A Novel Murder

by K. C. Wells

  “The thing is, you’re right. We won’t have the postmortem results until at least Monday, so I need to get details from everyone who was here. That means I have to say we’re treating her death as suspicious for the moment. Then I ask anyone who came into contact with her that evening to please come forward and give me any information they feel might be relevant.” Graham peered at Jonathon. “Is there a room I can use at the manor house?”

  He nodded. “I can set you up in the study.”

  “And I can give you a hand,” Mike added. “I can take down names and details for you. It’s not like I don’t have the experience, right?”

  Graham gave them a grateful glance. “Thanks. The last thing I want is for the postmortem to prove this was murder and not to have records of who was there.”

  “Half the village was here last night, only most of them kept their distance,” Jonathon commented. “Paul Drake was in his usual spot at the bar. He might have seen something.”

  “Unless it turns out he’s the murderer,” Graham said with a grin.

  “He can’t bear to slaughter his own pigs, let alone a human being,” Mike observed.

  “I think Paul gets on better with his pigs than with the rest of us mere humans,” Jonathon added. All three of them laughed at that.

  “Fiona can probably give you a lot of information too,” Mike said, before draining his mug.

  Graham snorted. “If I have any questions about Teresa, it’s Fiona I’ll be consulting. That woman knows all there is to know about her.” He glanced at the wall clock. “I’d better get a move on. When does the festival kick off?”

  “It opens at ten in the ballroom. Then the panels start in there and in the music room, so there’ll be movement between the two. Refreshments are being served in the entrance hall.”

  Graham got to his feet. “Then I’ll be there at nine to set up in the study. I take it one or both of you will be there?”

  “Both of us. Abi is running things here this weekend.”

  Jonathon couldn’t resist. “Mike wanted to make sure he attended the festival. I thought he was there to support me, but now I find he’s a closet Teresa Malvain fan and murder-mystery reader.”

  Mike glared at him. “You say that like it’s a bad thing. What’s wrong with reading?”

  Jonathon held up his hands defensively. “Nothing. I’m just saying that I’ve known you almost a year, and I’m only learning about your reading habits now. It’s as if you didn’t want me to know.” He loved teasing Mike.

  “I hate to break up this lovers’ tiff, but we’ve got work to do.” Graham stuffed his notepad and pen into his pocket. “I’ll see you both up there.” And with that, he left them.

  Mike collected the mugs and plates. “He’s right. We’ve got work to do.”

  “This is certainly going to be the most memorable literary festival ever.” Jonathon felt bad for Heather. All the effort she’d put into preparing for it, and the one thing everyone would remember would be the death of the guest of honor.

  “As long as we only have one death to deal with,” Mike said dryly.

  Jonathon shivered. “Amen to that.”

  Chapter Seven

  GRAHAM REPLACED his notepad in his breast pocket. “Thank you for your attention, ladies and gentlemen. And if any of you do remember something you feel would be vital to this investigation, please find me in the study. And one final note….” He gave a broad smile. “Enjoy the festival. I know that might be difficult, given the circumstances, but the organizer has put together a great line-up of speakers, so make sure you get the chance to listen to them. And if you want to buttonhole them after, or tell them what a fantastic author they are, do that too. This is your chance to thank them personally for all those great books.” He stepped away from the mic, amid subdued applause, and the crowd began to disperse, some taking seats in preparation for the next speaker, others exiting the ballroom.

  Jonathon patted him on the back. “Thank you. That was nicely done.”

  “Heather set the tone.” Graham gave her a nod. “That minute’s silence was a good idea.”

  Heather sighed. “It seemed the respectful thing to do.” She glanced around. “Where’s Mike?”

  “Setting up the study for Graham. He says he’ll stay as long as he’s needed.” Jonathon consulted the printed agenda. “And I was going to stay in here and listen to the murder-mystery panel. Phil McCallister is on it.”

  “That should be a popular one.” Heather’s expression grew solemn. “Even if it has lost its main speaker.”

