theatre and your mate’s auntie.’

‘Yes, well, they were things that involved me personally,’ said Libby.

‘But that other theatre business – where was it?’

‘The Alexandria in Nethergate.’

‘Yeah, that one. And that body on the island. They weren’t nothing to do with you, were they?’

‘Well, no. And strictly speaking, I shouldn’t have been involved. My friend Fran was asked to look into them, really.’

‘She the Mystic Meg?’

Libby looked amused. ‘You could say that.’

‘Don’t think I need that,’ said Lewis, pushing open the heavy oak door. ‘Come up to me sun room.’

He led her up a beautiful staircase, already restored, she noted, and through another oak door.

‘It’s a solar!’ she said delightedly. ‘I didn’t notice it from outside.’

‘It’s not right over the front door like some of ’em,’ said Lewis. ‘Least, that’s what I’ve been told. My favourite place.’

He went to the window and Libby followed him.

‘I can see why,’ she said. ‘That’s the river Wytch down there, isn’t it?’

‘A little bit of it,’ said Lewis. ‘That’s just a what-d’yer-call-it from it.’

‘A tributary? No, that wouldn’t be it. An inlet.’

‘Inlet, that’s it. Goes just to the sailing club. I’ll take you down there, if you like.’

‘Lovely,’ said Libby.

‘Come and sit down, then.’ He seemed suddenly nervous as he turned sharply and made for a chair beside a desk, where a slim silver laptop sat, open. Libby took the chair opposite.

‘Wanna drink? Ad’s coming up about one fer some lunch if you want to stay.’

‘If I’m still here,’ said Libby, ‘and yes, a cup of tea would be nice.’

‘Nothin’ stronger?’ Lewis got up and went to the door. Libby shook her head. He opened the door and stuck his head out. ‘Can you stick the kettle on, Katie?’ A muffled shout answered him.

‘I’ll pop down in a minute and get it,’ he said, returning to his chair. ‘They all say I should get used to Katie looking after me, but I can’t be doing with it.’

‘Who’s Katie?’

‘My – well, housekeeper, I suppose. Katie North.’ He grinned. ‘Minder, more like. She organises everything. Great girl. I met her when we was doing the telly.’

‘Aren’t you still doing the telly?’ asked Libby.

‘Oh, yeah. I meant when I was doing that Housey Housey one.’

‘Oh, where you were discovered,’ Libby nodded.

‘Yeah. Right laugh, that was. I mean, who would of believed it?’

‘That you were discovered?’

‘Yeah.’ Lewis looked uncomfortable and shifted in his seat. ‘Hang on, I’ll go and see about that tea.’

‘No need,’ said a voice, and a tray came into the room followed, Libby presumed, by Katie North. Who was a shock. Somehow, the name had suggested someone young and slim in a cropped top and a mini-skirt. And Lewis had said ‘girl’. Katie, however, was a stout middle-aged matron, who would have been right at home in the sort of book Libby had read as a child.

‘I put coffee and tea bags there, lovey,’ she said, for all the world as though Libby still was a child. ‘And that there’s boiling water in the flask. Staying for lunch?’

‘Oh – yes, please,’ said Libby.

‘You said you didn’t know,’ said Lewis, looking put out.

‘I do now,’ she said, turning to him with a bright smile.

‘I’ll yell when it’s ready,’ Katie said and disappeared.

‘I like her,’ said Libby, helping herself to a tea-bag and boiling water.

‘Everyone does,’ said Lewis. ‘She’s like everyone’s mum.’

Libby nodded and leant back in the carved wooden chair. ‘Go on, then,’ she said.

‘It’s a bit difficult,’ said Lewis, after a long pause. ‘See, I wasn’t actually “discovered” on Housey Housey.’

‘No?’

‘No. It was a bit of a set-up.’ He sighed and poured himself coffee. ‘I’d been doing this house up in Hampstead for this bloke, see. Not on me own, with a team. Worked for a subcontractor, didn’t we, specialising in posh houses, and we’d been there weeks.’ He took a breath. ‘Well, I got on well with this bloke and once or twice he asked me to stay behind for a drink.’

‘Weren’t you driving?’

‘Didn’t matter. I don’t drink.’ Lewis grinned at Libby’s surprise. ‘And anyway, I didn’t just stay for a drink.’ He looked down, then up under his eyebrows. ‘You shocked?’

‘Should I be?’

‘Ad says you’ve got best mates who got hitched.’

‘Civil partnership, yes. I was their best woman.’

‘So you’re not shocked.’ He nodded. ‘Good. Well, see, this bloke is married and no one knows he’s gay. Mind you, I bet there’s a bloody regiment out there who really do know. You can’t keep it that quiet. But on the surface, let’s say, the great British public don’t know. So it’s all very hush-hush. I only stayed when the wife wasn’t there.’ He took another mouthful of coffee.

‘Anyway, he reckons I’m a bit of a jack-the-lad, and he’s got contacts with this telly company, so he gets me this interview with ’em, and next thing you know, I’m on Housey Housey playing the cockney cheeky chappie with an ’ammer in me ’and.’

He smiled ruefully and looked out of the window. ‘Shouldn’t mock. It’s got me all this, ain’t it?’

‘Has it?’ said Libby. He looked at her quickly.

‘Yeah, that’s the problem, see. Somewhere along the line, I realise that I’m being set up for this other show. It was all a bit too – too – what’s the word I want?’

‘Pat?’

‘Maybe. Anyway. It felt like someone had it all mapped out. But as if they didn’t want to, if you know what I mean.’

‘As if they were under pressure. As if someone was blackmailing them?’

Lewis looked up in surprise. ‘That’s it exactly,’ he said. ‘As though someone wanted me doin’ this programme, and they was forcing someone to do it – make it work, like.’

‘Who? Do you know?’

‘I thought I did, but I don’t really. I reckon my Hampstead mate’s behind it all, but I don’t know who it was at the telly company he was leanin’ on. And what I don’t get is why? Why did he want me doin’ that show? He wasn’t that fond of me.’

‘So why did you want to talk to me?’ prompted Libby, after a pause.

‘After that body was found, I got this email.’ He pulled the laptop towards him and turned it to face Libby. ‘See?’

‘“Just remember who helped you buy that sodding awful house and remember where you came from.”’ Libby looked up. ‘Is it from your Hampstead friend?’

‘It don’t say. Don’t recognise the address, but I reckon so.’

‘And why is it worrying you?’

‘Because it sounds like a threat to me. A warning. So it looks like my Hampstead friend might have something to do with this ’ere skeleton.’

Libby watched him. Lewis Osbourne-Walker was frightened.

‘So you’re being warned to say nothing about him? But what’s he got to do with this house?’

‘He put me on to it. All a bit – y’know – under the counter. Cos ’e knew the bloke what was ‘ere before. And ’e’s been gone years.’

‘Moved out?’

Lewis shook his head.

‘Disappeared,’ he said.

Chapter Five

‘WELL,’ SAID LIBBY AFTER a moment, ‘the police will probably know that by now. Know who the previous owner was and that he’s disappeared, I mean. I expect they’re trying to match these bones up to his DNA or something right now, so what’s the problem?’

Lewis looked exasperated. ‘Because I told you, I got this place through – you know – and he doesn’t want the police to know he’s got anything to do with it.’

‘So he’s telling you – what, exactly?’ Libby looked again at the email. ‘Remember how you got this house – well, yes, but he’s not going to tell anyone how you got it, is he? And what else is he going to expose? That you’ve become a household name through his machinations?’

‘His what?’ Lewis stared.

‘That he got you the job by leaning on someone. He’d be exposed then, too.’

‘So what’s he mean, then?’ Lewis frowned.

‘I don’t know, but I honestly think you should tell the police.’ Libby leant forward. ‘Lewis, listen. I’m not a detective, but I have been involved in four different murder cases, and believe me, the police find out everything. People only make things worse for themselves if they try and hide stuff. And what’s the worst that can happen?’

‘I’d lose me job and this place.’ Lewis scowled at her.

Libby shrugged. ‘You asked for my opinion. Keep quiet if you like, but that’ll look bad when the police find out, won’t it? And if, as you say, there was something odd about the way you bought this place, they’ll definitely find that out.’

Lewis stood up and went to stand at the window. ‘I dunno.’

‘You do, really,’ said Libby. ‘You wouldn’t have asked me if you weren’t thinking about telling the police. You would have kept quiet about it all. And what you really think is that the skeleton is the missing owner and your Hampstead friend did away with him. Isn’t that right?’

Lewis turned round. ‘Yeah. That obvious, is it?’

‘I’ve got sons,’ said Libby, with a grin.

Lewis sighed and came back to his seat. ‘So what do I do then, Mum?’

Libby laughed. ‘Tell the superintendent.’

‘The scary super? Blimey.’ Lewis shuddered theatrically.

‘Is she coming back to talk to you?’

‘I expect so. She said she’d need to see me again – or someone would, and there are still loads of ’em all over the wood. Fingertip search, they said.’

‘I thought they were digging?’

‘Oh, yeah, that too. Gawd, it’s like a bloody nightmare.’

‘It is a nightmare,’ said Libby, patting his arm. ‘But think how much better you’ll feel when you’ve told the police everything you know.’

‘But I don’t actually know anything, do I?’

Libby looked thoughtful. ‘How did you buy this place? I mean, obviously not through an estate agent?’

‘My mate said he was sellin’ it on behalf of this other bloke.’

‘The one who’d disappeared?’

‘Yeah. I got the deeds and everything.’

‘Was it done through a solicitor?’

Lewis looked surprised. ‘’Course.’

‘Then why did you say “under the counter”?’

‘Well, it was just, like, hand over the money and we’ll hand over the deeds. With a legal document to say it was mine. All very quiet.’

‘What about your solicitor?’

‘Ah.’ Lewis looked away, pink creeping into his cheeks.

Libby sighed. ‘You didn’t have one.’

‘No.’

‘Then the first thing you do is to have a solicitor look at the deeds – see if the Land Registry has a record of the transaction.’

‘That’s what I thought,’ said Lewis with a gloomy nod. ‘Might not be mine after all.’

‘If it isn’t, your mate – oh, for goodness’ sake, what’s his bloody name? Can’t keep saying your mate.’

‘Tony,’ said Lewis.

‘Tony what?’

‘Just Tony.’

‘Oh, all right,’ sighed Libby, ‘but Tony will have to cough up that money you gave him. How, by the way? Wasn’t a cheque, was it?’

‘Banker’s draft.’

‘There you are. The bank will have a record, so he’ll have to pay it back.’ Libby frowned. ‘I must say, it seems a bit careless of him, if he wanted to

keep it quiet.’

‘It wasn’t made out to him,’ said Lewis.

‘Oh, Lewis!’ Libby shook her head. ‘Honestly! And you didn’t smell a rat at the time?’

‘S’pose so. I just wanted this place. My mum loves it.’

‘Your mum? Is she here?’

‘No, but she comes down for weekends. She can’t believe it.’

‘I bet,’ said Libby. ‘Well, I think you’ve just got to come clean about everything to the police. I don’t think you’ve done anything illegal, and then it will be up to them to trace this Tony and your money.’

‘You reckon they’ll go after my money?’

‘Well, it would probably be all part of the investigation, wouldn’t it?’ said Libby.

Lewis sighed. ‘Yeah, all right. I’ll ring the scary super this afternoon.’

‘Ad calls her Big Bertha,’ said Libby. ‘Big Bertha the Scary Super. What’s her real name?’

‘Can’t remember.’ He looked at her with pleading blue eyes. ‘Are you goin’ to be here?’

‘Even if I was, she wouldn’t let me be there when she talked to you,’ said Libby. ‘What about your mum? Couldn’t she come down?’

‘I don’t want her mixed up in this.’

‘Gee, thanks,’ said Libby.

Lewis went pink again. ‘You know what I mean,’ he said. ‘Couldn’t you hang around until after I’ve spoken to her?’

‘It depends when you get to speak to her. She might not be available. Will you speak to anyone else?’

‘I dunno.’ Lewis shook himself like a wet dog. ‘This is bloody awful.’ He stood up. ‘Where’s Katie with that lunch?’

He strode to the door just as a shout floated up.

‘That’s Adam,’ said Libby.

‘Saying lunch is ready, yeah,’ said Lewis. ‘Coming?’

