by K. C. Wells
Lily gave him a gentle smile. “You’re a very perceptive young man. Mike is a lucky fellow.”
“I think so too.” Mike placed his hand on Jonathon’s knee.
Lily glanced down, and her smile grew wider. “Oh. Oh, my dears. Do I take it there have been developments?”
“You don’t miss much, do you, Lily?” Mike took Jonathon’s hand in his.
She let out a contented sigh. “I wish you both every happiness.”
“Where is Harold now?” Jonathon asked.
“When I moved into the Cedars, I intended to sell my house, but instead Harold lives there. He pays rent, of course, but nothing like what a rental agency would charge him. And he looks after the place for me.” Lily met Mike’s gaze. “I know what you’re wondering. Is he the type of person who might seek revenge on the woman who blighted his life?”
“Well, is he?”
Lily clasped her wrinkled hands in her lap, staring at them. “The Harold I knew would not have sought revenge. The man he became? That is another matter.”
“You know we’ll have to talk to him, don’t you?” Mike said softly. “And if we don’t, the police certainly will, once they start putting together their own list of suspects.”
Lily sighed heavily. “Jonathon, could I borrow your notepad and pen for a moment?”
“Of course.” He handed them to her, and she wrote carefully in an elegant script. Then she handed them back. Jonathon peered at the page, then met Mike’s gaze. “Well, we know where to find him.”
Mike reached across and laid his hand over hers. “Thank you.”
She nodded. “Be kind to him?”
“Of course.” He released her hands and got up. “We’ll let you know what we discover.”
“I shall be praying that you exonerate him.” When Jonathon leaned in and kissed her cheek, she flushed. “I hope you realize I expect an invitation to the wedding.”
Jonathon smiled. “I hope you realize we both want you there.”
After saying their goodbyes, Mike headed back to the reception desk, with Jonathon at his side. The receptionist was in the middle of a phone call, so they waited. When she was done, Mike gave his brightest smile.
“I was wondering if Rebecca Brading is working today. I understand she cleans here.”
The woman behind the desk frowned. “Rebecca? Why on earth should you want to speak with one of our cleaners?”
“Her name came up in conversation, and we’d like to talk to her, if that’s possible,” Mike said smoothly.
The receptionist huffed. “Well, you can’t talk to her if she’s working. Let me check her hours.” Then she looked over Mike’s shoulder and smiled. “You’re in luck. She is in today, but it looks like she’s just finished. That’s Rebecca on her way out the door.”
Without waiting to thank her, Mike quickly went to the door, and Jonathon followed. A young woman was walking away from them.
“Rebecca Brading?” Mike called out.
She paused and turned. When she saw them, her eyes widened and she broke into a run.
“Wait!” Mike yelled, but she picked up speed.
“Stay here. I’ll catch her.” Jonathon sprinted after her, leaving Mike by the steps.
Why the hell did she run away like that? Because in Mike’s book, that usually pointed to one thing only.
Guilt.
Chapter Thirteen
“STOP!” JONATHON called out as he got closer. “We just want to talk to you!”
Rebecca showed no signs of slowing as she went through the gates that marked the Cedar’s boundaries, her long hair swaying. Jonathon picked up speed, wishing he was fitter. On impulse, he yelled, “We want to talk to you about Sophie!”
Rebecca came to an abrupt halt, turning to face him, panting visibly. “I know who you are. I know who he is. You’re lying. Why would you want to talk about my sister?” She bent over, her hands on her knees, obviously fighting to get her breath back. “God, I’m out of shape.”
“That makes two of us,” Jonathon said as he cautiously approached her. He held up his hands as he got closer. “Please. Don’t run off. We only want to talk. It’s not like we’re the police, right?”
“He was a copper.” Rebecca’s eyes gleamed with suspicion.
“Yes, but he’s not now. If you’ve spent any time in the village, you know he runs the pub.” Jonathon lowered his hands. “Please, Rebecca. A chat, that’s all.”
She glanced around her at the country lane. “Here?”
Jonathon thought quickly. “How about at the tea shop? Let us buy you a cup of tea.” He smiled. “I don’t know about you, but after that mad dash, I need one.”
