Murder in Steeple Martin - Libby Sarjeant Murder Mystery series Read online

  The thought of Millie’s uncomfortable visit kept returning to her all afternoon, until, in an effort to forget it, she was annoyed to find herself taking more care than usual over her appearance. After a shower, she cleaned her face of the remains of the day’s haphazard make-up and tried again, with not much notable success, she decided, scowling at the bags sandwiched between her eyes and what had been called her apple cheeks. She even put a jacket on over a fairly quiet roll-necked sweater instead of the collection of variegated jumpers that she normally wore, and replaced the tired Indian skirt with a plain, straight one. She tried to push her abundant and wayward hair into a neat French roll. It didn’t stay there, and by that time it was too late to do anything else, so she left it loose, flying about her head in a greying red bush. Bother.

  She walked up The Manor drive and paused to take in the impressive feature that was almost – but not quite – The Oast House Theatre. Its twin cones pointed proudly upwards, newly whitened, and the double doors stood open to reveal the new plate glass ones in the inner lobby. She pushed these open and was met by a welcoming wave of warmth.

  ‘Hey!’ she cried, surprised. ‘The heating’s on.’

  Peter appeared at the top of the spiral staircase leading to the lighting box. ‘Ben came in today and harried them.’

  ‘I thought you were going to be late?’ Libby squinted up at him.

  ‘Finished early,’ he said and disappeared.

  To Libby’s surprise, the set for the hop garden had been finished and even looked vaguely secure. Several of the actors were milling around on stage and looking a good deal more cheerful.

  ‘Good one tonight, then, Libby.’ The man playing the villainous tallyman hailed her.

  ‘Too right,’ said Libby. ‘Anyone seen our wardrobe mistress?’

  And so the rehearsal got under way.

  Half-way through, Libby had to concede that there had been a hundred percent improvement since last night. Even Emma, the girl playing Hetty’s character Becky, was making an effort and inspiring her stage lover to greater heights than normal.

  ‘Right, everyone, take a break,’ she called as they reached the end of a scene. ‘Pickers, I’d like to see your costumes if you could put on what you’ve got so far, and does anyone know if we’ve got the bins yet?’

  ‘Coming Thursday,’ came a muffled voice from the roof space.

  ‘Well done, Libby. You’re doing wonders.’

  Libby turned suddenly and came face to face with Ben. Shit, she thought as a surge of adrenalin hit her system. I’m too old for this.

  ‘Thanks,’ she said.

  ‘Yeah, great it is, gel. Looks good, too. Just like the West End.’

  Uncle Lenny had appeared silently by his nephew’s side.

  ‘Thank you, Lenny.’ Libby smiled at the old man. ‘Would you like to meet the cast?’

  ‘No, yer all right, gel. All go fer a bevvy later, shall we? Ben’ll drive us down.’

  ‘Oh, it’s not far. I can walk.’

  ‘I can’t though. Or not quick enough, anyhow. Ben’ll give you a lift.’ Lenny turned to go back to his plastic chair and Libby turned her attention to the stage.

  ‘Can we change the set to the hoppers’ huts?’ she called.

  ‘Don’t know whether the roof’s secure yet,’ came the muffled voice again.

  ‘It should be.’ Ben was still by her side. ‘I was up there myself, today.’

  Libby shot him a look, surprised, but said nothing and, smiling, he returned to his seat.

  The hoppers’ huts were set and the tin roof flown in. Libby smiled with pleasure as the scene took shape, the big hopping pot over the below-ground (and therefore not seen) fire, the pickers outside their huts while the one cut-away section revealed Emma lying on her bed of straw and faggots – or what would be straw and faggots, when it was ready. At the moment, she was lying on an old curtain and complaining about the dirt. Paula loitered unconvincingly in the background, supposedly in the next door hut.

  The scene wound on, gathering pace and momentum until the climax when Becky’s father arrived roaring drunk to burst in on his daughter and reveal that he knew her guilty secret. The scene closed with a blackout on Becky’s screams as her father lunged towards her.

  A burst of spontaneous applause from those who had been watching sent a warm glow through Libby’s body. It was working.

  ‘OK. Straight on. We’ve got half an hour. Let’s do the fight scene.’

