by K. C. Wells
Mike liked that each jar was labeled with a bright picture of the fruit, and the lids were covered with red-and-white checked fabric, secured with an elastic band. “Well, have you made your choice?”
Jonathon picked up a jar of plum jam. “These two.”
Mike shoved his hand into his pocket, counted out the correct money, and dropped it through the slit into the honesty box. “Right. Let’s get you to the doctors and get that hand sorted out.”
As they headed back to the car, Mike couldn’t tear his mind away from that chopping board. What were you up to, Naomi Teedle? Because he had a bad feeling about it.
Chapter Six
MIKE PULLED up in front of the main door to the manor house. “Will I see you this evening?” The lights that illuminated the front of the house were already in force, and the manor glowed a ghostly white.
Jonathon had to smile. “That depends which side of the bar I’d be on, and who you were expecting—your boyfriend or Tom Cruise. Because I don’t think I have enough energy to be fabulous with a cocktail shaker.”
Mike chuckled. “The lord of the manor will do just fine. You can sit on a barstool and look gorgeous.” He narrowed his gaze. “And you’d better do what the doc says and apply that ointment as often as prescribed.”
Jonathon rolled his eyes. “Yes, Mother.” He gazed at the white paper bag in his lap, bearing the green cross and the name Driscoll’s. “Was it me, or was that chemist nervous?” There had been none of Nathan Driscoll’s bluster of Sunday night. Instead, he’d appeared flustered when they’d entered the shop, and the speed with which he’d served Jonathon made it look like he couldn’t wait for them to be out of there.
“It was probably me,” Mike remarked. “Some people get nervous around a copper—or even an ex-copper. Or maybe he was in a hurry. It was almost closing time, y’know.” He grinned. “He probably wanted to get home to his dinner.”
“Perhaps.” Jonathon peered through the windscreen and caught sight of Ben Threadwell pushing a wheelbarrow. “Okay. You’d better get back to the pub. It’ll soon be opening time. I’ll see you later. Only, I won’t be on pints tonight. I’ll use the Jag.”
Mike rolled his eyes. “Any excuse.”
Jonathon affected an innocent expression. “What?”
“You love that car. You’re forever having it cleaned and valeted. I swear one day you’ll yell at me for… breathing on it.”
There was a grain of truth in Mike’s words. The sleek black 1969 Jaguar E-type had been Dominic’s pride and joy, even though there were several cars in the garage that had belonged to him. The Jag was easily Jonathon’s favorite. He had memories of going for a ride in it with Dominic when Jonathon was in his teens, and when he discovered Dominic had left it to him, he’d shed more than a few tears. But after a month of cleaning it and gazing at it, Jonathon had come to the conclusion that above all else, the car was meant to be driven.
Jonathon leaned over and kissed Mike’s cheek. “Go open your pub. I’ll see you later.” He got out of the 4x4, closed the door, waved Mike off, then peered into the increasing gloom as he heard the squeak of Ben’s barrow. “Shouldn’t you have called it a day by now, Ben?” Jonathon called out. It was almost dark.
The elderly man walked over to him, unhurriedly pushing the even more elderly wheelbarrow. “Just sweepin’ up the last of them damn leaves. I swear, it’s a never-ending job.” He lowered his gaze to the bag clutched in Jonathon’s hand, and his eyebrows shot upward. “You okay? Nothin’ wrong, is there?”
“Nothing that isn’t my own stupid fault.” Jonathon sighed, then told him about the hogweed. “Mike says I’m lucky, and that it could have been much worse.”
Ben’s eyes gleamed in approval. “Now there’s a man what knows his plants. Good man. You should listen to ’im.” He cocked his head to one side. “So… would you an’ he be… courtin’?”
Jonathon thought it was a charming term. “I suppose we are.”
Ben appeared to consider his reply for a moment before giving another single nod. “Fair enough. Not like it’s something new, is it? Jus’ nowadays, you ’ear more about it than when I were a lad. Back then, you didn’t talk about such things. Well, not in public at any rate.” He removed his cap and rubbed his bald head. “Well, I’d best be off now. I’ll be back tomorrow.”
