A Novel Murder Read online

  Ruth held out her hand, and Clare took it. “You’re not the only ones who got fed up. We decided a few months ago to start looking for a house together. Well, we found one. We’re actually not that far from you, which is just as well, given the circumstances. And once everything goes through, I’m going to tell my family about Clare. Then it’s full speed ahead with wedding plans.” She leaned over and kissed Clare’s cheek.

  Jonathon couldn’t be happier. “I think that’s wonderful.”

  “Can I be practical for a minute?” Mike interjected. “What happens next?”

  “Next is working out how to start proceedings for artificial insemination.” Ruth squeezed Clare’s hand. “Then we’ll take it one day at a time.” She gazed at Jonathon. “I’d suggest we get started ASAP, because it might take a while. I’ll talk to my doctor after the weekend and let you know.”

  “There is one more thing I’d like to discuss.” Jonathon looked at Ruth. “I’m not planning on having a best man, because I can’t think of anyone I’d want standing with me. I was thinking, however, of having a best woman instead.”

  Ruth caught her breath. “Me? Oh, Jonathon.” Her eyes glistened. “I’d be honored.”

  Clare handed her a tissue. “Look at you. If you’re all emotional now, what on earth will you be like when you’re pregnant?”

  Mike glanced at Jonathon. “Be afraid. Be very afraid.”

  MIKE WAS in his favorite place in all the world: in bed with Jonathon, his chest against Jonathon’s back, his arms around him. The sheet had been kicked off because of the night heat, and a breeze wafted over their bodies from the open window.

  “Can I ask you something?” Jonathon sounded half-asleep.

  “The last time you said that, it ended up with us deciding we were going to be parents. I’m not sure I can take another conversation like that,” Mike joked.

  “This week, while Abi’s been looking after the pub… have you missed it?”

  Mike hadn’t expected that. “Why do you ask?”

  “Because Janet asked me last weekend what you would do once we were married, and I didn’t know. I suppose it’s something we need to discuss.”

  “Do you want me to sell the pub?”

  “God, no!” Jonathon sounded astonished. “You love that pub.”

  Mike wasn’t sure what he wanted to do. The idea of traveling with Jonathon really appealed to him, especially as he’d hardly ever left the country. He’d envied Jonathon’s lifestyle prior to living at the manor, and he knew Jonathon was keen to carry on with his photography.

  “I rather like the idea of being married to a world-famous photographer,” he mused.

  “Even when that means your husband goes off all around the world?”

  “Well, now. Will my husband want to go alone?”

  Jonathon became so still in his arms. “Are you saying…?”

  “I didn’t really give you an answer before, but I’m giving one now. Yes, I’ll go with you, but only until the baby is born. And we’ve no idea when that might be.”

  “And after that?”

  Mike chuckled. “After that, both of us are going to have our hands full. That might be the time to consider selling the pub. Because I don’t know about you, but I want more than one child.”

  Jonathon let out a long, contented sigh. “Me too.” He wriggled until he was facing Mike, his arms around Mike’s neck. “I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy.”

  “I hate to throw a spanner in the works, but there’s the not-so-small matter of your dad. We have to tell him of our plans. Wedding, surrogacy…. And sooner rather than later.”

  Jonathon sighed. “You’re right. I’ll invite him to stay next weekend. We have to do this face-to-face.”

  “Surely if he sees how happy you are, that will mean something to him.”

  Jonathon snorted. “Are we talking about the same man?” Then warm lips pressed against Mike’s, and he lost himself in a slow, intimate kiss, Jonathon molding his body to Mike’s. Jonathon broke the kiss. “Let’s forget about my father, wedding plans, and murders. Let’s leave it all outside our bedroom door.” He rolled onto his back, taking Mike with him, wrapping his long legs around Mike’s waist. “Make love to me.”

  Mike sighed. “I got it wrong. I thought my favorite place to be in the world was in bed with you, but that’s actually my second-favorite.”

  “So where’s your first?”

