Read Online Murder Dancing by Lesley Cookman - Free Book Online

idea!’
    â€˜Bit odd, if you ask me.’ Hetty turned and leant back on the sink, folding her arms. ‘Don’t follow, some’ow.’
    â€˜What do you mean?’
    â€˜Like that business when we opened the theatre.’
    â€˜ The Hop Pickers ?’ Libby was bewildered. ‘How?’
    â€˜Different things, weren’t they? The murder weren’t nothing to do with it.’
    Libby stared and Hetty turned to the Aga with a shrug.
    The Hop Pickers had been written by Peter based on events in Hetty’s family background and was the opening play at the Oast Theatre. A murder had somewhat marred proceedings, and various other incidents had complicated matters. Hetty obviously had the idea that the situation regarding the Tobin Dance Theatre was similar.
    Libby called Fran as she walked home down the Manor drive.
    â€˜Why would she think that?’ she asked. ‘I don’t get it.’
    â€˜Neither do I. There hasn’t been a really awful incident, has there?’
    â€˜The worst was the cockerel, I should think. Although the rat this morning wasn’t pleasant. There hasn’t been anything really dangerous, either. Not like The Hop Pickers .’
    â€˜Perhaps it’s simply all the small things adding up, and Hetty thinks it’s all going to erupt in something nasty.’
    â€˜I suppose so, but there’s no indication of that, is there? And I must admit I thought they would have left it all behind in London.’
    â€˜Have you talked to Max?’
    â€˜No,’ said Libby. ‘I expect he’ll want to have a chat later, though. I don’t think I can tell him anything. I’m wondering exactly what he thought we’d be able to do.’
    â€˜He thought the company might talk to us, didn’t he? Well, some of them have.’
    â€˜Not to any purpose.’ Libby sighed and kicked a pebble. ‘Oh, well. I’ll wait and see what happens. Ben’s in a mood because the rat-hanger disturbed all the lights and they’ve all got to be re-set.’
    â€˜Oh, dear. So it’s actually disturbing the production now, not just the dancers?’
    â€˜Oh, yes! I didn’t think of that. I suppose they’ll be poking round the set every day now, looking for traps.’
    Libby made herself a sandwich for lunch, wondering if Ben was going to come home. As he didn’t, she took the sandwich into the conservatory and tried to summon up some enthusiasm for the painting which sat, barely started, on an easel. So far, it consisted of a shakily sketched horizon line and an even shakier cliff edge. As usual, it was to be a view of Nethergate to sell in Guy’s shop/gallery. Again as usual, she seemed to have no appetite for it. Instead she found herself idly doodling what looked like a stage set, with floating figures skimming over the sea which had turned into a stage.
    â€˜Witches!’ she muttered to herself, just as the landline began to ring.
    â€˜Libby? Sorry to disturb you. Max here.’
    â€˜Hello, Max. Everything all right?’
    â€˜Well – you were there this morning, weren’t you? I thought I saw you.’
    â€˜Yes, I came up to help at the Manor, but it all seemed to be dealt with very speedily.’
    â€˜Yes, it was.’ He paused. ‘Look, I wonder if it would be convenient to have a word? We’ve broken for lunch, and Ben’s
    taken the opportunity to re-set some of the lanterns, so I’ve got an hour or so.’
    Here we go, thought Libby. ‘Yes, of course,’ she said aloud. ‘Would you like to come here? Do you know where I am?’
    She gave him directions and went to move the kettle on to the Rayburn. Hoping he wasn’t too London-sophisticated to reject her instant coffee, she set out mugs and went to light the fire in the sitting-room. It was nearly the end of October, and feeling distinctly damp and chilly.
    â€˜Tea or coffee?’ she asked when