Chapter Twenty-five

FRAN AND LIBBY SPENT a tiring but ultimately successful day in London. Libby’s daughter Belinda met them for lunch, but Fran could not be persuaded to invite her own daughter Lucy.

‘She’d whine about bringing the children and then try and insist I went out to Tulse Hill to see them instead,’ she said. ‘I can do without that.’

On Sunday the weather went back to being late spring-like and stayed like it for the next few days. Adam went back to work at Creekmarsh, Mog joined him for a few hours a day and Lewis and Katie apparently stayed in London. Adam reported that no police had been seen and everything seemed to have returned to normal. Ben and Libby had another look round Steeple Farm and decided that Lewis’s interest had been fleeting and born of the circumstances at the time. They would have to go it alone. Luckily, Mog had contacts with reliable local builders, one of whom was a qualified lime plasterer and had been employed by English Heritage on restoration work in the area. He was able to make a start on the odd bits of refurbishment that would be needed, but before that Libby and Ben had to decide what extremities of bad taste would have to be ripped out.

Libby regularly pushed down the uncomfortable feeling that she was doing the wrong thing, and found herself going round her cottage talking to it. She kept reminding herself that she wasn’t selling it, and only moving into Steeple Farm as a sort of caretaker, but it didn’t make any difference.

Ben, usually sensitive to her moods, had happily accepted what he saw as the new situation and spent the evenings talking renovations. He had also thrown himself into the role of Guy’s best man, and was helping move some of Guy’s belongings and furniture into Fran’s still sparsely furnished Coastguard Cottage.

‘Don’t you mind?’ asked Libby curiously. ‘You so wanted to be on your own at first.’

‘That was at first,’ said Fran. ‘And I had a lot to work through, didn’t I? All those memories and discoveries from the past.’

‘And Ian didn’t help, did he?’

‘It wasn’t Ian’s fault,’ sighed Fran. ‘It was me. It was the novelty of having a younger man fancying me. It confused me for a bit.’

‘And he is very attractive,’ said Libby slyly.

‘Yes, he is.’ There was a short silence. ‘But not as attractive as Guy,’ Fran said eventually, and Libby smiled.

The Skeleton in the Garden case, as the media referred to it, slipped to the inside pages of the newspapers and wasn’t mentioned at all on the television news. Neither was Tony West’s murder, although the press hadn’t been told of the link between the two cases. If they had been, thought Libby, it might still have been at least page two news.

On Thursday, two weeks before Fran and Guy’s wedding and two weeks since Libby first met Lewis, Fran called Libby.

‘I know this sounds silly,’ she said, ‘but I had a dream last night.’

‘Oh?’

‘Yes. And I’m pretty sure it meant Cindy was in England before Sunday.’

‘Oh, Fran, that doesn’t seem very –’

‘I know what you’re going to say, Lib,’ interrupted Fran, ‘but it is based on something concrete.’

‘Her reaction when she found out he was dead, though. Lewis said she was hysterical.’

‘Yet she didn’t say anything about going to see him when she arrived at Creekmarsh, did she? Wouldn’t you have thought she would have asked if she could at least call him after Lewis told her the whole story?’

‘I suppose so,’ said Libby slowly. ‘And she didn’t, did she? You would have thought she would want to know where the money was, as it was due to be hers eventually. And the other thing was, she actually told Lewis all about knowing Tony, and him covering up the murder.’

‘Why didn’t Lewis mention it to her then?’

‘I think he thought he had, or that she already knew.’

‘Her behaviour doesn’t ring true. I’m going to try and find out a bit more.’

‘Fran! We’re out of it,’ said Libby. ‘Why do you want to do this?’

‘Because I can’t get it out of my mind. I’m going to see if I can track down any historical references to Creekmarsh.’

‘What good will that do?’ asked Libby, bewildered.

‘Hiding places,’ said Fran crisply. ‘I’ll let you know if I find anything.’

‘I’m going to look too,’ said Libby, and switching off the phone went straight to the computer.

At first, it looked as though there was little on the Internet about Creekmarsh, but by dint of following seemingly insignificant clues, she eventually chanced on a local website about villages in the area with a whole page about the village, the church and the house.

Creekmarsh Place had been built towards the end of the sixteenth century, and most of the history concerned the families through whose hands it had passed. Part of the house had been destroyed by fire in the eighteenth century and there were rumours of passages running between the church, the house and the inn, although none of these had been found, and both the church and the inn had been rebuilt during the nineteenth century, so it was unlikely that, if they ever had existed, they continued to do so now.

After an hour of following up promising-looking clues and cross-referencing with historical documents, Libby was ready to give up, when something caught her eye. There was a tunnel at Creekmarsh. Leading to an ice-house. Her heart gave a great thump in her chest just as the phone began to ring.

‘Lib?’ Fran’s voice sounded muffled.

‘Where are you?’

‘Just outside the library,’ said Fran. ‘Trying to keep my voice down. I’ve found something.’

‘So have I.’

‘Oh?’ Now Fran sounded put out.

‘On the computer. What did you find?’

‘There’s an ice-house.’

‘Joined to Creekmarsh by a tunnel.’

‘Oh, bugger,’ said Fran, who never swore. ‘I never should have taught you how to use a computer.’

Libby laughed. ‘I’m so pleased you did,’ she said, ‘although I do waste time on it. Anyway, did you find anything else?’

‘Yes. Did you?’

‘No, that was it, except bits and pieces about the history.’

‘Well, in the library they’ve actually got archives of all sorts of things, how much people were paid, what was ordered for the kitchen, that sort of thing.’

‘And?’

‘There’s mention of a “strong room”. Where do you think that was?’

‘I don’t know. What date was this?’

‘Mid eighteen hundreds. About 1848, I think.’

‘Hmm,’ said Libby. ‘That was when the church was rebuilt.’

‘Has that got anything to do with it?’

‘I don’t know. I’m thinking.’

‘Be careful,’ said Fran.

‘Can you take any notes about that strong room? Or copy the pages? And would there be anything about the pub?’

‘The pub?’

‘The Fox, opposite the turning towards the house. On the history site I found, it said it used to be connected to the church and the house before it was rebuilt.’

‘I’ll go and try. You carry on playing with the Internet. I’ll call you when I’ve finished.’

Libby laughed. ‘What are we like?’ she said. ‘We’re not supposed to be doing this.’

‘I know.’ Fran sighed. ‘I just can’t seem to help it.’

Libby returned to the computer and searched for The Fox. Luckily, it had its own website, with a good sprinkling of interior photographs and a history page, which actually mentioned the “secret passage”. The writer had indulged his or her love of romance by embroidering the story with tales of reckless smugglers, which wasn’t altogether unlikely, thought Libby, given that Creekmarsh had such excellent masked access from the river via the inlet. Which brought her back to Cindy and the reason Fran had embarked on this search.

However, The Fox claimed to have no knowledge of the continued existence of the passage, and although there was a very limited website for the little church, it made no reference to anything secret: passage, tunnel or otherwise.

Fran phoned a little late and said she’d been allowed to make copies of relevant pages, but there was nothing else in the library except a small poster advertising The Fox.

‘Shall we go and have a look?’ asked Libby. ‘We could go to The Fox for lunch.’

‘OK, I’ll meet you there in – what? Half an hour?’

‘You’re keen,’ said Libby, and switching off, went upstairs to put on something respectable before calling Ben to ask once more for the loan of the Land Rover.

The Fox, on the bend of the road opposite the lane to Creekmarsh and the church, was a two-storey, cream-washed building under a red-tiled roof, with two single-storey additions, one at each end. Window boxes planted with pelargoniums and petunias hung under the windows and a chalkboard apparently held aloft by a beaming chef announced daily specials. Libby parked the Land Rover next to Fran’s little car in the car park behind the pub, and found Fran in the garden.

‘Have you ordered?’

‘No,’ said Fran, squinting up into the sun. ‘I thought I’d wait for you.’ She stood up and led the way inside.

There hadn’t been too much tarting up, thought Libby; no glittering horse brasses or tables with beaten brass tops, and at the end of the bar were copies of several daily papers. They ordered two mineral waters and two ham salads and Libby smiled confidingly at the woman behind the counter.

‘We hear there’s a secret passage here?’ she said.

The woman shook her head and laughed. ‘Oh, that’s just on the website and in the brochure,’ she said. ‘My Frank got a bit overexcited about that.’

‘Oh?’ Libby hitched herself onto a bar stool. ‘He didn’t make it up?’

‘Oh, no,’ said the woman. ‘There was a tunnel, apparently, went to the church and then on to the big house, but it was blocked off when this place was rebuilt.’

‘What a pity,’ said Libby. ‘When was that? It looks old.’

‘Same time as the church, we think. 1849, ’50. Something like that.’

‘Smugglers?’ asked Fran.

‘Yeah, definitely. ’Course, by that time there weren’t many left, it was all through those old wars it went on.’

‘Brandy for the Parson,’ said Libby.

‘Baccy for the Clerk,’ added Fran.

‘Laces for a lady, letters for a spy,’ they chanted together. The landlady stared at them in surprise.

‘Rudyard Kipling’s ‘Smuggler’s Song’,’ said Libby. ‘I bet your Frank’s heard of it. Very famous. Otherwise known as Watch The Wall My Darling, While The Gentlemen Go By.’

‘Right.’ The landlady looked doubtful. ‘I’ll ask him.’

‘So he doesn’t know where the tunnel might have come out?’ asked Fran.

‘In the cellars, I suppose. Makes sense, doesn’t it?’

Libby and Fran looked at each other.

‘Cellars?’ said Libby.

‘Are they still there?’ said Fran.

‘Well, of course they are!’ The landlady laughed. ‘All pubs have cellars. Don’t suppose they’re the same as they were a coupla hundred years ago, though.’

‘No,’ said Libby, disappointed.

‘Why are you so interested?’ The landlady turned and leant through a hatch, bringing back two plates of ham salad with a brief thanks to a disembodied voice from beyond.

‘We read about it on the Internet,’ said Fran, shooting Libby a warning glance.

‘You’re not tourists?’ The woman frowned.

‘No, I’m from Steeple Martin and Fran lives in Nethergate,’ said Libby, unwrapping her knife and fork.

The landlady’s brow cleared. ‘Hang on,’ she said, ‘I know you! You’re the lady who does the murders!’

Libby made a face and Fran blushed.

‘You’re the psychic lady, aren’t you?’ The landlady now looked delighted. ‘Is this passage something to do with – ooh!’ She put her hand over her mouth and her eyes widened. In the corner a group of locals looked over their shoulders with interest. ‘That skeleton they found?’ she continued in a whisper.

Fran sighed. ‘No, I’m afraid it isn’t,’ she said. The landlady looked disappointed. ‘It is for the owner of Creekmarsh, though,’ Fran continued, lowering her voice. ‘He thought he might be able to trace the passage.’

‘Fantastic!’ The landlady’s eyes were shining. ‘I’ll tell Frank the minute he gets back.’

‘Is he away?’ asked Libby, wondering what Fran was up to.

‘Oh, he’s just visiting an old mate of his who’s in a home, bless him.’

‘Oh, dear, I’m sorry,’ said Libby.

‘Yeah, it’s a shame,’ said the landlady. ‘I never knew him, but he wasn’t all that old. Alzheimer’s, you know.’

Chapter Twenty-six

IF THE LANDLADY NOTICED the frozen expressions on the faces in front of her, she gave no sign of it. Libby was the first to recover.

‘Alzheimer’s? That’s terrible. An old friend, was he?’

‘Yeah. Frank knew him before we met.’ The landlady nodded at them cheerfully. ‘I’ll leave you to your salads. I’ll tell Frank as soon as he gets back.’

‘It couldn’t be, could it?’ whispered Libby, as they carried their plates back into the garden.

‘I don’t see how,’ said Fran. ‘It’s just one of those coincidences that crop up all the time. After all, if this Frank knew where Gerald Shepherd was all the time when the hunt was on for him, and especially now with the discovery of the skeleton, he would have spoken up, wouldn’t he?’

Libby nodded. ‘And the wife isn’t in the first flush of youth,’ she said, through a mouthful of ham, ‘so they must have been married for some time.’

‘Which means the friend must date from years ago,’ said Fran.

‘But,’ said Libby, pointing her fork, ‘that doesn’t mean it isn’t Shepherd. Frank might have known him years ago, but only started to visit him when he got Alzheimer’s.’

‘I think we’re making too much of it,’ said Fran, squirting mayonnaise from a sachet onto her lettuce. ‘It’s coincidence, like I said.’

They finished their meals and loitered for as long as they decently could, but Frank declined to put in an appearance, and they were forced to leave, promising the landlady (‘Call me Bren, everyone does’) they would return.

Fran drove down the lane and parked next to the church.

‘Will it be open, do you think?’ asked Libby as they climbed out.

‘I think they lock them these days, don’t they?’ said Fran. ‘Vandalism.’

Libby went up to the door and checked. ‘Yup,’ she said. ‘Locked.’ They stood together in the porch and read the few notices; times of services, a couple of appeals and a poster advertising meetings of a local branch of the WI.

‘Churchwarden’s number, look,’ said Fran. ‘Perhaps we should ring him.’

‘And perhaps we shouldn’t,’ said Libby. ‘Come on, we can’t go that far.’

‘Shall we go down and see Adam, then?’ Fran walked out of the porch and began to go round the church, peering at the bottom of the walls.

‘We can if you like.’ Libby watched her friend with amusement. ‘You’re not going to find anything here, you know,’ she said.

‘I know, I know.’ Fran straightened up and pushed a lock of her hair behind her ear. ‘Shall we walk across to the house?’

‘What are you actually looking for?’ asked Libby, as they crossed the lane to the Creekmarsh drive.

‘The opening of a passage,’ said Fran.

‘But they will all have been closed up,’ said Libby.

‘What about the ice-house?’ said Fran. ‘I bet the tunnel to that will be somewhere in the kitchen area.’

‘And the strong room? Did you find any more references to that?’

Fran shook her head. ‘What would you keep in a strong room?’

‘The dictionary says jewellery and valuables.’

‘So it would be an ideal place for Tony West to hide any of Cindy’s and Gerald’s documents.’

‘Well, yes,’ said Libby doubtfully, ‘but we’ve searched the house and so have the police. They’d have found a secret room or a hidden passage even if we didn’t.’

‘What about the unrestored part of the house?’

‘The police would have searched that, too,’ said Libby.

They continued towards the house in silence and found the big oak door open. Following sounds of clattering crockery, they went into the kitchen and found Mog and Adam making tea.

‘Tea break,’ said Adam cheerfully. ‘Want some?’

‘No thanks,’ said Libby, pulling out a chair and sitting down. ‘We’ve just had lunch at The Fox over the road.’

‘Oh?’ Mog looked interested. ‘What’s it like?’

‘Average pub food. We had salads, so you can’t really tell,’ said Libby.

‘But the ham was good,’ said Fran, sitting beside Libby.

‘Anyway, what are you doing here?’ asked Adam. ‘Lewis still isn’t back.’

‘I know,’ said Libby, looking at Fran.

‘I’m still interested,’ she said, looking down at her hands clasped before her on the table.

‘Even if the police aren’t,’ said Libby.

‘Oh, they are,’ said Adam. ‘They’ve been here on and off all week. I think they’re still looking for clues about Cindy.’

‘So am I,’ said Fran. ‘They’ve found no trace of her, then?’

‘Nothing except the boat down at the sailing club. That turned up just round the corner of the inlet where it goes into the river, jammed into the bank.’

‘So was it a red herring?’ asked Fran.

Adam looked dubious. ‘I think she did go off in it, but how it got back here I’ve no idea. I don’t think they have, either.’

‘So what do you think happened?’ Libby asked Fran.

‘I think she’s been running rings round everybody,’ said Fran slowly. ‘I’m sure she was back in the country before Sunday, and knew Tony West was dead. Otherwise why would she turn up?’

Mog was looking bewildered. Adam grinned at him. ‘I’ll explain it all later,’ he said.

‘You mean if Tony West was still alive she wouldn’t have dared come back?’ said Libby.

Fran nodded.

‘So what are you saying? She went to his house and found him dead?’

‘Or –’ said Fran.

‘She killed him?’ gasped Libby. ‘But why?’

‘Don’t you think her story of being packed out of the way after Gerald killed his son was a bit thin?’

Libby frowned. ‘Well – yes, I suppose it was.’

‘Wouldn’t it make more sense if she went off because she killed him?’

Libby stared blankly. ‘But what about Gerald? Why was he packed off?’

‘Not being reliable enough to stick to a story?’

‘Yes, but –’ began Libby.

‘Why did Tony help her in the first place?’

‘Yes.’

‘I don’t know.’ Fran shrugged. ‘I’d got that far, because it gives her a motive for killing West before coming to try and claim her inheritance.’

‘Or what she thought of as her inheritance,’ said Libby. ‘Is that why she killed Kenneth?’

‘We don’t know that she did kill Kenneth,’ said Fran. ‘As I said, I’m only theorizing.’

‘So why has she run away now?’ asked Adam suddenly.

‘Perhaps she thought she wasn’t going to get away with it.’

‘So she found her passports and skedaddled?’

Libby shook her head. ‘She couldn’t use either of the passports. The false one would have been retained by the police, and if she tried to use her real one she’d be stopped straight away.’

‘So where’s she gone?’ asked Adam.

‘Does she know where Gerald is, do you think?’ said Libby, turning to Fran.

‘You think she’d go after him?’ Fran said. ‘I suppose she might, if she did know.’

‘Then we need to find out where he is first,’ said Libby.

‘Oh, come on, Lib!’ Fran laughed. ‘I expect the police have been looking for him for the last two weeks.’

‘You don’t suppose you’re barking up the wrong tree after all?’ Mog put in diffidently. ‘Couldn’t it have been this West guy who killed the skeleton, whoever it is?’

‘In that case who killed him?’ asked Libby.

‘Someone who wanted revenge?’

‘It’s all just speculation,’ said Fran, standing up. ‘Whatever the police thought, they must have changed their minds after Cindy’s story, so now they’ll be trying to prove or disprove it.’

‘While looking for Cindy again. She’s disappeared once in her life, so she must be good at it,’ said Libby.