  Mike kissed him, then brushed his lips against Jonathon’s ear. “Inside you.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  JONATHON PLACED his napkin on the table. “I guess the girls are having a lie-in this morning.”

  Mike snorted. “In other words, Clare is making the most of the four-poster bed. You remember how much she raved about it the last time they stayed?”

  Jonathon laughed. “I’ll let Ivy know we’re not quite done with breakfast yet.” He cocked his head to one side. “What are your plans for today?”

  Mike chuckled. “What you really want to know is, do I intend working in the pub, or will I be staying with you so we can do some more sleuthing under the nose of DI Gorland?”

  “We-ell, I was going to pay Paul Drake a visit, and I thought you might want to come with me.”

  Mike said nothing, but it didn’t take a genius to know what was going on in his head.

  “I don’t want to think him capable of murder either,” Jonathon admitted quietly. “But I need to know if there’s any truth to this story about his wife disappearing.”

  “I’m just afraid of the fallout.”

  Jonathon frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, that if you ask Paul about this, there’s the chance you could really offend him, especially if there’s nothing to the rumors.”

  “And you’d lose a good customer,” Jonathon concluded.

  “Exactly. So this is going to require a lot of tact and diplomacy.” Mike gave him a hard stare. “Think you can pull that off?” The twitch of his lips belied the serious question.

  Jonathon gave a mock gasp. “I’m mortified to think you’d doubt me.” He smirked. “I was more worried about you, charging in there with your size elevens.”

  Mike gaped. “How dare you? I’ll have you know my feet are a dainty size nine.” He grinned. “And don’t worry. I’ll be the soul of tact.”

  Jonathon gave that last remark the reaction it deserved—an eye roll.

  PAUL LEANED over the rail and scratched the pig’s back with a stick. “That’s it, Bella. Eat it all up. Gotta feed those babies.”

  “Those piglets are really cute,” Mike admitted, watching the tiny animals running around the pen.

  Paul huffed. “I try not to think of ’em like that. Hard to send them off to….” He lowered his voice. “You-know-where, when you’re attached to them.” He handed Mike the stick. “If you scratch her belly, she’ll gradually fall over. She loves it.”

  Mike glanced across at Jonathon. “Don’t look. I remember how you were with Maisie.”

  Paul snickered. “Oh yeah.” He peered at Jonathon. “I was surprised you didn’t turn vegetarian after that.” He straightened. “So wanna tell me what you’re doing here? Not that I mind. I don’t get many visitors.” He arched his eyebrows. “I’m assumin’ whatever brought you here couldn’t wait until pub time.”

  “We got talking with some Teresa Malvain fans,” Jonathon began, “and—”

  Paul let out a derisive snort. “I dunno what people see in her books. Mind you, I never could stand that Miss Marple. Always pokin’ her nose into murders. And the way someone always ends up dead when she’s around. I swear, if I turned up someplace and she was there, I’d turn right around and get the hell out.”

  “Have you ever read any of Teresa’s books?” Mike inquired.

  Paul cackled. “Yeah, right. When I’m not taking care of this little lot, I’m in the pub. When do I have time to read?”

  “Then you haven’t heard the rumors?” Jonathon widened his ey
es. “I was really shocked.”

  “Rumors? What about?” Paul shook his head. “When is there not a rumor circulatin’ in Merrychurch?”

  “Well, about you,” Mike said frankly.

  Paul blinked. “Me? What about me?”

  “We were discussing one of Teresa’s books, and someone—I forget who—said the plot reminded them of you. It was something to do with your wife.” Jonathon kept his remarks purposefully vague.

  Paul became very still. His face tightened. “You mean people are still spreadin’ that muck around? Some arseholes have way too much time on their hands.”

  “I didn’t think to ask what they meant,” Jonathon confessed, hating the lie.

  “Before your time, nipper. And yours too, Mike, come to think of it.” Paul sighed heavily. “But I guess now you wanna know what they’re talkin’ about, don’t ya?” He indicated the farmhouse with a nod of his head. “Come on in. I’ll give you a drink for a change, and then I’ll tell you. Though it beats me what they wanna bring it all up for again.”

