Читать книгу Exham-on-Sea Murder Mysteries 4-6 - Frances Evesham - Страница 10

Libby curled her feet on the sofa and chewed a fingernail. Max had rung as arranged, soon after she arrived home, but their conversation had been difficult and unsatisfactory.

‘I’ve cut down my consultancy work,’ he reminded her, ‘so at least one of us is committed to the future. Time to make your mind up, Libby. Are we a partnership, or not?’

‘Don’t hassle me. I need to think.’

‘I don’t know why you’ve suddenly developed cold feet. You usually jump headfirst into everything. once or twice you’ve almost got yourself killed as a result. No one could call you timid, so why are you being indecisive, now? Am I scary?’

A lump formed in Libby’s throat. ‘You’re not at all scary, Max. Try to understand. I’m not only grappling with the implications of a private investigation business on my cakes and chocolates, although that’s complicated enough. There’s the other thing, too.’

‘Us, you mean? Look we’ve talked about the future, and we’re not in a hurry. It’s not as though we’re getting married.’

‘No, but what are we doing. I mean, if we did, where would we live? In your house? If we did that, what about my cottage? I can’t just sell it. It’s important to me and besides, I run the chocolate business from the kitchen. You see what I mean?’

Max sighed. ‘It’s not complicated at all. You’re trying to think of problems. Be honest with me, Libby. We’re partners, aren’t we? We do well together. Why don’t we take things further? Be real partners, not just in business?’

She gulped. What did Max really want? Was he proposing marriage? Out of the blue, like this? ‘That’s not fair. Not on the phone.’

There was a long silence. ‘Max? Are you still there?’ Libby’s voice sounded very small.

‘OK. I won’t pin you down over the phone. Not about getting married, anyway. I suppose that’s not fair.’

‘Not very romantic,’ she mumbled.

His laugh sounded rueful. ‘No, I suppose not, but being away from you made me think.’

He cleared his throat. ‘We don’t need to commit. Not yet. But I won’t wait for ever. When I get home in a couple of days, I’m going to set up the business. You can join me, or not. Up to you.’

Libby swallowed but the lump remained. ‘Let’s talk about it when you come home.’

‘Meanwhile,’ Max dropped the serious tone. ‘Tell me about this murder you’re determined not to investigate.’

Relieved to change the subject, Libby told him about the cathedral library and the orange scarf, her spirits lifting as he laughed at her description of the knitters. ‘Angela’s upset. She says this Giles Temple was just a friend, but I don’t think she’s telling me the whole truth.’

‘And the police? Is Joe part of the inquiry?’ Max’s son, a detective sergeant, had worked on several other murder investigations.

‘I haven’t spoken to him. Chief Inspector Arnold appeared at the Knitters' Guild, though, and sent me home. I could have slapped his smug face.’

‘Turn the other cheek. You should hear the abuse I had from the company I visited today, when I questioned their shady accounts. Don’t let Arnold intimidate you.’

‘I won’t. Anyway, I won’t see him again. I’m not investigating, remember?’

‘You should at least go back to another meeting. It’s time you added knitting to your talents, and I could use a new sweater.’

Libby giggled. ‘You can knit your own.’

‘Did you discover any other keen knitters? Those who didn't attend the meeting.’

‘Yes, Angela dropped a list of names through the letter box on her way home. They’re planning a surprise for Wells, you see. A yarnbombing.’

Max chuckled. ‘OK. I give up. What’s a yarnbomb?’

Libby recited the details. ‘It’s due next week, on Tuesday, at dead of night.’

‘Tuesday. Good, I’ll be back by then. I wouldn’t miss it for the world. By the way, some old colleagues have agreed to send some investigative work my way. That would give our business a boost.’

Max went on, ‘And everyone in Somerset must have heard about Libby Forest, female sleuth, by now.’

‘OK, you know I’m tempted to work with you, Max. Leave it for now. I don’t want to give up my own business. Not yet, anyway.’

‘You don’t have to. Just cut back a little. Give Mandy more to do and take on another assistant. Forget the cakes and stick with the chocolates.’

