An hour later, after her quesadillas con hongos, Harry joined her with another bottle of wine and a glass.
‘I haven’t finished this bottle yet,’ she said.
‘But I’m going to drink that,’ he said, pouring it into his glass. ‘So, come on. What have you been up to? How’s that investigation?’
Libby told him everything that had happened since she’d last seen him, including her inconclusive trip of this afternoon.
‘Was he a sinister Indian gentleman straight out of Sherlock Holmes?’ Harry twirled an imaginary moustache.
‘No, he was the owner of the Golden Spice restaurants. Very nice.’
‘Oh, we’ve been to the one in Canterbury. Yes. Very good.’
‘He told me to mention his name if I went again.’
‘In that case I’m coming with you. I could perhaps add a few veggie curries to the menu in here.’
‘Anyway, I haven’t got any further. Ideas?’
‘Me?’ Harry shook his head. ‘All I can see is that your Rosie knew the house when she was little, associates it with someone playing music and dreamt about it. Why she should go to all the – the-’
‘Palaver,’ suggested Libby.
‘Yeah, palaver of getting you two to investigate I can’t think. Seems to me she’s using you, but for some reason other than she’s said. And it also looks to me as if Ian
‘Did you think she was that devious when you met her the other day?’
‘No, I thought she was quite a nice attractive elderly lady. And she was flirting like mad with the professor bloke.’
‘Was she? I thought it was the other way round. And I wouldn’t call her elderly.’
‘No, you wouldn’t. She’s not that much older than you.’ Harry ducked as Libby aimed the menu at him. ‘And she was definitely showing out.’
‘Well, good luck to her,’ said Libby. ‘And I believe her – or now I do, anyway.’
‘You didn’t at first.’ Harry opened the second bottle.
‘No. I was very suspicious.’
‘But, being the nosy cow you are, you couldn’t help barging in.’
‘If you want to put it like that. And Ian was interested, so it wasn’t wasted.’
‘Rosie could have told the police about the music the time she went there herself.’
‘I know, but I think she thought they’d put her down as a mad old woman.’
‘Hmmm.’ Harry poured more wine. ‘And she isn’t?’
‘Anyway, now I want to find out about that building. It must belong to White Lodge, and it’s logical that as it’s actually in Cherry Ashton it’s part of the workhouse. And therefore, possibly part of the sanatorium.’
‘And there will be murder victims buried inside, obviously.’
‘Don’t mock. I still can’t get over that cleared grave. That must mean something.’
Harry sighed. ‘Yes, it’s a ghost playing the piano and leaving flowers. Or someone playing an elaborate practical joke. Have you thought about that?’
Chapter Fifteen
‘NO.’ LIBBY STARED AT Harry’s sardonic expression. ‘You mean Rosie, don’t you?’
‘Who’s a novelist.’ Harry leant back in his chair. ‘I said. She’s using you.’
‘But now the police are involved. She’d have to back off. Or confess. And she hasn’t.’
‘She’d be too embarrassed. And I don’t suppose she’s done anything illegal.’
‘What about the music? She’d need an awful lot of expertise to rig that, and she’d have had to break in, too.’
Harry sighed again. ‘Wake up, Lib. Think of the most obvious explanation.’
‘Which is?’
‘She says she knew it as a child. Described it. When you find out it actually is how she said, she has to make up some cock and bull story. But suppose she did live there? Suppose she actually owns it? The agents have been told to keep the ownership quiet, and have they confirmed that she visited a year ago, or whenever it was?’
‘Oh.’ Libby was conscious of a sharp sense of disillusionment.
‘Makes sense, doesn’t it?’
‘Unfortunately, yes.’ Libby emptied her glass. ‘But why hasn’t Ian seen through her? He’s the detective.’
Harry pushed the bottle towards her. ‘I told you. He’s actually found something but hasn’t told you. It may be that he’s sussed Rosie.’
‘Oh,’ said Libby, even more gloomily. ‘How dumb can you get.’
‘Oh, much dumber than you. Look at Jacob.’
‘Harry! That poor boy. It’s his first night and you were shouting at him. You’re not some foul-mouthed TV chef.’
Harry grinned. ‘Rotten, wasn’t I? It’s OK, I apologised, he’s coming back.’
‘Good. Poor lad didn’t know what to do.’
‘So, what are you going to do about your investigation?’ Harry waved a packet of cigarettes and gestured outside. Libby followed him into the back yard, where there were a few white cast iron tables and chairs for hardened smokers.
‘I shan’t do anything else, I suppose,’ she said, bending forward to Harry’s lighter. ‘Unless anyone asks me.’
‘But not Rosie.’
‘No.’ Libby shook her head. ‘Not Rosie.’
‘And will you tell Fran what I said?’
‘Yes.’ Libby sighed. ‘What I don’t understand is that Fran didn’t see through it.’
‘Look, I may not be right,’ said Harry, beginning to look uncomfortable. ‘I’m only saying what it looks like on the surface. But if I am right, why, Fran attends the woman’s writing class, doesn’t she? She wants to write like her. That would be bound to blind her to anything she didn’t want to see.’
‘Maybe,’ said Libby doubtfully. ‘But things come to her. She doesn’t ask them to. And she can’t block things on purpose, either.’
‘Oh, well.’ Harry shrugged. ‘I expect the dashing Inspector Connell will find out soon enough.’
‘Dashing?’
Harry grinned. ‘Well, he is. All that saturnine splendour. He’s like a Jane Austen hero.’
‘Is he?’ Libby was surprised. ‘What do you know about Jane Austen heroes?’
‘I’ve seen them on TV, haven’t I? He’s just like that.’
‘Yes, I suppose he is,’ said Libby. ‘Although he’s mainly angry, which is a bit off-putting.’
‘Go on.’ Harry blew smoke at her. ‘You fancy him a little bit.’
‘Of course I don’t,’ said Libby carelessly. ‘Anyway, he was after Fran, remember?’
‘Course I bloody remember. She was living upstairs here, wasn’t she?’
‘So she was.’ Libby giggled. ‘With two men after her.’
‘Lucky.’ Harry stubbed out his cigarette. ‘Well, that’s me. The washing up calls.’
‘It’ll be done by now,’ said Libby. ‘Don’t kid me.’
‘I sent Jacob and the boy home, and Donna’s going in a minute. I often do it on my own. Not so much washing up, that goes in the dishwasher, but there’s the rest of the cleaning. Elf-an-safety. They’ll close me down if they find a speck of dirt.’
‘Would you like some help?”
‘Don’t be daft. Go and drink the rest of your wine. I’ll be out in a while and I’ll walk you home.’
Libby began to protest, but he pushed her before him into the restaurant, and she went back to the table to finish her wine. Most of the other customers had gone by now, and Donna came past buttoning a jacket. She waved
