murder had spread like wildfire and everyone had a theory. June ran both hands through her hair until the green stripe stood on end, like an exotic parrot perched on top of her head. ‘I reckon the Dean did it. Never liked the man. Always after money. Funds for clock renovation, contributions for new vestments. Can’t say good morning without begging.’
‘Poor man, it’s his job, you know,’ Angela soothed. ‘He was very kind to me when my husband died.’
June grunted, bit the end off a strand of wool, threw a yellow square onto the table and cast on a fresh row of orange stitches.
Vera giggled. ‘I don’t want to speak ill of the dead, but that Mr Temple was a right one for the ladies.’
Libby felt Angela stiffen. ‘How do you mean?’ she asked, keeping her voice neutral.
Vera glanced round, nostrils flared, checking all eyes were on her. ‘I saw him in The Swan with the Dean’s wife.’ She stopped knitting and hissed, in a loud stage whisper, ‘I wouldn’t be surprised if the Dean did it. You know―a crime of passion.’
5
Chief Inspector Arnold
A stunned silence followed Vera’s remark. Libby waited to see who’d speak first, shooting a surreptitious glance round her companions to judge their reactions. Angela’s face turned puce red, her lips pressed tightly together. June’s eyes bulged. A frog. That’s what she looks like. A great green frog. Ruby poured tea. ‘I think it’s rather unkind to jump to conclusions. I’ve always had the greatest respect for our Dean. You should be ashamed of yourself, Vera.’
Vera shrugged, not the least bit ashamed. ‘I speak as I find.’
‘What exactly is that supposed to mean, Vera?’ Angela’s voice was sharp enough to slice a finger. Libby, eyes on her knitting, concealed a grin.
‘I mean,’ said Vera, ‘that I can follow evidence just as well as our new, so-called member, here.’ Scorn dripped from the words. ‘Isn’t it true you’re a kind of amateur sleuth, Mrs Forest, and you’re here to find out if one of us had anything to do with the murder?’
‘What if she is?’ Angela’s eyes flashed. Libby thought she’d never seen her so furious. ‘Libby has a wonderful track record of solving mysteries.’
‘Well, she makes a good cake, I’d say that for her,’ observed June, tucking in to a second slice. ‘If she can find the killer, good on her, that’s what I say.’
Libby put aside her square of dropped stitches, the wool grey from over-handling. ‘You’re quite right. I’ve been involved in other cases and I've had some luck, but I don’t know the Dean or Mr Temple, or anyone else at the cathedral except Angela, and I’m not investigating. I trust the police.’ She hesitated, exchanged a glance with Angela and decided not to mention the orange scarf.
Vera’s eyes were wide. ‘What if there’s another murder. Is it likely, do you think?’
Libby shrugged. ‘It happens. It depends on why Giles Temple was murdered, and who killed him.’
The motherly Ruby brushed crumbs from her bosom. ‘In that case, we must find the murderer as soon as possible. I agree with June. I, for one, never liked that Dr Weir, the Dean. He’s been here three years, and what’s he done for the cathedral? Included a lot of silly new services for a bunch of noisy children, that’s what.’
June wiped her mouth. ‘Sooner they find the killer, the better. Come on, Vera, tell us a bit more. You saw Giles Temple meeting the Dean’s wife. Were they having an affair?’
Vera hesitated, perhaps thinking better of her accusations. ‘Dr Weir’s wife is a historian. So was Giles Temple. I suppose they might have been comparing notes.’ Bouncing back, she finished, ‘But they seemed pretty friendly, if you ask me.’
A question was on the tip of Libby's tongue, but before she could speak someone hammered on the door. Vera jumped, tea slopping from her cup as the door swung open. Libby recognised Chief Inspector Arnold and her heart sank. He made no secret of the fact he thought Libby a nuisance, even when she helped untangle a case. He'd been furious when she outdid the police and solved the murder at the lighthouse.
Uniform buttons glinting, he stepped inside and took a long, slow look round the room, enjoying the moment. His close-set eyes glittered. ‘Sorry to disturb you, ladies.’ The high-pitched voice grated on Libby’s ears. ‘I need a word with you. I expect you've heard about the incident at the cathedral.’
His gaze fell on Libby. ‘Well, well.’ He fingered his chin. ‘Fancy meeting you here, Mrs Forest. Often turn up, don’t you, when there’s a crime? I’ll be suspecting you’re behind the murder, if you’re not careful. Ha,ha.’ The laugh was unconvincing, the small black eyes sharp. ‘Trying to get one over on the police, I suppose.’
‘Are we all suspects?’ giggled Vera. ‘How exciting.’
The chief inspector smiled through tight lips. ‘There'll be time for that, later. We're just making preliminary inquiries at the moment. It’s normal police procedure, nothing to be concerned about. I believe you all knew the deceased, Mr Giles Temple.’ Heads nodded. ‘What about you, Mrs Forest? Was he one of your acquaintances?’
Libby shook her head. ‘I never met him.’
‘And are you a member of the Knitters' Guild? I can’t seem to find your name anywhere on this list.’ He ran a long finger down a sheet of paper, his lips twitching. ‘Or maybe you work in the cathedral?’
Libby tried not to squirm under the sarcasm. ‘No, I was just…’ She stopped.
‘Quite. I suggest you get back to your chocolates and leave the police work to the professionals.’ Libby turned to gather up the empty cake tin and call Bear to her side. The chief inspector used a finger and thumb to pick up the ragged, unfinished square she’d been working on. ‘Not a professional knitter, I see.’
6
Max
Libby curled her feet on the sofa and chewed a fingernail. Max had rung as arranged, soon after she arrived home, but their conversation had been difficult and unsatisfactory.
‘I’ve cut down my consultancy work,’ he reminded her, ‘so at least one of us is committed to the future. Time to make your mind up, Libby. Are we a partnership, or not?’
‘Don’t hassle me. I need to think.’
‘I don’t know why you’ve suddenly developed cold feet. You usually jump headfirst into everything. once or twice you’ve almost got yourself killed as a result. No one could call you timid, so why are you being indecisive, now? Am I scary?’
A lump formed in Libby’s throat. ‘You’re not at all scary, Max. Try to understand. I’m not only grappling with the implications of a private investigation business on my cakes and chocolates, although that’s complicated enough. There’s the other thing, too.’
‘Us, you mean? Look we’ve talked about the future, and we’re not in a hurry. It’s not as though we’re getting married.’
‘No, but what are we doing. I
