Murder at the Laurels Read Online Free PDF Page A

again?’
    â€˜No thanks.’ She smiled at him. ‘I’m sorry if I sounded rude.’
    â€˜Not in the least. A woman has to protect herself these days. I shouldn’t have butted in.’
    â€˜No, you shouldn’t,’ said a voice behind Fran. ‘ Have you been trying to pick up my friend, young Guy?’
    Fran beamed delightedly. ‘Libby!’
    Libby, looking like an animated carnival tent, stretched up on tiptoe to kiss Fran’s cheek.
    â€˜Sorry, Libby. If I’d known she was a friend of yours I wouldn’t have dared speak to her!’ Guy grinned down at the little woman eyeing him with amused tolerance.
    â€˜You want to be careful with him, Fran.’ Libby hauled herself on to the stool recently vacated by Fran. ‘He likes to think of himself as the local Don Juan.’
    Fran took refuge in her glass.
    â€˜Well, you can buy me a drink, Guy Wolfe, then we are going to huddle in a corner and eat before returning to the rural delights of Steeple Martin.’ Libby beamed at the barman. ‘Lager, please, Tony.’
    â€˜My pleasure, Mrs Sarjeant.’ Tony beamed back.
    â€˜So, how are you?’ Libby looked Fran up and down. ‘You look a bit pale.’
    â€˜That’s living in London.’
    Tony put a glass in front of Libby and Guy handed him the money. Libby fumbled in a capacious basket and pulled out a battered packet of cigarettes.
    â€˜Haven’t you given up yet?’ asked Guy. ‘You’ll have to soon, when the ban comes in.’
    â€˜Police state,’ muttered Libby.
    â€˜We’ll have a nice outside area with heaters for you, Mrs Sarjeant,’ said Tony, ‘don’t you worry. And I bet there’ll be more folks out there than in here.’
    â€˜Thank you, Tony,’ said Libby, ‘and why do you always call me Mrs Sarjeant? Nobody else does. Come on, Fran, let’s eat.’ She slid off the stool. ‘Can we have a menu, Tony?’
    â€˜I hope I wasn’t rude.’ Fran turned to Guy and held out her hand.
    â€˜Not at all, it was good to meet you.’ Guy smiled and took it. ‘I hope I see you again.’
    â€˜Yes,’ she said vaguely.
    â€˜Come on, then, Fran.’ Libby stretched up and kissed Guy on the cheek. ‘See you, lover boy.’
    The table in the corner of the bar lurched a welcome as they squeezed into the old oak settle behind it.
    â€˜So who’s Guy?’ asked Fran, after peering round to make sure she wasn’t overheard.
    â€˜The Wolfe Gallery, just down Harbour Street.’
    â€˜As in picture?’
    â€˜As in all things artistic. Pricey.’
    Fran studied the menu. ‘And is he really a Don Juan?’
    Libby pulled the menu down and looked into her face. ‘Fran! Don’t tell me you’re actually interested in a man.’
    â€˜I just wanted to know.’ Fran was defensive. ‘In case he tries to lure me in to see his etchings.’
    â€˜Actually, he’s not, a Don Juan, I mean,’ mused Libby, ‘although he could be. He’s divorced, financially secure and reasonably attractive, if you don’t mind the ageing-gorilla look.’
    â€˜Gorilla?’ Fran chuckled. ‘Long arms and caveman tactics?’
    â€˜No, his face. Didn’t it strike you? Perhaps more chimp-like.’
    â€˜Can’t say it did.’ Fran sat back on the settle and finished her scotch. ‘I’ll have the mushroom stroganoff.’
    Libby squinted sideways. ‘You’re not coming over all vegetarian, are you?’
    â€˜No, I’m still a healthy carnivore. I just feel a bit delicate, that’s all.’
    â€˜Delicate? In what way, delicate?’ Libby looked alarmed. ‘You can’t be pregnant, you’re too old.’
    â€˜No – it’s just that I had this dream –’
    â€˜Ready to order ladies?’ Tony appeared round the corner of the settle.