Chapter Twenty

 

 

THEY STEPPED into the hothouse, and Melinda pointed to the stone flags. “See? That’s where the tin landed. See where the fluid stained the stone?” She indicated the shelf above their heads. “I can only think the cat was up there and knocked it off. At least he didn’t get any of it on his fur. That stuff really stains.”

“When did this happen?” Mike asked.

Melinda frowned. “To be honest, I’m not entirely sure. I bought it on Friday morning. I discovered the mess at lunchtime on Saturday. I wasn’t in here between those times, so it could have been anytime within a twenty-four-hour window.” She peered at Mike. “Is that important?”

“Possibly.”

Jonathon wasn’t sure what it meant, but his gut told him Mike’s hunch was probably right. “It’s lovely and warm in here.”

Melinda chuckled. “Sometimes too warm. There have been days when I’ve forgotten to leave a window or two open, and new plants have literally withered and died in the heat.” She tapped the thermometer that was attached to a pane of glass. “The gardener’s friend, especially in summer.”

Jonathon scanned the floor, looking for anything besides the stain, and his heart raced when he caught sight of something. It was a small shard of purple plastic, molded at one end. He picked it up and held it out for Melinda to see. “Do you know where this came from?”

She peered closely at it. “I have absolutely no idea. Is it important?”

Mike gazed at it, his eyes widening. “Yes, it is.” Jonathon could see he’d recognized it from the crypt.

Melinda gently stroked the cat. “I’ll take him into the house and bathe that paw. I only came to collect these.” She held Jinx in the crook of one arm and pointed to the wooden bench, where some cut lilies lay across it. “I was taking these to the house.”

Jonathon walked over to them, bent low, and sniffed. “Such a fantastic scent,” he murmured. When he straightened, Mike snickered. “What?”

Melinda wiped her fingers across his shoulder. “You, young man, are dusted with pollen.” She held up her fingers, revealing the orange grains. “An occupational hazard, I’m afraid. You should see me every time I use lilies in the church displays.” She paused. “I suppose now might be a good time to ask about the fete. I know you said it could go ahead, but that was before we found a dead body in the crypt.”

Jonathon had been thinking the same thing. The fete was to take place the following weekend. “Strictly speaking, it might seem odd to hold it, but….”

“You’re thinking, what would Dominic have done?” Mike’s voice was gentle.

“Yes!” Exactly that. Part of him wanted to say to hell with decorum. This had been why Dominic had chosen August for Jonathon’s visit in the first place.

“I was about to ask if you wanted to donate a prize for the raffle. If the fete is going ahead as planned.” Melinda’s eyes were kind. “Maybe something of Dominic’s?”

That stirred a memory. Rachel… the tea shop… the watercolors….

“Actually, I’d like to do that. I think I have an idea what I’d like to donate too.”

Melinda beamed. “Then it is going ahead? Oh, that’s wonderful. I’ll make sure everyone knows. And whatever you decide to donate will be very gratefully received.”

“I look forward to seeing your flowers in the show.”

Melinda’s cheeks pinked. “About that…. You do realize, as the new lord of the manor, that you’re one of the judges?”

Jonathon gaped. “Why did no one tell me?” He glared at Mike. “And by no one, I mean you.”

“Hey, don’t look at me. I wasn’t even around for last year’s fete, remember?”

Melinda burst into a peal of bright laughter. “Oh my. You two already sound like an old married couple. How sweet.”

Both of them regarded her in silence, before Jonathon started laughing too. “Okay, I’ll go up to the house tomorrow, while Mike is… out.” He wasn’t about to mention Mike’s trip to London. It would only invite questions that they didn’t really want to answer right then. “I’m sure I’ll find something suitable.”

“Now go take care of Jinx’s paw,” Mike said suddenly.

Jonathon was getting to love this unexpectedly sweet side to Mike. “And we need to leave. It’s nearly time to open the pub.” Not that opening time was his main motivation.

Jonathon had a phone call to make.

 

 

“HEY, GRAHAM? Sorry to disturb you on a Sunday, but—”

“It’s no problem. What can I do for you?”

“I have a few questions about Bryan Mayhew.” Jonathon steeled himself for a rejection.

“Well, you can ask. I might not be able to answer.”