  They walked across the cobbled courtyard between the pigs’ pen and the house. Jonathon felt an uneasy rolling in his stomach. He agreed they needed to know the truth, but he also knew Mike was right. They had to do this without causing offense.

  Except how do you say to someone, “By the way, this gives you a really good motive for killing her—did you?”

  Inside Paul’s dark kitchen, they took a seat at the wooden table, while Paul reached into a cabinet and took out a bottle. “This’ll put hairs on your chest,” he said with a grin. “Made it meself.”

  “Do I dare ask what it is?” Mike peered at the bottle.

  “Homemade elderberry wine. Laid this down about ten years ago. It was bloody awful until last year. Rough as dogshit. It just needed to age a bit more.” Paul opened another cabinet and removed three glasses. “I won’t give you a lot. I wanna keep you as friends.” Another cackle erupted from him as he pulled the cork free of the bottle. He filled the glasses, then placed them on the table. “Cheers,” he said, raising his own.

  They copied him, and then Jonathon took a cautious sip. The red wine was surprisingly smooth and full-bodied. “This is delicious.”

  Paul chuckled. “You wouldn’t have said that two years ago.” He joined them at the table. “Okay, lads. Tell me the truth. I love it when you come by, but I’ve got a feelin’ there’s more to this visit than sayin’ hi to Bella’s piglets. You wanna know more about these stories you’ve heard.”

  “I got curious,” Jonathon said simply. “When the subject came up of a plot from one of her books about a farmer’s wife who goes missing, and then you were mentioned, I wondered what they could have in common. I didn’t even know you were married.”

  Paul studied his glass. “April. Her name’s April. And in 2005, she went out one day—shopping, I thought—and never came back.” He scowled. “Of course, there were some idiots in the village who thought I’d done her in and buried her out in one of the fields. Someone even suggested I’d chopped her up into bits and fed her to the pigs. Morons. I told ’em, then what happened to her suitcase? The one that disappeared from her wardrobe the day she left. Or did I bury that too to make it look like she’d done a runner?”

  “How long had you been married?” Mike asked.

  “Twelve years. She married me at eighteen, bless her. We’d been courtin’ since she was sixteen and I was twenty.”

  Jonathon gasped. “You cradle robber.”

  Paul smiled. “She was a rum lass. Told me at sixteen that she was going to marry me. I made her wait. By that time, I was working on me dad’s farm, getting ready to run it when he retired. I kept tellin’ her the life of farmer’s wife wasn’t for her, but she wouldn’t listen. Give April her due, she stuck at it, but….”

  “So she was thirty when she left?” Mike sipped the wine.

  Paul nodded. “I knew she was finding it tough, but I had no idea she was that unhappy.”

  “She didn’t leave you a note? She didn’t call?” Jonathon couldn’t believe she would just pack a bag and walk out, without a word.

  “She left nothing. And there hasn’t been a word from her, from that day to this.”

  “But surely….” Mike put down his glass. “You must’ve looked for her, right? Or tried to contact her through friends or family?”

  Paul’s expression hardened. “Look, if she wanted to leave that badly, I wasn’t gonna make things worse by goin’ after her. Maybe she’d found herself a fancy man, someone who’d show her a better time. Someone who wouldn’t get her up at the crack of dawn to feed the pigs. Someone with more money than sense to spend on her. And if that’s the case, good luck to her.”

  Jonathon wasn’t fooled. “It still hurts, doesn’t it? That she left like that?”

  “Course it bloody hurts!” Paul retorted. “But what I wanna know is, why are people talkin’ about it all over again? It was bad enough at the time. Why now?” Then he stilled again. “Wait a minute. Are you tellin’ me that woman wrote a book about me an’ April?”

  Jonathon nodded. “It looks like it. Except in her book, the farmer had a son. But yes, the missing wife is finally found buried in a field. Everyone had thought she’d run off with a lover, and the farmer let them think that, but she never left the farm at all.”

