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

tomorrow,’ said Libby, standing up, ‘but before I forget, what about this Dr Robinson?’
    ‘I don’t know much about him. He started the original group in Canterbury, I think, but this one’s taken him over, especially with the concert coming up.’
    ‘Is he medical?’
    ‘Eh?’
    ‘You know – a medical doctor, or a doctor of philosophy or something?’
    ‘I’ve no idea!’ Mike looked startled. ‘I always assumed he was a medical doctor, but perhaps not. He’s just Eric.’
    ‘Right, Lib, that’s enough questions. Poor Mike must feel he’s been hit with a battering ram.’ Cassandra stood up and held out her hand. ‘See you tomorrow, Mike, and thanks for the coffee.’
    Libby followed them out of the shed noting the easy manner in which they conversed as they walked, their loose strides matching. Cassandra would certainly not be going home at the end of the weekend.
    ‘Was that worthwhile?’ asked Cassandra as they drove away.
    ‘I don’t know, was it?’ Libby glanced sideways at her cousin.
    ‘What do you mean? We went there for you to ask questions.’
    ‘And for you to check Mike out.’
    ‘Libby! He’s a very good – plantsman. We’ve got quite friendly over the years.’
    ‘It’s a wonder you’ve not been down before, then.’
    ‘Well, I’m here now,’ snapped Cassandra, and turned her head pointedly towards the side window. Libby grinned.
    She dropped Cassandra outside The Pink Geranium and drove home. The answerphone light was blinking when she let herself in.
    ‘Fran? You left a message?’ Libby tucked the phone between chin and shoulder while she manoeuvred herself out of her cape.
    ‘Yes, and on your mobile, as well.’
    ‘I was driving. I told you – Cass and I went over to Mike Farthing’s. I asked you to come.’
    ‘I know you did. I was going to tell you I’ve met another member of the ukulele group.’
    ‘You have? How?’ Libby sat down by the table in the window and pulled her laptop towards her.
    ‘He came into the gallery this morning to buy Christmas cards.’
    ‘How do you know he was in the group? Did he tell you?’
    ‘Oh, yes. The first thing he said was, were you and I investigating the murder? He knows who we are, you see. Then he said he was a member, so I asked him about Vernon Bowling. He got a bit tight-lipped, but said he didn’t know him well. I got the feeling he didn’t like him much.’
    ‘So you’ve seen him before?’
    ‘He’s quite a regular. He used to live in Steeple Martin and retired down here some years ago with his wife, but she died. He’s always seemed a bit sad and lonely to me.’
    ‘Perhaps that’s why he joined the group.’
    ‘Yes, that’s what he said. And then he – well, it was a bit odd. He started to say something else, like “I wouldn’t if …” and then he hesitated and said, “If I’d known there would be a murder”, but I’m sure that wasn’t what he started saying.’
    ‘Like – “If I’d known Vernon Bowling was a member”, do you think?’
    ‘It did cross my mind,’ said Fran, ‘as he’d been a bit odd when I asked about Bowling.’
    ‘Would he talk to you again, do you think?’
    ‘I doubt it. When he asked if we were investigating and I said no, he said “Good. Leave it to the police”.’
    ‘But people are always saying that to us,’ said Libby. ‘What’s his name?’
    ‘Bob Alton, but honestly, Lib, I don’t think you’d get anything out of him. And after all, you’ve got no connection with the thing, so no right to barge in.’
    ‘I know, I know. But don’t you want to hear how we got on this morning?’
    Libby repeated all the details of the conversation with Mike Farthing. ‘And Cassandra had the cheek to say she was going to have a go at my garden and Mike’s going to help her. Starting tomorrow.’
    ‘But it’s midwinter! Not exactly the time to start redesigning a garden.’
    ‘She said pots. Can she do pots in midwinter?’
    ‘She could plant