Murder on the Levels: An Exham on Sea Cosy Mystery (Exham on Sea Cosy Crime Mysteries Book 2) (3 page)

***

Libby’s year in Exham had taught her who was likely to know most about the area. In a moment of genius, she lured Ali out of the house, sending her to Bath in search of new curtains for the living room, picked up the phone and issued an invitation to Marina.

While she waited, Libby started on her new, hastily formed plan. The moment of despair at the bakery had soon passed. She had no idea how she was going to sell her wares, but she wasn’t about to give in and abandon the chocolate dream at the first obstacle. She was going to make up a new batch and find an outlet somehow, even if she had to hawk her wares all over England.

Mandy wandered aimlessly round the house, switching on televisions and turning them off again. Libby tracked her down in the bathroom and grabbed an arm, just in time to stop her painting each nail a different shade of mauve. “Mandy, come and help me in the kitchen. I’ll need an assistant if I’m going to make this project work.”

“Not giving up, then, Mrs F?”

“You bet I’m not. Did you see how those free samples disappeared? There’s a real market for original chocolates. We’re going to make them, even if we can’t sell them at Frank’s. Maybe some of the shops in Bath will stock them, instead.” Libby set up the chocolate grinder and tipped warm beans inside.

As they worked, the hours raced past, meals forgotten, until Marina arrived. She wafted in on a cloud of Youth Dew, resplendent in a purple kimono, amber beads jangling on her spectacular chest. “Darling Libby, you look ghastly,” she gushed. “We were all so worried.”

“Actually, I’m perfectly all right, now, thank you.”

“Well, if there’s anything you need, you only have to ask. Though I’ve only got a few minutes. I’m getting my hair done.” Marina settled herself more comfortably on the sofa and got down to business. “Now, do tell me everything. I heard it wasn’t food poisoning, but real poison. How extraordinary. Just imagine!”

Marina wore the permanent air of unconscious, effortless superiority of someone who’d spent her life nurtured and cherished, never denied any pleasure she desired. As a result, good-humoured, extravert, and a pillar of Exham society, she provided a never-ending source of the very best gossip. Libby forgave Marina’s sloth, although one day, she’d pluck up the courage to tell her friend to take her own dog for walks. Poor Shipley would never get beyond the garden gate, if Libby didn’t take him.

Marina sipped at a glass of sherry. “Who would have thought it of Frank?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Frank wouldn’t kill anyone.” Kind, monosyllabic Frank could hardly bring himself to squash a wasp.

Marina helped herself to a cup cake. “Who else could it be? One minute, everyone’s buzzing along the road like a swarm of starving bees in Lycra, and the next, they eat Frank’s food and half the cycling club ends up in hospital. Everyone knows Frank quarrelled with Kevin Batty, years ago. He must have decided to get his own back.”

A chill crept up Libby’s neck. If Frank had a motive, he was in big trouble. “What did they fall out about?”

“Well.” Marina sat forward, settling the heavy orange beads more comfortably, face animated. “Kevin was a very rich man. One of the big farmers in the area. Plenty of land, darling, all in the family. Of course, he didn’t farm it himself. He rented most of it out.”

Libby blinked. “You’re kidding.” She’d only met Kevin a few times, but anyone who looked less like a wealthy landowner would be hard to find. Everything the man wore seemed to be made for someone ten pounds heavier, as though he bought every item of clothes secondhand.

Marina’s laugh tinkled. “You’d know if you’d grown up around here. The Battys own half the county, and my husband handles their affairs. Kevin’s finger was in plenty of pies; sheep farms, dairy, and just a few acres of wheat.”

Libby topped up Marina’s glass. “Come to think of it, I’ve seen Batty lorries on the motorway.”

“That’s right.” Marina wrinkled her nose. “Not the cleanest on the road, I’m afraid. Now,” she swept on, “where was I? Oh, yes, Kevin used to supply flour to the bakery, years ago. Then, he had the falling out with Frank. It started with darts, in the pub. Kevin accused Frank of using weighted darts. Or was it Frank accusing Kevin? Can’t quite remember. Anyway,” Marina shrugged, dismissive of such details. “They had a fight. They were both drunk, and Frank gave Kevin a bloody nose. The next thing Frank knew, Kevin hiked the price of his flour sky-high and nearly bankrupted the bakery.”

Mandy called from the kitchen. “The grinder’s finished.”

