A Novel Murder Page 22

“Hadn’t I?” Professor Harcourt’s eyes were full of pain. “I stood there and did nothing while she screamed. By not helping her, I as good as murdered her. Oh, not according to the law, I know, but…. Living with that knowledge was proving to be a burden. Besides, Eric was right. With Grace’s money, I was able to pursue my dream. His death made it even easier.”

  “I don’t understand. How did you benefit from Eric’s death?” Mike asked.

  “When we married, Grace drew up a will. In the event of her death, all her money was to go to me, but if I was deceased, it would pass to Eric. He had a similar will: Grace was his beneficiary, but in the event of her death, all monies would revert to me. They had no one else, only each other.”

  “You knew about their father’s pistol,” Jonathon surmised.

  Professor Harcourt nodded. “I knew where Eric kept it, and I also knew he kept it loaded in case of intruders. Intruders! He lived out in the middle of nowhere.”

  “Did he know what was happening?” Mike asked softly.

  Professor Harcourt shook his head. “He was still unconscious. I positioned his hand on the gun, supporting it as I aimed it up under his chin and pulled the trigger, my hand around his. That way, his prints were on the trigger, and if they wanted to test for gunshot residue…. The blood spatter would be on the eulogy and the photos. What little was on my scrubs would be gone when I destroyed them. Then I walked back through the woods, got into my car, and drove home.”

  “And the combination of his behavior during the meal, the eulogy, and the photo album was enough to convince the police that he’d taken his own life,” Graham concluded.

  Another nod. “I’d made sure I didn’t react to his drunken insinuations during dinner, so our fellow guests’ sympathies were with me, rather than him. I made apologies for him, but by the end of the meal, they were apologizing for him too.”

  “So when did you first know Teresa was on to you?” Mike asked.

  “When we met that day to discuss her research. She told me she only had the barest details of the case, but I knew it had to be mine. She had more research to do, she said. That bit about how to fake a suicide shooting? That shook me. It really sounded like she knew it was me.” Professor Harcourt gazed at Jonathon with agonized eyes. “But if she did know, why didn’t she say anything? I had to conclude that she was lining me up for a future blackmail ploy, or else an exposé. And I couldn’t risk that. It wasn’t until the literary dinner that I realized what she intended doing with the information.” Professor Harcourt stared at the carpet. “When we got to the pub, she let it slip about the scrubs and the tramp’s testimony. And then I knew I had to stop that book coming out.”

  “But why? Your career is virtually over. So what if she wrote a book about it? She had no concrete evidence.”

  “I wasn’t thinking of her harming me. I didn’t want any of this to touch my son. He’s brilliant—far more intelligent than I ever was. His professors speak so highly of him, and they expect great things of him. I didn’t want his future career blighted by the discovery that his famous father was a murderer. I didn’t think anyone would find out.”

  Mike leaned forward. “That all sounds very noble, but I think it’s probably more likely that you did it firstly to save your own skin. And this wasn’t a spur-of-the-moment thing.”

  Jonathon nodded. “The peanut oil suggests premeditation.”

  “You’re right, of course. I came to the festival prepared to kill her if I had to. I knew about the allergy—everyone did—so I brought along the vial of peanut oil. I was hoping I wouldn’t have to use it, that she hadn’t made the connection between her new book plot and my past. But that comment about planning to base one book on a real-life case—that was aimed at me. When we sat in the pub waiting for the coffee, she said we needed to talk. We never got the chance, beyond her letting slip about the scrubs. There were all these people, clamoring her for autographs, asking questions….”

  “And by then you knew she was going to write the book, come what may,” Jonathon concluded.

  Professor Harcourt nodded. “I noticed when the coffees were placed on the bar, but I said nothing. I wanted them to stay there for a while, because the longer they did that, the greater the opportunity for ‘someone’ to add the oil. And with all those people, it was easy to add it unnoticed.”

  “But how would ‘someone’ have known which cup to put the oil in?” Jonathon asked.