She tilted her head to one side. “You don’t look like a lord of the manor.”
“And how does a lord of the manor look, in your experience?”
Her lips twitched. “Like a bit of a stuffed shirt.”
Jonathon chuckled. “Then I’m glad I don’t. But do I look like someone you can trust? Because I’m asking you to walk back to the car park with me, and then we’ll drive to the tea shop, where we can talk in comfort.”
Rebecca bit her lip, tossing her hair over her shoulders. “I guess I can. I haven’t heard anything dodgy about you.” She walked over to him, slowly. “Okay. I’ll go with you. As long as we’re not gonna walk into the tea shop to find that constable waiting for us.”
Jonathon crossed his heart. “I promise.” He figured Graham would be too busy dealing with Gorland to be having tea and cake at Rachel’s. At least, he hoped so. Jonathon gestured to the gateposts, and she nodded. They walked up the long, curved driveway to where Mike was still standing at the front steps.
Mike gave Rebecca an inquiring glance. “Why did you run like that?”
“Not here,” Jonathon remonstrated. “We’re going to Rachel’s for tea.”
Mike arched his eyebrows, then pulled his car keys from his pocket. Rebecca followed them to the 4x4, and minutes later they were on their way.
Jonathon was quiet as they drove toward the heart of the village. He had to admit, running like that wasn’t the action of an innocent person, and he was intrigued to discover her motivation.
Because it really didn’t look good.
MIKE POURED the tea, waiting until Rachel had left them to deal with another customer. “Now,” he said as he passed Rebecca a cup, “tell us why you ran like that.”
When she said nothing, Jonathon passed her a slice of cake. “Here. This is really good.”
Rebecca tried a forkful, rolling her eyes. “Oh God. This is gorgeous.” She took another mouthful, then regarded Mike. “You came to the Cedars to find me. Why?”
Mike made a mental note. Never mind torture for getting people to talk. What was obviously needed was cake. “Actually, we were there to see a friend of ours, Lily Rossiter.”
Rebecca’s face brightened instantly. “Aw. She’s lovely. I always like it when I get to clean her room. She’s really cheerful, and she talks to me.” Her forehead furrowed. “Then why did you say my name like that, if you were there to see Lily?”
“A friend was telling us about Sophie,” Jonathon said in a low voice. “We’re really sorry. She sounds like she was a wonderful little girl.”
“She was.” Rebecca’s expression tightened. She jerked her head in Mike’s direction. “You think I had something to do with that writer’s death, don’t you? Because of Sophie?”
Mike shrugged. “It was a possibility that we had to check out.” He took a close look at her. He didn’t recall seeing her in the pub, either Friday night or at any other time.
“It wasn’t me.” She bit her lip. “I wasn’t even at that dinner.”
Jonathon opened his mouth to say something, but Mike flashed him a glance. “Then you know she had an allergic reaction.” Rebecca was clearly under the impression that Teresa had eaten nuts of some kind during the meal, and he didn’t want to correct her. He wanted to see where this led.
Rebecca nodde
d. “But it wasn’t me,” she insisted again. “So you’re talking to the wrong person. And besides, it could’ve been an accident. A mistake.”
Jonathon frowned. “What could have been an accident?”
Rebecca took another mouthful of carrot cake, ignoring him.
Obviously the cake wasn’t working anymore.
Mike cut into his slice of Battenberg, relishing the thick layer of pale yellow marzipan that covered it. Marzipan was a favorite of his and always the first part of the Christmas cake to be eaten. When he was little, his mum used to make a fantastic Christmas cake, although she made a separate smaller version for his dad, who couldn’t stand the taste of ground almonds.
Ground almonds….
Mike stared at Rebecca. “Okay, so you weren’t at the dinner. But you know someone who was.”
She jerked her head up, then froze.
Mike nodded slowly. “So who did you get to sprinkle the ground almonds on Teresa’s cheesecake?”
This time there was no mistaking the flash of fear in her wide brown eyes.
Jonathon gaped. “But—”
Mike plowed ahead. “That was the plan, wasn’t it? To introduce nuts into her food?”
