Murder Dancing (23 page)

‘I haven't seen him. Was he being troublesome?'

‘Threatening to refuse to let them use his music, yesterday.'

‘Was he, now?' Ian looked thoughtful.

‘Has that got some significance?'

‘No idea.' He gave her a tired smile. ‘I must go and see what the troops have discovered. Oh, and you can use the theatre, but go in through the back door.'

‘Thanks. By the way, you said Paul was kicking up a fuss. Did you find out anything about him?'

‘I told you, we've looked into everyone's background.' He turned away. ‘See you later.'

Libby glared after him in frustration.

‘I thought you said you wanted to opt out now,' said Ben, coming up behind her. ‘Not carry on poking into things.'

‘Did you hear any of what Ian said?'

‘Only his Parthian shot.'

Libby repeated what Ian had told her. ‘So we might as well let them know they can go in.'

They went together into the Manor and into the sitting-room, where they found the entire company looking tense and nervous.

‘You can use the theatre,' said Ben. ‘I'll show you into the back door.'

‘Thanks, Ben.' Max, head bandaged, stood up. Owen hovered next to him.

‘Should you be here, Max?' asked Libby.

‘Couldn't stop him,' said Owen with a rueful smile.

Libby looked round for Damian and spotted him tucked away by the coffee urns looking gloomy.

‘I told him we'd use it whether he said we could or not,' said Owen, seeing the direction of her gaze. ‘In the end he accepted it.'

‘Why does he think you should stop now?' asked Ben.

‘Because he's afraid of more things happening. And, of course, with the attempt on the theatre last night, he thinks he's proved his point,' said Max. ‘But no damage was done, except to your front doors – which we'll pay for, of course – and your friend Peter managed to get your sound system working again, so with or without Damian, we can go ahead. And I'm going to use the Kabuki. Will you check it, Ben?'

‘Doesn't Seb want to do it?' said Ben.

‘I think he'd rather not,' said Owen.

‘Right. Let's get going. Full dress rehearsal today, isn't it? If you have dress rehearsals in dance theatre.'

‘We do.' Owen smiled. ‘We'll do a straight run, then if there are any tech problems, we'll go back. We haven't really got time to do a full tech run
and
a dress.'

Ben led everyone out of the Manor and round to the back of the theatre. Everyone except Damian, who glared defiantly at Libby as she approached him.

‘Be it on their own heads,' he said. ‘Even last night there was another attempt on the theatre. Someone wants to stop us, so why don't we stop?'

‘Because they'd win. You don't give in to blackmail, Damian.'

‘I do,' said Damian, deflating.

‘Don't you want to see your lovely music played to an audience?'

‘They won't be taking any notice of it, they'll be watching the dancers.'

‘You're determined to see the black side, aren't you?'

He looked up in surprise. ‘Is there another side?'

Libby sighed. ‘OK, OK.' She sat down beside him. ‘So who do you think has been doing all this?'

He looked at her sideways. ‘Me?'

‘Yes. You must have had an idea. The onlooker seeing more of the game sort of thing.'

‘Oh. Yes, I see.' He rested his chin on one hand and with the other brushed the heavy hair away from his eyes. ‘Well, I really don't know. The only one who seemed a bit – well – dubious about the whole thing was Stan himself. And none of us knew why.'

Libby, who thought she did, nodded. ‘So do you think Stan was killed to make sure the production went ahead?'

Damian widened his eyes at her. ‘But that doesn't make sense. It would go ahead with Stan or without him.'

‘Unless someone thought Stan could stop it, somehow.'

‘How do you mean?'

‘Suppose it was Stan who was behind the incidents?'

‘
Stan
? Are you mad?'

Libby shrugged. ‘Just a thought.'

‘However much Stan disapproved of a production – or anything to do with the stage – he would never do anything to jeopardise it. He was a bit of a fanatic.'

‘Perfectionist?'

Damian nodded. ‘I would say so. You saw how he used to dress. Looked like a shop window dummy.'

Libby had to agree. ‘What about the dancers? Were there any he didn't like?'

‘I don't think he liked any of them,' said Damian, with his first smile. ‘He admired Max – and Owen to an extent – but the rest he tolerated.'

