A Novel Murder Page 10

  “Okay,” she said slowly. “You might want to look at the Bradings, to start with.”

  Mike gave her an inquiring glance. “The name isn’t familiar.”

  “Maybe they’re before your time. The Bradings were a family who moved into the village in 2013, and they rented Teresa’s former cottage. She’d moved to London years before, but she’d held on to the house. Well… the Bradings weren’t that wealthy. They had a little girl, Sophie, who had some sort of debilitating disease, and the doctors were doing lots of tests, trying to cure her.” Rachel’s face tightened. “She was six.”

  “Aw, the poor kid.” Mike poured the coffee.

  Rachel sniffed. “Anyway, they’d been in the house maybe a year or more when Teresa put the rent up. I mean, it skyrocketed. She wasn’t alone, by any means—house prices rose dramatically in 2015, especially for properties in desirable areas.” Rachel gestured to the window. “Welcome to Merrychurch, one of the most desirable villages in the UK, apparently. But back to my story. Teresa obviously felt she could get more for the place, and although it was a struggle, Mr. and Mrs. Brading paid the increase, because they wanted to stay here. I don’t blame them. It’s a great place to bring up kids.”

  “What happened?” Jonathon forked off a piece of carrot cake.

  “Teresa put up the rent again. What with the cost of Sophie’s treatment, which was private because they couldn’t find an NHS specialist for her, and the hefty rent increases, the Bradings had to move. They just couldn’t afford to live there anymore. So at the beginning of 2016, they left. Not long after that, Teresa sold the house for a tidy sum.” Rachel’s face fell. “Then it became obvious why she’d put the rent up. She wanted her tenants out of there so she could sell it when the market price was at its highest. But they had a lease, so she found a way to make them want to leave.”

  “But did the terms of the lease allow her to do that? Hike up the rent?” Mike appeared horrified.

  Rachel nodded. “Mrs. Brading told me the lease made provision for rent increases. Very cleverly, it made no mention of how high the rent might possibly go.”

  Jonathon suddenly had a sinking feeling in his stomach. “What happened to Sophie?” When Rachel’s eyes glistened, he knew. “She died, didn’t she?”

  Another nod. “Not long after they’d left. Now, no one can say that Teresa caused Sophie’s death, but….”

  “But her parents might think otherwise,” Jonathon concluded. “Especially if they’re distraught and looking for someone to blame.” He cocked his head to one side. “Where did they end up?”

  “They found a place in Fareham, which was closer to the hospital. There was no money left for treatment, although they tried crowd-funding for a while—not with much success, I might add.” Rachel wiped her eyes. “Poor Sophie. Her death really knocked the stuffing out of them.” Her eyes widened. “Oh God. Rebecca….”

  “Who’s Rebecca?” Mike inquired.

  “Sophie’s older sister. She’d be about eighteen now.”

  “What about her?”

  Rachel took a deep breath. “I saw her only a few weeks ago in the village. She’s got a job, here in Merrychurch. She’s a cleaner at the Cedars, that residential home on the road to Lower Pinton.” She stared at them, aghast. “You don’t think she could’ve had something to do with Teresa’s death, do you? I mean, she adored Sophie. We all did.”

  “As to whether she had something to do with it, that will depend entirely on whether she was in the pub Friday night.” Mike frowned. “And although I was run off my feet, I don’t recall seeing an eighteen-year-old girl at the bar, but—”

  “Which means nothing,” Jonathon interjected. “She might have felt she was too conspicuous, in which case it would have been easier to ask someone to help her.”

  Mike widened his eyes. “Anyone ‘helping’ her, as you put it, would be guilty of murder. Who would willingly do that, knowing what the charge would be if they were caught?”

  Jonathon met his gaze. “Someone who knew the family. Someone who felt as strongly about Sophie’s death as she did.”

  Rachel’s breathing hitched. “Jonathon’s right. Rebecca had a lot of friends, and they’re still in the village. And like I said, everyone adored Sophie. That child simply… drew people to her. She might have been seriously ill, but she was a ray of sunshine around here. So yes, while Rebecca might not have been in the pub that night—and you’ll need to check that out—someone could’ve been there on her behalf.”