Downstairs Katie had provided soup, bread, cheese and ham on the kitchen table. Libby looked round admiringly. The kitchen had been part renovated, but there was still a wonderful old kitchen range in a deep fireplace, a wooden airer strung with bunches of herbs and what looked like original Edwardian cupboards along one wall. The table was old, scrubbed and refectory-sized, complemented by a variety of chairs that looked as though they might have come from churches and schools.

‘Hello, Ma.’ Adam gave her a kiss on the cheek. ‘Remember Mog?’

Mog, tall and skinny with rather limp brown hair, shook hands shyly, and sat down at the table. Katie urged them all to follow suit, and soon Lewis, Mog and Adam were deep in discussions about the garden. All worries about the house and the discovery of the skeleton had dropped from Lewis like a cloak, and Libby envied him this ability, whether it was real or assumed.

Katie helped her to soup and told her how she’d come to be working for Lewis.

‘We did the catering for that Housey Housey,’ she said. ‘Like outside stuff, when we was at all those different homes.’

‘Who’s we?’ asked Libby.

‘Company I worked for. We had one of them vans, and sometimes a double-decker bus. It was all OBs.’

‘OBs? Oh, outside broadcasts.’

‘That’s right. Well, I got to know young Lewis, and his mum come along a couple of times to watch, so I got to know her, too. And then, o’ course, he finds out I used to be a seccertary, and he asks if I could help him sort his life out, sort o’ thing. So I did.’

‘So have you moved down here, too?’ asked Libby, between mouthfuls of soup.

‘Oh, yes. I don’t mind. I’ve still got me little flat in Leytonstone, and no kids, so I’m fancy free, like.’ Katie smiled comfortably. ‘I been very lucky. Two good careers, I’ve had, one working in the bank, and one in catering, and now I can put the whole lot together.’ She gazed fondly at Lewis, deep in conversation with Mog and Adam. ‘And look after him, the silly bugger.’

‘He needs it, doesn’t he?’ said Libby. ‘You know how he bought this house?’

Katie sighed. ‘Yeah. I said he was a silly bugger, didn’t I? I tried to talk him out of it at the time, but he weren’t having any. Didn’t even get a survey done.’

‘Blimey.’ Libby was in awe.

‘Oh, yeah. He’s made a mint since that Housey Housey. Mind you, he didn’t tell me how much he paid, but I reckon it must have been less than market value. Stands to reason, havey-cavey business like that.’

‘I’ve tried to persuade him to tell the police about the whole thing,’ said Libby, pushing her empty soup bowl away.

Katie shook her head. ‘He won’t like that. He’ll think he’s going to lose the house.’

‘Exactly. But don’t you see, someone, whether it’s this Tony he bought it from or someone else, has tried to offload it for some reason. And now the skeleton’s been found, that looks suspiciously like the reason, doesn’t it?’

‘Mmm.’ Katie stared at her. ‘’Course. Makes sense.’ She stood up and fetched a cafetière. ‘I’ll add my two-pennorth and all this afternoon.’

‘He must phone the police,’ said Libby. ‘He can’t wait until they contact him.’

At that moment, the phone rang.

Conversation round the table froze as Katie lumbered out into the hall. She came back holding the phone out to Lewis, mouthing ‘Police’. He took the phone, glancing at Libby before standing up and moving away from the table. Adam looked at his mother.

‘What’s going on?’ he asked in a low voice.

‘I’ve persuaded him to tell the police whatever he knows,’ said Libby. ‘That’s what he wanted to talk to me about.’

‘So what does he know?’

‘Oh – who sold him the house. That’s all, really.’

‘The police will know that already, surely?’

‘I would have thought so,’ said Libby. How would the police not know who owned the house? How it had been sold? They knew Lewis had only recently moved in.

Lewis returned to the table and sat down.

‘That super’s coming back this afternoon,’ he said. ‘Wants to talk to me.’ He shot another glance at Libby.

‘Well, that’s good,’ she said and stood up. ‘I must get back. Thanks for the lunch, Katie. See you on Sunday, Ad?’

Adam nodded, looking at Lewis.

Katie stood up. ‘I’ll see you out,’ she said.

At the front door, she led Libby outside and lowered her voice. ‘I’ll make sure he tells her everything,’ she said. ‘Can you come back if he wants to talk to you again?’

‘I’ll talk to him if he wants to phone me, but I honestly don’t see what I can do,’ said Libby. ‘I’m no private investigator. I’m just Adam’s mum.’

Katie’s mouth drew down disapprovingly. ‘Hmm,’ she said. ‘Well, I’m going back to London this weekend, so I can’t keep an eye on him.’

‘Oh, Katie, what do you expect me to do? I don’t even know him.’

‘He wanted to talk to you.’ Katie’s mouth was now set in a stubborn line.

‘I know, but what Lewis wants he doesn’t always have to get,’ said Libby. ‘He’s an ordinary mortal, you know, just like my Adam.’

Katie sighed. ‘All right,’ she said. ‘I’ll tell him he can phone you.’

And I bet he will, thought Libby, as she drove back towards Nethergate. All the bloody time.

Chapter Six

BY THE TIME LIBBY met Ben at seven o’clock, Lewis had called at least five times. After the first two calls, Libby had let the answerphone take the messages and wished she’d signed up for caller identification when she missed a call from Ben.

‘Sorry about that,’ she said now, sitting down opposite him at a table by the empty fireplace. ‘What was it you wanted?’

‘To see if you wanted to go somewhere else,’ he said. ‘You could have called me back.’ ‘I did,’ said Libby with a sigh, ‘and got your voicemail.’

‘Oh.’ Ben frowned and pulled his mobile out of his pocket. ‘Bugger. So you did. I didn’t hear it. Must have been in the shower.’

‘So we’re even,’ said Libby, sipping her lager. ‘Ah, I needed that.’

‘Why were you call screening, then?’ asked Ben.

Resignedly, Libby told him everything that had happened since the morning.

‘I have genuinely tried to put him off, Ben, you can ask Adam and this Katie North person. That’s why I was trying not to take his calls. He’d already called twice before I stopped answering.’

‘What did he say, then?’ Despite himself, Ben was looking interested.

‘Oh, the superintendent hadn’t arrived then. He was just blathering about what he should tell her. But as I said, the police will already know who owned the house previously and they’ll probably know all about this seemingly dodgy house purchase, too, so all he’s got to do is tell them everything including who this Tony person is so he can’t be accused of impeding the investigation.’

‘It does sound a bit off, doesn’t it?’ mused Ben, twirling his glass absently. ‘Why on earth would Lewis buy a house like that? Why was he so scared of letting on? What did he think Tony was going to tell the tabloids?’

‘I think there must be more to it than he told me,’ said Libby. ‘After all, the general public know he’s gay.’

‘But they don’t know that’s why he got the Housey Housey gig, or his own show. It’s payola under another name, isn’t it?’

‘And this Tony didn’t want his name revealed. I wonder who he is?’

‘I’ve been racking my brain to think of a high-profile person with media connections in Hampstead,’ said Ben.

‘We don’t know he has media connections, do we?’

‘You said he got Lewis on to Housey Housey and then leant on someone to get him his own programme.’

‘Yes, but that sounds as though he has connections with the Mafia, not the media.’ Libby squinted at her glass. ‘And I still don’t know why he wanted Lewis to have his own show. It couldn’t have been for sexual favours, could it? He’d already had those.’

Ben sighed. ‘I don’t know. And we didn’t come here to talk about it, either.’

Libby looked up. ‘You wanted to know.’

‘I know, I know.’ He reached over and patted her hand. ‘I’m sorry. I’ve been a bit pushy, haven’t I?’

‘Not pushy, exactly.’ Libby looked down at his hand. ‘I don’t want to lose you, Ben.’

He turned over her hand and gripped it. ‘I don’t want to lose you, either. I’m just not entirely happy with the status quo.’

‘Adam says that’s the woman’s argument.’

‘Discussing me with your son, eh?’ Ben dropped her hand and leant back.

‘Yes, because he guessed how you would feel. No – he actually knew how you’d feel. And he told me off.’

‘On my side, then, is he?’

‘Firmly,’ said Libby. ‘I always wondered how the kids would feel if I wanted to get married again.’

‘Is that why you’ve always said you wouldn’t?’

‘No, I lost faith in marriage. As I said to Adam, my ex and yours both went off with other people, so it’s no protection.’

‘You don’t get married just for protection,’ said Ben. ‘That’s medieval.’

‘No profession of commitment, then.’

‘It is, Lib. Just because some people change, it doesn’t mean they didn’t mean it at the time.’

‘So what’s the point, then? If you’re not saying “I will love and stay with you for ever”? You can do that without benefit of the law.’

Ben frowned. ‘Why did Harry and Pete get hitched, then?’

‘To prove to the world that they meant it?’

‘That’s one interpretation. Pete wanted to tell the world he loved Harry. And it probably meant more for them to do it than a heterosexual couple.’

‘We’re talking in circles,’ said Libby. ‘I love you.’ She felt herself going pink. ‘But I still don’t see the point in getting married. I wish you could talk me round.’

‘Perhaps wishing it is the first step?’ Ben smiled slightly. ‘I’ll just have to hope so, won’t I? But meanwhile, I think we’d better stick to our own establishments, don’t you?’

Libby’s mouth fell open in horror. ‘You mean –’

‘I’ll go home every night,’ said Ben. ‘You can invite me for a meal now and then, of course.’

‘That’s big of you,’ muttered Libby.

‘Meanwhile – how about dinner?’

‘You mean – er – what do you mean?’ Libby scowled at him. ‘I don’t think you’re taking this seriously.’

‘Oh, I am, I am. More seriously than you are. And I meant would you like dinner here tonight?’

‘Oh.’ Mollified, Libby sat back. ‘Yes please.’

Since the success of The Pink Geranium, Harry’s ‘caff’ as he called it, the pub, much beloved of calendar makers, had upped its game on the dining front, and now provided home-made food that was beginning to rival the local gastro-pub. Despite the excellence of her steak and ale pie, Libby found the meal hard going. The atmosphere was worse than it had been the very first time they had been out together, much worse, in fact. Libby was still wondering why things had changed so much between them almost without warning, when Ben asked, ‘How are young Jane and Terry?’

Libby’s heart sank. ‘Fine,’ she said.

‘They’re getting married, too, aren’t they?’ Ben said casually, not looking at her.

‘Yes.’ Libby refrained from asking how he knew. ‘And all you’re doing, you know, is causing me to dig my heels in. The more you drop hints, or issue ultimata, the more stubborn I shall be. Exactly as I am about smoking. The more the bloody government preach at me, and ban me from doing things, the more I shall insist on doing them. No one has the right to dictate to me how I live my life. I shall continue to live it according to my own lights.’ She sighed, pushed her plate away and stood up. ‘It was a lovely meal, thank you, Ben. You must let me buy you dinner some time.’ She picked up her basket, noting the expression on his face with satisfaction. ‘Good night.’

As she walked down the high street in the gathering gloom she kept her ears pricked for his footsteps behind her, but they never came. By the time she turned into Allhallow’s Lane she was feeling slightly embarrassed about her outburst. The lilac hanging over the wall wafted perfume under her nose, and the long racemes dusted her hair as she plodded along towards number 17, a red-brick terraced cottage opposite a tiny green, where Romeo the Renault sat parked under a hawthorn tree, and Sidney the silver tabby regarded the world from the window.

By the time Libby opened the door and stumbled down the step, Sidney was on his favourite stair, trying to tell her that he had been waiting there for her for simply hours.

‘Don’t lie,’ said Libby, slipping her light jacket off and tossing it, with her basket, onto the small table in the window. The lump in her throat was growing bigger and bigger, and she decided the only thing to do was drown it in a large glass of red wine. With a cigarette, she added viciously, even though she hardly ever smoked these days.

Provided with these aids to recovery, she sat down, turned on the television and promptly burst into tears.

The following morning, she packed up several small canvases to take into Nethergate for Guy’s gallery-cum-shop. She was always surprised that these paintings sold so well, but Guy wasn’t. ‘Nethergate,’ he always said, ‘is a very old-fashioned resort, with what is normally called “a nice Class of Visitor”. They much prefer an original to a mass-produced version, even though that might be cheaper. And we keep yours at a reasonable price.’

When she arrived, she found Fran in the shop, sitting beside Sophie, Guy’s daughter, going through a magazine. Guy grinned and nodded towards them.

‘Wedding magazine,’ he explained. ‘Sophie thinks it’s Christmas.’

‘She’s pleased, then?’

‘Over the moon. She’s always liked Fran. I think for a bit she was afraid I was going to team up with you.’

