Free Murder on the Tor: An Exham on Sea Cosy Mystery (Exham on Sea Cosy Crime Mysteries Book 3) by Frances Evesham

miles, Max broke the oppressive silence. “What did you make of our professor? Huh!” Libby refused to smile. He went on, “I don’t think he could help the twitches, but he’s a pompous old fool and he didn’t want to tell us anything. He’s in the clear for John Williams’ death, anyway. His student can put him in Bristol on the morning John Williams died.” Libby didn’t reply.
    Max tried again. “Reading between the professor’s lines, they made some pact never to meet again. What could have shaken them so much?”
    “No idea.”
    “Do you know, I think I’d like to pay another visit to our professor.”
    Libby said, “You’ll have to come on your own. I’m going to the history society meeting tomorrow.”
    “I’ll come up on the train, then, and bring your car back.” Libby just shrugged. She wasn’t going to thank him. She never wanted to see the man again.
    The Land Rover drew up at her house. A lump formed in Libby’s throat as Max killed the engine. “Libby, you caught me off guard, at lunch.”
    “I didn’t mean to embarrass you.” Libby’s voice quivered.
    “You deserve an explanation...”
    “No need.” She had to get out of the car, right away.
    Max put a hand on her arm. “I should give you a proper answer to your question.”
    “No.” She pushed him away, shoved the car door open and swung her legs out. “No explanations, no answers. We’re partners. And friends, I suppose. That’s all. It’s good to know where we stand.” She strode away, refusing to look back, determined Max should not see the tears that coursed down her cheeks.

 
     
     
     
     
     
     
    Exham History Society
    Next day, Libby spent far too long composing questions for the historical society meeting and arrived late. Marina ran to the car, scarlet and pink scarves flying, silver bracelets clanking. “Libby, darling, how’s your wrist? And did you remember to bring the cake?”
    Libby let Bear out of the Citroen. “Hope you don’t mind Bear coming. Max is on his way to Bristol to―er―talk to an old colleague.”
    “Bear can stay in the back room. Shipley’s always pleased to see him.” Marina’s house, a substantial, brick-built Georgian mansion, included several rooms at the rear. These, built in the days when servants were commonplace, had once served as sculleries and dairies. Now, they were perfect for dogs. Shipley greeted Bear in Marina’s back cloakroom, barking and running in circles, full of unhinged excitement. Libby sometimes wondered if the spaniel was headed for a stroke.
    The drawing room, far more elegant than the servants’ quarters, buzzed with gossip. Samantha Watson held the floor. She stopped in mid-sentence as Libby entered and wrinkled her nose. She was engaged to Chief Inspector Arnold, Joe’s boss, and Marina’s stage whisper must have been audible to everyone. “Chief Inspector Arnold rang Samantha with the news.”
    “I’m sorry,” Libby confessed. “I’ve no idea what you’re talking about. What news?”
    “Well,” Samantha sipped from a delicate bone china teacup, one little finger held aloft with a daintiness Libby hadn’t seen since she was a child at her mother’s tea parties. “The Chief Inspector told me about the explosion.” The woman’s smile could have frozen waves on Exham beach. “He said it had something to do with a school teacher. Marina says you were talking to the woman at the photographic exhibition, Lizzy.”
    Libby’s heart lurched. She ignored the deliberate mispronunciation of her name. “If there’s something you think I should know, I’d be grateful if you’d tell me.”
    “Oh, the police will talk to you soon enough, I’m sure. The Chief Inspector says everywhere you go, trouble follows.”
    Libby sighed. “Samantha, I have no idea what you’re talking about. Has something happened to Miss Bakewell?”
    Samantha slapped her cup so hard onto its saucer, the contents slopped onto Marina’s marble-topped table. She