Rebecca swallowed. “We didn’t know it would kill her, honest. We just thought it would make her really ill.”
“But you knew she was allergic to nuts,” Jonathon confirmed. “What did you think would happen?”
“That she’d get sick!” Rebecca yelled.
A cup clattered into a saucer. Mike looked over to where Rachel stood with a customer, both staring in their direction. Then the lady cleared her throat and resumed her quiet conversation. Rachel gave them a sympathetic glance.
Rebecca took a deep breath. “Sorry about that.” She took a few more seconds to breathe deeply. “My mum is allergic to penicillin. I’ve seen what she’s like when she’s taken it by accident. She gets a rash and a temperature, and she stays in bed for a few days.”
“And that’s what you thought would happen to Teresa?” Jonathon asked.
Mike sighed inwardly. Whatever else Rebecca—and her unknown accomplice—were guilty of, it wasn’t murder. He was glad. He hated to think of her young life ruined. Then he reasoned that whatever the outcome, they had knowingly given her something that might cause her death, even if they hadn’t intended to kill her.
“Who’s we?” he asked softly. When she didn’t reply, Mike put down his fork, reached across, and took her hand. “Rebecca. It’s all right.” It wasn’t, of course, but that would be up to the police to decide.
She shook her head, tears spilling over her cheeks. “No, it’s not. We killed her.”
Jonathon put his hand on her back. “You didn’t.” She stared at him, wiping her eyes. He sighed. “Yes, Teresa died of anaphylactic shock, but it was the result of something she ingested in the pub. Hours after the meal.”
“And besides, I think she’d have noticed something as obvious as ground almonds, don’t you?” Mike added. “She was very careful when it came to her food.”
She frowned. “But….”
“Whomever you got to add the nuts… they put them on the wrong plate,” Jonathon announced. “Our friend Heather got them instead.”
Her frown deepened, and then she stared at them with wide eyes. “Really?”
Mike nodded. “So I’m guessing you know someone who was working on the catering team.” He gave her an inquiring gaze. “One of the waiters?”
The sharp hitch in her breathing told him all he needed to know. Then she sagged into her chair. “My boyfriend, Sam. Ever since we learned she’d died, he’s been waiting for a knock on the door. We were sure it was the almonds that had killed her.” That flash of fear was back. “We… we can’t be done for that, can we?”
Mike had to be honest. “The police might view it as attempted murder, but once you explain that you thought it would cause a reaction like your mum’s, they might be lenient. You just need to be honest with them.”
“Go to the police station with Sam,” Jonathon suggested. “Come clean right away. If you do need a barrister, I’ll find one for you. A good one.” He smiled. “I have some connections that might come in useful.”
“But be prepared for what might happen,” Mike warned her. “Will Sam go along with this?”
“Yeah. He only did it because he loves me.” Rebecca sighed. “We were crazy to think we’d get away with it.” Her breathing grew more even. “I’m glad it’s out in the open. These last few days have been really bad.”
Jonathon patted her on the back. “Now drink your tea. Then we’ll find Sam.”
She nodded, picking up her cup and drinking deeply from it.
Mike poured himself a second cup. At least they could cross Rebecca off the list. The only thing was, he had a feeling there would soon be more names to take her place.
“MIKE!”
“Hang on a sec,” Mike called out from under the bar. “There’s a problem with this barrel. The line is clogged.”
“Then it will have to wait. We’ve got a visitor.”
Something in Jonathon’s tone gave him pause. “I know who it is, don’t I?”
“Oh yes.”
Mike got to his feet and grabbed a rag to wipe his hands. Seconds later, Detective Inspector John Gorland swaggered into the pub, wearing a dark gray suit and a sneer.
Maybe that’s his permanent expression.
Mike gave Gorland a broad smile that he knew would aggravate him. “Good afternoon, John. How nice to have you back in our neck of the woods.” Behind Gorland, Jonathon covered his mouth quickly, his shoulders shaking.