  The lights went up as willing hands went to dismantle the huts and the wire began to raise the roof out of sight.

  It swayed gently as it reached the top of its ascent. Then it fell, crushing the huts and whatever was underneath them.

  Chapter Five

  IT SEEMED TO LIBBY that the crash and the screams were simultaneous and then there was silence. She rose jerkily to her feet, her heart thudding while the dust settled on the stage and the noise broke out again.

  ‘What happened?’ she asked, running to the front of the stage. Her voice came out in a croak and she tried to scramble up, hampered by her skirt. ‘Who’s hurt?’

  Ben was there, hauling her up beside him.

  ‘Stay there, I’ll find out,’ he said plunging into the melee.

  Emma was crying, her face streaked with dirt, Paula was having hysterics and being patted ineffectually by one of the older pickers. Underneath the scrambled mess that was no longer the hoppers’ huts, unpleasant noises were making themselves heard. Libby stood apart, watching, not even able to think.

  Ben detached himself from the crowd and came over to her.

  ‘It’s all right. No one hurt badly. Someone got a nasty ding on the shoulder and there’s a few cuts and bruises. That’s all. Bloody lucky.’

  Libby discovered that she was shaking.

  ‘But what happened?’

  ‘The wire broke, apparently.’ Ben was frowning. ‘I don’t know how. I fixed it myself this afternoon.’

  ‘Just you?’ Libby’s voice was still croaky.

  ‘No, a couple of the others who weren’t at work. It should have been foolproof.’

  ‘We could have been killed.’ Emma’s voice rose above all the others and they turned to look at her. ‘I don’t want to do this any more.’

  ‘For God’s sake, shut her up,’ muttered Libby, turning her back. ‘I’ve had enough of this.’

  She sat down heavily on the edge of the stage and waited until some kind of order had been restored. Stephen came up and said they would look at the damage and the reasons behind it the following day, but he thought they had all better go home now. She agreed.

  ‘I’m sorry, everybody.’ She stood up with an effort. ‘None of us knows what happened and I’m only thankful that nobody was seriously hurt.’ She took a deep breath and crossed her fingers. ‘It’s the sort of accident that can happen at any time in any theatre, and with so much new equipment, it’s not surprising that we should have a few –’ she stopped and searched for the right word, ‘well, minor disasters. But that’s all it is. Tomorrow we’ll rehearse down here in the auditorium and let the back-stage crew sort everything out without interference. OK?’

  There were mutterings of both disquiet and affirmation, but gradually everything quietened down as people began to put costumes away and collect outdoor clothes.

  ‘Drinkie-poos, petal?’ Harry had appeared out of the shadows.

  ‘I should think so.’ Libby was relieved that her voice had steadied. ‘A whole bucketful. Do you think we should call David?’

  ‘Dear old Doctor David? I don’t think so. No one really got hurt, did they?’

  ‘And we want to keep it as low key as possible, don’t we?’ Ben came up on her other side. ‘Lenny wants you to have a lift with us.’

  ‘Where is Lenny?’ Libby peered into the darkness, suddenly worried.

  ‘In the car. He’s fine. Bit shaken, but then, so were we all. Come on.’

  ‘Go on, ducks. No arguments. You look as though you’ll fal
l over any minute. We’ll follow.’ Harry patted her arm and left her.

  ‘I ought to wait and talk to Stephen.’ Libby looked back at the stage, where Stephen and his two acolytes stood surveying the mess.

  ‘He’ll come to the pub if he wants to speak to you,’ said Ben. ‘He knows where you’ll be.’

  ‘I’m not sure,’ said Libby doubtfully, ‘but I suppose there’s nothing I can do.’ She sighed. ‘All right. I’m coming.’

  Ben walked beside her in silence, holding open the plate glass door without a word, then he took her arm and steered her to the side of the building where the interior light showed Lenny sitting upright in the passenger seat of the car.

  ‘All right, gel?’ he said, half-turning with difficulty as she slid inelegantly into the back seat, thankful not to have to sit next to Ben.

  ‘Yes, thanks, Lenny. You?’

  ‘Bit of a shaker, that, weren’t it? Nasty old business.’ He turned back to the front and was silent while Ben drove them the short distance to the pub.

