A Novel Murder Page 4

  She shook her head. “I’ve got my car, thanks. And to be honest, the only place I’m going is my bed. I want to be bright-eyed and bushy-tailed for tomorrow.”

  “Then I’ll say good night.” He gave her a wave, then got behind the wheel.

  “I thought you were in a hurry?” Teresa murmured from the back seat.

  Mike was going to be so happy when the pub was closed and he finally got into bed, hopefully with Jonathon staying the night.

  A short while later, he pulled up in front of the pub and everyone got out.

  “You go and park the car. I’ll take them inside.” Jonathon squeezed his arm. “Then I’ll get behind the bar and help you.”

  “Thanks.” Mike left them and drove around to the rear of the pub. From the sounds that emerged, it was a very busy night. He hurried into the building through the back door, his eyes widening when he saw the mess in the kitchen. It looked like Abi had been inundated with food orders. When he stepped into the pub, he was glad Jonathon had come along too.

  The pub was the busiest he’d ever seen it. Every table was occupied, every chair was taken, and many patrons were standing around, drinking. Thankfully, Jonathon had secured a table for Teresa and Professor Harcourt, thoughtfully tucked away in a quiet corner. Except it didn’t stay quiet for long. As soon as people saw who had arrived, they made a beeline for Teresa.

  Mike could see it was going to be a long night.

  Jonathon had already started clearing tables, bless him, and was loading the glass washer. Abi looked like she needed a break, so Mike told her to take one. He got stuck with the task of pouring pints and glasses of wine. Anyone wanting one of Jonathon’s cocktails would have to lump it.

  Jonathon approached the bar. “Can you do two coffees for Teresa and Professor Harcourt? One black, one with cream.” He grinned. “When you have a minute, that is.”

  Mike rolled his eyes. “Oh, I think I can manage that.” He set about his task, filling the receptacle with ground coffee. Then he was back to the bar to pour more pints. He could just about glimpse Teresa, obscured by a crowd that had gathered around her table. He recognized some of the people from the meal.

  “Hey, do you want to know what’s weird?” Jonathon was at the bar again, this time collecting orders to deliver to tables. “Take a good look at the people around Teresa.”

  Mike peered at the throng. “What about them?”

  “There isn’t one villager among them.” Jonathon pointed to the other end of the pub. “Most of the villagers are sitting over there. It’s like there’s an invisible wall between them and her.”

  Mike shrugged. “Or maybe they can’t get near her for all her adoring fans.” He snickered. “And there are certainly a lot of them.”

  “Haven’t you done those coffees yet?” Jonathon’s eyes gleamed with mischief.

  “Watch it or you’ll find yourself walking back to the hall tonight.”

  With a last laugh, Jonathon picked up a tray of pints. “Where are these going?”

  “Seth’s table.”

  “Got it.” Jonathon headed in that direction, and Mike poured the coffees. Before he could deliver them, more people surged toward the bar, and he knew Abi’s break was over.

  “Is it always this busy?” Phil McCallister appeared at the bar, holding a ten-pound note in his hand. Melody Richards was with him.

  From his stool at the bar, Paul Drake chuckled. “I’ve not seen Mike this flustered since he got here.” He gazed around him. “Course, I’ve never seen the pub this busy either.”

  “I call this the Teresa Malvain Effect,” Mike said with a grin. “Can’t complain, even if I do need another pair of hands.”

  “I don’t come in here often.” Fiona joined Phil and Melody, staring at the crowded pub. “Now I know why.”

  “This is not usual.” At that moment, Abi reappeared, and Mike kissed her on the cheek. “Excellent timing.”

  She laughed. “Yeah, I had a feeling I’d be wanted. I’ll deal with that end of the bar—you deal with this one.”

  “Perfect.” Mike poured a pint for Phil and a white wine for Melody just as a fresh wave of drinkers hit. For the next five or ten minutes, he didn’t have time to think as he poured drink after drink. It wasn’t until Professor Harcourt appeared that he remembered the coffees. “My apologies,” he said as he pointed to where the two cups sat on the bar. “I should have brought those over. They’ll be cold by now. Let me make some fresh coffee.”

