Murder Dancing (24 page)

‘Oh, good.' Libby smiled weakly. ‘And how's Damian now?'

‘He's cheered up,' said Owen. ‘At least, I think he has.'

Libby helped herself to a taco and wandered into the kitchen, where she found Hetty and Ben drinking soup.

‘Went well, I understand.'

‘It did,' said Ben. ‘What have you been doing?'

‘Putting off the media.' Libby pulled a face. ‘Bloody Campbell McLean. Called me, then when I wouldn't tell him anything, he called Fran. I've warned Ian.'

‘He and the SOCOs have cleared off now, and told me I can repair the door. The damage was so slight it looks as if whoever did it was rather half-hearted about it, or changed their mind as soon as they'd begun.'

‘That's a relief. Max is pleased that the boys haven't let anything out on social media.'

‘He warned them about that in London,' said Ben, ‘and told them again after the rat and the Kabuki accident. And after Stan they were all scared into submission. I think at that time they all thought it could be them next.'

‘Poor buggers,' said Hetty.

‘Well, with any luck we can keep it out of the headlines, at least until the weekend,' said Ben. ‘When they get back to London they can deal with it from their own headquarters.'

‘Yes, but who will?' said Libby. ‘Stan would have done all that.'

‘There must be someone else in the office.' Ben frowned.

‘It doesn't sound as though there is.' Libby tore off a piece of Hetty's kitchen roll, wiped her fingers and returned to the sitting-room. Harry waved from a huddle of dancers.

‘Hello, petal. Have you eaten?'

‘Had a taco. Have they told you the latest?'

‘About the desperate criminal who tried to break in? Yes. And Pete's filled me in on everything else.'

‘All a bit of a pain, really. Are you going to do this all week?'

Harry gave her a crooked smile. ‘Can't let the little guys down, can I? Except for Saturday. But I've said we'll do a buffet for after the show.'

‘That's kind of you, Hal.'

He shrugged. ‘They've all been through it, haven't they? And Max is paying me.'

‘Not enough, I bet. And it's all the effort you have to go to.'

‘Oh, get away with you. No trouble.' He gave her a hug. ‘Besides, we've got our theatre's reputation to keep up, haven't we?'

She strolled over to rejoin Max and Owen.

‘By the way, Max, have you been able to remember why it was that you went to the theatre the other day?'

Max lost his smile. ‘No, I haven't. The doctor isn't sure that I ever will.'

‘That's odd, isn't it. You can remember going in there, but not why.'

Max began to look restless. ‘Look, Libby, I really don't think it's important. Nothing's been stolen –'

‘But our equipment was damaged,' Libby cut him short and Max's colour rose.

Owen frowned at her.

‘Libby –' he began.

‘Now don't you tell me to leave him alone, Owen. We – the family – have bent over backwards to help. First of all to see if Fran and I could pick anything up about this silly business of the incidents in London. We went to a lot of trouble to get the Manor ready for the dancers, and Hetty's been a brick about supplying breakfast and quantities of free tea and coffee, Harry's gone above and beyond the call of duty providing lunches and even Mrs Carpenter offered you free use of a rehearsal space.'

‘I didn't –'

‘No, Max, I know you didn't ask us to do all of that, if that is what you were going to say, but it was done. And we've had the police all over the place, and now damage to the front door as well as to the sound equipment. So please don't say something isn't important and worse, that nothing was stolen. Yes, it was. A life.'

She stopped, annoyed with herself that she'd lost her temper and suddenly aware that the entire room had gone quiet and was listening. Ben had appeared in the doorway and was looking surprised, while Harry was leaning against the wall next to him, arms folded and with a smile on his face. She took a deep breath.

‘So, yes. It is important. Someone has to get to the bottom of all this to stop these things happening.'

Max and Owen looked at one another.

‘Hear, hear!' called a voice from the back of the room, and Tom was seen to be applauding over his head. Surprisingly, the rest of the dancers all joined in. Even Damian and Sebastian were smiling.

Max sat down suddenly and smiled ruefully.

‘I'm sorry,' he said. ‘I should have realised.' He looked round his company. ‘Does anyone want to stop? Should we pull out?'

The dancers looked at each other and murmured.

