Merrily Murdered

by Sonia Parin

  A grumble emerged from the general direction of the fireplace. Looking over her shoulder, Abby saw Markus Faydon stretching his legs out. Clearly, he’d been listening to their conversations.

  “You have something to say, Markus?” Mitch asked his brother.

  “Only that you should all get everything off your chests before the funeral. You wouldn’t want to speak ill of the dead during his wake.”

  “You should have a chat with his ex-wives,” Mitch suggested. “I hear they’ve reconciled but I’m guessing it’ll only be until they get the funeral sorted out.”

  Abby searched her handbag for her phone only to remember she’d left it at the office charging. “How long till sunset?” She had no intention of setting foot outside until then.

  “It’s not even the middle of the afternoon.” Mitch gave her another glass of water.

  “I don’t suppose you’d be willing to dash across the street to the office. I need my phone.”

  Markus got up and stretched. “I’ll go.”

  “For real?”

  Markus gave her one of his rare smiles. “For real and you won’t even owe me for it.”

  After Markus left, Abby smiled at Mitch. “Your brother is one of a kind.”

  “Yeah, when he hatched, we made sure to break the mold. Imagine having two like him grumbling all day long.”

  Chapter 8

  “How’s Joyce holding up?” Markus asked when he returned with Abby’s phone. “I hear it all happened right outside her café.”

  “In the alley, to be precise.” Abby sighed. “Hard to say how she’s doing. A situation like this one can mess you up psychologically.”

  Markus grumbled under his breath. “Yeah, we don’t want to see Joyce more messed up than she already is.”

  Checking for messages, she asked, “How’s Faith?”

  “She was busy working and listening to the sound of waves.” He gave a nod of approval. “Soothing. I think I’ll try it. She’s been getting a lot of calls from people asking for the latest news on Harold. Everyone seems to know you were the first at the scene.”

  “Technically speaking, Joyce was first on the scene.”

  “I’m sure her phone is ringing off the hook too.” Markus went behind the bar and held up a cup. “Coffee?”

  “Only if it comes with ice-cubes.”

  “Sorry, I only do coffee.”

  “Heads up,” Mitch said. “There’s an angel in our midst.”

  “Huh?” Abby managed.

  Mitch gestured with his head toward the entrance.

  Turning, Abby saw a flash of light as the door opened wider. She rubbed her eyes and made out a vague shape. When the door closed, the harsh light of day disappeared and the vague shape took form.

  Joyce Breeland dressed as a Christmas Angel.

  Joyce breezed in. “I heard you were holed up at the pub. I couldn’t bear to be at the café when it’s empty.” She spread her arms out and flapped her wings. “What’s everyone talking about?”

  “The heat,” Mitch said.

  “Really?” Joyce settled down next to Abby. “I thought you’d all be discussing the dead man I found in my alley.” She turned to Abby. “Have you come up with any suspects?”

  Abby filled her in on her visit to Harold’s house. “He must have worked late into the night to get the Christmas decorations up in his model village. It looks quite pretty.”

  “I wonder what’s going to happen to it all? It would be a pity if it fell into the wrong hands.” Joyce drummed her fingers. “Harold didn’t have any children and, as far as I know, he didn’t get along with his brother.”

  Abby noted that down in her notebook. “Do you know his brother’s name?”

  “Herbert Moorhead. He lives up north where he runs some sort of fishing operation.”

  “Up north?”

  “Queensland. A lot of people like to retire there because of the heat. It’s like your Florida.”

  “I keep forgetting your north is our south.”

  “It’s your north too now,” Joyce said.

  Abby drew a question mark on her notebook. If Harold had made a will and he hadn’t named his brother as beneficiary, who stood to inherit?

  “You want to know who’ll inherit,” Joyce said. “I think Harold will have the last laugh and leave everything to his two ex-wives and enjoy watching them fight over everything from high up on a cloud.”

  “A cloud?”

  “Picturing him sitting on a cloud is better than having him haunting my alley,” Joyce declared. “Where do you stand on the afterlife?”