‘Gee, thanks,’ said Libby, unwrapping brown paper.

‘You’re too volatile and extrovert for me, she thinks. I need a calming influence.’

‘Too much like a bull in a china shop you mean,’ muttered Libby.

Guy put his head on one side. ‘Sometimes,’ he agreed. ‘I have heard it said.’

‘By Ben and Pete, mainly.’ Libby pushed the brown paper and string aside and stood the paintings up. ‘There.’

‘Very nice,’ said Guy approvingly. ‘A few different ones this time.’

‘Jane and Terry let me use their front windows for a different perspective,’ said Libby. ‘Now old Mrs Finch has gone, they’ve been doing up the basement flat, so I’m not in their way.’

‘To let?’ asked Guy.

‘No. They’re going to turn Peel House back into one dwelling and ask Jane’s mother if she’d like to come and live in the flat. It’s got its own entrance and the garden, so she’d be quite comfortable.’

‘But I thought she was a dragon? Fran said she was awful.’

‘She is. But Jane’s thinking ahead. Her mum isn’t getting any younger and if she needs care of any sort, Jane’s a long way away. Also, she’d be a built-in baby-sitter.’

‘Baby? She’s not pregnant?’ Guy looked aghast. ‘No.’ Libby giggled. ‘But they are getting married, and they’re not into their dotage yet.’

‘They’re having the full church do, though, aren’t they?’ Guy cast a loving glance at his fiancée and daughter. ‘Not like us.’

‘No.’ Libby couldn’t help heaving a gusty sigh. ‘What’s up, Lib?’ Guy lifted her chin with a finger. ‘Problems?’

‘Doesn’t matter.’ Libby looked at him unwillingly.

‘Hmm.’ Guy dropped his hand. ‘Fran, shall we go and have a coffee? Soph, will you shop-sit for a bit?’

‘Sure,’ she said, her blonde curtain of hair falling over her eyes. ‘Bring me back a latte, will you?’

‘Latte,’ scoffed Guy. ‘Why it can’t be plain and simple black or white coffee, I don’t know.’

‘Nobody of our generation does,’ said Fran, tucking her arm through his as they strolled along Harbour Street towards the Blue Anchor café. ‘Neither does Mavis, really, but she does her best.’

Mavis was flicking a cloth over the outside tables at the Blue Anchor and greeted them with a gloomy nod and a tin ashtray. Libby glanced guiltily at Guy and Fran and lit up.

‘I thought you were stopping,’ said Fran, an accusing note in her voice.

‘Fran.’ Guy dug her in the ribs. ‘Come on, then, Lib. Tell us all about it.’

‘Three coffees,’ said Mavis, appearing with a tray. When Mavis returned to the interior of the café, Libby told Fran and Guy about Ben’s reaction to their marriage. Fran was horrified.

‘And Terry and Jane make it worse,’ said Libby, wiping coffee froth off her top lip.

‘Oh, God,’ groaned Fran and put her head in her hands. ‘I knew I shouldn’t have said yes.’

Libby and Guy looked astonished.

‘You what?’ said Libby. ‘Don’t be so bloody daft. I told you, you’re a different type from me entirely, and what happens to Ben and me is absolutely nothing to do with you.’

‘Quite,’ said Guy, looking worried.

‘And what about this murder?’ said Fran, looking up. ‘That can’t have helped.’

‘Actually, he’s quite interested in that,’ said Libby. ‘I didn’t go out looking for it, and I’ve been trying to stay clear, although I did go and see this Lewis person yesterday.’

Fran sat up straight. ‘And?’ she said.

Libby looked at her warily, scenting change in the air. ‘Don’t repeat any of this,’ she said slowly, ‘because it’s completely confidential, but I’ll give you the bare bones.’

Guy and Fran groaned together. ‘Sorry,’ said Libby, and launched into her story.

‘The police will have found most of this out anyway,’ said Guy, when she’d finished. ‘I don’t see the need for all this secrecy of the confessional.’

‘Me neither. And the identity of his good fairy – no pun intended – will come out, too, as he sold Lewis the house.’

‘Who’s the body?’ said Fran.

‘They don’t know. They were doing forensics on it, Adam said. I think they thought at first it was very old, but now they think it might be more recent.’

‘How recent?’

‘Oh, I don’t know. Eighteen months?’ Libby shook her head. ‘The police aren’t keeping Adam in their confidence. And he says they’ve got a scary superintendent they call Big Bertha, who would certainly be immune to any charms of either his or mine.’

‘Was it in the wood?’ asked Fran.

‘The skeleton? Yes, near the edge. Adam and Mog are clearing a path through it. I told you, he wants to turn it into a venue.’

‘Not if the entrance is still up that dismal overgrown drive in between those broken gateposts,’ said Guy.

‘That’s the way I go in, but perhaps there’s another way.’

‘It’s not a happy place,’ said Fran.

Libby and Guy looked at her.

‘No?’ said Libby.

‘No,’ said Fran. ‘And Lewis isn’t happy, either.’

‘How do you know?’ said Guy after a pause, while Fran looked out to sea, where the Dolphin, or it could have been the Sparkler, bobbed slowly round Dragon Island.

‘I just do,’ said Fran. ‘And it’s going to get worse.’

Depressed, Libby decided to leave them to it and drive back to Steeple Martin. She was just passing the turn to Steeple Mount when the midday news came on the radio.

‘And now, what the police are calling the “unexplained death” in his London home of financier Tony West.’

Chapter Seven

‘AD, IS LEWIS THERE?’ Libby had barely got through the front door before she was dialling Adam’s number.

‘No.’ Adam sounded perplexed. ‘He went off this morning before we got here. Katie won’t tell us anything.’

Trying to remember how much Adam knew of Lewis’s story, Libby tried another tack. ‘Did he talk to the police yesterday?’

‘I don’t know. Mog and I went back to work and didn’t see him for the rest of the afternoon. He’s not likely to have told us, anyway, is he?’

‘No, I suppose not,’ said Libby, and sat down on the stairs.

‘What’s up, Ma? Is it something to do with what he told you yesterday?’

‘In a way, yes,’ said Libby, aware of a sinking feeling in her stomach. ‘I’m very much afraid your friend Lewis is going to be even deeper in the mire than he was before.’

‘What? Why?’

‘I think the friend who sold him Creekmarsh has just been found dead,’ said Libby, quite certain she was right.

There was a long silence. ‘Oh, bugger,’ said Adam finally. ‘I guess I’d better tell Mog.’

‘Yes, I suppose you had,’ said Libby. ‘I should think there’d be a block on everything to do with the place now.’

‘They wouldn’t think Lewis would kill this bloke, surely,’ Adam said. ‘And he couldn’t have put the skeleton in the wood, either.’

‘I think it’s a little more complicated than that,’ said Libby. ‘If you do see him, tell him he can ring me if he wants. And Ad –’

‘What?’

‘I think I might talk to Fran about it.’

‘Ma!’ he said warningly.

‘No, listen. She said a couple of things this morning about Creekmarsh and Lewis and she doesn’t know either of them. I’ll have to ask.’

‘Well, don’t go getting yourselves into trouble again. You know what Ben would say.’

‘Yes,’ said Libby, gritting her teeth. ‘I’d better go now, Ad. And don’t stop work yet, the police will tell you if you have to.’

‘Oh, thanks, now I’ve got something to look forward to,’ said Adam, and rang off.

Libby sat for a moment, then went and turned on the television and tried to find a news channel. Since Ben had persuaded her to install satellite, this was now easy, but none of the channels seemed to have anything on the death of Tony West. Eventually, however, a photograph flashed up on the screen with his name underneath. Libby recognised it immediately. No wonder Lewis had been keen to keep it under wraps, she thought.

Tony West had been a financier, yes, but also an entrepreneur, his fingers in many media pies, including reality TV. Libby had seen him on various television talk shows, and knew he was reputed to have what used to be known as an eye for the ladies, particularly those with very short skirts and very low tops. Not to mention an eye for the young men, reflected Libby, but she could now see what damage the relationship with Lewis could do to both of them, including the way West had used his influence to get Lewis the job on Housey Housey and subsequently his own show.

And now he was dead. And everything was going to come out. And Lewis was going to be destroyed. Of course, she thought, standing up and going into the kitchen, she could be wrong. It could be entirely the wrong Tony. But the coincidences were just too much. She moved the kettle absently on to the hotplate and stood staring out of the window. Sidney was stalking a butterfly, a futile occupation, about which he never learnt. He occasionally caught a blackbird or a mouse, to Libby’s horror, particularly as she had to clear up the resulting massacre in the house, but butterflies were far too canny. They led him a pretty chase, although Adam and Dominic said it made him look like a gay ballet dancer.

The kettle began to grumble to itself and Libby warmed the teapot. It was a proper cup of tea moment, not a time for a tea bag in the mug. When she’d poured on the water, she went back to the phone.

‘Fran, you know you said Creekmarsh wasn’t a happy place? And that Lewis wasn’t happy, either? What did you mean?’

There was a short silence. ‘I’m not sure,’ said Fran eventually. ‘It just feels dead. As though the trees are keeping in all the damp and dark and depression.’

Libby shivered. ‘It does feel a bit like that,’ she said, ‘especially going up the drive. The whole area is like it. And although what I’ve seen of the house is beautiful, in a decaying sort of a way, that’s the same.’

‘There’s been another death, hasn’t there?’ said Fran.

Libby’s heart jumped. ‘Yes. Did you see it on the news?’

‘I haven’t seen the news. But there has, hasn’t there?’

‘I think so,’ said Libby, and explained.

‘Yes, that’s right. That’s him,’ said Fran. ‘Has Lewis called you?’

‘No. Will he?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Fran, ‘but I think he’s in trouble now.’

‘If he wants help, would you be willing?’

Fran sighed. ‘Oh, I don’t know, Lib. I can’t help feeling that we’d be interfering. We know nothing about this. Your only connection is Adam working in the garden. And we don’t know any of the police involved.’

‘Fran, if he really wants help and he’s in trouble, you can’t refuse to help him, can you? Not if you’ve seen something.’

‘It’s only a feeling, Lib. I haven’t seen a hanging man, or anything.’

‘But you came up with it spontaneously. Like you used to say, it was just as if you’d always known.’

‘All right, all right. If you hear anything else, or Lewis asks you, you can call me. But I really don’t want to get involved. Guy and I want to get down to planning our wedding.’

With an effort, Libby accepted the change of subject. ‘How exciting,’ she said. ‘I didn’t ask this morning. Any decisions yet?’

‘A few,’ said Fran. ‘Why don’t you and Ben come over – oh. No, perhaps not a good idea.’

‘No,’ said Libby miserably.

‘Well, how about I come over this evening and tell you what’s been going on so far?’ suggested Fran.

‘But I only saw you this morning,’ said Libby. ‘Are you sure you want to see me again? Won’t Guy mind?’

Fran laughed. ‘Libby, what’s got into you? We’ve seen one another up to four times a day in the past, and as for Guy minding! Since when has that worried you?’

‘Oh, it’s all this stuff with Ben, I suppose,’ sighed Libby.

‘I’ll tell you what,’ said Fran, sounding quite brisk, ‘I’ll ask Guy to drive over and take Ben for a drink, it’s probably just what he needs, and I’ll come round to you and we can kill a bottle and discuss wedding plans. How does that sound?’

‘Lovely,’ said Libby happily.

When Ben phoned later to tell her Guy was taking him out for a drink, she suggested they both come round to Allhallow’s Lane later. ‘Then Guy can have a coffee before he drives home,’ she said.

‘So what will you two be talking about?’

‘Girly things,’ said Libby, feeling the blush creep up her neck. ‘You know.’

‘Wedding plans?’ asked Ben.

‘Er – yes.’ Libby swallowed. ‘Do you mind?’

‘Why should I mind? You enjoy yourselves. See you later.’

Libby stood looking at the phone for a good minute after Ben had rung off. She didn’t really like this new set-up at all.

Fran arrived just before eight, carrying a bottle of wine and a pile of magazines. Libby had heard nothing from Lewis or Adam during the rest of the afternoon, and no more had been added to the television item about the death of Tony West, except to confirm that he was on the board of the television production company behind ‘the hit show Housey Housey’. Well, that cleared that one up, thought Libby.

Libby poured wine and offered bowls of Bombay mix and peanuts, while Fran spread out magazines and brochures on the floor.

‘I thought you were going to have a quiet do?’ said Libby, flicking through a series of brochures for country house venues.

