Murder Dancing Read online

  ‘I doubt if that was a motive for frightening off the original Demdike,’ said Ben.

  ‘And we’ve got to remember it’s started again with Chattox now.’ Libby frowned. ‘Anyway, to go on with the cast, we’ve met Demdike and Abraham, who else?’

  ‘The people you spoke to earlier.’

  ‘Oh, yes – Roger Nowell, the magistrate and Alizon, Demdike’s granddaughter. So we haven’t yet met Chattox, who is a very determined character, according to Max.’

  ‘Then there’s Stan Willis and Damian the composer.’

  ‘And we haven’t met Stan’s assistant,’ said Libby. ‘I thought he would have come down today.’

  ‘Never mind, I’m sure we will.’ Ben took out his key to let them into number seventeen. ‘Now, make me a cup of tea, woman!’

  Monday morning Max had called his company for ten o’clock. Ben and Libby opened the theatre at nine thirty and waited to see who would arrive.

  Stan Willis came fussing in five minutes later, followed by a shortish, squarish man with red hair and an equally red face.

  ‘This is Seb,’ said Stan. ‘Seb, this is Ben, our stage manager, and Libby, our … um…’

  ‘Hostess?’ suggested Libby sweetly.

  ‘Hostess. Yes.’

  Seb and Libby shook hands.

  ‘Now, I really must go up and check the robotics.’ Stan sped away into the wings and Seb turned to Ben.

  ‘Has he been driving you mad?’ he asked.

  ‘Er – no, not really,’ said Ben, surprised. ‘We haven’t done much really. I just set everything up as he’d requested, and now I’m leaving it all to him, I think.’

  ‘And me,’ said Seb, gloomily.

  ‘Ah!’ said Libby. ‘You’re his – what? ASM?’

  ‘Dogsbody,’ corrected Seb. ‘That’s me.’ He grinned. ‘At home and away.’

  ‘Oh, dear,’ said Libby. ‘Well, there doesn’t seem to be much to do, stage-wise.’

  ‘There’s the Kabuki,’ said Seb. He turned to Ben. ‘Have we –?’

  ‘Not yet. We’re trying it this morning before rehearsal.’

  People began drifting in. Those Libby had met raised their hands to her, but they were all obviously preoccupied with the coming rehearsal. Hetty had reported that most of them had eaten very light breakfasts, and Libby only hoped they had the stamina to get through to lunchtime. Backpacks and sports bags were dumped in the aisles and on seats, and contorted positions taken up on the stage. At ten o’clock, Max appeared from the wings and clapped his hands.

  ‘Clear, please, everybody. We’re going to test the robotics and the Kabuki.’

  ‘Here you are, dear heart.’ Peter’s voice sounded in Libby’s ear. ‘Now you can see and wonder.’

  ‘So can I.’ Harry’s voice was in her other ear. ‘Exciting, isn’t it.’

  ‘I’m off to the box to dazzle you,’ said Peter and slipped out of the auditorium doors. Libby and Harry settled in the back row as the house lights went down.

  ‘Now! Sound, please,’ called Max, and there was an immediate blackout as music erupted into the auditorium. Suddenly, along the top of the proscenium arch flashed blue lights and the backdrop Libby hadn’t realised was there disappeared in front of her eyes, revealing the lowering form of Pendle Hill.

  There was a gasp from those watching, then applause as the music stopped and the house lights went up.

  Max, beaming, came to the front of the stage.

  ‘Did any of you realise you were looking at a cloth?’ he asked.

  Discussion broke out among the dancers, and Libby looked at Harry. ‘Impressive.’

  ‘It was. One minute it was there – the next it wasn’t. How’d they do it?’

  ‘Classic misdirection, I should think,’ said Libby.

  Harry looked at her. ‘Really? Like the three card trick?’

  ‘Sort of.’ Libby poked him in the ribs. ‘Don’t put me on the spot. Go and make those boys their lunch.’

  Chapter Five

  Harry’s buffet lunch, supplemented with energy drinks supplied by Libby, who had raided the eight-till-late, went down very well. So did Harry.

  Peter, watching with amusement as several dancers crowded round his beloved, murmured, ‘He should be able to get anything out of them, shouldn’t he?’

  Libby laughed. ‘As long as they don’t get him out of anything!’

  She moved across, ostensibly to check that everything was all right, in reality to rescue Harry.

  ‘Libby, this is heaven.’ Phillip Newcombe was at her elbow.

