Читать книгу Exham-on-Sea Murder Mysteries 4-6 - Frances Evesham - Страница 17

That evening, Libby felt like a mother hen with a brood of unruly chicks. Max had returned, but instead of the quiet evening together in the cottage she’d have preferred, they were eating supper at his almost-mansion, and were not alone.

Apart from Bear, snoring loudly in the corner of the room, there was Reg, Max’s American colleague. Max wanted to introduce him to Libby. She suspected Max felt awkward after their phone call, and he’d brought his friend along as a buffer. Still, Libby wanted to know more about Reg’s work in the cathedral library.

Max had sweetened the deal further by inviting Libby’s son, Robert, his fiancée, Sarah, and Mandy. They’d arrived yesterday to stay with her parents for a few days. Sarah, a statuesque blonde, bubbly and excited, was full of wedding arrangements, but Robert had a different agenda. He told Libby he wanted to meet her ‘friend’.

Libby hadn’t yet confessed that Max was more than a friend.

Joe, though invited, had not come. He was on duty. Had that been an excuse? Libby hoped not. The relationship between father and policeman son had been strained since Max divorced Joe’s mother, many years ago. Things had improved recently, and Libby prided herself on helping smooth the path with input to some of Joe’s cases.

Since that angry scene in the bakery, Mandy had been subdued, answering questions with monosyllables. When Libby suggested she might like to attend Max’s homecoming dinner, she’d pretended indifference. Libby turned away. ‘Max asked me to invite you, but it’s your choice.’

That did the trick. Mandy tossed her head and mumbled but she wore a sheepish grin and sounded far perkier as she said, ‘You need me there to stop you talking about weddings and boring business all evening.’

To Libby’s surprise, Mandy had toned down her appearance for the occasion and looked stunning in one of Libby’s silk blouses over a pair of velvet trousers.

Max welcomed the guests with champagne. He discarded his apron with a flourish, as though he’d spent hours in the kitchen. In fact, the meal had come straight from Libby’s freezer along with simple instructions.

‘Reg’s just taking a call,’ he explained. ‘He’ll be down in a minute – Ah, here he is. Reg, let me introduce you to some of my neighbours and friends.’

Libby heard Mandy’s sharp intake of breath and glanced sideways. The girl’s mouth hung half open. Libby swallowed a chuckle. She didn’t blame Mandy; Reg was gorgeous. He was tall enough even to dwarf Max, his body was lean and fit looking, and his skin glowed the warm colour of a summer tan. It was hard to assess his age; mid-thirties, perhaps. His head was clean-shaven. Libby disliked that fashion, but she could make an exception in Reg’s case.

They shared small talk. ‘I love your British weather,’ Reg said. ‘In my part of Texas, it’s pretty much the same every day. Hot. Here, you never know what’s coming. One day it’s freezing, and the next you have this gentle rain.’

Max ushered them into the dining room. ‘We call it drizzle.’

‘The sun does shine occasionally.’ Libby defended her home country.

Bear followed close behind. ‘You know, I think he misses Fuzzy,’ Max said, ‘or Shipley.’

Robert said, ‘I haven’t met the notorious Shipley. Didn’t he help you find the body under the lighthouse?’

‘He did. I used to walk him when I first arrived in Exham. Since his owners left, he lives with the vet, hoping for a new family.’

She smiled at Sarah. ‘Any takers?’

‘Don’t look at us. Once we’re married, we might think about a dog, or maybe a cat. Robert’s more of a cat person. But we need to settle down, first. With all the wedding preparations, everything seems a whirl just now.’

Libby kept an eye on Mandy. Seated opposite Reg, she’d focused her dark, kohl rimmed eyes on the American newcomer, from time to time tucking a stray lock of hair behind an ear. Maybe her gloom at Steve’s defection would be short lived. Bear lay under the table, alert in case someone dropped a titbit.

