Exham-on-Sea Murder Mysteries 4-6. Frances Evesham

sharp look at Angela, but her friend made no reply.

      Angela, restored to calm, pronounced herself ready to leave the café, so the two friends and Bear clattered downstairs, the dog panting and waving his tail, already scenting exciting smells from the outside world.

      Too late, Libby spotted a pile of books making its way up the stairs, apparently under its own steam. She tugged on the dog’s lead. Bear skidded to a halt, but the man underneath the books panicked, tried to back away, lost his footing and grabbed at the handrail. The stack of books, magazines and documents exploded from his flailing arms and rocketed high in the air.

      Libby watched, knuckles jammed against her mouth, as leather covered books thudded on the floor. A storm of loose papers followed, fluttering in ghastly slow motion to blanket the flagstones. Bear barked, delighted by the new game.

      Angela shrieked. ‘Dr Phillips, I’m so sorry…’ She bent to retrieve a book, smoothing its Moroccan leather spine. Libby, mortified, shot a look at Bear that sent the animal’s tail between his legs, and stooped to help.

      ‘My books, my books,’ the man stammered, breathlessly. ‘What a day. Oh, my goodness me, what a terrible day.’

      Angela examined the one in her hands. ‘I don’t think this one’s damaged.’

      The man stopped collecting paper long enough to glare at Libby through pebble spectacles. ‘That dog of yours…’

      ‘I know.’ She was contrite. ‘I’m sorry. He’s a bit excited…’ She stopped talking. Really, there was no excuse.

      Angela intervened. ‘Libby, this is Dr Phillips, the librarian.’ Libby, far too flustered to listen properly, barely registered the words.

      ‘We won’t shake hands.’ Dr Phillips drew bushy brows together, raising himself to his full height, the shiny top of a bald head barely reaching Libby’s shoulder.

      ‘I’m so very sorry,’ Libby stammered. Bear wagged an enthusiastic tail, trying to attract this new friend’s attention.

      ‘Just move that animal out of the way and let me pass.’

      The significance of the pile of books and Angela’s introduction finally filtered into Libby’s brain. ‘You’re the librarian?’ One of the first people Libby would want to talk to, for Giles had died in Dr Phillips’ domain.

      ‘Of course. Who might you be? Wait…’ He juggled books and pointed with a bony finger. ‘I recognise that dog. Biggest in Somerset, I bet. It belongs to Max Ramshore, doesn’t it? That makes you Mrs Forest, the lady who solves mysteries.’

      ‘Call me Libby.’

      He ignored that. ‘Today is a very bad day.’ His wagged a gloomy head. ‘We’ve had a serious incident.’

      ‘The verger told us about it.’

      ‘It’s a most dreadful business. Nothing like it has ever happened before. You can’t go inside, you know. The police have removed the – er – body, but access to the cathedral is strictly limited. The whole area’s smothered in ‘Crime Scene Do Not Enter’ tape. No doubt I’ll find fingerprint chemicals on the books and they’ll all be ruined.’ The librarian’s face crinkled with worry.

      Bear, disappointed to find this new friend refused to play, whined and stared hopefully at the exit. Libby ignored him, keeping a tight hold on the lead. ‘You found the body, I think, Dr Phillips?’

      He nodded. ‘Lying on the floor, he was. Face all purple, tongue hanging out. Oh, my, that tongue. What a sight…’

      Libby shook her head to rid it of the image. ‘Could it be an accident?’

      The librarian pursed his lips. ‘Planning to investigate, are you? Good idea. The police spend too much time giving out speeding tickets these days. It could be months before they find the murderer. You get on to it; speed things up, Mrs Forest, so we can get back to normal.’

      He balanced books on the stair rail, scratching his head with one hand. ‘Now, what did you ask? Oh, yes, was it an accident? Hmm. Funny sort of accident, strangled by a chain round the neck.’ He chortled. ‘Someone did him in, and that’s a fact.’

      ‘What about suicide?’

      ‘You mean, could he have made a noose from the chain and hung himself?’ The librarian’s face wrinkled in thought. ‘No, that wouldn’t work. The ceiling’s too high. He wouldn’t be able to get up there, even if he climbed on the benches…’

      ‘Was the chain attached to anything?’

      ‘No. Just round his neck.’ The man seemed to warm to his topic. ‘I'll tell you a funny thing.’

      ‘Yes?’

      ‘The knitted scarf was wrapped round on top of the chain. Strange. D’you see? On top of the chain, not underneath.’ He pursed his lips. ‘Couldn’t kill himself first, then wrap a scarf round his neck, could he?’

      His expression brightened. ‘At least there wasn’t any blood. Don’t want blood on that old oak floor; seventeenth century, you know. You’d never get the stain out…’

      3

      Giles Temple

      Libby brought Angela back to the cottage she shared with her apprentice, Mandy, and Fuzzy the marmalade cat. She couldn’t leave her friend alone to brood.

      They settled in the living room of Hope Cottage with Bear guarding the door. Until recently, the room had been functional and reasonably comfortable, but unexciting. Libby’s priority had been her state-of-the-art kitchen, where she’d developed recipes and written the book that kick-started her new career in Exham on Sea.

      At Christmas, her son had presented her with a book of Danish style called ‘Hygge.’ The idea of warmth, cosiness and a happy atmosphere had captivated Libby. She’d bought cushions and a fluffy rug, positioned candles in the empty fireplace and brought in stools made from tree trunks. She’d even considered investing in a solid fuel heater.

      Bear approved of the changes and spent as much time as possible stretched across the rug, snoring. Even Fuzzy deigned to curl up on the soft, fleece cushions.

      Perhaps the atmosphere would help Angela relax and speak freely. Since leaving the cathedral café, she’d been unusually quiet. Even now, she remained tense, gripping the arm of the sofa with rigid fingers and biting her lips.

      Libby brought hot chocolate. Angela gave a wan smile and ran a finger round the rim of her mug. ‘It’s been such a shock. You don’t expect people you know to die like that – in a library, of all places.’

      ‘That’s true.’ Libby tried to sound non-committal. I’m not getting involved. Not this time. I’m too busy with Robert’s wedding and my business, and everything else…

      She’d been setting up a private investigation service with Max Ramshore, who currently worked for one of the more secretive branches of government on financial business, but recently, she’d suffered an attack of second thoughts. Not long ago, she’d been a recently widowed newcomer in Exham, building a small but successful business. She hadn’t wanted a relationship with Max or anyone else. They’d worked together on a couple of mysterious murder cases and she’d discovered Max’s skills fitted well with her own.

      Besides that, the man was undeniably attractive, with bright blue eyes, a sharp intellect and a huge fund of common sense. Somehow, their agreement to work together had led to a closer personal relationship.

      She wondered if Max was expecting them to become an item – even to get married, and she was scared. Things were moving too fast.

      Whenever Libby thought about Max her heart fluttered, but her head throbbed with questions. Would they tire of one another if