‘We are,’ said Fran, ‘but just because it’s quiet doesn’t mean to say we have to be hole-in-the-corner about it. We think this place is rather nice. Do you know it?’

Libby took the small brochure with a picture of an old oak door on the front. ‘Looks more like a house,’ she said, opening it. ‘Oh, I don’t know though. What a great bedroom!’

The photographs showed a four-poster bed in a room with an open fireplace, what looked like a small library and a Tudor hall with a gallery.

‘It only accommodates forty guests, though,’ said Libby.

‘As you so rightly said, we want a quiet do,’ said Fran, ‘and this is perfect. We can stay there, and there are two or three other guest bedrooms. The kids can fight over who stays, but if you look, there’s a minibus service to a nearby hotel if anyone else wants to stay in the vicinity.’

‘That’d be me, then,’ said Libby. ‘It looks lovely, Fran.’

‘Actually, Lib,’ said Fran, leaning over to top up Libby’s glass, ‘I thought you might want to stay at the venue.’

‘Yes, but there’s your children. And Sophie. She’ll want to be there, won’t she?’

‘I’d quite like you to be my attendant. Maid of honour. Bridesmaid. Whatever.’ Fran looked down at her hands, and to her surprise Libby saw a faint blush of colour in her cheeks.

‘Fran,’ she said, suddenly finding it hard to speak. ‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes, please,’ said Fran, looking up. ‘It was because of you I met Guy. And he would like Ben to be his best man. Which would have been great if you’d still been together –’

‘I think we are still together,’ said Libby, ‘but I’m not sure we’re still on room-sharing terms.’

Fran nodded. ‘Yes. Well, we can sort all that out later,’ she said. ‘We book the place exclusively, so it’s up to us who stays and who doesn’t.’

‘It looks expensive,’ said Libby apprehensively.

‘Yes.’ Fran was amused. ‘But you’re not paying, so don’t worry about it.’

‘Fran.’ Libby was furiously embarrassed.

‘Sorry, sorry.’ Fran laughed. ‘It was your face. Now have a look at what I want to wear.’

The next hour was spent happily poring over magazines and catalogues of bridal wear, most of it entirely unsuitable for a mature bride, as Fran said, but there were some rather more off-the-wall designs that Libby immediately homed in on. One was a positively medieval dress with a collar that framed the face, photographed on a young woman with distinctly Goth-like make-up.

‘You can wear that one,’ said Fran. ‘Look, they do it in several colours. It would suit you.’

‘Me?’ said Libby. ‘I get to wear a posh frock, too?’

‘Well, of course.’ Fran looked at her in surprise. ‘That’s what attendants do, isn’t it?’

‘What about your daughters? And Sophie?’

‘At my age? I want a friend, not a daughter.’

‘Oh.’ Libby beamed. ‘OK then.’

By the time Guy and Ben arrived at a quarter to ten, Libby and Fran had chosen their outfits, the menu and the flowers. Guy laughed.

‘Do I get any say in this?’ he asked.

‘You can change all of it except our outfits,’ said Fran, reaching up to give him a kiss. Libby marvelled at how natural and open her friend had become since announcing her engagement. Fran had always been a bit buttoned-up in her opinion.

‘Actually, I approve of it all,’ said Guy, looking at Fran’s notes and handing the brochure to Ben. ‘What do you think, mate?’

Libby swallowed hard and got up to fetch glasses. ‘Whisky?’ she croaked. ‘Or coffee, Guy?’

‘Scotch’d be lovely, thanks, Lib,’ said Ben, not looking at her.

‘Coffee, thanks, love,’ said Guy.

Ben took the brochure from him.

‘This place is great,’ he said. ‘How did you find it?’

‘Internet,’ said Fran. ‘I just Googled wedding venues in Kent. Most of them were big hotels, or part of chains. I couldn’t go to Anderson Place after …’ she trailed off.

‘Pete and Harry’s do? Or the other business?’ Ben squinted at her.

‘Both, really,’ said Fran, looking embarrassed. ‘Harry and Pete’s civil partnership was lovely, and that wedding planner – what was her name?’

‘Melanie,’ supplied Libby.

‘She was great. But we don’t want quite that level of organisation and grandeur. Do we?’ She looked up at Guy, who bent and kissed her.

‘No,’ he said and, settling on the arm of her chair, grinned happily at the other two.

‘And because we got involved in the murder, and it was such a sad story,’ continued Fran, ‘I just wouldn’t feel right going there.’

Libby handed Ben his whisky and went into the kitchen to pour Guy’s coffee. Behind her, she could hear the other three talking wedding plans and was surprised to feel a tightening in her chest and throat. It came out of nowhere and threatened to erupt like Vesuvius, leaving her shaking and damp with perspiration. ‘Menopause,’ she muttered to herself unconvincingly, heaving a huge breath.

‘Lib? You OK?’ Ben’s voice behind her almost undid her again, but she bravely lifted the kettle and poured water into the empty mug. ‘Bugger,’ she said, reaching for the coffee jar.

‘You wool-gathering?’ He sounded amused as he came up behind her and put an arm round her. Her throat closed up again and she nodded.

‘Here, I’ll take that in. He doesn’t take milk, does he?’ Libby shook her head and reached for the sugar bowl. Keeping her face averted, she didn’t see Ben’s frown of concern as she handed it to him.

She heard his voice as he gave Guy the mug, and took another deep breath before turning to go back into the sitting room. They were still talking, Ben now sitting on a chair at the small table in the window, while Fran and Guy had moved to the cane sofa. Sidney had turned his back on them all in front of the empty fireplace, his ears flattened to his head. Libby sat in the armchair, grateful that Ben was now partially behind her. Out of the corner of her eye she could see his cream chinos and brown shoes and felt a shaft of pure desire which pooled somewhere below her middle. This, she felt, closing her eyes once more, was a surprise too far. You just do not go weak at the knees over a pair of legs. Not when you are in your mid-fifties.

‘Lib?’ Fran’s voice brought her back to reality. She opened her eyes to see Fran handing her the glass she had left beside the sofa.

‘Thanks,’ she said, taking a grateful sip and trying not to empty the glass in one go.

Eventually, without Libby taking in a word of the conversation, Guy and Fran left. Libby saw them off, then came slowly back into the sitting room. Sidney had taken her place on the armchair and Ben was sitting on the sofa. She sat down gingerly on the chair vacated by Ben. He looked at her quizzically.

‘Why are you sitting over there?’

‘Er –’ Libby cleared her throat.

‘Are you scared to sit next to me?’ Ben’s voice was soft. Insinuating, even. Libby cleared her throat again.

‘And something was wrong earlier, wasn’t it?’ he continued. ‘When you went to get the coffee.’

She swallowed and took yet another deep breath.

‘I can’t do this,’ she managed, and it came out strangled. ‘I really can’t.’

‘Can’t do what?’ Ben stood up, came and took her hand and led her back to the sofa, where he handed her a new glass of red wine. She held it up and watched the ruby light glowing through it.

‘Can’t go back to how we were at the beginning.’ Libby’s throat felt raw and she took a healthy sip of wine.

Ben smiled wryly. ‘We haven’t. When we first got together we couldn’t keep our hands off one another.’

‘That was because of – because someone had been killed.’

‘Life affirmation.’ Ben nodded. ‘Yes, we agreed. Then we drifted a bit –’

‘Because of my doubts,’ Libby said.

‘It’s always been your doubts, hasn’t it?’ said Ben gently. Libby nodded. ‘And now?’ he asked.

That lump was back. Libby didn’t dare look at him. ‘Erm,’ she said.

Ben’s arm slipped round her and he gave a

squeeze. ‘That’s not much of an answer.’ ‘I love you,’ said Libby, so quietly that he had to

lean in to hear her. ‘And I – ah – I –’ ‘Will marry me?’ Libby’s jaw went slack. That wasn’t what she

intended to say. Ben smiled his wry smile again. ‘OK; what, then?’ ‘I want you,’ she whispered. There was a short silence. ‘Well, it’s a start,’ said Ben, gathering her into his

arms.

Chapter Eight

A FRAGILE PEACE HELD the following morning. Libby wasn’t stupid enough to believe that things were back to normal, even though for her, at least, it had been a magical night. Ben went back to The Manor without making any arrangements to see her later that day, and she felt more confused than ever.

She pottered about, trying to paint and failing. At last, she called Adam.

‘Are you at Creekmarsh?’ she asked.

‘No.’ Adam sounded resigned. ‘Lewis is with the police, apparently, and Mog isn’t sure that we’ll even be paid for the work we’ve done already, so we’re waiting to see.’

‘So you’ve got no work?’

‘Mog’s got a couple of design jobs he can be getting on with, but I haven’t.’

‘Are you still staying with him?’

‘Yes.’ Adam was obviously uncomfortable. ‘I gave up the flat in London. It didn’t seem worth keeping it on. If I need to, I can always stay with Bel for the odd night.’

As Adam’s older sister Belinda tended to be scathing about his lack of commitment to either girlfriends or career plans, Libby wasn’t too sure about this.

‘You’d better come home, Ad,’ she said now. ‘You can’t stay with Mog indefinitely. His wife will get thoroughly fed up.’

‘You sure, Ma? You haven’t got much room – and what about Ben?’

Libby was getting sick of being asked about Ben.

‘You can store stuff in the shed if necessary,’ she said, ‘and Ben’s not here all the time so it won’t bother him.’

‘Ri-ight,’ said Adam. ‘Well, if you’re sure. Will it be all right if I come over today? I can get the bus.’

‘I’ll come and pick you up if you like,’ said Libby, wanting something to do. All right, she could clean the house, something she usually neglected until the dust forced itself to her notice, but right now she just wanted to get out and do something.

‘Are you sure? It would be a help with all the stuff I’ve got.’

Libby’s heart sank. Just how much stuff?

‘That’s fine, darling,’ she said bravely. ‘Tell me where Mog’s house is and I’ll be over in about an hour, if that’s all right.’

‘Leave it a bit longer, Ma, if you don’t mind. I’ve got to pack.’

That, too, sounded ominous, thought Libby, as she switched off the phone. What had she let herself in for? Still, you always had to provide a home for your children, didn’t you? And the deserting Derek and his pneumatic Marion were hardly the father and stepmother to do that.

Adam’s stuff wasn’t as bad as she had expected, extending merely to two large rucksacks and a couple of boxes. Mog helped get them into the boot, and Fiona, heavily pregnant, stood around smiling helpfully and holding her back. Libby thanked them both for looking after Adam, and Mog apologised gruffly for the unexpected lack of work. Adam said cheerfully it didn’t matter, just to let him know when there was some.

‘So what will you do now?’ asked Libby, as they drove out of Canterbury. She saw Adam’s shrug out of the corner of her eye, and set her mouth firmly. ‘You’ve got to do something, Ad,’ she said. ‘You can’t just sit around waiting for something to turn up.’

Adam sighed heavily. ‘If you’re going to start lecturing before I’ve moved in, Ma, then I’ve changed my mind.’

‘For goodness’ sake, Adam, don’t be so pathetic,’ she said with some asperity. ‘I’m entitled to say anything I want to you, you’re my son.’

Adam lapsed into a silence that lasted almost until the bend in the road took them into Steeple Martin.

‘Actually, I was going to do some work for Lewis,’ he said in a small voice. ‘But it looks as though that’s not on, now.’

Libby risked a quick look at his profile, while she waited to turn right into Allhallow’s Lane.

‘Why? Just because he’s being interviewed by the police? That doesn’t mean he has anything to do with this body, or the murder of Tony West.’

‘But his career’ll be down the tubes, won’t it?’ Adam sighed again.

Libby pulled the car over onto the bit of green opposite her cottage. ‘I don’t know, and neither do you. Just wait until you hear from him.’

‘Or you do,’ said Adam, getting out and going to open the boot. ‘I bet he calls you.’

The answerphone light was winking when they struggled through the narrow door of number 17.

‘Go on,’ said Adam, nodding towards it. ‘I bet it’s him.’

And he was right.

‘Could you give me a call, Libby? Sorry to bother you. And tell Ad I’m sorry.’

Adam pulled down the corners of his mouth. ‘Hmm,’ he said, before lugging one of the rucksacks upstairs.

Libby went and put the kettle on and dug around for biscuits. Somewhere she had some of the homemade ginger ones Belinda had taught her to make, containing lethal amounts of golden syrup. When Adam came back down he immediately took two from the plate, his good temper restored.

‘Have you phoned him yet?’ he asked.