  “Social media strikes again. I drink my coffee black, but that woman posted about everything, even to complain about there not being enough cream in her bedroom for the coffee you’d laid on for her.” He shook his head. “She really was a bitch. So if anyone commented that I could have easily ended up with the doctored cup, I could simply drag out her recent posts and show how anyone could have known which cup was hers.” He huffed. “Stupid. I should have put the oil in both cups.”

  “Was it an accident, her cup falling to the floor and breaking?” Mike asked.

  “Let’s call it an ‘engineered’ accident.”

  There was something Jonathon had to know. “Did she guess at the end? That you’d done something?”

  Professor Harcourt met his gaze. “I don’t know. When it hit, she immediately found it difficult to breathe. Her speech slurred, and she was dizzy and confused. I doubt she had the presence of mind to know it had been me. I’d managed to slip the EpiPen up my sleeve when she first reacted and asked me to take it from her bag. When I couldn’t find the spare—which, of course, was there all the time—she panicked, trying to find her phone, but I’d already removed it from her bag on the way up to the room. Then I simply waited for the cardiac arrest that I knew would result.” His face fell. “I didn’t have to wait long. When she was dead, I yelled for you, then made it look like I’d been trying to help her. I didn’t think for one second that you’d find the items.”

  “Lionel Harcourt?” Graham placed one hand on the professor’s shoulder. “I am arresting you for the murder of Teresa Malvain. You do not have to say anything. But it may harm your defense if you do not mention when questioned something that you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.” He placed the shirt back in the bag and zipped it up.

  Professor Harcourt smiled. “Nicely done, constable. And I think I’ve said everything I need to, don’t you? I’m ready to go when you are.” He rose carefully, then gave Mike a nod. “You obviously haven’t lost your touch, ex-DI Tattersall. And your future husband is clearly as talented an investigator as you are.” Then Professor Harcourt gave Graham an appreciative glance. “I’m glad it’s you and not that irritating DI Gorland.” His eyes twinkled. “Not that you have to repeat that.”

  Graham coughed loudly, and in spite of his churning stomach, Jonathon chuckled.

  Graham gazed at Mike. “I’ll be back later to take a photo of the handprint. After I’ve made sure the professor is comfortable.” He led Professor Harcourt from the room, holding his bag.

  Jonathon went over to the window and gazed down into the street, his heart heavy. “I know he killed her, but—”

  “You felt sorry for him.” When Jonathon nodded, Mike sighed. “I know. He’s an old man. But he killed two people. With forethought.”

  “But he looks so… nice. Sweet. Harmless.” Jonathon couldn’t marry the two images in his head. The sweet elderly man and the premeditating killer.

  “At least Graham gets the credit for the arrest.” Mike snickered. “I wish I could be there to see Gorland’s face when he finds out where Graham arrested him and how it all came to light.”

  Jonathon laughed. “I don’t think we need worry about Gorland wanting an invitation to the wedding, do you?”

  Mike came up behind him and slipped his arms around Jonathon’s waist. “Speaking of which…. Now that we know everything, do you think we could concentrate on a certain event?”

  Jonathon leaned back, safe in Mike’s arms. “Oh, I think we can manage that. As long as you realize there�
�ll be no sex for the rest of the week.”

  Mike stiffened. “Why not?”

  “Because I want to be sure of providing the girls with a really good sample this weekend.”

  Mike’s breath tickled his ear. “Who says I have to give up sex? All we need is a chastity device for you, and we’re sorted.”

  “Chas—” Jonathon turned around slowly, and Mike beat a hasty retreat. As he ran down the stairs laughing, Jonathon called after him, “Remember I know where you’re sleeping tonight.”

  Revenge was going to be sweet.

  Epilogue

  September 2018

  JONATHON TOOK one last look in the mirror. The cream suit had been his first choice ever since the assistant had pointed it out, despite Mike making jokes about the likelihood of him dropping food onto it during the reception. Jonathon hadn’t been fooled for an instant. The look in Mike’s eyes when Jonathon had emerged from the changing room….

  I made the perfect choice. A thought which applied equally to his future husband.

  The knock at the door startled him out of his musing.