  He turned to set up the machine, but Professor Harcourt stopped him with a hand to his arm, giving him a reassuring smile. “They’ll be fine. And if Teresa should complain—although I’m sure that’s not in her nature—I’ll buy her another one.” His blue eyes twinkled with good humor.

  Mike had to work really hard not to snort. “Is she coping with the onslaught?”

  Professor Harcourt bit his lip. “She’s being polite. I think that’s a bonus at this stage.” He picked up the cups. “I’ll be right back if she has a problem with the coffee.” He walked slowly back to their table, carrying the two cups with great care.

  “When does this festival end?” Abi asked as she reached up for a clean glass.

  Mike laughed. “It hasn’t even started yet.” His bank balance would be healthy by the end of it. He wasn’t so sure about his energy reserves.

  “Mike?” Jonathon dashed over to the bar. “Something’s wrong.”

  Mike jerked up his head and scanned the pub. There seemed to be a commotion over in the corner where Teresa and Professor Harcourt were sitting. He caught Teresa’s raised voice. “No, now!” Something hit the wooden floor with a loud clatter, and suddenly the crowd parted and Professor Harcourt emerged, his arm around Teresa’s waist.

  “I’m taking her upstairs to her room,” Professor Harcourt called out. “She needs some medication.” Teresa appeared confused, lurching dizzily toward the door that led to the private part of the pub where the guest room was located, along with Mike’s room.

  Mike nodded, his heartbeat speeding up. “Call me if you need anything.”

  “I will.” Professor Harcourt helped Teresa to the door, and it closed behind them.

  “What’s wrong with her?” Mike asked Jonathon.

  “No idea. But she looks terrible. Do you want me to go up there?”

  Mike shook his head. “She’s in the best possible hands. Didn’t Professor Harcourt say he was a GP once?”

  “That’s right.” Jonathon peered toward the corner where they’d been seated. “Oh, they must’ve knocked one of the cups off the table. It’s broken. I’ll clear it up.”

  A thud above their heads stilled Mike instantly. “Okay, that wasn’t good.”

  Seconds later, Professor Harcourt reappeared, his face pale, his breathing rapid. “Call for an ambulance! Now!” Then he disappeared again.

  Mike was out from the behind the bar in a flash. “Call an ambulance,” he yelled to Jonathon. “I’ll go and see what’s happened.” Not waiting for a response, he dashed toward the door, his customers getting out of his way. He took the stairs three at a time, then ran full pelt into the guest room.

  Teresa lay on the floor, her feet propped up on the bed, and Professor Harcourt was clearly in the middle of chest compressions, his hair unruly, his breathing harsh. He paused and looked up as Mike approached.

  “What happened?”

  Professor Harcourt sighed heavily. “Anaphylactic shock, I’d guess.” He applied two fingers to her wrist, then her neck.

  “Don’t stop!” Mike stared in horror at Teresa’s still form.

  Professor Harcourt’s quietly spoken words confirmed what he already knew. “Too late. She’s gone.” He sat back on his haunches, looking exhausted. “I couldn’t help her. The reaction was too strong.”

  “Reaction to what?” This couldn’t be happening.

  “Well, we know she was allergic to nuts. I guess we’d better start looking downstairs for a source.”

  Cold washed over Mi
ke. “Oh my God. I think I know where we can start.”

  “What do you mean?”

  All the energy seeped out of him. “Peanuts. There are peanuts on the bar. I meant to ask Abi to remove them, but I forgot.” This was a nightmare.

  He’d killed Teresa Malvain.

  Chapter Five

  PROFESSOR HARCOURT stood carefully. “I hardly think that was the cause of death.” He gazed at Teresa’s body, his expression sorrowful.

  “Think about all those people she met downstairs tonight. All it would take would be a few of them with peanut oil on their hands. They transfer it, she touches her lips….” Mike cursed himself for not remembering to say something to Abi.

  Professor Harcourt patted Mike’s arm kindly. “Mike, this was fast. So fast that she had difficulty breathing. Maybe if she’d had her EpiPen, things might have been different.”

  Mike frowned. “But… surely she’d have carried one with her everywhere. That’s just common sense.”

  Professor Harcourt nodded. “Which is why what happened is so strange. I….” He sighed. “Can we go downstairs? There’s nothing I can do here, and to be quite frank, I need a brandy.” His face was drawn and tired.