‘No,' said Tom, finally. ‘If we can keep the theatre safe – and ourselves, of course – I think we should go on. We've come this far. But to be fair, I think it should be up to Libby and Ben. As Libby says, they've had to put up with a lot.'

All eyes turned to Libby, who was looking at Ben. He came over to stand beside her.

‘I happen to agree with every word Libby said – although that's pretty rare,' he added, raising a laugh. ‘But you've all worked hard and it seems a shame to waste all that. Besides the money it's cost to hire us for two weeks.' He got another laugh.

‘Thank you, Ben.' Max looked at his feet. ‘I did say to Libby the other day I thought perhaps we should pull out, but I never really wanted to.' He looked up at his company.

‘I don't know who or what is behind all this, but I want you all to promise to watch out for each other and the theatre for the next few days. Once we get to Saturday, we're safe.'

Chapter Twenty-six

Tuesday afternoon passed quietly. The dancers rehearsed, Ben stood by to assist Sebastian should it be needed, Peter attended to the lights and Libby shut herself in her conservatory to paint.

‘When you think about it,' Libby said to Ben that night over chilli con carne, ‘it must have cost Max a fortune, this exercise. Meals every night, either in the pub or at Hal's, for everyone, all the accommodation …'

‘I expect it's going through the company books,' said Ben. ‘He's hardly using his own money.'

‘I wonder if he's had to pay Damian for the music?'

‘That's a point. Although Damian's a salaried employee, as far as I can tell, so perhaps it comes under his terms of work.'

‘Seems a bit harsh, if so. And Max did say the programme will say that's it's Damian's score and from an idea by Alan.'

‘I expect they're just pleased to be acknowledged,' said Ben. ‘And the company did workshop it, so it's a joint enterprise.'

‘Which makes it even more surprising that one of them is trying to sabotage it.'

‘Sure it's one of them, are you?'

‘Who else could it be? Only they're not regarding one another with suspicion, are they? You'd expect them to be avoiding each other.'

‘I don't suppose they can believe that any of them could do it. You said that when you and Fran took Tom and Jonathan out they couldn't think of anyone capable of harming the company.'

‘Except the ones they didn't know.'

‘The auditionees? But they all seem completely harmless.'

‘Except Paul.'

‘Oh, don't start on him again!' said Ben. ‘Poor bloke! He's come in for more speculation than anyone else. Even from my mother.'

The subject was dropped in favour of discussion of what to watch on television for their last night off until Sunday. Although Libby was not involved in the production, she would be attending to bar and front of house duties for the week.

On Wednesday morning, Libby awoke with a feeling of anticipation, slightly tempered by apprehension. All through early morning tea and breakfast she was subconsciously waiting for the phone to ring with news of some fresh disaster. By the time Ben left to go and attend to neglected duties in the estate office, she was hopping about like a cat on hot bricks.

Finally, abandoning the painting she had been attempting the day before, she packed up her things and set off to the Manor. She waved at Beth Cole putting a poster up on the village notice board, Ali at the eight-till-late putting out trays of bread on his counter, Nella at the farm shop putting out her trays of fresh vegetables and Harry having a morning coffee at the big table in the window of The Pink Geranium. Her village, she thought. How comforting it was, and how glad she would be when they went back to normal.

Normality was something that looked unlikely as she approached the Manor and saw, parked carelessly on the forecourt, a large and ostentatious black car.

Cautiously, she approached the door and listened.

‘I'm sorry,' she heard Ben say, ‘I'm afraid I can't let you into the theatre just at this moment. I can get a message over there, and perhaps Max can come over as soon as he's free –'

‘'E'll bloody come over when I says so,' came back a guttural voice, ‘and so you tell 'im.'

Libby stepped into the hall and was confronted by a broad, black, barathea back, topped by a huge head of white hair.

‘Libby,' said Ben, ‘this is Stan's father.'

Wally Willis turned round and Libby saw that he was leaning on two sticks.

‘'Oo are you then?' he said.

Libby smiled as pleasantly as she was able. ‘Libby Sarjeant,' she said. ‘Pleased to meet you, Mr Willis.'

He narrowed tiny, dark eyes at her. ‘You summat to do with this set-up?'

