doorbell tinkled. Libby left Mandy at the hob, watching sugar boil in the pan, and stepped into the shop, pulling on a pair of clean white gloves. ‘Can I help you?’
Tall, grey haired, a little older than Libby, and dressed in a long blue overcoat, the new arrival smiled. ‘Good morning.’
Libby stared. ‘It's you. The man with the dangerous dog.’
‘So it is. We seem to have got off to a bad start.’
‘I should say so.’
He grinned. ‘I gave Bear a good talking to before I handed him back to Mrs Thomson.’
Libby's lips twitched. ‘Quite right. He needs to learn to behave. Fuzzy's a bit of a menace, of course.’
‘Well, to be honest, I liked the look of Fuzzy. I admire a cat that stands up for itself. Bear doesn't agree.’
Libby looked at the blue eyes. Yes, definitely familiar. Where else had she seen them? ‘Did you want a sandwich? Or cake?’
‘Just a ham salad baguette, please.’ He patted his middle. ‘Have to watch the weight, these days.’
Mandy arrived from the kitchen. She'd redone her mascara. ‘The frosting's ready, Libby.’ She stopped. ‘Hello, Mr Ramshore.’
Libby looked from one to the other. ‘Ramshore. Like the detective sergeant?’
He smiled. ‘My son.’
6
Coffee and Suspicion
This new Ramshore's first name turned out to be Max. ‘My parents were Norwegian.’ That explained the blue eyes.
‘I thought I owed you a cup of coffee. I wasn't too gracious, earlier. Bear is much too big and loud, and I should have managed him better, though your cat caused the trouble.’
‘He didn't—’
‘Anyway,’ he broke in, ‘let's not argue again. There's a coffee shop further down the road. Can I buy you a coffee?’
‘I don't know. Mandy would be alone in the shop.’
‘I can manage, Mrs F. We're quiet, now.’
‘Well, if you're sure.’ There was something very pleasing about Max Ramshore's eyes, and his smile took years off his face. Libby wondered how old he was. Fifty? No younger than she was, anyway. ‘Just ten minutes.’
Libby chose a table in a corner of the coffee shop and shrugged off her coat while he bought two lattes.
‘What breed is Bear?’
‘Carpathian Sheepdog. Very gentle, like many big dogs, but he needs an incredible amount of exercise. He belongs to my neighbour, Mrs Thomson, really. Her husband kept him on the farm, but old Eric had to go into a care home before he died – dementia, I'm afraid. I own the farm now, though I don't work it myself. I look after Bear when he gets too much for Mrs Thomson, which is quite often. She still lives in the old farmhouse, down the lane from me.’
‘Well, anyway.’ Libby wasn't ready to forgive him, or Bear, completely. Besides, she was suspicious. ‘Did you know I worked in the bakery? I'm sure you didn't just happen to walk in today.’
‘No, to be honest, my son told me about you.’
‘The detective sergeant himself? What did he say?’ She glared. ‘Aren't the police supposed to keep things confidential?’
‘He just suggested I look out for you, on my marathon Bear walk this morning. He thought you might be upset, after that business on the beach. Then, you had your little accident.’
‘Caused by Bear.’
‘And Fuzzy.’ His eyes twinkled. ‘I can see we're not going to agree on that. Anyway, I felt bad, so I asked one of your neighbours where you might be going. It's a small town, you know.’
‘You can say that again.’ Where did looking out for each other stop and nosiness begin? ‘Have you always lived here?’
He nodded. ‘I went to school with Susie Bennett, you know.’
Libby laughed.
‘What's funny?’
‘Everyone I've met here went to school with Susie, but she doesn't seem to have many friends.’
‘It's a small town. We all grew up together. Susie wasn't in my year, she's a couple of years younger, but I knew her.’ Libby waited for the inevitable slur on Susie's character, but he surprised her. ‘She was a nice girl. A difficult family, though.’
‘Oh?’ Libby hesitated. ‘You're the first person I've heard say anything good about her.’
‘Who have you asked? Wait. Let me guess. The Townswomen's Guild?’
‘No.’ Libby's face burned. ‘The local history society, actually. They all knew her at school.’
‘And didn't approve.’
‘Maybe they were jealous?’ She was thinking aloud.
He stirred coffee with a long spoon. ‘Susie was too pretty for her own good, and too ready to believe everything the boys told her. You know how teenage boys can be. They try it on with girls, then if one says yes, they pull her reputation to pieces. That's how it was with Susie. Hardly any friends, just boys who wanted her for one thing. She had a terrific singing voice, though.’
‘I hear her album's likely to make a fortune.’
He crumbled a coconut macaroon onto the table. ‘I bet the music company are thrilled. They don't care how they make a profit, do they?’
‘She went to America, before she became famous, didn't she?’
‘It all started here, though. Small local gigs at first. It was Glastonbury where they got their big break.’
Libby shivered. ‘Glastonbury. I went once. Cold, wet and smelly, as I remember.’
He laughed. ‘Not everyone's cup of tea. Still, it's great place for up-and-coming bands. Mickey Garston, the big American music producer, heard Susie there, signed up the band and married her. It all happened fast. He whisked her away and the next we knew; she was on the cover of million selling albums and on TV.’
‘What about her family?’
‘All dead or gone away. No Bennetts left in the town.’
‘That's sad.’
‘Typical story of a small-time girl with a turbulent life, I'm afraid. The marriage with Mickey Garston didn't last long. They split up years ago, but she never married again.’
‘No, she wasn't wearing a wedding ring when I found her.’ Did Max know about the plastic ring? Had Joe told him she'd moved the body?
Max Ramshore drank the last drops of coffee and set the cup down with care. ‘My son mentioned a different ring. He said you seemed bothered by it.’
‘Bothered? No, why should I be?’ Her face was burning.
‘Come on. What are you hiding? I'm not the police, you know.’
‘No, but your son is.’ She bit her lip. Now it sounded as though she'd committed a huge crime. ‘OK. I moved the body. I pulled her hand out of her pocket and the ring fell on the beach. That's all. I know I shouldn't have touched her, but she looked so – well – vulnerable, I suppose. I wanted to help. Does that sound crazy?’
‘I told you, I'm not the police.’ It was his turn to hesitate. ‘Truth is, I know a bit more about Susie than the others around here. It's private information, and maybe I shouldn't tell anyone, but it makes me think there was something more going on than her committing suicide.’
Libby licked dry lips. ‘D'you mean, you think she was murdered?’