‘I’ll think about it.’ Libby giggled.

‘What is it?’

‘I just realised the truth. You can’t live without my chocolates.’

‘Ah. You found me out.’ His voice softened. ‘I'm looking forward to coming home. Things will work out, you know. Oh, by the way, I'm bringing a colleague. An American.’

‘Anyone I know?’

‘No, but you’ll love him, though not too much, I hope. He’s younger than me.’

‘I like the sound of him already. What’s the occasion?’

‘Some work he’s doing.’ Max’s voice was vague. ‘I thought I’d ask a few people round to meet him. His name’s Reg Talbot, by the way. I thought, Robert and Sarah. You said they were planning to visit, to stay with her parents while they make wedding plans, read the banns and so forth. Mandy and Steve, of course.’

Libby took a deep breath. She’d mentioned Max to her son, Robert, but they hadn’t met. This could be tricky. ‘I don’t know about Steve. He and Mandy had a falling out, and I’m not sure they’re still an item. I’ll check.’

‘Cheer up. It’ll be fun.’ Libby’s phone buzzed.

She had a text, from Angela.

I have to see you. Right now.

Angela had sounded desperate. The Citroen hurtled towards her house, squealing round corners as dread squeezed Libby’s insides. Angela would only send such a message in dire circumstances.

She must have been watching from a window, for the door was already open when Libby ran up the path. ‘What’s the matter?’

‘I’m so glad you’re here. I don’t know what to do.’

‘Sit down, collect your thoughts and explain.’

Angela paced round her elegant, grey-painted room, moving expensive scented candles and straightening books in an already tidy bookcase. ‘There’s something I kept from you. I hoped it didn’t matter, but it’s been eating away at me.’

Libby thought for a moment, reviewing their conversation in the café. ‘I had a feeling you weren’t being entirely honest. It’s the scarf, isn’t it?’ Her friend rubbed invisible specks of dirt from an over-mantle mirror, avoiding Libby’s eyes. ‘Did you give it to Giles Temple?’

Angela grabbed a tissue from a nearby box. ‘It was a joke, just between the two of us. We laughed about the yarnbombing. You know, how tacky and bright it was going to be. Giles said no one would ever wear anything in those colours. Well, I couldn’t resist knitting the brightest scarf I could and giving it to Giles. He promised to wear it. It was just a joke.’ She dabbed at her eyes. ‘What will the police think?’

Libby’s brain clicked into gear. The presence of the scarf at the murder scene made Angela a prime suspect. She knew Giles was a married man, and she’d given him a gift she made herself. It looked suspicious, and Libby was sure, now, that the two of them had grown close. Libby groaned. She knew what was coming.

Angela said, ‘Please, help me, Libby. I’m scared. You see, if the police know I spent a lot of time with Giles—’ She winced, ‘with him being married, they might think I had something to do with it. Revenge, if he was throwing me over, or something like that.’

Her cheeks glowed bright red. ‘Find out who killed Giles. That’s the only way I’ll feel safe. You can’t just leave it to the police. Everyone knows they’re over-stretched. They’ll find out about the scarf, decide I killed him and won’t look for anyone else.’

Libby’s head drooped as her hopes of a quiet life, with time to make decisions about the future, evaporated. Angela, normally so calm, looked terrified. Smudges of mascara ran into tiny lines around her eyes.

Libby rose and offered another tissue. ‘I’ll try to help, on one condition.’

‘Anything.’ Angela’s face lit up. ‘Anything at all.’

Libby hid a wry smile. Angela wasn’t going to like her next words, but that was too bad. ‘I can’t help unless you swear you had nothing to do with Giles Temple’s death.’

A flush covered Angela’s face from neck to hairline. For a second, her eyes flashed anger. Slowly, she gained control. When she spoke, her voice grated, harsh and strained. ‘I understand why you have to ask, Libby. I suppose you need to be sure. On my honour, I swear I didn’t kill Giles Temple and I don’t know who did.’