Chapter Thirteen

BY THE time they got back to the pub, Mike was already hard at work behind the bar. His face lit up when Jonathon walked in. “Good timing. Get back here and give me a hand? Looks like the world and his wife have decided to come in for a drink tonight.” He nodded in the direction of Sue and Andrew. “Have a seat, you two. We’ll talk when things quiet down a bit.”

“Might’ve known he wouldn’t let me off the hook that easily,” Sue mumbled.

Andrew said nothing, but put his arm around her shoulders, his manner almost defiant. Judging by the muted gasps and instant whispers that resulted, Jonathon understood his move completely.

He dashed behind the bar and handed Mike his keys. Only a minute passed before a customer was asking for a cocktail, so he rolled up his sleeves and got to work. “Is it usually like this on a Wednesday night?”

Mike snorted as he pulled a pint into a glass. “Absolutely not. I think word’s still getting around, if you ask me. They’ve come to gawk at you.”

“Still? I’ve been here since the weekend. You’d think they’d seen enough of me by now for the novelty to have worn off.” Jonathon poured vodka into a measure before tipping it into the cocktail shaker.

“And how was my delightful ex-colleague?”

Jonathon chuckled. “Pissed off that he’s lost a suspect, if you ask me.” Gorland’s loss was theirs too, however. Jonathon gave a nod to where Andrew and Sue sat at a small table, gazing at each other while they talked quietly, Sue’s hand clasped in Andrew’s. “And there’s one less secret in this village tonight.”

Mike sighed. “Yeah. I’m glad she’s found someone. I just wish she’d had the guts to tell me about him before this.”

“And before he became a murder suspect,” Jonathon added. “I’m certain he’s thinking that wasn’t the best way for you to learn about the two of them.”

“Tell me about it.”

Jonathon glanced at Mike. “You’re not going to give them a hard time, are you? Don’t you think they’ve been through enough?”

Mike smiled at him. “Sue’s already got under your skin, hasn’t she?”

Jonathon wasn’t about to acquaint him with their recent conversation. “I just think she’s got enough on her plate. You said it yourself: there are plenty of people in the village who are quite happy to spread malicious gossip about her. This is only going to add fuel to the fire.”

Mike gazed at Andrew. “I hope he’s got a thick skin.”

Jonathon had a feeling Andrew might surprise him. He gave Mike a grin. “Do you think you’ve filled that glass enough?” Beer was trickling over the rim.

“What? Oh shit!” Mike jerked his head down and groaned. He emptied the glass into the drip tray, then glared at Jonathon. “Haven’t you got cocktails to shake, Tom?”

Jonathon chuckled, pouring out the martini through a strainer. He was starting to enjoy bar work.

MIKE BADE good night to the last customer, then shut the door. “Thank goodness that’s over.” He glanced around the bar. “Where’s Andrew and my sister?”

“In the kitchen, making us sandwiches. We missed dinner, remember?” Jonathon wiped down the bar and loaded the last of the glasses into the washer. He straightened up and sighed. “Great. Six days since I found Dominic, and what do I have to show for it? I’ve become good at making cocktails, but we’re no closer to discovering who was in that study with him.” A wave of frustration rolled over him.

Mike came behind the bar, walked up to Jonathon, and pulled him into a hug. Jonathon stiffened slightly in surprise, but then relaxed into the embrace, his cheek against Mike’s scratchy one. Jonathon was at a loss what to do with his hands, but then he put them around Mike, resting them against his back.

“It’ll all come right, I know it will,” Mike murmured.

Jonathon appreciated the positive comments, but what felt even better was Mike’s arms around him, his strong arms supporting him.

A cough had Mike pulling away.

“Oh, sorry. Did I interrupt something?” Sue’s voice held amusement. She placed a plate of sandwiches on the bar, grinning.

Supportive or not, Jonathon cursed her timing.

“When you’ve quite finished enjoying yourself….” Mike cleared his throat. “How did you two get together?”

Andrew gave Sue a swift look, and she nodded. He sighed. “This last year, Mum has become more… demanding. She’s needed more looking after, and I’ve just felt so bloody tired all the time. I’m basically her carer now, so I started looking into getting some respite care, only Mum refused to hear of it. Well, she did when she was in her more lucid moments. In the end I resorted to something that I’m not proud of.”

Sue took his hand and squeezed it. “Hey, you did what you had to do to preserve your sanity.”

“Are we talking something illegal here?” Mike frowned.

“No, just immoral.” Andrew drew in a long breath. “I… crushed up a couple of sleeping tablets and fed them to her in her food. Not something I did often, just now and again, when I needed a break.”

“It was one of those times that I came across him sitting in his car by the river, asleep at the wheel.” Sue gave Andrew a fond glance. “At first I was scared stiff. I thought he was dead.”

“Until I gave a loud snore and woke myself up,” Andrew admitted, his face flushed. “She had me drive her home and then invited me in for a coffee.”

“I figured he needed waking up,” she said with a faint smile. “Anyway, that was how we got talking. We used to meet up for coffee and a chat, only I had no idea about the sleeping tablets, not until much later. And by then, I was already half in love with him.”