‘According to her, she had help from West the last time,’ said Fran.

‘Are you saying we still don’t really know about that, too?’ said Libby.

‘We already knew Cindy and Gerald had disappeared. And a skeleton with matching DNA to Gerald has been found. The police haven’t confirmed that it’s Kenneth – perhaps they don’t know, either. I think that’s about all we do know for certain,’ said Fran. ‘Anyway, I want to see if we can find the entrance to any of these passages.’

‘Passages?’ Adam looked up. Libby explained. ‘The police were poking around in the other part of the house yesterday,’ he said. ‘Do you reckon that’s what they were looking for?’

‘Could be,’ said Fran. ‘As I said before, when we found the photographs, I’m just thinking that if Tony West knew this house well he would have known where to hide stuff. Not sure whether the police would have found out about the passages.’

‘We can always tell them if we find anything,’ said Libby. ‘If we try and tell them before, they won’t take any notice of us.’

‘You can’t blame them,’ said Adam with a grin.

‘We’re usually right,’ said Libby indignantly. ‘Come on, Fran. Let’s start looking.’ She turned to Adam. ‘Lewis won’t mind, will he?’

Adam shrugged. ‘I doubt it. He’s let you run tame so far.’

‘Yes, but when he left he’d had enough. Not just of the whole case but of us, too,’ said Libby.

‘Well, he’s not here now, so carry on.’ Adam stood up. ‘We’ll get back to work.’

Mog, who looked as though he would rather help with the search, followed Adam outside and Fran went towards the door Katie always used to leave the kitchen.

This led into a small inner hall with two more doors. Fran opened the first one, peered in, then shut it again.

‘Katie’s rooms,’ she said, and opened the other door. This led to another passage which looked in far worse repair and ended at the bottom of a staircase. This was definitely the unrestored part of the house. Cobwebs festooned the curving banisters, and rubble and possibly unmentionable detritus covered most of the floor. There were no other doors.

‘What about the strong room being up there?’ said Libby, peering up the staircase.

‘Do you think those stairs are safe?’ asked Fran.

‘They’re stone,’ said Libby, testing the first step, ‘so they should be.’

Cautiously, they set off up the stairs, keeping close to the wall, but as they rounded the curve halfway up they discovered a fall of plaster that cut off further ascent.

‘That’s that, then,’ said Fran as they made their way down. ‘Unless we can get through from Lewis’s part of the house.’

‘He wouldn’t let us before,’ said Libby.

‘That was because we were only thinking about Gerald leaving something behind, not Tony West hiding something. Shall we try?’

‘I’m not sure,’ said Libby, feeling uncomfortable. ‘How about we go out that little back door and have a look round the walls and see if we can find anything?’

They retraced their steps back along the passage and through the kitchen to the hall. The little oak door was bolted. Fran looked round. ‘No other doors,’ she said.

Libby looked at the floor. ‘Heavy stone flags,’ she said, ‘nothing under there.’

Fran drew the bolts on the door and pushed it open. ‘Where do you think the passages would have run?’ she said.

‘If there really is one linking here, the church and the pub, I would have thought it came from the river,’ said Libby. ‘But that doesn’t matter, it’s the entrance that’s important.’

‘Yes,’ said Fran, ‘but if the entrances have all been blocked up this end, there might still be an entrance somewhere else.’

‘After all this time? I shouldn’t think so,’ said Libby. ‘I think this is a wild goose chase, Fran.’

‘I know you do,’ said Fran, ‘but those documents have got to be somewhere, and I think that’s here.

And you said yourself, Gerald needs to be found.’

‘Do you really think Cindy would go for him?’

‘If he’s the only one left alive to witness her murdering Kenneth, yes,’ said Fran, ‘but if she isn’t the killer – I don’t know. I think he needs to be found in any case.’

Libby started inspecting the old brick walls to the right of the little door, going towards the unrestored part of the house. ‘If there is anything it’s going to be this side,’ she said.

But the brickwork and the bleached timber framing were in a bad state of repair and no openings were apparent. ‘It wouldn’t be here on the outside anyway,’ said Fran, straightening up. ‘I bet it’s under the floor somewhere inside.’

‘The ice-house passage might still be there,’ said Libby. ‘And the strong room.’

‘Ice houses were usually some distance from the house,’ said Fran.

‘And I didn’t know they had internal passages to go to them,’ said Libby. ‘I thought they were miles out in the grounds and the poor servants had to trudge out in all weathers.’

‘Most of them were underground, though, or had the ground built up round them.’ Fran turned to peer down towards the river. ‘And they were often near water, so ice could be collected easily.’

‘Why would it have had a passage?’

‘Part of the ventilation and cooling system, I expect,’ said Fran. ‘And if that was the only way in there won’t be any external entrance.’

‘What about loading the ice?’

‘That’s a point,’ said Fran. ‘I wonder if the police have searched the grounds thoroughly?’

‘Adam said he didn’t see them when they were first looking for Cindy.’

‘Do you think he might know where the icehouse is?’

‘I suppose Mog might, but only if Lewis did, and surely he would have mentioned it as a possible hiding place earlier.’

Fran nodded. ‘What I want to know now is how much of a search was made at the time Gerald and Cindy disappeared.’

‘Yes, because it couldn’t have been Kenneth looking for them as it said on those websites,’ said Libby. ‘Not if he was already dead.’

‘So were the police involved?’ Fran turned and went back inside the house. ‘How do we find out?’

‘Google it again?’ suggested Libby.

‘It was mainly newspaper articles, wasn’t it? They would say if there was a police investigation.’

‘Let’s go home and do that,’ said Libby, who was beginning to feel like a trespasser. ‘We’re not going to find anything here.’

‘I might call in at the pub again,’ mused Fran, as they went back through the kitchen. ‘See if Frank’s back.’

‘You be careful,’ warned Libby. ‘Don’t go asking him about his friend with Alzheimer’s.’

‘No, I shall just ask him about his cellars. I bet he knows more than his wife –’

‘Bren,’ put in Libby.

‘Than Bren does.’ Fran smiled. ‘He’s probably got smuggled beer and cigarettes down there!’

‘Not much call for cigarettes in a pub these days,’ said Libby gloomily.

‘Plenty of people still smoking at home, though,’ said Fran. ‘Look at you.’

‘Yeah, look at me,’ said Libby. ‘What a sad case.’ She put a hand to cup her mouth and shouted for Adam. An answering call came from the direction of the parterre, and he soon appeared in the doorway. ‘We’re off. See you later.’

Libby collected the Land Rover from The Fox car park and Fran disappeared inside. Libby sighed, put the big vehicle in gear, and set off back towards Nethergate. Somehow, not concentrating on her journey, she found herself driving along Pedlar’s Row past March Cottage. She slowed down and came to a stop outside The Red Lion. What prompted her to get out and go into the pub she couldn’t have said, but here she was, in the empty afternoon bar, and there was George sitting at the end of the bar with his newspaper.

‘Hello, hello!’ he said, beaming with pleasure and sliding off his bar stool. ‘And how are you? And your friend?’

Libby assured him she and Fran were both well and that Fran was getting married in two weeks.

‘And the cat?’ he asked, over the noise of a brand new coffee machine. He presented Libby with a foaming cup and sprinkled chocolate on top. ‘Latest thing,’ he said.

‘Yes,’ said Libby, eyeing it doubtfully. ‘Thank you.’ She put it on the bar. ‘The cat? Balzac? Oh, he’s fine. Living with Fran and spoilt rotten.’ Balzac had been adopted by Fran when his previous owner died.

‘And what about –’ George lowered his voice and nodded significantly towards the door. ‘Her?’

‘Bella? As well as she can be, you know.’ Libby tried the coffee and got a foam moustache. ‘You still keeping an eye on the cottage?’

‘Go in once a month or so,’ said George. ‘More if the weather’s bad. Will she …?’

‘Come back to it? No idea,’ said Libby, feeling uncomfortable talking about her friend who had such a bad time eighteen months ago. ‘Anyway, George, I wondered if you knew anything about a couple called Frank and Bren who run The Fox over at Creekmarsh?’

‘Cor, bless you, love! Known old Frank since we first came into the trade. Here,’ he leant forward confidentially. ‘You’re not on the trail again, are you?’

‘No,’ said Libby, feeling the telltale colour creeping up her face. ‘Just Fran and I had lunch there today, and we were wondering about the old smuggling passages in his cellar.’

‘Oh, there’s always been talk about them,’ said George. ‘I’m supposed to have them, too.’

‘Are you?’ said Libby in surprise.

‘Any pub not far from the sea along this coast was supposed to have been involved in the trade. Don’t know much about Frank’s.’

‘So he’s been there some time?’ said Libby, sipping her coffee.

‘Good few years,’ said George. ‘Good friends round there, he has.’

‘There don’t seem to be many houses,’ said Libby.

‘Ah, no, but that didn’t matter, see. His best mate was the bloke who owned the big house.’

Chapter Twenty-seven

‘GERALD SHEPHERD?’ MANAGED LIBBY, after spluttering on a mouthful of cappuccino.

‘That’s him. Went off with his daughter-in-law a few years back, didn’t he?’ George leant back and stared at Libby. ‘’Course, that’s what it is, isn’t it? That skeleton. They reckon it’s the son, don’t they? You’re on that, aren’t you?’

‘Um,’ said Libby.

‘Well, I don’t mind telling you what I know. Old Frank used to know him, see, the actor bloke, from London. In fact, it was because he – what’s-’isname–’

‘Gerald Shepherd.’

‘Yeah – come down to visit Frank he found the big house. So he bought it.’

‘How long ago was that?’ asked Libby.

‘Years and years. The son was still at home, then.’

‘And when Shepherd vanished, did the police look for him?’

‘Cor, bless you, no! It was obvious what had happened, wasn’t it? While the son was in that telly thing, his dad and his missus went off together. Not been seen since, have they?’

‘Er –’ said Libby.

‘Oh, ’course, they must be looking for ’em now.’ George rubbed at a spot on the bar with a tea towel. ‘They could always ask old Frank,’ he said diffidently. ‘I always reckoned he knew a bit more about it than he said. But he was a loyal bloke, even if he did think they was doing wrong.’

‘You really think he might know where Gerald went? The police have been searching for him for weeks now,’ said Libby.

‘Couldn’t say for certain,’ said George, ‘but it’d be worth a try, wouldn’t it? Not that I reckon he did it or anything, but – well, best be sure, eh?’

Libby thanked him effusively, drained her coffee and fished for her mobile. Outside she punched in Fran’s number.

‘Fran? Are you still at The Fox?’

A crackly voice answered her. Then there was a pause.

‘Fran? Are you there?’

‘Yes,’ said the voice more clearly. ‘I was in the cellar. I’m in the bar now. What did you want?’

‘You’re still there, then. I’m coming back. Have you found anything?’

‘Yes, Frank’s shown me where he thinks the tunnel used to come out, but what’s the matter?’

‘I’ll tell you when I get there. I’m at The Red Lion – I’ve been talking to George.’

‘What? What are you doing there?’

‘I’ll see you in five minutes,’ said Libby. ‘Keep him talking.’

Libby turned the Land Rover round with difficulty and set off back to Creekmarsh. It was just over five minutes later when she pulled up in The Fox car park and Fran came out to meet her.

‘What did you say to him?’ asked Libby, locking the car.

‘I said you wanted to see the tunnel entrance,’ said Fran, frowning. ‘What on earth’s up?’

Libby repeated her conversation with George, while Fran’s eyes got wider and wider.

‘Come on, then,’ she said, ‘we’ll go and ask him.’

‘Hang on a minute,’ said Libby. ‘He knows the police have been looking for Gerald Shepherd. If this friend of his really is him, he must have a good reason for keeping quiet. He may clam up.’

‘Then we tell him what we know,’ said Fran grimly. ‘The general public don’t know any of that. Did you say George didn’t know Cindy was back?’

‘It seemed that way,’ said Libby, following Fran into the pub.

‘Let me do the talking then,’ said Fran. ‘And don’t put your foot in it.’

Libby opened her mouth for an indignant reply, but was forestalled by the appearance of a large man in a short-sleeved checked shirt, with broad shoulders and an even broader grin.

‘This your mate, then?’ he said to Fran, and stuck out a large hand.

‘Libby Sarjeant,’ said Libby, smiling nervously back.

‘You want to see where the tunnel was, too?’ said Frank, standing back from the open bar. ‘Come on, then.’

Fran nodded to Libby, and they went behind the bar. Libby peered at a trapdoor from which led a steep stepladder.

‘I’ll go first, shall I?’ said Frank, and with surprising agility he lowered himself through the hole and down the steps. Libby followed and Fran brought up the rear.

The cellar was brightly lit, smelt slightly damp and was crowded with crates and crates of bottles and barrels of beer, positioned under another trapdoor which Libby guessed led up to the outside of the pub for the draymen.

‘Here you are then,’ said Frank, going right to the end of the cellar, where the stone ceiling began to slope downwards. She could just about make out the shape of a low, arched doorway, which had obviously been painted over many times.

‘That’s where it was, right enough,’ said Frank.

‘Bren didn’t seem to know,’ said Libby. Fran frowned at her.

‘Oh, Bren takes no notice of things like this. Lives in the moment, you might say.’ Frank let his hand wander over the outline of the door. ‘I’d love to open this up, but I think the whole place might come down if I tried.’

‘Where do you think it goes?’ said Libby. Fran sighed and rolled her eyes.

‘To the Place and the church,’ said Frank. ‘I got a coupla old maps upstairs they say was drawn by an old parson at the church. I was just telling your mate. Want to see ’em?’

Libby could hardly contain her excitement, and Fran had to keep digging her in the ribs to remind her to keep calm. In the bar, Frank told Bren he was taking them upstairs, prompting some ribald comments from the regulars who still sat at a corner table.

‘Don’t mind them,’ said Bren. ‘You go and enjoy yourselves.’

Upstairs, Frank took them into a pleasant living room with views to the back of the pub. From a glass-fronted bookcase, he took a large leather folder, which he opened on a coffee table.

‘There,’ he said, pointing. ‘See, it looks a bit like one of those old treasure maps, don’t it? Bloke I took it to reckons it’s genuine because it’s a bit rough, like, and could be a plan for when they dug the tunnel.’

‘Why do you think it was the parson who drew it?’ asked Fran.

‘Bloke says because he was the only educated one. This would be in the mid 1700s, he says.’

‘When the smuggling was at its height,’ nodded Libby, ‘and the revenue men were being posted all round the coast. Lots of churches were involved, weren’t they?’

‘Some even had their towers raised,’ said Frank, ‘so they could be seen from the sea, and they reckon ours was, so they could get into the inlet.’

‘But if the big house and the church and the inn were all involved,’ frowned Libby, ‘why did they need tunnels? There wasn’t anyone else around.’

‘Ah, yeah, but it was them dragoons, you see,’ said Frank with delight. ‘This little bit, almost an island –’

‘Peninsula,’ suggested Fran.

‘Yeah, well, it was all on its own, see, so the dragoons, or revenue men, were always sniffing around. There’s an old diary they’ve got in the county library that talks about it.’

‘So, wouldn’t the squire, or whoever owned the Place, have drawn this map?’ asked Libby.

‘Squire couldn’t read or write properly,’ said Frank. ‘Parson was his sort of secretary.’

‘The Clerk!’ said Libby, delightedly.

‘Ah.’ Frank beamed at her. ‘Rudyard Kipling.’

‘So can we tell where the tunnels came out the other end?’ asked Fran.

Frank pulled the map round. ‘See this? That’s the old church. Burnt down about a hundred years later. Some say because of the smugglers.’

‘They were getting much hotter on the enforcement by then,’ said Libby. ‘The French had been using the smuggling routes to escape, and the Napoleonic spies had got in through the same routes.’

Frank gave Libby an approving nod. ‘That’s right. So the original church was destroyed and they reckoned the passage and whatever was down there went with it.’

‘What about Creekmarsh Place?’ asked Fran. ‘Where did the tunnel come out there?’

‘Same place as here,’ said Frank. ‘In the cellars.’

Fran and Libby looked at one another. ‘I didn’t know Creekmarsh had cellars,’ said Libby.

‘’Course it has,’ said Frank. ‘Hasn’t your mate been down there, yet?’

‘You mean Lewis?’ said Fran. ‘I don’t think he knows they exist, either.’

‘Where do they go?’ asked Libby.

‘What, the other end? The ice-house,’ said Frank. ‘You know what an ice-house is?’

‘Yes,’ sighed Fran and Libby together.

‘We were trying to find out where the tunnel to that was, too,’ said Libby.

‘One and the same,’ said Frank. ‘The ice-house was down by the river, somewhere, so they could get ice from boats and cut it from the river in the winter, so it made sense to have that as the smugglers’ tunnel.’

‘Might have known,’ muttered Libby.

Fran sat back in her chair. ‘And do you mean to say the police haven’t been here asking you questions about the house?’ she said to Frank.

‘Why should they? No one’s told ’em I know anything about it.’

‘But when the skeleton turned up and they started asking questions –’ began Fran.

‘Only came and asked me some general questions, like,’ said Frank.

‘And you didn’t tell them you knew Gerald Shepherd.’

There was complete silence while Frank stared at Fran as though mesmerized.

‘Or,’ Fran continued with her fingers crossed, ‘that you still visited him in a home because he has Alzheimer’s disease.’

‘How do you know?’ Frank’s voice was almost a whisper and he leant forward so that Libby could see the veins standing out on his neck. She pushed herself back in her chair.

‘I’m right, aren’t I?’ said Fran. ‘And you’ve been doing it to protect him, haven’t you?’

‘He was my mate,’ said Frank truculently.

‘Still is, obviously,’ said Fran. ‘But don’t you see you could have helped the police find out the truth? They thought that skeleton was him at first.’

‘I could have told them it wasn’t,’ said Frank scornfully.

‘Then why on earth didn’t you?’

He looked awkward. ‘I promised.’

‘Promised who?’ Libby said in surprise.

‘Gerry. Him and me was mates years ago, see, in London, and when he went into this home he didn’t want everyone to know. He wasn’t that far gone, then, see.’