It was more than Jonathon had anticipated. “Did he have any personal effects on him? You know, a phone, wallet, something like that?”

“His wallet was in the back pocket of his jeans, so robbery clearly wasn’t the motive. But no phone. All we found was the remains of a USB drive.”

“Remains?”

“Yeah, well, it was pretty smashed up. It was found under the body. Funny thing is, we put it all together, and there’s a piece missing.”

“This USB drive… was it purple?”

There was a pause. “D’you know, you really had me going for a minute. Then I remembered you were there when the coroner found it. Yes, that was it.”

“Okay, then we need to come see you at some point, because I think we found the piece you’re missing.”

“You… okay, where?”

“In Melinda Talbot’s hothouse.”

Mike was waving at him.

“Hang on a minute. I think Mike has a question too.”

Graham laughed. “So which one of you is Sherlock, and which is Watson? Regular pair of sleuths, you two.”

“Ha ha.” Jonathon handed the phone over to Mike. “Here you go, Sherlock.”

Mike rolled his eyes, then spoke into the phone. “Graham? This might sound like a weird question, but… did the coroner notice any pungent chemical notes on the body? Any staining?”

Jonathon frowned. What the hell? Then it clicked. Jeyes Fluid.

Mike laughed. “No, I have not suddenly developed psychic abilities. … You did? Interesting. So would that be consistent with something like Jeyes Fluid?” He laughed again. “Yeah, thanks for that, but I am not interested in joining the force again. … No, I don’t think we have any more questions.” He gave Jonathon an inquiring glance, and Jonathon shook his head. “Nope, that’s all. Thanks again.” He disconnected. “Bryan Mayhew had stains on his clothing, consistent with Jeyes Fluid.”

“Okay, Sherlock, care to share what’s going on in that head of yours?” Jonathon folded his arms. “What did that help you to deduce?”

“That at some point, Bryan Mayhew was in Melinda’s hothouse. Maybe the shelf got knocked, the tin fell, and he got splashed in the process.”

“Duh.” Jonathon gave an eye roll. “That much I was able to work out for myself. But why was he there?”

Mike leaned back on his chair, his hands folded behind his head. “Okay, this might be pushing it a bit, but… what if Bryan didn’t die in the crypt?”

Jonathon blinked. “Ok-kay,” he said slowly. “Are we suggesting he died in the hothouse?”

Mike shook his head. “Not necessarily. I’ve been thinking about body temperatures, ambient temperature, algor mortis….”

“Ambient temperature? Algor mortis? I’ve heard of rigor mortis, but….”

Mike nodded. “Algor mortis is basically the change in body temperature to match the surrounding temperature. Remember the coroner commenting on how cold it was down in the crypt? Well, she used the ambient temperature—the temperature in the immediate vicinity—along with the body temperature, to work out the time of death. Because there are laws of physics that govern at what rate a body cools.”

“Still with you.”

Mike smiled. “Smart man. Okay, then here’s a suggestion for you. What if Bryan died somewhere else but was kept in the hothouse overnight? Then, just before dawn, the body was moved to the crypt.”

“What effect would that have?”

“The temperature in the hothouse would keep the body warm, so it would cool at a slower rate, for one thing. So we could be looking at a different time of death.”

Jonathon stilled. “Do you think that’s why he was moved? To produce a false time of death?”

“Possibly. Maybe the hothouse was just a convenient place to store the body. Or yes, maybe the killer knew exactly what he or she was doing. And we could be looking for either sex at this point. Bryan wasn’t a big guy, was he?” Mike got up, went over to the bar, and came back with his order pad and a pen. “Okay, I need to work through some figures. Give me a minute, all right?”

“I’ll make sure we’re all ready for opening.” Jonathon stood.

Mike surprised him by reaching out to grab his arm and pulling him down into a kiss. “Thanks,” he said softly.

Jonathon was conscious of a rush of warmth through his body. “My pleasure.” He left Mike to his calculations and wandered over to check that the racks were full of clean glasses and that he had the basic fixings for cocktails, should anyone want one.

About ten minutes later, Mike let out a triumphant cry. “Got it!”

Jonathon dashed over to the table. “Well?”

