Chapter Sixteen

BY THE time Mike returned to the bar after seeing Trevor out, Jonathon had made up his mind. “We’re going out.”

Mike arched his eyebrows. “We are? And where exactly are we going?”

“To see Melinda, to talk lilies.” Jonathon wanted to eliminate suspects from his list. Not that he could really see the sweet-faced vicar’s wife brutally shoving Dominic but learning about her lilies made her an important resource.

Mike shrugged. “Why not?” He grinned. “Besides, if we’re lucky, she’ll have been baking this morning.”

Jonathon rolled his eyes. “Do you always think with your stomach?”

Mike huffed. “When it comes to Melinda’s or Rachel Meadows’s baking? Always.” He looked Jonathon up and down. “Well, come on then. Let’s go if we’re going.”

Shaking his head, Jonathon followed Mike to the back door and out of the building.

The lane leading to the church was in the shade, thanks to the trees that spread out their branches over the cobbles, and the air was cool. August was continuing in the same vein as July; in fact, it looked as though it would be even hotter. The churchyard was deep in shade too, with little light permeating the green canopy.

Jonathon caught a flash of movement over by the stone wall that encircled the church property. Bryan Mayhew was kneeling in front of a gravestone, a piece of white paper laid over it. He was carefully rubbing the surface of the paper with a piece of charcoal. As they approached, he glanced up and smiled.

“Hey. I just made a surprise find.” He pointed to the gravestone. “This marks the resting place of Jonathon de Mountford.”

Jonathon couldn’t help the shiver that rippled up and down his spine. “Seriously?”

Bryan nodded. “He appears to have been born in the late eighteen hundreds, and from what I’ve discovered, he died soon after birth. Why they buried him out here and not in the crypt, I’m not sure. Maybe because he was only a baby? Still, the name….”

“Did you know you weren’t the first?” Mike asked, crouching to peer at the stone. The lettering was almost obliterated.

Jonathon gazed at it in wonder. “I had no idea. Did you find him in your research?”

“Yup.” Bryan pulled a notepad from the back pocket of his jeans. “He was born to Elizabeth de Mountford, her firstborn. Subsequently she went on to have six more children.” He smiled. “And you’re a direct descendant.”

“Wow.” Seeing the faint remains of his name on the stone still gave Jonathon the shudders. He straightened. “Well, we’ll leave you to it.”

“Sure.” Bryan waved absently, already lost in his notes.

Mike chuckled as they walked back to the path. “Academics.”

They walked around the church to the vicarage, and Jonathon gazed in admiration at the beautiful garden with its well-stocked beds and neatly arranged borders. “She’s good, isn’t she?”

“Melinda? She’s amazing. You should see the church at harvest. She puts together arrangements that almost blaze with color.”

As Mike finished speaking, the front door opened and Melinda appeared, dressed in linen pants and a cream blouse. “Mike, Jonathon, what a pleasant surprise.” Her face crinkled with pleasure.

“I’ve come to pick your brains.” Jonathon saw no point in beating about the bush.

“That sounds interesting. I’m just going into the walled garden to pick some salad for dinner. Why don’t you come with me?”

“Great.” Jonathon followed her through an arched gate and along a path that led around the house. Ahead of them was a red-bricked wall, with an ornate wrought iron gate set into it. She led them through it, and Jonathon caught his breath. Climbing plants covered the walls, and a heady perfume filled the air. The garden was set out in neat beds, with tiny paths dissecting them. “Did you build this?”

Melinda laughed. “Heavens, no. This garden has existed as long as the vicarage has stood on this spot, which is probably a few centuries.” She pointed toward the far wall, where a wooden gate was halfway along it. “Through there is my hothouse. Your uncle built that for me.”

“Really?”

She smiled. “I had a tiny little greenhouse, and Dominic wanted to do something to thank me for the church flowers. Such a kind man.” She turned to Jonathon. “Now, what did you want to know?”

“Someone told me you’re an expert on lilies.”

Melinda’s face glowed. “Well, I wouldn’t say expert, but… I seem to have been lucky with my blooms.”

“Now you’re being far too modest,” Mike said warmly. “I’ve not been in the village all that long, and even I’ve heard about your collection of first-prize ribbons from past fetes. Sue told me.”

“Then step this way, gentlemen, and I’ll show you my pride and joy.” Melinda walked along the narrow path toward the climber-covered wall.

“Is that honeysuckle I can smell?” The scent reminded Jonathon of his mother’s garden.

