Murder to Music

‘Thanks -?’ echoed Rosie.

‘Sorry, yes. I’m the landlord. I thought you realised.’ He beamed at them all.

‘But the lady said you lived at Ashton Court,’ said Rosie.

‘I do. Brenda – that’s the lady behind the bar – is my manager and lives in the flat above the pub.’ He held out a hand. ‘Hugh Weston.’

Rosie took it, introduced herself and Libby and Fran.

‘Welcome any time. And,’ he said twinkling at them from under bushy brows, ‘if you want to come and look at the old barn from my upstairs windows, you’re welcome to that, too.’

The three of them laughed and with many goodbyes, began to move off towards the cars.

‘What do you suppose he meant by that?’ hissed Rosie, as soon as she thought they were out of earshot.

‘I think he was simply poking fun at our supposed nosiness,’ said Fran. ‘Now, come on. I’ve got to get back home.’

Libby drove home slowly, wondering what was likely to happen next. Nothing, she supposed, unless Ian saw fit to tell her and Fran what was going on, or, if he told Rosie, she kept them in the picture. It was infuriating not to know any more: if there was a cellar; the source of the music; how the barn had come to be used as a burial ground for a serial killer, if that’s what it was; why there had been a re-burial in the garden of White Lodge and how it hadn’t come out that Rosie was the owner for such a long time.

‘Ian called,’ said Fran later on the phone.

‘What did he say?’

‘His very words were, “I hear you were poking around at Cherry Ashton again today.” I couldn’t very well deny it.’

‘How did he know? Those policemen didn’t know who we were.’

‘If they said three middle-aged women were hanging around, he wouldn’t have much trouble making a guess.’

‘More likely to have said three old birds,’ said Libby, ‘but you’re right. Unless Mr Vindari informed on us.’

‘Why would he do that? Anyway, he said he hadn’t spoken to the police yet.’

‘But they might have resumed house-to-house enquiries and cornered him.’

‘Come to that it could have been the colonel or Brenda for the same reason. Three old birds nosing around this afternoon.’

‘Yes, it could,’ said Libby, sighing. ‘So, did he tell you anything else?’

‘He just said enquiries were progressing when I asked. He did say, though, that he would tell us more when he could.’

‘I could invite him to dinner?’ suggested Libby hopefully.

‘He’d probably not be able to get away,’ said Fran, ‘and anyway, as you’re a witness you’d be off limits.’

‘That’s never stopped him in the past,’ said Libby. ‘And he took you out when you were involved in a case.’

‘That,’ said Fran loftily, ‘was entirely different. I was an expert witness.’

‘I’m still going to ask him.’

‘And he’ll see right through you,’ said Fran, laughing. ‘If he says yes, can we come too?’

‘Of course. I wouldn’t dream of keeping him to myself,’ Libby lied.

‘Oh, really? But you won’t ask Andrew and Rosie again, will you?’

‘Definitely not. Anyway, I don’t suppose there is an Andrew and Rosie now. I can see there being a Rosie and Hugh, though, can’t you?’

‘She is a bit of flirt, isn’t she?’ said Fran. ‘But there’s more than likely a Mrs Colonel, wouldn’t you say?’

‘I expect so, although I don’t think that would stop Rosie from trying. What’s the betting that she goes back to the pub on her own?’

‘I’m sure of it,’ said Fran. ‘And now I must get on with cooking supper. Adam’s coming, did you know?’

‘No, he doesn’t keep me up to date with his day to day activities,’ said Libby, feeling a tiny bit jealous. ‘Give him my love.’

‘I will,’ said Fran and rang off. Libby sat for a minute looking at the phone and wondering if she should ask Adam and Sophie to supper one night. The she shrugged and dialled Ian’s mobile number. He answered almost immediately to her surprise.

‘What is it, Libby?’

‘Oh, I didn’t expect you to answer. I was going to leave a message.’

‘Well, I did. What is it?’

‘I was merely going to ask you to dinner one evening. Don’t get shirty.’

‘Oh. Sorry.’ His voice softened. ‘Even if it is a blatant attempt to get something out of me.’

Libby sighed. ‘Fran said you’d say that.’

He laughed. ‘Of course I would. However, I’d love to come to dinner. When?’

‘I don’t suppose you’d be free tomorrow night?’

‘Saturday? I am, as it happens, unless something breaks on this case, which looks unlikely at the moment.’

‘Oh, lovely. Shall I get in some non-alcoholic wine or something?’

‘Are Fran and Guy coming?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then I shall offer to share a taxi and we can all have a drink.’

‘Excellent idea,’ said Libby. ‘Eight o’clock?’

She rang off and called Fran immediately to tell her she was invited for tomorrow.

‘He agreed?’ said Fran in surprise.

‘He certainly did, even though he said he knew I wanted to get something out of him.’

‘Told you so.’

‘I know, I know, but he’s still coming, and he’s going to suggest the three of you share a taxi so you can all have a drink.’

‘Goodness me! He must really want to let his hair down.’

‘I can’t imagine that, somehow,’ said Libby, ‘although I suppose you’ve seen him like that.’

‘Will you stop going on about that?’ said Fran. ‘It was over ages ago. In fact it never really got started.’

‘If you say so,’ said Libby. ‘Anyway, he’s coming. So now I’d better start thinking about what to cook. And I haven’t even started on tonight’s dinner yet.’

‘Oh, dear. The Pink Geranium again?’

‘I daren’t,’ Libby giggled. ‘It’ll have to be something from the freezer. And don’t forget to think up some really good questions for Ian tomorrow night. I have the feeling he won’t mind answering them, or he wouldn’t have agreed to come, would he?’

Chapter Twenty-five

AFTER A MAMMOTH EFFORT, Libby was actually ready before eight o’clock on Saturday evening. The cold starter and the dessert were in the fridge, all the main course dishes in the warming oven, the table was laid and the glasses polished. Libby descended the stairs and was handed a scotch by Ben.

‘Well done,’ he said. ‘Now sit and relax for a few minutes.’

Ten minutes later, and the guests arrived. Libby was pleased to see Ian looked relaxed and cheerful, although Fran didn’t.

‘What’s the matter?’ she whispered, bearing her friend into the kitchen on the excuse of checking the food.

‘Being in a taxi with those two,’ said Fran.

‘But Guy’s not jealous, you said. And Ian’s a perfect gentleman.’

‘I know, but it’s your fault, bringing it all up again. I felt so awkward.’

Libby frowned at her. ‘Sure it was just you feeling awkward, and not one of your moments?’