‘So you knew all about him going missing, supposedly?’ Fran looked astonished.

‘Oh, yeah. It fitted with Ken’s wife going off and the papers put two and two together. That’s when I promised, see. Ken said he’d look for her –’

‘Ken said?’ echoed Libby.

‘Yeah. It was Tony who organised the home, see, while Ken was in that telly thing.’

‘Tony West?’ said Libby faintly. Why on earth hadn’t the police been to see this man?

‘Yeah. Another old mate, he was. Can’t believe he’s gone.’ Frank shook his head. ‘Anyway, when Ken come out, he went straight down to see Gerald, and when he got back to the house Cindy was gone.’

‘So he started looking for her?’

‘He made a show of it,’ said Frank. ‘He couldn’t have cared less, really, she was a grasping little bitch. Anyway, then he goes off, and that was it. Didn’t think any more about it. I just kept visiting Gerry. I asked Tony why Ken didn’t come any more and he said he didn’t know where he was.’

‘So when they put out that the skeleton was probably Kenneth, and Tony West had been murdered, you didn’t come forward?’

Frank’s cheeks became pink. ‘I didn’t want to get involved,’ he said. ‘Poor old Gerry. Don’t know what’s going on these days.’

‘What about the people who look after him?’ asked Fran. ‘Why haven’t they said anything?’

‘They don’t know who he is,’ said Frank.

‘But they’d need all his medical records,’ said Libby, ‘how can they not? You can’t go into a home under a false name.’

‘He didn’t,’ said Frank, surprisingly. ‘We just said it was the same name as the actor and they believed us. ’Course, poor bugger was looking old then, not even like he was in that Collateral Damage.’

‘Well.’ Fran sat back. ‘You’re going to have to talk to the police now, Frank.’

‘Why?’ The truculent manner was back.

‘Because Cindy Dale came back.’

‘That cow?’ Frank’s fists bunched. ‘You wait till I see her.’

‘But now she’s gone again.’

‘Gone?’ Frank looked bewildered.

‘They questioned her about Kenneth’s murder – or supposed murder – then let her go and she vanished. We don’t know where she’s gone.’

Frank pulled at his lower lip. ‘I reckon I’ll have to think about this,’ he said.

Libby leant forward. ‘Frank,’ she said, ‘Cindy told them Gerry killed Kenneth.’

‘What?’ Frank looked, eyes blazing. ‘Fuck’s sake. I’ll soon put that right.’ He stood up. ‘All right, ladies. I don’t know how you managed to get on to me when no one else has, but you’re right. I’ll go to the police. Who should I speak to?’

‘Superintendent Bertram,’ said Libby, with a grin, ‘and don’t forget to tell her we sent you!’

Chapter Twenty-eight

THE FOLLOWING MORNING LIBBY remembered she hadn’t asked Frank where Gerald Shepherd was. He answered the phone on the first ring.

‘Oh, it’s you,’ he said.

‘Who were you expecting?’ asked Libby.

‘The police,’ said Frank. ‘I phoned ’em this morning. Yes, I know I said I’d get on to them straight away, but I didn’t think one more day would hurt, and I wanted to talk it over with Bren. So I phoned this morning.’

‘And they said they’d phone you back?’

‘I asked for that Bertram, and they said she was in London. So I left a message that it was about Gerald Shepherd and they said someone would call me back straight away.’

‘So I’d better get off the line,’ said Libby, ‘but before I do, where’s the home Gerald’s in?’ ‘Why should I tell you that?’ Frank was cautious. ‘You’re not to go and see him, now.’ ‘I just wondered how far away it was,’ said Libby.

‘Not far. He used to be in a place called The Laurels, but they had a murder there a coupla years ago, so we moved him.’

‘Hmm,’ said Libby. She knew all about The Laurels. ‘So where is he now?’

‘What do you want to know for?’

‘I wondered if Cindy would go after him,’ said Libby.

‘Why? She wouldn’t know where he was, anyway.’

‘Oh, I think she might,’ said Libby, with a sigh.

‘I’ll tell the police. He’ll be safe enough.’

Libby had to give in. Frank was probably right to keep the secret for that bit longer, although how the police were going to see it was another matter. She hoped they didn’t charge him with obstruction. Then she called Adam.

‘Any news from Lewis?’

‘Not sure,’ said Adam, sounding puzzled. ‘We had the police round here again this morning, although they didn’t talk to us. They were going over the inside of the house again. Then Mog got a text from Lewis saying he’s delayed.’

‘By what?’ said Libby.

‘Didn’t say. The message just said “Delayed”. Mog texted back and so did I, but nothing else and now his phone’s switched off.’

‘Have you tried Katie?’

‘Haven’t got her number,’ said Adam. ‘We thought of that, and we were going to go and look for it in the house, but the police were there.’

‘Were you expecting him back today?’

‘No, which is even funnier. He hadn’t said anything about coming back.’

‘Looks like some kind of message,’ said Libby slowly.

Adam snorted. ‘Yeah, Ma – a text message.’

‘You know what I mean. Something must have happened and he wanted to let you know – or warn you, perhaps – and that was all he had time to do.’

‘You think something’s happened to him?’ Adam sounded alarmed.

‘I was wondering about the police, actually.’

‘The police? Why?’

‘Because Big Bertha’s gone to London.’

‘How do you know that?’

‘I have my sources,’ grinned Libby. ‘Let me know if you hear anything.’

Next she called Fran and told her what she had learned so far.

‘West’s murder,’ said Fran. ‘Oh, dear.’

‘You think that’s what it is? But Lewis said they weren’t interested in him for that.’

‘They must have found some new evidence.’ Fran was silent for a moment. ‘Libby, I’m sure there’s a weapon involved.’

‘A weapon?’

‘It looks like an outsized darning mushroom.’

‘You can see it?’

‘I think so,’ said Fran, sounding doubtful. ‘It popped into my head as soon as you told me about Lewis’s message. I should think he’s being questioned by the police about it.’

‘Heavens,’ said Libby. ‘I wonder what they’ll do next.’

‘Send someone to see Frank, I expect,’ said Fran. ‘I wonder who it’ll be?’

‘I bet I know,’ said Libby.

Ian Connell called Fran at lunchtime.

‘Not that I expect you to tell me,’ he said in a weary voice, ‘but just how did you get on to Frank Cole?’

‘At The Fox?’ said Fran warily.

‘Of course at The Fox.’

‘It’s a long story,’ said Fran.

‘I bet it is,’ said Ian. ‘Are you lunching with your fiancé?’

‘Er – no,’ said Fran, waggling her eyebrows at Guy, who was poring over seating plans.

‘May I take you to lunch then?’

‘Yes, OK. Where? It isn’t going to be an inquisition, is it?’

‘The Sloop,’ said Ian, ‘and of course it’ll be an inquisition.’

‘Do you want me to come with you?’ asked Guy, when she explained.

‘No,’ sighed Fran. ‘It’ll be awkward enough as it is, without you firing up in my defence all the time.’

‘That’s what I get for being the protective male,’ said Guy, dropping a kiss on her head. ‘Go on, go and tart yourself up and make him see what he’s missing.’

Ian was already in the bar at The Sloop when Fran walked in. He stood up and held a chair for her.

‘Drink?’ he said.

‘Orange juice, please,’ said Fran, much though she would have loved a gin and tonic.

‘So tell me what you and the inestimable Mrs Sarjeant have been up to this time,’ he said, after they had ordered. Fran sat back in her chair and looked at him.

‘You’ll only be angry,’ she said. ‘And we came across Frank completely by accident. We were looking for tunnels.’

‘Tunnels? You found him in a tunnel?’

‘Not quite.’ Fran giggled at the thought. She explained about the ice-house and smuggling tunnels, and the coincidence of Libby talking to George at The Red Lion.

‘I expect the police have been looking for tunnels, too, haven’t they?’ she said innocently. ‘They were there again this morning.’

‘Tunnels, no.’ Ian looked thoughtful. ‘Was this something to do with your – er – thoughts?’

‘Not really,’ said Fran, ‘although there was something else.’ She looked down at the table and played with her glass. ‘I saw a sort of, um, implement when I heard Lewis had been delayed in London.’

‘Delayed? How did you hear that?’ Ian’s voice was sharp.

‘He texted Mog. Libby’s son’s boss.’ Fran looked up at him anxiously. ‘Is there something wrong?’

Ian’s mouth twisted. ‘You could say that,’ he said.

‘Well, tell me, then,’ said Fran.

The waitress arrived with their food and smiled fetchingly at Ian, who scowled.

‘All I can say is that he is helping with enquiries,’ he said, cutting savagely into a sausage.

‘New evidence,’ said Fran, spearing a lettuce leaf. ‘The weapon?’

Ian glared at her. ‘All right, yes, but don’t you dare tell anyone.’

‘Not even Libby?’ said Fran sweetly.

Ian cast his eyes to heaven. ‘I would like to say especially not Libby, but there would be no point.’

Fran nodded and chewed thoughtfully. ‘Did Frank tell you Shepherd used to be at The Laurels?’

‘He did. I was charmed at the coincidence.’

Fran laughed. ‘Poor Ian,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry we’re such a nuisance. We do try not to get involved.’

‘Not hard enough,’ said Ian with a reluctant smile. ‘Come on, tell me what else you’ve been thinking about this business.’

So Fran told him everything she and Libby had thought and done since Adam first told his mother about the skeleton.

‘And I began to wonder about Cindy,’ she concluded, ‘because I think she saw Tony West before she claimed to have arrived on Sunday.’

‘She didn’t claim to, she did arrive on Sunday,’ said Ian. ‘That’s proven.’

‘Then she came over before. Have you checked that?’

‘Why are you so sure?’ asked Ian. ‘Or is that a silly question?’

‘She said nothing about West when she first arrived at Creekmarsh, then flew into hysterics when she first heard he was dead. None of it rang true. I was sure I could see her at West’s. In fact, I was almost certain she was his killer.’

Ian stared. ‘I wish I could tell them all this in London,’ he said. ‘They’re questioning Osbourne-Walker about it now.’

‘Don’t you think that’s a coincidence too far? The current owner of Creekmarsh killing the man who had power of attorney to sell it to him just after the body –’

‘All right, all right,’ said Ian, ‘don’t get so complicated. But the evidence is incontrovertible.’

‘So what is it?’ asked Fran, pushing her plate away.

‘The murder weapon. It belongs to Osbourne-Walker.’

‘They found it?’

‘Oh, yes.’

‘Where?’

‘Come on, Fran, I’ve already told you more than I should. What was this weapon you – er – saw?’

‘It was like a sort of enlarged darning mushroom,’ said Fran, sketching with her hands.

Ian’s eyes widened. ‘It’s a handmade carver’s mallet, a really unusual one,’ he said. ‘And that’s just what it looks like. It’s an antique.’

Fran nodded. ‘And Tony West gave it to him, didn’t he?’

Ian’s mouth fell open. ‘I give up,’ he said. ‘I’ll call London and ask them to look for Dale’s fingerprints. There were a few there that they couldn’t match.’

‘Suppose you could prove Dale had been there. Could you prove whether or not she killed West?’ asked Fran.

‘We’d have a damn good try.’ Ian pushed his chair back. ‘I don’t want to hurry you, but I think I ought to get on to this straight away.’

Fran stood up. ‘So do I,’ she said.

‘Oh, and Fran, thank you,’ he said as they left The Sloop, ‘but if you ever breathe a word that I’m gullible enough to listen to you, I’ll clap you in jail.’

‘You’ve listened before,’ said Fran, ‘it even got into the papers. If I’m right it won’t matter, but if I’m not, I’ll keep quiet as long as you do.’

Ian kissed her cheek. ‘Deal,’ he said. ‘I’m a very bad policeman.’

‘How did it go?’ asked Guy when Fran went into the gallery to report.

‘All right, I suppose,’ she said, perching on the table he used as a desk. ‘He’s going to follow up a suggestion I made. But I mustn’t talk about it.’

‘Not even to me?’

‘Not even to Libby, according to Ian,’ said Fran.

‘But you will,’ laughed Guy.

‘Of course,’ said Fran, ‘and I’ll tell you, too.’

Later, she called Libby and told her everything Ian had said, including the warning about spreading the glad tidings.

‘Cheek!’ said Libby indignantly. ‘After all we’ve done for him.’

‘Not that much, actually, Lib, but I convinced him with my description of the murder weapon, so he was willing to give it a go. He’ll take a lot of flack if they don’t find any evidence of Cindy being in that house.’

‘Will he let you know if they do?’

‘I don’t know whether he’ll be able to, but I expect he’ll try.’ Fran paused. ‘He’s really very sweet, you know.’

‘Hey!’ said Libby warningly. ‘Wedding day two weeks away, remember.’

‘He’s still sweet,’ said Fran. ‘So what do we do now?’

‘Have they seen Gerald Shepherd yet?’

‘He didn’t say,’ said Fran. ‘They’ll probably need specially trained officers, won’t they?’

‘Well, I suppose we’ll find out all about it soon,’ said Libby with a sigh. ‘If Lewis comes back it means they no longer suspect him. Oh, and you didn’t tell me Tony West gave him the mallet.’

‘It only came to me while I was talking to Ian,’ said Fran. ‘I expect we’ll hear the whole story if Lewis comes back.’

‘And if he isn’t still fed up with us.’

‘If what I told Ian means he’s been released, he’ll be too grateful to ignore us,’ said Fran. ‘Let me know as soon as you hear anything.’

‘And you,’ said Libby, and disconnected. Almost as soon as she had done so, the phone rang again.

‘Hello, Ma, it’s me,’ said Adam unnecessarily. ‘Lewis is on his way back. He wanted to know what everybody was doing this evening.’

Chapter Twenty-nine

HARRY MANAGED TO FIT them all in at The Pink Geranium: Libby and Ben, Fran and Guy, Adam and Lewis. Mog said wistfully he would love to come but thought he might be needed at home.

‘I’m surprised Fiona’s let you come back to work so soon,’ said Libby.

‘So’m I,’ said Mog. ‘But I get under her feet, and her mother’s there almost every day.’

‘Ah,’ said Libby. ‘I see. Better go back home now, then.’

Lewis, looking drawn but relieved, arrived a little after the appointed time of nine o’clock, bearing a large bouquet, which he handed straight to Fran.

‘I don’t know what to say, and I don’t know how you did it, but thanks to you I’m off the hook,’ he said, then leant over to kiss Libby. ‘And you, of course, Lib.’

‘It was nothing to do with me,’ said Libby, ‘only marginally, anyway, so sit down and tell us what’s been going on.’

Donna came over to take their orders and Harry sent out a bottle of champagne on the house.

‘Shame I don’t drink,’ said Lewis, ‘but lovely thought. He’s a dish, isn’t he?’

‘Hands off,’ said Adam.

‘Yeah, I know he’s spoken for, but a fella can look, can’t he?’ Lewis gave a tired grin. ‘Well, here goes. I was up at the London flat, see, and Katie was at hers. I been talking to my producer, and they want to firm up ideas for the next series. It’s been a bit delayed, so they’re keen to get on with it. Anyway, this morning these coppers turn up on my doorstep with a warrant for my arrest.’ He paused, looking down at the table. ‘It was … well, I dunno how to describe it.’ He looked up. ‘I wanted to tell you, but I didn’t have a chance.’

‘That was when you sent the text to Mog?’ asked Adam.

‘Yeah. His was the first memory button, and I thought he’d tell you.’ He grinned at Libby. ‘And you. And I knew you’d make a guess at what was going on.’

‘And Fran saw your carver’s mallet,’ said Libby. Fran went pink.

‘You what?’ Lewis gaped.

Libby explained. ‘Then she told Ian Connell, the inspector down here, and he relayed the info to London.’

‘What, that she’d seen it?’

‘No, that Cindy Dale’s prints might be on it,’ said Fran.

There was an astonished silence round the table. Lewis and Adam looked at each other, stupefied, and Guy and Ben looked bewildered. Fran told them what she had suspected.

‘So Ian must have persuaded them to check for the prints and look into the possibility that Cindy was in the country before Sunday,’ said Libby. ‘Brilliant, Fran.’

‘They must have found the prints,’ said Fran, ‘or they’d never have let Lewis go.’

‘They were quick about it, then,’ said Lewis.

‘They let me go late afternoon.’

‘I asked Ian if he’d tell me what happened, but I doubt if he will,’ said Fran. ‘He opened up to me more than he should have at lunchtime.’

‘I wonder why?’ said Guy.

‘Oh, shut up,’ said Fran, giving him an affectionate nudge.

‘Well, congratulations, Lewis,’ said Ben, raising his glass. ‘I’m really pleased. That means you can get on with the next series as soon as possible, I suppose?’

‘Yeah,’ said Lewis, ‘and guess what, Ad? We’re going to do a whole programme on the garden at Creekmarsh, with updates through the rest of the series.’

‘Blimey!’ said Adam. ‘Have you told Mog?’

‘Not yet. And we can’t do it until the police say we can, so I guess we need to clear all this up quick.’

‘We?’ said Libby, amused.

‘Well, you and the cops,’ said Lewis, looking from her to Fran. ‘So what do you think the whole story is, then?’

Libby and Fran looked at each other.

‘I’ll start,’ said Fran, ‘and you butt in if I miss anything.’ She sipped her wine and put the glass back on the table. ‘Here goes. We think, based on our own assumptions and information received, that Cindy Dale killed her husband Kenneth, and Tony West helped her disappear and got Gerald Shepherd into a nursing home as he was already going downhill with Alzheimer’s disease.’

‘Why?’ asked Ben.

‘Why what? Why did he help her disappear, or why did she kill Kenneth?’

‘Both.’

‘Not sure about why she killed Kenneth, except she does seem to have wanted to inherit Creekmarsh, or Gerald’s estate, in any case, and as to why Tony helped her, we don’t know. Coming up to date, once she’d heard about the skeleton being discovered, she was scared that the whole thing would come out. She didn’t at this stage, remember, know that Lewis had bought Creekmarsh. Anyway, she came into the country somehow – I expect the police have found out when by now – went straight to Tony’s house and killed him with the carver’s mallet he gave Lewis.’

