Murder at the Lighthouse by Frances Evesham

Author:Frances Evesham [Evesham, Frances]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Mystery, 2017
Amazon: B015RR2C4C
Publisher: AinsleyAssociates
Published: 2015-09-23T00:00:00+00:00

Cathedral

Imogen Weir seemed far from pleased to see her visitor. “If you’re looking for the dean, he’s in his office at the cathedral.” Her voice was distant and chilly.

Libby pasted the warmest smile she could manage on her face. “I was just taking to Ruby. She wanted to send you this plant. It’s an anthurium, apparently.”

Stony faced, the dean’s wife took the plant, and deposited it on a semi-circular table in the hall. “Thank you for delivering it.” She smiled without showing her teeth. “Ruby is far too generous.”

Imogen Weir was an attractive woman with dark brown hair. Chestnut lights reflected the glow from an impressive chandelier in the cavernous entrance hall. The dean’s second wife, according to Ruby, was many years younger than her widowed husband.

“I know who you are, Mrs Forest. I suppose you’ve decided to undertake an amateur investigation.” The dean’s wife folded her arms across her chest, the gesture uncertain, defensive. “I expect you want to know about my relationship with Giles Temple.”

“If you’re prepared to tell me, it would certainly save a lot of time.”

“I expect it’s all over Wells by now. I was friendly with Giles Temple, but I’m sorry to have to disappoint you. My husband knows about it and there’s no mystery.”

She watched Libby’s face. Libby, keeping her expression blank, waited in silence. The dean’s wife clicked her tongue as if irritated, and continued. “Giles and I were at university together. Giles studied for a PhD while I was an undergraduate. We kept in touch. He was happily married and so am I. There are no secrets and I didn’t kill my old friend.”

Imogen’s wide blue eyes looked Libby full in the face. Either she was telling the truth or she was a very accomplished liar.

Libby began, “I didn’t say―”

Imogen interrupted. “I expect your informants told you I met Giles for a drink a few days ago.” Libby smiled, hoping she looked enigmatic. “We discussed my husband’s birthday. He’ll be sixty next month. Giles found a book my husband might enjoy.”

She looked beyond Libby, fingering a gold hoop earring. “The dean enjoys medieval history. Giles discovered a 15th century Book of Hours for auction next week in Bridgwater. He offered to accompany me, although it will probably fetch a huge amount of money. From internet bidders, you know. Far too much for my pocket. Anyway, I won’t be going, now. Not on my own. I’ll have to think of another gift.”

A slight tremor of Imogen Weir’s lips betrayed hidden feeling. Was Giles Temple just a friend, as she claimed? “If that’s all?” The door was already closing and Libby had to step away. She could hardly jam her foot against the elegant grey paintwork.

Thoughtful, she returned to the car. Imogen Weir had gone to considerable trouble to set out the story. Libby could easily check the facts. The Knitters’ Guild would know whether the dean’s birthday was imminent, and the local auction house used a catalogue. Imogen had anticipated the need to explain her relationship with the murder victim.

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