  Paul looked from Jonathon to Mike. “Why are you really here?” His quiet voice was nothing like the raucous man they knew. “You nosing into her death? So what’s that got to do with—” He widened his eyes. “Ooh. I see. You think I bumped off this writer woman ’cos she got too close to the truth? That doesn’t make sense.”

  “That argument would hinge entirely on you knowing she was going to reveal all about her stories,” Mike said quietly. “And on you being scared that people would start talking again and want to find out what really happened to April.”

  Paul gave an unhurried nod. “So rather than have people sticking their noses into my business, I killed her. Is that it?” He barked out a harsh laugh. “I can see it now. People trampling over my fields, looking for a potential burial site. Turning up with all sorts of gadgets for detecting bodies.” His scowl returned. “Well, as I don’t possess one of her books, and never have had, how would I know what she wrote? And if anyone turns up at the farm wanting a look, they’re gonna get my pitchfork where the sun don’t shine. No one sets foot in my fields, you hear me?”

  “I don’t think anyone will turn up,” Jonathon said.

  “Well, you did,” Paul muttered. “And it’s only dawnin’ on me now that you must think I’m a suspect. Why else would you be here?” He stood suddenly. “You know what? I’ve got work to do. So I think you’d best be on your way.”

  “We don’t think you’re a murderer.” Jonathon’s heart sank. This was terrible.

  “Hogwash. You still came, though. And what’s more, you didn’t come right out and tell me why you came. You went all around the houses instead.” Paul walked to the back door that opened out onto the courtyard. “Have a good day, lads. Don’t be surprised if I’m not on my usual stool tonight. I think I’ll do my drinking here.” He opened it.

  There was nothing to do but leave.

  As the door closed behind them, Mike sighed. “I hate being right.” They headed for the car.

  “Well, you heard him. Do you think he was lying?”

  “I think he’s pretty pissed off right now.” Mike’s expression was gloomy. “But you know what? His reaction could be taken one of two ways. He’s either angry that we could think of him like that, or he’s angry to think someone may look into this. Because what came across loud and clear was him not wanting anyone in his fields.”

  “I don’t blame him for throwing us out.” Jonathon glanced back to the farmhouse. Paul was at the kitchen window, watching them.

  “But you’re not as sure of his innocence as you were, are you?”

  Jonathon hated to admit that Mike was right. Paul’s reaction could be anger or guilt. “I
don’t want to think of him as a murderer,” he confessed.

  “And that’s because he’s a friend.” Mike unlocked the car. “You can’t be objective.” He got behind the wheel.

  “And you can?” Jonathon got into the passenger seat.

  “Maybe it’s the ex-copper in me. I don’t want to think of him killing Teresa any more than you do, but I’m not about to ignore the possibility.”

  As they drove away, Jonathon went over Paul’s remarks in his head. “You know what would change everything? If April turned up.”

  “She’s been gone since 2005. Why come back now?”

  Jonathon considered the question. “Maybe it would be enough simply to find her. Paul told us he’s never looked for her.”

  “So what if we look instead? Is that what you’re suggesting?” Mike chuckled. “I love it when you wear your Mr. Fix-It head.”

  “But you will look into it? You’re the one with the connections.” The more Jonathon thought about it, the more he wanted to make it happen.

  Besides, to his mind, Meredith seemed the more guilty of the two.

  Chapter Eighteen

  MIKE PULLED up outside the village post office. “They close at twelve, so I won’t be long. I’ll see if we can trace where that package came from.” Then he stiffened.

  Jonathon followed his gaze and groaned inwardly.

  DI Gorland was walking toward the car, scowling.

  Mike lowered the window. “Good morning, John. Lovely day, isn’t it?”

  “It’s DI Gorland to you.” Gorland’s scowl deepened. “How many times do we have to have this conversation? You are no longer a police officer. And that means you don’t interfere with police inquiries.”

  Mike stared at him. “And what exactly am I supposed to have done that counts as interference?”

  Jonathon was equally confused. All they’d done was spend a lot of time reading Teresa’s books.