Murder at the Lighthouse: An Exham on Sea Cosy Mystery (Exham on Sea Cosy Crime Mysteries Book 1) by Frances Evesham Read Free Book Online Page A

to come and see?”
    “Why not?” Was she mad? Libby straightened her shoulders. She could look after herself.
    They trudged along the lane without speaking. He was definitely the strong, silent type. They turned the corner, but there was no sign of a house. The edge of the village began a hundred yards down the road, and the nearest building bore a garish sign, “Jenkins Garage.” Libby’s spirits rose, despite the missing apostrophe. That was the garage Max had mentioned. “Is that yours?”
    “Yep. Alan Jenkins at your service, Ma’am.” There was grime under his nails and oil stains on his coat. Not a farmer, after all. He’d been stringing her along. Libby wouldn’t make much of a Sherlock Holmes. She hadn’t recognised him as one of the boys in Mrs Thomson’s photo album. Twenty years made a big difference.
    Still, he might be a useful source of information. “Maybe you can help me. There’s a dent in the back of my car.”
    “Jag, is it?”
    “I wish. Citroen.”
    “You bring it round, I’ll see what I can do.”
    Libby took Bear back to the house. She checked on Fuzzy in the airing cupboard, shut the dog in the kitchen, keeping a secure door between the two animals, and took the car round to Alan Jenkins at the garage.
    He sucked his teeth. Libby rolled her eyes. He was ramping up the bad news so he could overcharge her. “Tell you what.”
    “Yes?” She braced herself.
    “Seeing as you’re a friend of Max’s, I’ll do it for nothing.”
    “What? Don’t be ridiculous. Why would you do that?”
    He sucked his teeth once more. “The thing is, Mrs-er…”
    “Mrs Forest.”
    “Mrs Forest. The thing is, I owe Max a favour, just at the minute. I reckon, seeing as you and he are good friends, like, this ’ere’ll pay it off.”
    Libby’s blush rose hotly up her neck. “We’re not good friends. I hardly know him.”
    “”You were out at the White House t’other night, and that’s a fact.”
    “Yes, but…” Libby’s words tailed into silence as her brain raced. “Well, maybe we are friends. Max has plenty of friends.”
    “Yes, and I wouldn’t want to be on the wrong side of most of ‘em.”
    Libby swallowed. “So, what’s the favour you owe him?”
    “Now, that would be saying.”
    The man was putting on a good local yokel act, Libby had to hand it to him. “Come on, Mr-er-Alan. If you want me to help you get on the right side of Max, you’d better tell me a bit more, or else I’ll give you a cheque and tell him you threatened me.”
    “I never did.”
    “I know that, but Max doesn’t.” Libby coughed, fighting a snort of laughter. Alan Jenkins had turned pale.
    “All right.” He looked around, to check they were alone. “There’s been some ringing.”
    Libby tried to look intelligent. “Ringing? With―er―um…”
    “Broken-down cars fit only for scrap, sold for next to nothing, tarted up, clock turned back, sold on to nice unsuspecting ladies, like you.”
    Together, they eyed Libby’s car. “It came from a proper Citroen garage, I’ll have you know.”
    He wiped his hands on the front of his overall. “Anyway, the garage got in a bit of trouble with a Bristol gang and Max―well, he sorted it out for me.” Max had enough clout to scare off a gang of criminals, had he? Alan Jenkins picked up an oily rag and polished the wing mirrors of a small Renault. If Libby wanted to know more, it appeared she’d have to ask Max.
     
     
     

Mangotsfield Hall
    “Where are you?”
    “What?” The harsh trill of the phone broke into Libby’s confused dream of sand, mud and dogs. “What time is it?”
    Marina exhaled loudly. “It’s half past one, and we’re all here, waiting for you.”
    Libby shook her head, to click it into gear. “I fell asleep.” She never fell asleep after lunch. She wished she’d kept Bear here, instead of walking him back to Mrs Thomson’s house. He would have kept her awake. “I’m on my way.”
    Her heart sank. Today, the local