‘And the new boys? The auditionees?'

‘I'm not sure he took any notice of them at all. I didn't see any sign of it, anyway.'

‘What about you? What do you think of them? Do they fit in?'

‘They're OK. That Paul is a bit strange. He's as nervous about the production as I am.'

‘Thinks it ought to stop?'

Damian frowned. ‘Actually, I'm not sure. He was going on about it this morning, but I couldn't make out what he was upset about.'

‘Apparently,' said Libby, deciding to take a chance, ‘there was a rumour going round that he was chucked out of a panto cast. Did you hear that?'

‘No!' Damian looked surprised. ‘I wonder what he did? Not very usual, is it?'

‘Upstaging the star?'

Damian laughed, and Libby felt pleased with herself for getting him to relax. ‘Could be. Some of the Dames! I could tell you some stories!'

‘I know,' said Libby. ‘I've worked with some.'

‘You? Oh, of course, you put on a panto here, don't you?'

‘Yes, but I meant in my younger days when I was a full-time pro.'

‘Oh, were you?' Now Damian looked interested. ‘Did you work with any of the greats?'

Libby treated him to a couple of anecdotes, then stood up.

‘Well, I'd better go and help Hetty in the kitchen. I'll see you later.'

‘I might as well go over,' said Damian, also standing up. ‘Thanks for the chat, Libby. I feel a bit better now.'

She beamed at him and went off to the kitchen, where she found Hetty sitting at the table reading a newspaper.

‘Want a cup of tea, gal?'

‘No, thanks, Het. I've just been cheering up a member of the company. Have they been a nuisance this morning?'

‘No. Very quiet, except some bloke roaring about retribution or something.'

‘Small and dark, was he?'

Hetty nodded. ‘Know him?'

‘Paul something. Looks vaguely Welsh. He was the one who wanted to go and see the mocked up shrine by Grey Betty.'

‘Ah. Welsh chapel – that'd be it.'

‘Really? How do you know?'

‘We had a couple of 'em in London, and we even had one here. Not that they was Welsh, o'course. They were strict.'

‘There was one here? Good lord!'

‘Up along New Barton Lane, it was. Near New Farm bungalows. Tin shack. You could buy 'em from catalogues.'

‘You could?' Libby was incredulous.

Hetty grinned at her. ‘Instant buildings!'

‘Good – er – heavens. Who built it?'

‘'Oppers, mainly. Some of 'em was religious, see, but not Church of England. So they built their own. Didn't mix with the rest of us. We 'ad the Sally Army up on the common on Sundays, they all went off to their chapel.'

‘The things I didn't know about Steeple Martin,' marvelled Libby. ‘And this Paul reminded you of the people who went there?'

‘Put me in mind of some of 'em. Surprised he's in this 'ere ballet if he is. They was always against theatre, and witches. Cor, you should have heard 'em about witches.'

Chapter Twenty-five

‘But,' Libby said later on the phone to Fran, ‘that was mere speculation.'

‘It makes a change from your speculations,' said Fran.

‘Well, I thought it did. It was Ben and Hetty speculating.'

‘But you'd already wondered about him because he seemed keen on the fake shrine or whatever it was and the standing stone.'

‘I know, but it was because he seemed keen on – oh, I don't know – pagan stuff. This is speculating that he's completely on the other side.'

‘Either way,' said Fran, ‘I can't see that he has anything to do with either the incidents or the murder. He's a red herring.'

‘I suppose so.' Libby sighed. ‘I do rather feel as though I want them all to go home now. It's not very pleasant having our theatre damaged.'

‘No – or to be the site of a murder. Do you think you'll be all right about it when they've gone? You won't feel a bit, I don't know, odd, about going on-stage?'

‘Good Lord, no!' said Libby, surprised. ‘I'm not that sensitive. Anyway, I can't afford to be. Panto rehearsals start next week.'

‘I think I would be. I'm glad I'm not doing panto.'

‘Yes, but you're – well, you know. You're supposed to be sensitive. Come to think of it, if you went on-stage you could probably –'

‘Stop right there,' said Fran. ‘We agreed that I'm going off the boil, so I'm certainly not going to do that. Ian will get to the bottom of it. Probably already has.'

