Murder on the Levels: An Exham on Sea Cosy Mystery (Exham on Sea Cosy Crime Mysteries Book 2) (9 page)

“I am.” Steve’s eyes shone.

“It was tragic he died so young, just as his work was getting popular.”

Steve said, “I was going to go to his concert. You know, the one that was cancelled, the day he had his accident. Mum was taking me as a treat, because I passed my Grade Six saxophone. I remember everything about it.”

“You were only young at the time. It must be ten years ago, now.”

“Mum said Uncle Geoff was driving too fast...”

“I don’t expect you know the story.” Simon touched Libby’s hand, glanced into the house and dropped his voice. “We don’t talk about it much in front of Angela, because it was Geoff’s own fault. He had a sports car. A Porsche. He’d had some sort of quarrel with Angela, after the morning rehearsal, and he drove away in a huff, without her. He was going much too fast, as he always did, and he went clean off the road.”

No wonder Angela hadn’t told Libby. It would be hard to get over that sort of thing; quarrelling, then watching your husband drive away and never come back. “How dreadful. Poor Angela.”

“Yes, she never forgave herself. Don’t mention it in front of her, will you?”

Libby remembered the manuscript. “She was telling me about Geoff Miles’s last work: the one you’re all rehearsing. She said he was writing it when he sprained his wrist, and he could hardly finish it. I saw the writing: you could tell there was something wrong with his hand.”

Libby broke off as Angela came through the doors, heading for Alice. The girl had left her chair and was swaying on her feet, humming quietly. Angela took her arm. “I’m afraid Alice has had too much champagne. Can someone please take her home?”

Thai curry

“Mandy, did you keep topping up Alice’s drink?” Libby tackled her lodger as soon as they were home. She folded her arms, blocking the girl’s route to the stairs.

Mandy didn’t look in the least abashed. “She’ll be fine, Mrs F. She didn’t have that much champagne. She just can’t take her drink.”

“Don’t look so smug,” Libby scolded. At least Mandy knew how to stand up for herself.

Mandy giggled and shot a sideways glance at Libby. “I could see you were having fun with Simon.”

“Don’t change the subject. Anyway, it’s none of your business.”

“So, you don’t mind if I tell Max that Simon was all over you in the garden?”

“Tell him whatever you like.” It wouldn’t do any harm for Max to know he wasn’t the only fish in the pond. “By the way, Max is joining us for dinner.”

“I meant to tell you. I’m going out.”

“Steve?” No wonder Mandy was full of beans. “You really like him, don’t you?”

Mandy’s face was alight. She’d never looked so elated. “We’re going to the club.”

She disappeared, humming something tuneless. Libby pounded herbs into a paste and stirred coconut milk, lemon grass and lime juice in a frying pan, for a Thai curry. It’s fragrance filled the kitchen.

The shower spluttered in the bathroom, reminding Libby she still couldn’t afford to renovate it.
You can get used to anything.
She hardly noticed the orange bathroom tiles these days. They’d come with the cottage.

Drawers opened and closed, and hangers rattled. There’d be a mountain of discarded clothes on the chair in Mandy’s room. She was a lodger, so there’d be no need to nag about tidying the bedroom. Libby hummed as she stirred. She’d enjoyed talking to Simon, and he’d looked as though he liked it too. She’d been sure he was about to suggest they meet up somewhere, when they were interrupted. Where was he most likely to take someone on a first date? A restaurant? Maybe that expensive French place that just reopened?

The wooden spoon was dripping sauce all over the worktop. Libby wiped up the mess with one hand. Was she seriously thinking about going on a date? Hadn’t she given up all that sort of thing?

A phone rang. She jumped. Too much of a coincidence to be Simon, surely? She wiped her hands and ran to the sitting room to find the mobile. Would she say yes to him?

The phone’s screen was blank. Disappointed, Libby stuck it in her pocket. How stupid. She should have recognised Mandy’s ring tone.

What was that?
Bear leapt up, barking, as a scream echoed down the stairs. Fuzzy hid under the sofa. Libby took the stairs two at a time, fear making her breathless. “Mandy? Whatever is it?”

The teenager sat bolt upright on her bed, tights round her ankles, leather skirt still unzipped. One shaking hand held a mobile phone to her ear, the other grasped the front of her t-shirt, fingers working, screwing the cotton into a ball. “I―I’m coming,” Mandy stammered into the phone. “I’m on my way.”