Andrew leaned over and kissed her cheek. “Likewise.” He glanced at his watch. “I’m sorry, guys, but I really need to get home. Celia says Mum is tucked up in bed asleep, but she’s still at the house, bless her, and it’s almost midnight. I don’t want to piss her off, because she is really good about sitting with Mum now and again.”

“Want me to come home with you?” Sue asked.

Andrew’s face glowed. “Really?”

Sue flushed. “Well, seeing as we’re not hiding anymore, maybe it’s time we let your mum in on the secret. Seeing as the rest of the village will know by tomorrow anyway.” She chuckled. “Judging by the gossiping that was going on all night. Talk about looks.” She did an eye roll.

Andrew chuckled. “In that case, come home with me. I’d love to have you stay.”

Sue laid a hand on his arm. “Tomorrow we need to go pick up Sherlock. I miss him, and he must be driving Becca and her three cats crazy, even if he is madly in love with Lucy, Becca’s golden retriever.”

“We can do that. Mum can come too. She’ll enjoy the ride. And besides, I’m sure by then we’ll have lots to talk about on the way to Reading.”

“Yes, we will. Top of my list is the decision I’ve just come to.” Sue squared her jaw. “I’m going to ditch the name Bentley, and go back to being Sue Tattersall. Having that DI call me by that damned name made me realize I don’t want to hear it a minute longer.”

Andrew’s face lit up in a shy smile. “I like that idea.” He put out his hand toward Mike. “Thanks for being so understanding, Mike, and for believing me. That meant a lot.”

Mike shook it, then gestured toward Jonathon. “He insisted that I had to do something.”

Andrew beamed. “Aw. Thank you.” He tugged Sue’s arm. “Come on, you.” He led her to the main door, and Mike followed to let them out. By the time he returned, Jonathon had already wolfed down one sandwich and was attacking a second. He made an appreciative noise that had Mike smiling.

“Sounds like you needed that.” Mike picked up a sandwich and began to eat.

Jonathon nodded, finishing his with one bite. “And now I think I’ll head for my bed.”

“I’ll cook us breakfast in the morning, how’s that?”

He let out a happy sigh. “That sounds wonderful.” Impulsively he gave Mike a firm hug. “Sleep well.”

“You too.”

Jonathon left him in the bar and climbed the stairs, bodily tired. It was a fatigue he didn’t mind, because he’d been busy all night making cocktails. What he needed right then was a night without dreams, a night of deep, velvety sleep.

JONATHON SWITCHED off the water before climbing out of the bath and grabbing his towel. He could already smell bacon cooking downstairs, and the thought of a crisp bacon sandwich on thick slices of bread, with a generous dollop of brown sauce, had him drying himself off rapidly.

By the time he entered the kitchen, the bacon was ready, cooked to perfection, the aroma heavenly. Mike had sliced the bread, and the scent of freshly brewed coffee filled the air.

“I feel spoiled,” Jonathon said with a happy sigh as he sat at the heavy wooden table.

Mike laughed. “You need fortifying this morning. You have a visit to make.”

Jonathon arched his eyebrows. “I do?” He reached for a plate and began assembling the sandwich, layering the thick rashers so no trace of bread could be seen.

“Yup. Forgive me if you think I’m butting in, but you really need to see Dominic’s solicitor. Not just because you’re his heir and you need to see the will, but because there might be a clue in his bequests.”

“Such as?”

Mike shrugged. “No idea. It was just a thought. I’m also thinking about people who aren’t in it but who maybe should be.”

“Ah. Yes.” Jonathon held the sauce bottle upside down and whacked it on its bottom. “This stuff doesn’t want to come out.”

“Careful!” Mike shouted as he landed another blow. “Sometimes it does that and then it—” His words died as a huge blob of brown sauce landed on the bacon. Way too much brown sauce.

Jonathon glared at the bottle as if it was its fault.

Mike chuckled, picked up a knife, and began to scoop up some of the sauce onto its blade. “Oh, look, there’s bacon under there! You did want bacon with your brown sauce, right?”

Jonathon gave him a look. “You can go off people, y’know.”

Mike laughed. “Eat up. Then you can call to make an appointment. It’s time we had some answers.”

Jonathon couldn’t agree more, but there was no way he was about to hurry.

Bacon sandwiches were not to be rushed.

JONATHON WASN’T really surprised that Mr. Omerod’s place of business looked nothing like an office. He lived in a stone cottage, with square windows and white-painted wooden eaves and a sign on the wall beside the glossy black-painted door with its brass lion’s head knocker.

He lifted the lion’s jaw and rapped against the strike plate. “Hey, Mike. Do you see? Brass,” he said quietly.

Mike snickered. “What did I say about seeing brass everywhere?”

The door opened and an elderly, white-haired gentleman stood there, dressed in a black suit with a white shirt and black tie. It took a moment for the thought to register: this was the first person Jonathon had met who appeared to be in mourning.