Reg’s biceps rippled inside a beautifully cut jacket as he stretched to offer Libby a dish of carrots roasted with cardamom and honey. ‘Ma’am,’ he drawled, his voice as warm and liquid as Nat King Cole’s, ‘I can tell Max didn’t cook this up. I gather you’re a professional, and I can tell why. I haven’t had a meal like this in years. Why, those chefs in the city, dribbling little pools of sauce on inch long pieces of half cooked fish, ought to come out here for a few lessons.’ Libby blushed, tried not to simper, and offered him a second, larger helping. ‘You bet. A man my size needs a good meal.’

Robert said, ‘Mum’s meals were famous when I was at school. I had to rotate my friends, there were so many wanting to try her apple and ginger crumble.’

Sarah said. ‘So that’s how you got girls, in those days.’ She leaned back in her chair, with a sigh. ‘Maybe I shouldn’t have eaten quite so much roast lamb. I should have saved myself for pudding.’

As the engaged couple shared smiles, their eyes on each other, Libby glanced at Reg, wondering at his interest in Giles Temple’s death.

Max had insisted Libby could trust his colleague. ‘I’ve known him for years and he’s spent a long time in England. He read for a research degree at Cambridge University, something about the crossover between history and science. He likes to play up his deep south accent when he’s around women, though. They swoon.’

Now she’d met him, Libby understood why. ‘We still meet up from time to time when I’m in the States or he’s in England.’ Max had said. ‘We’re pretty much in the same business.’

Reg tucked into his second helping of Libby’s special roast lamb and launched into an explanation of his presence in Somerset. His story was plausible and Libby relaxed a little. She’d been anxious about Robert meeting Max and Reg. She wanted to avoid involving her son and his fiancée in any undercover work, but Reg’s task sounded straightforward. ‘The cathedral library has some unique and ancient books, donated over the centuries by what you British call 'canons' at the cathedral. Don’t you love the idea of religious men named after weapons?’ Mandy’s eyes were fixed in transparent adoration on the speaker. Max winked at Libby.

Reg continued, ‘Why, there was a book there, from the sixteenth century, that used to belong to your Thomas Cranmer―you know, Archbishop of Canterbury when Henry VIII was king? There are notes he wrote himself. How about that?’

Max said, ‘The question everyone will ask, Reg, is whether you were in the library on the night of the murder?’ There was a pause, and the air grew tense, as though everyone around the table realised the implication of the question. Was Reg a suspect? Even Robert’s gaze shifted to the American.

Reg sighed. ‘You always were a straight talker, my friend. No, I was travelling down from my temporary office in Bristol and staying at the Swan, sampling your local brew; Butcombe Gold, I seem to recall. I think the bar staff at the hotel will back me up.’

Everyone relaxed a fraction. Reg looked from one face to another. ‘Here’s something you may be interested in.’ He addressed Libby. ‘I can tell you about the book it seems Giles Temple was reading. The police mentioned it to me, wanting to know if I’d looked at it.’

‘What was it?’ Mandy asked.

‘A travel guide, full of maps of the world. At least, the world they knew in the seventeenth century. Not the most precious book in the collection, but still worth a pretty penny.’

Libby’s mind raced. ‘How do you know that’s the book he was reading?’

Max said, ‘It’s a best guess, according to Joe Ramshore, but the police can’t be sure. Giles Temple wore white gloves in the library to avoid acid from his fingers damaging some of the books, so there are no recent fingerprints, but the spine of this one stuck out a bit from the others, as though someone in a hurry had shoved it back on the shelf. That attracted the police officer’s attention.’

‘The murderer left the book behind? Isn’t that odd?’ Libby was thinking aloud. ‘Why did he shove it back so carelessly? Didn’t that just draw attention to it?’

Her voice trailed away as Robert queried, ‘Why do you keep saying “him” for the murderer? Are you sure it was a man?’

Max nodded. ‘Good question. Joe thinks it’s likely. The victim was strangled with a chain, so the murderer was strong. It would take plenty of force to keep the pressure on the chain with the victim fighting for his life.’ Libby winced. ‘But I guess a fit woman could manage, if she took him by surprise.’

He added, ‘There’s something else. Chains, like the one used to strangle Mr Temple, are attached to the shelves in the library with forged steel bolts. The murderer must have brought along some hefty bolt cutters.’

‘Which means,’ Robert interrupted, excited, ‘he had a plan. He came prepared to kill Giles Temple that night.’