Chapter Six

 

 

MIKE CLOSED the church gate behind them, and they walked slowly toward the pub.

“What haven’t you told me about Sue?” Jonathon hated to think that Mike hadn’t been honest with him, especially after what they’d shared about their personal lives.

“Hmm?” Mike appeared deep in thought.

“Something Melinda said, about people in the village spreading malicious gossip about Sue. What reason would they have to do that?”

“Oh, God, this is awkward,” Mike groaned. He came to a halt and stuck his hands in his jeans pockets, his gaze not on Jonathon but on the pavement. “Okay. After Sue got divorced, she was very… lonely.” He fell silent.

“Okay,” Jonathon said guardedly. “And?”

“And… when she started work as a cleaner, there were lots of people in the village who were keen to employ her. Lots of women who had better things to do with their time than do housework.”

Jonathon blinked. “You’re not telling me people are saying she’s capable of murder because she’s a bad cleaner, are you? Because that would be preposterous.”

Mike sighed. “No, they’re spreading malicious gossip because Sue’s had quite a few affairs—with their husbands.”

Jonathon couldn’t hold back his soft gasp. “No. Really?” He let out a low whistle. “Well, you know what they say. Hell hath no fury, and all that.”

Mike nodded, his face tight. “Exactly. So you can see why if Sue is a suspect, they wouldn’t be averse to fanning the flames a little.”

“Is she still… having affairs?”

“I think all that came to a stop when I moved into the village. I suppose she felt awkward, now that I was on her doorstep, so to speak.”

Whatever else Mike had intended to say was lost when a bell chimed six times.

“Damn. I should be opening the pub by now.” Mike starting running up the lane, and Jonathon followed him. He knew they’d probably be too busy to talk any more that evening, but Jonathon figured they’d have plenty of time the following day.

 

 

JONATHON ROLLED over in bed and peered at the blue LED alarm clock. It was one thirty, and sleep was proving elusive. He’d climbed into bed feeling bodily tired. Mike had been true to his word and had kept him busy all night. The plus side of working behind the bar was that he’d met a lot of people. By that point there were few who didn’t know who he was, and everyone offered their sympathies. Mike had introduced him to some of the village’s very interesting characters, and although it had been fun meeting them, in the back of his mind remained that one stubborn thought.

What if one of them had killed Dominic?

It left him with a sour taste in his mouth and a knotted mass of snakes writhing in his belly. No wonder he’d found it difficult to sleep.

Then he recalled Mike’s invitation. A mug of warm milk, or something similar, might be exactly what he needed.

Jonathon clambered out of bed, pulled on a T-shirt over his boxers, and padded barefoot to the door. He eased it open as quietly as possible and crept down the stairs, trying not to make a sound on the wooden treads. Once in the kitchen, he found a saucepan, located the large bottle of milk, and set some to warming on the AGA. A microwave would have accomplished the task more quickly, but he didn’t want to run the risk of waking Mike.

Jonathon pulled out a chair and sat down. Outside, the sky was black, the village quiet. The only sound in the pub was the occasional creak, but Jonathon put that down to the sounds all houses make, especially if they were as old as the Hare and Hounds.

He leaned on the table and put his head in his hands. The conversations at the vicarage had only served to stir his imagination—and provide his overactive brain with suspects. He appreciated that Mike didn’t believe Sue had anything to do with his uncle’s death, but the fact that no one had seen her, or even heard from her, was pretty damning. Then there was the old guy who was about to be evicted from his home. Could he have done it? He lived practically on Dominic’s doorstep. Easy enough to get there and back without anyone seeing him. Okay, so he was old—but how old? Still vital enough to shove Dominic so hard that he fell over and cracked his head? And what about the student, Bryan, who had suddenly vanished without a trace? Was his absence linked to Dominic’s death?

No wonder Jonathon couldn’t sleep. His head was about to implode.

“What are you doing up at this hour?” Mike stood in the doorway, scrubbing a hand over his cheek and beard. He wore a pair of shorts and some slippers, and something seemed off about his appearance, until Jonathon realized what was different—Mike wasn’t wearing his glasses.

Jonathon gestured toward the AGA, where the pan of milk had begun to steam. “Well, you did say I could. And I could ask you the same thing. I didn’t wake you, did I?”

Mike shook his head. “Couldn’t sleep. I came down to warm up some—” He smiled. “Sorry. My brain is way too tired. Got enough milk in that pan for two mugs?”

