Читать книгу Murder at the Gorge - Frances Evesham - Страница 7

Back at Hope Cottage, Libby found Mandy sprawled on the sofa, black hair standing in spikes round her head, Fuzzy the cat curled on her lap, fast asleep.

‘I don’t believe it,’ Libby complained. ‘She never sleeps on me.’

‘You don’t sit around long enough. You’re always jumping up and doing things.’

‘Am I?’

‘It’s not a criticism. We all like you for it.’

‘Well, that’s good.’ She supposed it was a compliment, although it didn’t make her sound restful, in the way Max was. Thinking of Max, she wondered if he was home. She was keen to tell him about Carys Evans’ poison-pen letter.

She sometimes wondered if he found this corner of Somerset too small. He’d been used to international travel as a financial adviser, although that was less frequent these days, now most finance investigations took place online.

For now, she’d talk to Mandy, instead. ‘Do you want to hear some gossip?’

Mandy dumped the cat on the sofa, adjusted the gothic, black net sleeves that matched her black fishnet tights, straightened the large Celtic cross round her neck and leaned forward, elbows on her knees. ‘Course I do. You’ve been at the History Society again, haven’t you? Always something happening there. What’s new?’

Libby launched into a description of the poison-pen letter; she’d memorised every word.

Mandy grinned. ‘Just when I thought life was about to get boring, what with you getting married and moving out. Now, what’s that rhyme supposed to mean?’

‘No one knows, really. It’s a well-known nursery rhyme. Dr Phillips, the cathedral librarian, was at the meeting, as was Jemima Bakewell, and they explained its history, but it didn’t take us very far, except to suggest Carys is either a thief or a prostitute.’

‘Nice,’ Mandy spluttered. ‘Are you going to visit Carys?’

‘Not yet. I’m not sure she knows she’s the talk of Exham, and no one knows where she lives.’

‘Come on, you can’t let this go without a spot of investigating, Mrs F.’ Libby loved the way Mandy spoke to her, with a friendly mix of affection and respect.

‘I thought I’d start with Gladys.’

Mandy pretended to shiver. ‘Rather you than me. Gladys has quite a tongue on her.’

Libby smiled. ‘I think there’s a good heart underneath. But, just now, I need food. Have you eaten?’

‘Yes, but there’s always room for more.’

Libby went into the kitchen, pulling together a supper of local Cheddar and Brie cheeses, ham and crackers, arranging it on two plates alongside a green salad, sliced apples and large dollops of roasted tomato chutney.

‘Mm, a ploughman’s. I’ll make coffee,’ Mandy approved.

Two cups of coffee later, Libby’s plate was empty. ‘It’s late, and I’m going to bed before I drink too much coffee and sit up twitching all night,’ she announced.

Max hadn’t contacted her since his trip to Bristol. She tried not to mind.

As Mandy collected the plates, yawning, Libby’s phone rang. A glance at the screen told her it was Max. ‘I’ll take it upstairs,’ she murmured to Mandy, her heart pounding like a teenager’s. He still had that effect, no matter how much his absences annoyed her.

Mandy’s wolf whistle followed her up the stairs.

Without stopping to say hello, Max announced, ‘You’ll never believe what’s happened.’

‘You’ve found a body?’ she suggested, laughing.

‘Exactly.’

‘Don’t be silly. I’m too tired for jokes. I’m on my way to bed. Where are you, anyway?’

‘I’m not joking. I just arrived home after talking to the police all evening.’

Libby’s laughter died. ‘Are you serious?’

‘Never more so.’

‘Tell me more.’ She couldn’t keep the excitement out of her voice. ‘Shall I come round?’

‘Best not. It’s too late, and I’m shattered.’

Deflated, Libby said nothing. Instead, she let him talk, disappointed that he didn’t want her with him. If she’d found a dead body, she’d want his support.

‘There’s not much I can tell you, now, except that I took the dogs for a walk in Leigh Woods, and we found a woman’s body buried under a pile of leaves. Shipley found it, of course. He did that pointing thing. I don’t know anything about the woman, and there’s no identification yet. She looked about fifty. Black hair, but with a touch of grey at the roots.’

‘Cause of death?’ That sounded professional. If he wasn’t going to make a fuss, nor was she.

‘None at the moment. I didn’t get to see much – I was trying not to disturb the body, of course. I thought it looked like a blow to her head, but I’m not sure, and I didn’t know any of the police officers when they arrived. They took my statement and said they’d get in touch.’

‘Not a case for Forest and Ramshore, then?’

‘Not so far as I can see. Come over in the morning, and we can talk.’

On the verge of agreeing, she stopped. Why hadn’t he called in to Hope Cottage to see her this evening, to tell her about the body he’d found? If she’d found one, Max would have been her first port of call, no matter how late it was. ‘I can’t,’ she said. ‘I’m working at the bakery tomorrow.’ She wasn’t even going to tell him about Carys Evans and the email. That would serve him right.

They agreed to meet for lunch, and Libby ended the unsatisfactory call. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but Max had sounded odd. Distant. If he’d been upset by finding the body, surely he would have wanted to see her straight away? Maybe he’d been more upset than he wanted to show. Had she been childish, refusing to meet him tomorrow morning?

She lay awake a long time, tossing and turning, unable to get comfortable. Something was wrong – awkward and disjointed – between Max and herself.

Was he annoyed at delaying the wedding? He was an easy-going man, avoiding fusses about arrangements, usually happy to leave what he called their ‘social diary’ in her hands. Perhaps she’d gone too far, expecting him to put back the wedding date at short notice. But he’d often said he was sorry Ali wouldn’t be there, hadn’t he?

Another thought struck. Maybe her excitement over Ali’s return had upset him for a different reason. Before Libby met him, Max had lost his daughter. He didn’t talk about it much, but Libby couldn’t imagine any pain more devastating. Had Ali’s return reminded him he’d never see Debbie again?

Libby groaned aloud. She’d been insensitive, and there was nothing she could do about it now. Tomorrow, she’d find a way to apologise. Meanwhile, determined not to spend all night awake and worrying, she opened her Kindle in search of something cheerful to read. By some miracle, the battery was fully charged and at last, soothed by P. G. Wodehouse and the adventures of Lord Emsworth’s prize-winning pig, she fell into a restless sleep.