A Novel Murder Page 15

  “We’ve had a complaint from a Meredith Roberts. Apparently, you’ve been harassing her.”

  Jonathon gaped. “She said that? We had coffee with her, that was all.”

  Gorland nodded. “And asked a lot of questions about Teresa Malvain. Well, she felt some of your questions were intrusive, and she came to the police station to make an official complaint. I was on my way to the pub to find you, until I saw your car. You’ve saved me the trip. So this is me officially telling you both to stay away from her. Got it?” He sneered. “Because if I find out that you’ve been bothering her again, I’ll arrest the pair of you.” He glanced in the direction of the post office. “And what are you up to here?”

  “Posting something?” Mike said with such an innocent expression that it was all Jonathon could do not to burst out laughing.

  Gorland narrowed his gaze. “Hmm. Well, just remember I’m watching you. Both of you.” And with that, he strutted toward his car.

  Jonathon waited until he was out of earshot. “It seems we really riled Meredith.”

  “I’m betting she didn’t like the fact that we knew she lied to us.” Mike watched as Gorland’s car pulled away from the curb. “I’ll be right back.” He got out and closed the door behind him.

  Jonathon reached into his jacket pocket for his phone. Now that Ruth and Clare were happy with the plans, he had to let his father know, and that meant inviting him to Merrychurch. Telling him of their impending marriage and their surrogacy plans was not a conversation to be conducted over the phone.

  His father answered after three rings. “I assume you’re calling to apologize for the way you ended our last conversation. Both for your tone and that rather cryptic final remark.”

  “Actually, I’m calling to extend you an invitation to visit us.” Jonathon kept his tone even. It never ceased to amaze him how his father could irritate him with so few words.

  “Us. As in, you and Mike.”

  “Yes. We were thinking of next weekend, if that’s okay with you.” Jonathon mentally crossed his fingers. He wanted this over with as soon as possible.

  “I see.” There was a pause. “That seems viable. I’ll be there Saturday in time for lunch.”

  “Will you be staying the night?”

  “That will depend entirely on whatever it is you have to tell me. Because that last phone call left me with the distinct impression that whatever your decision is, I’m not going to like it.”

  Jonathon had to admit, his father’s usually sharp instincts were once again spot-on. “I’ll have a room prepared for you, just in case.” He said goodbye and disconnected as Mike got back into the car. “Well? Any luck?”

  “Graham has already been to see the post mistress, but she only told him what we already knew, that it was posted in Winchester.”

  “If Graham is looking into this, then he might have dusted the book for fingerprints. He already has ours on file.” Jonathon tapped Mike on the knee. “You need to call him.”

  Mike chuckled. “Er, you were here a short while ago when the mean-looking DI warned us about sticking our noses into police business?”

  Jonathon snorted. “You don’t mean you’re actually going to pay attention to him?”

  Mike’s eyes gleamed. “Of course not.” He got out his phone and tapped a few keys before putting it to his ear. “Hey. Is it safe to talk?”

  Jonathon couldn’t miss the explosive noise at the other end of the call. He smiled. “I’m guessing that’s a yes.”

  Mike listened with an intent expression, nodding now and then. “Okay. Thanks. … Yes, I owe you a pint. I’ll be there tonight if you want to stop by.” He grinned. “Of course we’ll share anything we learn. We said so, didn’t we?” He disconnected the call, then put his phone down in the center console. “The only prints on that book were ours. Plus, he worked out how the sender knew where to mail it. Teresa posted on her Facebook page weeks ago that she’d found this charming old pub to stay in. Even shared the link.” Mike shook his head. “Why do people feel the need to share everything like this?”

  Jonathon stared at him. “You’ve just given me an idea.”

  “Uh-oh. Should I be worried?”

  He whacked Mike on the arm. “I’m being serious. We need to check her Facebook page and other social media accounts. If she used them often, there might be clues we’re missing. Graham’s more on the ball than we are.” Jonathon frowned. “Will her account still be up?”

  Mike rolled his eyes. “You’re kidding, right? Those sites are notoriously slow at closing accounts when someone dies. Unless she had an assistant who has already done it.”

