Читать книгу Exham-on-Sea Murder Mysteries 1-3 - Frances Evesham - Страница 6

‘There's no reason to cancel the meeting.’ Marina folded her arms, enclosed in the purple sleeves of a wafty silk caftan, across an ample chest. She settled comfortably in her chair and beamed at Libby. ‘Folk will arrive in a moment.’

The local history society meeting was due to begin. Libby had dashed home from the beach to Hope Cottage, her new home. She shut Shipley in the hall while she located Fuzzy, her marmalade cat, safe in the airing cupboard, and changed, grabbing the first skirt and jumper she found.

Retrieving the cake she'd baked yesterday, juggling the tin as Shipley pulled on the lead, she hurried past the empty children's play park to return the dog to his owner and deliver refreshments, as promised, for the meeting.

‘I'm sorry we took so long,’ she'd gasped as Marina opened the door.

‘Did you?’ The other woman had raised an unconcerned eyebrow. She hadn't been worried about her pet, then.

Marina had taken the lead, winced as Shipley shook water all over her hall carpet, and shooed the dog into a room at the back of the house, closing the door firmly. Libby hoped his bowl was full – Shipley deserved a good feed.

She wished, now, she'd taken more trouble with her appearance. In her hurry, she hadn't bothered to dry her hair properly and it hung in a tangle of brown round her face. She tugged at the hem of her sweater as she told Marina about the dead woman on the beach.

Marina shrugged. ‘I expect the woman was on drugs. There's no need for you to worry. The police said they'd keep you informed, so they'll let you know.’

‘Yes, but…’ Libby wasn't confident Detective Sergeant Ramshore would bother.

‘Now, listen to me.’ Marina was not the newly retired deputy head of the local primary school for nothing. She understood command. ‘You need a distraction, Libby. Come into the kitchen. We'll slice up your cake and forget about this down-and-out.’

‘She didn't look like a down-an-out,’ Libby mused, waving a knife. ‘Her jacket was leather – expensive, I think, but not new.’ She remembered the dark roots to the woman's hair but kept that to herself. She felt oddly protective towards the unknown woman.

She was grateful to Marina. The woman had been kind, taking Libby under her wing, and persuading her to join the society. Somehow, and Libby was unsure how Marina had achieved it, she'd talked the newcomer into providing cake for the history society meetings.

‘Everyone's sure to love it, dear. People are already talking about your cakes. Frank Brown has never had so many customers, and we're all looking forward to seeing your book.’

‘Hmm. If I ever finish it.’

Marina had waved away such nonsense. Writing a book about celebration cakes, full of photographs, must be the easiest way possible to make a living. ‘Anyway, you can practice your cakes on us.’

As a result, Libby supplied at least one elaborate confection for each meeting. She had to stand on her own feet now her husband was dead and she needed all the publicity she could get.

Marina sampled a slice of today's contribution, a pineapple and coconut upside-down cake with a cream cheese frosting. ‘Delicious. Your best yet.’ The doorbell rang. ‘There you are.’ She beamed. ‘It's too late to cancel now. Angela's here.’

Soon, Marina's grand drawing room was full.

‘Quite a turn out,’ Angela Miles murmured in Libby's ear. ‘Almost everyone's braved the rain today. They've heard about your adventure. News travels fast in Exham.’

Libby had only met Angela once before, at a previous society meeting, but she instinctively liked her. While Marina overpowered with her confidence and easy assumption that she knew best, Angela was calm, with a dry sense of humour.

‘Good heavens,’ she said now. ‘Samantha Watson's gracing us with her presence.’

Libby had not met Samantha, but Marina had described her. ‘Our resident intellectual. She's a solicitor, and she tells me she can complete the Telegraph crossword in half an hour.’ Marina had snorted. ‘She also claims to answer most of the questions from University Challenge. If you believe that, you'll believe anything.’

Samantha sashayed into the room. As Marina introduced her to Libby, she let her eyes roam over Libby's unkempt hair and everyday clothes.

‘Pleased to meet you,’ she murmured, lowered herself into a chair and crossed one long leg over the other. Her sheer tights hissed as she smoothed a tight pencil skirt over shapely knees.

‘We don't often see her at these meetings,’ Angela murmured. ‘Her time's too valuable.’

Libby bit back a laugh as Angela continued, ‘She doesn't come to many social occasions with the likes of us.’

‘One of my clients cancelled an appointment, so I've just popped in for a minute.’ Samantha explained, raising a hand, as though granting the society a favour. ‘Such a shame, by the way, another tragedy on the beach.’ She glanced at Libby. ‘I hear you found the body.’

Marina said. ‘A visitor stuck in the mud, I suppose, when the tide came in. How foolish. When will they learn not to go walking over the riverbed?’

Angela explained to Libby, ‘You can only see it when the tide goes out. The coast guard often rescue people. They put red flags on the beach, but strangers don't take enough notice. It looks calm, but the sand turns treacherous and it can suck you in.’

