Murder at the Laurels by Lesley Cookman Page B

said Fran.
    Libby nodded. ‘I wanted to see what he’d say about the will, and find out why he’s so fidgety. I thought Ben might help, so I called him while you were upstairs this morning.’
    â€˜Libby, I hate to say this, but it isn’t any business of yours.’ Fran sat back in her chair and picked up her drink.
    Ben leant forward. ‘Libby only wants to help, Fran. I know she goes about it like a bull in a china shop, but she means well.’
    â€˜Gee, thanks,’ muttered Libby.
    â€˜And,’ continued Ben, ‘I know I don’t know anything about it, but there does seem to be a lot of bother about this will, and the furniture, doesn’t there?’
    â€˜The bureau,’ said Fran absently, ‘yes. I wonder why?’
    â€˜If it isn’t found,’ said Libby, forgetting to be offended, ‘Charles, as next of kin, will cop the lot.’
    â€˜Bloody hell, yes.’ Fran was startled. ‘So why is he so concerned to find it?’
    â€˜To destroy it?’ suggested Ben.
    â€˜But what about the original solicitor? Surely eventually he’ll get to hear about it?’ said Fran.
    â€˜Yes, don’t they post lists of intestates somewhere?’ said Libby. ‘In a solicitors’ newsletter, or something?’
    Ben screwed up his face. ‘Not sure, but I’ll ask around. If you don’t mind, Fran,’ he added hastily.
    â€˜No,’ sighed Fran, ‘I suppose not. I don’t know why I’m bothered, anyway. It’s nothing to do with me, any more than it is with Libby.’
    â€˜She was your aunt. She might have left you something,’ said Ben.
    â€˜Hardly likely, unless Uncle Frank left me anything, and I’d have heard by now.’
    â€˜Drink up, then. Do you want a sandwich or something?’ asked Libby briskly.
    â€˜Not really. I think I’d rather go home. Or, rather,’ said Fran going slightly pink, ‘to your home. If you don’t mind.’
    Libby looked quickly at Ben. ‘No, not at all. Come on, then.’ She stood up.
    â€˜Sorry, am I breaking up a pleasant lunchtime?’
    â€˜No!’ said Libby and Ben together, then both looked embarrassed.
    â€˜I am, aren’t I? Oh, bother.’
    â€˜I’ve got to get back to the office, Fran,’ said Ben gently, ‘and Lib and I are having dinner at the pub tomorrow, so don’t worry about it.’
    Fran looked doubtful, but Libby patted her arm and began to move towards the door. Ben gave them both a kiss on the cheek, and disappeared in the direction of his office.
    â€˜He’s gone back to work, then?’ said Fran, watching his trim figure walk away.
    â€˜Oh, yes, but I don’t think he does much, now. But you’d know, surely?’
    â€˜I haven’t worked with him for ages,’ said Fran. ‘In fact, I haven’t had much work at all for ages.’ She sighed. ‘I’m beginning to think I’d better try and get a shelf stacking job.’
    â€˜You don’t own your flat, do you?’
    â€˜Chance would be a fine thing. When my mother died, after the mortgage had been paid there was hardly anything left, so I ended up renting my little hovel. Which is exorbitant, being London.’
    â€˜Couldn’t you move – down here, for instance? Wouldn’t it be cheaper?’
    Fran looked at her in surprise. ‘I’d never even thought about it. But where would I find a flat in Steeple Martin? Or do you mean Canterbury? Or Nethergate?’
    â€˜Nethergate’s all holiday lets. There are a few places in Steeple Martin, and quite a lot in Canterbury, because of it being a University town. Why don’t you think about it?’
    â€˜Yes,’ said Fran slowly, ‘it’s worth a thought. I wonder what the children would say?’
    â€˜How often do you see them?’
    â€˜Hardly at all. Chrissie lives in Sussex and Jeremy’s in