Murder in the Dark - A Libby Sarjeant Murder Mystery (Libby Sarjeant Murder Mystery Series) by Lesley Cookman Page B

here to check out if there was any indication of the owner, like a good little historian, and obviously interpreted that text in the same way that Edward did.’
    ‘Wild goose chase?’ asked Patti.
    ‘No, not at all,’ said Fran. ‘We’re following Ramani’s trail, which may well lead to finding out who murdered her.’
    The Reverend Toby blenched. ‘Oh, dear! I’d forgotten that.’ He escorted them to the door and shook hands with them all. ‘Will you keep me informed?’ he asked Patti, who assured him she would.
    ‘So what now?’ asked Libby, as they walked back down the lane towards Carl’s surgery.
    ‘We need to find out what Roland told Ramani,’ said Fran. ‘She would never have gone to the church otherwise. She must have known Godfrey Wyghtham’s name.’
    ‘But will he tell us?’ said Edward. ‘He doesn’t strike me as particularly forthcoming.’
    ‘The police are going to ask him,’ said Libby. ‘It’s relevant to Ramani’s murder.’
    ‘He could still refuse to tell them, or lie.’ Patti dug her hands in her pockets and frowned. ‘Murderers do lie to the police.’
    ‘You think he’s the murderer?’ asked Libby.
    ‘He seems to be the obvious suspect,’ said Patti. ‘Doesn’t he?’
    ‘I don’t know,’ said Fran doubtfully. ‘After all, he was in Brussels at the time, and if they were having an affair …’
    ‘I think,’ said Edward suddenly, ‘that he told her about the so-called treasure to keep her interest. And if he knew Godfrey’s name that would add weight to it.’
    ‘But there’s the “if found” in the parish records,’ objected Libby.
    ‘That might mean nothing,’ said Edward. ‘There are many odd notes in parish records. But Ramani would have taken it as confirmation of what she’d been told.’
    ‘Let’s just hope Ian gets Roland to set up our search,’ said Libby. ‘I was sure he’d come back to us over the weekend, but he hasn’t.’
    ‘Isn’t that Adelaide Watson’s car?’ asked Fran, as they approached the Oxenford house.
    ‘It’s surgery time,’ said Libby. ‘Perhaps she’s consulting him.’
    ‘I don’t think he’s holding surgeries at the moment,’ said Edward.
    Libby and Fran looked at each other.
    ‘They know one another far better than she admitted, don’t they?’ murmured Libby.
    Back home in Steeple Martin, Libby did a little desultory housework, peered at the half finished painting on the easel in the conservatory and tried to decide what to cook for supper, all the while listening for the phone. By four o’clock in the afternoon, when it still hadn’t rung, she called Fran.
    ‘I can’t understand it. Ian said he or Robertson would call us over the weekend. There’s complete silence.’
    ‘What do you want to do? You can’t really call Ian to chivvy him up.’
    ‘I could call Adelaide and ask her if Roland’s heard anything from Ian. I want to know what she was doing with Carl Oxenford this morning, anyway.’
    ‘I doubt if she’d tell you that,’ said Fran. ‘If she’s concealed it up to now, she’s not going to spill the beans just because you ask her.’
    ‘I know!’ said Libby. ‘I could call Ian to tell him what we found in the church.’
    ‘But it’s not really relevant to his enquiry, is it?’
    ‘It’s not fair! Ian asked us to help, so did Adelaide, and now no one’s telling us anything.’
    ‘You’ll just have to contain your soul in patience, won’t you?’ said Fran, sounding amused. ‘You’re rehearsing tonight, aren’t you? That’ll take your mind off it.’
    But when Libby walked up The Manor drive at a quarter to eight, her mind was still full of the Dark House murder, and it took a minute for her to realise that someone was waiting for her in the foyer of the theatre. Glancing up at the lighting and sound box at the top of the spiral staircase, she saw Peter making faces at her and pointing at the figure standing by the windows which faced on to the tiny garden, arms