Mrs Forest. We're grateful to you for calling us in as soon as you found the body, but now, you must leave it to us. We've seen hundreds of accidental deaths, you know, especially when there's drink or drugs involved.’
The patronising tone infuriated Libby. ‘I know that, but common sense—’
‘Common sense tells us there was nothing suspicious.’ He'd raised his voice. ‘Now, let me give you a bit of advice.’ Joe's mouth smiled, but the eyes, as blue as his father's but ice cold, told a different story. Libby resisted a shiver.
‘You're new here. You didn't know Susie. People feel strongly about her around here. They're proud. Not many from Exham end up famous. Folk don't like anyone suggesting she's more than just unlucky.’ The blue gaze bored into Libby. ‘We need to keep everyone calm. Talk a bit less about the drink and drugs, if you see what I mean. It was just an unfortunate accident.’
His tone was reasonable. ‘Walking on the beach at this time of year is dangerous. The sea comes in fast. Susie's been away a long time and she forgot about the power of the tide.’ He leaned towards Libby and spoke with emphasis. ‘It was an accident, Mrs Forest. Leave it be. No more gossip.’
Gossip? That was rich. The whole town was abuzz with scandal. Libby shrugged. ‘I didn't know her. I just found the body.’ She hoped he hadn't heard details of her conversations with Max or her visit to Mrs Thomson.
‘Exactly. You didn't know her. I'm just saying, some folks here don't take kindly to a stranger, who wasn't here in the old days, stirring things up.’ His words silenced Libby. She tried to think of a sufficiently cutting reply, but before she could gather her wits, Joe walked away, leaving Libby, arms akimbo, mouth open.
Marina took her elbow. ‘Are you OK?’
‘I don't know. I think I've just been told to keep my nose out of town affairs.’
‘By Detective Sergeant Joe?’ Libby nodded. Marina waved a hand. ‘Don't worry about him. He can't get over his father coming back to town, just when Joe's been promoted to Chief Inspector's bagman. He wants to be top dog around here. You know, a big fish in a small pond. Max tends to cramp his style. It's family stuff.’ She laughed. ‘He's giving you a hard time because Max doesn't take enough notice of him.’
‘Joe knows I've been out with Max,’ Libby blurted.
Marina snorted. ‘Of course he knows. It's the talk of the town, Libby. That's why the room was packed this afternoon. Everyone wanted to get a look at you.’
Libby's eyes threatened to pop out of her head. ‘You mean, they're judging me?’ She glanced over her shoulder. The few stragglers remaining in the hall stood in small knots, staring at her, fascinated. Libby choked back her anger, took a breath and stalked, fists clenched, eyes straight ahead, out through the door, as whispers chased close behind.
14
Mandy
The afternoon at Mangotsfield Hall had confirmed every one of Libby's fears about making a new life in a small town: gossip, cliques and the cold shoulder. London neighbours had warned her, but she'd thought she knew best. So much for those great plans for opening a chocolatier here. She was a laughing stock.
Safe at home, she grabbed a bottle of chardonnay from the fridge, filled a tall glass and took a satisfying gulp. As she drained the glass, and tilted the bottle again, ready for a top up, she caught sight of the clock. Mandy would be back soon, unless she'd changed her mind and found somewhere else to live or returned home.
Drinking wouldn't help. Libby had better cook dinner, instead.
She screwed the top back on the wine bottle, replaced it in the fridge and rifled through the shelves, looking for food. She had plenty of vegetables and some chicken. A stir fry, maybe? Something sharp and satisfying, with lovely noodles to warm the stomach.
Libby chopped and tasted, blending soy sauce with chili. She crushed garlic, relishing the sharp scent and the bite on her tongue, her spirits rising.
The door crashed open. Mandy appeared, soaked to the skin, tattooed arms full of flowers.
‘These are for you.’ The girl blushed crimson to the roots of the unnaturally black hair, plopped the flowers on the kitchen table, dropped a box of chocolates beside them, and walked out. ‘For being kind.’
Libby heard the glue of tears in Mandy's voice as she disappeared upstairs.
Libby wiped her own, suddenly damp, eyes, ran cold water into a vase and cut the ends off the flower stems. She went to the foot of the stairs and shouted. ‘Thanks. I love Alstroemeria.’ She kept her voice matter of fact. ‘They last for ages.’
Back in the kitchen, she turned on the radio, humming as she worked. A door closed upstairs and Mandy reappeared in dry clothes, wearing a sheepish grin. Libby longed to take a cloth to the girl's chalky face. Somewhere, under several inches of white make-up and lines of black kohl, hid a pretty face.
Libby reopened the wine, took out a clean glass and filled it, offering it to her new lodger. Mandy barely glanced at it before taking a long swig. Libby winced. Now wasn't the moment to pontificate about wine drinking, but it hurt to see good wine glugged like orange squash.
Mandy said, ‘I heard about Joe Ramshore at the Hall.’
‘News really does travel fast here, doesn't it?’
Mandy laughed. ‘You said it. Anyway, don't take any notice of him. He's a fool. By the way, I told Mum I've officially left home, and you know what? She said, 'Good for you.’
‘I'm sure she's glad. She worries about you. I know I—’ Libby stopped. Mandy had enough problems without hearing a sob story about Libby's marriage. ‘Mothers worry about their children.’
‘Hmm. Maybe. Anyway, I told her to come over here if things get worse.’
Libby swallowed. ‘Oh. Good idea.’
‘Don't worry, she won't come. At least, I don't think so…’
Every scrap of dinner eaten, they lounged around in the sitting room, eating chocolate and watching television. Libby fiddled with kindling and firelighters until a blaze started in the fire. She rested twigs and bigger shards of wood on top in an elaborate cone shape.
‘First fire of the year. Bet it goes out.’
The smell of apple wood scented the room. Libby breathed in, tension leaving her shoulders as she curled her feet up on the sofa. Fuzzy lay across Mandy's lap and purred loudly. ‘She never sits with me,’ Libby said. ‘She likes you.’
Mandy dipped her head, cheeks reddening. ‘Libby, I've been meaning to ask you something.’
‘Ask away.’
‘You said you're going to open a chocolate shop.’
Libby groaned. ‘That's the idea. Sometimes it seems a very long way away. Don't tell Frank, because I don't want him to think I'm setting up in opposition to the bakery. I haven't decided yet. I've got a course coming up about the business side.’ She wrinkled her nose. ‘Not my favourite thing. Still, I don't want to be bankrupt in my first week. Then, I need to get more experience, and I've got to finish writing the next book, if I decide to do one. I haven't signed the contract yet.’
It sat on her computer, still waiting for a decision. ‘Don't worry, Mrs Forest,’ the publisher, a thin, exquisitely dressed young man, with a condescending attitude, had insisted. ‘We'll do all the hard work for you. 'Baking at the Beach' was delightful, of course, but just a photo book, you know. Not – er – exactly professional. We're offering real expertise, and the chance for a bestseller.’
Libby had laughed.
‘No, no, Mrs Forest – or, may I call you Libby – I mean it. We're one of the foremost publishers of creative crafts in the country. Of course, we can't offer an advance – but we'll bear all the organisation and all the costs.’
‘And