  “Thought you should know. The parents are here. Both sets.” Mike sounded amused.

  Jonathon laughed. “Well, I’m sure yours are in fine spirits as usual. How are mine?”

  “Your mum looks kind of… surprised. As for your dad, he looks like he’s sucking on a lemon. Either that, or a bee flew into his mouth and stung him.”

  “That sounds about right.”

  “Do I get to see you, or do I have to talk to you through this door?”

  Jonathon let out a dramatic gasp. “It’s bad luck before the wedding.”

  “Excuse me?” Mike’s tone was indignant. “Who was that in your bed this morning? Because he looked a lot like me. And I’m not the only one who wants to see you. Your best ‘man’ is here too.”

  “Actually? I want to see both of you. So open the door.” There was something in Ruth’s voice that piqued Jonathon’s interest.

  He opened the door and caught his breath. Mike looked incredible in his dark blue suit, his beard neatly trimmed, his tan visible against the white shirt. Beside him, Ruth wore a gold-and-cream dress, with a matching hat.

  “Will we do?” she asked with a smile.

  “You both look amazing.” Jonathon had always thought Mike was a good-looking man, but the sight of him in his suit was breathtaking.

  “Well, I don’t feel amazing,” Ruth grumbled. “I am, however, puzzled. I thought you two were the ones who were supposed to receive gifts. Because I got one this morning.”

  Jonathon frowned. “What did you get?”

  Her apparent bad mood disappeared, and she grinned. “Morning sickness.”

  For a moment Jonathon was stunned into silence. Mike stared at her, as if the words hadn’t sunk in. Then they threw their arms around her as if synchronized, hugging her tightly. Jonathon’s vision blurred. He glanced at Mike, only to find Mike’s eyes in a similar state.

  Carefully, he broke the hug, glancing down to her belly. With a tearful smile, Ruth took his hand and placed it there, then kissed his cheek.

  “When are you due?” Mike asked at last, his arm still around her.

  “The doctor says May. And once you have your little bundle of joy, we can start work on ours. Clare is already buying things for the baby’s room.” Ruth’s eyes shone. “She’s going to make a great mother.”

  “I hope the baby looks like her,” Mike said earnestly.

  Ruth kissed him on the cheek. “Hey, if he or she looks like you? That’s no bad thing.” She wiped her eyes. “Now you two need to get out there and get married so this little nugget has a set of dads.”

  “Nugget?” Mike’s eyes gleamed. “Hey, that’s a great name for the baby. We’ll have to remember that one.”

  Jonathon glared at him. “Let’s not.”

  Ruth kissed them both on the cheek. “I’d better get out there and look like I’m expecting you.” She flashed them a grin. “As opposed to just expecting.” And with that, she left them at the bedroom door.

  Mike held out his hand. “Time to make it official. And you were right about the venue. It looks perfect.” They’d set up the chairs in the Italian garden. The ceremony was to take place beneath an arch built by Ben Threadwell, and white roses covered it. Ben had been growing them since June. Not only that, the fountains in the long pool were working, to add the tinkling soundtrack of water to the proceedings.

  “You’re still okay with us walking out together?”

  “Seeing as we couldn’t make up our minds which of us got to wait at the front for the other, it was the only solution. By the way, Melinda and Lloyd are here, plus Sue and Andrew, and most of the village.” Mike smiled. “I can’t wait for the party once we get the official stuff over.”

  “Hey, I want to remember every second of the official stuff. I only plan on getting married once, so I’m going to etch it into my memory.” Jonathon wanted everything to be just right.

  Mike regarded him warmly. “Glad to hear it. Then let’s get out there.” He held out his hand, and Jonathon took it.

  Time for two to become one.

  “THIS IS my favorite part.” The celebrant grinned. “I now pronounce you married. You may kiss your husband.”

  Jonathon let out a happy sigh. “Finally.” He leaned in and kissed Mike lightly on the lips, but Mike was apparently having none of it. He took Jonathon in his arms and kissed him fully as the guests cheered and applauded. Ruth showered them with rose petals, and Sue tossed handfuls of confetti.