‘No, I thought I’d wait until you were here,’ said Libby. ‘Do you want to take the tea into the garden? It’s a lovely day.’

When they were settled at the slightly unstable table under the cherry tree, Libby keyed in Lewis’s number. He answered almost instantly.

‘Libby, I’m sorry about this,’ he said, his voice sounding strained.

‘Where are you?’

‘At home. They let me go.’ He gave a short laugh. ‘I suppose you heard?’

‘About Tony West? Yes.’

‘Tony? I didn’t mean –’ he paused. ‘I meant about me being questioned by the police.’

‘I heard about that, too, Lewis, but it didn’t take much detective ability to put two and two together when Mr West’s death was announced on the radio yesterday.’

‘Yeah. Well, that’s why they wanted me, see. They know all about it. More’n I do, really. How’s Ad?’

‘He’s fine.’ Libby pointed to the phone and raised her eyebrows at Adam. He shook his head. ‘It’s a pity they’ve had to stop work on the garden, that’s all.’

‘They’ve what?’ Lewis’s voice rose sharply. ‘Why?’

‘Well,’ said Libby, choosing her words carefully, ‘they couldn’t work in the wood, and there was no guarantee that any further work would be called for, or …’

‘Paid for?’ Lewis was a shrewd East End boy. ‘I know, I know. Well, you tell ’em, there’ll be a cheque in the post tonight – or, if Mog gives me his bank details, I’ll transfer the money straight away. And yes, I do want them to carry on. I want that parterre garden finished this summer, and I know it’ll take time.’

‘But what about the house? Is it all kosher?’

‘It turns out, yes. Me owning it, anyway. Look, I’ll tell you all about it. Can I buy you a drink or summat?’

Libby flashed another glance at Adam. ‘Come over here for supper,’ she said. ‘Ad will be here. Anything you don’t eat?’

‘Come on, Ad, he’s going to keep you on,’ she said after switching off, watching Adam’s mutinous face. ‘And pay you up to date.’

Adam’s face cleared. ‘What about the police?’

‘I doubt if you’ll be able to go back into the wood yet, but he wants you to finish the parterre.’ She smiled. ‘It turns out the house is legally his after all. At least, I think that’s what he meant. And could you ask Mog to give him a ring because he’d like to pay the money straight into the account.’

A little later, leaving Adam to sort out the guest room and pack things away in the ancient shed, where he grumbled about damp and mould, she went into the village to see Bob the butcher, and then to Ahmed and Ali’s eight-til-late. Standing on the pavement between the two shops, she frowned. Should she ask Ben? Check whether he intended to come tonight? Conscious of a slight rolling in her stomach and an accelerated heart rate, she pulled out her mobile and pressed speed dial. It went straight to voicemail and she swore under her breath.

As she plodded back up Allhallow’s Lane, her mobile rang.

‘Hi, Lib. You called?’

‘Did you not listen to the message?’

‘No – I just saw one missed call and it was you. What’s up?’

Libby explained, slowing to a halt under the lilac tree. The scent was calming.

‘Right,’ said Ben. ‘So basically, this Lewis wants to talk to you about the murder and the house? And Adam’s moved in?’

Libby’s heart sank. ‘Only temporarily,’ she said. ‘Just until things are sorted out.’

‘Well, you won’t want me there this evening, that’s for sure,’ he said. ‘Mum’ll be happy to see a bit more of me. I’ll call you tomorrow.’

‘OK. Ben –’

‘Speak to you then. Bye, love.’

Libby was left holding a dead mobile to her ear and feeling as though she might burst into tears. Again.

Lewis had said he would arrive around seven, and by 6.30 Libby had all the food ready and waiting and she and Adam were decently clothed and watching the local news together. There was a brief mention of the Creekmarsh case, but it had obviously been relegated to the ‘other news’. Adam reached for the remote and switched off.

‘So tell me what’s up with Ben,’ he said. ‘Why isn’t he coming tonight?’

Libby sighed and explained to the best of her ability, waiting for the inevitable ‘I told you so’. It didn’t come.

‘He’s a prat, Ma,’ said Adam, getting up to give her a hug. ‘Nice bloke and all that, but a prat.’

‘I thought you were on his side?’

‘In a way, but he’s using emotional blackmail now, and that’s wrong.’

Libby thought about it. ‘I suppose he is,’ she said. ‘How horrible. I’d never have thought it of him.’

‘I don’t suppose he sees it like that,’ said Adam, quite the wise young judge. ‘He just doesn’t want to lay up any more grief for himself if you’re not going to commit to a life together. Sensible, in a way.’ He turned away and poured drinks for them both.

Libby looked at him in horror. ‘Now you’ve completely confused me,’ she said. ‘He’s a blackmailing prat, but a sensible one?’

He handed her a glass with a cheerful smile. ‘Yup. Cheers!’

The knocker rapped loudly.

‘That’s Lewis,’ said Adam. ‘I’ll get it.’

This evening Lewis Osbourne-Walker was far from the ebullient young presenter of television’s most popular home design programme. His spiky blonde hair drooped, and his cherubic face had a distinct lack of the angelic about it.

‘Sit down,’ said Adam, indicating the chair. ‘Drink?’

‘Got any water?’

‘Plenty in the tap,’ said Adam.

Lewis grimaced. ‘Yeah. Sorry. Prat, aren’t I?’

Libby and Adam exchanged amused glances.

‘’Course not.’ Adam made a face. ‘Tap water – juice?’ He cocked an eyebrow at his mother.

‘Apple juice,’ said Libby, ‘or tonic water?’

‘Tonic water’d be nice,’ said Lewis, brightening.

When they were seated, Lewis leant back in the armchair and closed his eyes. Libby and Adam exchanged another significant look.

‘Come on, then, Lewis, tell us all about it,’ said Adam. ‘What’s been going on?’

Chapter Nine

LEWIS OPENED HIS EYES and looked nervously from Adam to Libby.

‘They found Tony yesterday morning.’ He took a sip of his tonic water. ‘In his bedroom.’

‘Yes, it said that on television,’ said Libby.

‘And my prints were all over it.’

Libby and Adam looked at one another.

‘How did they have your prints?’

‘They asked for them yesterday.’

‘Tell us from the beginning, Lewis. What happened when you went to talk to the police yesterday morning?’ said Libby.

He sighed. ‘They asked who I bought the house from, and in the end, of course, I had to tell ’em, didn’t I? I said Tony. Because I don’t actually know who owned it. So this other copper who was with Big Bertha leant over, like, and whispered in her ear. Then she went out of the room.’

‘And?’ prompted Adam.

‘Then she came back and asked me how well I’d known Tony.’ Lewis reddened. ‘So I said he was a mate, like. Then they asked me if they could take fingerprints. I couldn’t say no, could I?’

‘And after that?’

‘They went on questioning me. They gave me some lunch and then this bloke from London appeared and he and Big Bertha interviewed me together. Then, o’ course, they tells me about Tony and my prints being there. And that Tony didn’t hold title – or something – to my house. It belonged to some famous bloke. Well, I knew that. Not that he was famous, though.’

‘Who was the famous bloke?’ asked Adam.

‘Some actor. Can’t remember, although they did tell me.’

‘And they confirmed that he was missing, as Tony told you?’ said Libby.

‘Yeah. They think the skeleton is him.’

‘So did you,’ said Libby.

‘Yeah, well, now they can do whatsit – DNA – on him. It.’

‘At least you couldn’t have killed him,’ said Adam.

‘They don’t know that,’ said Lewis gloomily. ‘They reckon I must’ve known him and killed him and then tried to buy the house so no one would ever find him.’

‘Ah,’ said Adam.

‘How did you first find the house?’ asked Libby.

‘Tony brought me down here once,’ said Lewis. ‘Took me into the house. Said it belonged to a friend who’d asked him to look after it. He wanted some details copied for the Hampstead place, he said, but I don’t believe it. He wanted to get me down here. He knew I’d fall for the place, being a common cockney bloke with whatsits of grandeur.’

‘Delusions,’ said Adam helpfully.

‘That’s them,’ Lewis nodded.

‘So how, if the house still belonged to this missing person, did Tony manage to sell it to you legally?’

‘He had something to show he could do it. Some legal thing. Power something.’

‘Power of attorney?’ Libby’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Why?’

‘How do I know?’ said Lewis pettishly. ‘He just did.’

‘Was he a relative?’

‘Look, Lib,’ said Lewis, blowing out a sigh, ‘I don’t know any more than they told me, which wasn’t much, except to tell me I could go back home and it was mine.’

‘But you’re still a suspect?’

‘I’m not sure. Wouldn’t they have made me pay bail if I was?’

‘I don’t know.’ Libby looked at Adam. ‘Who would know?’

‘That Ian person,’ suggested Adam promptly. ‘He’d know. He’d know about Big Bertha, too.’

‘I can’t ring Ian!’ said Libby, scandalised.

‘Fran could.’

Libby chewed her lip. ‘All right,’ she said. ‘I’ll call her after we’ve eaten.’ She looked at Lewis. ‘So what happens next?’

‘They said to keep in touch and let them know my movements. Can’t leave the country, that sort of thing.’

‘Well, they have got a potential double murder on their hands,’ said Libby. ‘You can’t blame them.’

‘If they really thought you could have been behind the skeleton’s burial, why didn’t they tell you this missing person’s name?’ said Adam.

‘They did, I told you. I just can’t remember.’

‘Honestly, Lewis. How can you not remember?’

‘It was all so muddled. And I was bloody scared.’

He looked belligerent.

‘So would I have been, Ma,’ said Adam.

‘I know, but that name is really important.’ Libby sighed and stood up. ‘Come on, let’s eat. You don’t mind the kitchen, do you, Lewis?’

They managed to stay off the subject of the murders while they ate, and Lewis professed Libby to be almost as good a cook as Katie. Adam grinned and told him of all the disasters that had happened in Libby’s kitchen over the years. ‘She’s only just got the hang of it,’ he laughed.

‘Cheek,’ she said, good-humouredly. ‘Actually, Lewis, I was going to ask you if you like vegetarian food?’

Lewis looked down at his plate, surprised. ‘Yeah, but this wasn’t –’

‘No, no, it’s just that our friends Harry and Peter have a veggie restaurant in the village called The Pink Geranium. Harry’s the chef. They do a lot of Mexican food. I thought you might like to try it sometime.’

His face brightened. ‘They the mates you told me about, Ad?’

Adam nodded. ‘Nice blokes. Pete’s some kind of hotshot journalist so he’s often in London, but he works from home mostly.’

‘Journalist?’ Lewis looked wary.

‘Not that sort,’ comforted Libby. ‘Political and features, mainly. No sludge gathering.’

‘Oh. Well, I’d love to give it a try if you’ll come with me.’ He looked at them both like a particularly soulful spaniel.

‘’Course we will,’ grinned Adam.

‘Come on then,’ said Libby. ‘If you’ve finished we’ll go into the sitting room and I’ll call Fran.’

Fran, as Libby had predicted, was not happy about calling Ian. Part of it was embarrassment, Ian having been a former suitor who lost out to Guy, and the other part was Fran’s unwillingness to butt into the investigation.

‘All right,’ huffed Libby, eventually. ‘Give me his number and I’ll call him. I’ll tell him about the wedding, which will be much better than him just finding out.’

Fran demurred, but in the end decided to give Libby the number. ‘I feel a terrible coward not facing up to telling him, but there’s no real reason why I should, is there?’

‘None at all, but I can be concerned about him. I can even sympathise and hint about the problems it’s causing with Ben,’ said Libby.

‘Oh, Libby!’ Fran almost shouted. ‘Don’t you dare. If you’re going to say that sort of thing I shan’t give you the number.’

‘Sorry, sorry.’ Libby gave the phone a shamefaced look. ‘I didn’t mean it.’

‘All right. But promise you won’t.’

‘Promise.’

‘OK. I’ll text you the number when I’ve found it.’

‘Lovely, thanks –’ said Libby, but Fran had gone.

‘You do put your foot in it sometimes, Ma,’ said Adam.

Libby sighed. ‘I know. I don’t think before I speak half the time, do I?’

The number came through very soon afterwards and after pouring herself a large glass of wine, Libby took a deep breath and punched it in.

‘Connell,’ said a gruff voice on the first ring.

‘Ian?’ said Libby. ‘I’m sorry to disturb you. It’s Libby Sarjeant. Are you in the middle of something?’