  In ones and twos, the cast dribbled in, subdued and pale. Emma didn’t appear, and Libby was relieved.

  ‘Your mother came to see me today,’ she said as Peter sat down opposite her. Ben had bought her a double brandy and she watched as the liquid clung and slipped down the side of the glass.

  ‘My mother?’ Peter took a healthy swallow of his beer. ‘Good God.’

  ‘What did she want?’ Ben’s voice was quiet at her left shoulder.

  ‘To stop the play.’

  They looked at her in silence, waiting for her to go on.

  ‘That’s all, really.’ She shrugged. ‘She wouldn’t tell me why. Except that she thought it was in bad taste.’

  ‘Always was daft, that one.’ Lenny emerged from a pint of stout, froth accentuating his trim moustache. He licked it off, neatly. ‘Terrible worrier.’

  ‘But what about?’ Libby burst out. ‘I just don’t understand what the devil’s going on. Why should she suddenly be against the play?’

  ‘Devil’s right, old love,’ said Peter, without a trace of his normal affectation. ‘After tonight. There’s a nasty old atmosphere creeping up on us.’

  ‘Oh, come on, Pete.’ Harry hitched up his chair. ‘One accident. You heard what Libby said. It could happen anywhere – to anyone.’

  ‘But I didn’t mean it,’ muttered Libby and was surprised when Ben touched her arm. She glanced at his well-kept hands – architect’s hands, she thought. Clean. She pushed hers, paint-stained and chubby, into the folds of her skirt.

  ‘Did you look at the wire, Ben?’ asked Peter.

  ‘Yes.’ Ben lifted his glass.

  ‘And?’ Harry raised an eyebrow. ‘I only came in at the end of the last scene. Donna had a panic. I didn’t see what went before.’

  ‘You saw the roof come down?’ Libby turned to him.

  ‘Yes, just after I came in.’

  ‘Well, that was it. The wire gave.’

  ‘How could it?’ Peter was scornful. ‘I looked at it myself when they were changing the set. It came down perfectly.’

  ‘It didn’t go back, though.’

  Peter looked back at Ben. ‘What’s up? What aren’t you saying?’

  Ben shook his head and put down his glass. ‘I’ll look at it tomorrow. I’ve got the day off. I’ll go in the morning.’

  ‘Not on your own,’ Libby heard herself saying.

  ‘Why? Worried about me?’ He smiled.

  Oh, help, thought Libby. She picked up her brandy and the smell made her eyes water.

  ‘Here, I’ll get you a lager.’ Peter stood up and went to the bar.

  ‘I’ll come with you,’ she said to Ben. ‘When do you want to go?’

  Ben looked puzzled. ‘Well I’m flattered at this sudden desire for my company, but it’s really not necessary, you know. I’m a big boy, now.’

  ‘Ooh, get ’er.’ Harry made a production of flinging one leg across the other and the atmosphere returned to normal with a thump.

  Stephen arrived on his own just in time to get included in Ben’s next round.

  ‘Any thoughts?’ asked Peter, as Stephen squeezed on to the bench between Libby and Harry.

  Stephen shook his head. ‘We’ll have a look at it tomorrow. I’ll go round straight from work.’

  Ben looked at Libby as he put glasses on the table. ‘Well –’ he said.

  ‘Don’t worry about it, Stephen.’ Libby swallowed hard. ‘Ben and I are going to have a look at it in the morning.’

  Stephen’s face darkened. ‘I thought I was supposed to be SM? Or don’t you trust me?’

  ‘Oh, God, Stephen! Of course I trust you. I was just trying to save you trouble. You hardly live round the corner, after all.’

  ‘I’m only at the top of the drive, old son,’ said Ben squeezing in the other side of Libby, so that she felt beleaguered on all sides. ‘I’ll have a look and report to you. Shall I take your mobile number? Then you can tell me if we need anything before you get there in the evening.’

  Mollified, Stephen dictated his mobile number and Ben programmed it into his own phone.

  Libby drank her lager, and even managed to finish the brandy before getting to her feet, feeling about a hundred-and-nine.

  ‘I’m off now.’ She reached for her coat, but Ben was there before her, holding it open.

  ‘I’ll give you a lift.’