  The celebrant cleared his throat, and reluctantly they broke the kiss. She turned them gently to face the seated guests. Jonathon spied so many happy faces staring back at them. Rachel sat next to Lily Rossiter, and Graham sat at the end of a row, grinning. Melinda had tears trickling down over her wrinkled cheeks, and Lloyd gazed at them with a proud expression. Jason Barton stood to one side, his camera aimed at them. He gave Jonathon the thumbs-up before taking more photos. Clare had joined Ruth and was helping her scatter yet more petals.

  He scanned the faces for their parents. Mike’s father beamed at them, and beside him, Mike’s mother was crying. His own mother seemed overcome by the guests’ enthusiasm, as though she hadn’t expected such a rapturous reaction or so many people. His father appeared to be suffering from similar emotions.

  The celebrant gave another slight cough. “Ladies and gentlemen, may I be the first to introduce to you, Jonathon de Mountford and Mike Tattersall.”

  The applause that followed took even Jonathon by surprise. Everyone rose to their feet, their faces alight as they clapped and cheered. Mike curled his hand around his and squeezed.

  At Jonathon’s side, Ruth murmured, “You’re keeping your names?”

  Mike nodded. “Jonathon has to keep his, and there is no way I’m going to be Mike de Mountford-Tattersall. That’s far too much of a mouthful.” Then he was engulfed in a hug from his parents, who pulled Jonathon in as well.

  When they parted, Jonathon caught sight of his parents, standing only a few feet away.

  “Do you think they’ll ever be happy for us?” Mike said quietly.

  Jonathon smiled. “Wait till they’re holding their first grandchild next year. I guarantee we’ll see a thaw.” He looped his arms around Mike’s neck and kissed him, taking his time. “Love you,” he whispered as they broke the kiss.

  Mike’s eyes sparkled. “Love you too.” Then he grinned. “Now lead me to the champagne.” Around them, guests came forward to congratulate them, and the air was filled with excited voices.

  “I hope you’re wearing your dancing shoes,” Jonathon commented. “You’re going to need them.” The ballroom was all set up for the reception, and the party to follow promised to go on long into the night.

  Mike leaned closer. “Not only that, I’m wearing my dancing foot.”

  Jonathon blinked. “You have a dancing foot?”

  Mike nodded. “And a bionic foot too.” When Jonat
hon gaped at him, he laughed. “Did you know, in the dictionary next to gullible it says, ‘See Jonathon de Mountford.’”

  “I wouldn’t joke if I were you,” Jonathon warned. “Otherwise, when we’re exploring the tunnels in Vietnam, I might decide to accidentally lose you.”

  “I’d find my way back to you,” Mike said confidently. “Trust me, sweetheart, nothing could ever part me from you. Besides, I was a detective, remember? I have skills.” He buffed his fingernails on his jacket.

  “And I’m looking forward to being on the receiving end of your skills tonight,” Jonathon whispered.

  Mike groaned. “Don’t say things like that, not when we’re in public. Because you know what I’m thinking about.”

  “Later,” Jonathon assured him. “We have a party to attend, and friends to greet.”

  And the rest of their lives to enjoy each other.

  More from K.C. Wells

  A Merrychurch Mysteries Case

  Jonathon de Mountford’s visit to Merrychurch village to stay with his uncle Dominic gets off to a bad start when Dominic fails to appear at the railway station. But when Jonathon finds him dead in his study, apparently as the result of a fall, everything changes. For one thing, Jonathon is the next in line to inherit the manor house. For another, he’s not so sure it was an accident, and with the help of Mike Tattersall, the owner of the village pub, Jonathon sets out to prove his theory—if he can concentrate long enough without getting distracted by the handsome Mike.

  They discover an increasingly long list of people who had reason to want Dominic dead. And when events take an unexpected turn, the amateur sleuths are left bewildered. It doesn’t help that the police inspector brought in to solve the case is the last person Mike wants to see, especially when they are told to keep their noses out of police business.

  In Jonathon’s case, that’s like a red rag to a bull….

  Sequel to Truth Will Out