‘I’ve never seen one of those fingertip searches before. And they were so thorough.’
‘And did they find anything?’
‘No. We didn’t even find any speakers, but I gather Inspector Connell is going to look more thoroughly. He has to get permission from the owners and English Heritage because of the listing.’
‘So who are the owners?’
‘It’s rather complicated, apparently.’ Andrew picked up his glass of tonic water and frowned at it.
‘It’s a probate sale, isn’t it?’ asked Libby. ‘The estate agents told us that.’
‘I believe so. Anyway, up until Wednesday he had no idea who it was. He was also going to the Land Registry.’
‘What I don’t understand,’ said Rosie, ‘is why there seems to be no record of what happened to the building after it ceased to be a TB sanatorium.’
‘My friend Flo says some “bloke” owned it, and from what she says, wanted to extend it, probably in the fifties. That was when the body was found.’
Rosie frowned. ‘Then why is there no record of it?’
‘There must be,’ said Libby. ‘We just haven’t found it yet. Although how it could have escaped Ian I don’t know. And what about this folk tale about all “the children”? Where did that come from?’
Ben looked up from his red wine. ‘Someone put it about deliberately.’
‘Really?’ They all looked at him.
‘Someone who didn’t want anyone looking into the graves too closely,’ said Ben.
‘What, back then? They were
‘It makes sense,’ said Andrew, turning to her, ‘but in that case, why is the music being played now? And why was that grave cleared and the flowers laid on it?’
They all looked at each other.
‘A relative who’s still living?’ hazarded Rosie.
‘Could be.’ Libby peered into her wine glass. ‘But who? If it was a child in the fifties -’
‘No – it was dug up in the fifties,’ said Andrew.
‘Oh, yes. So it would be someone pretty old if it was a relative, and if it was a child who was dug up it’s hardly likely to be a descendant,’ said Libby. She turned to Andrew. ‘Did you manage to do any more research on the building?’
‘I haven’t been back to the library,’ he said, ‘and I need to if I’m to go any further.’ He turned to Rosie and said diffidently, ‘I don’t suppose you’d like to come with me? It might be helpful for your research.’
To Libby’s interest, Rosie blushed. ‘I’d love to,’ she said. ‘Do I need a pass or anything?’
‘No, I sign you in as my guest. Ten o’clock all right? We can have a spot of lunch afterwards.’
‘Lovely,’ said Rosie and they smiled at one another. Ben nudged Libby.
‘Don’t stare,’ he muttered.
Donna brought a large plate of nachos to share and topped up their wine glasses. Andrew changed the subject and asked about Libby and Fran’s previous adventures. Libby, with frequent interpolations from Ben, gave highly coloured accounts, pointing up the mistakes they made and praising the police.
‘Especially Ian,’ said Libby. ‘He’s always willing to listen to us – well, to Fran, really. She helped him a lot over the murders connected to Anderson Place.’
‘Don’t you find it hard, though?’ asked Rosie. ‘After all, some of the people you suspect could be close friends.’
‘Not often,’ said Libby. ‘Sometimes we know them, which is why we get involved in the first place, but it’s rarely people we’re fond of.’
‘Sometimes it is,’ murmured Ben. Libby gave him a quick look.
‘Yes, sometimes.’ She patted his hand and ignored Andrew’s and Rosie’s raised eyebrows.
‘I mean,’ she went on quickly, ‘there was that case last summer about the Morris Dancers. I knew several of them, but I wasn’t all that fond of them.’
‘Morris?’ Andrew laughed. ‘I can’t imagine you involved with Morris.’
‘No, I’m not, but it’s a fascinating subject. All sorts of weird and wonderful things go on.’
‘I’ve used it as a background,’ said Rosie thoughtfully. ‘I found there were people who took it so seriously they could almost kill people who mocked it, or joined in as a joke.’
Libby nodded. ‘And some people who use it as a cover for some rather nasty goings-on – all covered by the folk tradition.’
‘Like The Wicker Man?’ said Andrew.
‘Very like.’ Libby sighed. ‘All those pretty pictures on calendars of Morris sides outside pubs on the village green are very misleading.’
‘There couldn’t be anything like that involved in the White Lodge, I suppose?’ Andrew looked at Rosie. ‘You don’t remember anything like that?’
‘I’ve already said, I don’t
‘So do I,’ said Libby. ‘What we really need to do is find out about the grave and the flowers. And the music.’
‘I’ve always loved Debussy,’ said Rosie wistfully. ‘It seems so sad he should be connected to all this.’
‘Do you think Debussy is connected to you?’ Libby asked.
Rosie looked startled. ‘I don’t think so! He died in 1918, didn’t he?’
‘Did he? That’s very precise of you.’
‘It’s just something I know,’ said Rosie frowning. ‘Like the dates of the wars, and 1066.’
‘That sounds like Fran. Facts in her head that she has no reason to know.’
‘But anyone could know Debussy’s dates,’ said Andrew, his hand moving a little nearer to Rosie’s. ‘Especially if he’s a particular interest.’
‘I don’t know about that,’ said Rosie doubtfully. ‘I’m not that musical. I was just introduced to Debussy very young.’
‘Oh? Who by?’ Libby leant across the table.
‘Libby!’ said Ben. ‘Stop it.’
Rosie shook her head. ‘Oh, I don’t mind. After all, I started it. But I’m afraid I don’t know who introduced me. I assume it was my mother.’
Libby sighed. ‘Oh, well. We’re not going to get much further with that, are we?’
‘Do we need to?’ Andrew frowned.
‘Ian says it’s just that whoever set up the music only had a Debussy CD to hand.’
‘It wouldn’t have been a CD when Rosie first heard it,’ said Ben. ‘In her first dream, I mean.’
‘No.’ Rosie looked at him with an eager expression. ‘Of course not. No CDs then. Cassette player, perhaps?’
‘When did you have the dream?’
‘A year or so back. But the dream wasn’t about then, as Libby says. The house has been empty for years, so when I dreamt about it, it was a long time ago.’
‘Yes, but the Debussy could just be a sort of overlay in your brain,’ said Libby.
‘It could, couldn’t it?’ Rosie was looking more interested than disturbed now. ‘I see why you get fascinated with all these investigations, Libby.’
‘Oh, don’t encourage her,’ said Ben.
Andrew gave him a commiserating glance.
‘If the Debussy is an overlay, it meant you were listening to it when you were young, but you’ve already said you were. So does it mean you listened to it in that house?’ Libby helped herself to more wine.
‘I don’t know.’ Rosie frowned. ‘It’s a lot more complicated than I thought.’
‘Especially with the addition of bodies being dug up,’ said Libby.
‘And the flowers on the grave,’ added Andrew. He grinned round the table. ‘I must say, I’m finding this all quite exciting.’
Ben groaned.
The following day Libby decided it should be a beach day. She was too involved with Rosie and the White Lodge