‘Well, he hadn't earlier. He's pretty cheesed off about it, actually. There seems to be no rhyme or reason to any of it.'

‘Except that there must be somewhere. Although it does seem a bit odd. Was Stan killed because of his objection to
Pendle
? That can't be true, because he couldn't have stopped it and showed no sign of doing so. If he was behind the London incidents, was he killed in revenge for those? Seems equally unlikely.'

‘And what did whoever-it-was want in the theatre last night? And why attack Max?' Libby shook her head at the phone. ‘It doesn't make any sense at all, does it?'

‘It doesn't seem to. But there has to be cause and effect somewhere. I expect the boring part of police work will solve it.'

‘What I'm surprised about is that it hasn't been all over the media,' said Libby.

‘It was a small item in the local paper,' said Fran. ‘Just “Man dies in accident at theatre”. That was all.'

‘In Jane's paper?'

Jane Baker was assistant editor on the Nethergate Mercury, which existed largely online in this digital age.

‘Yes, but it didn't have her by-line. I'm surprised she hasn't been in touch.'

So am I, thought Libby as, right on cue, the landline rang.

‘Libby? Campbell McLean here.'

‘I might have guessed,' said Libby.

‘Yes, you might.' Campbell McLean was a pleasant young man who just happened to be Kent and Coast Television's chief reporter. ‘Especially as I understand this “accident” took place nearly a week ago.'

‘Dear me. Didn't the police put it out?'

‘All anyone's been able to get out of the police is that it was an accident. But my sources tell me it isn't that simple.'

‘And who are your sources?'

‘You don't get me there, Libby!' Campbell laughed. ‘Come on, what happened?'

‘Someone had an accident.' Libby was furiously trying to find Ian's number in her mobile with one hand.

‘Who?'

‘Look, Campbell, if the police have given out no details, there probably isn't a story, and I'm certainly not to going to say anything, am I?'

‘So something did happen?'

‘I've told you, I'm not saying anything. Ask the police if you want to know.'

Campbell sighed. ‘Does Fran know?'

‘Know what?'

‘Oh, Libby! Give me a break.'

‘I don't know what you've heard, but I doubt very much if any of it is true,' said Libby, crossing her fingers. ‘And now, I have to go. I have food to prepare.'

‘All right, but I'll be back.'

‘Don't be melodramatic,' said Libby, and ended the call. She found Ian's number and rang it.

‘Yes,' barked Ian. ‘I'm busy, Libby.'

‘I know, but I've just had Kent and Coast on the phone.'

‘That idiot McLean, I suppose. What did you tell him?'

‘Nothing. I didn't even admit there'd been an “accident” as he put it. Apparently that was in the
Mercury
.'

‘Good, keep it that way. We've tried for a blackout on it, but these days it's difficult. I'm surprised there's been no social media storm. The dancers are always on their phones.'

‘I think Max asked them not to. Probably under threat of banishment. Anyway, I've told you now, so if anyone else approaches me, I'll carry on playing dumb.'

Ian laughed. ‘Difficult for you! I must go.'

Within minutes, the phone rang again.

‘I've just had Campbell McLean on,' said Fran.

‘Yes, he phoned me.'

‘Why didn't you warn me?'

‘Because I phoned Ian to warn him. You didn't say anything, did you?'

‘No.' Fran laughed. ‘He tried to trick me by saying he'd spoken to you and all he wanted was confirmation. So I guessed you hadn't said anything. If you had, he wouldn't have bothered with me, he'd have filed his report straight away.'

‘Thank goodness. The dancers have been incredibly good and not splashed it all over social media, so it's been kept quiet so far, but I doubt if that will last.'

Libby went back to the Manor to see if she could cadge some of Harry's lunch, and found everyone in a buoyant mood.

‘It went so well, Libby,' said Max, who was positively glowing. ‘Everything worked perfectly.'

Libby kept the old adage of ‘good dress rehearsal, bad first night' to herself. Perhaps it didn't apply to dance, anyway. ‘Even the curtain?'

‘Yes. Ben and Seb had checked it earlier, so we used it. Seb did wear gauntlets, though!'