‘Part-owner and my partner, Mr Willis,' said Ben smoothly, coming to Libby's side. ‘Would you like to come into my office?'

Wally Willis grunted, and Ben held out an arm to usher him forwards. Over his shoulder he mouthed, ‘Phone Ian' at Libby, then asked aloud, ‘Would you like coffee?'

‘Tea,' said Willis, and stumped into the office. Ben winked at Libby, who went to the kitchen.

‘Still 'ere, is 'e?' said Hetty. ‘I've boiled the kettle.'

‘Oh, good,' said Libby. ‘He wants tea. I'll take it in, but Ben's asked me to phone Ian first.' She made a face. ‘He's revolting, isn't he? I don't want to touch him.'

However, Ian's personal phone went straight to voicemail, and his work one Libby was nervous about using. In the end she sent texts to both numbers, then called Fran very briefly to let her know what was going on.

Wally Willis was sitting, legs akimbo and hands on knees, in the big chair opposite Ben, who sat looking calm and superior (she thought) on the other side of the desk.

‘Tea,' said Libby, putting the tray down on the desk. ‘Mr Willis?'

He looked suspiciously at the tray, his eyes widening slightly at the sight of the china teapot.

‘Ur,' he said.

Libby poured tea into two cups and politely asked if he took sugar and milk.

‘Milk.'

She poured a little milk into both cups and passed one each to Ben and Willis.

‘Will you excuse me,' she said. ‘I'm expecting a phone call,' and nodded slightly at Ben's raised eyebrows.

‘Phone rang,' said Hetty as she returned to the kitchen. She snatched it up and checked. Ian.

‘Hello,' she said. ‘Sorry, I was giving Wally Willis tea.'

Ian spluttered. ‘Tea?'

‘He didn't want coffee.' Libby grinned at Hetty.

‘What's he doing there?'

‘I think he wants to see Max, but he started off by trying to get Ben to let him in to the theatre.'

‘Is Max in the theatre?'

‘I assume so, I only arrived just before I called you and Willis was already here.'

‘Damn. Look, don't let him get away. I'm coming over.'

‘Where are you?'

‘Does that matter?'

‘Yes. I wanted to know how long you might be.'

‘Oh, I see. I'm in the office. I'll be about twenty minutes.'

Libby ended the call.

‘Did you see Willis first?' she asked Hetty.

‘We come out into the hall together when we 'eard the door,' said Hetty. ‘Doesn't look as if 'e could knock the skin off a rice puddin' now, does 'e?'

‘He still looks dangerous to me, though,' said Libby. ‘And nothing like his son. Flo said he was small and neat, like Stan. He's certainly put on weight.'

‘That was the little feller with the glasses, wasn't it?'

‘Yes. I'm just wondering if I should nip over to the theatre and let them know he's here.'

‘I shouldn't, gal. Worry 'em before they need to be.'

‘I suppose you're right. Shall I go and see if Ben needs rescuing?'

Hetty snorted. ‘You can try!'

‘… and 'e's responsible whether 'e likes it or not,' Willis was saying as Libby re-entered the office. ‘Employment law, innit?'

‘I don't think it works quite like that in a case of murder,' said Ben, ‘unless, of course, the employer is the murderer.'

‘I reckon 'e is,' said Willis. ‘Morally.'

Libby saw Ben's mouth twitch, and had to bite her own lip. Ben caught her eye and she nodded. Willis swung round in the chair as far as he was able.

Before he could speak, Libby said sweetly, ‘Did your wife not come down with you, Mr Willis? I suppose she's devastated.'

His face darkened. ‘You leave 'er out of it.'

‘Oh,' said Libby. ‘Right.'

He turned back to Ben. ‘You gonna get that Tobing or whatever 'e's called out 'ere, then?'

‘Not just yet, Mr Willis. If you'll just be patient a little longer.'

‘Then I'll go meself.' Willis grabbed his two sticks propped up by the chair and struggled upright. Neither Ben nor Libby made a move to help him, but Libby went to the door and stood in front of it. Willis turned to face her breathing heavily. ‘Get out of my way.'

‘Mr Willis, we'll tell Mr Tobin you're here shortly, if you'll just wait for a minute or two.'