Chocolate scented the air as Libby opened the huge metal grinder and scooped out the paste. Marina rustled, close behind. “Oh, I didn’t know you made your chocolates from actual cocoa beans. Can I taste?”

“Not yet, I’m afraid. It’s too bitter at this stage. Inedible.” Libby let heavy blobs fall onto a vast marble board.

Marina glanced at her expensive watch. “Look at the time. I’m going to be late.” She gathered up scarves and bags. “Now, don’t worry, I’ll let myself out.” She was gone, slightly unsteady, leaving a heavy trail of perfume.

Libby swooped on the heap of chocolate paste, scraping and turning it with vigour, watching for the shine that would tell her it was ready for use. “I’m afraid everyone in town knows it’s food poisoning, now,” she told Mandy. “The bakery’s getting the blame.”

Mandy’s eyes were huge. “I don’t know what I’ll do for money, without that job.”

“Well, I’m sure it won’t be for long. Everyone knows Frank’s fanatical about hygiene.”

Mandy was biting her thumbnail. “It’s not just Frank. We’re all under suspicion. No one’s going to want our chocolates, now.”

Pizza and salad

Ali arrived back from Bath early. “I found just what you need in the first shop.” In minutes, she was bent over the ancient, hardly-used sewing machine, shortening curtains.

Too restless to stay indoors, Libby made an excuse. “I need Marmite to settle my stomach,” she announced, and drove to the supermarket. The place was overheated and crowded. Libby leaned on the trolley, wishing she’d stayed at home.

“What are you doing here? You should be taking it easy.”

Libby jumped. “Max! How do you manage to keep creeping up on me like that?”

“You were miles away. By the way, did you mean to put five boxes of cornflakes in your trolley.”

How did that happen? “I’m hiding from my daughter’s ministrations.” That was unkind. “Oh dear, I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. It’s just that Ali’s very organised. Unlike me. She arrived yesterday and she hasn’t stopped cleaning yet. She’s hanging curtains as we speak.”

Max replaced cornflake packets on the shelf. “Heaven help anyone who tries to organise you, Libby Forest.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“No need to get on your high horse. I mean you’re a very capable woman who knows what she wants. By the way, how’s the stomach?”

“Better. I suppose I should thank you for putting me to bed.” Now, she sounded ungracious. “Sorry. I really am grateful.” Libby couldn’t forget the silk pyjamas, but if she didn’t mention them, maybe Max wouldn’t, either.

“If you want to get away from your daughter for a bit, come over to my place. There’s pizza in the freezer.”

“Pizza? Really?”

“Forget your culinary standards for once and come down to my level.”

“I could cook.”

He raised an eyebrow. “If you like. You choose.”

Why was she making work? The habit of a lifetime. Crazy. Time to stop trying to please everyone. “Pizza sounds wonderful.”

He grinned. “That wasn’t so hard, was it? You don’t have to be perfect all the time, you know.”

***

Libby concentrated on the pizza on her plate. She’d made a salad, squeezing lemon into olive oil, adding a touch of honey and mustard, and a pinch of salt, grateful Max hadn’t refused to eat the food she made. At least he didn’t think she was a poisoner. “You’re looking better,” Max said. “Nothing like junk food to settle the digestion.”

“How’s Joe?”

“They’re letting him out in a couple of days, and I said I’d go and visit. We’re almost on speaking terms at the moment, so long as we don’t mention anything about his work or mine, especially the local thugs he’s been watching.”

Libby shivered. “I’ve got an interview with one of Joe’s colleagues, soon. Ian Smith. About the Eccles cake.”

“Are you interviewing the police, or they, you?”

“Very funny. Apparently, I’m a suspect.”

“OK to talk about it?”

“With the police, or with you?”

“Either. Both.”

“There’s not much I can say. It’s all a complete mystery to me. I mean, poisoning a whole cycle club! Who’d do that? It’s ridiculous to suggest it’s Frank. It’ll ruin his business.”

Max took the plates out, calling back, “You’re sure it’s deliberate, then?”

Libby followed, a wine glass in each hand. “Well, I can’t believe the food was contaminated by mistake. We’re always so careful. We know it’s not the sandwiches, but that doesn’t stop people blaming the bakery. We could be shut down for good.”

“How do you know it’s not the sandwiches?”

Enraged, Libby glared. “Of course it wasn’t.”

“No. You don’t want it to be. Come on Libby, put that logical mind of yours to work. Digitalis, or digitoxin, or whatever that doctor called it. How would you get hold of it?”