  Abby tilted her head in thought. “I have an open mind about it.”

  “That means you’re sitting on the fence.” Joyce laughed. “Hedging your bets. That’s sensible. Personally, I can’t believe it’s the end. I think it’s the beginning of something truly magical. Imagine being who you want to be and doing what you want to do without any effort.”

  “I like your version of heaven. So hypothetically, if you wanted to spend eternity eating ice cream, you could?”

  “I’d like to think so, but I’m not sure they have food in heaven. They might have some sort of ambrosia.” Joyce tapped her chin. “I might have to work on a new menu when I get to heaven.”

  Picking up her phone, Abby scrolled through her messages and found one from Joshua.

  Joyce leaned in and hummed. “I see our detective is sharing information with you. Anything useful?”

  “Strictly speaking, Joshua is only following up on a suggestion I made. Something he would have looked into without my prompt.”

  “I thought you had an understanding. He shares information and he benefits from tapping into your amazing powers of observation as well as your gut instinct.”

  Abby read through the message. Harold Moorhead had contacted the store to order some groceries. Had he mentioned coming into town? Had he suggested collecting the groceries? Abby typed in the questions and sent it off. Could they include Martin Smith as a suspect?

  Sitting back, she tried to picture the scene. Harold phoned the store, Martin picked up the call. There might have been customers in the store who might have overheard his conversation.

  She typed in another message and sent it off.

  Pushing out a weary breath, she put her phone away. “I have no idea how the police do it.”

  “I agree,” Joyce said. “In their place, I would haul everyone to the police station.”

  “Guilty until proven innocent?”

  Someone opened the door letting in a fireball of heat. A low grumble of protests made the rounds and then everyone settled down.

  “George Mercer,” Mitch greeted the man who had entered. “We haven’t seen you in town for a while.”

  The middle-aged man took the stool next to Abby and ordered a pint.

  “Been busy moving cattle up to the reservoir. Easier than getting water to them.”

  The gruff tone betrayed a hint of weariness. Abby couldn’t begin to imagine what it took to drive cattle in this heat.

  George Mercer took his beer and went to join a couple sitting in a corner table.

  At the first opportunity, Abby asked, “Who’s he?”

  “He’s actually Harold’s neighbor,” Mitch said. “And he is probably your prime suspect.”

  Markus, who stood behind Mitch, shook his head.

  “Markus doesn’t seem to agree with you,” Joyce said. “Tell us why, Markus.”

  Abby glanced toward the corner just as George Mercer set his pint of beer down with a resounding thump. Beer spilled onto the table. His mouth gaped open, his eyes didn’t blink. Without saying a word, he got up and left.

  Abby looked at Markus. “What was that about?”

  “I believe George Mercer has just been informed of Harold Moorhead’s death.”

  “And? Why did he leave so suddenly?”

  Markus shrugged. “He probably has questions and knows where to get the answers.”

  “Aha.” Ab
by took a sip of her water and experienced the unmistakable feeling of being watched. “Why are you all looking at me?”

  “A sensible reporter would jump at the opportunity and go chasing after him,” Joyce said.

  “In this heat? Are you mad?” Finishing her water, she glanced at them over the rim of the glass. “Oh, for heaven’s sake.” She picked up her phone and called Faith. “Are you still at the Gazette? Great. Did you see a man hurry out of the pub?” Abby rolled her eyes. “No, I don’t mean to imply you sit at your desk gazing out of the window.” She nodded at something Faith said. “I see. Okay. Thanks. Come over to the pub when you feel like it… Yes, I know. I’m a wonderful boss.”

  “Well?” Joyce prompted.

  “He crossed the street.”

  “And?”

  Abby dialed another number. “Hello, Bradford. Help me out, please. I believe a man might be about to walk past your store. He’s wearing…” What had he been wearing?

  “A blue shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows,” Joyce said.

  “Did you get that? Great. Any minute now… Wait for it. Wait for it… Are you still looking out of the window?” Abby cringed. “Sorry. I don’t mean to sound pushy.”

