Chapter Twenty-Six

‘Looks like his past came back to haunt him,’ Johnnie said, looking down at the body.

‘Doesn’t everybody’s, in the end?’ Dahlia asked.

Dahlia Lively in Violet Murder

By Lettice Davenport, 1964

‘Why would Libby be at the folly?’ Caro asked, picking her way along behind her. ‘What’s there?’

‘Nothing,’ Posy answered. ‘We looked, remember? Unless you think Clementine hid something we didn’t find?’

Rosalind shook her head. ‘It’s not what’s there. It’s what you can see.’

They took the last bend, and Rosalind heard the assenting noises from behind her and knew that Posy and Caro had caught on, at last.

From the folly’s raised position, the new police cordon around the Boat House was even more clearly visible. Uniformed officers milled around, presumably recording the crime scene or searching for clues or something. Rosalind wasn’t interested in them. She was interested in the woman watching them from the folly window.

‘Come on,’ she said.

Rosalind pushed the door open, and Libby half turned from where she stood by the window, her body tense with alarm.

Then she relaxed. ‘Oh. It’s you three.’

‘Who were you expecting?’ Rosalind asked.

‘A murderer, I guess.’ Libby smile was sardonic. ‘There seem to be plenty of them around this weekend. Whoever killed Marcus. And whoever killed—’ She broke off, staring out towards the Boat House.

Rosalind hadn’t been sure on the way down. She’d had two stories in her head, uncertain which one this scene was going to follow. Would Libby be the victorious killer, gloating over her achievements? Rosalind hadn’t thought so, but she knew better than to commit to a vision of the scene without knowing for sure what the other actors, or director, wanted.

Or, in this case, the writer.

But watching Libby stare with longing at the place her cousin had died, seeing the regret and the pain in her eyes, she knew.

‘DCI Larch is looking for you,’ Rosalind said. ‘Something about wanting to speak to Clementine’s next of kin.’

Libby’s gaze fell to her hands. ‘Oh.’

‘She was your cousin?’

‘Yes.’ Libby didn’t look surprised at the question. ‘Sort of, anyway. She was a lot younger, but we grew up together, all the same.’

‘You were close,’ Caro said. ‘You knew she was going to be here this weekend.’

Libby huffed a small laugh. ‘Actually, I didn’t. Not until it was too late. If I had … I don’t know. Maybe I could have done something more to stop this.’

‘Did she know you were coming?’ Caro asked.