  ‘No – it’s all right –’

  ‘Oh, don’t start that again. Come on, Lenny and I are going now, aren’t we, Lenny?’

  ‘Are we?’

  ‘I’m driving. Can’t have any more.’

  ‘Oh, all right. Got a drop back home, haven’t yer?’

  ‘Yes, you old soak, crates of it. Come on.’

  ‘I can walk Libby home,’ said Stephen. ‘My car’s parked there, anyway.’

  ‘It is?’ Ben sounded interested, cocking an eyebrow at Libby.

  ‘I think I’d rather have a lift after all, thanks, Stephen,’ she said, trying not to let her irritation and frustration flood out. ‘Hardly worth you walking all that way there and then driving back here, is it? Anyway, you’ve only just got your drink.’

  Stephen looked as though he realised he’d shot himself in the foot but had to give in with resignation, if not graciousness.

  ‘I’ll hear from you tomorrow, then,’ he said, and reluctantly turned to speak to Peter. Harry gave Libby an outrageous wink and blew a kiss at Ben. Lenny cackled.

  Libby realised that she was grateful for not having to walk home. The familiar village street looked unaccountably eerie and her very bones ached with weariness. I’m getting old, she told herself.

  Ben got out to open her door.

  ‘I won’t come in,’ he said with a half smile, mocking her. ‘Stephen would kill me.’ She smiled uncertainly.

  ‘I’ll ring you in the morning and we can make arrangements then.’ He had turned back to the car before she realised what he was talking about.

  ‘Oh, right. Have you got my number?’

  He looked up at her before he shut the door.

  ‘Of course.’

  Sidney was on his usual stair. Libby sat down on the one below and looked him in the eye.

  ‘All right, clever clogs. So now what? I suddenly realise I fancy this bloke and then whoosh – next thing, I’m suspecting him of sabotage because of his bloody family. What do I do now?’

  Hours later, unable to sleep, she wrapped herself in her patchwork quilt and went downstairs to drink copious cups of tea and work her way through the best part of a packet of cigarettes. She awoke next morning with a mouth and a head that told her she had smoked too much the night before, and the irritating trill of the telephone.

  By the time she had fallen down the last two stairs and got tangled up with an irate Sidney, the answerphone had cut in and she couldn’t be bothered to switch it off. She listened to the disembodied voice when her message had finished.

  ‘Libby, it’s Ben. I’m going to the t
heatre about ten thirty. I’ll come and pick you up if you like, but I don’t suppose you’ll want me to, so I’ll meet you there unless I hear from you. I’ll open up, so don’t worry about keys. See you later.’

  The answerphone rewound itself and sat winking at her knowingly. She glared at it and went in to the kitchen to make tea. Before she went upstairs to dress she pressed “play” and listened to Ben all over again, and then cursed herself for being a fool.

  How do I know he’s going at ten-thirty? she asked herself as she hurried along the High Street towards the Manor gates. He could have been there for hours, rigging all sorts of nasty little surprises. And why? asked the other self, the one who had argued all night about Ben’s putative reasons for wishing to sabotage the play. I know, she answered herself, it’s his theatre, partly his idea, why the hell would he? But then, why the hell is Millie so against it? And what’s Uncle Lenny got to do with it all, anyhow?

  She turned into the Manor drive and tried to relax tense shoulders.

  The theatre was warm, all the lights were on and the coffee machine in the foyer gurgled quietly to itself as she pushed open the door to the auditorium.

  ‘Anybody here?’

  ‘Up here.’ Ben’s voice issued from above the stage, to be followed seconds later by Ben himself. Libby went forward slowly to meet him as he came down the ladder.

  ‘Well?’ She was watching his face carefully.

  He held out his hand.

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Steel wire.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘It’s been cut.’

  Chapter Six

  ‘CUT? HOW CAN YOU cut steel wire?’ Libby sat down suddenly on the stage.

  ‘Easy. All the right equipment’s here.’ He sat down beside her, looking tired.

  ‘But who would do it? It’s so dangerous.’

  He nodded. ‘I can only think it was a practical joke and someone didn’t realise just how dangerous it would be.’

  ‘You’d have to be bloody daft not to.’

  ‘Well, the alternative’s not much fun, is it?’