  “Then she goes on the list until we can prove she had nothing to do with it.” Jonathon shivered. “I didn’t expect anything like that was lurking in Teresa’s past.” Although it did fit in with what he’d learned about her thus far. He had to wonder, was there more to come?

  “Thank you, dear.” The two old ladies who’d been seated on the other side of the tea shop got up from their table and walked sedately toward the door, waving cheerily.

  “Thank you!” Rachel called out. When the door shut behind them, leaving only the three of them in the shop, she stood. “Let me clear away their cups, and then we can talk some more.”

  Jonathon waited until Rachel was in the kitchen before letting out a sigh. “This is awful. That poor family.” He pushed his plate away. “I think I’ve lost my appetite. And if I were Rebecca, I wouldn’t think twice about putting something in Teresa’s coffee. Maybe not with the idea of killing her, but possibly with a view to making her really ill.”

  “Except that theory doesn’t hold water, not when you take into account the missing EpiPens. If they only wanted her to be ill, they wouldn’t have stolen them.”

  Jonathon frowned. “I see what you mean. The two things have to be connected.”

  “We need to find Rebecca, even if it’s just to eliminate her from our list of suspects.”

  “And if she did do something? She’s eighteen.” Jonathon’s heart ached for her. He was an only child, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t empathize with her.

  “And eighteen-year-olds have been known to commit murder, especially where family is involved.”

  “I’ve been thinking,” Rachel said as she approached their table and sat down. “There are other examples of people who might bear Teresa a grudge, but I’m not sure it would be a motive to kill her.”

  “Well, let’s hear about them.”

  “You might want to consider the Merrychurch Reading Club.”

  Mike blinked. “Is there such a thing?”

  Rachel smiled. “It consists of eight or nine ladies who meet up once a month to discuss a book. They did ask me to join them, but hey, since when do I have time to read?”

  “So what happened with the ladies?” Jonathon wanted to know.

  “They asked Teresa to speak to them, as a former resident. You know, talk about her books, her writing, her career. The only reason they approached her was because she used to live here.”

  “Let me guess.” Mike snorted. “She told them where they could put their invitation.”

  “Not quite,” Rachel said with a wry grin. “She sent a frosty reply—or rather, her PA did. She didn’t bother to reply personally.”

  “Yeah, that sounds about right.” Mike shook his head. “Which only goes to confirm my impressions of her. But you’re right. I can’t see some little old lady slipping peanut oil into her coffee simply because she couldn’t be bothered to answer their letter.”

  “Are there others?” Jonathon asked.

  Rachel nodded. “Some of her former neighbors were in London at Foyles for a book signing. Teresa was one of the authors. But when they got to see her and asked how she was doing, she blanked them. One of them told me, ‘It was like we were dirt on her shoe.’”

  Jonathon let out a low growl. “Okay, it’s official. Teresa Malvain was a bitch, and I’m surprised no one killed her before this.”

  Rachel coughed. “Be careful where you say that. After all, you were in the pub that night, weren’t you?”

  Mike snicker
ed. “And I can see John Gorland grinning in delight at the idea of you being a suspect.”

  They had a point. “Okay, I’ll keep my thoughts to myself.”

  “And in the meantime, I’ll keep thinking about anyone else who should be on your list.” Rachel glanced at Jonathon’s notepad, her eyes twinkling. “Although you might need a bigger one of those.”

  The way things were shaping up, Jonathon wouldn’t be the least bit surprised.

  Chapter Twelve

  THE MANOR house had been restored to its usual state, albeit with Ben grumbling about people walking all over his precious gardens. Janet, the housekeeper, was clearly delighted to have things back to normal and even more pleased at Jonathon’s news of the engagement.

  “So will Mr. Tattersall be moving in here after the wedding? Will he continue to run the pub?” Janet asked as she poured Jonathon’s coffee Monday morning. Mike had stayed the night at the pub. Jonathon loved the fact that they weren’t in each other’s pockets all the time, but Janet’s questions did raise an interesting point.