“Is there much to do this time of year?”
Ben laughed. “More than you’d think. Now’s the time for plantin’ new trees an’ shrubs, an’ coverin’ the winter and spring flowerin’ shrubs with nettin’. Them bullfinches can eat their way through a mountain of flower buds if you let ’em. Then I got to check all the climbers, make sure they’re secured. And then there’s them roses you asked me about a while back. Now’s the time for plantin’ ’em. Plus I’ve got to see to the pond and—”
“I had no idea there was so much work to be done.” Jonathon gave him an earnest glance. “Are you sure it isn’t too much for you?” Ben wasn’t exactly a spring chicken, and Jonathon hated the idea of him tiring himself out.
Ben burst into laughter. “Bless you, son. If I wasn’t doin’ this, I’d be bored to tears, potterin’ around me cottage. On the days when I’m not ’ere, all I do is sit by my window an’ watch the goings-on. Not that there’s all that much a-goin’ on normally, apart from the ramblers traipsin’ along the lane, headin’ for the forest.” He pursed his lips. “’Course, that was why that young constable came a-callin’.”
“Constable Billings?”
“That’s the one. He wanted to know who I’d seen in the lane headin’ to Mrs. Teedle’s place that Sunday mornin’.”
That got Jonathon’s attention. “Had you seen many people?”
Ben gave a shrug. “There’s always folks walkin’, whatever time of year it is. But he was more concerned with anyone I recognized.”
“And did you? Recognize anyone, I mean?”
Ben smirked. “Oh, I get it. You and that Mike, you’re at it again, aren’t ya? Tryin’ your ’and at a bit of detective work? Well, I can’t deny you came up with the goods this summer, right enough.” He replaced his cap and started to count off on his fingers. “First off, there was that Rachel who runs the cafe or tea shop, whatever she calls it. She parked up early in the lay-by, an’ when she came back, she was carryin’ a big cardboard box. Looked heavy.”
Jonathon thought it odd that Rachel hadn’t mentioned seeing Mrs. Teedle that day.
“Then there was a few more villagers, but I’m blessed if I can remember what order they came by in. I just know I saw ’em, that’s all. And they’re only the ones I recall seein’. I wasn’t by the window the whole mornin’. There must’ve been folks passin’ by who I missed.”
“So who else did you see?”
Ben continued on his fingers. “That chemist fella at some point. Always looks like he’s in a hurry, that one. And there was some fella with ’is dog, great big German shepherd. Come to think of it, the mayor’s wife was walkin’ her dog too.”
Jonathon frowned. “Any idea who the man was?”
Ben scratched his head through his cap. “Soft-spoken chap, came to Merrychurch about… five years ago? From somewhere up north, I think. Can’t recall his name for the life of me. Never ’ad much to do with ’im. But I ’ad no trouble recognizin’ that Brent fella.” Ben huffed. “Seems every time I turn on my TV and they’re reportin’ from outside Big Ben, there he is.”
“Brent?” Jonathon knew the name from somewhere.
Ben beamed triumphantly. “Joshua Brent. He’s our MP. Gonna go far, that one. They’re sayin’ he’s gonna be prime minister one of these days.” He chuckled. “Imagine that.”
“Anyone else?”
Ben stroked his cheek and chin, deep in thought. “There were two walkers, but they ’ad their hoods up, so I didn’t see their faces. An’ they didn’t exactly walk slowly. Not that them walkers ever do. You’d think they were in a race, some of ’em.”
Jonathon made a mental note to
write down all the names when he got indoors. “Sounds like you gave him a good list of possible suspects.”
Ben scowled. “Except I can’t remember who I saw last. I wasn’t exactly paying all that much attention. How was I to know she was bein’ murdered?”
Jonathon patted him on the shoulder. “You’ve been a big help. At least the police have somewhere to start.”
Ben made a noncommittal noise. “I’ll be off now.” He picked up the arms of the wheelbarrow and trundled it off in the direction of the sheds where all the tools and garden stores were kept.