  Graham chuckled. “In which case, I might tell Mike to join you. Especially as he’s got a thing for murder mysteries. I can cope without him.” He gave them a polite nod, then left the ballroom in search of Mike.

  Jonathon spied Fiona among the already-seated attendees and went over to join her, placing his agenda on the empty chair next to him for Mike.

  She gave him a warm smile. “Have you ever been to one of these panels before?”

  Jonathon shook his head. “This is my first book festival.”

  “Well, it starts with general introductions, and then the authors share a little about what they’re working on. Then it’s time for questions, and that’s the best part, as far as I’m concerned.” She gave a gleeful smile. “You never know what some people will ask.”

  There was an expectant air about her that Jonathon found intriguing. “You’re planning something.”

  Fiona opened her eyes wide. “Me? I just have a couple of questions ready, that’s all.” Her eyes gleamed.

  Jonathon had a feeling one or more of the authors was in for a grilling.

  MIKE WAS thoroughly enjoying himself. He’d asked questions about the authors’ research when it came to accuracy concerning police procedures, and it had become apparent that most of them knew their stuff. A couple had seemed uncomfortable, however, to have their work questioned by a former detective, but he’d made it clear he was asking from the standpoint of fiction reflecting reality. The audience had listened with rapt attention, and Mike had received a ripple of applause when he retook his seat.

  The microphone was passed to Fiona, who rose to her feet. “I have a question for Phil McCallister. I’m sure you were saddened by the unexpected death of Teresa Malvain.”

  Phil gave a solemn nod. “As we all were. Teresa was an exceptional writer who will be sorely missed.” Applause followed his words.

  Fiona’s eyes shone. “But surely in your case, that sadness was tinged with relief.”

  Phil frowned. “I… I don’t quite understand.”

  “Well, surely with her dead, the lawsuit dies with her.” Fiona tilted her head to one side. “Doesn’t it?”

  Phil blinked, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water, no sound issuing forth.

  Fiona’s brow furrowed. “She was suing you, wasn’t she? She claimed you plagiarized Murder Most Hideous, the fifteenth book in the Summersfield series.”

  “A claim which I most strenuously denied,” Phil declared loudly. Mike watched him with interest, noting the flush on his cheeks and the widened eyes.

  “Of course you did,” Fiona remarked. “You’d hardly admit it, right? But the word out there is that fighting the accusation in court is about to bankrupt you.” She smiled. “But you don’t have to worry about that anymore. No more Teresa, so no more court case. And you can deny it to your heart’s content.”

  Phil stared at her, his pallor increasing. “There was never any basis to her accusations.”

  “Obviously her lawyers felt differently, if they decided to proceed with the case.” Fiona’s smile widened. “But we’ll never know now, will we?” She sat down, passing the microphone back to the helper amid stunned silence. A moment later, another reader stood to ask a question, and the tension dissipated. Phil shuffled the papers on the table in front of him, then poured himself a glass of water, his hand trembling slightly.

  Mike glanced across Jonathon to meet Fiona’s sat
isfied gaze. “Wow. You really rattled him.”

  “That was my intention.” She let out a contented sigh. “I’m sure I’m not the only one who was thinking that.”

  Jonathon tapped Mike’s knee. “Now that barb of Teresa’s at dinner makes sense.”

  “Which barb? She fired so many.” The memory of that dinner hadn’t left him.

  “Remember when Phil said he was on the fourth book of his series? Teresa muttered something about how it was debatable that he wrote it.”

  Mike smiled. “You would’ve made a great police officer. Your memory is excellent.”

  Jonathon gave him a warm smile. “Glad to know I have my uses.”

  Mike laid his hand on Jonathon’s knee. “Mind you, you have other skills that I value just as highly.” He grinned. “But the less said about those skills, the better. At least in public, at any rate.”

  Fiona erupted into a loud cough, and Jonathon gave him a mock glare. “Behave.”

  Mike snickered. “I am behaving. Badly.” He turned his attention back to the panel. Phil was nodding in all the right places, but his gaze kept flickering in Mike’s direction. Judging by the way he was nibbling on his lip and touching his collar all the time, Phil was nervous.