‘What was it doing at Tony’s house?’ asked Adam.

‘I was over there a few weeks ago doing a little job for him and I’d taken it with the rest of me tools. I left it there by accident.’ Lewis shook his head. ‘Teach me to be more careful, won’t it.’

‘So she didn’t use it to implicate you on purpose?’ said Guy.

‘I don’t think she knew of Lewis’s existence at that time,’ said Fran. ‘All she was keen to do was shut Tony up. She then decided to reappear as the grieving widow and daughter-in-law, to reclaim the estate.’

‘Did she think Gerald was dead?’ asked Libby.

‘I think she would have known if Gerald was dead, wouldn’t she?’ said Fran.

‘Maybe, but she didn’t know Lewis owned the property, so Tony hadn’t kept her up to date with events at all, had he?’ said Adam.

‘No, and that’s why we’re concerned that Cindy might go after Gerald,’ said Libby.

‘And what’s all this you’ve found out about him?’ asked Ben. ‘And smugglers’ tunnels?’

Fran and Libby told them of their discoveries with the two landlords.

‘Trust my mother to be on those sorts of terms with pub landlords,’ said Adam with a snort.

‘So will the police confirm all these theories?’ said Guy.

‘Well, one seems to be confirmed,’ said Libby. ‘They’ve let Lewis go. Let joy be unconfined.’

At the end of the meal, Lewis gave a little speech and became slightly emotional, to Fran and Libby’s delight and Ben and Guy’s embarrassment. He then sat down, blew his nose and drank a whole glass of water.

‘Hope Katie’s come back to look after you,’ said Adam, patting him on the arm.

‘Tomorrow,’ said Lewis. ‘She had a few things to clear up, she said, because I’d told her we were going to be in London for weeks. She’ll be down in the morning.’

‘She won’t lose any sleep over Cindy’s fate,’ said Libby. ‘She couldn’t stand her, could she?’

‘Hated her,’ said Lewis. ‘I should have realised they’d met before, you know. There was such a – oh, I dunno, a feeling between them. Why didn’t she tell me before, though?’

‘Perhaps she didn’t think she had to?’ said Fran. ‘Did you know she’d known Tony and Gerald that far back?’

‘I didn’t know she knew Gerald at all,’ said Lewis, ‘and I didn’t realise she knew Tony as well as she did, either.’

‘I can see why that was,’ said Libby. ‘She was probably scared you’d think she’d got the job with you through undue influence or something.’

‘We’ve already talked about whose idea it was that she came to work for you, haven’t we?’ said Fran. ‘It was Tony’s, wasn’t it?’

‘Think so,’ said Lewis. He stood up. ‘Listen. Thanks for being such a support, everybody, but I gotta go. I promised me mum I’d phone her this evening. I talked to her earlier, but she’s a bit jumpy. I’ve asked Katie to drive her down here tomorrow, so she needs to start packing.’

‘Typical male,’ said Libby, watching Lewis leave the restaurant. ‘Not bothering to tell his mum until eleven o’clock at night that someone’s picking her up tomorrow morning.’

‘Perhaps she’ll say no,’ said Fran.

‘That’ll larn him,’ said Libby.

The next morning Lewis rang Libby to invite her and Fran to lunch at Creekmarsh to meet his mother, who would be arriving with Katie around eleven.

‘She said yes, then?’ said Libby.

‘’Course,’ said Lewis in surprise. ‘Why shouldn’t she?’

Fran and Libby arrived in their separate vehicles just before one. They were greeted at the door by a beaming Katie, who led them into the kitchen, where a small brown-haired woman sat at the table in front of a large mug of tea.

‘This is Edith,’ said Katie, ‘Lewis’s mum. Edie, this is Mrs Sarjeant and Mrs Castle who’ve been helping Lewis.’

Edie pushed back the chair and stood up unsteadily, holding out a hand to Libby.

‘Pleased to meet you, I’m sure,’ she said. ‘You done a lot for my boy.’

‘Nothing really,’ said Libby, ‘just stood by. Fran

– Mrs Castle – is the clever one.’

‘Never had no truck with all that nonsense before,’ said Edie, gripping Fran’s hand with both of hers, ‘but blessed if it weren’t right as rain this time.’

‘I’m really glad for you,’ said Fran, looking uncomfortable. ‘How is Lewis this morning?’

‘Full of plans, he is,’ said Katie. ‘Down talking to that Mog and Adam about his show. Police have been and gone, and you wouldn’t believe how they’ve changed.’

‘How do you mean?’ said Libby, pulling out a chair.

‘That nice detective inspector, the dark one –’

‘Connell?’ said Libby, with a sideways look at Fran, who ignored her.

‘That’s the one. So polite, he was. They were here when Edie and I arrived, and he couldn’t have been nicer. Looks like they’ll have finished here, unless that Cindy turns up again.’ Her face darkened. ‘Which she won’t, if she’s got any sense. I always knew she was a bad’n.’

‘You knew her when Gerald lived here, didn’t you?’ said Libby.

‘Not to say knew,’ said Katie. ‘Met her. She was a little – well. I’d best not say. Glad she’s gone, that’s all. Now, anyone for tea? Shall I freshen that, Edie?’

Lewis came in a little while later, during which time Fran and Libby had heard all about Lewis as a little boy, Lewis as a tearaway teenager, Lewis as an apprentice chippy and Lewis as a joiner, before going on to the great heights of Lewis as a TV personality.

‘I liked that Housey Housey,’ said Edie. ‘Better than his own show.’

‘Really? Why?’ said Fran.

‘Because she don’t like watching a half hour of me without the other presenters,’ said Lewis, giving his mother a kiss. ‘Everyone all right this morning?’

‘Yes, thanks, and Katie tells us the police are going to be leaving you alone soon,’ said Libby.

‘They certainly are,’ said Lewis, looking his bright and perky self. ‘And we can start filming as soon as we can set it up. Have to get on to it quick, though, or we’ll lose the best of the season.’

‘Right,’ said Libby, raising questioning eyebrows. ‘’Course you will.’

They had lunch in the kitchen, as usual, and Adam and Mog joined them. By the end of the meal Adam was complaining that he’d always assumed he had one mother, but now it seemed he had three.

‘Not counting me, eh, Ad?’ smiled Fran.

‘You don’t mother me,’ said Adam. ‘I don’t think you’re the motherly sort.’

‘Out of the mouths of babes,’ said Fran with a wry smile at Libby.

‘Anyone who’s a friend to my boy’s like a son to me,’ said Edie, complacently. ‘Aren’t you going to eat up that spinach, boy?’

Libby snorted and Lewis roared. ‘Now you see what I had to put up with,’ he said.

Later, he saw Libby and Fran to their cars.

‘That it, then?’ he said. ‘Have we finished with the mystery of Creekmarsh?’

‘As far as you’re concerned,’ said Fran, ‘but there’s still the mystery of Cindy Dale and Gerald Shepherd.’

‘But it’s nothing to do with me any more, or Creekmarsh, so we can relax, can’t we?’ Lewis put an arm round each of their shoulders and gave them a squeeze. ‘And you can get on with your wedding. Not long now, eh? Am I still coming to the evening do?’

‘Of course you are,’ said Fran. ‘You’re welcome to come to the whole day, if you like.’

‘I’ll hitch a lift with Inspector Connell, shall I?’ he said with a wink. ‘Go on. I’ll see you both then, if not before.’

Chapter Thirty

THE SUN NOW SEEMED to shine in earnest every day. For Fran, it was a time of anticipation and joy, only slightly marred by the occasional phone calls from her children, still complaining. In the end Guy took the receiver from her in mid-conversation with Lucy.

‘Lucy, I’m very sorry both your mother’s and your first marriages went wrong, but they’re both over now and I’m going to make sure that your mother, at least, spends the rest of her life happy and secure. She does not need your constant whining that things are not fair. It’s quite true that neither you nor your sister are being fair to her, but she hasn’t complained. So I suggest you leave her alone, or you’ll find you’re cut off from her altogether. I’ll make sure of that. And you can pass that on to your sister.’

There was a confused spluttering at the other end of the line. ‘You can’t do that!’ gasped Lucy.

‘Oh, I can, and I will. I don’t want to, because it would upset your mother,’ said Guy, ‘but you’re upsetting her now, so it would be the lesser of two evils. We’ll look forward to seeing you at the wedding. We’ve booked you into a little hotel a mile away where several of the other guests are staying and if you wish you can stay there the night before as well.’

‘I can’t afford that!’ snapped Lucy.

‘I didn’t say you had to, did I?’ said Guy wearily. ‘It’s your mother’s treat.’

He switched off the phone and handed it back to Fran. ‘And that’s the end of that,’ he said. ‘Presumably she’ll phone Chrissie and they’ll tear me to pieces, but it may give them pause.’

‘You wouldn’t really cut me off from them, would you?’ said Fran.

‘If they were upsetting you, yes,’ said Guy. ‘I can be ruthless, you know.’ And he twirled imaginary moustaches.

While Fran had plenty to keep her occupied, Libby was bored. Lewis had asked to be excused from the Steeple Farm project as he was so busy with his new series, in which Adam and Mog were heavily involved, to Adam’s delight, and Ben was waiting for a builder friend of his to come over and give them a quote. So there was nothing to do on that front. Early summer kept Ben at The Manor for longer than usual and Fran was unavailable for long chats or girlie evenings.

Twice she went to The Pink Geranium for lunch and hovered around the kitchen getting in Harry’s way, once she went to visit old Jim Butler and his dog Lady, who lived on the outskirts of Nethergate, and once she went to see Flo and Lenny in their sheltered accommodation down by the church.

Eventually she realised she was putting off finishing the paintings Guy had requested and made a determined effort. However, this kept her inside and the weather was beautiful, so the Friday of the week before Fran’s wedding, she borrowed the Land Rover and drove to Creekmarsh.

A large lorry was parked on the drive, with several attendant cars. Libby left the Land Rover near the gates and walked up to the front door, which was open.

‘Hello, dear.’ Edie came out of the kitchen. ‘Did you want Adam?’

‘I was bored, Edie,’ confessed Libby, ‘so I came over to see how things were going. Are they filming?’

‘Not sure, dear. I go down and have a look now and then, but I don’t understand what’s going on, so I leave ’em to it. They’ll be down by that there party garden, I think.’

‘Thanks, Edie. I’ll take a wander down there,’ said Libby. ‘See you before I leave.’

Sure enough, there was a crowd of people round the parterre garden, where Lewis was on his haunches with Adam’s string in his hand, while Mog and Adam stood at the back looking bored.

‘Hi, Ma,’ said Adam, his face brightening. ‘Come to have a look?’

‘Yes, but it doesn’t look as though much is happening.’

‘Nothing is,’ said Mog. ‘They’re planning everything out and holding us up into the bargain.’

‘Ah, but that means it’ll take you longer and that means more money,’ said Libby.

‘Hmph,’ said Mog, scowling at a young woman with tied-back hair and collapsing trousers.

‘Will you appear in the show?’ Libby asked Adam.

‘In the background doing the heavy work,’ said Adam. ‘The peasants, you know.’

‘No more police?’

‘I haven’t seen any,’ said Adam. ‘I would have told you if I had.’

‘Did they investigate the ice-house?’

‘Ice house?’ Adam wrinkled his brow. ‘N-no. Where is it?’

‘Don’t know,’ said Libby cheerfully. ‘Perhaps I’ll go and look for it if I won’t get in the way.’

‘Where do you think it is?’

‘Somewhere down by the river,’ said Libby. ‘Do you know where they found that little boat?’

‘Just round from the sailing club, I think,’ said Adam. ‘Do you think it’s there? What is it exactly, anyway?’

Libby explained, then set off, circling the walled parterre garden and setting off towards the ha-ha. She passed the bench where she had sat with Lewis, and branched off to the right without going down to the sailing club and the pontoon. The inlet reached like a hand from the river into the Creekmarsh estate, the thumb towards the sailing club and the other fingers just round a bend. Libby went towards these, but discovered a mass of brambles and vegetation that made it almost impossible to reach, especially for a slightly overweight, vertically challenged person in sandals.

Trees overhung the sloping ground and police tape fluttered in the breeze. No boat was thrust into the bank now, but Libby could see where it had been. Above it, roots from the overhanging trees formed an archway, almost an entrance …

Libby’s heart thumped. An entrance. She tried leaning forward to see if there was, indeed, a tunnel, but from her vantage point she couldn’t. Besides, she thought, if there was a tunnel, the police would have found it, surely. From down there, where the boat had been, they would have been able to see. Nevertheless, she started up the slope to see if she couldn’t work her way round and come out above the inlet.

It was a scramble, and after five minutes Libby was red in the face, with bits of vegetation in her hair, feeling very glad she was wearing jeans. Suddenly, to her surprise, she came up against what appeared to be wire netting. She sat back on her heels and looked at it. It ran uphill through the bushes and downhill to disappear over a slight mound.

‘Must be the boundary of the estate,’ thought Libby. ‘And still no sign of a tunnel.’

Dispirited, she hauled herself to her feet and struck off to her left, which, if her sense of direction was intact, would take her back to the meadow below the ha-ha. Sure enough, through the trees, she could see the artificial trench with its retaining wall, which must start, she thought, looking round, about here. And then her feet went out from under her and she slid inelegantly forward into darkness.

When she’d recovered enough to know (a) she wasn’t dead and (b) she could still see daylight behind her, she sat up.

‘This is it,’ she whispered to herself as she got tentatively to her feet. The ceiling of the opening was the same height as the ha-ha, so it looked as though it ran under the meadow and must have been created at the same time. She looked left and right, and ahead, but could see nothing. ‘And this,’ she continued to herself, ‘is where the heroine of the film naturally goes forward into impenetrable darkness without anyone knowing where she is.’ She grinned at herself and began to look round the floor near her feet, lit slightly by the daylight behind, which seemed mainly to consist of rotting leaves. And then, just behind her, almost out of sight, something that looked slightly different.

Gingerly, she got down on her knees and pulled at a corner, which revealed the object as a leather document case. With shaking fingers, Libby unzipped it, although the zip was both old and slightly rusty. Inside, she could see what looked like a birth certificate, and closed it again hastily. There was no reason why she shouldn’t look, but she felt instinctively that it was none of her business and that the police should see it first.

She scrambled shakily out of the hole and stood looking at it. If it was an entrance to a tunnel, somebody else would have to investigate, but she had seen no evidence of bricks, only packed earth, so it looked as though it possibly wasn’t the ice-house. She turned and made her way along the bottom of the ha-ha until she got to the place where she could climb up to the meadow. Then, deciding not to take her find to the house, she made for the lane and from there to the Land Rover at the bottom of the drive. Once inside, she called Ian Connell, thanking her lucky stars that she still had his mobile number in her phone memory.

It took some time for him to answer, and when he did he didn’t sound too pleased to hear from her.

‘No, Ian, listen,’ she said urgently. ‘I’ve just fallen into some kind of tunnel at Creekmarsh and found this case. I think it’s got a birth certificate in

it.’

‘A what?’

‘Well, you know we thought Cindy Dale must be looking for documents? Couldn’t this be it?’

There was a short silence. ‘Does anyone else know you’ve found this?’

‘No. I came straight to the Land Rover and called you. What shall I do? Shall I bring it in?’

‘No,’ said Ian, slowly. ‘We’d better have a look at this place where you found it. Can you wait there for us?’

‘Yes,’ said Libby doubtfully. ‘They’ve got television people here, so it won’t be easy for you to get down there without people seeing. Shall I tell anyone?’

‘You’d better tell Mrs North and Osbourne-Walker we’re coming.’

‘If I can detach him from the television people,’ said Libby.

‘We’ll be there as quickly as we can,’ said Ian and rang off. Libby climbed down from the Land Rover and plodded up the drive.

Katie was in the kitchen with Edie. Libby had worked out what to say and hoped there wouldn’t be too many questions.

‘Just to tell you,’ she said, ‘the police are coming back shortly to have a look at the area down by the river.’

Katie and Edie looked at her blankly.

‘Are they?’ said Katie. ‘What for?’

‘I don’t really know,’ said Libby. ‘Had I better tell Lewis?’

‘Well –’ said Katie.

‘See you in a bit, then,’ said Libby, and vanished.

She made quickly for the parterre, where she beckoned to Adam and whispered her news to him before jogging back to the Land Rover just in time, as Ian’s car drew up in the lane, followed by a police car.

‘You have your uses, I suppose,’ said Ian, shaking Libby’s hand.

‘Here you are,’ she said. ‘I only had a quick look. I haven’t taken anything out.’ She handed over the case. Ian looked inside and drew out some documents. He nodded.

‘Cindy’s marriage certificate,’ he said. ‘And her original passport. This is what she was looking for all right.’

‘Is there anything else?’

‘Yes, but I haven’t time to look at them now.’ He grinned at her. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll let you know what they are, even if I shouldn’t. Where’s this hole?’

Libby led them down the lane to avoid the company in the parterre, and along the trench.

‘This isn’t the first time you’ve fallen into a hole, is it?’ said Ian, with another grin.

‘No, but I don’t know how you know about the first time,’ said Libby.

‘Word gets around.’ Ian bent his head and went into the opening carefully, motioning his minions to do the same. Libby watched from a safe distance. Eventually, Ian came out looking grubby and beckoned her over.

‘There seem to be passages leading both ways from here,’ he said.

‘Down to the river and an ice house,’ said Libby.

‘How do you know that?’ Ian frowned.

‘An educated guess,’ said Libby. ‘And the other way will lead to the house with some kind of offshoot tunnels to the pub and the church.’

‘Fran told me about the tunnels, but as we didn’t find any sign of them inside the house we didn’t pursue it,’ said Ian, still frowning. ‘You think there’s an ice-house near the river?’

‘That’s where they were always built, for easy access,’ said Libby, ‘and of course it helped the smugglers.’

‘Where we found the boat?’

‘Probably. It looked to me as though there could be an entrance up on the bank.’

‘When were you there, or is that a silly question?’

‘This morning. I was on my way back when I fell into the hole under the ha-ha.’

‘Show me,’ said Ian, and motioned her to take the lead.

‘Shouldn’t you tell your mates to try the left-hand tunnel and see if we meet up?’ asked Libby. Ian scowled at her.