  Jonathon widened his eyes. “An assistant. I didn’t think of that. We need to contact them.”

  “Except the police will have done that right away.”

  Jonathon grinned. “In which case, we’re not treading on anyone’s toes, are we? I’ll go back to the house and take a look online. You see if Teresa did have an assistant and if we can talk to them. Then we’ll meet at the pub at four when it closes. That’ll give us a couple of hours to compare notes and decide on a plan of action.” Their lack of progress irked him. Teresa had been dead for over a week, and so far, they only had a couple of suspects, not that they’d investigated all possibilities. They still had Harold Tenby to see, for one thing. At least the police seemed to be as clueless as they were.

  There had to be something of value online, given Teresa’s propensity for sharing the minutiae of her life.

  Something that would point to her murderer.

  AFTER TWO hours of scouring Teresa’s Facebook timeline and author page, Jonathon had had more than enough. Given the amount of posts she put online on a daily basis, he was amazed she ever found time to write a word. And that was before he’d managed to take a look at her readers’ group, where she shared snippets from upcoming books, release posts, giveaways….

  He was beginning to despair of ever finding anything that might help them, but then a post caught his eye.

  Did they get away with murder—twice??? The spouse dies first, and everyone thinks it’s a tragic accident—except for one relative. But when THEY get too close, they’re found dead, apparently by suicide. But WAS IT??? My next book might be a huge departure from the norm for me, but I guarantee it is going to be a book you’ll want to read.

  Jonathon scribbled down a few notes before calling Mike. “Listen, I think I may have found something.”

  “That makes two of us. I’ve found Teresa’s personal assistant.”

  That brought a smile. “Fantastic. And I think there’s another direction we should be taking. So far we’ve looked at the books she wrote. What if we should really be looking at the one she was going to write?” He read the post aloud.

  “Didn’t she mention something about her next book at the dinner?” Mike asked.

  “Yes. Something about not only revealing the plot of the next Summersfield novel, but also dipping her toes into a new market.”

  Mike chuckled. “I love your memory. By the way, I got a text from Graham. He said he’s definitely coming to the pub this evening, and he wants to talk to us about something.”

  “He said us? How intriguing.” That could mean only one thing—it was something to do with Teresa’s murder.

  “I know we said we’d meet up at four to discuss our findings, but Abi is running the bar right now, so if you wanted to come over a bit earlier….” The way Mike’s words trailed off made Jonathon think he had more than sleuthing on his mind.

  Jonathon coughed. “I think you’re forgetting something. We have guests, remember?”

  “Oh. Yeah. You’re right. Oh well.” The dejected tone in Mike’s voice tugged at Jonathon’s heart, and he couldn’t bear to tease him a moment longer.

  “Then isn’t it a good thing that they called to say they’re shopping in Winchester, don’t expect them for dinner, and there’s a damn good play on that they want to see while they’re there?”

  “You little sod
.”

  Jonathon laughed. “Sorry. I couldn’t resist. But I will come over, only if…”

  “If what?”

  “Only if you promise to make it worth my while,” he teased.

  “I just put fresh sheets on my bed. The ones I washed with that lavender and chamomile washing powder that you love so much. The bed smells wonderful.” Mike lowered his voice. “But it would smell even more wonderful if you were in it.”

  That was enough to send Jonathon’s mind off on a tangent that had nothing to do with murder and everything to do with Mike, naked, between clean, sweet-smelling sheets.

  Sleuthing could wait.

  BY NINE o’clock, the pub was filled with lively chatter as the locals gathered. Mike was surprised to see Professor Harcourt, who smiled as he sat on a barstool. “I’ve been having a very relaxing few days. Since we had tea with the Talbots, I’ve caught up on some sleep, done a lot of reading, even helped Melinda in the vicarage garden…. It’s been great. Not that my wife is of the same opinion. She expected me home two days ago.” He leaned closer. “I’m afraid I’m guilty of lying to her. I told her I was helping the police with their case.”

  Mike let out a dramatic gasp. “Oh, Professor.” He grinned. “Okay, confess. What are you avoiding?”