Libby shuddered.

‘Ships have been caught out, as well. The town's had three lighthouses over the years, to keep them from running aground.’

‘Three?’

‘The low lighthouse where you found the body, the Round Tower on the esplanade – that's not in use any more, and neither is the High Lighthouse near the sand dunes.’

‘Good grief. I thought I was coming to such a safe, quiet little town.’

Angela smiled. ‘I don't think any coast is truly safe, do you? When the gales blow in the autumn, you can't ignore the force of nature. I lost a summerhouse last year.’

Marina joined in, ‘And my fence blew down. Luckily, I was insured.’

Samantha allowed Marina to place a slice of cake on her plate. She cut it neatly into tiny squares and popped them, one after another, into a lipsticked mouth, a little pink tongue flicking out to chase stray crumbs.

‘Quite nice,’ she pronounced.

Marina's pent up excitement overflowed. ‘Such a shock, finding a body. It gave me palpitations just hearing about it. You must be in pieces, Libby dear.’ Her voice sunk to a dramatic whisper. ‘Imagine, a dead body, lying there all night, out on the beach, in such dreadful weather.’

Samantha cleared her throat to focus attention back on herself. She had a glint in her eyes. ‘I spoke to Detective Chief Inspector Arnold on the telephone a while ago.’

Angela murmured, ‘So that's why she's come.’ She leaned closer. ‘Samantha hears all DCI Arnold's secrets.’ She whispered, ‘Pillow talk.’

‘You mean, they're an item?’ Libby murmured. ‘I'm sure Marina told me she was married to that builder, Ned.’

Angela nodded. ‘She was – but I think she finds a senior police officer more to her taste these days. She's something of a social climber – that's why she married Ned in the first place. His family used to own Mangotsfield Hall, the Victorian stately home. One of Ned's ancestors was the earl, but the title died out years ago and the family sold up. You don't often see Ned and Samantha together, nowadays.’

‘I rang him the other day. I'm hoping he'll sort out my bathroom in Hope Cottage,’ Libby said.

‘Hope Cottage,’ Marina had overhead. ‘Such a dear little place, tucked away in that funny little lane.’

Samantha coughed, raising her voice above the chatter, an edge to her voice. ‘Detective Chief Inspector Arnold told me the woman is Susie Bennett.’

A shocked silence followed. A glow lit Samantha's face. She had her audience's full attention now.

Marina's jaw hung open. ‘Susie Bennett?’

Samantha beamed; smug mouth curved in a complacent smile. ‘That's right, Susie Bennett, the folk singer – or rock singer, was it?’ She shrugged elegant, cashmere clad shoulders. ‘The Susie Bennett who used to go to school with some of us.’ She let her eyes rest on Libby, who was never at school with ‘us’. ‘The Detective Chief Inspector thinks she committed suicide.’

Seriously? He's already decided? In three hours? Libby pressed her lips together and kept her thoughts to herself.

Everyone in the room seemed to have known the dead woman. Marina gasped. ‘Oh good gracious me. Susie Bennett! She hasn't been back for years. Whatever was she doing here?’

Angela set down her cup of tea. ‘Libby, Susie is Exham on Sea's most famous export. She went to America and sold millions of records, back in the eighties. She was in a band called Angel's Kiss. I remember, because my name's Angela. Actually, Angel's Kiss was a cocktail, I believe.’

Marina interrupted. ‘I remember one of their albums. It came with a drinking straw attached to the cover. That lovely song, 'What's In a Name,' was one of the tracks. Susie played the guitar and sang, and there was Guy with a violin and another boy – what was his name, now? Oh yes, James. He was on keyboards.’

Samantha fiddled with her pearl necklace. ‘I don't want to be unkind, but Susie, or Suzanne, as she was in those days, was rather ― how can I put it ― strange. You know, she had a big voice, big blue eyes, and a great deal of blonde hair, but there was no brain there at all.’ She waved, dismissing Susie as a failure. ‘She left school with absolutely no qualifications.’

‘We were all madly jealous of her, to be honest,’ Angela admitted. ‘Off we went to University or started work as trainees at Barclays Bank or Marks and Spencer, while she made records. She married a fabulously wealthy record producer, but the marriage didn't last long. I don't know about the rest of you, but I haven't seen or heard of her for years.’ She sighed. ‘We were rather unkind to her, I'm afraid.’

When the teapot was drained and the cake plate empty, the meeting broke up. ‘Next time,’ Marina said, ‘we really must talk about history.’

Finally, only George Edwards, the sole male member of the society, remained. He wrapped the last slice of cake in a paper napkin to take home and, breaking his silence, begged Libby to write down the recipe for his wife, who was at home nursing a cold and laryngitis. ‘She'll be sorry she missed everything.’

Libby collected the empty cake tin and left. Angela walked by her side, heading for her car. ‘I wonder what Suzie was doing in Exham, after all these years.’