  “What’s he saying?” Joyce asked.

  “Nothing yet. He’s just breathing.” Abby held up a finger. “Oh, thank you. He did? Oh… There you go. I don’t suppose you could step outside and go see? No. Okay, I just thought I’d ask. Bye.”

  Joyce bounced on her stool and, in the process, made her wings flap. “What was that all about?”

  Abby tapped her phone. “What type of car does George Mercer drive?”

  Mitch crossed his arms. “A brand-new Range Rover. Green.”

  Abby pushed herself off the barstool, walked to the window, looked out and then returned. “There you go. The Range Rover is still outside and George Mercer crossed the street and walked all the way to the corner. Bradford can confirm that.”

  “So? What does it mean?” Joyce demanded.

  Abby grinned. “Is George Mercer a cross-stitching cross-dresser?”

  “What?”

  “Think about it. Around the corner from Brilliant Baubles, there are three stores. A dress shop, a shoe store and a craft store. There’s also an office shared by the town solicitor and accountant.”

  “Ah, I see. Actually, no I don’t.” Joyce frowned. “You think he went to the solicitor because…”

  “You said he’s Harold’s neighbor.” Shrugging, Abby added, “He might want to instruct his solicitor to act on his behalf.”

  “To do what?” Joyce sounded exasperated.

  “I don’t know. If I had to guess, I’d say George Mercer will be keen to snatch the property. Harold has water.”

  “Ah. Now I see.”

  They all nodded.

  Abby straightened. “Is George Mercer wealthy?” He had a new car and he owned cattle…

  “Wealthy enough,” Mitch said. “His family has owned the property for over a hundred years.”

  Water.

  Harold had ample water on his property. Would someone kill him for it?

  “Does anyone have a contact at the solicitor’s? Otherwise I’ll ask Faith to see what she can find out.”

  Markus leaned forward and patted her head. “You’re a smart cookie. You did all that without trekking out into the heat.”

  Grinning, Abby said, “I might stay at the pub until the heatwave breaks. I might even wait until the rain comes.”

  “In that case, you’ll have to shift over to the corner and battle it out with Alan Hodge for the regular spot.”

  Chapter 9

  Half an hour later, Faith walked into the bar. “I thought I’d deliver the news personally. I called the solicitor’s office. He has a new receptionist, Rebecca Howard. We went to school together.” Faith settled down next to Abby. “We were not the best of friends. So I threatened her.”

  Joyce and Abby stared at Faith, their mouths slightly parted, mostly in surprise because Faith looked quite pleased with herself.

  Taking a quick sip of water, Abby asked, “What did you say to her?”

  “I told her if she didn’t co-operate Joyce would ban her from the café. She called my bluff.”

  “And?” Abby thought Faith looked too happy to have failed to change the receptionist’s mind.

  “I had to be creative. And that’s not my forte.”

  “And?” Abby asked, caution creeping into her voice.

  “I gave her the chance to change her mind, when she didn’t, I told her I’d send Joyce a text message saying she shouldn’t take any orders for coffee from Rebecca Howard. She got all cranky and haughty.”

  “And?”

  “Oh, she called Joyce but Joyce didn’t pick up because…”

  “Because I’m here,” Joyce laughed.

  “That’s right, but Rebecca didn’t know that. I knew the café was closed today. Also, I saw you coming into the pub.”

  Abby slumped on the counter, her voice a whisper, “And?”

  “She caved in and told me what I wanted to know. George Mercer went in to see his accountant.”

  “Not his lawyer?”

  Faith shook her head. “They share an office and a receptionist. Anyhow, the accountant asked Rebecca Howard to look for Harold Moorhead’s file.”

  Straightening, Abby pumped the air with her fists. “Told ya. The moment he heard about Harold, he went straight to the accountant. What does that tell you?”

  Markus smiled at her. “What does that tell you? If George Mercer had killed Harold to get him out of the way, he would have stayed here to finish his beer.”