Jonathon got up from the table. “Maybe not, but I can soon solve that.” He went over to the AGA and poured out the steaming milk into the waiting mug. “You have this one. I’ll put some more on.”

Mike took it and added a spoonful of honey. “So, do I need three guesses as to why you couldn’t sleep?”

Jonathon snorted. “You don’t need to be Einstein to work that out.” He sat down again, and Mike joined him. “Is it me, or did the list of people who could have been involved in Dominic’s death just… grow?”

Mike sighed. “I sent Sue a text, asking her to get in touch with me. I didn’t mention Dominic.”

“Why not?” When Mike didn’t respond, Jonathon had a flash of insight. Maybe he didn’t mention it because there was the possibility he might not like her response. Ignorance is bliss, right?

That knot of writhing snakes was back.

Mike was studying him. “You don’t look like Dominic,” he concluded.

Jonathon smiled, aware of the change of subject. “I look like my father, who looks nothing like Dominic. Father takes after my grandmother, and Dominic my grandfather. Apparently when they were younger, no one believed they were brothers. Then when Dominic started losing his hair way before Father, that made the differences even more obvious. You wouldn’t recognize Dominic in some of the older photos. He had a mass of brown hair.”

Photos….

“What just went through your mind?” Mike gave him a speculative glance. “That look on your face…. Did you have an epiphany or something?”

Jonathon shook his head. “Nothing so helpful. I was thinking about that missing photo, that’s all. Why would someone take it? Was it somehow incriminating?” He sighed. “I just can’t shake the feeling that it’s important. Especially after Father lied about it.”

“Can I ask you something a little bit personal?”

Jonathon got up to take the milk off the heat. “You can ask. I may choose not to answer, depending on just how personal you’re getting.” He glanced over his shoulder and winked at Mike. “But I think you’re fairly safe. Go for it.” He went about pouring out his milk.

“Your dad… he’s not supportive about you being gay?”

Jonathon huffed. “That’s just one of the items on his list, Things Jonathon Does That Piss Me Off. Not that you’d ever catch him saying those exact words.”

“There’s a list?” Mike sipped his milk.

Jonathon snorted. “Let’s see. I’m gay. I refuse to marry and procreate. I didn’t go to Cambridge like he and the rest of my family did, to study Law. I showed no inclination to follow in his barrister footsteps. I don’t join him in his belief that London is the be-all and end-all. I’m deluded enough to think that photography is a career.” He shook his head. “Funnily enough, it was Dominic who encouraged me to follow my dreams. I’m pretty sure Father has no idea about that.”

“So what will you do now? If you have inherited de Mountford Hall, I mean. Will you move here?”

Jonathon took a long drink of his milk, letting it warm him. “Honestly? I have no idea. There are a few hurdles to climb before I can even think about that. The first one being Dominic’s funeral.”

“I meant to ask you about that, after the tea at the vicarage. There’s a crypt?”

Jonathon nodded. “Below the church. I always thought it was a spooky place. There are all these stone caskets on three sides, lining the walls. Those are for the really important ancestors. Lesser members of the family got a hole in the wall, with a plaque sealing it. Sir John has his own sarcophagus in the middle of the crypt, complete with statue of him in repose.” He shivered. “I hated going down there as a child. Father dragged me there one summer, when Grandfather was still alive. He wanted me to see where I was going to end up one day.”

“Ooh, nice. Way to go to frighten a little kid.”

Jonathon chuckled. “Just pray you never have to meet him. He still scares me.” He cocked his head to one side. “How about your parents? Are they anything like mine?”

Mike laughed softly. “Not even remotely, by the sounds of it. They were proud as Punch when I joined the force, and behind me 100 percent when I left it. And as for the being gay part?” He shook his head. “Dad doesn’t mention it much, except if there’s something negative on the news and he calls me to tell me what idiots people are. Mum always asks if I’m seeing anyone. I think if I called her up and told her I was dating, she’d faint on the spot. Then she’d be back on the phone, asking if we’d set a date yet.”

Jonathon laughed. “I don’t think I’d mind that kind of questioning in the least.” He got to his feet. “I think I’m going to take my milk back to my room and see if I can get a few hours’ sleep.”

Mike copied him. “I think I’ll follow your example.” When they reached the kitchen door, he paused. “And don’t worry. This will all get sorted out. I feel it in my gut.”

Jonathon tilted his head. “Is that your ex-copper’s gut? Or the one belonging to Sue’s brother?”

