Murder Out of Tune - A Libby Sarjeant Murder Mystery by Lesley Cookman Page A

the road? On spec? How would Ron have heard of it?’ Libby argued. ‘No, they knew one another before. Perhaps Vernon was a Jonah Fludde fan. There must have been an age gap, though?’
    Mike shook his head. ‘Not much. They were both young in the late sixties, early seventies.’
    ‘Oh, I suppose so.’ Libby frowned. ‘I wonder if their friendship went back that far?’
    ‘Why are you trying to find a connection between them, Lib?’ asked Cassandra. ‘They knew one another. Isn’t that enough?’
    ‘No,’ said Libby. ‘I want to know if there’s a reason for murder in their – um – association.’ She turned to Mike. ‘Did Vernon seem to be friendly with anyone else in the group?’
    ‘He was friendly with everybody,’ said Mike. ‘Quiet, but friendly. We usually have a drink after meetings. I didn’t go the other night, thank God, because of the drive back here.’
    ‘Where do you usually rehearse?’
    ‘Oh, it’s not so much a rehearsal, just a get together. The group meet every other Monday in the back of The Poacher. This is the first time we’ve actually rehearsed for anything.’
    ‘Oh.’ Libby looked disappointed. ‘So you don’t know anything more about any of the members?’
    ‘Not really. There’s Derek Chandler, he’s a solicitor, Lewis, of course …’
    ‘Do you know Lewis?’
    Mike looked surprised. ‘Of course! I’m his garden supplier – I introduced him to the group. Or rather, I was telling Edie about it one day when I was over there and she was very keen, so when she told Lewis he decided they’d both join.’
    ‘Oh,’ said Libby. ‘Then you might have met my son. He and his boss do a lot over at Creekmarsh.’
    ‘Adam? He’s your son? Well, what a small world!’ Mike beamed at her. ‘They’re good you know, him and his boss. But he doesn’t look the type to be a gardener.’
    ‘Well, he wasn’t. He got his degree and couldn’t get a job – you know, the usual – and then Mog offered him some temporary work. And he’s still there. He loves it. Occasionally he helps out at our friend’s restaurant as well.’
    ‘Well, he’s happy, and he obviously loves plants. Are you a gardener?’
    ‘Libby is to gardens as a snowstorm in summer,’ said Cassandra. ‘Disaster.’
    ‘Oh, I’m not that bad,’ protested Libby. ‘My little patch isn’t bad.’
    ‘No, but all you’ve got is the cherry tree and a few shrubs.’
    ‘Well, it’s a small garden,’ said Libby, on the defensive.
    ‘I bet there’s more you could do with it,’ said Mike.
    ‘Of course there is. I’m going to have a go at it while I’m here,’ said Cassandra.
    ‘I’ll help, if you like,’ said Mike, looking at her.
    ‘Oi! I’m still here, you know.’ Libby glared. ‘And I might not want anything done to it.’
    Mike looked abashed, but Cassandra sat up straight and fixed Libby with her headmistress stare. ‘Nonsense. I’ll just pretty it up a bit. Pots. You can move them about.’
    ‘We-ell,’ said Libby, ‘I suppose …’
    ‘Good that’s settled, then,’ said Cassandra. ‘When do you have some time, Mike?’
    ‘I can leave the shop in charge of the boys – we don’t do that much at this time of year, and we don’t sell trees or holly or mistletoe, so I could come over tomorrow if that’s all right. How long are you down here for?’
    ‘I don’t really know,’ said Cassandra, glancing at Libby. ‘I only meant to come for the weekend, really …’
    ‘Stay as long as you like,’ said Libby. ‘Harry won’t turn you out of the flat.’
    ‘Flat? I thought you were staying with –?’ he gestured at Libby.
    ‘I forgot she was coming, so our friend Harry is putting her up in the flat over his restaurant.’
    ‘The same restaurant your son works in?’
    ‘That’s the one. So she can come and go as she pleases,’ Libby said pointedly, and Cassandra glared at her.
    ‘Ah,’ said Mike, and looked at his hands.
    ‘Well, we’ll see you