  Mike found that very interesting indeed.

  When the panel came to an end and the applause had finished, Mike glanced at his watch. “I’m going to see how Graham got on. Hopefully he’s had a few witnesses come forward.”

  “I’ll get us some coffee and meet you in the study. I’ll bring one for Graham too.” Jonathon leaned in, as if to kiss Mike on the cheek, then checked himself and withdrew.

  Mike was done hiding. He shifted closer and kissed Jonathon lightly on the cheek, which drew an aww from the lady behind them. Mike caught Jonathon’s gaze. “I’m getting too long in the tooth to care about offending people,” he said quietly. “I love you, and I don’t care who knows it.”

  Jonathon’s eyes glistened. “Love you too. Now go see Graham, while I see to topping up our caffeine levels.”

  Mike laughed. “Yeah, we can’t neglect them.” He nodded to Fiona, then got up and walked out of the ballroom, heading for the study. What he couldn’t shake was the look in Phil’s eyes.

  That man was scared of me. Then it struck him that if Phil had had something to do with Teresa’s death, no doubt having an ex-detective around would make him extremely nervous. He made a mental note to investigate Fiona’s statements. Is the possibility of being made bankrupt enough of a motive for murder? Then he reasoned that if Teresa had been right, Phil would have been ruined. No one liked a plagiarist.

  Graham was alone in the study, making notes. He glanced up as Mike entered. “What is it with this place?”

  “What’s up?” Mike closed the door behind him.

  “That! That is what’s up.” Graham pointed to the wall behind Mike. “Do you know how long it took me to find the bloody door?”

  Mike chuckled. “Hey, don’t knock it. That was how we rumbled a murderer, remember?” The door with its linen fold panels had been made to blend into the wall, and there was a knack to knowing how to open it.

  “Oh yeah. I’d forgotten that.” Graham leaned back in his chair. “Well, this has been an interesting morning.”

  “Have you had many people coming forward?”

  “Not many, but what they lacked in number, they made up for in quality.” Graham gave a low whistle. “She wasn’t a nice lady, was she?”

  “You’ve just worked that out?” Mike snorted. “I’m surprised no one bumped her off before this. Oh, and I think I’ve got a suspect who needs considering. Phil McCallister.” He summed up what had gone on at the panel.

  Graham scribbled a line in his notepad. “I agree. I’ll look into that. He was on my list of people to question anyway, seeing as he did a convenient disappearing act in the pub last night. Thanks for pointing that out, by the way.” He grinned. “See? I was right. You’re a handy man to have around.”

  “So what have you learned?”

  “I’ve got a fair-sized list of who was near her table, for one thing.” Graham peered at his notes. “That’ll come in handy. Plus, I know who was at the bar. Apart from Paul, of course.” They both chuckled. Paul was always at the bar. He’d once joked about having his name engraved on a plaque on the barstool where he usually sat. “From what I’ve gleaned so far, Teresa and Professor Harcourt were trying to talk but were constantly interrupted. People wanting autographs, asking questions….”

  Mike frowned. “I thought the professor would be here today.”

  Graham gave a knowing nod. “Ah. Yes. Well, he would’ve been, except I happen to know he got a phone call, asking him to go to Fareham. Seems the coroner learned he was involved in the case and asked him to sit in on the postmortem. Apparently she wanted his involvement while he was in the vicinity. I can understand that. When you’ve got someone with Professor Harcourt’s caliber on tap, as it were, a second pair of eyes is always a good thing. But he’ll be back later.”

  The door opened and Jonathon entered, carrying a cardboard tray with three large polystyrene cups. “So was it murder?” He set the cups down on the desk.

  Graham rolled his eyes. “Gimme strength! They haven’t even sent me any preliminary results of the postmortem yet.” He sniffed the air. “Thanks. I need this.”

  “Does that mean you haven’t drawn any conclusions?” Jonathon sat in the chair facing Graham.

  “Well….”

  Mike arched his eyebrows. “You have. Come on, then. Share.”