  Mike put his arm around Professor Harcourt’s shoulders. “Sure. The ambulance is on its way, although it may take a while. The nearest hospital is Fareham.” He glanced at the still body. “Not that it matters now when they get here.” He still wasn’t convinced the peanuts hadn’t played a part in Teresa’s death.

  They left the room, and Mike closed the door behind them. Silently they went down the narrow staircase and into the bar, which was surprisingly quiet. The pub’s patrons cast glances in their direction, murmuring quietly. Professor Harcourt joined him at the bar, taking an empty stool.

  Jonathon walked over to them, his brow furrowed. “Where’s Teresa?”

  Mike issued a heavy sigh. “She’s dead. Allergic reaction, Professor Harcourt thinks.” He glanced at the bowls of peanuts.

  Jonathon widened his eyes. “Oh my God.” Around them, more mutters and murmurs rose up from the crowd. “Someone should inform Heather. As well as Teresa’s next of kin.”

  “She doesn’t have any.” Fiona appeared shocked. “There’s an ex-husband somewhere, but he hasn’t been around for ages.”

  Mike shook his head. “How do you know all this?”

  Fiona raised her eyes to the ceiling. “You’d be amazed the things you learn from reading interviews and posts on social media. And she was on social media a lot. I’m surprised she found time to write, to be honest.” She bit her lip. “Sorry. That was uncalled for, especially in the circumstances.”

  A siren’s wail started in the distance, growing louder.

  Jonathon sighed. “I’ll show them where to go.” He headed toward the door.

  “Thanks,” Mike called out to him. He poured two glasses of brandy and set one down in front of Professor Harcourt, who immediately took a drink. An unearthly quiet had settled over the pub’s occupants, and it disturbed him. “Okay, folks,” he announced loudly. “Yes, we’ve had a death on the premises. Can I ask that you stay in here until they’ve removed the body? Thank you.”

  Paul Drake joined him at the bar. “She’s dead, then? That writer?” When Mike nodded, Paul shook his head. “You couldn’t make it up, could you? Murder-mystery writer dies the night before a book festival.” He peered closely at Mike. “Are we talkin’ suspicious circumstances?”

  Mike sincerely hoped not.

  “So would someone like to tell me what’s going on?” Graham Billings’s deep voice cut through the mutterings that had followed Mike’s announcement. Graham approached the bar, his police helmet in his hand. “Mike? Want to tell me why there’s an ambulance outside?”

  “That would be because they’re removing a dead body from my guest room,” Mike explained matter-of-factly.

  Graham arched his eyebrows. “Well, of course it would be here,” he said dryly. “Trouble seems to follow you around.” He scanned the pub’s interior. “Where’s Watson?”

  “If you mean Jonathon, he’ll be here shortly. He’s showing the ambulance crew where to go.”

  Graham snorted. “I knew he’d be here somewhere.”

  “You’re going to need your notepad.” Mike pointed to the table where Teresa and Professor Harcourt had been sitting. “Take a seat. I’ll be right over.”

  Graham nodded and headed for the corner.

  Abi came up to Mike and squeezed his shoulder. “I’ll take care of the bar. You go deal with Graham.”

  Mike thanked her, then stepped out from behind the bar, his glass of brandy in his hand. “You too, Professor.”

  The professor nodded and got off his stool with a wince. “I fear I’ve strained something. Maybe my chest compressions were too vigorous.” He walked slowly to Graham’s table, with Mike following him.

  As soon as they’d sat down, Graham got out his notepad. “Okay. What happened? And who’s the deceased?”

  “Teresa Malvain.” Mike sipped his brandy, relishing its warmth.

  Graham’s eyes widened. “Wow. You managed to kill off the first Merrychurch Literary Festival’s main speaker before it has even begun. Nice going.” He glanced at Professor Harcourt. “And you are…?”

  “Professor Lionel Harcourt.” His eyes were flinty. “And I don’t appreciate either your tone or your choice of words, Constable.”

  Graham swallowed, stiffening. Mike patted the professor’s hand. “This is probably where I should add that Graham is a friend, as well as a good copper who’s been a real help to us on a couple of similar… occasions.”

