Chapter Seven

 

 

“YOU’RE PRETTY handy behind a bar,” Mike commented as he wiped down the bar top. The lunchtime crowd had departed, it was three o’clock, and they had three hours’ breathing space before the pub opened again that evening.

Jonathon gave a short bow. “Why, thank you. I’d say I was a really fast learner, but that would be a lie.” When Mike gave him a quizzical glance, he flushed. “When I was in Australia, working on my first book of photos, I stayed with a guy who ran a beach bar.”

Mike arched his eyebrows. “‘Stayed with’? Now there’s a euphemism if ever I heard one.”

Jonathon chuckled. “Okay, yeah, you got me. We dated for about three weeks. When I moved on, things kind of ended organically. Anyhow, he showed me a thing or two.”

“I’ll just bet he did,” Mike murmured.

Jonathon fired him a warning glance. “About bar work. Turns out I was pretty nifty with a cocktail shaker.” He preened, buffing his fingernails on his shirt.

Mike’s eyes gleamed. “Now you’ve said something very interesting.”

Jonathon was suddenly very wary of Mike’s grin. “Uh-oh.”

Mike held up his hands, palms turned toward Jonathon. “Nothing too onerous. I was just thinking….”

“Mm-hmm?”

“I get the odd request now and then for cocktails, but for most people in this village, they don’t stray too far from the path of a beer, cider, or glass of wine. What if I were to put out a sign tonight for… Cocktail Happy Hour?”

Jonathon eyed him levelly. “And are we actually talking an hour?”

Mike snorted. “Not really. I was thinking more along the lines of keeping it going for as long as we could. It would be something different, for one thing. For another, it might catch on. And let’s face it, you’ve seen this place at its busiest. Not exactly packed out, was it?”

Jonathon had to admit Mike had a point. And it might prove entertaining at least.

“Okay, I’ll do it.” He had visions of being Tom Cruise, tossing a stainless-steel cocktail shaker into the air and catching it with one hand behind his back.

Then reality set in. Leave the showing off to those who know what they’re doing.

Mike’s beaming smile was very gratifying. “Fantastic! I’ll put out that chalkboard ASAP.”

Jonathon shook his head. “I’m the creative one around here. Just show me where your coloring chalks are and leave the rest to me.”

Mike wiped his brow and let out an exaggerated sigh. “Thank God. You’ve never seen my attempts at art, have you? No one would ever be able to tell what I was drawing.” He went off in search of chalk, leaving Jonathon alone in the bar.

The first thing Jonathon did was to do a quick survey of Mike’s bar stock. It wasn’t as bad as he’d anticipated for a country pub, but it did mean their first forays into providing cocktails might be a bit limited. Then he reconsidered. I could always create my own concoctions. That might prove… interesting. Then he gave a snort. Not to mention possibly lethal.

The morning’s stroll had been a pleasant diversion, but once they’d returned to the pub, it didn’t take long for Jonathon’s mind to turn once more to Dominic. He wasn’t sure if he was expecting too much. After all, the police had only been on the case since Friday morning, and a little more than forty-eight hours probably wasn’t enough time to have found Dominic’s assailant. But all the same, he’d thought they’d have found something.

“What are you thinking about, as if I need to ask?” Mike was at his side, placing the boxes of chalk on the bar top.

“You’d laugh.” Jonathon hardly dared voice what had just come to him. It sounded so ludicrous.

“Try me.” Mike folded his arms across his wide chest.

Jonathon sighed. “I can’t just sit here and do nothing. I want to….” He hesitated. Mike was an ex-copper, when all was said and done.

“Want to what?” Mike’s unexpectedly gentle tone decided him.

“I want to see if I can find out what happened to Dominic.” Jonathon stuck out his chin and awaited Mike’s predictable verdict.

What he got back knocked the wind out of his sails.

“Okay.”

Jonathon blinked several times. “Okay? No arguments? No ‘Oh no, you must leave this up to the professionals’?”

Mike huffed. “I’m sure the local police are doing all they can. Plus we now have the best and brightest the Met can offer.” He rolled his eyes. “I’m pretty sure that’s exactly how Gorland sees himself. But yes, I’m equally sure that there are avenues we can follow that might lead us to the truth.”

“We?”

Mike regarded him calmly. “You don’t think I’d let you do this on your own, do you? You may be the expert here at taking a photograph or two, or—”

“Or two?”

Mike smirked. “And you may yet prove to be a dab hand at cocktails, though we’ll know more about that tonight. But I’m the ex-detective, so I may have a few valid ideas on the subject. Agreed?”

“Agreed.”

“And on that subject… I’ve had an idea, which might be a little… illegal.”

Now he had Jonathon’s full attention. “What did you have in mind?”

“I want a look at that coroner’s report.”

Jonathon stilled. “And how exactly do you propose doing that? Just call them up and ask to see it?” He could imagine DI Gorland’s reaction.

Mike chuckled. “You’re not that far off the mark, actually. I was going to ask Graham Billings if he could get us a copy of it.”