Melinda nodded. “I have two types, both of which are very fragrant. This is the area where I also grow night-blooming jasmine, and of course, my lilium regale. No one else in the village grows this species.” She pointed to the tall spikes of green, adorned with white trumpetlike flowers.

“Regal lily, huh?” Mike said casually. When Jonathon flashed him a glance, he shrugged. “So I studied Latin at school.”

Jonathon chuckled. “A man of many talents.” He walked up to the nearest lily and bent close to inhale its fragrance. “Oh wow. That smells divine.”

“I told your uncle I’d grow some for his gardens, but he never took me up on it.”

Jonathon already knew the reason why.

Melinda gave him a speculative glance. “I suppose I should congratulate you, Mr. de Mountford, though it doesn’t seem proper to congratulate someone who has inherited in such a terrible manner.”

“Ah. Word has got around, I see.”

She nodded. “I think nearly everyone I met in the village this afternoon was fairly buzzing with the news. So will you be residing at the manor house? Or will Jonathon de Mountford continue on his worldwide adventures, taking photographs to amaze and astound us?”

Jonathon was aware that Mike was watching him closely, as if he too was waiting to learn of Jonathon’s plans. “I’m not about to give up my career,” he said emphatically.

“Good.” Melinda’s eyes shone. “That would be a waste of talent, if you ask me.”

“Definitely.” Mike’s voice was gruff.

“But… I have decided to move to Merrychurch.”

Mike’s eyes widened. “When did you decide this?” Then he nodded slowly. “Let me guess. Your morning stroll.”

Jonathon bobbed his head in acknowledgment. “I said I had a lot of thinking to do.” He turned to Melinda. “Which leads me to the purpose of our visit. What we want to know is, who else grows lilies in the village?” He grinned. “Put it another way—who’s your main competition for the prize at the fete this year?”

“I can’t think of why you’d want to know such a thing, but I’m sure you have your reasons for asking. Let me see.” She began to count off on her fingers. “Doreen Pointer is often in the running for prizes, as is Les Nugent. Ben Threadwell has produced some gorgeous blooms the last few years. Sarah Deeping usually takes a prize—her lilium longiflorum are always spectacular.”

Jonathon stilled. “Sarah Deeping?” He briefly met Mike’s gaze before returning his attention to Melinda.

“Oh yes. Sarah really does have a green thumb. She helps me out now and again with the flowers for the church. I try to vary the displays, and Sarah often brings flowers from her garden.” Melinda sighed. “Poor thing. I feel sorry for her sometimes. She comes and cleans the church when Trevor is away because it gives her something to do. She hates that Trevor has to travel so much for his job, not that she’d ever say such a thing to him. Wouldn’t say boo to a goose, that one.”

Jonathon wasn’t so sure. The Sarah who’d spoken with him that morning hadn’t seemed in the least bit timid.

“Now, do you two have time for tea? Once I’ve picked a nice fat lettuce, that’s the next thing on my list. You’d be very welcome to stay.” Melinda’s eyes twinkled. “Especially as I’ve just made some fruit scones. They’re probably still warm.”

Jonathon took one look at Mike and burst out laughing. “Stop it, Melinda, or you’ll have Mike drool all over your lilies.”

Mike gave him a mock glare. “Drool? What am I, a dog?”

Melinda laughed too. “That does it. Come into the house. Actually, Jonathon, would you go to Sebastian’s cottage and tell him it’s time for tea? I’ve hardly seen him all day.”

“Sure. And by the way, I did as you suggested. He’s going to join me for a drink tomorrow night at the pub.”

Melinda beamed. “Good boy. I knew I could count on you.” She patted Mike on the back. “And you can make yourself useful and pull up a lettuce for me. Save an old lady’s back.” She grinned and then pointed to the wooden gate. “Go through there, Jonathon, then turn left. You’ll see the cottage at the far end of the garden.”

“Okay.” Jonathon left them and followed the narrow path to the gate. Pushing it open, he found himself at the edge of a huge lawn, at least one hundred feet in length. On the right stood the vicarage, with french windows that opened out onto a patio, and at the other end stood a tiny thatched cottage. Jonathon strolled across the lawn to the low front door and knocked. To his surprise, it opened.

“Hello? Sebastian?” He stuck his head around the door and peered inside.

It was a cozy little place, with a tiny kitchen to the right, what looked like an even tinier bathroom, then a living room, and finally a door that had to lead to the bedroom. A desk sat against one wall and an old, worn couch against the other. Above the desk were two bookshelves stuffed with books.