  “Is it that obvious?” Professor Harcourt sighed. “She recently put together a list of jobs she’d liked me to do around the house. Doors that need repainting. Locks that need fixing. In other words, DIY hell.”

  Mike snickered. “Now I understand. What’ll it be?”

  “A glass of brandy, please.” Professor Harcourt glanced around the pub. “Where’s Jonathon?”

  “He’s in the kitchen, talking to Constable Billings. It was too noisy out here.”

  Harcourt arched his eyebrows. “Nothing wrong, I hope.”

  “Oh, no,” Mike assured him. “Graham had some information he wanted to share with us, and apart from the noise level in here, we thought it best if he wasn’t seen talking to us. Word might get back to the wrong ears, if you get my drift.” Mike placed the glass in front of him.

  The professor’s eyes sparkled. “Aha. You mean DI Gorland might think he’s consorting with the enemy. Very wise.”

  “That you, Dr. Harcourt?” Seth Franklin approached the bar, smiling broadly, a half-empty pint glass in his hand. “I thought it was you earlier this week.”

  Professor Harcourt frowned, then returned Seth’s smile. “Mr. Franklin. I haven’t been Dr. Harcourt for a good few years now. How are you?”

  Seth nodded, his cheeks pink. “Good. Why don’t you come over ’ere, and we can have a good chat. I’ve been wantin’ to see the quack about my bunions for a while. Reckon you might be able to give me some advice?”

  Mike bit back his laughter at the expression on Professor Harcourt’s face. “Oh. I see.” He gave Mike a look that said plainly help me.

  Just then, Graham and Jonathon walked into the bar. Graham gave Mike a wave as he headed for the door.

  Mike beamed at Professor Harcourt. “It’s not every day you get a chance to discuss someone’s bunions. Don’t let me stop you.”

  Professor Harcourt narrowed his gaze. “I shan’t forget this, you know.” His lips twitched, however. He followed Seth to a table at the far end of the bar.

  Jonathon took the newly vacated stool. “What have I missed?”

  Mike chuckled. “The professor is about to hear all about Seth’s many ailments.”

  “Oh, the poor man. And you didn’t save him?”

  Mike leaned over the bar. “No, because I wanted to know what Graham had to say.”

  Jonathon’s eyes shone. “Lots. And yes, I made notes.”

  “Forget the notes. Give me the gist.” Mike laughed when Jonathon looked pointedly at the fridge containing the wine bottles. “Oh, I’m sorry. Does your throat need some lubrication? I’d have thought you’d gotten enough of that earlier.” He loved the way Jonathon’s eyes darkened a little.

  “You are a wicked man.”

  Mike placed a glass of chilled chardonnay in front of him. “There. Now talk.”

  Jonathon took a sip. “Okay. A police officer contacted Graham, saying he knew Teresa. In fact, he was the one who recommended that she meet with Professor Harcourt for her research.”

  “Ah. Okay. So what did he have to say?”

  “He mentioned Teresa’s upcoming book, but this is where it gets interesting. This wasn’t about the next Summersfield novel. This was for something new. Teresa was going to write books about real crimes, specifically about unsolved murders. And the reason he’d contacted her was because of a case he’d heard about when he was just starting out in the police force.”

  Mike let out a low whistle. “She wasn’t kidding when she said it would be lucrative. That’s a huge market.”

  Jonathon nodded eagerly. “Anyway, this guy’s first inspector had told him a few details about a case he thought might be of interest to her. As far as I can ascertain, someone’s spouse died in what looked like an accident, but a relative was suspicious. They went to the police and demanded an investigation, but nothing came of it. Then the relative killed themselves, apparently from grief.” Jonathon locked gazes with him. “Does any of this sound familiar?”

  Mike nodded slowly. “It’s that post Teresa put on Facebook. So what was her angle? It wasn’t really a suicide, but murder?”

  “Yes.” Jonathon’s brows knitted. “But this is where I got confused. If this was the book Teresa was talking about with Professor Harcourt in their meeting, where does the untraceable poison come in that he mentioned? Is that what the relative took to kill themselves?”