“Constable Billings?”

Mike nodded. “Trust me. There’s a good chance he’ll say yes.” He got out his phone and scrolled through. “Graham. You got a sec? I have a huge favor to ask.” He wandered over to the window, lowering his voice. Jonathon watched, trying to gauge how the conversation was going. After a few minutes, Mike ended the call and rejoined him. “He’ll be here in half an hour.”

“Seriously?” Jonathon was astounded.

Mike smiled. “Okay. I may only have lived here for eleven months, but in that time, there have been no police callouts for drunken or rowdy behavior, which apparently was not the case with my predecessor.”

“Ahh.” Now it made sense. “He likes the way you run the pub. Less work for him.”

“Yes. Added to that is the tiny but significant point that me and his uncle go way back. We worked together in London when I first started out.” Mike winked and tapped the side of his nose. “It’s all about who you know.”

And that made even more sense.

When Constable Billings arrived, however, he didn’t seem completely at ease. He held a large brown envelope, while gazing furtively around the pub, as though he expected DI Gorland to leap out from behind a chair at any moment. “You do know I could get shot for this, right?”

Mike arched his eyebrows. “One, shooting seems a bit excessive. Two, he’s not going to find out. Three, you don’t even have to leave the copy with us. We just need a peek at it.” When the constable bit his lip, his brow furrowed, Mike patted his arm. “And think of it this way. What if we manage to work out who did it, instead of Gorland? It’ll make you look good.”

Constable Billings gave a startled cough. “What—you’d let me take the credit for the arrest? Providing we make one, of course.”

“Well, I couldn’t, could I?” Mike’s lazy smile made Jonathon’s insides do a little flip-flop, and he shoved aside all such thoughts. Down boy. There were more important things to occupy his mind now.

After a moment’s hesitation, Constable Billings handed Mike the envelope.

“Now we’re getting somewhere.” Mike slid out the single sheet of paper and perused it carefully.

Jonathon was suddenly aware that his heartbeat had sped up. “Well?”

“Stuff we already know, like the bruising and the cracked ribs. And the—” Mike fell silent.

“What is it?” Jonathon moved closer to peer at the document.

“They’ve estimated his time of death.” Mike gazed up at Jonathon. “Dominic didn’t die Friday morning. It was more like Thursday evening.” Mike scanned the sheet. “He fell onto the edge of the fireplace and hit the side of his head. Killed almost instantly, they reckon.”

Jonathon prayed it was so. His chest tightened at the thought of Dominic lying there all that time, his life slowing ebbing away. “Is there anything else? Anything on the body that gives us any clues?”

Constable Billings gave him a faint smile. “You’ve been watching too much CSI, mate. I mean, sir.”

Jonathon chuckled. “I think I preferred mate.” He nudged Mike. “Well? Is there anything else?”

“No trace fibers, but there was something odd. They found pollen on Dominic’s clothing.”

“Pollen? From what?”

“It doesn’t say, apart from possibly being lily pollen. They’ve sent it off to be tested.” Mike glanced at Jonathon. “Are there lilies in the gardens up at the hall? Or in the hall, for that matter?”

Jonathon tried to picture the gardens. “Not that I can recall. Maybe we need to go up there and take a look around.” Then a thought occurred to him that sent icy fingers trailing over his skin. “We’re forgetting about the rug.”

“What do you mean?”

“We know now that Dominic received a pretty hard shove to his sternum, right? And that caused him to fall. Someone went to the trouble of making it look like he tripped on the rug.” He locked gazes with Mike. “Can we be sure it wasn’t an accident?”

Mike’s eyes were full of compassion. “We won’t know for sure until we have all the facts.” He put the sheet back in the envelope and handed it to Constable Billings. “Thanks for that.”

“Don’t mention it.” Constable Billings narrowed his eyes. “Seriously. Don’t mention it.”

“Got it.” Mike saw him to the door. When he returned, Jonathon lifted his chin and looked Mike in the eye.

“I can’t sit around, dwelling on this. I’ll go crazy.” Just looking at the coroner’s report had Jonathon’s stomach churning all over again.

“Then don’t,” Mike said shortly. “Why don’t you make a list of what you’ll need for tonight, and then you can put up a list of which cocktails will be available.”

“I’ve already taken a peek at your shelves.” Jonathon pointed to the line of bottles. “We’re going to need stuff like limes, lemons, juice, olives….”

“Then let’s get out of here.” Mike headed for the door.

“Where are we going?”

“The village shop. They’re open every day until nine, and they stock everything. Well, nearly everything.”

Jonathon smiled. “What are we waiting for?” Anything to keep his mind off reality for a while.

 

 

“A VODKA martini? Isn’t that what James Bond drinks?”

Jonathon grinned at the attractive woman who was peering at the cocktails list. “Yes, ma’am. Vodka, vermouth, ice, and an olive. Do you want to try one?” He loved Rachel Meadow’s facial expression, a mixture of interest and longing, as if drinking cocktails was somehow an illicit act.