  Things were bound to change after the wedding.

  “I’ll be honest—we haven’t discussed that yet.” But maybe it was time they did.

  Of course, the first order of business would be to inform his father, but Jonathon wanted to wait a while longer. In order for that conversation to take place, a couple of vital conversations had to happen first.

  No time like the present.

  Jonathon got out his phone and called Mike. “Good morning.”

  “It is now.” Mike’s voice stirred Jonathon’s memory, and suddenly he was thinking of a warm bed and an even warmer, lean body curled around him. “Miss me?” Mike asked gruffly.

  “You know I did.” Jonathon pushed aside the tempting thoughts, not that it took much to have his body reacting. Mike’s voice was enough. “Listen, I wanted to run something by you. I’d like to invite Ruth and Clare for the weekend.”

  There was a brief pause. “You’re up to something. Is this anything to do with your father? Because I thought we were past trying to placate dear old dad.”

  “Well, kind of…. But it’s more for our benefit. I don’t want to discuss this over the phone. We can talk about it later.” The idea had come to him in the early hours, and he couldn’t wait to share it with Mike. It was of vital importance, however, that he saw Mike’s reaction to the idea.

  We need to be together on this.

  “So what’s next? Bear in mind that Gorland could arrive at any minute, and we don’t want to be seen treading on his toes, now do we?”

  Jonathon snickered. “Like I care.” Except he didn’t want to jeopardize Graham’s position. “But something occurred to me. Rachel said Rebecca was working at the Cedars, and that got me thinking. Who else do we know who was probably around when Teresa lived in Merrychurch?”

  He could hear the grin in Mike’s voice. “Lily Rossiter.”

  “Exactly. She’d love to have visitors, and she’d especially love to help us with another case. Plus, we might get to see Rebecca, thus killing two birds with one stone.”

  “Great idea, but you might want to call them first, to make sure Lily is up for a couple of visitors. Ninety-year-old ladies do have off days, y’know.”

  Good thinking. “I’ll call them now. As soon as I’ve finished my coffee.”

  “Well, of course. Have to get your priorities right, don’t you? Just keep me informed. If it’s a go, I’ll come pick you up.” Another pause. “I really did miss you last night. I know that doesn’t make sense, not when we see each other as much as we do, but—”

  “But now you’re starting to realize that getting married means a more permanent arrangement, and you want it to start as soon as possible,” Jonathon ventured, finally putting into words what had been running through his mind all morning.

  “Yes. You nailed it.” Mike’s voice softened. “In case I haven’t already mentioned it, I can’t wait to marry you, Mr. de Mountford.”

  “The feeling is entirely mutual, Mr. Tattersall.” Jonathon smiled. “But now get off the phone so I can finish my coffee.” And with that, he disconnected the call, still smiling.

  Life was definitely good.

  LILY GREETED them warmly, not rising from her chair but taking their hands in hers, an open book in her lap. “It is so good to see you again.” She gestured to her surroundings. “You find me in my usual habitat, contemplating the garden, my books beside me.” Her blue eyes twinkled. “And speaking of books, I hear the first Merrychurch Literary Festival knocked ’em dead. Literally.” Lily peered at them over her glasses. “Death is never far behind you two, is it?”

  Mike leaned forward, his forearms resting on his knees. “Which is why we’re here.”

  “Not more codes to break, surely.” Lily’s face wrinkled into a smile.

  “Not this time.” Jonathon mimicked Mike’s body language. “Actually, we’re here to find out what you know about Teresa Malvain. Specifically when she was a Merrychurch resident.”

  Lily relaxed against the soft cushions at her back. “Ahh. Our inquisitive doctor’s receptionist. She always was far too fond of putting her nose into other people’s business. The problem, however, was that she had no qualms about sharing what she had learned.”

  Mike blinked. “Er…. Surely that wasn’t allowed? Confidentiality and all that.”