  ‘Really? Which particular bit?’

  ‘All of it.’ Phillip waved an expansive arm. ‘The theatre, the rooms here, the food … Couldn’t ask for more, could we?’

  ‘Well, let’s hope the run of bad luck didn’t follow you down here,’ said Libby.

  ‘Run of …?’ Phillip’s dark brows drew together. ‘Oh, you mean all those nasty little tricks.’ He shrugged. ‘I bet it was someone who didn’t get into the company and was jealous. Don’t you? And they’d still be in London, wouldn’t they.’

  ‘I suppose that’s possible,’ said Libby, wondering if it was. ‘Wasn’t the Kabuki curtain stunt good?’

  ‘Oh, is that what it was? Fabulous. Can’t wait to see it in the actual piece, although I won’t, I suppose. Only from the back.’

  ‘Someone will film it, though, surely?’ said Libby.

  ‘Oh, I expect so, even if it’s only for Max to make us sit through it and point out where we went wrong.’

  He is waspish, thought Libby, and went to ask Max if Phillip’s theory was possible.

  Max was thoughtful. ‘He could be right. We did hold auditions when we realised we didn’t have quite enough people in the company to put this on, and there were several who were disappointed. But not to the extent of sabotaging the production.’

  ‘No, I thought it was a bit unlikely. And whoever it was had to know all about the rehearsal arrangements and the lockers. An auditionee wouldn’t know.’

  ‘Unless they were close to a company member,’ said Max. ‘Have you talked to any of the others yet?’

  Libby was taken aback. ‘Give me a chance! I’ve got to get to know them a bit better first. Tell me, who’s your Chattox? I’ve met Demdike.’

  ‘Tom Matthews. He’s over there.’ Max nodded towards a group of dancers clustered round the table where Libby and Hetty had set up the coffee pots.

  ‘Which one? I’ve met Dan – is it? The Roger Nowell.’

  ‘Talking to Dan now,’ said Max. ‘That’s Tom.’

  Libby eyed the tall, well-muscled young man appreciatively. ‘Very nice.’

  Max smiled at her. ‘He is, isn’t he? And tough as old boots.’

  ‘Yes, you said he wasn’t fazed by the cockerel.’

  ‘I think maybe you should go and check the coffee pots,’ said Max with a wink. ‘They may need refilling.’

  Libby grinned at him and wandered over to the table.

  ‘Hello – Libby, isn’t it?’ said Dan Washburn.

  ‘That’s me,’ said Libby. ‘Just checking the coffee pots.’

  ‘I think there’s still plenty,’ said Tom Matthews, and stuck out a hand. ‘I’m Tom, by the way.’

  ‘Ah, yes – the Chattox.’ Libby shook his hand. ‘And are you all OK – your rooms are all right?’

  ‘It’s great,’ said Dan. ‘Such a lovely set-up. And this food is wonderful.’

  ‘Mexican street food, apparently,’ said Libby. ‘Harry over there has a Mexican restaurant in the village.’

  ‘So we’ve been told,’ said Tom. ‘With a special discount for us if we eat there.’

  ‘Indeed.’ Libby smiled brightly. ‘We’re all family, you see.’

  ‘You are?’ Tom looked at Harry and back at Libby.

  ‘Well, extended family. My partner Ben owns the Manor and the theatre, which he designed, being an architect, with his mum, Hetty, who’s over there talking to Peter, who is doing your FX. Peter is
her nephew and Ben’s cousin, and is married to Harry.’

  The group of men laughed.

  ‘I might need that disentangling,’ said the third in the group, a slim boy who looked as if he might be perfect casting for Puck.

  ‘Oh, this is Alan who plays Demdike’s daughter Elizabeth,’ said Dan.

  ‘Is that Alizon’s mother?’ asked Libby, shaking hands again.

  Alan pulled a face. ‘Yes. And he’s older than I am.’

  The other two laughed.

  ‘Well, if you don’t need more coffee, I’ll start collecting plates,’ said Libby. ‘Can you all dance after all that food?’

  ‘It was fairly light,’ said Tom. ‘Your Harry knows what he’s doing. I think a lot of us are sorry he’s spoken for, though.’

  Libby grinned. ‘Thought you might be!’

  The dancers began to drift back towards the theatre. Most of them called out ‘Thank you’ to Hetty, Harry and Libby.

