Murder at the Laurels by Lesley Cookman

Author:Lesley Cookman [Cookman, Lesley]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Mystery & Detective, Fiction, General, Women Sleuths
ISBN: 9781908262813
Publisher: Scb Distributors
Published: 2007-07-31T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-one

FRAN’S INTERVIEW WITH THE lettings agency had been difficult. The twelve-year-old behind the desk had been deeply suspicious, and did a lot of hair flicking, treating Fran to glimpses of deliberately dark roots. Eventually, she retreated into some inner sanctum and when she emerged, grudgingly revealed that the owners were in residence at present, as was their wont during August.

The lettings agency was within walking distance of Harbour Street. Fran stopped for a coffee in a strangely nostalgic 1950s-style ice cream parlour, which, she decided, wasn’t a revamp, but a lovingly preserved original. Stirring her coffee, she stared thoughtfully down the high street to the sea, deciding that, as the weather was continuing hot and sunny, the owners were likely to be out and about. A letter was required.

A card bought in a gift shop next door provided the means, and Fran walked down to a bench near The Swan and wrote a brief note. Wanting to avoid Guy, she made her way to the lane at the back and cut through the alley she had used the day before.

The sight of the green painted front door standing open left her standing irresolute with the card in her hand. Suddenly the idea of questioning the current owners didn’t seem like such a good idea.

‘Can I help you?’

Fran turned to see a young woman in obvious beach clothes behind her. Two children trailed along the pavement in her wake.

‘I don’t know,’ said Fran. ‘I feel rather embarrassed, now. Are you the owner?’

The woman looked amused. ‘Yes, my husband and I own the cottage. If it’s Coastguard Cottage you mean.’

Fran looked and noticed for the first time the discreet slate plaque beside the door. ‘Yes,’ she said.

‘I’m afraid we have the cottage for the whole of the summer holidays, and the other lettings are done through an agency,’ said the woman, waving the children inside the door. Reluctantly, staring at Fran, they went.

‘Yes, I know about the agency,’ said Fran. ‘Actually, I wanted to find out whether you knew anything about the previous owners.’

The woman’s eyebrows rose. ‘Oh?’

Fran began to feel uncomfortable. ‘My family came from here, you see,’ she said, bending the truth a little, ‘and I stayed in this cottage.’ All at once, she was certain that she had.

‘Oh, I see.’ The woman bent to remove sandy beach shoes. ‘Why don’t you come in for a moment. I must check on the kids.’

Fran followed her into the dark, cool interior, where her eyes were drawn immediately to Libby’s window, and she felt a jolt of recognition. The woman watched her curiously.

‘Lovely view, isn’t it?’ she said.

‘Yes, it is,’ said Fran, smiling. ‘My friend paints it all the time.’

‘Your friend stayed here as well?’

‘Yes,’ said Fran, deciding that the full explanation would be just too long.

‘Right, well, we bought it from a speculative builder,’ said the woman, shuffling through a pile of papers on a side table. ‘Here we are. He hadn’t done much to it when we saw it, luckily, so we were able to stop the worst excesses.

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