in control. ‘I thought I’d never escape her clutches. She mentioned the Dean’s wife, Amelia Weir. Vera, another knitter, had spotted Amelia out and about with the victim, so I made an excuse to visit the Dean’s wife. She wasn’t pleased to see me, but she has a plausible explanation for the evening she spent with Giles Temple.’
Max asked, ‘What about Angela? Was she one of Mr Temple’s conquests?’
‘That’s why Chief Inspector Arnold suspected her at first. Mind you, half the middle-aged ladies in Wells could have been involved with Giles Temple, by all accounts.’
Max was quiet for a moment, whistling. ‘Let's consider opportunity. We know where and when Giles died. Who else might stay late in the library?’
‘There’s the librarian. I’d suspect him, except he’s so small and thin, he’d never have beaten Giles Temple in a struggle.’ She thought about the cathedral. ‘The place is full of vergers and volunteers, not to mention worshippers and visitors. Dozens of people have legitimate business there. It would be easy to hide until the building emptied, and if you were already inside you wouldn’t set off the alarms.’
‘Let’s look at the detail. Giles Temple was strangled with a chain while reading a book. What do we know about the book and chain?’
‘The book was old and full of maps. The police have it, but I’m planning to revisit the librarian. Dr Phillips and I got off to rather a bad start, but I think he may have more information. No one knows the library better.’
‘Good idea. While you do that, I’ll talk to Joe again.’
A watery sun peeped out between the clouds. Libby loosened her scarf and raised her face to the warmth. In a few weeks, spring would arrive, and then Robert’s wedding. He and Sarah had returned to London, but he texted Libby almost every day, wanting to know more about her investigation. She would make sure he didn’t hear about the episode in the cathedral.
Thinking of Robert reminded her of Max’s relationship with his son. ‘I'm pleased to see you and Joe getting along so well.’
‘That's your influence. Joe admires you. You’ve made his work easier, and you tolerate me, so I can’t be all bad. He’s thinking about going for promotion, by the way.
‘Good for Joe. He deserves it.’
‘Your son seems happy. He and Sarah make a fine couple.’
Libby made a face. ‘I wish Ali would come home.’
‘Where you can keep her under your wing?’
She laughed. ‘You're right. I'm a mother hen, but she’ so far away, and there’s no sign she’ll be home any time soon. Not even for her brother’s wedding. You’d think Robert would be upset, but he just says, “typical Ali.”’
‘And as if your own children weren't enough, now you worry about Mandy.’
‘It started before the fire.’ Libby told him about Mandy’s break-up with Steve.
Max stopped walking. ‘Something just occurred to me. You say Mandy disappeared for the day?’
‘On the day of the fire, and overnight. She said she went to see her mother. An emergency.’
Max rubbed his chin. ‘I should have realised. That day, I visited Reg in Bristol. He works from an office there and he asked me to review a set of financial documents. At Temple Meads Station, someone climbed out of a taxi and into another car. I thought it was Mandy, but I assumed I was mistaken.’
‘Really?’ A slow smile spread over Libby’s face. Mandy was telling the truth, after all. ‘So, she really was visiting her mother in Bristol, though why she left the taxi at the station, I have no idea. Perhaps her mother was picking her up there.’
Max nodded. ‘Why didn’t she take the train to Bristol? Do you offer such generous expenses for taxis?’
‘Not likely. The problem is, Mandy’s got a thing about trains. A sort of claustrophobia.’
‘Is she getting therapy?’
Libby shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I suggested it, but I think the idea fell on deaf ears. Still, if you saw her in Bristol, you can provide her alibi for the day of the fire.’ Libby took a deep breath, letting it out with a sigh. ‘What a relief.’
‘Hold on a minute. There’s no proof. I can't put my hand on my heart and swear I saw Mandy. The best I can say is that the person I saw looked similar. She wore black clothes, like Mandy’s, but she had a scarf wrapped round her head so I couldn’t see her face. She moved like Mandy, though, and she had big, heavy boots.’
‘Well, your description sounds right. Maybe I don’t have to suspect her any more, so you've put my mind at rest.’
‘In that case, can we please leave this freezing beach and go home?’
19
Knitters' Guild
The day of the yarnbomb extravaganza was drawing close, so the members of the Knitters' Guild planned to meet on several extra evenings. ‘We want to make a splash,’ Angela said. ‘After all this misery, Wells needs cheering up.’ Libby was determined to be there, so she set off once more through the lanes, taking a new route to avoid any sight of the burnt-out shell of Samantha’s house.
The Guild had expanded. Several members, new to Libby and all experienced and competent knitters, had added their contributions. Knitted items swamped the trestle tables. Libby, embarrassed, tried to hide her uneven squares, but Angela grabbed them. ‘They don’t have to be perfect.’
June scooped fingers through the green stripe in her hair until it stood on end. ‘Pop them on the table, my love. We're all friends, here. Colour and spectacle matter, but the odd dropped stitch won’t hurt.’
Vera sniffed. ‘At least they’re bright.’ Angela grouped colours together, shifting them around until even Libby saw a pattern emerging.
Ruby threw her arms around Angela. ‘You have a wonderful eye, my dear.’ Angela wrinkled her nose at Libby over Ruby’s shoulder.
As the ladies sewed squares together to make blankets, Vera led the gossip. ‘I heard about the gargoyles. Now, what do you think? Was it an accident or did Giles Temple's killer set a trap?’
June shook her head. ‘In a cathedral. Unbelievable.’
Ruby munched a fruity scone. ‘You’re so brave, both of you. If it had been me, I’d stay safe at home and I wouldn't set foot in the cathedral until the police caught the killer.’
Vera interrupted. ‘I forgot to tell you. The Dean said he’d drop in this evening. He’s very excited about our little event.’
On cue, the door opened, and the Dean made an entrance, smiling at each lady in turn, stroking a mane of neat, groomed grey hair. Libby nudged Angela. ‘I wonder how long he spends every morning blow-drying his hair,’ she whispered.
‘Good evening, ladies.’ The voice was resonant. Libby could imagine the Dean reading a lesson, filling the cathedral with sound. The effect
