Murder At The Laurels A Libby Sarjeant Murder Mystery Lesley Cookman by Lesley Cookman 9781908262813, 1908262818 instant download after payment.

Steeple Martin amateur detective Libby Sarjeant's friend, and sleuthing partner, psychic investigator Fran Castle, suspects that there is something suspicious about the death of her aunt in a nursing home. When Fran's long-lost relatives turn up and seem either unconcerned or obstructive, Libby and Fran are sure something is wrong, particularly as the will is missing. As usual Libby needs little persuasion to start investigating, even if she doesn't see herself as Miss Marple. They discover surprising links to Fran's own past but, as the murders multiply and the police take over, can the amateur sleuths keep on the trail?

Lesley started writing almost as soon as she could read, and filled many exercise books with pony stories until she was old enough to go out with boys. Since she's been grown up, following a varied career as a model, air stewardess and disc jockey, she's written short fiction and features for a variety of magazines, achieved an MA in Creative Writing from the University of Wales, taught writing for both Kent Adult Education and the WEA and edited the first Sexy Shorts collection of short stories from Accent Press in aid of the Breast Cancer Campaign. She lives on the Kent coast.

The phone on the landing began to ring. Fran had given up thinking it might be for her months ago and made no move to answer it, knowing that her downstairs neighbour would be there before her anyway. Sure enough, she heard Dahlia's broad voice, as distinctive as her broad hips, in cheerful conversation with the unseen caller. 'Miz Castle. Phone, Miz Castle.' Surprised, she pushed herself away from the table. Most people used her mobile, except, she remembered, as she went downstairs, cousin Charles. 'Charles?' she said, as she lifted the grubby receiver. 'How did you know it was me?' He sounded surprised. 'You're the only one who calls me on this number,' said Fran. 'Where are you? I thought you were going to see Aunt Eleanor today?' There was a short silence. A muffling blackness descended on Fran and she dug her nails into her palm hard to force her mind to clear. 'She's dead, isn't she?' she said. 'Fran, you're scaring me,' said Charles. 'First, you knew it was me, second, you knew she was dead. What's going on? Were you down there today?' Fran took a deep breath. 'No, of course not. I told you, you're the only person who rings me on this number, and I doubt if you'd have rung to tell me how she was as I'm going myself tomorrow.' 'You won't go now, surely?' 'No? Oh, I suppose not.' Fran frowned. 'But I've already made arrangements to stay with an old friend. I might as well go down.' 'Why don't you go and stay on the night of the funeral instead? I assume you'll go to the funeral?' 'When is it?' 'Not sure yet. I'll give you a lift if you like.' 'Thank you, I'd appreciate that.' 'I'll ring you nearer the time, then, shall I?' said Charles, sounding more normal. 'Yes, great, Charles, but you haven't told me what happened. When did she die? What was it? Heart?' 'I suppose so, but no one seems to know. Barbara got there first today and was actually sitting with her without realising she was dead.' 'Who's Barbara?' 'Remember I told you? My sort-of cousin? Barbara Denver.' 'Oh, right. Yes. Well, Eleanor was quite old, wasn't she?' 'Over 90. She -' 'Don't say it,' Fran jumped in quickly. 'Please don't say she had a good innings.' 'No clichés allowed, eh?' said Charles, sounding amused. 'Sorry. It's so belittling. But how awful for you all. Especially Barbara.' 'Well, yes. She wasn't too happy. Anyway, I thought I ought to let you know.' 'Very kind of you, Charles. Thank you. And I'll give you a ring later in the week, shall I?'