Mike huffed. “They’re one and the same.” He gave Jonathon a brief hug. “We’ll get to know the truth eventually,” he said quietly into Jonathon’s ear. Mike released him and then picked up his mug. “See you in the morning. That is, later this morning. And as it’s Sunday, it won’t be an early breakfast. Maybe nine o’clock.”

Jonathon smiled, still surprised by the hug. “Sounds good. Here’s hoping the warm milk does its stuff.” He stepped past Mike and headed for the stairs, carrying his mug. By the time he’d drank it all and was once more nestled in his comfortable bed, his eyelids had grown heavy and he let sleep carry him off into darkness. His last thought as a welcome warmth seeped into his bones was that Mike’s hug had felt good.

 

 

JONATHON PILED the plates and bowls into the dishwasher and switched it on. Outside, the church bells were ringing, a noise so joyful that he had to open a window to let in the beautiful sound. He stood there, eyes closed, drinking it in.

I could get used to this. It was a far cry from the rumble of traffic that passed his door every morning.

“I could really disappoint you and tell you that what you’re hearing is a recording out of the church tower.”

Jonathon spun around and gaped at Mike. “Aw, don’t say that. You’ll shatter my illusions. I’ve been listening to those bells since I was little.”

Mike grinned. “Now would I do that to you? Yeah, there are bell ringers.”

Jonathon glared at him through narrowed eyes. “Bastard.”

Mike let out a heady gasp and clutched his chest. “And here was I, thinking you were a polite, upstanding young man.”

Jonathon went back to his task of wiping down the sink. “This polite, upstanding young man is now regretting cleaning the kitchen after breakfast.”

“Aw, wow. You didn’t need to do that.” Mike’s voice changed instantly. “You’re a guest, remember?”

“Well, this guest is restless.” Jonathon was waiting to be given the go-ahead to go to the hall. For one thing, he needed to choose clothing for Dominic to be laid out in, a job he wasn’t looking forward to in the slightest.

If he could have pinpointed the heart of his inner turbulence, he would probably have put it down to one thing: it felt as though he was waiting for something to happen.

“How about we go for a walk along the river this morning?” Mike peered into the white porcelain bread bin and pulled out what was left of the loaf. “We could feed the ducks.”

Jonathon arched his eyebrows. “Feed… the ducks. You do know that bread is actually bad for ducks, right?” He grinned.

Mike shrugged and stuffed the bread into a plastic bag. “Hey, it beats sitting around here all day. As for the bread, I’ve never once had a duck complain about it. And it is a gorgeous day out there.”

He had a point. Nearly ten o’clock and the sky was a vast canvas of pale blue, no clouds to be seen. When the bells burst into life again, Jonathon inclined his head toward their jubilant sound. “I could always go to the church service and hear Sebastian preach.”

Mike peered at him. “Church. Seriously? Where would you rather be on a day like today?”

That did it. “I’ll fetch my jacket.” Not that Jonathon was sure he’d need it, but with the British weather, it was always best to err on the side of caution, even in the summertime.

Then he amended that thought. Especially in the summertime.

They walked out of the pub, past the village green, and headed down to where the old, warm-colored stone bridge crossed the river. Jonathon stood in the center of it, gazing at where the water bubbled over rocks and created little eddies here and there. He jerked his head toward the bank, scanning the ground and the bushes. He grinned as he spied what he was looking for.

“What are you doing?” Mike asked as Jonathon passed him in a rush, heading for a dead shrub, its branches bare in comparison to the verdant foliage of those around it.

Jonathon snapped off a few twigs, before hurrying to join Mike on the bridge. He held up his prize triumphantly.

Mike’s brow creased in a faint line. “Sticks,” he said in a deadpan voice.

Jonathon did an eye roll. “Oh, come on, you’re not that dense, and you’re certainly old enough to remember poohsticks.”

Mike stared at him. “Poohsticks. Winnie-the-Pooh and Piglet?”

Jonathon smiled. “Thank God. I was getting worried for a minute.” He examined the twigs, breaking off bits so they were all roughly the same size, then handed half of them to Mike. “Come on. Best out of three buys the coffee and cake at the tea shop.”

Mike shook his head, chuckling. “Can’t believe I’m even contemplating this. Forty-two years old, and you want me to chuck sticks into the river.”

Jonathon stilled, his mouth open. “Chuck… sticks… into the river. God, I’m talking to a philistine.”

Mike ignored him and leaned over the low wall, arm outstretched, a twig held between his fingers. “Well, come on if you’re playing,” he demanded.

Jonathon let out a low growl and muttered under his breath about people who didn’t take poohsticks seriously. He stood a few feet away from Mike, his own twig poised for launch. “On the count of three, we drop, okay?”

