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

Moments”. That’s all. And when anyone’s tried to harness it, it tends not to work.’
    ‘It used to. You told me she was employed by Goodall and Smythe to check out houses for nervous buyers. And she’s been consulted by the police.’
    ‘But she always had something to relate to. She’s not even met Mike, or even seen a picture of him.’
    ‘That’s easy. We’ll call up his website.’ Cassandra strode past Libby and knocked on the blue door.
    Fran peered out of the front window looking surprised. ‘It’s open. You know it’s always open.’
    ‘Not me,’ said Libby, making a face. She reached past Cassandra and opened the door.
    Cassandra, looking chastened, stepped back. ‘Sorry. Can never seem to forget I was a headmistress.’
    ‘No, I’d noticed,’ said Libby. ‘It’s all right, in you go.’
    Fran was sitting in the window seat.
    ‘So what did you want to ask me, Cassandra?’
    Cassandra gaped and Libby hid a grin. ‘About Mike Farthing,’ she said. ‘She suggested you could look at his photograph on his website.’
    Cassandra glowered and Fran laughed.
    ‘Come on, then,’ she said, and led them to the table on the other side of the room where her laptop stood, already open.
    ‘What were you doing?’ asked Libby, as a picture sprang up on the screen.
    ‘Looking up Dellington.’ Fran typed “Mike Farthing” into the search engine.
    ‘Farthing’s Plants?’
    ʻThat’s it.’ Cassandra bent over Fran’s shoulder. ‘And that’s him.’
    ‘Hmm. Looks nice,’ said Fran.
    ‘He is.’ Cassandra cleared her throat and looked the other way.
    ‘But,’ said Libby, ‘he appears to be being questioned by the police.’
    ‘If he’s a member of the ukulele group that’s natural. They’ll all be questioned.’
    ‘Yes, but they already have been, on Wednesday,’ said Cassandra. ‘And he sounded–’
    ‘Bothered,’ suggested Libby.
    Fran peered at the screen. ‘Well, nothing’s coming to mind,’ she said apologetically. ‘But it rarely does.’
    Cassandra sighed and sat down abruptly on the arm of Fran’s sofa. ‘I’m behaving like a teenager, and I’m sorry.’
    ‘Don’t worry about it.’ Fran stood up and patted her on the shoulder. ‘This sort of thing coming on – ah – later in life, as it were, can be pretty hard. Libby and I have both had to deal with it.’
    ‘But you’re both younger than I am. I haven’t had any sort of relationship with a man since my husband died.’
    ‘Not even a flutter of interest?’ asked Libby.
    ‘No. I tried. I even went out with a couple of people a year or so after Colin died, but I just felt uncomfortable, and there was no … um …’
    ‘Physical attraction,’ supplied Libby. ‘Right, and you’ve got to have that.’
    ‘What, even at my age?’ Cassandra laughed shakily. ‘That’s why I feel so foolish.’
    ‘Because you do feel that for Mike,’ said Fran shrewdly.
    ‘And I’d take a bet that he feels the same for you,’ said Libby. ‘So he’d better not be guilty of something. Come on, we’re going to have a very late lunch.’
    ‘But how can I feel like this at my age?’ Cassandra returned to the subject as they walked along Harbour Street towards The Sloop. ‘And how could he? Look at me. I’ve got grey hair –’
    ‘So has he,’ put in Libby.
    ‘And I’m not exactly glamorous, am I?’
    ‘I don’t think Mike would go for glamorous,’ said Libby.
    ‘Stop analysing,’ said Fran. ‘I know it’s difficult – I did the same thing when I met Guy.’
    ‘And Ian,’ said Libby.
    ‘Your policeman friend?’
    ‘The same. He was very angry the first time Fran met him, but the next time, when he asked for her help, well, that was different.’
    ‘I nearly made the biggest mistake of my life,’ said Fran.
    ‘But Ian is – was – gorgeous.’ Libby said.
    ‘ Is gorgeous,’ said Fran, opening the door of The Sloop. ‘And I know you’ve always secretly fancied him.’
    ‘Does