Murder to Music

‘Always? But you’ve only known her a few days.’ Libby spooned tea into the teapot.

‘Well, all right, since I’ve known her.’ Libby noticed his cheeks were faintly pink underneath his beard and moustache.

‘Yes, I gather you’ve got quite close,’ she said. ‘But if you don’t mind, the police brought Fran and me here, so I don’t think they’d necessarily be happy if you barged in.’

‘The police?’ Andrew looked wary. ‘Why?’

‘It’s not up to me to tell you,’ said Libby, now enjoying herself. ‘And I think it would be better if you went home. Rosie can call you if she wants to after we’ve gone.’

Andrew’s face took on a stubborn look. ‘I’m staying.’

‘Fine, but not in here. If you want to wait it’ll have to be in the garden.’ Libby watched him as he folded his arms and took up a stance, reminding her of Adam and Dominic as small boys, refusing to tell which was the culprit. She sighed in exasperation. ‘Look Andrew. When did you last see Rosie? Last night?’

‘Er – yes,’ he said, going slightly pinker and losing some of his rigidity.

‘And has she called you today?’

‘No.’

‘Well, we’ve already seen her once today and so has DI Connell. And if she’d wanted to see you, I’m sure she would have called. So if I were you, I’d go home and wait.’

‘Will you let her know I called?’ he said after a moment.

‘Yes.’ Libby put the mugs on a tray, reflecting that this was the second time within an hour she’d done exactly the same thing.

‘All right.’ Andrew turned to the back door, then turned back. ‘I’m sorry she’s upset,’ he said, and left.

How did you know she was upset? mused Libby as she avoided Talbot looking reproachful by his bowl and left the kitchen.

‘Did I hear you talking to someone?’ said Rosie as soon as she entered the sitting room.

Libby nodded. ‘Andrew. I sent him away. I said you’d call him if you wanted to see him.’

Rosie positively sagged with relief. Ian frowned.

‘Has Professor Wylie been bothering you?’ he said.

Rosie’s colour changed from white to bright red and back again. ‘No, not at all,’ she croaked. ‘He’s been most helpful.’

Libby handed Fran a mug and made a face. ‘I’m sure,’ she said.

Rosie sipped her tea and her colour returned to normal. ‘So who are these bodies?’ she said eventually.

‘We don’t know,’ said Ian, ‘but you’ll understand I have to question you as you now appear to be the owner of the White Lodge estate.’

‘But I didn’t know I was until this morning,’ said Rosie. ‘And I don’t want it now. The Lord knows I don’t earn a fortune from my books, but I’ve got enough to live comfortably.’

‘I know that, Mrs George,’ said Ian, ‘but nevertheless, we’ll have to go back over everything you’ve told us, and see if you can remember anything else at all. We’re particularly interested,’ he looked quickly at Libby, ‘in the estate agents, Riley’s.’

‘Yes,’ said Rosie slowly, ‘you would be. How odd that I should have gone there as a prospective purchaser of my own house.’ She shook her head.

‘When you were taken to see it,’ Ian went on, ‘you said a woman escorted you. And she seemed nervous right from the start.’

Rosie nodded. ‘Plain scared by the end. And that’s another thing that’s funny. Do you know, they never got in touch with me afterwards. You know, like estate agents normally do when you’ve viewed a property. They phone up later that day, or the next day, to find out what you thought and if you’d be likely to make an offer.’

‘That’s right,’ said Libby, ‘and they always say things like “There’s been a lot of interest in this property, it won’t stay on the market long,” or “There’s a couple going for a second viewing this very afternoon.” They did that to me with number seventeen.’

‘Yes, all right, thank you, Libby,’ said Ian. ‘So did you call them, Ro – I mean Mrs George?’

‘Oh, please call me Rosie,’ said Rosie tiredly. ‘And no, I didn’t. I thought it was odd, but I had no intention of buying the place, and they’d already told me it was a complicated probate sale.’

‘That’s what they told me,’ said Libby and Ian sent her a dirty look. She sat back in her chair and glowered at him.

‘I assume the original Riley is no longer with us,’ said Ian. ‘Anybody know?’

‘No idea. The original Naughton is obviously long gone. You know, from when they leased the house. You knew about that, Rosie?’ said Fran.

‘I think one of you has told me,’ said Rosie. ‘The tenants left, didn’t they?’

‘That was because of a haunting, too,’ said Libby. ‘But it can’t be the same reason if these new bodies are – well – new.’

‘I didn’t say they were new, Libby,’ said Ian sounding somewhat testy. ‘Just more recent. Within a year or so.’

‘Oh.’ Libby contemplated her mug. ‘That’s quite new compared to the others, though. And another funny thing.’ She looked up at the other three. ‘What about those flowers?’

‘Flowers?’ said Rosie.

‘On the grave we thought was new but wasn’t,’ said Libby. ‘In the garden.’

‘Actually, there’s some news on that, too,’ said Ian. ‘It appears we were half right about that. It was a new grave after all – but it was a reburial.’

‘A re-burial?’ repeated Fran. ‘Why on earth would they do that?’

‘Whoever “they” are,’ said Libby.

‘And that’s what we need to find out,’ said Ian. ‘There can’t be two sets of people hiding something on that estate. We’re going to have to take it apart.’ He looked apologetically at Rosie. ‘I’m sorry. We’ll put things back as far as we can, but I’m afraid you won’t be able to sell it quite yet.’

‘I don’t suppose I’ll ever be able to sell it,’ said Rosie. ‘Not when people know its history.’

‘Oh, you’d be surprised,’ said Ian.

‘I could always knock it down, I suppose.’

‘No you couldn’t,’ said Libby. ‘It’s listed. You could sell it to the nation, perhaps. Or English Heritage or someone.’

‘You know,’ she said to Ian as they left Rosie’s cottage and walked to the car, ‘there’s got to be a logical chain of events to all this. One thing that leads to another until we end up here. With bodies all over the place, old and new, and manufactured hauntings.’

‘Well, of course there is,’ said Ian, unlocking the car. ‘There always is, although there’s usually somewhere in the middle where things take a turn in another direction or someone new enters the picture. Often that’s the piece we miss.’

‘Hmm.’ Libby buckled her seat belt. ‘A bit like last winter when we ended up with one person linking two old cases and we all thought it was a coincidence.’

‘It was a coincidence in that the people looking into it,’ he swivelled his eyes to Libby and waggled his eyebrows, ‘came from the right place. Colin could have asked any of his other friends for help.’

‘There’d still have been a murder, though,’ said Libby. ‘That didn’t happen because of us.’

‘No,’ said Ian. ‘Although one day someone might murder you.’

‘Ian!’

He laughed. ‘You must admit some people have had an urge to hit you with a blunt instrument.’

‘Yes, all right.’ Libby sunk down in her seat. ‘Only don’t bring that up if you see Ben. He’ll only get all protective again.’

‘As I said before,’ said Ian. ‘Poor Ben.’

Ian did, in fact, come in briefly to apologise to Ben for hi-jacking Libby. Ben seemed amused, especially as Libby was uncharacteristically quiet.

‘So what’s the matter?’ he asked, closing the door behind Ian.

‘What do you mean? Nothing’s the matter.’ Libby sat on the sofa and closed her eyes.

‘There, you see? You don’t collapse on the sofa with your eyes closed normally.’