She dropped the phone on the bed and stared at Libby, eyes huge and black. “It’s Steve.”

“What’s wrong?”

Mandy’s thin frame shook so hard she could barely speak. Her mouth worked. “The motor bike,” she whispered.

Libby took a long, trembling breath, determined to keep calm, for Mandy’s sake. “Is he―is he...” She couldn’t put the worst into words.

“He’s in a coma. In Mountview Park Hospital.” Mandy stuffed a fist into her mouth, but there was no holding back the sobs that shuddered through her whole body. Libby squeezed her shoulder.

She had to get Mandy to the hospital. “I’ll take you. Put some jeans on. Oh!” The champagne. Libby couldn’t drive all that way after those glasses she’d emptied. “Wait, I’ll ring for a taxi.”

With the phone at her ear, Libby had a better idea. She glanced at her watch. Max might have come home by now. She punched in his number.
Hurry up and answer, can’t you?

The phone clicked. “Libby, how did you guess? I just walked in the door.”

Her shoulders sagged, tension draining away. “I need you to take us to the hospital, right now.”

“What? Why?” Instantly alert.

“It’s Mandy’s boyfriend. He’s been in an accident. We’re at home and I’ve been drinking so I can’t drive...”

Max cut her off. “On my way. Hold tight.” The phone went dead.

Libby helped Mandy, shocked and trembling, to shrug on the leather jacket―Steve’s jacket. She poured boiling water on a teabag, blessing her speedy hot water dispenser, added milk, and stirred in plenty of sugar. “Drink this while we’re waiting, and fill me in on what happened. Who rang you?”

“Aunt Angela. Steve was on his bike, on his way home. A car must have hit him, out near Middleton.”

“Must have?”

“They didn’t stop.”

“Didn’t stop? But that’s...” Libby bit back the words. No point in upsetting Mandy even more. But why hadn’t the car stopped? It was unforgivable. The driver would surely know if he’d hit Steve’s motor bike.

The catlike purr of an expensive engine took them outside. Libby hadn’t seen the Jaguar before. Max must have used a hire car from the airport. She felt a twinge of guilt. His Land Rover was still parked where she’d left it, at Alan’s garage.

The journey to hospital was a blur. Mandy sat in silence on the back seat, kneading tissues into damp balls. Libby filled Max in on the sketchy details she knew. “Who’d leave the scene without stopping?”

The hospital smelled of disinfectant. Libby’s stomach contracted. No wonder people hated these places, chilling worlds full of strange noises, preoccupied nurses and weary doctors. They threaded through the corridors. A cheerful, buxom lady with round glasses and a volunteer’s badge pointed them towards intensive therapy.

Angela had already arrived with her sister-in-law, Steve’s mother. Angela wrapped Mandy in a hug. “He’s just come out of surgery.” That was good, wasn’t it?

Mandy whispered. “Will he be OK?”

“We hope so.”

Mandy sank on to a seat next to Angela and blew her nose. “I want to know who did it. I’ll stay here for a bit, but you go, Mrs F.” Colour flooded Mandy’s face. “You find whoever it was, you and Max.” She shook with anger. “The police will take forever, if you leave it to them, but you and Max can do it.” If only Libby felt so confident.

Angela said, “Mandy’s right. I’ll look after her. Just do what you can, both of you.”

Unsure, Libby glanced at Max. He raised an eyebrow and his head jerked, infinitesimally, towards the door. He was right, of course. There was nothing more to do here.

Coffee

The Thai curry was none the worse for waiting, but Libby could hardly taste it. Max laid down his fork. “I phoned Joe while you were banging around in the kitchen. He’s home.”

“And are you two talking, now?”

He looked thoughtful. “Strangely enough, we are.”

“Maybe his near-death experience made Joe think about the things that really matter. You know, family and so forth.”

Max stared at Libby with an odd expression on his face, as though he was trying to see what she was thinking. “There’s something wrong, isn’t there, apart from Steve’s accident? What is it, Libby? Is it your kids?”

Libby stopped pretending to eat. “Not exactly. It’s just that I found out Trevor gave Ali a house. In Leeds. I didn’t even know he owned one there, until you told me. I just wish he’d told me.” Libby longed to pour out her worries about Ali and the crazy dash to South America, but this wasn’t the moment. She’d leave it for another time. Her daughter could look after herself, safely out of the way of the Exham poisoner. “It’s Steve’s accident that worries me. It didn’t happen by chance, did it?”