‘Libby?’ Ian sounded surprised. ‘No – well, I’m in the middle of paperwork and I should have gone home hours ago. What’s up?’

‘Ah – well,’ said Libby, not sure how to begin now the moment had come. ‘Had you heard about Fran?’

‘She and Guy are getting married, I understand.’ Ian’s voice didn’t change. He couldn’t be that upset.

‘Yes. I thought you might not know,’ said Libby sheepishly.

‘So you thought you’d enlighten me? Very kind.’ He sounded amused. ‘But not necessary. Things get around very quickly in a small place like Nethergate.’

‘Then you’ll know all about the Creekmarsh business?’

There was a pause. ‘Of course. Libby, what’s this about? You didn’t ring up about Fran at all, did you? You know I can’t tell you anything.’

‘I know, I know,’ said Libby, ‘just, I wanted to know, as they’ve let my friend Lewis go, is he bailed? They didn’t ask him for any money.’

‘Your friend?’ said Ian. Libby saw Lewis and Adam flinch as the voice thundered out of the receiver. ‘What the hell are you getting into now?’

‘Nothing, Ian, honestly,’ said Libby, crossing her eyes at the boys. Lewis giggled. ‘Lewis is actually a friend of Adam’s. My son? He’s been doing the –’

‘Garden, yes, I know. He and his friend found the skeleton. I didn’t connect the two names, more fool me. There can’t be many Sarjeants with a J around.’

‘Right.’ Libby let out a breath. ‘So, you see, I’ve got a legitimate interest.’

‘And you shouldn’t be talking to me about it,’ said Ian, ‘but as it happens, your friend hasn’t been bailed. They’ll want to speak to him again, probably several times, but once they found that the sale of Creekmarsh was legitimate –’

‘Was it power of attorney?’ interrupted Libby.

‘Yes.’ Ian was beginning to sound even more irritated.

‘Right. Oh, just one more thing,’ said Libby, ignoring the spluttering at the other end, ‘who was the actor West had power of attorney for?’

‘Oh, you don’t know that, eh? Antennae slipping are they? Surely your friend Lewis knows?’

‘He says he can’t remember.’

‘Oh, come now, Libby. I don’t believe that for a second. Now you just tell him to do exactly as Superintendent Bertram tells him and not to go investigating on his own. Or rather,’ said Ian, taking a deep breath, ‘getting you to do it for him.’

‘OK, Ian, I get the picture. And thanks.’

She looked over at the boys and sipped her wine. ‘He wouldn’t tell me. Said he didn’t believe you couldn’t remember, but that you aren’t on bail. And warned me off.’

‘I gathered that,’ said Adam. ‘You can’t blame the poor bloke.’

‘And I found out that Big Bertha’s name is really Bertram.’

Adam shrugged. ‘Well, you can see how she got the name, can’t you?’

‘Anyway, Lewis, you’re a free man. And the missing actor –’

‘Is Gerald Shepherd. I’ve just remembered.’

Chapter Ten

‘GERALD SHEPHERD?’ REPEATED LIBBY.

‘Who’s he?’ asked Adam.

‘He was huge in the seventies and eighties,’ said Libby. ‘You’d know his face. Mainly television and films, but he did quite a bit on stage, too. He had that detective show Flanagan’s Army.’

‘Oh, him! Wow. He really is famous.’

‘Was.’ Libby turned to Lewis. ‘Why had you forgotten?’

‘Honestly, Lib, I don’t know. The name went over my head. I know now, of course, but at the time it didn’t mean anything. I was just panicked.’

‘I can’t see how it didn’t mean anything,’ said Libby, frowning at him. ‘Surely you remember the scandal a few years ago?’

‘Scandal? No.’ Lewis shook his head and Adam looked interested.

‘He disappeared with his daughter-in-law and has never been seen since.’

‘Bloody hell,’ said Adam. ‘But he must have been ancient.’

‘In his sixties I should imagine. The daughter-inlaw, or maybe she was the son’s girlfriend, was in her twenties as I remember.’

‘Dirty old man,’ said Lewis, wrinkling his nose. ‘No, I don’t remember, sorry.’

‘I think drugs were involved somewhere along the line, too,’ said Libby. ‘I’ll look it up tomorrow.’

‘Look it up where?’ said Adam.

‘Google it, of course,’ said Libby loftily.

‘Well, where does this leave us?’ asked Lewis. ‘What happens next?’

‘You wait for more questions from the police, and I’ll look up the background. There isn’t anything else we can do. As I said, I’ve been warned off.’

‘So if the skeleton is this Gerald Shepherd, that means the daughter-in-law chopped him?’

‘Possibly, but I don’t see how they’ll ever prove that, even if they could find the daughter-in-law. And I don’t see what it’s got to do with Tony West, either.’

‘Perhaps he was her father?’ suggested Adam.

‘That’s an idea,’ said Libby.

Lewis shook his head. ‘Didn’t have any children. His wife didn’t want any, he said.’

‘That’s a point,’ said Libby. ‘Where was his wife when he was found?’

‘New York,’ said Lewis. ‘Shopping.’

‘Ah.’

A silence fell.

‘He still could have been her father,’ said Adam. ‘By someone else.’

‘Yes, he could.’ Libby looked thoughtfully at her son. ‘But it still doesn’t explain why he had the power of attorney. And isn’t there something about registering it with the Office of the Public Guardian?’

‘The what?’ said Adam and Lewis together.

‘I may have got it wrong,’ said Libby, frowning, ‘but I’m pretty sure the old Enduring Power of Attorney has been replaced by something else, so presumably the police will be looking at the date it was registered. And if Gerald Shepherd couldn’t be found, was it legal to sell his house?’

‘God, I don’t know,’ said Lewis. ‘All I know is the police said Creekmarsh is mine. If Tony had no right to sell it surely the solicitor would have found out?’

‘Yes, but you said you didn’t have one. So Tony’s solicitor could have been bent and glossed over it. Presumably the police have checked the Land Registry or they wouldn’t have said it was legally yours.’

‘Doesn’t it sound,’ said Adam slowly, ‘as if someone was trying to offload Creekmarsh?’

Lewis and Libby looked at him in surprise.

‘Of course!’ said Libby. ‘That’s what it is, Lewis! Either Tony West or Gerald Shepherd or both were trying to get rid of the place because they didn’t want to be associated with it and anything that might be found there.’

‘Right!’ Lewis high-fived Adam. ‘You’re brilliant, mate.’

‘Of course.’ Adam beamed at them both.

‘Well, we still need to find the connection between West and Shepherd,’ said Libby. ‘I’ll get on to it in the morning.’

‘Hey, hey, Ma.’ Adam stood up. ‘No investigating. Remember? You said it yourself.’

‘It’s only for interest’s sake,’ said Libby, opening her eyes wide at him. ‘And Lewis wants to know.’

‘But you told him not five minutes ago that all he could do was wait. And what did that Connell tell you? Keep out.’

‘As I said,’ said Libby, looking uncomfortable, ‘it’s just for interest.’

‘Hmm,’ Adam said and left the room in search of beer.

‘Will you tell the police all this, Libby?’ asked Lewis in a low voice.

‘It’s not my place and they wouldn’t listen anyway,’ said Libby. ‘Besides, you can bet that if we’ve pieced all this together they certainly have. They’ll have known all about the sale of the property the minute you mentioned not having been here long, and with their resources everything else would have been laid on a plate for them. I strongly suspect West’s solicitor of being bent. I should think he’s going to have a lot of explaining to do.’

Lewis was frowning. ‘You said daughter-in-law. So what about the son? There must have been one.’

‘Yes.’ Libby stared at him. ‘Of course. I don’t remember anything about the son. I don’t remember anything about the daughter-in-law, come to that, just that it was she he ran off with. I’ll find out tomorrow.’

Lewis looked uncertainly towards the kitchen door. ‘Won’t Adam be cross?’

Libby laughed. ‘He’s my youngest son, Lewis, not my keeper.’

‘No, course.’ He shrugged. ‘He seems very grown up to me.’

‘Not to me, he doesn’t,’ muttered Libby.

Just then the wonder boy strolled in carrying a bottle of beer. ‘Have you been talking about me?’ he asked with a grin.

‘Yes,’ said Libby, ‘but don’t get bigheaded about it.’

‘I think I’d better get back,’ said Lewis standing up. ‘Katie’s out there all on her own, and it can be a bit – well –’

‘Creepy,’ supplied Adam.

‘Only because of what’s been happening.’ Lewis was defensive. ‘Thanks for a great meal, Libby. If you pick a date I’ll treat you both at your mate Harry’s next.’

‘You’re on,’ said Adam, shaking his hand. ‘And we’ll be back at work soon, will we?’

‘Yeah. Mog said he’d pick you up on the way tomorrow. Didn’t he ring you?’

‘No. I’ll give him a ring in a minute.’ Adam opened the front door and Sidney shot out.

‘Is he all right in the street?’ said Lewis anxiously, looking back at Libby.

‘Not much of a street, really, is it?’ she said. ‘He’s fine. He’ll be over the back and across to the wood in no time.’

When Lewis had gone, Libby went through to clear up in the kitchen while Adam called Mog. She thought she heard raised voices, but when Adam joined her he had a smile on his face.

‘Now I know why Mog didn’t ring,’ he said. ‘Fiona’s had the baby.’

‘No!’ Libby sat down on the edge of the table. ‘I didn’t think she was due yet. What was it?’

‘A boy, and no, it wasn’t due for a couple of weeks, but it’s all great. Started while we were loading up the car, actually, but she didn’t want to say.’

‘Aah!’ Libby gave her son a hug. ‘So now what will you do?’

‘Can I get a bus to Creekmarsh from here? Mog said I could make a start on the parterre.’

‘Do you know how? And it’s Saturday tomorrow. Are you supposed to be going in to work?’

‘Ma! ’Course I know what to do. We’re preparing the ground first, anyway. And I want to go in. So how do I get there?’

‘You could borrow Romeo. I expect I could ask Ben for a lift if I was stuck,’ said Libby doubtfully.

‘Thanks, Ma,’ said Adam, giving her a hug. ‘You’re a gem.’

‘I know,’ sighed Libby. ‘A positive jewel.’

The following morning, after Adam had left in high spirits, Libby tidied up the cottage and booted up the computer. Within minutes she was reading the reports of Gerald Shepherd’s disappearance.

After the heyday of the seventies and eighties, it seemed, Shepherd had almost fallen into obscurity. A handsome man with distinguished grey hair, he had suddenly reappeared in a political thriller, Collateral Damage, in the mid-nineties. His subsequent celebrity had affected his family adversely, however, his wife leaving with a younger actor to go to America, and his son turning to drugs. The son had, however, made an effort to turn his life around and became something of a celebrity himself, attracting a very attractive young model turned singer, whom he married after a whirlwind romance played out very much in the public eye. All three Shepherds remained popular, although less noticeable, until the son, Kenneth, was recruited for a reality show called Dungeon Trial. Libby’s mental ears pricked up.

It was while he was incarcerated in the fastness of the show’s castle that it became apparent that Gerald and Cynthia, known as Cindy, were closer than they should have been. When Kenneth was released from his dungeon, they had vanished. It was a nine-days’ wonder in the media, then the next scandal hit the red tops and the next outrage hit the broadsheets and the whole debacle disappeared from view.

Libby sat back and frowned. So where was Kenneth now? And why on earth hadn’t he had the power of attorney?

She typed Kenneth Shepherd into the search engine, but the only results were those which she had already seen. She tried Cindy Shepherd, but only came up with the girl’s maiden name, which she had kept for career purposes after her marriage. Trying Cindy Dale didn’t come up with much either, just lists of her appearances as first a glamour model, then a rather unsuccessful singer with an equally unsuccessful girl band.

Libby typed Dungeon Trial into the search engine. The reality show had started at around the same time as most of the others of the same type, but had foundered earlier. And to her disappointment, the production company behind it wasn’t even the same one that produced Housey Housey, so the hope of a possible link to Tony West was demolished. She sighed and sat back in her chair. What she needed was a good long chat with a friendly policeman.

Her eye fell on a packet on the arm of the sofa. She let out an exasperated sigh. After all the trouble she’d gone to making him sandwiches, Adam had left them behind. Hoping, no doubt, to cadge some more of Katie’s cooking. Ah well, she thought, switching off the computer and standing up, it wouldn’t hurt to pop them over to Creekmarsh, would it?

‘Oh, bugger,’ she said out loud. Adam had gone off with the car. She tried to convince herself it was emergency enough to call Ben and ask for a lift, and although a week ago she would have done so, now she thought better of it.