‘I’ll do that when I’ve had a look from this end,’ he said.

He was more adept at crawling through the vegetation than Libby, and soon confirmed that there was what looked like an opening, shielded by brambles, above the still fluttering police tape.

‘I don’t know why we didn’t notice it before,’ he said, as he slithered back down to join Libby.

‘You weren’t looking for it,’ said Libby.

‘Did Cindy come this way? Instead of across the field?’ Ian pulled at his lower lip. ‘Was that a blind? Leaving the boat where it was?’

‘Or perhaps she came down, took the boat, sailed it or rowed it round into the inlet and escaped through the tunnel,’ suggested Libby.

‘How did she know about the tunnel?’

‘She was living here when she disappeared, wasn’t she? And was supposedly looking after Gerald, who we now know was already suffering from Alzheimer’s. He could have told her without realising.’

Ian nodded. ‘Possible,’ he said. ‘Probable, even.’ He gave Libby a quick smile and she could see what Fran had seen in him. ‘Thanks, Libby. You and Fran between you might be a bloody nuisance sometimes, but as I said before, you have your uses.’

Libby grinned. ‘I know,’ she said.

They returned to the entrance under the ha-ha and Ian went in after his officers. Libby sat on the ground with her back against the retaining wall and squinted in the sunlight. Muffled sounds and voices came from behind her, but she was unable to distinguish anything other than the odd call of ‘Sir!’ She wondered who was in charge of the search of the passage towards the house, and whether it would be open, or if all the theories would go tumbling down in the face of a rockfall or an extended root system.

Her thoughts were disturbed by a much louder scuffling and confusion and Ian, followed by a constable with a mobile to his ear and a green look about his face, stumbled out into the open.

‘What?’ said Libby.

‘I shouldn’t really tell you,’ he said and held out a

hand to help her up. ‘But you’ve a right to know.’ Libby scrambled upright. ‘Know what?’ ‘Cindy Dale. She didn’t go anywhere. We’ve just

found her body.’

Chapter Thirty-one

‘IN THE ICE-HOUSE,’ Libby told Fran over the phone. She was sitting in the Land Rover feeling distinctly shaky. ‘It was where we thought, by the river. And there is a tunnel right through to the house. They’re trying to find out where it comes out at the moment.’

‘What about the tunnels to the pub and the church?’ asked Fran.

‘I haven’t asked. Ian was too busy. I was lucky he told me what he did. Trouble is, I’m now a witness, because I told him where I thought the entrance from the river was and showed him the opening where I fell in. I’ve got to make a statement.’

‘You’ve done that before,’ said Fran, ‘don’t worry about it.’

‘I’m not, but I want to go home.’ Libby shivered. ‘I’m beginning to hate this place.’

‘Can’t you go home? They can always come out and see you.’

‘Not unless Ian says I can, and he’s a bit tied up at the moment. He told me to wait here.’

‘Then I don’t suppose he’ll be long,’ said Fran soothingly. ‘You’ll soon be back to normal and revising all our theories.’

‘That’s true,’ said Libby, thinking. ‘If Cindy didn’t kill Tony –’

‘Ah, but she still might have.’

‘But someone killed Cindy. Why?’

‘Good question,’ said Fran. ‘I’ll have a think about it. Call me when you get home.’

After another ten minutes, Libby was getting edgy. She climbed out of the Land Rover, locked it and walked up the drive to the house. In the kitchen she found Lewis, Edie and Katie, all looking scared, with the police presence evident from the sounds of boots from all directions.

‘Have they found the entrance yet?’ asked Libby.

Lewis shook his head. ‘They can’t open it from the tunnel, and we can’t hear anything from inside the house, so they haven’t got a clue where it is.’

‘They’ll bring in all sorts of sophisticated equipment, you’ll see,’ said Libby, ‘and pinpoint it with absolute accuracy.’

‘How did Cindy know it was there?’ asked Katie. ‘I could have sworn she wasn’t that familiar with the house.’

‘Perhaps she didn’t go into it from the house,’ said Libby. ‘Before they found the – er – her, I thought she’d taken the boat and left it as a sort of red herring and escaped through the tunnel from the other end, so perhaps she did that, but someone caught her.’

‘Someone who’d come from the house?’ asked Lewis dubiously.

‘Or someone who was waiting for her down there.’

‘Like who?’

‘How do I know?’ Libby shrugged and turned to Katie. ‘How long was it since you saw her till we discovered she’d gone?’

‘Not long. I made a pot of tea. You came in and asked me if I’d taken her a cup.’ Katie looked up at Lewis. Edie still hadn’t said anything, but clasped Lewis’s arm tightly.

‘Couldn’t have been longer than twenty minutes,’ said Lewis. ‘How did she get down to the river in that time without being seen?’

‘That’s always been the question,’ said Libby, ‘but if she went through the tunnel, that explains it.’

‘What was the tunnel like?’ asked Katie. ‘I mean, was it clear?’

‘I didn’t go into the tunnels, just the bit where there’s the opening I fell into. But that was full of leaves and stuff. I see what you mean, though. If the tunnels hadn’t been used for a long time they could be blocked up. I thought that myself while I was waiting down – um – there.’

‘She wouldn’t be able to go fast, would she?’ said Katie. ‘And didn’t she take a bag with her?’

‘That’s what I said at the time,’ said Libby. ‘If she ran down to the boathouse after getting out through that little side door we found open, she must have gone like the wind. And no one saw her.’

‘But she couldn’t run along a tunnel in the dark with a heavy bag, either,’ said Katie.

‘Unless she had a torch. I wonder if they found one?’ said Libby.

‘It would make sense, though,’ said Katie, getting up to move the kettle onto the Aga. ‘That’s why none of us saw her.’

‘Why you didn’t see her,’ said Lewis. ‘We weren’t here. You were the only one in the kitchen.’

‘Well, I didn’t see her. I told you,’ said Katie, warming the brown teapot. ‘And why was that little door open?’

‘A ruse,’ said Libby. ‘She opened it to look as though she went that way.’

‘We still don’t know how she got to the tunnel if she did go that way, though,’ said Lewis. ‘It must be somewhere near that door.’

‘There isn’t anything near it – just a passage,’ said Libby. ‘And Fran and I looked round the outside and there’s no sign of any concealed doors or whatever.’

Katie poured water into the teapot. ‘They’ll find it, don’t worry,’ she said comfortably. ‘Trust the police.’

‘They wouldn’t have found her body without me poking my nose in,’ said Libby. ‘They’d have gone on looking for her for the murder of Tony West and the suspected murder of Kenneth.’

‘Hmm,’ said Katie, setting out mugs. ‘At least she won’t be going after Gerald now. If he really is alive.’

‘Oh, he’s alive all right,’ said Libby. ‘Ian just won’t tell us where, but I’m pretty sure he’s already been to see him.’

‘Has he?’ Katie looked up.

‘He hasn’t said so, but Frank at the pub will have told him the name of the home, so he must have been by now.’

‘And not got very far if he’s got Alzheimer’s,’ said Lewis gloomily. ‘What a bugger. I wish I’d never seen this place.’

‘Well, you have,’ said Katie, ‘and you’re going to get a good series out of it, so stop moaning. C’mon, Edie, have a biscuit with your tea.’

Ian appeared at the door, his habitual scowl much in evidence.

‘I thought I said to wait for me,’ he said to Libby.

‘I have,’ she said. ‘I didn’t see why I shouldn’t wait in here in comfort rather than sitting in a stifling car.’ She smiled at Katie, who pushed a full mug towards her.

‘Could you come outside for a moment.’ It wasn’t a question. Libby sighed, got up and followed him out into the hall.

‘I need to take a formal statement,’ he said stiffly. ‘I can hardly do that with them in there.’

‘I know,’ said Libby. ‘But wouldn’t it be better if someone came round to see me at home? You can’t do it here, and I’m blowed if I’m trailing in to the police station.’

Ian sighed. ‘All right, all right,’ he said. ‘Are you in this evening?’

‘I can be,’ said Libby and batted her eyelashes at him. His scowl deepened.

‘I’ll come with one of the DCs,’ he said, ‘if that’s all right. As soon as I can get away.’

‘Don’t rush,’ said Libby, with a grin. ‘I’ll wait.’

‘He’s coming to take my statement tonight,’ she said, returning to the kitchen, ‘so I can go when I’ve finished my tea.’

‘Did he tell you anything?’ asked Lewis.

‘No, he wouldn’t. If I can get Fran to come over this evening she might be able to get something out of him. He’s still got a soft spot for her.’

‘Nice looking, he is,’ said Katie with a nod. ‘You couldn’t do better than him, lovey.’

‘I’m spoken for, Katie, but thanks for the thought. Anyone got anything they’d like to ask him if we get him in a mellow mood?’

‘When can I get back to normal,’ said Lewis, looking gloomier than ever. ‘Never-ending, this bloody business.’

Katie put her hands on the table and pushed herself upright. ‘You just ask him to get it all cleared up nice and quick,’ she said. ‘Edie, you look like you need a lie down. Not nice, murder, is it?’ And she shepherded Lewis’s mother out of the room towards her little sitting room.

‘Is your mum all right?’ asked Libby.

‘Just a bit shaky,’ said Lewis. ‘All a bit much for her, I reckon.’

‘A bit much for you, too,’ said Libby, patting his shoulder. ‘I’ll get out of your way. Tell Ad I’ve gone home, will you?’

‘OK, and thanks, Libby.’ Lewis gave her a kiss.

‘What for? Finding a body and making life more complicated?’ Libby shook her head. ‘Not a good move.’

‘’Course it was,’ said Lewis, walking beside her down the drive. ‘They’re that much nearer clearing it all up because you went nosing around. You ought to get a medal, that’s what.’

‘So should Fran,’ said Libby.

‘For getting me out of clink,’ said Lewis. ‘So she should.’

Ian and the fresh-faced Constable Maiden, he of the bright blue eyes and red hair, arrived at number 17 Allhallow’s Lane only minutes after Fran and Guy that evening. Guy promptly dragged Adam and Ben out for a drink, winking at Fran over Ian’s shoulder. She made a face.

‘Hello, Mr Maiden,’ said Libby. ‘Would you like tea?’

‘It’s DS Maiden, now,’ said Ian, smiling at his junior officer. Maiden blushed.

‘Congratulations,’ said Fran. ‘To think I’ve known you since you were in uniform!’

‘This is a formal interview,’ warned Ian, ‘so Mrs Castle should really not be in the room.’

‘Oh, rubbish. If we were at the police station, yes, but not here,’ said Fran briskly.

Ian looked sideways at his sergeant, who grinned back innocently.

‘Very good,’ he said. ‘No tea for me.’

Maiden’s face fell. Fran patted him on the shoulder. ‘I’ll make you some,’ she said. ‘Is that all right, Libby?’

‘Of course it is. Pour us a glass of wine while you’re there.’ Libby turned back to Ian who was looking even more disapproving. ‘Carry on.’

The interview was little more than a reiteration of the information Ian had already received from both Fran and Libby. He listened to their theories while DS Maiden got more and more interested and forgot to take notes.

‘So aren’t you going to satisfy our curiosity now?’ asked Libby, returning from the kitchen with the bottle of wine. ‘Did you find the entrance to the tunnel from the house?’

‘No,’ said Ian. ‘In fact, we don’t think there is an entrance there any more. The end of the tunnel is simply packed earth with no suggestion of a door.’

‘Have you tried to get through the earth?’ asked Fran.

‘Even if we did, Dale couldn’t have done, whether she was coming or going.’

‘No,’ said Libby, ‘so what about the other tunnels?’

‘Other tunnels?’

‘The ones to the pub and the church.’

‘They wouldn’t be any use to someone escaping the house, would they?’ said Ian, finally accepting a cup of tea from Fran.

‘But if she was coming from the river,’ said Libby. ‘Maybe she knew how to get out at the church. Or even the pub. Frank showed us where they thought the tunnel had come out in his cellars.’

‘With someone waiting for her who would then lug her body all the way back to the ice-house?’ Ian shook his head. ‘I don’t think so.’

‘Oh.’ Libby looked crestfallen. ‘I didn’t think of that.’

‘She needn’t have been killed then,’ said Fran slowly. ‘Suppose she just ran away and hid – say in the tunnel where Libby fell in. Or in the ice-house – she could have climbed up into it. Libby and I didn’t get down to the sailing club until some time after she’d gone. Perhaps she was waiting until the fuss had died down.’

‘But you showed Ian where you thought she’d been and the police were swarming all over the area. She wouldn’t have been able to get out for ages,’ Libby said.

‘Or until someone came and found her.’

‘It would have to be someone who knew the icehouse was there, and who was agile enough to climb up to it,’ said Ian. ‘No, I’m afraid we’re stymied at the moment. Not,’ he added hastily, ‘that that’s for publication.’

‘No, of course not,’ they reassured him. ‘But what about Cindy killing Tony West?’ asked Fran. ‘Did you find her prints?’

Ian sighed. ‘Yes. She was extremely careless. And they were the prints we hadn’t identified previously.’

‘Why did you pull Lewis in?’ asked Libby.

‘It was the discovery of the carver’s mallet. At first, if you remember, the cases weren’t officially linked, so the prints weren’t identified. Dale’s prints didn’t get into the system until later.’

‘And did you find out when she’d come into the country?’ asked Fran.

‘Oh, yes. She wasn’t exactly subtle about it. Landed at Gatwick on her false passport as bright as a button. Went back and reappeared on Sunday.’

‘But why did she kill West?’ said Libby. ‘He was on her side if he helped her get away.’

‘There’s one thing we haven’t thought of,’ said Fran, ‘although you probably have, Ian. Libby and I haven’t.’

‘What’s that?’ asked Libby.

‘We only have Cindy’s word for it that he helped her get away.’

‘Oh.’ Libby looked nonplussed. ‘Have we?’

‘She said Gerald killed Kenneth. We believed her at first.’

‘We can’t be sure that he didn’t,’ said Ian.

‘Have you spoken to him?’ asked Fran.

‘Oh, yes.’ Ian shook his head. ‘A whole team of professionals got permission to try and talk to him, but it was hopeless. He has no idea about anything – even who he is – now. We showed him photographs,

but it was hopeless.’

‘So what did the solicitor say? West’s solicitor?’

‘And Gerald Shepherd’s, as it happens,’ said DS Maiden, speaking for the first time.

‘Really?’ Libby and Fran looked at each other. Maiden looked at Ian, who nodded.

‘West sold Creekmarsh to fund Shepherd’s nursing home. He was given power of attorney about a year before Shepherd “disappeared”. West said nothing about the fact that Shepherd hadn’t run off with Miss Dale, even though there was speculation in the press. Kenneth never asked the police to find him, there was only a statement purporting to come from him through West.’

‘So West was mixed up in it all right from the start,’ said Libby. ‘But why?’

‘That we don’t know either,’ said Ian.

‘What about Shepherd’s will?’ asked Fran.

‘As he’s still alive there’s a legal complication about our access. How we get round that I’ve no idea.’ Ian looked glum.

‘And have you decided the skeleton is Kenneth?’ said Libby.

‘Oh, yes, definitely.’ Ian looked at them in surprise. ‘Didn’t you know?’

‘We were working on that assumption, but no one had confirmed it,’ said Fran. ‘Funnily enough, we didn’t have access to the DNA.’

Ian laughed. ‘You seemed to manage fairly well without official access.’

‘Intelligent guesswork,’ said Libby smugly.

‘And an extremely helpful policeman,’ added Ian.

‘Who shouldn’t really talk to you about anything.’

He turned to his sergeant. ‘Should he, Maiden?’

Maiden’s ears turned pink. ‘No, sir,’ he said.

‘Another thing,’ said Fran. ‘Why was Superintendent Bertram on the spot so much? Surely she should have been back at the office superintending.’

‘New promotion,’ said Ian.

‘Ah,’ said Libby. ‘Making her mark. We thought it might be because the case was higher profile than we thought.’

Ian and Maiden exchanged looks.

‘Shepherd was a famous actor,’ said Ian. ‘And we did think it was his body at first.’

‘That puzzles me,’ said Libby with a frown. ‘Because the first reports said it was a male between thirty and fifty, and Shepherd was well over sixty when he disappeared. And you didn’t know it had been Shepherd’s house then, did you?’

‘Libby! Of course we did. Just because Osbourne-Walker hadn’t seen fit to tell us about his slightly unorthodox purchase of Creekmarsh didn’t mean to say we didn’t immediately do a search and discover who was the previous owner. And that West was his power of attorney.’

‘So you linked the murders straight away?’ said Libby.

‘I wasn’t on the case then,’ said Ian, ‘but yes, of course they were linked. We’re not as dumb as all that, you know. And we do have access to all sorts of information the public don’t.’ He sent Libby a significant glance.

‘See,’ said Libby to Fran, ‘we always say the police get there before we do.’

‘But we’re always grateful for certain unorthodox help,’ said Ian with a grin.

‘When you can bring yourselves to accept it,’ said Fran.

‘Well, we did this time,’ said Ian, ‘and it let Osbourne-Walker off the hook.’

‘Didn’t save Cindy’s life, though, did it?’ said Libby. ‘Why do you think she was killed?’

‘Well, it wasn’t for the documents in that briefcase. Her passport was there and her marriage certificate, but that was all. There were no documents relating to Kenneth or Gerald Shepherd and no details of the home he was in.’

‘So if we hadn’t found Frank for you, you might never have found Gerald?’ said Libby.

‘I’m afraid that’s true,’ said Ian.

‘Yay!’ said Libby.

‘Did Cindy kill Kenneth?’ asked Fran.

Ian and Maiden both looked startled. ‘I can’t tell you that,’ said Ian. ‘There’s no evidence to suggest it. We’re not even sure how he died.’

‘How did Cindy die?’ asked Libby suddenly. Everyone froze.

‘I can’t tell you that, either,’ said Ian eventually, looking uncomfortable.

‘And have you found the cellars?’ asked Fran.

Ian sighed. ‘As I said before, I don’t think any entrances exist to tunnels or passages anywhere.’