  ‘He’s not going to do that every day, is he?’ asked Max, following Libby into the kitchen.

  ‘Isn’t he? He said he was going to talk to you about it.’ Libby put the stack of plates by the sink.

  ‘He did.’ Max was frowning. ‘He suggested bringing a lunch up every day, but I thought he meant just some sandwiches or small snacks.’

  ‘Did he give you a price?’ asked Libby.

  ‘Oh, yes. It’s not expensive.’

  ‘Well, this is what you get, obviously. He’s doing these things in the regular menu, now, so I don’t suppose it’s that much effort. Probably won’t want to do it at the weekend, though.’

  ‘Oh, they’re getting part of next weekend off. We’ll see how it goes, but a full day’s rehearsal on Monday and Tuesday. Have you seen the publicity?’

  Libby grinned. ‘Couldn’t miss it! All over the local media – and national, too, I understand?’

  ‘Oh, yes.’ Max’s colour was rising. ‘People have been very kind.’

  ‘People like Sir Andrew?’ asked Libby slyly.

  ‘Yes.’ Max was now obviously uncomfortable.

  ‘You don’t like charity, do you?’

  ‘No, and I know people do these things because they are genuinely nice, but …’

  ‘I know.’ Libby patted his arm. ‘Now, go and bully your poor boys and leave Hetty and me to finish clearing up.’

  ‘What’s up with him?’ grunted Hetty, as she began to load plates into the dishwasher.

  ‘He thinks people are being too kind to him,’ said Libby.

  ‘Silly bugger.’

  Libby looked down at Hetty’s grey head with affectionate amusement. ‘Exactly.’

  When the sitting-room and kitchen had been restored to order, Libby looked into the theatre and wasted a few minutes admiring the perfect male physiques displaying themselves on the stage, before leaving and going to find Harry.

  The Pink Geranium’s door was locked, but Harry heard her knock and came to let her in.

  ‘How did it go?’ he asked, leading the way back to the kitchen.

  ‘Wonderful. They all told you so, didn’t they?’

  ‘Well, yes. What did Max think?’

  ‘That you’d spoilt them. He was expecting something far more ordinary – and not as much.’

  ‘Oh!’ Harry took his hands out of the sink and looked at her. ‘Is that what he wants?’

  ‘I think he’s just uncomfortable with people being nice to him. As far as I can see, Andrew’s paid for advertising and media coverage and he doesn’t like that, either.’

  Harry frowned. ‘What’s wrong with him?’

  ‘I expect he feels he doesn’t deserve it.’

  ‘Proud,’ said Harry, returning to the sink. ‘He didn’t query the price of the lunches, you know. Just said was I sure that was enough.’

  ‘Do we know how he started the company? Or why? Has Andrew said anything to you?’

  Sir Andrew and Harry had a special relationship, of which Peter was occasionally jealous.

  ‘Not a word. Why?’

  ‘I just wondered. Presumably he was a dancer himself. Or maybe still is.’ Libby absently picked up a tea towel.

  ‘Don’t do that!’ snapped Harry.

  ‘Do what?’

  ‘Dry these dishes. They have to air dry.’

  ‘Why didn’t you do them in the dishwasher then?’

  Harry sighed. ‘Have a look at them, dearie.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Libby. ‘They’re a bit old, aren’t they?’

  ‘Just a bit, petal. My mum Millie’s best china.’

  Millicent was Hetty’s younger sister and Peter’s mother, now residing in a very expensive home for the bewildered.

  ‘Oh, OK. Why did you use them for the dancers?’

  ‘Because I didn’t want to use the caff’s stuff. Looks a bit you know – what’s the word?’

  ‘Utilitarian?’

  ‘If you so say so. Now. Glass of wine before you go? Or are you going to be good?’

  ‘I’m going to be good and have a glass of wine,’ said Libby.

  Harry brought a bottle of red into the sofa corner and sat down with a sigh.

  ‘Did you get anything out of them at lunchtime?’ he asked.

  ‘No, did you?’

  ‘Too early,’ said Harry. ‘They were all a bit flirty, you know?’

  ‘Peter and I saw,’ said Libby, accepting a glass.

  ‘Oh, bugger. Was he jealous?’

  ‘No, he seemed fine. Did any of them chat?’

  ‘Oh, yes. All very complimentary about the digs and the theatre. And the food of course. I picked up a little bit of gossip among themselves, though.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Who’s Stan? He’s the stage manager, isn’t he?’

