long green caped wax coat, and before him on the bar lay a hat of the same material. His white hair was brushed back from a high forehead and a small, neat moustache and beard surrounded a small mouth.
‘I can see from the top floor of my place,’ he went on.
‘The Colonel lives at Ashton Court, see,’ said the barmaid, placing three more coffee cups on the bar with a menu.
‘Oh, for God’s sake, Bren, stop calling me the colonel,’ he said. ‘But yes, I live at Ashton Court.’ He looked from one to another of them. ‘You don’t exactly look like tourists. You’re not press, are you?’
Rosie opened her mouth and Fran and Libby spoke together.
‘Of course not!’
‘We were out for a walk.’
‘A drive,’ corrected Libby. ‘I’m afraid we were just nosy.’
She smiled and shepherded the other two back to the table in the window.
‘Why wouldn’t you let me say anything?’ asked Rosie.
‘Because we don’t really want anyone round here knowing you own the place,’ said Fran in a low voice.
‘In case someone round here is at the bottom of these murders,’ said Libby. ‘You shouldn’t have told Mr Vindari.’
‘But he seemed nice, I thought. Just upset by the police activity.’
‘I’m sure, but we ought to keep it quiet as far as we can,’ said Libby.
‘But I don’t see why?’ said Rosie.
‘Because,’ said Libby wearily, ‘you could be in danger.’
Chapter Twenty-four
‘DANGER?’ ROSIE GAPED.
‘Cor, for a novelist you’re not good at picking your way through plots, are you?’ said Libby. ‘Someone has been using the barn for dastardly doings. We don’t know who, but you’re in their way.’
‘Not now, I’m not,’ said Rosie. ‘The police know all about it.’
‘But eventually the police will go away. And you’ll still be the owner. And then whoever it is – or was – will want to find out what’s been going on.’
‘Unless they’ve been caught,’ said Rosie.
Libby sighed. ‘OK, fine. I can see all sorts of pitfalls, but if you don’t care, go ahead.’
‘One of the things that strikes me,’ said Fran, putting down the menu, ‘is the Paul Findon connection. I can’t see whoever’s behind this whole thing – and I doubt very much if it’s just one person – believing that you don’t know more than you really do. And that could be dangerous.’
‘But why?’
‘Suppose there’s something hidden there? That you might know about? Or something about Findon himself?’
‘I told you, I don’t remember him at all. Only Debussy.’
Libby shook her head. ‘All right. Have it your way. I’d keep quiet if it was me, and I think Ian might say the same. What are you going to have? I think the sausage pie looks good.’
When the other two had chosen, Libby went to the bar to place the order.
‘So why are you really here?’
Libby looked up, startled. The colonel was regarding her from over the top of a pint glass.
‘We told you. Just being nosy.’
‘Has it been on the news then? Or in the papers? I haven’t seen it.’ The colonel put down his glass. ‘And you’d hardly happen upon Cherry Ashton by accident, as it’s a dead end.’
Libby put her head on one side. ‘At least our nosiness isn’t rude,’ she said. ‘Unlike yours.’ She smiled and turned away. ‘Excuse me.’
‘What was all that about?’ asked Fran when she returned to her seat. Libby told them.
‘Sorry, but he got under my skin a bit. What’s it to him what we’re doing here?’
‘Perhaps he’s one of the villains,’ giggled Rosie, ‘wanting to know how much we know!’
Fran and Libby looked at her in surprise. ‘You’ve cheered up,’ said Fran.
‘I think it’s hysteria,’ said Rosie. ‘I seem to have entered some kind of fairground crazy house where nothing’s as it seems. And to think all that was worrying me a couple of weeks ago were dreams about a house.’
‘Well, it’s a good job you did call us in, isn’t it? Those victims would never have been found otherwise.’ Libby took a sip of coffee and made a face. ‘Latte this is not.’
‘You don’t drink lattes,’ said Fran.
‘I don’t drink crap instant, either,’ said Libby, pushing the cup away from her.
‘To return to the colonel,’ said Fran, ‘I can’t see him as a villain. And he volunteered the fact that he could see the barn from the top floor of his house. He wouldn’t have done that if he had anything to conceal, would he?’
‘I think he looks rather nice, actually,’ said Rosie, peering over Libby’s shoulder. ‘And lonely.’
‘You think everyone looks nice,’ said Libby. ‘Ian, Mr Vindari, Andrew – sorry.’
‘Don’t be.’ Rosie sighed. ‘I’m getting over it now.’
‘Getting over what?’ Libby mouthed at Fran, who shook her head.
The barmaid arrived with their plates and the appreciation of food took first place in their conversation for a while.
‘The colonel’s gone,’ said Rosie suddenly.
‘Have you been watching him?’ asked Fran with amusement.
‘No, I just noticed. Pity.’ Rosie returned her attention to her plate. Libby raised her eyebrows at Fran.
‘So what do we do now?’ said Libby, when they had all cleaned their plates. ‘I must say, that was very good. George was right.’
‘Can we go back up the lane?’ asked Rosie. ‘Have another look?’
‘I don’t think that’s wise,’ said Fran.
‘And bump into Aakarsh Vindari again? Or get questioned by the cops?’ Libby shook her head. ‘Definitely not a good idea.’
‘Oh.’ Rosie thought for a moment. ‘Do you think if I got in touch with your Ian he might let me in?’
‘Probably not. They don’t let people back into their homes after murders are discovered, do they?’ said Libby.
‘Especially not if they’re the murderer,’ said Fran.
‘Oh, well.’ Rosie shrugged. ‘At least I’ve seen the village. Can we go back another way?’
‘You mean can we go past White Lodge?’ said Fran. ‘Yes, but you won’t be able to get in there either. I’d forget about it for now. Try ringing Ian, and if he has time he might update you. That’s about all you can hope for at the moment.’
Libby was somehow unsurprised to find the colonel sitting outside the pub when they left, nursing a pint and smoking a pipe.
‘Sorry if I appeared – ah – intrusive,’ he said, waving it at Libby. ‘So few strangers around here it’s a novelty.’
‘I thought the place was popular with diners,’ said Fran.
‘At weekends, yes, but not during the week. And we’re too far off the tourist trail to get holiday makers from Nethergate.’
‘But apparently the landlord doesn’t allow people from the holiday camp? Yet it’s quite respectable?’ said Libby.
He grinned. ‘And have the place overrun with children wanting games machines or an outside play area? No. That’s not what the regulars want.’
‘Ye-es,’ agreed Libby reluctantly, although she had a sneaking sympathy with this view, having never really got used to the idea of pubs with children in.
‘Anyway, thanks for coming.’ He stood and knocked his pipe out on a low stone wall.