Mike nodded.

“One, two… three!”

The second they hit the water, Jonathon dashed to the opposite side of the bridge and peered into the shady water to spot whose stick emerged first. He fist-pumped the air when his nosed out ahead of Mike’s.

Mike sighed. “And this, ladies and gentlemen, is the next lord of the manor.”

Jonathon grinned. “Sore loser?”

Mike was already holding out his next twig. “Two more goes, remember?”

When Mike won two out of three, Jonathon accepted his defeat with good grace. “I was going to buy coffee and cake anyway, to thank you for being there for me since I arrived.”

“Walk first, coffee later,” Mike said with a smile. He pointed to the towpath that ran alongside the river. “If we follow the path, there’s a pleasant walk that takes you almost to the hall. We won’t go that far.”

Jonathon nodded. “Sounds good to me.” He followed Mike as he stepped off the bridge and turned left, and soon they were strolling along the graveled path.

“There’s another bridge farther along,” Mike told him. “Have you ever seen it?”

Jonathon racked his brains. “Wooden? Suspended by ropes?” He had vague memories of Sunday walks after lunch at the hall, his father decked out in his country wear, complete with a silver-topped walking stick and heavy walking boots.

“That’s the one.”

Jonathon spied it in the distance. “There’s someone on it.”

A tall, thin man was standing in the middle, tossing something off the bridge, beneath which circled at least ten to fifteen ducks, males and females. The males’ glossy green heads reflected the sunlight, and there was much flapping of wings as the birds fought to take possession of the food.

Then Jonathon noted another figure, this one seated in a power scooter on the path, watching the proceedings. It was an older woman, her face impassive as she stared at the scene before her.

“Andrew!” Mike called out.

The thin man turned and smiled. “Hey. Nice day for a walk, isn’t it?” He nodded toward the bank. “Mum needed some fresh air.” His gaze alighted on Jonathon, and for one brief moment, Jonathon caught a flash of some strong emotion in Andrew’s eyes. Then it was gone. “You must be Jonathon de Mountford. I’m… sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you,” Jonathon murmured politely. Andrew looked to be not that much older than him, but there was a tired air about him, something that spoke of world-weariness.

“This is Andrew Prescott, and his mother, Amy,” Mike told him. “They’ve lived in the village for an even shorter time than I have.”

“Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Prescott.” Jonathon walked over to her, his hand extended. To his surprise she ignored it and glared at him. Jonathon withdrew his hand hastily.

“You’ll have to excuse Mum.” Andrew hurried off the bridge, setting it moving gently as he did so. He gave Jonathon an apologetic glance. “She’s not herself right now.” He patted her shoulder. “Time I got you home, eh?” Andrew gave a nod in their direction. “I’m sure I’ll see you around,” he said to Jonathon as his mother’s scooter lurched into life and began to move along the path toward the village.

“Very possibly.” Jonathon watched their retreat until the pair had gone around a bend in the river and were no longer in sight. He turned to Mike. “What was that about?”

Mike shrugged. “No idea. She usually doesn’t talk a whole lot, but that was the first time I’ve seen her act like that. She was almost….”

“Hostile,” Jonathon finished for him. “Like she hated me.”

“Do you always arouse such strong emotions in people when you meet them for the first time?” Mike’s warm brown eyes twinkled with good humor behind his glasses.

Jonathon lifted his eyebrows. “Why—what went through your mind when we first met?”

Mike bit back a smile. “Thought you were a bossy little shit.”

“Bossy little shi—” He broke off and started laughing when he saw Mike’s grin. “Fine. You don’t get to feed the ducks.”

“Hey, I was the one who had the idea!” Mike retorted.

Jonathon gave him a sweet smile. “Yes, but I’m the one with the bag of bread.” And with that he strolled nonchalantly onto the bridge, reaching into the plastic bag to break off small pieces of bread.

“Er, Jonathon?”

He looked up. Mike was holding on to the ropes and grinning. “Think you can manage to feed the ducks and stay on your feet at the same time?”

Jonathon glared at him. “Don’t. You. Dare.”

Mike let go and stepped onto the bridge with the same degree of nonchalance that Jonathon had just demonstrated. He held out his hand. “Bread, please.”

Jonathon sighed and handed him a big chunk. “Okay, you won that round.”

Mike shook his head. “Don’t forget the poohsticks.” Then he turned to face the ducks and began chucking pieces into the river.

Jonathon didn’t bother to hide his smile. Mike was definitely growing on him.