Jonathon entered the manor house and headed for the small drawing room where he usually relaxed, watched TV, and listened to music. There was a new squishy couch in there that was perfect for sprawling on, and it was just the right size for two. The room was a far cry from the large, impersonal rooms that took up most of the manor house. It seemed a pity to waste so much space, but as to what else could be done to best utilize the property, he had no clue. Well, nothing that wasn’t outrageous.
Jonathon smiled to himself as he envisaged suggesting to his father that the manor house be turned into some kind of commune.
He’d have apoplexy.
Then he reasoned that telling his father about the new photography studio and his plans for his future might very well bring about the same result.
Janet appeared at the door to the drawing room. “Dinner will be ready at seven as usual. Will it be just you, sir?”
Jonathon nodded. “Although I’ll be going to the pub later, so you can take the rest of the night off. I’ll probably be back here in time for bed.”
“Unless you decide to stay there,” she suggested with the hint of a smile. “Shall I tell Ivy not to make solid plans for breakfast in the morning?”
“What an idea. As if I’d want to spend the night there,” he joked, and Janet surprised him by giggling. “Actually, that’s a great idea. Tell Ivy I won’t expect her until lunchtime.” A night at Mike’s? Why not?
“Very good, sir.” Janet inclined her head and withdrew.
Having a cook and a housekeeper definitely took some getting used to.
Jonathon pushed aside such thoughts and grabbed a block of Post-its and a pen from the table. He jotted down the five names Ben had given him, then sat back against the seat cushions, pondering the list.
Could one of them be the killer?
Such a question was a waste of time. There was too much he didn’t know, and nothing to say that situation would change in the future. Maybe this is best left to the professionals after all.
What came to mind was Nathan Driscoll’s nervous manner. Paw prints. The hogweed. The diaries. Mrs. Teedle’s lifestyle. The inside of her house at odds with the almost derelict exterior.
Jonathon smiled. What harm could come from giving the professionals a helping hand?
Chapter Seven
Wednesday, November 8
“JONATHON.”
No response.
Mike tried again, only this time he nudged the sleeping Jonathon’s thigh with his own. “Jonathon!”
“Hmm?” Brown eyes gradually focused on him, blinking. When that familiar smile blossomed, Mike’s stomach did a flip-flop. Jonathon first thing in the morning was always a gorgeous sight. Then Jonathon grinned as he slid a warm hand over Mike’s fuzzy belly, moving lower….
Mike grabbed him firmly by the wrist. “Much as I love the way you’re going—”
“Oh good, me too.” Jonathon let out a sleepy chuckle.
“That was not why I woke you up.” Mike gestured toward the bedside table on Jonathon’s side. “Your phone was buzzing. You’ve missed a call.”
“Good. Too bloody early to be calling me anyway.” Jonathon shifted closer, until his lips were inches from Mike’s nipple—then he froze. “Wait a minute. No one I know would be calling me at this hour.” He raised his head and squinted at the window. “It’s only just dawn.”
Mike let out a patient sigh. “You’re usually awake before dawn. Which is why I woke you up. I figured it had to be important.”
With a huff, Jonathon rolled over, grabbed his phone, and peered at the screen. His face fell. “Oh God. Well, that’s killed my mood.”
“Who called?”
Jonathon sat up in bed and tapped the keys on his phone. “My father.”
Mike could understand that reaction. One withering glance from Thomas de Mountford had been enough to shrivel Mike’s nuts to the size of raisins.
He waited while Jonathon listened to a voicemail message, his facial expression not improving. If anything, it appeared to worsen. After a few minutes, Jonathon tossed his phone onto the bed and sank back against the pillows.
“He’s coming to see me,” Jonathon said in a subdued voice.
“When?”
“This weekend. And he’s staying the night.” A few minutes was all it had taken to change Jonathon’s mood from playful to downright miserable.
“Any clues as to the reason for this sudden visit?”
“Maybe. He mentioned my birthday.”
Mike smiled. “Oh? Is it soon?” He gave himself a swift mental kick up the backside. Not knowing when your boyfriend’s birthday is? Scandalous.