Max walked to the window, looking out into the night. “Sometimes, good people get mixed up in bad stuff.” He sounded worried.

“You think the accident was deliberate?”

“Sure of it. The bike was hit hard enough to tip it off the road and into the rhyne. Steve was lucky to be found. He could have been in the ditch all night. Whoever did it, must have felt the crash.”

Max shook his head. “He could easily have died. I’m afraid that might have been the intention. The police are suspicious, too. Joe knew about it before I rang him. Ian Smith told him, I think.” That was the constable who’d interviewed Libby. “They found paint on Steve’s motor bike. They might be able to trace the car that hit him.”

He smiled, but only his mouth moved. His eyes glittered. “You can relax, Libby, and leave this one to the police.”

She wasn’t going to let that go. “Of course I can’t leave it to them. You’re frightening me, Max. Don’t you think it’s time you told me anything you know? What’s really been going on? Kevin, Vince, Joe, Frank’s business, and now Steve. What’s the link? I thought we were a team, but I get the feeling you’re hiding things from me. What happened to Forest and Ramshore?”

Max’s eyes were bleak. “I shouldn’t have encouraged you. Stay out of it, Libby. People are getting hurt.”

Libby breathed hard, thumping her mug down with such force coffee splashed onto the wood. “They’re the people I care about. I want to help, and I get the feeling you know far more about what’s going on than you’re saying.”

Max tapped his spoon on one hand, brow furrowed. “I’ll tell you what I know. You already heard about Pritchards, the subsidiary of AJP Associates. I’ve been tracking them, and their interest in Exham. All I can tell you at the moment is that they’re big, rich and powerful.” He shot a glance at Libby, as if weighing up how much to say. What was that word that described his expression? Shifty, that was it.

“Is that why you went away?”

“Partly.”

“Where to?” He dropped the spoon into his mug and stirred. The coffee must be cold, by now. He was giving himself time to think.
Can’t you be honest, just for once?
”

“I’ve signed the Official Secrets Act, Libby. I can’t tell you any more.” Max heaved himself to his feet. “It’s not enough for you, is it?”

He wasn’t just talking about solving the murders, or Steve’s mysterious road accident any more. He was talking about their strange, unspoken relationship. Libby pressed her lips together, biting the flesh with her teeth, anger fading, giving way to a cloud of depression, like damp fog. She felt her body slump. She couldn’t bear lies and secrets. Trevor’s betrayal had been more than enough for one lifetime. Libby needed, above all, to trust people.

It was her own fault. She could see, now, that she’d been expecting too much of Max. Deep down, despite all the denials, she’d been hoping something more would come of their odd friendship. Well, more fool her. She pulled her shoulders back and thrust out her chin. She was perfectly capable of solving the puzzle of Exham’s poisoning and the attack on Steve, without Max’s help. “If you won’t tell me what’s going on, you might as well leave now. And don’t come back.”

Max’s face was suddenly pale under the tan. A lump formed in Libby’s throat, and she opened her mouth, but it was too late. She couldn’t take the words back.

He put his mug aside, neatly, on a coaster. “I’m sorry I can’t tell you everything. I wish I could.” He stood up. “Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. Come on, Bear. Let’s get home.” The dog leapt to his feet and Libby felt abandoned. Even Bear seemed happy to leave her alone. Seconds later, both Max and Bear had gone.

Determined not to cry, Libby wandered round the suddenly quiet house, fiddling with cushions and curtains. She tried to stoke up the ashes of her anger. How dare he? She’d show Max Ramshore. Frank was in trouble, Steve was at death’s door, her own business was in jeopardy, and her husband had double-crossed her. If Max thought she was going to stay meekly at home, he had another think coming. She could put the jigsaw pieces together without his help.

With Trevor’s strange deception in mind, she made more strong, black coffee, pulled out an orange file that contained the solicitor’s paperwork, sent after the estate was wound up, and flicked through it all for the hundredth time. Surely there must be some evidence of houses in Leeds.

Despite an hour’s careful reading, Libby failed to find a single clue to explain what Trevor had been up to. She sat straight. There was one sure way to find out what was going on.

Her phone dinged. It was Mandy, texting to say Steve was in a medically induce coma, the doctors were hopeful and she was staying with Angela that night. Libby flicked the chain on the door and, alone and miserable, fell into bed.