  Mike considered this for a moment. “Maybe we’re talking two different books here—Summersfield number twenty-one, and the true crime one. Maybe she was researching the Summersfield book when she met the professor.”

  Jonathon’s frown deepened. “That makes the situation worse. Which book brought about her death? That’s if it was a book at all and not some other motive. Heaven knows, there are enough people out there who had reason to want her dead.”

  “It doesn’t matter if there was one book or two,” Mike told him. “The motive is the same—someone who didn’t want Teresa shining a light on their past.”

  Someone who thought they’d gotten away with murder.

  “So we’re no better off,” Jonathon mused.

  “I don’t know about that.” Mike leaned forward, his elbows on the bar. “But I think I know what might help us get closer to finding out the truth.”

  “And what’s that?”

  He smiled. “We talk to her assistant. ASAP.” She had to have some of the answers.

  He hoped.

  “By the way, Graham says he’s going to see if he can find out anything more about this case. He’ll get back to us when he does.”

  Mike arched his eyebrows. “And what does Gorland think of this development?”

  Jonathon huffed. “Graham said he thinks it’s not linked to her death.”

  “Well, that settles it.” Mike grinned. “It almost certainly is.”

  “You’re not implying that Gorland’s a poor detective, are you?” That sparkle of good humor in Jonathon’s eyes was very attractive.

  Mike lowered his voice. “I’m implying he couldn’t detect his way out of a paper bag.”

  Jonathon’s attempt to stifle his laughter resulted in an epic fail when he sprayed white wine over himself.

  Chapter Nineteen

  MIKE OPENED his eyes and rubbed them. Even without rolling over in bed, he knew Jonathon was awake. Mike had grown accustomed to the sound of his breathing, slow and even. Sometimes, when he woke up in the middle of the night, it was those comforting sounds that lulled him back into the arms of sleep.

  I love it when he stays the night. Then he realized it was going to be a permanent feature, once they were married.

  Now there was a thought to warm him.

  “Morning.” When Mike got no response, h
e turned over to find Jonathon sitting up in bed, a notepad in his hand. Mike sighed. “It’s Sunday morning.”

  “And your point is?” Jonathon gave him a cheeky smile. “What can I say? I woke up thinking about the case. And what concerns me is some of the chief suspects are no longer around. Phil, Melody….”

  “Is Fiona McBride on the list?”

  Jonathon frowned. “Should she be?”

  “I think after what Melinda and Lloyd told us, she—”

  “They didn’t tell us anything,” Jonathon interjected. “They merely hinted. But you’re right. They obviously know more than we do, so maybe we should take a closer look at her.” He tapped the notepad with his pen. “And we mustn’t forget Harold Tenby.”

  “Who?” For a moment, Mike was confused. Then the penny dropped. “Ah. The guy who rents Lily’s house. Yes. We need to talk to him.” He peered at the notepad. “And you’ve got Meredith.” One name was conspicuous by its absence, however. “Why don’t I see Paul’s name?”

  Jonathon heaved a heavy sigh and added Paul to the list. “There. Happy now? But I still don’t think he’s a murderer.”

  “What did I say about being objective?” Mike took the notepad and pen away from Jonathon and placed them on the bedside cabinet.

  Jonathon smirked. “I’m getting déjà vu here. Because it feels like you’ve done this before.”

  Mike decided it was time to forget subtlety. He slowly pushed the sheets off his body, loving the hitch in Jonathon’s breathing. “I am merely saying there’s something here that needs your attention more than that list.” When Jonathon shifted instantly across the bed to lie between Mike’s spread legs, Mike let out a contented sigh and closed his eyes, his hands resting lightly on Jonathon’s head.

  Sunday morning sex was the best.

  JONATHON PEERED at his phone screen and chuckled. “I think Janet has made Ruth and Clare’s weekend. She took them breakfast in bed.”

  Mike scowled. “How come we never get breakfast in bed?”

  “Because I don’t want toast crumbs turning up in uncomfortable places, that’s why.” Except he wasn’t thinking about breakfast. His mind had already returned to the case. “Do you think I should wait until Monday before contacting Teresa’s PA?” Calling on a Sunday felt wrong, kind of pushy.