  Professor Harcourt blinked. “Do you have a lot of sudden deaths in this village?”

  Graham snickered. “You’d be surprised. There’s a reason I call these two Sherlock and Watson. And speak of the devil….”

  Jonathon came over to their table. “They’ve gone,” he said, his tone subdued.

  “You’d better join us.” Graham inclined his head to the empty chair, then plucked a pen from his breast pocket. “Okay. Who’s going to start?”

  Mike gestured to Professor Harcourt, who sighed. He clasped his wrinkled hands on the table. “We’d just returned from the meal Jonathon hosted up at the manor house. Teresa and I were going to have a coffee before retiring. Except the pub’s occupants appeared to comprise a vast number of Teresa Malvain fans, who all wanted to talk to her.”

  Graham nodded, taking notes. “Then what happened?”

  “When we eventually got our coffees, we drank them while continuing our discussion. I noticed Teresa seemed flushed, and her breathing was a little erratic. She said, ‘This is an allergic reaction,’ then grabbed her bag.”

  “She had allergies?” Graham’s writing sped up.

  “To nuts, apparently,” Mike informed him.

  “So this was a reaction to something she’d eaten at dinner?”

  Jonathon shook his head. “The menu didn’t contain any nuts. We made sure of that.”

  What came to Mike’s mind in that instant was the dusting of ground almonds, but they’d been on Heather’s dessert only, and as she’d been sitting across from Teresa, there was no way they could have ended up on Teresa’s plate.

  “And besides,” Professor Harcourt added, “although anaphylaxis can take up to thirty minutes to start, that is unlikely in this case, given the severity of her reaction. So we’re looking for a source here in the pub.”

  “There are peanuts on the bar.” Mike pointed to the bowls. “But Professor Harcourt thinks that’s unlikely as well.”

  “Could she have been allergic to lactose? Maybe the milk or cream in her coffee?” Graham asked.

  “If she was, then she’d hardly have asked for coffee with cream,” Professor Harcourt commented.

  “Could she have been injected with something? If there were a lot of people milling around her….”

  “Someone deliberately injected her?” Professor Harcourt frowned. “Again, that�
��s unlikely. I’d have seen them do it. She was sitting beside me the whole time. And if someone had done that, she’d have felt it. No, the swiftness of her death points to a food allergy rather than medication.”

  “You mentioned her EpiPen while we were upstairs. You said maybe if she’d had one…. Wasn’t that in her bag?” His words about something being strange had troubled Mike.

  “As soon as she started feeling unwell, she clearly knew it was an allergic reaction. But when she opened her bag to find her EpiPen, it wasn’t there. I even looked myself.” His frown deepened. “That was when she told me to help her upstairs, because she had a spare in her suitcase. By that point, her breathing was more labored, and she was a little dizzy. I told her I’d run upstairs and get it, but she grabbed my arm tightly and demanded I help her out of there. What else could I do? I helped her to her feet, told Mike I was taking her upstairs, then did just that, as fast as I could.” He gave Mike an apologetic glance. “Sorry about your cup, by the way. Teresa sent it flying when she got up from the table.”

  Mike gave a wave of his hand. “Don’t worry about it.”

  “But the spare EpiPen obviously didn’t work,” Graham continued, still taking notes.

  “That’s what was strange. There was no EpiPen in her suitcase. I pulled out everything in my search for it, but it definitely wasn’t there. And when she gasped out ‘ambulance,’ I looked in her bag for her phone to call for one. Her phone was missing too. I emptied the bag’s contents onto the bed, looking for it and the EpiPen in case she’d missed it. That was why I had to leave her briefly to come down here and ask Mike to call for an ambulance.”

  Graham slowly raised his head. “Why didn’t you use your own phone? Surely that would’ve saved time.”

  “Yes, and I would have done, except for the fact that the battery had died at some point during the evening,” Professor Harcourt explained patiently.

  “That’s right,” Mike added. “He was going to call for a taxi when he noticed.”

  “I was stupid,” the professor said with a heavy sigh. “I should have got Mike to call for an ambulance immediately. She’d have needed to go to A&E anyway, even after using an EpiPen. But I wasn’t thinking clearly, obviously.”