‘Frank showed us his map and said that there were cellars at Creekmarsh,’ said Libby. ‘They must still be there.’

‘Have you proved whether Cindy got into the icehouse from the water or the land? Or through the tunnel?’ asked Fran.

‘Oh, really!’ Ian stood up. ‘I’ve been extremely forbearing, but this is too much. You know I can’t tell you anything more. And don’t go poking around any more, either,’ he added, ‘or I’ll lock you both up.’

‘He wasn’t that mad,’ said Libby, as she shut the door behind the two men, ‘or he’d never have said that.’

‘And he is grateful for our information,’ agreed Fran, ‘he had to admit that.’

‘Right,’ said Libby, fetching the wine bottle, ‘what do we do now?’

Chapter Thirty-two

OVER THE WEEKEND FRAN and Guy had pre-wedding things to do and Ben and Libby began to make lists of what needed to be done at Steeple Farm. The sitting room and the kitchen were the most obvious rooms needing resurrection, and although Libby had fairly firm ideas about interior decoration, or the lack of it, the job before them was beginning to look insuperable.

‘I wish Lewis would project manage it after all,’ said Libby with a sigh, picking at a piece of unsuitable wallpaper on the wide chimney breast. ‘We don’t know this other chap, do we?’

‘He’s a friend of Mog’s,’ said Ben, ‘and comes with excellent credentials.’ ‘It’s more telling him what to do than his ability to do it,’ said Libby. ‘It’s easy in this room,’ said Ben. ‘Strip everything.’ ‘I know,’ said Libby, ‘but what about the kitchen?’

She continued to worry about it all through Sunday until Ben told her he’d change his mind about going to live there if this was what she was going to be like.

‘Sorry,’ she said, sinking down on the sofa and gathering Sidney onto her lap. ‘I know I’m being a pain.’

‘You don’t really want to move, that’s what it’s really about, isn’t it?’ said Ben, coming to sit beside her.

‘No, it isn’t,’ said Libby. ‘I would love to live there, but I still love this cottage. I can’t have both.’

‘Perhaps you could sign this over to the children?’

‘Adam would be the only one to use it,’ said Libby. ‘Mind you, he’d probably be delighted.’

‘Let’s leave it on the back burner for a while,’ said Ben. ‘It’s the wedding of the year on Friday, after all. Fran might have things she’d like help with.’

‘Nothing,’ said Libby. ‘She’s so organised. All we’ve got to do is take the bride and groom to the venue.’

‘Separately,’ said Ben. ‘They won’t have a car the next day, then.’

‘I think Guy’s got a taxi booked to the airport. He’s giving her a traditional surprise honeymoon.’

‘Great! Where?’

‘Wouldn’t be a surprise then, would it?’

But Libby’s real problem was that the Creekmarsh mystery was still churning away in the back of her mind. She wanted to know what Cindy was after, why she’d killed Tony West and if she’d killed Kenneth.

After Ben had left for The Manor on Monday morning, she rang Fran and asked in which library it was she’d located the documents relating to Creekmarsh.

‘Here in Nethergate,’ said Fran. ‘Why?’

‘I’d just like to have a look at them,’ said Libby. ‘I know you’ve seen them and there isn’t anything useful, but I was curious. I thought I might ask Frank for a look at those maps he’s got, too.’

She could almost hear Fran shrugging. ‘Go on, then,’ she said, ‘but I don’t know what you hope to find.’

‘Nothing probably,’ said Libby.

Once again, she trudged up to The Manor to borrow the Land Rover. Neither Hetty nor Greg were to be seen, but Ben waved from the stable yard, now used as a machinery store.

On an impulse, she drove up to Steeple Farm and walked right round the house before making a circuit of the paddock and the garden. It was a beautiful place, no doubt about it, but was it really her? Niggling away in the back of her mind was Fran’s assurance that she could not see Libby living there, even though Fran had tried to say she was probably losing her grip. Libby sighed, went back to the Land Rover and climbed in.

The Nethergate library was in part of the old civic hall and the reference section was right at the back in a modern extension. The librarian, intrigued that she’d been asked for the same documents twice in a short time, fetched them immediately.

‘Do I have to wear white gloves?’ asked Libby.

‘Oh, no,’ said the librarian earnestly. ‘They aren’t very valuable.’

Libby raised her eyebrows but said nothing.

Sure enough the only pages of interest were the same ones Fran had been allowed to copy, but Libby was soon immersed in the day-to-day minutiae of Creekmarsh in the mid-nineteenth century, marvelling at the amounts of food, servants and animals recorded. It was while reading the faded writing detailing expenditure in July 1843 that she came across an item that caused an adrenalin-fuelled tingle up the back of her neck.

It seemed to be payment to a blacksmith for the creation of an iron door, locks and keys.

‘The strong room,’ whispered Libby. ‘Now where did Fran find mention of it in the papers she copied?’

But in those papers, it was merely a passing reference to buildings as part of the estate, including ‘an ice-house and a strong room’. Libby sat back and looked at the two references. Why had the ice-house and the strong room been coupled together? Was it because they’d been created at the same time? Was the strong room outside the house as the ice-house was? She began to look backwards through the accounts books to see if she could find anything else, but there was nothing. The library held no original architectural drawings, but the librarian did volunteer that the original garden designs were kept at the central library in Maidstone as they were thought to be very old and valuable.

Libby rushed outside and rang Lewis. His phone went straight to voicemail, so she tried Adam.

‘Has Mog had sight of the original garden designs?’ she said breathlessly.

‘The – what? Whose designs?’ said Adam sharply.

‘Old ones. Very old.’ She heard him call Mog and ask him the same question.

‘No, he didn’t know there were any. Where are they?’

Libby explained and asked if he knew where Lewis was.

‘Closeted with his TV people in the house,’ said Adam. ‘Is it important?’

‘Well,’ said Libby, thinking quickly, ‘if the garden there is going to feature in the series, what better than to have the original designs to work from?’

Excitedly, Adam relayed this to Mog, who then grabbed the phone.

‘Libby? I’m going to interrupt Lewis right now. Where are these drawings?’

‘Maidstone Central Library,’ said Libby. ‘I don’t know whether we need permission to see them. The librarian at Nethergate didn’t think so. I suppose technically they belong to Lewis now, anyway.’

‘Unless they were donated to the library by a former owner,’ said Mog. ‘I’ve known that to happen. Anyway, I’ll go and interrupt Lewis and call you back.’

Would the original designs show the strong room, though, wondered Libby, as she sat on a low wall near the library and waited for Mog’s call. Probably not, if the work was being paid for in 1843. The designs for the garden would date back much further than that. On the other hand, it might show the icehouse, and maybe the strong room without its sophisticated iron door.

Libby was sure in some way that the strong room, like the ice-house, had a role in the Creekmarsh mystery. Was Cindy hidden there before she was killed? Is that where she ran to when she disappeared?

Her phone rang.

‘Libby? Lewis said he didn’t know anything about them, but that we should go and have a look. Do you think we should phone them first?’

‘The library? Perhaps we should. When do you want to go?’

‘Now?’

‘Don’t be daft. We’d not get there in time to have a good look. Tomorrow morning.’

‘Oh.’ Mog sounded deflated. ‘OK. Will you and Ad meet me there?’

‘Yes,’ said Libby, sliding off the wall. ‘I’ll call them when I get home, then I’ll let you know what time.’

Fran rang when Libby reached home.

‘Have we ever seen a photograph of Tony West?’ she asked.

‘Don’t think so,’ said Libby, dumping her basket on the table. ‘Why?’

‘Just a thought,’ said Fran. ‘Would Lewis have one?’

‘Maybe. I know he’s busy at the moment.’ She explained what had happened about the garden design.

‘That’s odd,’ said Fran. ‘That sort of thing’s usually held at the house, isn’t it?’

‘That’s what I thought, but it seems as though either Gerald or someone else cleared it of everything historical.’

‘It was almost derelict when Gerald bought it, wasn’t it? Hadn’t it been used by the military or something during the war?’

‘Yes, so maybe it was cleared of relevant documents then,’ said Libby. ‘What we need is an old portrait or something, like we found at Anderson Place.’

‘There would hardly be portraits of the people we want to find out about,’ said Fran. ‘Will you ask Lewis about a photo of West?’

‘Later on, I will. When I’m sure he’s free. Why won’t you tell me why you want it?’

‘I’d prejudice you,’ said Fran. ‘This is only a thought.’

As it happened, Libby didn’t have to call Lewis, as he called her about the original garden designs. She explained her theory about the strong room, but he was more interested in the garden.

‘But I thought you must have had the original designs,’ she said, ‘because Adam and Mog are restoring the parterre.’

‘Mog unearthed the layout of that,’ said Lewis, ‘and the whatjer-call-’em fruit trees in the walled garden. Them ones up against a wall.’

‘Espalier?’ suggested Libby.

‘That’s them. All sorts he found, although some are too far gone, but they’re replacing them.’

‘Good,’ said Libby. ‘Now, Lewis, Fran wants to know if you’ve got any pictures of Tony West.’

‘Pictures? Photos? No, ’course I haven’t. What for?’

‘I don’t know, she won’t tell me. Oh, well, I’ll see if I come up with one on the Internet. What did we do without it?’

‘Dunno. Can’t see how anyone can live without it these days. Though I’m not much good at it, but it ain’t half useful.’

‘Certainly is,’ said Libby. ‘Right. Mog and Ad are coming with me tomorrow morning to Maidstone to look at the designs. We’ll find out whether they belong to the library or you. If they belong to you, I expect you’ll have to go and collect them, but at least we’ll be able to have a look tomorrow. Mog’s very excited.’

After Lewis had rung off, Libby made herself a cup of tea and sat down at the computer. Once again she searched for Tony West and came up with the sites she’d found before, augmented by many news sites reporting his murder. She checked all of these to see how much had been released to the public, but apart from mention of Gerald Shepherd and Cindy Dale allegedly running off together, there was no further news of them. Even more odd, thought Libby, there was no mention of Lewis being called in for questioning. It was all being kept very dark.

She found three photographs of West, all taken at media events where he smiled toothily at the camera above a black tie. She emailed Fran the results and then called her to tell her.

‘Do you think Frank would take us to see Gerald?’ asked Fran, after looking at the pictures.

‘What on earth for?’ said Libby. ‘If the police can’t get anything out of him with trained officers what chance would we stand?’

‘I’ve got a theory,’ said Fran stubbornly. ‘I’m going to call Frank.’

‘Fran, you can’t!’ wailed Libby. ‘You’re getting married in a few days’ time. You’ve got things to do.’

‘It’s all done,’ said Fran. ‘If I can organise it, will you come with me?’

‘Well, OK,’ said Libby unwillingly, ‘but not tomorrow morning. I’m going to Maidstone Library to see these garden designs.’

‘Right. I’ll call you when I’ve made arrangements,’ said Fran.

‘You’re quite sure you can, then?’ said Libby.

‘Trust me,’ said Fran and rang off.

By the time Libby and Adam met Mog at Maidstone Central Library she hadn’t heard from Fran, who was now merely days away from her wedding. They were directed to the County Archives section and finally given the fragile plans. Libby asked how the library had got hold of them, which seemed to be an impossible question to answer, judging by the bewildered look on the librarian’s face, but when Mog explained that the current owner of the property would like them back, the expression changed to outrage. He was, however, allowed to copy them and told to write to the archives department for further information.

Libby left them to enthuse over the plans and went outside to wait, punching in Fran’s number on speed dial as she went.

‘Hi, it’s me,’ she said. ‘How did you get on with Frank?’

‘I’m still waiting for an answer,’ said Fran. ‘I left a message with Bren yesterday, but he hasn’t got back to me.’

‘Shall I pop in there after I’ve finished here?’

‘I don’t see what good it would do, but you might as well. I’ll meet you there unless I hear in the meantime. Then I’ll ring you.’

‘OK. Is Guy all right with you galloping around sleuthing?’

‘As long as I’m there on Saturday I don’t think he cares,’ said Fran with a laugh.

Adam came out of the library with large folders and an excited expression.

‘Something that’ll interest you, Ma,’ said Adam. ‘Look.’ He spread one of the plans out on the bonnet of Mog’s van.

Sure enough, once Libby had worked out which way was up, she could see the ice-house and one passage leading from the house. She frowned at it.

‘Only one passage,’ she said. ‘Nothing towards the church or the inn.’

‘Well, there wouldn’t be, would there?’ said Adam reasonably. ‘They would be secret smuggling passages. This one would be official, like.’

‘Hmm.’ Libby peered at the faint markings. ‘No sign of a strong room, either.’

‘Too early, according to what you saw in Nethergate library,’ said Adam.

‘Yes,’ sighed Libby. ‘I just thought there might be something marked that might have been turned into a strong room later – you know with the addition of that iron door, or whatever it was.’

‘Where does the passage to the ice-house come out?’ asked Mog, turning the plan towards him.

‘Under the house,’ said Adam.

‘But it wouldn’t have been under the house, would it? It was a legitimate passage, so needn’t have been hidden.’

‘Is the ha-ha marked?’ said Libby suddenly.

‘No,’ said Mog, peering. ‘No, it isn’t. Why?’

‘Do we know when that was created?’

‘After these designs, presumably,’ said Mog, looking puzzled.

‘Well, the passage was created at this time, and once the ha-ha was formed it would have been exposed, wouldn’t it?’ said Libby. ‘It runs along the edge of the ha-ha where I fell in.’

‘So?’ said Adam, frowning.

‘Actually, I don’t know,’ said Libby, sighing. ‘I wish we could find out where it entered the house, though.’

‘It would have been the kitchens, wouldn’t it?’ said Mog, carefully gathering up the plan.

‘The kitchen’s been checked thoroughly,’ Adam said.

‘But that’s the modern kitchen,’ said Mog. ‘Edwardian, by the look of it.’

‘That’s what I thought,’ said Libby, turning a look of undisguised admiration on him.

‘There must be cellars where the kitchens were. There are signs of built-up ground round the outside walls.’ He turned to Adam. ‘You remember where it looked as though there was the shape of a lintel on the side facing the wood?’

‘F – blimey, yes!’ said Adam. ‘Have the police looked there?’

‘No, I bet they haven’t,’ said Libby, excited. ‘They’ve been looking in the inhabited part of the house.’

‘We’ll have a look when we get back,’ said Mog. ‘Coming, Mrs S?’

‘I’ve got to meet Fran at The Fox,’ said Libby, ‘but let me know if you find anything.’

Adam went back in the van with Mog and Libby followed slowly in Romeo the Renault. She hadn’t thought of old kitchens, and of course she should have done. The house had been there for centuries and had probably been subject to subsidence, which would mean there were quite likely to be rooms below the present ground floor. In which case, there should be an entrance to them.

Round and round the garden, thought Libby. They’d been here before.

There had been no phone call from Fran by the time she reached The Fox, but the Roller Skate was in the car park. Libby locked the Renault and went in through the back door.

Fran was standing by the bar facing a red-faced and truculent Frank.

‘Libby,’ she said with relief, turning towards her friend. ‘I’ve been trying to tell Frank –’

‘And I’m saying he’s had enough.’

Libby looked from one to another. ‘Have you told him what you want to ask Gerald?’ she said.

‘No,’ said Fran, looking surprised. ‘Sorry, Frank. I just want to show him some photographs. See if it jogs his memory.’

Frank looked suspicious. ‘What photographs?’

‘Some we found at Creekmarsh and a couple from the Internet.’

‘Show me,’ said Frank.

‘I don’t think –’

‘Or I won’t even think about taking you,’ he said.

Reluctantly, Fran took a buff manila folder from her bag and opened it. ‘There,’ she said, handing over a few pictures. Libby recognised some from the collection at Creekmarsh, and the others as printouts from the Internet. Surprised, she peered over Fran’s shoulder at two pictures of Kenneth, both looking sullen. Cindy Dale was in one of them as a blurred and shadowy figure behind Kenneth’s left shoulder.

‘Can’t see as how he’ll remember any of them,’ said Frank, pushing the photographs about on the bar, ‘but I suppose it can’t hurt, neither.’ He heaved a huge sigh. ‘It’s been a bugger these last years, keeping him quiet.’

‘Keeping him quiet?’ asked Libby.

‘Not him,’ said Frank. ‘Keeping quiet about him.’

‘Why did you?’

‘Not my place to go spilling the beans, is it?’

‘Do you recognise anyone in these pictures?’ asked Fran.

Frank pulled them towards him. ‘Gerald, Tony West and Ken, And that’ll be that little cow Cindy, I s’pose.’ He pointed. ‘Don’t know any of these. Looks like the seventies, doesn’t it? I didn’t know him that far back.’

‘So will you take us to see him?’ Fran gathered up the pictures. Frank looked uneasily towards the kitchen hatch. ‘Bren,’ he called.

Brenda appeared and stuck her head through the hatch with a friendly grin at Fran and Libby.

‘Could you cope without me for an hour?’ Frank reached out a hand to pat her on the arm. She covered his hand with her own.

‘’Course I can,’ she said. ‘Hardly a rush on, is there? Going to take the ladies to see Gerald, are you?’

Frank, Libby and Fran all showed varying degrees of astonishment.

‘Good idea. You never know – it might bring him out of himself a bit,’ said Brenda.

‘Well,’ said Libby, as they climbed into Frank’s huge SUV five minutes later, ‘I hope it doesn’t do any harm, but suppose we don’t get anything from him and only succeed in upsetting him?’

‘We’ll get something from him,’ said Fran. ‘I only hope it’s what I want.’

Chapter Thirty-three

BROOKMEAD HOUSE, LIKE SO many other houses in their present incarnations, sat at the end of a gravelled drive surrounded by manicured lawns and well tended flowerbeds. No discreet sign gave any indication of the nature of its inhabitants, although there were metal hand-rails on both sides of the shallow steps to the front door. A ramp led up separately, for wheelchairs, Libby supposed and, she thought with a shudder, stretchers.

Frank led the way into the hall which contained a row of uncomfortable looking plastic chairs and a long, high desk, behind which sat a woman with grey hair and an intimidating expression.

‘Hi, Sal,’ said Frank. Blimey, thought Libby.

Sal’s expression changed to coy. Libby blinked.