Mike gave him a broad smile. “There’s a distinct possibility that the time of death is out, maybe by as much as a couple of hours.” He gave a shrug. “It’s not the most accurate way to estimate time of death in the first place—too many variables can affect it—but yeah, he could have died any time after eight o’clock. Ish.” In the distance the church bell rang. “And that is our cue to stop talking and get to work.” He got up from the table and walked toward the doors.

“What? You’re going to leave it there?”

Mike’s laughter reached him. “Nothing’s going to change in the next few hours. Let’s keep ourselves busy, all right? We’ll have plenty to do tomorrow, so much that I might not open at lunchtime. Besides, I have no idea how long it will take in London to find out what I need. I only have her name to go on.”

It sounded to Jonathon very much like another hunt for that proverbial needle.

 

 

“WAKE UP, sleepyhead.”

“Huh?” Jonathon struggled to open his eyes. “Wha’ time issit?”

Mike leaned over the bed. “Time for me to be out of here. I’m on the early train to London, once I’ve made my connection. I’ll be back as fast as I can. I’ve put a sign on the door, saying we won’t be open until this evening.” He kissed Jonathon’s forehead. “And you can have a lie-in.”

“My, how generous of you,” Jonathon quipped. Suddenly he grabbed Mike and pulled him down onto the bed. “Sure you don’t want to catch a later train?” he said, coaxingly.

Mike’s face was inches from his. “You are trouble, mister.” His breath was minty.

Jonathon grinned. “And you’re only working this out now? Some super sleuth you are.” He released his grip on Mike’s arms with a chuckle.

Mike climbed off the bed and tidied his shirt. “I will see you later.”

“If I’m not here, I’ll be up at the house.”

Mike paused in the doorway. “Sue’s Mini is in the car park. Red, 06 plate. She keeps it here because there’s no parking space at her place. The keys are hung up in the kitchen. Take it if you don’t fancy walking. She won’t mind. She hasn’t taken it out for a month, anyway. I think it’s got fuel.” He smiled. “Be good. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” And with that, he was gone.

“Doesn’t leave me much, then!” Jonathon called after him.

Mike’s laughter was just about audible.

He lay in bed, listening to the 4x4’s engine as it burst into life, then faded as Mike drove out of the car park below. He thought about getting up, but a glance at Mike’s clock helped him come to a decision. A lie-in, especially one when he could curl up in Mike’s bed, surrounded by Mike’s scent?

Heaven.

 

 

IT WAS almost eleven o’clock before Jonathon reached the conclusion that he was restless. There’d been no word from Mike, but he assumed that was due to the sheer number of documents to go through. He wasn’t going to sit around until Mike came back from London—he had a job to do up at the manor. And kind though Mike’s offer was, a walk would do Jonathon a lot of good.

He left the pub by the back door, taking a spare key with him, and set off through the village, a bag slung over his shoulder. The sun was already high in the sky, and wispy clouds floated across it, as insubstantial as cobwebs. As he walked, passersby greeted him warmly, and Jonathon returned their greetings. It pleased him that he was already getting to know so many people by sight.

He’d spent the morning rereading his list. A number of items were starting to make sense. Learning that Sarah Deeping sometimes did the flower arrangements, that she grew lilies, cleaned the church…. All of those activities could be linked to Dominic’s death. He didn’t believe Trevor had anything to do with it, but Sarah? Maybe Mike was right after all and she was indeed “a woman scorned.” Only, that didn’t explain the missing photo….

At the bridge he paused to look down into the clear waters as they flowed beneath its arch, listening as the current swirled over rocks and around boulders. He smiled to himself as he remembered playing poohsticks with Mike. It seemed such a long time ago. Then he reasoned that an awful lot of water had passed under the metaphorical bridge since then.

“If you’re thinking of going swimming, it’s not all that deep.”

Jonathon turned his head. A dark green Ford Fiesta was parked at the foot of the bridge, and Sebastian leaned out of the driver’s window, smiling.

Jonathon laughed. “Damn, and I brought my swimming trunks especially.” He walked over to the car. “I thought you had a bike.”

“I do—this is Melinda’s. I had to take several boxes to the post office for her. Remember? General dogsbody?” He grinned. “Are you on your way to somewhere or from somewhere?”

“I’m walking up to the manor. I need to find a prize to donate for the raffle.”

Sebastian’s eyes lit up. “Oh. I’ve never been there. Want a lift?”