  Graham grumbled under his breath about nosy amateurs but then sighed. “You’re not gonna leave me alone, so I might as well tell you. Whatever caused the reaction is more than likely to have been in the coffee.” He consulted his notes. “No one saw her eat anything. She only handled a pen and the coffee cup.”

  “Could someone have coated the pen in something?” Jonathon suggested. “Peanut oil, maybe?”

  Graham frowned. “I like the idea, but it’s not likely. For one thing, she’d have noticed as soon as she touched the pen.”

  “And for another?” Mike asked.

  Graham snickered. “It was her pen. She got it out of her bag. And about that missing notebook. She didn’t have it on the table, but a couple of people saw it when she went into her bag for that pen. So at some point between then and getting up to go to her room, someone swiped it.” He glanced at Mike. “It’s definitely not in her room?”

  Mike shook his head. “I’ve been all over it. Nothing under the beds, nothing hidden in drawers or in the wardrobe. Any place where an A4 notebook could be stashed, I’ve searched.”

  “Well, we know someone was in her room, because the EpiPen from her case was missing,” Jonathon commented. “Are we assuming the same person also removed the notebook from her bag? As well as her phone and EpiPen?”

  Graham rubbed his chin. “That notebook sounds a bit big to hide. I mean, it’s not like it could’ve been hidden under a coat or something, because who wears a coat in June? And surely it would’ve been obvious if someone tried to hide a notebook, EpiPen, and phone on them.”

  Mike had to agree. Then his thoughts went back to the coffee, which was looking more and more likely to be the source. “So does that mean we should be looking at whoever was at the bar? Because those cups sat there for a while before Professor Harcourt had to come get them. Anyone could have put something in them.” He widened his eyes. “Wait a minute. How would they know which one was for Teresa?”

  Graham put down his pen. “Right now this is nothing but speculation. Let’s wait and see what the postmortem comes up with. And if it was in the coffee, we’ve got no evidence. I assume the cups were washed that night?”

  “One of them was. The other got broken when Teresa bumped into it and sent it flying. So no, there’s no evidence,” Mike concluded gloomily. He looked across at Jonathon. “I think we might be out of our league on this one.”

  “Hallelujah!” Graham thr
ew his hands into the air. “You were out of your league on the previous two cases, but what you did have was an awful lot of luck. Maybe this time you’ll follow my advice and stay out of it? You know, police business and all that?”

  Mike stared at him in amazement, surprised by his outburst.

  Jonathon glared at him. “Hey. You wanted our help, remember? ‘Keep your eyes and ears open,’ you said.”

  “Keeping your eyes and ears open is one thing—actively investigating is another.” Graham closed his notebook. “If no one else turns up before lunch, I’ll call it a day and go back to the station to wait on the postmortem results.”

  “Meanwhile, we carry on being your eyes and ears here, right?” Mike scowled. “As long as we don’t act on anything we find out, of course.” Graham’s exclamation still rankled. Whatever they’d turned up the last couple of times, they’d made sure to share it with Graham.

  Then he reconsidered. How would I have felt if it had been me investigating those cases, and a pair of amateur sleuths had been constantly sticking their oar in police business? Graham had been extremely patient thus far. And if this did turn out to be murder, that would doubtless mean an inspector from Winchester would be in charge of the case. Graham would hate that.

  “You do know why I don’t want you involved, don’t you?” Graham said suddenly. When Mike gave him a quizzical glance, he smiled. “One of these days, you’re going to go too far and end up on a killer’s radar. I would hate it if anything happened to you. Both of you.”

  “We like you too, Graham.” Jonathon grinned. “And we’ll be good. Honest.”

  Mike glanced across at Jonathon, biting his lip when he took a closer look at Jonathon’s innocent expression. Graham might not be acquainted with that look, but Mike certainly was.

  Jonathon clearly had no intention of being good.

  “There is one thing you could do for me.” Graham’s expression grew serious. “What did you do with the broken cup?”

  “The pieces went straight into the bin.” Mike stilled. “You want me to take them out, don’t you?”