However, she could call Lewis and tell him. Why wasn’t she calling Adam, she wondered, as she keyed in Lewis’s number? They were his sandwiches.

‘Do you want me to call him?’ Lewis asked when she’d told him.

‘No, it’s OK, I can’t get out there because he’s got the car. I just wondered if there was any chance Katie could give him a spot of lunch. Sorry to be a nuisance.’

‘You’re not, don’t be daft. Problem is, Katie’s not here today, so I’m fending for myself as well. Tell you what, how about I come and pick you up and bring you over here? You can make me some sandwiches, too!’

‘Cheek!’ Libby laughed. ‘It seems a convoluted way round the problem, but OK. I’ll bring a picnic.’

‘Great, I’ll be there about half eleven.’ Lewis hesitated. ‘D’you look up that stuff?’

‘About Shepherd? Yes. I’ll tell you when I see you. Or you could Google him yourself.’

‘Dunno what I’d be looking for.’ Lewis sounded uncomfortable. ‘Look, I’ll see you later.’

Libby smiled at the receiver and went back into the kitchen to make more sandwiches. If anyone had asked her, she couldn’t have said why she wanted to go back to Creekmarsh; all she knew was something was drawing her there. She paused, loaf in one hand, knife in the other. She wasn’t getting like Fran, was she? A shiver went through her and she shook herself.

But when she’d packed up her picnic and put on some make-up, she called Fran while she waited for Lewis and told her everything that had been happening.

‘Thoughts?’ she said when she finished and Fran had been silent for a long time.

‘It’s all a bit odd.’ Libby heard her take a breath. ‘I know I said I didn’t want to get involved, but I suppose I couldn’t come out and have a look, could I?’

‘Why not?’ Libby was conscious of relief. ‘Come out today. I’m going for lunch.’ She explained about the sandwiches.

‘I’ll come over about one, then, shall I? Then I can drive you home.’

‘Brilliant. See you later.’

Lewis was delighted to hear of Fran’s visit and promised a guided tour of the house and grounds.

‘I haven’t had that,’ said Libby indignantly.

‘For both of you, of course,’ said Lewis in surprise. ‘I was going to take you round today, anyway. The police seem to have gone now.’

Libby nodded absently and stared out of the windscreen. They were just passing the turning for Steeple Mount, and Libby could see the woods on the hill that masked Tyne Hall and its chapel. She shivered slightly.

‘What’s up?’ Lewis shot her a quick look. ‘You’re not cold?’

‘No.’ Libby pointed. ‘That’s where they used to hold Black Masses and where someone we knew was murdered. There’s a chapel behind those woods.’

‘Wow. You do see life round here, don’t you? What happened?’

‘Fran knows more about it than I do,’ said Libby. ‘Her aunt was murdered.’

‘Blimey,’ said Lewis, looking at her again and swerving.

‘Eyes on the road, Mr Osbourne-Walker,’ said Libby, who returned her attention to the scenery while she told him of her findings on the Internet.

Adam met them as they turned into the drive. Lewis opened the window.

‘Sorry, mate, nothing I could do about it,’ said Adam.

‘About what?’

‘That bloody Big Bertha. She’s in there now. With a search warrant.’

Chapter Eleven

WITHOUT ANOTHER WORD, LEWIS accelerated up the drive and came to a gravel-spraying halt. He disappeared inside leaving the car door open and Libby to her own devices. She climbed out slowly, clutching her basket as Adam caught up.

‘What’s going on, Ad?’

‘I don’t know, Ma. They turned up about twenty minutes ago. I tried Lewis’s mobile, but it was switched off.’

‘He was driving, that’s why,’ said Libby, remembering seeing the phone on the dashboard. ‘Yeah, I know. Anyway, I tried to stop them, but they had a warrant. That woman is a nightmare.’ ‘But why? They don’t think Lewis has any connection to the skeleton or Tony West’s death.’

‘No, but Tony West sold this place to Lewis. They must think there are traces of him or what’shis-name –’

‘Gerald Shepherd,’ put in Libby.

‘Yeah, him.’

‘But they must have already searched the house,’ said Libby, frowning. ‘When the skeleton was found.’

‘I don’t think they did,’ said Adam, shaking his head. ‘Remember, at first they didn’t think it was a recent body.’

‘Oh, yes, that reminds me, how old do they think it is?’ ‘I don’t know. When did Shepherd and the girl go

missing?’

‘About three years ago, I think,’ said Libby. ‘You still think it’s him?’

‘It would make sense, wouldn’t it?’

‘But they haven’t released anything about it?’ said Libby.

‘Don’t think so,’ said Adam.

‘What shall we do with this?’ asked Libby, waving her basket at him. ‘I suppose we can’t take it into the kitchen?’

‘Don’t see why not,’ said Adam, grinning. ‘Give us a chance to see what’s going on.’

Libby eyed him warily. ‘All right. Come on, then,’ she said, indicating that he should take the lead.

There appeared to be no one anywhere downstairs. Murmured voices could be heard from the solar, where Libby guessed Lewis was having to answer more of Superintendent Bertram’s questions. She unloaded sandwiches, cheese and fruit onto the kitchen table, and sat down.

‘I suppose now we wait,’ she said.

‘Yeah.’ Adam looked up at the ceiling. ‘Can’t really go poking upstairs, can we? And I ought to get back to the parterre. D’you want to come and see it?’

‘Not right now,’ said Libby. ‘I’ll wait for Lewis.’

And Big Bertha, she added mentally. Why she wanted to see her she couldn’t have said, but then again, she had curiosity programmed into her character, so thought her nearest and dearest, those very same nearest and dearest who fondly referred to her as ‘the bull in the china shop’.

She looked towards the kitchen door and felt her heart jump in shock. There was someone standing there.

The woman surveyed Libby as dispassionately as she might a cabbage on a vegetable stall. ‘And you are?’ she said in a voice like a cheese grater.

‘Libby Sarjeant,’ Libby said, and cleared her throat. ‘With a J. Who are you?’

The woman looked startled, as if she wasn’t used to being questioned. Or going unrecognised. Libby took in the slender, petite stature, the bright blonde hair, over made-up face and the too-short skirt of the black suit.

‘Superintendent Bertram, CID.’ The woman snapped it out and Libby’s mouth dropped open. This was Big Bertha? ‘What are you doing here?’ Bertram walked to the table and looked down at Libby from eyes heavy with eyeliner.

‘I beg your pardon?’ Libby pushed back her chair and stood up, all of five feet three inches, but able now to tower over Superintendent Bertram, who scowled up at her.

‘This is a crime scene.’

‘I thought the gardens were a crime scene, not the house.’ Libby wasn’t going to back down.

‘Why are you here?’ Bertram didn’t comment on Libby’s assumption, which made her quite sure she was right.

‘I’m a friend of Lewis Osbourne-Walker’s. He brought me here ten minutes ago when we learnt from my son that you had broken into his home while he was absent.’

Bertram looked furious. ‘We did not “break in”. We had a search warrant.’

‘Why?’

This time Bertram looked simply astonished. Before she could recover, Libby sat down again, happy to have had the upper hand, if only for a few minutes.

‘Ms Sarjeant,’ began Bertram.

‘Mrs,’ Libby corrected, and smiled. Bertram heaved a sigh.

‘Very well, Mrs,’ she said. ‘A search has to be carried out thoroughly on these premises and no unauthorised persons are allowed here.’

‘Authorised by whom?’ asked Libby pleasantly. ‘After all, it still belongs to Mr Osbourne-Walker. I know you’ve checked the legality of that, and as far as I can ascertain he isn’t a suspect. I have his authority to be here, and I don’t believe I need yours.’

Bertram’s eyes narrowed. ‘I know who you are,’ she said slowly.

‘Oh?’ said Libby, still smiling, but with a sinking feeling.

‘I believe you know DCI Murray?’ Bertram smiled; at least Libby thought it was a smile. ‘And DI Connell.’

‘Yes.’ Libby nodded, still pleasantly.

Bertram placed her hands on the table and leant forward. ‘Let me warn you, Mrs Sarjeant. You will not be allowed to get in my way or hamper this investigation, with or without psychic intervention.’

‘Oh, you’ve got that quite wrong,’ said Libby, keeping the smile fixed with difficulty. ‘I don’t do psychic intervention.’

Bertram straightened up, obviously puzzled.

‘No,’ said a voice behind her, ‘that’s me.’

Bertram whirled and Libby stood up again.

‘Fran!’ she said.

Fran came into the room and allowed herself to be hugged by Libby, while a scowling Bertram looked on.

‘This is Mrs Castle,’ said Libby. ‘She knows DCI Murray and DI Connell, too.’

Bertram bit her lip, still scowling. She looked from Libby to Fran and back again.

‘Just keep out of my way,’ she said, and stalked to the door brushing rudely against Fran as she went.

‘Wow,’ said Fran. ‘Who’s she?’

Libby explained, leading the way back to the table. ‘Would you like tea?’ she asked. ‘I think I know where everything is.’

‘Thanks,’ said Fran looking round the huge kitchen. ‘So this is Creekmarsh.’

Libby switched on the kettle and went to find milk in the stylish silver refrigerator.

‘This is Creekmarsh,’ she confirmed. ‘What do you think?’

Fran was silent for a moment. ‘I’m not sure,’ she said finally. ‘There’s a good deal of unhappiness here, isn’t there?’

‘Do you mean current unhappiness? Or sort of still-in-the-walls unhappiness?’ ‘Both.’ Fran was looking at the ceiling. ‘How old was Tony West?’ ‘Eh?’ Now it was Libby’s turn to look startled. ‘No idea. Why?’ ‘Oh, nothing.’ Fran shook her head. ‘Has that woman finished with your friend Lewis?’

‘I don’t know. She must have if she came down here. I suppose he’s upstairs overseeing the search.’

‘They do miss things, you know,’ said Fran, remembering her own visit to a murder scene eighteen months ago where she had uncovered evidence which at the time seemed irrelevant, but had eventually led to the solution of that and a previous murder.

‘You won’t be able to go over this place,’ warned Libby. ‘You saw what she was like.’

‘I know,’ said Fran serenely, ‘but it’s not being protected as a crime scene, is it? So Lewis will let me have a look.’

‘When they’ve gone, yes,’ said Libby. ‘I do hope they clean up after themselves.’

‘Oh, I expect they will. It isn’t as if they can just walk away with crime scene tape across the door, is it? Lewis is still living here.’

‘Will he much longer, do you think?’ mused Libby, as they heard hurrying steps on the stairs.

‘Lewis.’ Libby went to him and put a hand on his arm. ‘Come and meet Fran Castle.’

Fran stood up and shook hands. Lewis looked grey and dishevelled.

‘What have they been doing to you?’ asked Libby, handing a mug to Fran, then pouring one, unasked, for Lewis.

‘Oh, nothing. They’re just turning over everything.’ Lewis pushed his hands through his spiky hair, which accounted for the dishevelment, thought Libby. ‘And that fucking woman –’ he stopped and looked guiltily at Fran. Not at her, Libby noticed. ‘Sorry,’ he went on. ‘But she’s turning me into a wreck.’

‘Not a pleasant lady,’ agreed Libby. ‘We’ve just met her.’

‘You have? Both of you?’

‘I only saw her briefly.’ Fran gave Libby an amused look. ‘I think she was getting the worst of an encounter with Mrs Sarjeant here.’

‘Ri-ight.’ Lewis nodded. ‘That’s why she was in an even fouler temper when she came back into the room.’

‘She didn’t tell you she’d met me?’ Libby grinned. ‘I thought she was impressed.’

‘I think she was.’ Lewis picked up his mug and grinned back. ‘Cow.’ He leant forward and poked at the covered plate in front of him. ‘Is this sandwiches?’

‘It is. Shall I call Adam?’

‘I’ll do it.’ Lewis stood up. ‘I know where he is, you don’t.’

He strode out of the kitchen. Fran watched.

‘He isn’t quite what I expected,’ she said.

‘No. He’s not as openly camp as you might expect, and he’s a genuinely nice bloke,’ said Libby. ‘And at the moment he’s feeling really bad because he thinks he’s been let down by Tony West, which he has, and now he feels guilty for thinking that because West’s dead.’

‘Nothing to do with him, though,’ said Fran.

‘Really?’

Fran turned to look at her friend. ‘As far as I can see,’ she said, ‘but I’d like a look over the house and grounds when the police have gone, all the same.’