‘Frank! You back again?’

Libby looked at Fran and made a face.

‘Brought some more visitors, if that’s OK,’ said Frank. ‘Do you need to give them badges or anything?’

‘If you’d just sign in,’ said Sal. ‘Health and Safety, you know.’

‘Huh?’ said Libby.

‘So that they know who’s in the building in case of a fire,’ said Fran.

‘Oh.’ Libby took the proffered pen and signed the book Sal pushed towards her. Fran followed suit.

‘Come on then,’ said Frank and turned to a corridor on his left leading to an open French window, where a white voile curtain fluttered like a bridal veil. Libby and Fran followed him to the end, where he knocked briefly on a door and, without waiting for a reply, opened it.

Gerald Shepherd sat in the inevitable high backed hospital armchair gazing at nothing in particular. The room, with its window too high to gaze from, contained a high bed, a plethora of small tables and what looked like a door to an en-suite bathroom. There were no photographs. He didn’t look up as his three visitors entered.

‘Hey, mate.’ Frank sat down on an upright chair opposite Gerald and motioned Fran and Libby to pull up similar chairs which stood against the wall. Gerald looked at him vaguely and put out a tentative hand. Libby felt a lump in her throat. Fran cleared hers and handed Frank the folder.

‘Gerry, these ladies have come to see you.’ Frank waited for a response, then opened the folder. ‘They’ve brought you pictures to look at.’

Gerald’s eyes dropped to the folder. He understood that much, Libby realised.

‘Look, here.’ Frank pointed out the picture of Kenneth. ‘Who’s that?’

‘Kenny.’ The voice was a whisper. Frank beamed.

‘That’s it! That’s Kenny. And who’s this?’

Gerald took all the photographs with a shaking hand and dropped most of them. Fran dropped to her knees and helped to pick them up. Gerald snatched one from her, the one of young people on a beach.

‘Amanda,’ he whispered. Libby and Fran looked enquiringly at Frank.

‘His wife,’ he said in a low voice. ‘Ken’s mother. Died years ago.’

‘Kenny,’ said Gerald again, with a frown, looking at the photograph with a blurred Cindy Dale behind him.

‘Who’s that?’ asked Fran, pointing to Cindy.

‘Amanda,’ said Gerald.

‘He’s muddled,’ said Frank, stating the obvious. Fran shuffled the photographs and showed one of Tony West.

‘Tony,’ said Gerald in a firmer voice. Then he pulled out the one taken in the seventies and pointed to the young man with the moustache. ‘My son,’ he said.

The other three looked at each other.

‘No, that’s your son, Kenny,’ said Frank, showing the one of Kenneth. Gerald shook his head and pointed again. ‘My son,’ he said, and, shockingly, smiled. He picked up the one of Tony West. ‘My son,’ he said again.

‘Tony?’ said Libby. ‘Tony’s your son?’

‘Where’s Tony?’ Gerald looked up at Frank. ‘Where’s Tony?’

Frank was looking stunned. Libby gave him a nudge. ‘Don’t tell him,’ she whispered. He shook his head slightly and leant forward.

‘Away, Gerry,’ he said. ‘Tony’s away.’

‘Look after Kenny,’ said Gerald, and turned his head to the window.

Nothing more could be got from him, but he held on to the photograph of himself and the moustachioed young man, stroking it gently. Eventually, Frank jerked his head and stood up. He gripped Gerald’s shoulder, and with a soft ‘Bye, mate,’ to which he received no answer, left the room. Libby and Fran followed him. Outside, he leant against the wall and pulled out a large handkerchief to wipe his face.

‘Bloody hell,’ he said.

‘You never knew?’ asked Fran. He shook his head.

‘Did Kenneth know?’ said Libby.

‘No idea,’ said Frank. ‘I’d say no. I was as close to Gerry as anyone, and if I didn’t know, no one knew.’

‘But Kenneth was his son. Wouldn’t Gerald have told him if Tony was his older brother?’ said Libby.

‘Gawd knows,’ said Frank, pushing himself away from the wall and starting back down the corridor. ‘You going to tell the police?’

‘I expect so,’ said Fran. ‘It gives someone the motive for murdering West.’

‘But we know Cindy did it,’ said Libby.

‘Yes, but now we know he was Gerald’s son, which was why, presumably, he was given power of attorney –’

‘Of course!’ breathed Libby. ‘I never could work out why that was.’

‘As I was saying,’ said Fran, ‘as he was Gerald’s son, perhaps Cindy thought he stood in the way of her inheritance.’

‘Hang on, though,’ said Libby, scurrying to catch up with Frank, who had reached the entrance hall, ‘how could it be her inheritance? Kenneth was dead. So whatever happened the money, or the estate, whatever, wouldn’t go to her as Kenneth’s widow.

He pre-deceased his father.’

‘Hmm.’ Fran frowned at Frank’s back, where he was bending over the high counter to speak to Sally, who looked shocked.

‘You shouldn’t have said anything to her,’ said Fran, when he rejoined them.

‘She’s got a right to know,’ he said, striding down the steps to the SUV. ‘Tony paid her.’

‘Paid the fees, you mean?’ said Libby.

‘And paid her a bit extra to keep shtum.’ He looked back up the steps. ‘Good rottweiler, that one. She’s the only one on the staff there that knows who he was.’

‘So where did you come into the picture, then?’ asked Libby, clambering up into the high vehicle.

‘Told you. I knew Gerry in London. He come down to visit, saw old Creekmarsh and bought it. Tony was part of the crowd. Told you that, an’ all.’

‘Yes, you did.’ Fran settled herself comfortably. ‘So his mother can’t have been Amanda?’

Frank frowned over the steering wheel. ‘We-ell,’ he said. ‘See, I don’t know. Bit funny, ain’t it? Both of them keeping quiet about it if it was all legal like.’

‘I suppose so,’ said Libby. ‘So do you think he fathered Tony before he was married to Amanda?’

‘Must have done,’ said Fran. ‘It looks as though he was very young when Tony was born. Perhaps he didn’t know about Tony until he was grown up.’

‘You mean Tony traced his real father, sort of thing?’ said Libby.

‘Maybe,’ said Fran. ‘In which case it might have been bad publicity if it came out. Things weren’t quite as enlightened as they are now.’

They arrived back at the pub and thanked Frank for taking them. He shook hands with them both, still looking stunned.

‘I’m going to tell them about this,’ said Libby. ‘Coming?’

‘No, I’d better get back and play at being a bride-to-be,’ said Fran.

‘You’d guessed, hadn’t you?’ said Libby, watching her friend unlock her car.

Fran nodded.

‘That was why you kept asking how old Tony was?’

‘Yes,’ said Fran. ‘Just one of those things.’

‘Oh, right.’ Libby frowned at her. ‘But I still don’t quite see what difference it makes.’

‘Tony is probably Gerald’s heir. If the police have got to the will by now they’ll know that.’

‘So Cindy killed him to remove the obstacle to her inheritance? I said before, that doesn’t make sense. Gerald was still alive and she thought he still owned the house.’

‘Yes,’ said Fran, ‘Gerald was still alive. I think she had expected to come home and find Gerald dead, so would walk into Creekmarsh as Kenneth’s wife – or widow. I don’t suppose she thought much further than that. Then she found out about Tony.’

‘How? She went and killed him after she heard about the skeleton. She must have known already that he was Gerald’s son.’

‘I expect she went to see him to ask what she should do before she turned up officially. Then he would have told her Creekmarsh had been sold and, anyway, it was all his. I don’t suppose she thought about what she was doing. Probably just lashed out.’

‘With Lewis’s mallet.’ Libby nodded. ‘But then, who killed her?’

Fran shivered. ‘That’s the worrying part, isn’t it?’

Libby let herself into the kitchen and called out. Katie appeared and went straight to the kettle.

‘Tea, lovey?’ she asked.

‘Oh, yes please, Katie,’ said Libby. ‘Do you know where Lewis is?’

‘Out there with his telly mates somewhere,’ said Katie. ‘Did you want him for anything?’

‘No, not really,’ lied Libby. ‘What about Adam? I’ve got to give him a lift home tonight. I mean, I know he won’t be ready yet, but I thought I’d let him know I’m here.’

‘Him and that Mog were over towards the wood last time I saw them,’ said Katie.

‘How’s Edie?’ asked Libby. ‘Is she still here?’

‘Having a lie down,’ said Katie, pouring tea. ‘She’s bit frail, poor thing. Seemed really shook up when that Cindy died.’

‘Well, it can’t be very nice knowing someone’s been found dead in your son’s garden,’ said Libby, taking her mug.

‘No, and she was already worried about him.’ Katie tutted. ‘I don’t know what the world’s coming to, I really don’t. Murders and skeletons. I’m not so sure I want to stay down here, meself, now.’

‘Oh, Katie, you can’t leave him,’ said Libby. ‘He really needs you.’

Katie looked doubtful. ‘I dunno,’ she said. ‘He can get other staff if he needs them. I’m getting on a bit, after all. I should think about retiring. I’m not as strong as I was.’

‘But he relies on you,’ said Libby.

‘Hmm,’ said Katie, and sat down with her mug looking thoughtful.

‘I’m going to find Adam and Mog,’ said Libby after a moment. ‘Can I take my mug with me?’

‘Long as you bring it back,’ said Katie with a smile. ‘Those boys are always leaving them places.’

‘I’ll tell them off,’ said Libby and went out into the grounds.

Adam and Mog weren’t far away. In fact, they were at the back of the house, very carefully loosening turf away from the wall.

‘What’s going on?’ said Libby.

‘Told you, didn’t we?’ said Adam. ‘Look!’

And sure enough, a curved row of bricks was showing in the wall just above the ground.

‘That’s what Fran and I were looking for the other day,’ said Libby.

‘Where?’ asked Mog.

‘At the church and on the other side of the house. Near that little side door no one uses.’

Mog looked dubious. ‘Newer part of the house,’ he said.

‘Well, you won’t be able to break in from here,’ said Libby, bending down to get a closer look. ‘Can you work out where it is on the garden plan?’

‘It doesn’t show the interior of the house, Ma,’ said Adam scornfully.

‘All right, all right,’ said Libby. ‘But I bet I know where it is.’ She straightened up and looked up at the building. ‘See that window? The tall one?’

Mog and Adam looked up.

‘Yes,’ said Adam.

‘That’s over the staircase in the other part of the house. What’s the betting that there’s a staircase down as well?’

Mog nodded slowly. ‘But how would you find it? It’s almost derelict in there isn’t it?’

‘There was loads of rubble at the foot of the staircase, yes,’ said Libby.

‘In which case, Mother, Cindy wouldn’t have been able to get down there, let alone you.’ Adam was triumphant. Libby gave him a look.

‘If we could get down there we could find out where tunnel came out. Where else the tunnel came out,’ she insisted.

‘We’ll have to tell Lewis,’ said Mog. ‘And it’s getting a bit late to do it today.’

‘OK. I’ll see if I can find him and have a quick chat,’ said Libby. ‘By the time I’ve done that you’ll be ready to leave, won’t you, Ad?’

Adam and Mog agreed and returned to their self-imposed task, although Libby wasn’t quite sure why, if they weren’t going to be able to knock it through. Just boys’ curiosity, she supposed.

She met Lewis on the drive waving off a car load of “telly people”.

‘Got a minute?’ she asked him.

He looked nervous. ‘What for?’ he said.

‘Oh, Lewis, what’s the matter?’ Libby tucked her arm through his and turned him back towards the house. ‘Come on. It’s almost over, all this, and you’ve got your new series on the way, and the original garden designs. What’s the problem?’

‘You,’ said Lewis. ‘I’m beginning to get nervous about you. Something always seems to happen around you.’

‘That’s not true,’ said Libby, shocked. ‘And you asked me into it in the first place, after all.’

‘I know,’ sighed Lewis, ‘but that was before Tony was killed and I was worried.’

‘And you’re not worried now?’

‘’Course I bloody am. I don’t understand any of it. What did you want, anyway?’

‘Can Adam and Mog and I do a bit of excavating in the old part of the house tomorrow?’ Libby led the way into the kitchen and put her mug on the table with a wink at Katie.

‘Excavating? What d’you mean?’

‘Where the old staircase is, you know? There’s a lot of rubble there. We thought there may be an entrance to the cellars of the tunnels there. Mog and Adam have found signs of an old window bricked up below ground level.’

‘Have they?’ Lewis’s expression brightened. ‘Where’s that then? Are they there now?’

‘Yes, or they were. They’ll be finished soon. Do you want to go and see?’

‘Yeah.’ Lewis grabbed her arm. ‘Come on, nuisance. You always get your way, don’t you?’

Libby looked back at Katie and raised her eyebrows. Katie shook her head and picked up her magazine.

Adam was carefully rolling the turf they’d removed while Mog watered it thoroughly. They showed Lewis the window and the indications that there were others along the same wall.

‘Do you think they are cellars?’ Lewis asked.

‘Sure of it. We’ll probably find stashes of brandy and baccy down there,’ said Libby with a grin.

‘What?’ Lewis looked puzzled.

‘Don’t take any notice of her,’ said Adam. ‘Can we look in the house tomorrow, Lewis?’

‘Yeah, I’ll come with you.’ He straightened up and gave Libby a squeeze. ‘Sorry I called you a nuisance.’

‘Why are you sorry?’ asked Adam. ‘She is!’

‘Come back to the house while they finish up,’ said Libby, ‘I’ve got something else to tell you. I think Fran will have told the police by now, but don’t mention it to anyone else.’

Adam and Mog looked interested, but Libby pulled a puzzled Lewis away towards the house.

‘Now,’ she said. ‘You’re never going to believe this, but –’

Chapter Thirty-four

‘I DIDN’T TELL THE police,’ Fran said on the phone. ‘I’ll talk it over with Frank first, I think. He seems to be the only one left who cares about Gerald, and he might not want him bothered.’

‘But we’ve got to tell the police! You said yourself it gives a motive for Tony’s murder.’

‘But you said it’s a pretty shaky one,’ said Fran.

‘I know, but it explains such a lot, doesn’t it? You’ll have to tell them.’

‘All right, all right. So what did they say up at the house?’

‘I only told Lewis. I didn’t think it was right to tell the others. But they’ve found windows to what could be cellars. We’re going exploring tomorrow. Want to come?’

‘I’d love to,’ said Fran wistfully, ‘but I really can’t. I’m picking up the dress tomorrow – yours as well, I might add – and doing all sorts of last-minute things. You’ll have to ring me later.’

‘OK. I’ll have the others there, so I won’t do anything stupid,’ said Libby crossing her fingers.

The following morning Libby drove Adam to Creekmarsh in the Renault and left him to find Mog while she went in search of Lewis.

‘He had to pop out, lovey,’ said Katie, when Libby put her head round the kitchen door after looking in the solar. ‘Don’t know where he’s gone. Said he wouldn’t be long though.’

‘OK, thanks,’ said Libby, and wandered off to find Mog and Adam, who now seemed to have disappeared. They weren’t standing over the pile of turf near the uncovered window, nor were they at the parterre. Libby scowled and began to walk towards the ha-ha. But the view down to the little sailing club’s boathouse was clear – no one was down there either. Heaving an irritated sigh, she retraced her steps and went back into the house. This time even Katie wasn’t there, so, with a shrug, she went through to the uninhabited part of the house and came to the blocked staircase.

She wandered round the hallway aimlessly for a while, then decided she might as well make a start and began moving the smaller of the pieces of fallen masonry that blocked the stairwell. After a few minutes, she stepped back wiping the back of her hand across her forehead. And heard a sound.

It was little more than a rumble, a bowling ball thrown down a gulley. Then it stopped. Libby took another step backwards and, as if the movement had started an avalanche, the pile of masonry began to fall away.

She stepped even further backwards and pressed her back against the wall as suddenly the whole staircase began to fall.

She crouched down and covered her head with her arms, feeling the dust settle on her head and arms, terrified that the whole floor would give way. Eventually the noise stopped, and, after waiting a minute, Libby stood up.

In front of her lay an open stairwell. The remains of the upper staircase hung melodramatically in the air.

‘Now this,’ she said out loud, ‘is where the stupid heroine goes down those stairs and meets the murderer. Only I’m not going to. Except…’

She took a step nearer and managed to peer down into the hole. As far as she could see it was indeed a tunnel which led both ways away from the broken steps. She turned round and began to make her way shakily back to the kitchen, where she hoped Katie would offer her a restorative cup of tea before she set off once more to find Adam and Mog.

But when she got to the kitchen Katie was still nowhere to be seen.

‘Bloody Marie Celeste,’ muttered Libby and went to Katie’s private door and knocked.

There was no answer, but the door swung slightly open. Libby looked inside. No one was there.

Feeling even more rattled and definitely worried, Libby went back outside and called. No one answered.

‘Phone,’ she said to herself and took out her mobile.

‘Ad?’ she said when he answered. ‘Where are you?’

‘Nethergate,’ he said. ‘Why, where are you?’

‘Nethergate? What are you doing there? I’m at Creekmarsh. You went off to find Mog and after that I couldn’t find you. I’ve just caused a landslide inside the house and I can’t even find Katie, now. What shall I do?’

‘A landslide? What are you talking about, Ma? Look we’ll be back when we’ve picked up this stuff. Katie gave Mog a message from Lewis when he arrived. Don’t know where Lewis has gone, but he wanted to look into the cellars with us, didn’t he?’

‘Yes, and I think I’ve found them,’ said Libby. ‘But I don’t want to go down there on my own. I’ll go back inside and make myself some tea.’

However, after she’d rung off, she changed her mind. Fetching her torch from the glove compartment of the Renault, she set off down to the ha-ha and made her way to the opening of the tunnel where she’d found the document case.

‘This isn’t stupid,’ she told herself. ‘This tunnel is perfectly safe. The police have checked it out.’ She flashed the torch to the left and right and saw large well-rounded tunnel roofs that looked solid. ‘Towards the house,’ she said loudly, in case there was anyone around, and set off.

The tunnel was much lighter than she had anticipated, running fairly straight, slightly uphill towards the house, the opening under the ha-ha still visible if she looked back. It wasn’t until she was a good way along that she realised there was also light coming from ahead.