“You’ve been putting your nose in police business again, haven’t you?” Gorland’s eyes glinted. “And don’t bother denying it. I was at the police station just now when a pair of teenagers walked in, saying they’d been advised to pay us a visit. By you.” He narrowed his gaze. “And Mr. de Mountford. Which reminds me. Billings tells me congratulations are in order.” His sneer was still in place. “Congratulations.”
“Does the Met have to send you on another sensitivity course or LGBT awareness training session?” Mike reached for his phone. “Because I think I’ll call them and recommend exactly that. You obviously need it.”
The sneer disappeared, to be replaced by a scowl. “Stay out of this investigation. You were lucky the first time, and you happened to be in the right place at the right time with the last one, but not on this occasion. If I find out you’ve been interfering with police business, I’ll throw the book at you.”
Whatever else he’d been about to say was lost when Professor Harcourt entered the bar. “I’m sorry to disturb you, but the door was open, so I—” He stared at Gorland, who reacted with obvious surprise.
“Professor Harcourt, I didn’t realize you were still in the village.”
The professor smiled pleasantly. “I’m in no hurry to go back to London. I’m staying at a B and B in the village. Besides, since I retired, I’m a man of leisure, and my wife is always pleased to get rid of me for a while. Plus, I’ve had a few ideas about this case that I wanted to share with these two.” He gave Mike a cheerful nod.
Gorland cleared his throat. “I am of course aware of your reputation, sir. You’ve worked on some important cases. Not to mention the fact that the commissioner speaks highly of you. But… please remember this is police business, and that Mr. Tattersall and Mr. de Mountford are only civilians, when all is said and done.”
Professor Harcourt nodded sagely. “And right now I’m here to talk about books.”
Gorland blinked. “Books?”
“Why, yes. The three of us are fans of the late Teresa Malvain.” Professor Harcourt gave him a polite smile. “Think of this as an impromptu book lovers’ meeting.”
Mike stifled a snicker. Like Gorland will swallow that one.
“I see.” Gorland cleared his throat. “I’ll be seeing you, Mr. Tattersall.” And with that, he strode out of the pub.
Jonath
on applauded. “We’ve never got rid of him so fast. Thank you.”
Professor Harcourt rolled his eyes. “I know the type. I’m so glad I don’t have to deal with all that these days. They only call me in now and again when a case foxes them, or if I get asked to lecture. Nowadays my garden claims most of my time.”
“Do you miss it?” Jonathon asked.
He sighed. “At times. It was a fascinating career.”
Mike was curious. “Are you really a fan of her books?”
Professor Harcourt’s eyes gleamed. “I have all of them. Reading murder mysteries might seem like a busman’s holiday, but that’s how I relax.” He took a seat at the bar. “I don’t suppose I could have a coffee before you open?”
“No problem.” Mike got on with setting up the machine.
“Me too,” Jonathon added.
Mike chuckled. “I’d taken it for granted that I would be making one for you too. You haven’t had nearly enough caffeine today.”
Jonathon laughed. “It’s scary how well he knows me.” He paused. “Professor, can I ask you a question? It’s about something Teresa said at the dinner.”
“Please, ask away.”
“Teresa said she’d only once planned to write a book based exactly on a real-life case. Then she said to you, ‘Isn’t that right, professor?’ What was the book she was talking about?”
“My word, what an excellent memory you have.”
Mike turned to face them, carrying two cups. “Try living with him,” he muttered. “He never forgets anything.”
Professor Harcourt took a sip of coffee. “She knew from our meeting that I was a fan of her writing. Maybe she assumed I was a really big fan and knew the ins and outs of everything, like Fiona McBride. I swear she probably knows everything about Teresa, right down to the frequency of her bowel movements.” His eyes twinkled. “Pardon me. That remark was uncalled for.”
“But quite apt, coming from a pathologist.” Mike stilled. “You know what? Maybe we should follow Melinda’s advice.”
“Which particular bit?” Jonathon said with a wry smile.
“She said maybe we should read Teresa’s books. Teresa kept alluding to Merrychurch when she was talking about them. About why murder mysteries work well in village settings.” Mike stroked his beard thoughtfully. “So here’s an idea. What if one or more of Teresa’s books is based on someone in the village? She promised to answer all questions, remember. And she said she was basically lazy. So what if—”