“Mr. de Mountford. Please, come in.” His gaze alighted on Mike, and he arched his eyebrows.

Jonathon gestured toward Mike. “I’ve invited Mike to join me. I’ve been staying with him since Friday. That’s not a problem, is it?”

“Of course not.” Mr. Omerod’s tone was dry. He stepped aside to let them enter. “My office is on the left.”

Jonathon liked the white walls and black oak beams, the black leather couch beneath the window, and the straight-backed chairs in front of the highly varnished desk. A dark wooden bookcase stood behind it, filled with heavy tomes in dusty shades of black and red.

Mr. Omerod indicated the chairs. “Please, be seated. Would you care for some tea?”

“We’re fine, thank you.” Jonathon sat down, with Mike taking the chair beside him.

“I was glad to receive your call this morning. Actually, I was going to contact you. I had expected to hear from you sooner.”

Jonathon had been expecting the rebuke. No doubt his father had called soon after their conversation. “To be honest the last thing I wanted was to be reminded of Dominic.” It was a lame excuse for staying away, but it was the truth. It had taken him until that morning to summon up enough enthusiasm to meet with the solicitor, even after Mike had basically badgered him to do it. Jonathon wasn’t quite sure why he’d avoided this meeting. Maybe it was because he associated Mr. Omerod with his family.

Not a welcome association.

Mr. Omerod cleared his throat. “Yes, well, that is understandable in the circumstances. I think Dominic was closer to you than to any other family member, even your father.” He opened a thick folder on the desk. “Having spoken recently with your father, I am given to understand that you are already acquainted with the main clause of your uncle’s will.”

“If you mean that he named me as his heir, then, yes.”

Mr. Omerod nodded. “Exactly. You inherit de Mountford Hall, its contents, and its lands. Though I should add that a portion of those lands are in the process of being sold to developers.”

“I did hear about that. Do you have any idea why my uncle was selling?”

“I’m afraid not. Whatever Dominic’s motivations were for the sale, he kept them to himself. I merely advised him.” Mr. Omerod coughed. “At this juncture I feel I should point out that this will has undergone some revisions in recent months.”

“Dominic changed his will?” Mike sat up straight, his eyes gleaming as he glanced at Jonathon. “Now we’re getting somewhere. What changes did he make?”

Mr. Omerod gave an impatient sigh. “Perhaps I should have expressed myself more clearly. I carried out his instructions regarding the revisions, drew up a new will, which was then signed and witnessed. However, a week later, he called me and asked me to draw up a new will.” He coughed again. “I say new, but it was identical to the original. For some reason, Dominic changed his mind and decided to leave the will as it was.”

“Then how did Dominic’s revised will differ from this one?” Jonathon demanded. Because if the beneficiaries knew about those changes, it might account for some pretty disgruntled people….

Mr. Omerod consulted the document in front of him. “There was only one major change. Dominic intended to leave a large bequest to someone in the village.”

“Large can have many connotations,” Mike remarked dryly. “Just how large are we talking?”

Mr. Omerod’s gaze flickered from Mike to Jonathon, who nodded encouragingly.

“Dominic decided on the sum of fifty thousand pounds to be left to Trevor Deeping of Mill Lane, Merrychurch.”

Mike stared at Mr. Omerod. “Trevor? Seriously?”

“Why do I know that name?” Jonathon asked. “Hang on—didn’t I meet him in the pub?”

Mike nodded slowly, his eyes shining. “The first night you did the cocktails. In fact, you made cocktails for his wife, Sarah. Trevor’s a salesman, does a lot of traveling.”

Jonathon tried to picture him. “The guy who wouldn’t look me in the eye. The one you took home drunk the night Dominic died.”

“Yup. That was Trevor.” Mike regarded Mr. Omerod with interest. “Did Dominic ever say if Trevor was aware he’d changed his will?”

“Dominic certainly never mentioned it.” Mr. Omerod closed the folder.

“Did he tell you why he wanted to make the bequest?” Jonathon demanded. Maybe there was a plausible explanation. Maybe this Trevor had saved Dominic’s life. But if that was the case, why change his mind and revert back to the original will?

Jonathon ran out of ideas at that point.

“I have no idea. Whatever the reason, he did not share it with me. And as the will reverted back to its original form, I saw no reason to press the matter further. Apart from small bequests to his staff—which, I might add, includes your sister, Mr. Tattersall—the bulk of his estate goes to you.” He gazed keenly at Jonathon. “You have just become a very wealthy man, Jonathon.” Mr. Omerod gave him a thin smile. “Congratulations.”

Jonathon didn’t know how to react. What the hell are you supposed to say when you’re given news like this? Okay, so he’d known it was coming, but somehow hearing it from Dominic’s solicitor made it all the more real. What made the situation surreal, however, was that what interested him most wasn’t his inheritance.

He was more intrigued by that large bequest.

Why on earth would Dominic want to leave fifty thousand pounds to a salesman in his village? And more intriguing—not give any reason for such a bequest to his solicitor.

There was a mystery here, and Jonathon intended solving it.