Jonathon chuckled. “Sure. Let me show you around the ancestral pile.”

“Then get in.” Sebastian reached across and unlocked the passenger door, and Jonathon walked around and got in. “I’m glad I ran into you now—not literally, of course.” Sebastian pulled away from the bridge and drove down the lane that led to the manor.

“So how come you’ve never been to the house?” Jonathon asked as they sped along the leafy lanes.

“It was usually Lloyd or Melinda who visited Dominic. I had no reason to.” Sebastian turned right onto the long lane that ran past the cottages on the edge of the estate. “I wonder what this would have been like, when it was first built. You can almost picture horse-drawn carriages clip-clopping over the cobbles.”

Jonathon smiled. “There speaks someone who likes historical dramas.”

“Guilty as charged. You should see my DVD collection.” They reached the end of the lane, and Sebastian turned left onto the driveway. “Wow. Look at this.” He drove over the gravel, circling the grassy knoll and pulling up outside the entrance. “And it was just Dominic who lived here?”

“Yes.” Jonathon had always found that aspect hard to imagine. He’d pictured Dominic, alone, without someone to share his life with. Knowing about Trevor didn’t alter that image much; it wasn’t as if Dominic could ever have brought him up to the house.

I’m not going to live like that. Jonathon knew that in spite of his wanderlust, he wasn’t cut out for a solitary life. He was meant for love and family, and he intended to fill the manor with both.

Sebastian switched off the engine, and they got out of the car. Jonathon led him up to the huge front door.

“Welcome to de Mountford Hall,” he said, pushing it open. He stood aside to let Sebastian enter.

“This is impressive.” Sebastian gazed around him at the marble floor and walls, the beautiful staircase that curved its way upward. “So have you any idea what you want to donate?” He pointed to the statue of an angel. “That, for instance?”

Jonathon snickered. “It’s a bit big for a raffle prize, don’t you think? I have no idea how old it is, but I doubt my parents would be happy about me raffling off a family heirloom. No, I had something smaller in mind.” He walked over to the study door and paused at the threshold. “Just so you know? There’s a… blood stain in here.” It had proved impossible to remove it all from the marble.

Sebastian’s eyes widened. “Is that where… he was found?”

Jonathon nodded. “I had to tell you. Not that you can miss it.” He opened the door and entered the room. The air was warm, in spite of the cool marble floor, and light flooded through the french doors. He tried not to look at the fireplace where Dominic had lain. Instead he scanned the walls, studying the paintings, etches, and prints that adorned them.

“So what are you looking for?” Sebastian asked.

“Something created by Dominic. I know he painted, so maybe one of these is his work. And if they were going to be anywhere in the house, it would be in here. This was Dominic’s sanctum.”

They walked around the room, peering closely at the works of art, searching for a signature. Sebastian stopped in front of a watercolor painting of the manor. “What about this?”

Jonathon walked over and took a closer look. When he saw the familiar DdM, painted with a flourish, he smiled. “Perfect.”

Then he nearly jumped out of his skin when someone cleared their throat loudly.

Mike stood in the doorway.

“Christ, Mike, you scared me to death!” Then he remembered his guest’s vocation. “Sorry. That sort of slipped out.”

Sebastian chuckled. “I’ve heard worse, believe me.”

Jonathon stared at Mike, who hadn’t moved or uttered a word. “How did you get in?”

Mike arched his eyebrows. “You left the door open.” He gave Sebastian a cautious glance before staring intently at Jonathon. “Are you all right?”

Jonathon frowned. “Yes, of course I am. What’s the matter?”

Another gaze flickered in Sebastian’s direction. “I was just surprised to find you in here… and not alone.”

“Sebastian gave me a ride here in Melinda’s car. We’ve just found a prize for the raffle.” There was something unnerving about the glances Mike kept darting toward Sebastian. “Look, you don’t have to stay if you don’t want. Go back to the pub and we can talk when I get there.”

Mike shook his head. “No way am I leaving you alone… with him.”

Sebastian stared at him with wide eyes.

“Him?” Jonathon glared at Mike. “Don’t you think that was a little rude?”

Mike sighed. “Fine. Allow me to introduce you to your cousin, Sebastian Dominic Cunningham.” He paused. “Dominic’s son.”

Oh… shit.