Libby thought hard. “He said it was used as medicine, so presumably, you could get it from your GP. There’s always the chemist, but you’d need a prescription.”

Max chimed in. “Or the internet. Could you make it yourself?”

“Did they teach you much about poisons in secret service school?”

“Sadly, no, not unless you count polonium.”

“I think we’re looking at something easier to get your hands on than radio-active isotopes.”

Max stacked plates in the dishwasher. “It sounds as though we’re investigating again. Ramshore and Forest, private investigations a speciality. No stone unturned. We should join forces and start a business. You’ll need a second string if the bakery has to close.”

Libby put her head on one side. “Forest and Ramshore sounds better. Anyway, we can’t just leave it to the police. Manpower’s always short, and unless they’re convinced it’s nothing to do with the shop, I don’t think they’ll look too hard elsewhere.”

“Forest and Ramshore it is, then. Where shall we start? With the poison?”

“It’s as good a place as any, though there are a couple of other things we ought to think about.”

“Like, what do Kevin and Vince have in common that made them targets? Why were they both killed?”

“Exactly. And what about Joe and the rest of the club? It could have been a random attack, maybe trying to frighten them, that went too far.” It was a mess. “How could the poisoner even be sure anyone would die? This is going to take a while. I’d better warn my daughter.”

She rang Ali’s mobile. “I’m going to be late. Max and I are going over ideas for the chocolate business.”

“Yeah, Mum.” That was definitely a snigger. “Are you coming home tonight?”

“Of course.” Libby’s face burned.

“Mandy and I are fine. She’s been filling me in on a few things.” That sounded ominous. “Oh, and Fuzzy’s sitting on my lap.”

“That cat never sits with me. She hates me. She tried to trip me on the stairs again.”

“See you later, Mum.” Ali was laughing as she broke the connection.

Max didn’t bother to pretend he hadn’t heard. “I take it you have permission to stay out late?”

Libby dropped her phone in a pocket. “Fire up that laptop. We’ve got poisons to trace.”

Poison-hunting on the internet revealed few new facts. Digitoxin could be easily extracted from the crushed leaves of foxgloves, and was found in some prescribed medication for heart disease. Several cups of coffee later, with little more to show for their efforts than a list of medications containing digitalis extract under a confusing number of names, Libby sighed and stretched. “We’re not really very much farther forward. We need a better plan.”

Max flipped the lid on the laptop. “Suggestions?”

“Well, the poison’s just the method. What about a reason for killing Kevin and Vince? I suppose you weren’t at school with half the cycling club?”

“Afraid not. Most of them moved here in the last twenty years or so. Your friend Marina’s husband’s a member, though.”

Marina hadn’t mentioned that. Presumably, Henry had been at work, not cycling through the lanes, that day. Max cleared his throat. “There’s something I was going to tell you before, on the beach, when my phone rang.”

“Yes?”

He wouldn’t meet her eyes. “I’ve got to go away again, tomorrow. Just for a day or two.”

“Oh?” What did he expect her to say?

“Well, there’s Bear.”

“Not leaving him with your farmer friend, this time?”

“Can’t keep abusing the hospitality. For one, thing, the animal eats like a rugby player.”

Libby wasn’t going to make it easy for him. “So, what are you suggesting?”

“Bear’s used to you. I wondered if you’d come over to keep an eye on him. He lives outside in the shed, unless it’s freezing cold. That double layer of fur keeps him warm, but he needs company and plenty of exercise, and he likes you.”

Libby laughed. Bear was fast asleep, his massive head trapping her feet, as if he’d already claimed her. “Let him stay with me for a while. We managed before, and I’ll take him for a long run every day.”

“What about your carpets?”

“I’ll get them replaced and send you a bill.”

“It’s a deal.”

Max thumped the dog gently on the shoulder. “See, Bear, I told you she’d take you in. Be a good guest. No chewing the furniture.”

“How long will you be gone?”

“Can’t be sure, I’m afraid. As a sweetener, would you like to borrow the Land Rover? Better than letting Bear climb all over your car.”

“You won’t need it?”

“It’s quicker by train.” Heading out of the country, then. Libby knew better than to ask where he was going. She was pleased they were back on some sort of steady footing. Good friends, nothing more. Wasn’t that just what she wanted? “Thanks. My car’s desperate for a service. I’ll get Alan at the garage to pick it up tomorrow.”