When all the sandwiches, fruit and cheese, supplemented by a very good white wine produced by Lewis, had gone Libby loaded the dishwasher, packed her own things in her basket and suggested they start the tour with a visit to the parterre, where Adam had vanished the minute the clearing up began.

Lewis led the way across the front lawn, which Libby hadn’t seen before. She was pleasantly surprised at the open aspect, rather than the rather gloomy side approach with which she was more familiar. At the side, an arched door was set in an old wall. Beyond this worked Adam, singing along to his MP3 player. Libby and Fran watched him playing with small sticks and pieces of string while Lewis went and stood in front of him to catch his attention.

Adam explained the thinking behind the restoration of the parterre, and showed them where he and Mog had excavated the original outlines of the garden. Fran wandered away.

‘Can we see the wood now?’ she asked, when Adam had finished his explanation.

Lewis and Adam exchanged glances.

‘I suppose so,’ said Lewis, ‘although there’s still tape over the path.’

‘I’d just like to see where Adam found the bones. Not close up. Just in general.’ Fran turned and began to leave the garden, going, Libby noticed, in the right direction.

‘OK.’ Lewis sighed, patted Adam on the shoulder and followed.

‘Why did she come?’ Adam asked Libby with a frown.

‘She felt something I think. I told you yesterday.

She’s intrigued despite herself. And if it helps Lewis, what harm is there?’

‘None,’ said Adam, ‘but I just don’t want you getting involved and Ben blaming me for it.’

‘Not much chance of that,’ said Libby, and ignoring Adam’s enquiring gaze, she set off to follow Lewis and Fran.

She caught them up at the other side of the house by the smaller lawn which led to the wood. She could see the blue and white tape fluttering in the slight breeze and looked round nervously for signs that the police were still there.

‘No,’ said Lewis. ‘Madam’s gone, taking her bully boys with her. They didn’t find anything.’

Fran nodded and went on towards the wood. Libby put a restraining hand on Lewis’s arm and watched. After a moment, Fran stepped neatly round the last section of tape and disappeared.

‘Come on,’ said Lewis, ‘we’d better see what she’s up to.’

‘Oh, she’ll be fine,’ said Libby. ‘She won’t disturb anything.’ But she followed Lewis into the wood, where they found Fran staring thoughtfully at the ground a little way beyond the earth displaced by Adam’s digger.

‘This area’s been searched, hasn’t it?’ she asked Lewis.

‘They did a fingertip search through the whole wood.’

‘But they didn’t dig any more?’

‘All round the site of the skeleton, yes.’ Lewis waved his arm towards the swathe of disturbed ground. Fran nodded.

‘How old was Tony?’ she asked Lewis.

‘You asked me that,’ said Libby.

‘But Lewis will know.’

He shrugged. ‘Late forties? We never talked about it. No reason.’

Fran looked round at the wood.

‘They won’t find anything else here,’ she said. ‘Not unless they dig up the whole wood.’

‘Would they find something then?’ Libby asked.

‘Possibly. I expect the bones have been scattered by now.’

‘What about clothing?’

Fran shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I can’t see any.’

‘What does she mean?’ whispered Lewis. ‘Can’t see any?’

‘In her mind,’ said Libby. ‘Come on, you were interested in what she might find out.’

‘Now I’m not sure,’ muttered Lewis. ‘She’s a bit scary.’

‘But not a fake,’ insisted Libby. ‘Quite genuine and very ambivalent about this strange gift she’s got.’

Fran came back to them. ‘May I see the house now, Lewis?’ she asked. ‘I think there might be something there.’

Without a word, Lewis led them back to the house and upstairs to the solar. Fran stood in the middle of it looking round with pleasure.

‘The only stuff left behind after old Shepherd did his vanishing act were a few letters and photographs,’ said Lewis. ‘The police have been through the lot, but there wasn’t anything there. They were all too old.’

‘Have they started looking for the relatives?’ asked Fran.

‘There would only be the son, Kenneth, and the daughter-in-law, Cindy Dale. The one he was supposed to have run off with,’ said Libby.

‘And you said about three years ago?’

‘I think so.’

Fran turned and looked straight at Lewis. ‘Then that body is not Gerald Shepherd,’ she said.

Chapter Twelve

LEWIS GAPED. ‘NOT –?’

‘No.’ Fran shook her head. ‘Could I see the letters and photographs he left behind? If the police haven’t kept them?’

Recovering, Lewis went to a large, carved oak chest under the window. ‘Here,’ he said holding out a folder. ‘The police put them in that.’

Fran took the folder to the little side table and began to leaf through the contents. Libby went and looked over her shoulder. The letters seemed to be purely personal ones, mainly from friends, with the occasional scrawled message from Kenneth, usually asking for money.

‘These must be from before he pulled himself together and married Cindy,’ said Libby, handing over those Fran had finished with to Lewis.

‘And long before Dungeon Trial,’ he said. ‘I thought there might be something there.’

‘A connection to Tony West? Yes, so did I,’ said Libby, ‘but he wasn’t connected to the programme at all.’

‘I still don’t understand why he was able to sell me the house,’ said Lewis, sitting down in one of the large leather armchairs. ‘Why did he have that thing?’

‘Power of attorney? I don’t know. That’s what the police are trying to find out, I expect.’

‘But why,’ said Fran, turning suddenly, ‘did they turn up today with a search warrant? They must have discovered something. They hadn’t searched before.’

‘I dunno.’ Lewis shrugged. ‘Big Bertha kept asking me about Tony this morning. Nothing about old whatsit.’

‘What sort of thing was she asking about?’

‘Same old, same old. How long had I known him, how did we meet, when did I first see this place, what did we talk about. I ask you! What sort of a question is that?’

‘What did you say?’ asked Libby.

‘When we first got together nothing! It was more action, if you know what I mean.’

Libby looked at Fran and grinned. ‘I’m sure,’ she said, ‘but what about later?’

‘Gawd, you’re as bad as she is,’ said Lewis.

‘It was your idea to ask me here,’ said Libby. ‘We’ll go if you like.’

Lewis shifted uncomfortably in his chair. ‘No. Sorry. I don’t know exactly. We talked about my career, then he got me on Housey Housey, and I reckon he leant on someone for that. Then he got me me own show, and he leant a bit harder. That wasn’t why someone knocked him off, was it?’

‘Because he wangled you into television? I shouldn’t have thought so,’ said Libby.

‘But it all seems tied up with me and this place,’ wailed Lewis. ‘I love it, but I wish I’d never seen it.’

Fran gave him a look that reminded Libby of her old headmistress.

‘Have a look at these photographs,’ she said, pushing them under his nose, ‘and try and be helpful.’

Lewis, looking surprised, took them.

‘Recognise anybody?’ Fran was watching him.

‘No.’ He shook his head. ‘These are all old. They must belong to old whatsit.’

‘Gerald Shepherd,’ said Libby with a sigh.

‘Must try and remember,’ he said, a little shamefaced. ‘Like the dog.’

‘Eh?’

‘German Shepherd,’ he said with a grin. ‘Then I’ll remember.’

‘These would have been here when Shepherd still lived here,’ said Fran, effectively calling the meeting to order, ‘but do we know whether he was living here when he disappeared?’

‘I never thought of that!’ said Libby. ‘Was he, Lewis?’

‘No idea,’ said Lewis, looking surprised. ‘I mean, I didn’t know anything about him until the other day, did I?’

‘Hmm.’ Fran took the photographs back and flicked through them.

‘May I see?’ asked Libby.

Fran handed them over. ‘See if there’s anyone you recognise in them,’ she said.

‘Should I?’

‘I don’t know. You might do.’

Libby frowned and began looking through the photographs. Some were studio prints of Gerald Shepherd, obviously taken in the era when it was considered the done thing to be seen at an improbable angle with the light behind you, and some slightly dog-eared black and white prints of young people on a beach. There were a few in colour taken in the eighties, by the look of the clothes.

Shepherd appeared in a few, two of which where he had his arm loosely round the shoulders of a young man with a beard.

‘Only Shepherd himself,’ said Libby, handing them back to Fran.

‘Neither of you recognised the man with him?’ Fran held up the colour prints.

Lewis shook his head. ‘No,’ said Libby. ‘Is it his son? Kenneth?’

‘I had a look on the Internet before I came over,’ said Fran, ‘and Kenneth was only about thirty when his father disappeared, so it can’t be.’ She looked at the pictures again. ‘Would it be all right if I borrowed these?’ she asked Lewis.

‘Yeah, if you want. I don’t need them, do I?’

‘Do you think there’s a connection with these and the skeleton?’ asked Libby. ‘The police obviously didn’t, or they’d have taken them away.’

‘They took some other stuff away,’ said Lewis. ‘There were some photo albums in the loft. Well, attic, I suppose. Did you want to have a look up there? Or anywhere else in the house?’

‘If you don’t mind,’ said Fran. ‘Coming, Lib?’

The house was a strange mixture of immaculate restoration and neglect. As Libby had already discovered, the kitchen was half and half.

‘Who did it all?’ asked Libby, as they scrambled through the dusty attics.

‘German Shepherd started the restoration years ago, but let it go. No one had been living in it when I bought it.’ He frowned. ‘Not even Tony.’

Fran turned from an inspection of an interesting box which had, however, nothing inside it, and looked at him. ‘When did he first bring you down here to see it?’

‘While I was doing Housey Housey. He thought it might make a project for the show.’

‘Did he say he owned it?’

Lewis thought back. ‘I don’t think so. I just assumed he did.’

‘But you didn’t do it on the show?’

‘No. It was too big, really. I just never heard any more about it. Then he mentioned it again not so long back and I said I’d like to buy it. Well, you know the rest.’

‘Did he suggest you bought it, or did you?’ asked Libby.

Lewis screwed up his face. ‘Gawd, Libby, you’re at it again. I dunno. Let me think.’ He sat down on an unstable-looking chair. ‘What it was, he said did I remember this place, and I said ’course I did, I’d loved it, and he said the owner wanted to sell, a quick sale, and he was to do it on behalf of him. The owner, that is.’

‘So it was his suggestion?’ said Libby.

‘I s’pose so. I didn’t think about it at the time. I handed over the money and signed all the bits and pieces and that was that.’

‘Libby said you had a threatening message,’ said Fran. ‘Why do you think that was?’

‘I dunno. I didn’t get the telly jobs legit, that’s all I can think of. I still reckon Tony sent it.’

‘Did you tell the police about it?’

He shook his head. ‘I should have done, shouldn’t I?’

‘They might have been able to find out where it came from if it wasn’t Tony,’ said Libby.

‘Have you finished in here?’ Lewis stood up. ‘Can we move on? It’s a bit spooky.’

Fran was quiet as they toured the rest of the house. Part of one of the wings was in such a state of disrepair they could go no further than the hallway, and they returned to the solar.

‘Is there any information on the history of the house?’ asked Fran.

‘What, deeds and things? I’ve got those somewhere.’ Lewis went to his ornate desk.

‘No, I mean any booklets or reference works.’

‘Oh.’ Lewis frowned. ‘Local library? It’s never been open to the public, so I don’t suppose anyone thought of doing a book.’

‘There must be archive material somewhere,’ said Fran. ‘Household accounts books, that sort of thing.’

Lewis’s eyes opened wide. ‘Really? Why? Why would anyone want them?’

‘Big houses usually kept them. Housekeeper’s day books and laundry lists. They’re valuable social history.’

‘County archive,’ said Libby. ‘You could look there. Say you’re writing a history of the house.’

‘Why would you want them, though?’ asked Lewis. ‘Stuff that happened years ago don’t have anything to do with Tony or that bleedin’ skeleton.’

‘It might,’ said Fran, looking stubborn. ‘Do you mind if I try and find out?’

He shrugged. ‘’Course not. Do you need my permission, or something?’

‘I don’t think so, but if anyone asks I’ll refer them to you, OK?’

‘OK.’

‘What about Gerald Shepherd’s will?’ asked Libby. ‘I just thought of that.’

‘Was it found?’ asked Fran.

‘Gawd knows,’ said Lewis, looking even more bewildered. ‘What’s that got to do with it?’

‘It might explain Tony West’s right to have the Lasting Power of Attorney,’ said Fran.

‘Oh, is that what it is now?’ said Libby. ‘Or will it stay Enduring because it was done before the new law?’

Fran shrugged. ‘Don’t know,’ she said, ‘I only know the term because Guy and I have been making new wills and sorting out our own powers of attorney.’

‘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.