  “Well, yes, I’m sure most GP’s receptionists would abide by that basic rule, but apparently not Teresa. The trouble was, there were people in the village who lapped up whatever she told them. And, unfortunately, there were consequences. Not for her, but for the patients. One patient in particular.”

  Mike didn’t have to look at Jonathon to know the notepad and pen had come out. “What happened?”

  Lily removed her glasses and placed them carefully in their case. “Harold Tenby. A lovely, dear man. He married well, and they complemented each other. A very happy marriage. Elaine doted on him, and he adored her.”

  “I’m guessing something went wrong.” Jonathon sat with his pen poised.

  Lily nodded. “Harold went away on a business trip that he’d organized for himself and his employees. It was little more than an excuse to enjoy themselves in foreign climes. A very exotic location, excessive eating, lots of alcohol… and the latter proved to be his undoing. Not long after he’d returned, rumors began circulating in the village, implying that Harold had caught something nasty while he’d been out there. And yes, we are talking something nasty of the sexual variety.”

  “He had an affair?” From Lily’s description, Harold didn’t seem to be the type.

  “Hardly that. From what he told me, it was one moment of drunkenness at a party. Harold never could hold his liquor. Except as it turned out, he wasn’t entirely to blame.”

  “He told you what had happened?” Jonathon scribbled down notes.

  Lily sighed. “He was the one who arranged all my insurance, and from that initial meeting, we became good friends. When the rumors first started making their rounds, he came to me, distraught. What made it worse was that people in the village really believed he could have an affair. If ever a man was deeply in love with his wife, it was Harold. He had no recollection of the night, but the sexually transmitted disease was evidence of his transgression.”

  “Let me guess. Teresa started the rumors.” Mike glanced at Jonathon. Judging by his grimace, he was finding the whole thing as distasteful as Mike.

  “Oh, no one ever came out and said Teresa had been the one to tell them, but we all knew. How else would they have found out? That woman was such a gossip. And of course, eventually the rumors reached Elaine’s ears.”

  “He hadn’t told her about the STI?” Mike was horrified. “But what if he’d passed it on to her?”

  “Harold’s intention had been to take his medication and let the infection clear up before resuming marital relations.” Lily shook her head sadly. “His own profound feelings of guilt made that easier. He couldn’t believe
he’d let himself get into such a predicament.”

  “What did Elaine do when she found out?”

  “She didn’t view it as a one-time aberration, but as evidence that Harold had been, and was still being, unfaithful, no matter how strongly he denied it. She was the kind of woman who neither forgave nor forgot, and she left him. Unfortunately, the house and the business were in her name, for tax reasons. So perhaps it is more appropriate to say Harold was asked to leave.”

  “Well, even if it was a one-off, he did have sex with someone else,” Jonathon reasoned.

  Lily gazed at him thoughtfully. “Imagine for a moment a boss who is fairly straitlaced. He doesn’t drink to excess. Then his employees find themselves on a trip with him where the alcohol is flowing freely, and yet still he doesn’t relax enough to their satisfaction, because unlike them, he doesn’t spend his evenings at the bar, drinking cocktails until they throw him out. So they decide to play a prank. It starts harmlessly enough with an invitation to have a drink with them. Only then, the game changes. ‘What if we spike his drink? I wonder what he’ll do?’”

  Mike gaped. “They didn’t.”

  “Oh, they did. And they admitted as much the following morning, along with showing him the videos they’d taken on their phones of him dancing like a lunatic with a young woman wearing very little. Presumably the same young woman who… yes, well. Harold, of course, didn’t remember any of this. His employees found it all highly amusing, until Harold pointed out that they had, in fact, drugged him, and as such he had grounds to report them to the police. That soon changed their tune.”

  “What happened to Harold?” Mike asked quietly. If he’d been in Harold’s shoes, he wouldn’t have been so lenient.

  “A friend took him in and gave him a room. He found a job, and little by little he got his life back. But he was never the same—a shell of a man, really. His life had been ruined.”

  Jonathon gazed at her with obvious interest. “The friend who helped him… that was you, wasn’t it?”