  ‘Stage and company manager, I think.’

  ‘I thought Max was the company manager?’

  Libby shook her head. ‘No, he’s the director. And choreographer. The company manager does all the mundane stuff.’

  ‘That explains it,’ said Harry. ‘They were grousing about him trying to make trouble regarding the Manor.’

  ‘He what?’ gasped Libby.

  ‘He was complaining, apparently. Saying it should have been left to him.’

  ‘Well, theoretically, it should,’ said Libby, ‘but Max arranged this as a package through Andrew. Doesn’t he realise that?’

  ‘Don’t ask me, petal. I’m just reporting what they were saying. I don’t think they like him much.’

  ‘No,’ said Libby thoughtfully. ‘You don’t think he would sabotage the production, do you?’

  ‘Me? I don’t know the bloke, do I? And why the hell should he? It pays his wages, doesn’t it?’

  ‘I suppose so. I don’t know much about the set-up, really.’ Libby gazed into her wine glass. ‘I think I’d better try and find out a bit more. I expect there’s a website.’

  ‘Do you think it might be to do with the company rather than the dancers?’ asked Harry.

  ‘It could be, couldn’t it? One of the boys suggested someone who had been turned down at audition.’

  ‘And so upset he left a dead cockerel in a locker? Nah. Besides, it has to be someone who knows the rehearsal rooms and the whole set-up, doesn’t it?’

  ‘That’s what I said to Max. He did say it could be someone who was close to one of the company, though.’

  ‘And did he make any suggestions?’

  ‘No, I think it was just a random thought.’ Libby drained her glass. ‘Oh, well. I’ll go home and do some research, then I’ll pop up and mingle a bit more when they’ve finished for the day.’

  ‘What about Fran? When’s she coming up?’

  ‘I don’t know. I expect she’ll ring.’

  But she didn’t. She arrived.

  Chapter Six

  ‘I didn’t know what you were planning to do, so I thought I ought to come and find out.’ Fran followed Libby into the kitchen.

  ‘I don’t think I’m planning anything,’ said Libby. ‘I
went up at lunchtime, but I didn’t manage to get any confidences. Sit down and I’ll tell you what’s been happening over the last couple of days.’

  By the time Libby had finished and they had both drunk two large mugs of tea, Fran was looking thoughtful.

  ‘So nobody seemed unduly worried?’

  ‘No, I suppose they didn’t. Do you think Max was over-reacting?’

  ‘We don’t know about the two people who left. Has anything been said about them?’

  ‘No!’ Libby was surprised. ‘No. Even when Jonathan – the new Demdike – told me he’d been promoted, he said nothing about the previous one. That’s odd, isn’t it?’

  ‘If you introduce me to the people you’ve actually met, I can do a bit of gentle questioning, can’t I? Are you going up this afternoon?’

  ‘I thought I would. I’ll see if they want tea in the sitting-room. Although I don’t know how long Max intends to work them for.’

  Fran looked at her watch. ‘Let’s wander up about four. We can always watch rehearsal, can’t we?’

  It appeared that Max was sticking to a strict ten-to-five routine.

  ‘Can’t tire them out too much,’ he told Fran with a grin. ‘They get stroppy.’

  Fran raised her eyebrows. ‘What happened to show-fitness?’

  ‘Oh, they’re all as tough as old shoe leather, really. But they like to moan.’

  ‘Do they want tea in the sitting-room?’ asked Libby. ‘We didn’t know. They’ve all got kettles in their rooms.’

  ‘Don’t worry about that,’ said Max. ‘They might congregate in the sitting-room for a chat, but they’ll all wander off to their rooms eventually before going down to the pub for dinner. I think Harry might find himself inundated tomorrow night.’

  Libby and Fran repaired to the Manor, where Hetty presented them with two huge Victoria sponges.

  ‘Thought they might like a bit o’ cake,’ she said gruffly and disappeared into the kitchen.

  Libby looked at Fran and giggled. ‘I hope none of them are watching their weight.’

  As they crossed the hall towards the sitting-room, the first dancers came in.

  ‘Ooh!’

  ‘Look at that!’

  ‘Is it for us?’

  ‘Can we have some?’

  Followed by a sweaty clutch of male bodies in an assortment of T-shirts, shorts, jogging bottoms and leggings, Libby and Fran bore their cakes aloft into the sitting-room, where Hetty had provided knives and paper plates.