“Ooh.” She smiled. “Go on, then.”

“Coming right up.” Jonathon grabbed the bottles and began measuring into the shaker. He winked at her. “And this will definitely be shaken, not stirred.” He shook the stainless-steel container vigorously.

Rachel giggled.

“Can’t believe you just said that,” Mike muttered at his side. He glanced around the pub. Virtually every table was occupied, along with the padded seats in the bay window. “This was a great idea. I’ve never seen this place so full.”

“Ah, but are they here for the drinks or the new bartender?” The man seated on a stool in front of Mike inclined his head in Jonathon’s direction. “I suspect the latter. They all want a peek at the latest de Mountford.”

Mike huffed. “Maybe, but as long as they’re here to have a drink, I’m happy.”

Jonathon laughed. “I see. I’m a draw, am I?” He strained the cocktail into a glass, dropped an olive into it, and then added a slice of lemon on the side. “There you are.” He placed the concoction in front of Rachel.

The man to her left chuckled. “You wanna watch yerself there, Rachel. How many is that now?”

She gave him a sly smile. “I’m not counting. And if you were any sort of a gentleman, Paul Drake, you wouldn’t be counting either. Besides, it’s only fair. Jonathon here came and sampled my cakes this morning. I have to reciprocate, right?” Rachel Meadows winked at Jonathon.

“Of course,” Jonathon said with wide eyes. “How’s the martini?” he asked as she took a cautious sip.

“Ooh, nice.” Rachel’s eyes shone. “I think I prefer this to the Cuba Libre.” The words came out as though she was savoring their taste.

Paul snorted. “Come on, now. That’s nothing but a fancy name for a rum and Coke.”

“Amazing what adding a wedge of lime can do to a drink, isn’t it?” Jonathon was enjoying himself. He peered at Paul’s empty pint glass. “Why don’t you try one?”

Paul squinted at the chalk-written list. “Uh, don’t know about that. They’ve all got pretty, froufrou names. I mean, look at them. Piña colada, daiquiri, cosmopolitan, tequila sunrise… these are all your basic women’s drinks.”

Jonathon bit his lip. “I think I have just what you need.” He measured spirit into the shaker over ice and added juice. When he’d shaken it for a moment, he poured it into a squat glass and placed it on the beer mat in front of Paul. “There. A man’s drink.”

“What is it?” Paul lifted the glass and brought it to his lips.

Jonathon grinned. “A screwdriver.”

Mike gave a sound that was half laughter, half snort.

Paul laughed. “Fair enough. I guess I walked right into that one.” He took a long drink and smacked his lips. “I always was partial to a vodka and orange.” He glanced over his shoulder toward a table where a couple sat. “Hey, Trevor. You bought one of these cocktails for the missus yet? I’m sure Sarah would love a cosmo. That’s what they call it on Sex and the City, right?”

Jonathon burst out laughing. “You’re a dark horse. I wouldn’t have had you pegged as a Sex and the City kind of bloke.” Paul seemed more the farmer type, rough around the edges but good-natured with it.

Paul gave a smug smile. “You’d be surprised at what I watch on the ol’ gogglebox. I’m an enlightened kind of guy. Ain’t that right, Trev?”

Trevor looked across the bar in their direction, and Jonathon could have sworn he flinched. He tugged his wife’s arm. “Think it’s time we were off home, eh?” He spoke quietly, but Jonathon caught his words.

Sarah blinked. “What? But we’ve only been here half an hour. And I haven’t tried a cocktail yet.”

Trevor snapped his hand back. “Fine. Forget I said anything. You go choose a cocktail. I don’t want anything.”

Sarah raised her eyebrows and got up from the table, leaving Trevor staring into his empty glass.

“Bloody hell,” Mike muttered under his breath. “I think the world just stopped on its axis.”

“What do you mean?” Jonathon spoke out of the corner of his mouth as he watched Sarah reading the list.

“Trevor Deeping. One of my best customers, in the sense that he drinks more than any other bloke in here.” Mike paused for a moment. “Come to think of it, I haven’t seen him in here for a few nights.”

Jonathon gazed at Trevor with interest. “Wonder why he stayed away?”

Mike chuckled. “And there goes the click of that sleuthing brain of yours.”

“What?” Jonathon frowned. “No, I just find it really interesting when people stray from their usual pattern of behavior.”

“What’s in a mojito?” Sarah asked.

“White rum, Sprite, mint, lime, and sugar.” Jonathon gave her a half smile. “Want to try it?”

“Ooh, go on. Sounds exotic.”

He laughed and began crushing the mint leaves, lime, and sugar, aware of Sarah watching, clearly fascinated. His mind wasn’t on the cocktail, however. That was fixed firmly on Trevor, who kept darting distinctly nervous glances in Jonathon’s direction.

Why are you scared of meeting my eyes, Trevor? Because that much was obvious.

Then he gave himself a mental shake. Mike was right. He was starting to see suspects everywhere.