“In a week’s time. And I have a sneaking suspicion why he mentioned it. After all, I’m going to be twenty-nine. That’s nearly thirty, y’know.”
“Yeah, last time I looked,” Mike said wryly.
Jonathon shook his head. “You don’t get it. Nearly thirty, as in, time I settled down. Got married. Had kids.” His face was glum. “And somehow I don’t think a husband features in his plans.”
Mike blinked. “Why—does one feature in yours?” His heartbeat sped up a little. Okay, so three months was way too early to be thinking about such things, but that didn’t mean the thought hadn’t crossed his mind.
Jonathon regarded him with obvious affection. “Well, at some point, yes. Not this week, though.” His eyes sparkled with humor. “Though that would surely shut my father up.”
“More like, give him a heart attack.” Mike held his arm wide. “I’m sorry your dad spoiled your mood. Would a cuddle help?” Talking about it would only exacerbate Jonathon’s mood.
Jonathon was snuggled up against him in a heartbeat, his face buried in Mike’s neck. “It’s a start.” His breath tickled.
Mike held him, conscious of warm, soft skin against his torso. “You have something else in mind?”
Jonathon craned his neck and grinned. “Like you don’t know.”
Mike let out a happy sigh. “Just checking.” His morning might have suffered a brief wobble, but it looked like things were back on track.
Until the weekend, at least.
He’d deal with whatever Thomas de Mountford had in mind when the time came. One thing was certain: Mike would have Jonathon’s back.
MIKE POURED two more mugs of coffee, then placed them on the kitchen table. “Any plans for today?” His morning was remarkably clear for a change. His stocks were up-to-date, the grocery shopping was done, and everything was ready for opening. That was thanks to Jonathon, who’d insisted on helping clear up the previous night after closing time.
Jonathon bit his lip. “Actually….”
Mike knew that look. “Out with it.”
After a sip of coffee, Jonathon put down the mug and looked him in the eye. “I think it’s time we had a chat with Graham. He must have the coroner’s report by now.”
Mike laughed. “I know what I’m going to get you as a birthday present. A deerstalker hat and a long coat, like the one Sherlock wears on TV.”
“Does that make you John Watson, then?” Jonathon flashed him a grin. “Because you know Graham will make a similar comment.” He reached into the pocket of his jeans, removed a yellow piece of paper, and held it out. “And then we should do something about this list.”
Mike unfolded the paper and read its contents. “What’s this? And who is ‘man with German shepherd’?”
“This is a list of people seen in the vicinity of Mrs. Teedle’s cottage on the morning in question. It’s the same list Graham has. I talked with Ben Threadwell last night, and he said these are the only ones he could recall. And the man with the dog? Ben didn’t know his name.”
“I do.” Mike put down the paper. “He’s George Tyrell. At least, he’s the only person in the village with that kind of dog. Lives in a cottage opposite the church. Nice bloke, if a bit quiet. Not much of a drinker, though. I think he’s only come into the pub once or twice for a pint. Not with the dog, obviously. Northerner.”
Jonathon snickered. “And is that a bad thing? Being a Northerner?” He waggled a finger in Mike’s face. “Be careful how you answer that. I lived in Manchester for a good while.”
Mike laughed. “Ex-copper, remember? It’s a distinguishing feature. You tend to mention things that stick in the memory, like unusual hair, accents, and such like.” He leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. “And what do you propose doing with that list? You can’t exactly go to each person and question them, y’know.”
Jonathon’s face lit up. “I’ve been thinking about that.”
“Oh God.” Mike let out a groan, and Jonathon whacked him on the arm. “Hey!”
“Serves you right. Now listen. What if I were to go to each house and say I was collecting feedback on the bonfire, with a view to doing it again next year?”
“And while you’re there, you just happen to mention that they were seen near the house of a murdered woman, and did they have anything to do with it?” Mike couldn’t hold back his smile.
Jonathon rolled his eyes. “Well, obviously I’d be a little subtler than that. Give me some credit.” He grinned. “Besides, that’s why I’m taking you with me. I figured you might come up with ways to… you know… slip it into the conversation. You know these people, and I don’t.”