  True. If he had killed Harold, he would have avoided making any blatantly obvious moves that would draw attention to himself. The fact he had rushed out only proved he wished to take advantage of someone else’s misfortune. Of course, they still needed proof he had gone to see his accountant to get the ball rolling. Abby assumed he would want to get his hands on Harold’s property. The fact the accountant had asked to see Harold Moorhead’s file could be circumstantial. It really didn’t prove anything.

  “All that work only to prove him innocent?” Faith looked at Mitch. “Beer, please.”

  “Then again,” Markus said, “George Mercer might have arranged for someone else to kill Harold.”

  Everyone agreed that could be a possibility.

  Markus looked out the window. “His Range Rover is still parked outside. He must have a lot to talk about with Joe Adams.”

  “Who’s that?” Abby asked.

  “The accountant.”

  “Oh.” Abby wrote the name down in her notebook. “Do you think Joe Adams knows something about Harold’s will?”

  Faith rubbed her hands together. “Would you like me to call Rebecca and find out? She was one of the mean girls in high school. I wouldn’t mind turning the screws and making her suffer more.”

  “Faith, this type of behavior is unlike you. Why do I get the feeling I’m responsible for corrupting you?” Abby asked.

  “You? A bad influence? Oh, no. Everything I know I picked up from Joyce.”

  “I’m not sure how to take that,” Joyce said, her tone haughty. “Actually, I always try to look on the bright side so I’ll take it as a compliment. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Mitch and Markus looked at each other. “Must be the heat. It’s getting to them too.”

  Abby scooped out an ice cube from her glass and sucked on it. “I think we have to assume George Mercer is off the hook.” She looked around the bar. If the killer wanted to keep abreast of the situation, this would be the ideal place, she thought. Hiding in plain sight.

  Faith looked downcast when she said, “I hope the killer turns out to be someone from out of town. I don’t think I could handle finding out one of us is responsible for killing Harold.” In the next breath she appeared to cheer up. “Are we setting up a crime board and if we are, where should we do it?” Faith dug in
side her handbag and drew out her iPad. “I’ve just had a bright idea. I could set something up on-line and we can all have access to it.”

  “An interactive crime board. I like it. But when you say everyone, surely you don’t mean the whole town.” Abby didn’t think that would be such a good idea since their list of suspects was bound to incense some people.

  “Just us.” Faith drew a circle which included Mitch and Markus. “Circle of trust.”

  “I think you might want to ask Mitch and Markus before drafting them into our band of sleuths.”

  “Do we get badges?” Mitch asked.

  “I’m not exactly deputizing you. You’re always within earshot so you might as well join us.”

  Mitch nudged his brother. “Wait and see. Abby Maguire is going to start delegating. She’s already hoodwinked you into running errands for her.”

  “I did no such thing.”

  Faith clapped her hands. “Okay, I’ve set something up. It’s nothing fancy. Who’s our prime suspect?”

  Abby drummed her fingers. Mitch and Markus both brushed their hands across their chins while Joyce gave her wings a gentle flap.

  “Come on. There’s no right or wrong answer. Don’t be shy.” Faith huffed. “Fine, if no one else wants to go first, I will.”

  Before Faith could name her first suspect, Joyce put her hand up. “I name myself as prime suspect.”

  Abby rolled her eyes. “That’s silly.”

  “Is it? Think about it. If I’m the real killer, I would want to clear my name as soon as possible.”

  “Oh. That’s really smart thinking.” Markus nodded. “And oddly perverse.”

  “Well, I certainly had opportunity,” Joyce continued. “What if I sabotaged my refrigerator? I knew Stevie Garth wouldn’t be available because he’s on his honeymoon and there’s only one other electrician around. He just happens to be the man I hold a grudge against.”

  “Do you?” Faith asked.

  “Don’t be daft. I’m tossing around a theory.”

  Abby gaped at her. “Actually, this is a really good idea. Everyone knew Harold liked to stay home and play with his train set. The house is surrounded by security cameras so anyone approaching the house would have been caught on camera.”