swing her round. ‘This is serious, Mandy. I can't help if you don't tell the truth.’
Mandy shrugged the hand away. Her eyes flashed. ‘I know you're my boss and I should have let you know what I was doing. I’ll make the time up.’
Libby stopped her. ‘That’s not my point—’
Mandy’s furious face shocked Libby. ‘I know what you're suggesting. You think I set fire to the cottage. How could you, Mrs F? Don't you know me at all?’
‘I don’t think that. At least, I don’t want to, but you quarrelled with Samantha, you disappeared for the day, and you’re – you’re different. Mandy, what’s happened?’
Mandy sank onto the stair. ‘I think maybe I ought to look for somewhere else to live.’ Her voice grated. ‘You don’t trust me.’
‘Don’t be daft. I like you living here. Anyway, my opinion doesn’t matter. Sooner or later the police will interview you. Half of Exham was in the bakery when you quarrelled with Samantha. She was rude and you were furious.’
Libby tried to speak calmly. ‘No one blames you for being angry, but the police will need to know everything; where you were yesterday, what you were doing. Everything. It's their job.’
Mandy glared; eyes narrowed. ‘I’ll talk to the police when I have to. You’re my boss, not my mother. I’ve apologised to Jumbles, and they don’t mind. It won’t make any difference to your precious business, so leave me alone. And I’ll start looking for a flat tomorrow.’
She thundered up the stairs and the bedroom door slammed. Libby wandered into the sitting room and flopped on the sofa, exhausted. A little later, she heard Mandy’s rapid footsteps leaving the house. Fear welled in Libby’s chest, like sickness. Where had Mandy been yesterday? And where was she going now? Surely, surely, Mandy could have nothing to do with Samantha’s death.
18
Beach
Despite a sky full of dark clouds, heavy with rain, Max and Libby refused to cancel their plans for a walk on the beach the next morning. Libby, still shaken by Mandy’s sudden hostility, wanted to talk things over with Max. She hoped fresh air might clear her head. She’d hardly slept, disturbed by dreams of Mandy’s angry face juxtaposed with images of Samantha’s burning house.
Bear, free of restrictions, bounded along the sand to choose one stick after another from the driftwood left by the tide. Max gripped Libby’s arm. ‘Why didn’t you call me? You could have been killed. Imagine how I felt when I heard about the gargoyle attack from Joe.’
‘I’m sorry. I was tired. I thought I’d go home and rest before ringing you. Then, Mandy and I quarrelled.’ Tears sprang to Libby’s eyes. ‘Oh, Max. I’m so scared. Mandy’s behaviour – it’s not like her.’ She gulped, afraid of voicing her fears even to Max. ‘I’m terrified she might know something about the fire.’
She pulled her scarf tighter against the wind. ‘I’ve been praying Samantha’s death was an accident, but…’ Her voice faded. Max had stopped walking. One glance at his face told the truth. Libby stammered, ‘What did Joe say about the fire? It was deliberate, wasn’t it?’
‘I’m afraid so. The police found petrol residue round the front door where the fire started.’
‘So, the killer poured petrol through the letter box and set fire to it.’ She shivered. ‘He'd only need a match, or a lighter.’
‘Or one of those kitchen blow torches. Like the one you use for crème brûlée.’
Libby’s breath caught in her throat. Mandy had access to the torch. She closed her eyes, thinking. Had she seen the blow torch recently? She kept it safe on a high shelf in the kitchen. If only she could remember… ‘Mandy’s leaving the cottage,’ she blurted out, ‘after the row. She says I don’t trust her – that I think she killed Samantha, because they quarrelled the other day.’
A sob rose in her throat. ‘It’s not always easy being a sleuth, is it?’
Max gathered her close, his arms strong and comforting. Libby clung tight, breathing Max’s familiar scent. ‘I have to solve both murders, now. I need to discover who killed Giles Temple and Samantha, but even if I prove Mandy’s innocence, she may never want to speak to me again.’
Max swung Libby round to look into her face as she dragged a hand across damp eyes. ‘You’re not responsible for Mandy. She’s your apprentice and your lodger, but she’s an independent woman, not a child. If she set the fire, she must take the consequences. You can’t protect her, and you shouldn’t try.’
Libby swallowed. ‘You’re right, I suppose. In any case, it’s not my call. The police came about my – er – accident. Actually, Detective Sergeant Filbert-Smythe arrived, just as I was falling asleep. He cross questioned me for ages, and he wants to talk to Mandy when she comes home.’
‘Leave it to the police, then. Tell me what happened yesterday, in the cathedral. You don’t suspect Mandy of that, do you?’
Libby managed a shaky smile. ‘No, of course not. At least, I don’t know what to think any more. My head’s like cotton wool. Still, this cold wind is helping clear it.’
Her arm ached, and the quarrel with Mandy had left her devastated, but Max’s embrace was comforting. Tension seeped away from the muscles in Libby’s back and the hard knot in her chest eased. She yawned. ‘I’m assuming the gargoyle attack was designed to scare me away. There’s a corridor in the cathedral that runs high up behind the carvings. Whoever broke off the gargoyle must have been up there, but they made a quick exit. To be honest, I could almost believe it was an accident. The carvings have been up there since the twelfth century, so I suppose they couldn’t last for ever.’
‘An accident? When you’ve been investigating two murders? I don't think so.’
‘No.’ Libby took a moment to think. ‘I must be asking the right questions, but unfortunately, they haven’t taken me very far.’
‘The killer thinks you know something.’
‘The trouble is, I really don’t. I’ve hardly discovered anything, except that Giles Temple was one for the ladies. He could probably take his pick, from the women who do the flowers, through the Knitters' Guild, to the members of the amateur choirs.’
‘Well, you must watch your step and keep your eyes open.’
Libby giggled. ‘And keep my wits about me, and tread with care…’
Max squeezed her shoulder. ‘Well, you know what I mean. Good to know your sense of humour’s survived. And you’ve got some colour in your cheeks, now.’
‘The truth is, I’m finding it hard to sort out gossip and rumour from facts,’ Libby confessed.
‘Use that brain of yours. Think. Why would someone want to kill both Giles Temple and Samantha Watson? What connects them? If we can find a link, we’ll have the answer. You’ve been out and about, talking to the local gossips. What are people saying?’
Libby described her visits. ‘I picked up plenty of scandal from Ruby, one of the knitters. She knows everyone at the cathedral