‘Odd,’ she muttered. ‘The police said there was no opening at all this end.’ And her heart gave a leap.

‘The stairwell,’ she gasped, ‘it must be.’

As she drew nearer she could see that it was the set of steps she had discovered only half an hour earlier. And that there was another door just beyond the steps. And it was open.

Libby froze. Now what? What would she find beyond that door? Nothing, she thought, because she wasn’t going to look. She just wished she was back in the kitchen with Katie making her a cup of tea.

Why hadn’t she stayed there? Katie wouldn’t have been long. Or even Edie. She must be around somewhere.

She began to walk stealthily backwards, cursing herself for being a fool. ‘I said don’t be a stupid heroine,’ she whispered to herself. ‘Now look what’s happened.’

Not daring to turn her back on the open door, she continued to walk backwards until the opening under the ha-ha was only feet away, when she turned and ran. Out in the open, she made for the bench where she’d sat with Lewis, collapsed on to it and rang Adam again. Between panting breaths she told him what had happened.

‘OK, Ma, just stay put. We’re coming back right now,’ said Adam firmly. ‘Has Lewis turned up yet?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Libby, her stomach doing a rather nasty swoop. ‘Do I have to look?’

‘Have you tried ringing him?’

‘No, have you?’

‘Yes, we did, but his phone was off,’ said Adam, sounding rather more perturbed. ‘You just stay there, and we’ll be right over. Ten minutes tops.’

‘OK,’ said Libby and turned back to the house. She shivered involuntarily and wondered whether to go and risk making herself a cup of tea, or to go and sit in the car. The car won, partly because she was fairly convinced there was a rogue packet of cigarettes lurking in the door pocket.

However, as she got to the drive she saw Katie waving from the house.

‘Where did you get to?’ she asked. ‘I thought something had happened to you. I heard this crashing noise and when I came down to look you’d gone. I thought you were underneath all that rubble.’ She put a hand to her chest and Libby saw how pale she was.

‘I’m sorry to worry you,’ she said. ‘I came looking for you, too. How did we miss each other?’

Katie shook her head. ‘I’ve put the kettle on,’ she said. ‘Come and have a cuppa.’

‘I phoned the boys,’ said Libby, hovering by the door. ‘They’re coming right away. They said you gave them a message.’

‘Yes, Lewis wanted them to pick something up from Nethergate.’ Katie put out mugs.

‘Did you see him this morning?’ asked Libby.

‘No, he left me a note.’ Katie looked up, alarm in her face. ‘Why? Do you think something’s happened to him now?’

Libby wasn’t sure what she thought, but she gave Katie a wobbly smile and said she was sure nothing had.

‘I’m going to ring him now,’ said Katie and went to the house phone on the wall. He won’t answer, thought Libby, and sure enough, after a few minutes Katie tutted and put the phone back on its rest.

‘He’s got his blasted phone turned off,’ she said, going to pour boiling water into the teapot. ‘Where’s the perishing boy got to?’

Libby’s mind was racing like a hamster in a wheel. If only Fran was there.

‘Katie,’ she said carefully, ‘where’s Edie?’

‘Upstairs,’ said Katie, stirring the pot. ‘I was with her when we heard your crash. I’ll take her a cup of this.’ ‘I would,’ said Libby, thinking, with a sinking

feeling, of the small woman who adored her son.

‘Or do you want to take it up to her? Make a change from me?’ said Katie pouring tea into three mugs.

‘No, thanks, she knows you better,’ said Libby. Katie gave her an odd look, shrugged and picked up a mug. ‘Won’t be a mo,’ she said. ‘Help yourself to biscuits.’ She waved at the plate on the table and disappeared towards the main stairs.

Libby sat very still, wondering if she should call Fran, or the police, or even Adam again. She realised with some surprise she hadn’t once thought of calling Ben.

The house was very quiet. She wondered what would happen about the ruined staircase and whether it would be worth restoring it. And of course, the cellars below. If they were intact. Her mind began to wander to the other putative tunnels and the business of smuggling. Had Gerald known about the tunnels? And what if he had? Had Tony? Had he told Lewis?

Libby shivered again and sat up straighter, clasping both hands round her mug and wishing Katie would come back. Then, to her relief, the sound of a car on the gravelled drive. Mog and Adam had arrived.

But there were no voices. Only footsteps on the gravel, coming towards the door. They paused, and Libby bit her lip. Perspiration sprung out on along her hairline and her upper lip and her heart was beating so fast she thought she might faint. And then the footstep behind her and the hand on her shoulder.

‘Hello, Lib,’ said Lewis.

Chapter Thirty-five

‘LEWIS,’ SAID LIBBY FROM a dry mouth. ‘Where have you been?’

He raised his eyebrows. ‘Didn’t Katie tell you?’

Libby shook her head, afraid she would never be able to speak again. She remembered Ben telling Lewis about how much trouble she’d been in during other investigations and how horrified he’d seemed. And how fond of him she’d become. She closed her eyes for a moment to try and calm her brain, but it was no good. The hamster wheel was back.

‘Libby, you look awful.’ Lewis moved round the table and sat down in Katie’s chair, feeling the teapot. ‘Still warm. Where’s Katie?’

No point in not telling him, thought Libby. ‘With your mum,’ she said.

‘Right. Well, I’ll pop up and see them,’ he said, ‘unless I can do anything for you? You look buggered, girl. What’ve you been doing?’

‘Nothing,’ croaked Libby, hoping against hope to hear the sounds of another car on the drive.

‘OK.’ Lewis shrugged. ‘I’ll just pop upstairs, then.’ And he was gone.

Libby realised she was covered in cold perspiration and that she’d been holding her breath. Even her shoulders ached with tension. She tried to relax and attempted a sip of her rapidly cooling tea. She spilt it. Then she heard footsteps on the stairs. Swallowing hard, she turned towards the door, repeating in her head like a mantra “Adam and Mog will be here soon, Adam and Mog will be here soon.”

Her shoulders sagged with relief as Katie came back into the kitchen.

‘You all right?’ Libby asked through still dry lips.

Katie sat down and shook her head.

‘No,’ she said.

‘Lewis?’ whispered Libby.

‘He’s back,’ said Katie. She stood up again. ‘Come with me. I’ve got something to show you.’

Libby stood up. ‘Will he – he’s with his mum?’

‘They’re fine,’ said Katie wearily. ‘Come on. You might as well see this.’

Libby followed her out of the kitchen and across to the door, still slightly ajar as Libby had seen it earlier.

‘Sit down,’ said Katie, going to a cupboard by the side of the small fireplace, which held an equally small gas fire. She took out a large scrapbook and what looked like a photograph album. ‘I hoped no one would ever have to see these,’ she said, ‘but there’s no hope for it now.’

Libby watched as Katie pulled up a small table and sat down beside it. ‘There,’ she said. ‘Now you’ll know all about it.’

‘About Lewis?’ asked Libby.

‘Lewis?’ Katie frowned. ‘Why should it be about Lewis?’

‘Because –’ Libby stopped as her heart once again performed a somersault. ‘Who, then?’

‘Who? Gerald, of course,’ said Katie.

Libby looked down at the album and tried to sort out her thoughts. She was staring at a family group: a young man, hardly more than a boy, a girl of the same age and a baby, about six months old. They were a happy, laughing group, the baby wearing a brimmed hat which could have denoted either sex. Not wanting to comment, she turned the page. And now the picture was similar to the group of young people on a beach Fran had found in the solar. Libby kept her eyes on the page and tried to think of something to say.

A movement from Katie made her look up. As she did so, Katie’s hand came up to cover her mouth, while her eyes stared over Libby’s shoulder.

‘That’s where it was after all, then, Katie,’ said Lewis. Libby didn’t turn round but heard him come round the table. He looked down at Katie. ‘Look, Lib,’ he said. ‘Just look.’

‘At what?’ said Libby.

‘Behind you.’

Libby half turned in her chair and found herself staring into a black void where a section of panelling had swung open revealing stout locks on the inside. Libby turned back to Katie, bewildered.

‘What is it?’ she asked. She looked up at Lewis. ‘Is it the strong room?’

‘Looks like it,’ he said, still looking at Katie. ‘It is, isn’t it, Katie?’

Katie took her hands from her mouth and nodded.

‘And this?’ Libby turned the page back to the photograph of the little family. ‘Is this you?’

Katie nodded again.

‘With Gerald,’ said Libby.

‘And our son,’ said Katie. ‘Tony.’

Silence fell in the little room. Both Lewis and Libby watched as Katie took the album and began turning the pages. Eventually she looked up.

‘You guessed, didn’t you?’ she said to Lewis. ‘Just now, upstairs with your mum.’

Lewis nodded. ‘And then I had a message on my phone from Adam,’ he said, ‘telling me that there was an opening at the end of the tunnel that Libby had found. If I got here before he did I should check if you were all right. So I came along the tunnel and here I am.’

‘Cindy?’ Libby’s voice cracked.

‘I don’t know.’ He turned back to Katie. ‘Tell us, Katie.’

‘I was going to tell Libby. That’s why I got these out.’ She gestured towards the album and scrapbook.

‘I was only seventeen,’ she said, addressing Libby. ‘Gerry was twenty and still at his acting school.’

‘RADA,’ put in Lewis.

‘Yes. Well, these things happen, and I had a little boy. Anthony we called him. But we talked about it and decided it wouldn’t be good for Gerry to saddle himself with a wife and family then. It was at the beginning of the sixties, see, and there were all sorts of opportunities, he felt.’

‘What about you, though? It was really hard for an unmarried mother in those days,’ said Libby.

‘Oh, I was all right. My old mum was a good sort and my dad had long since gone, so we all stayed together and faced down the neighbours. Gerry sent what money he could and I trained to be a shorthand typist. Tony grew up with me and my mum and I don’t think he wanted for nothing. Gerry stayed in touch but didn’t come to see us.’ She paused, looking again at the photographs. ‘Then one day he phones and says would Tony like to meet him. Tony’s about twenty himself now. So off he goes and from then on Gerry introduces him to people – not as his son, of course – who can help him in his career.’

She shrugged. ‘Well, you know the rest. Tony made himself into a businessman and he helped me get into the outside catering business, Gerry helped me get into the OB business and then – well, then young Kenneth married that little tart.’

‘She didn’t look like a tart,’ ventured Libby.

‘Huh! You should have seen her a few years ago. Showed everything she’d got and that much make-up you wouldn’t believe. This time, she comes round looking like butter wouldn’t melt. I could hardly believe it myself.’ Katie stopped, a brooding expression on her face.

‘When did you first see her?’ asked Libby.

‘This time? When I got back here and she was in the kitchen. Gawd, I was livid.’

‘Why were you so livid?’

‘Because I knew what had happened three years ago, and I’d kept quiet for Gerry and Tony. And here she was going to stir it all up again.’

‘But they’d already dug up the skeleton,’ said Lewis. ‘It was already stirred up.’

‘And I’d said nothing, had I? Nothing to be gained, I thought. Then I gave the police Gerry’s scarf. I thought it would just prove the skeleton wasn’t him, I didn’t realise it would prove it was Kenneth.’

‘So what really happened when Kenneth was killed?’ asked Libby gently. ‘And why did Tony help cover it up?’

‘It was when Kenny went into that Dungeon Trial. Gerry was beginning to show signs of dementia, so he came down here and signed for Tony to have power of attorney. And he made his will. Then down comes Miss Glamour Puss to “look after him” she says. Huh.’ Katie paused and pushed a hand through her short hair. ‘Making up to him she was, really. So Kenny comes out of the show and Tony drives him down here. With me.’

‘With you?’ gasped Libby.

‘Oh, yes,’ said Katie. ‘Miss Cindy Dale wasn’t pleased to see me last week, I can tell you.’

‘So then what?’ asked Lewis, leaning forward.

‘We find Cindy trying to – well – get into bed with Gerald. At least Kenny did. He went a bit mental, I think; well, you would, wouldn’t you? And she lashed out and killed him. Tony and me came in and Tony tried to calm things down. Cindy was hysterical and Gerry was upset. He didn’t really understand what was going on.’

‘So Tony arranged to get Cindy and Gerry away and bury Kenneth in the grounds?’ said Libby.

‘It seemed best all round,’ said Katie. ‘Then we could forget it ever happened. Trouble was it was expensive to keep Gerry in those homes, especially with extra security.’

Sally, thought Libby.

‘So Tony sold Creekmarsh to me?’ said Lewis.

Katie looked slightly ashamed. ‘Yes. He said you wouldn’t ask questions.’

‘Bloody idiot, I was, wasn’t I?’ Lewis snorted.

‘And then the skeleton turned up,’ said Libby. ‘And after that, Cindy. When did she tell you she’d killed Tony?’

Katie’s eyes flew to Libby’s face. ‘You knew?’

‘Well, the police found evidence,’ said Libby.

‘After they’d had her in for questioning, when she came back here. Lewis had gone to call you and she came down here wanting this tea Lewis had asked me to make. She told me then. She and Kenneth hadn’t known Tony was my son before. So I told her then and I think she was a bit well – shocked. She said she’d found out Tony was Gerry’s son and mentioned in the will.’

‘Was he?’

Katie nodded. ‘Divided between me and Tony, Gerry’s estate. Me now, for all the good it’ll do me.’

‘Are you actually saying you killed her? But how? She completely disappeared.’ Libby frowned.

Katie nodded towards the strong room. ‘Gerry, Tony and me always knew that was there and where it led to. I told Cindy to hide down there and I’d put everyone off the scent.’

‘So she was in here while we were searching and you were sitting at the kitchen table?’ said Lewis.

‘Yes.’

‘But why? She’d just been released by the police,’ said Libby.

‘I told her they’d got new evidence. And of course, they had, although I didn’t know it. She believed me. Then I went down the passage and left a little ring on the landing stage for them to find, and set a dinghy loose. The police thought she’d done a runner.’

‘So did we,’ said Libby. ‘It was very clever.’

‘Libby!’ Lewis gave her a disgusted look.

‘Then I went back and said to go down to the icehouse, I’d see her later.’ Katie looked down at her hands. ‘And I did.’

‘And the dinghy?’ asked Libby.

‘Oh, it drifted in on its own.’ Katie laughed humourlessly. ‘Funny that.’

‘Why have you told us now?’ said Libby.

‘You were getting so close.’ Katie sighed. ‘And I’m so tired.’

‘What were you going to do in the end?’ asked Libby.

Katie sighed. ‘Wait for it to go away. I was going to give notice,’ she nodded at Lewis, ‘and go back to London. Maybe retire. Go travelling.’ She shook her head. ‘Somehow I didn’t believe it.’ She put her hands on the little table and pushed herself to her feet. ‘Come on then. Time to go for the police.’

Lewis looked shamefaced. ‘I think they might be here,’ he said. Libby looked a question. ‘Adam said you sounded frightened, so I called them.’

‘What were you frightened of?’ asked Katie, who by this time was putting on an outdoor coat.

‘I wasn’t sure,’ said Libby, avoiding Lewis’s eye.

‘Not me?’ His voice rose several notches. ‘Why, for Gawd’s sake?’

‘I’m really not sure,’ said Libby. ‘Can we talk about it later?’

They followed Katie into the kitchen where, to Libby’s astonishment, Adam, Mog, Ian Connell, Sergeant Maiden and Ben were grouped round the kitchen table. Adam rushed at Libby, while Ian gently took Katie’s arm and escorted her outside, murmuring the official warning to her as he did so. Libby saw her nodding as she left the house, and suddenly burst into tears.

‘My mum!’ said Lewis, and shot upstairs, while Ben and Adam offered hugs and handkerchiefs to the weeping woman at the table.

Five minutes later Edie appeared in the kitchen with Lewis, her eyes suspiciously bright, but looking upright and determined. She came over to Libby and gave her shoulder a pat.

‘You bin a help to my boy,’ she said. ‘Now I’m goin’ to look after him. You pop off home, like, and we’ll see you soon.’

‘Thank you, Edie,’ said Libby, ‘but I think the police will want to speak to us before we go.’

Ian, having returned to the kitchen, nodded apologetically and asked if there was somewhere comfortable they could go. Lewis said they could use the solar and led the way back upstairs.

‘Funny,’ he said, standing and looking out of the large window down to the river and the sea. ‘I remember sitting here right at the beginning of all this and being scared.’ He turned and smiled sadly at Libby. ‘I didn’t know what I was scared of then, did I?’

She came to his side and put an arm round him. ‘You had nothing to be scared of,’ she said. ‘Katie loved you.’

‘That was the trouble,’ said Ian from behind them. ‘She loved so many people, particularly her own son. Frightening thing, mother love.’

Epilogue

AND SO FRAN AND Guy were married a few days later. Libby once again found herself in the role of first attendant, and Ben was a proud and handsome best man. Adam and Dominic appointed themselves groomsmen and kept an eye on Fran’s unpredictable children, the fretful Lucy and her unruly offspring, the social-climbing Chrissie and her husband Bruce, who both looked as though they’d sucked lemons, and the placid Jeremy, charming American girlfriend in tow, both of them still suffering from jet lag.

Later, in the marquee, where an extremely good jazz quartet were playing, Libby and Fran sat together with glasses of champagne while Libby brought Fran up to date on the unhappy finale to the Creekmarsh mystery.

‘So we were almost right,’ said Fran, sipping thoughtfully. ‘Cindy really did kill Tony because of Gerald’s will.’

‘Yes, but she can’t have thought she had any way of getting back into it,’ said Libby. ‘I think the crunch came when Katie told her she’d done it for nothing because she was now the only beneficiary. Then she would have panicked.’

‘And Katie pretended to help her.’ Fran twirled her new wedding ring round her finger and held it up to admire it. ‘Why on earth did the silly girl believe that?’

‘Because she realised she would have left traces and because Katie said they’d found new evidence.

She just wanted to get away.’

‘So she walked into her own death.’ Fran shook her head and looked across to where Guy was attempting to charm her daughters.

Libby nodded and looked for her own children in another corner of the marquee, laughing and talking with Harry and Peter, and then Ben, sitting quietly with Lewis and Edie, watching her.

‘As Ian said,’ she whispered, ‘a terrible thing, mother love.’