Free Murder in Bloom by Lesley Cookman

Yes.’
    ‘Tony? I didn’t mean –’ he paused. ‘I meant about me being questioned by the police.’
    ‘I heard about that, too, Lewis, but it didn’t take much detective ability to put two and two together when Mr West’s death was announced on the radio yesterday.’
    ‘Yeah. Well, that’s why they wanted me, see. They know all about it. More’n I do, really. How’s Ad?’
    ‘He’s fine.’ Libby pointed to the phone and raised her eyebrows at Adam. He shook his head. ‘It’s a pity they’ve had to stop work on the garden, that’s all.’
    ‘They’ve what?’ Lewis’s voice rose sharply. ‘Why?’
    ‘Well,’ said Libby, choosing her words carefully, ‘they couldn’t work in the wood, and there was no guarantee that any further work would be called for, or …’
    ‘Paid for?’ Lewis was a shrewd East End boy. ‘I know, I know. Well, you tell ’em, there’ll be a cheque in the post tonight – or, if Mog gives me his bank details, I’ll transfer the money straight away. And yes, I do want them to carry on. I want that parterre garden finished this summer, and I know it’ll take time.’
    ‘But what about the house? Is it all kosher?’
    ‘It turns out, yes. Me owning it, anyway. Look, I’ll tell you all about it. Can I buy you a drink or summat?’
    Libby flashed another glance at Adam. ‘Come over here for supper,’ she said. ‘Ad will be here. Anything you don’t eat?’
    ‘Come on, Ad, he’s going to keep you on,’ she said after switching off, watching Adam’s mutinous face. ‘And pay you up to date.’
    Adam’s face cleared. ‘What about the police?’
    ‘I doubt if you’ll be able to go back into the wood yet, but he wants you to finish the parterre.’ She smiled. ‘It turns out the house is legally his after all. At least, I think that’s what he meant. And could you ask Mog to give him a ring because he’d like to pay the money straight into the account.’
    A little later, leaving Adam to sort out the guest room and pack things away in the ancient shed, where he grumbled about damp and mould, she went into the village to see Bob the butcher, and then to Ahmed and Ali’s eight-til-late. Standing on the pavement between the two shops, she frowned. Should she ask Ben? Check whether he intended to come tonight? Conscious of a slight rolling in her stomach and an accelerated heart rate, she pulled out her mobile and pressed speed dial. It went straight to voicemail and she swore under her breath.
    As she plodded back up Allhallow’s Lane, her mobile rang.
    ‘Hi, Lib. You called?’
    ‘Did you not listen to the message?’
    ‘No – I just saw one missed call and it was you. What’s up?’
    Libby explained, slowing to a halt under the lilac tree. The scent was calming.
    ‘Right,’ said Ben. ‘So basically, this Lewis wants to talk to you about the murder and the house? And Adam’s moved in?’
    Libby’s heart sank. ‘Only temporarily,’ she said. ‘Just until things are sorted out.’
    ‘Well, you won’t want me there this evening, that’s for sure,’ he said. ‘Mum’ll be happy to see a bit more of me. I’ll call you tomorrow.’
    ‘OK. Ben –’
    ‘Speak to you then. Bye, love.’
    Libby was left holding a dead mobile to her ear and feeling as though she might burst into tears. Again.
    Lewis had said he would arrive around seven, and by 6.30 Libby had all the food ready and waiting and she and Adam were decently clothed and watching the local news together. There was a brief mention of the Creekmarsh case, but it had obviously been relegated to the ‘other news’. Adam reached for the remote and switched off.
    ‘So tell me what’s up with Ben,’ he said. ‘Why isn’t he coming tonight?’
    Libby sighed and explained to the best of her ability, waiting for the inevitable ‘I told you so’. It didn’t come.
    ‘He’s a prat, Ma,’ said Adam, getting up to give her a hug. ‘Nice bloke and all that, but a prat.’
    ‘I thought you