Jonathon caught sight of a couple of framed photographs below the shelves and wandered over to take a closer look. They were obviously newspaper cuttings, showing children of all ages in white karate robes, clearly demonstrating moves for the camera. The article next to the photo was about the opening of a karate school for underprivileged kids in London, and—

“Can I help you?”

Jonathon straightened so fast, he bumped his head on the shelf above. “Ouch!” He rubbed it as he turned toward the bedroom door where Sebastian stood, his expression neutral. “I did call out. Sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude. Melinda sent me to bring you to tea.”

“Ah, I see.” Sebastian cocked his head to one side. “Are you all right? That was quite a bump you just got.”

“You startled me. My own fault.” Jonathon headed toward the door, with Sebastian following. “We came to see Melinda and got invited to tea.”

“Yes, she does that a lot.” Sebastian chuckled. “Now you understand my comment about waifs and strays.”

“Are we still on for a drink and darts tomorrow night?”

“Oh, yes, of course. How’s your head?”

“Aching, but it’ll pass.” Jonathon felt decidedly guilty. Sebastian must have thought he was snooping, and to be truthful, there was no other word for his behavior. He wanted to ask about the karate school, but after being discovered where he had no business being, Jonathon felt it was a subject best left alone.

Besides, he had bigger things to worry about—like how to make sure Mike didn’t eat all the scones.

“AREN’T YOU the dark ’orse, then?”

Jonathon poured out a cosmopolitan into a cocktail glass and set it in front of his customer before giving Paul his full attention. “I beg your pardon?”

“I had no idea that the lord of the manor had been making my cocktails.” Paul smirked. “You kept that quiet.”

“Not really. I only found out myself this morning.” Jonathon chuckled. “Things really do get around fast in this village, don’t they?”

Paul cackled. “Lad, you have no idea. Do something good around here, and everyone gets to hear about it. Put a foot wrong, and they get to hear about it twice as fast.” He raised his pint glass. “Here’s to you, then. Good luck and good fortune.”

“Thanks, Paul.” Jonathon was touched.

Paul waved his hand. “I like to think I’m a good judge of character, an’ you strike me as a nice, hardworking lad. Besides, Mike obviously trusts you, and he’s got good instincts.”

From a few feet away, Mike laughed. “Nah, he’s working for free. What’s not to like?” Just then his phone rang. Mike glanced at the screen and frowned. “Uh-oh.” He picked it up and met Jonathon’s gaze, his eyes troubled. “Hi, Graham. What’s up?”

Graham? Then it came to him. Constable Billings.

Jonathon’s stomach did a slow flip-flop.

Mike was listening intently, his forehead creased into deep lines. “I see. … Yeah. … Okay, thanks for letting me know. Keep me informed of any new developments, please? … Yeah, yeah, okay. Bye.” He placed the phone on the shelf below the bar, moving slowly, his frown still evident.

“Something’s happened.” Jonathon shifted closer. “What is it?”

“Graham called to say Gorland took Trevor in for questioning two hours ago.”

Shit. “And?”

Mike sighed heavily. “They just arrested him. He told them the truth, and that was that. No alibi that he can prove. Graham said Gorland thinks they were arguing about the bequest and Trevor tried to kill Dominic so that his secret would die with him.”

“But… that doesn’t make any sense. Dominic reverted to the terms of the original will. There was no bequest.” Jonathon felt sick.

“And right now Gorland’s got a man in his cells with no alibi, and what he thinks is a strong motive. Now, I don’t think Trevor’s guilty any more than you do, but I don’t know what we can do to help him. Gorland has to be under a lot of pressure. Dominic died a week ago, and he still doesn’t have someone in the frame for it. Add to that the phone calls he must be getting from your family, and what do you have?”

“A copper who’s making a big mistake,” Jonathon ground out.

“Hey.” Mike’s voice softened. “I don’t like it either. But there is one thing we can do.”

“And what’s that?”

“Find out who was really in Dominic’s study. Then prove it to Gorland, before he lets this go much further.”

“Then we’d better do it fast.” Jonathon hated the idea of Trevor in a police cell. He’d just lost the man he loved, and to find himself accused of causing Dominic’s death had to be dreadful.

“Right now, you have cocktails to make and I have pints to pull. Neither of us can do anything right this second.”

Mike had a point.

Sleuthing would have to wait until the morning.