Free Murder by the Sea by Lesley Cookman

quite a large feature this week.
    Why?’
    Harry shrugged. ‘I don’t know. There’s no reason why she should be involved, I just wondered.’
    ‘How could she be?’ said Libby. ‘She didn’t know anything about the body!’
    ‘No, I know.’ Harry frowned. ‘I dunno. Having one of Fran’s moments, I expect.’
    ‘Oh, I do hope not!’ said Libby. ‘One’s enough.’
    Harry laughed and stood up. ‘Come and sit in the yard and have a fag and I’ll make you some lunch,’ he said.
    Libby sat in the cool, shady yard at the back of the restaurant and looked up to the flat above, where Fran had, for a brief time, lived.
    ‘She’s happy, you know,’ she called to Harry in the kitchen.
    ‘Who?’ Harry came to the doorway with his hands full of onions.
    ‘Fran. I miss her being here, though.’
    ‘Oh, come on, Lib, she was only here for a few months.’
    ‘I know, but it was so great having someone round the corner.’
    ‘Hey! I’m round the corner.’ Harry was indignant. ‘And what about your cher ami ? So’s he.’
    ‘I know, I meant a woman friend. I haven’t had one since I moved here.’
    Harry looked mystified. ‘But you’ve got us,’ he said.
    ‘You’re not women,’ said Libby, and giggled.
    ‘Good job too,’ said Harry, and returned to the kitchen.
    When Libby returned to number 17 Allhallow’s Lane after lunch with Harry, she found a message waiting on her answerphone, and one on her mobile, which she had left, not unusually, on the kitchen table. Both were from Fran, informing her that she would be arriving in Steeple Martin in half an hour.
    ‘From when?’ muttered Libby, and found out almost immediately when she heard Fran’s roller-skate outside.
    ‘Ian found out about the Italian,’ she said.
    ‘Great. Shall we go into the garden? Tea?’
    ‘Tea would be lovely,’ said Fran, pausing to say hello to Sidney.
    ‘So what’s happened?’ Libby came into the garden while she waited for the kettle to boil.
    ‘Apparently, the investigation turned up the original owner of the passport, because details were taken, photocopied, I think, by the council. So, obviously, the police went looking for her at her registered address and found that she was missing. There was no record of her returning to Italy, so they tried to trace her family, but not very hard, I gather. I mean, they obviously had to get onto the Italian authorities, but these things take an awful long time, apparently. You have to put in requests and it can take months.’
    ‘And does it relate in any way to our body?’
    ‘No, not as far as I can see,’ said Fran.
    ‘I’ll go and make the tea,’ said Libby, and went back into the kitchen.
    Fran sat in the garden and absent-mindedly stroked Sidney’s head while staring up into the cherry tree. Why did she still get the image of a farm? Somehow illegal immigrants working on farms didn’t seem to be the answer, yet farms were still in her head. She shook it.
    ‘Here.’ Libby sat a tray on her rickety table. ‘Biscuits as well. Bel showed me how to make these. They’re ginger.’
    Fran peered at the plate. ‘Are you sure? They look like real ones.’
    ‘I know! Great, aren’t they? Fancy my daughter showing me how to make something as good as this. Mind you, I’m getting through loads of Golden Syrup.’
    ‘Mmm.’ Fran bit into a biscuit. ‘They are good. Not for the figure, though.’
    ‘Oh, I’ve given up on the figure,’ said Libby, sitting down and kicking off her sandals. ‘Now, what about the Transnistrian? Where did she live?’
    ‘I don’t know.’ Fran looked bewildered. ‘I didn’t ask.’
    ‘And have you found out any more about the country?’
    ‘I haven’t gone into it. It just seems a really odd place. Someone calls it the Black Hole of Europe.’
    ‘Sounds like somebody made it up,’ said Libby.
    ‘That’s what I thought at first, but it’s a real place.’
    ‘Right.’ Libby picked up her mug and sat up straight. ‘Ask Mr