‘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.
‘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?’