by Sonia Parin
Joyce gave a vigorous nod. “So, this is the hypothetical theory I’m proposing. I needed to get Harold out of the house and I did that by creating an emergency. I remembered you and Faith were coming over for lunch. Knowing I had asked Bradford to collect the Christmas lights from Harold, I sabotaged the refrigerator and the next day, I gently encouraged you to go with Bradford and urge Harold to fix my refrigerator.”
“You are so devious,” Faith murmured.
“When Harold arrived early the next day, I…” Joyce floundered.
“I think your admission of guilt just fell to pieces,” Abby suggested. “Someone killed Harold after he finished working on your refrigerator. Specifically, during the time you were at the pub.”
“Heavens, you’re right. I could not possibly have killed Harold. Mitch is my alibi. Well, that’s a relief.”
“Hang on.” Mitch put his hand up. “You said it yourself. You sabotaged your refrigerator so there was nothing wrong with it. When Harold arrived, you killed him as he was unloading his stuff. Then you switched your refrigerator back on and came to the pub for breakfast.”
Joyce stared at Mitch, her eyes wide. “Oh…Oh…Oh!”
Mitch nodded. “How are you going to get out of that one?”
“Honestly? Do we really think Joyce is capable of killing someone?” Abby looked around and saw everyone trying to process the information. “Oh, come on. Really?” Shifting, she turned to Joyce, “I actually think you’re on the right track. Joyce, when did you notice your refrigerator wasn’t working?”
“Yesterday, early in the morning. It must have stopped working overnight.”
“Oh,” Faith exclaimed. “Last night, my fuse blew during the night. I wonder if anyone else had electrical trouble?”
Mitch cleared his throat. “Actually…” He looked at Markus. “The circuit overloaded last night and shut down. Luckily, I was still up.”
Abby gasped and her shoulders nearly reached her ears. “Is it fixed now?”
Mitch pointed to the air-conditioner. “Clearly.”
Another thought occurred to her. “Is there any chance someone might have tampered with people’s fuse boxes?”
The brothers exchanged a look of concern. “Hard to say. You only really need to flick the switch off. I’d call that tampering. But you need a key to access the boxes.” Mitch turned to Joyce. “I’m more interested in Joyce’s busted fridge. She has her equipment serviced regularly.”
“I do.”
Had someone really tampered with it? It could have happened at any time during the day. With so many people coming and going…
“Before you ask, I’m not going to suspect my staff and no one broke into the café. I would have known. The alarm is set downstairs every night.”
Markus leaned on the counter. “Let me get this straight. Are you still trying to clear your name or trying to convince us you are innocent but you’re really guilty?”
Joyce’s cheeks flashed red. “There’s no difference between one and the other. You’re trying to trick me.”
“And you haven’t answered the question.”
As Markus toyed with Joyce, Abby turned her attention to her notes. She put a question mark next to Herbert Moorhead. Would Harold’s brother stand to inherit anything? He lived miles away, but would anyone recognize him if they saw him hovering around town?
She sent the detective a text asking if he knew about Harold’s brother and was then distracted when Joyce shrieked.
“I’ve just noticed what’s wrong with the pub.”
“Wrong?” Markus frowned.
“Where are your Christmas decorations? Where’s your tree? And the music? I don’t hear any Christmas carols.”
Mitch snorted. “Markus refuses to sacrifice a tree this year. He’s put his foot down. No more cutting down trees.”
Markus confirmed it with a firm nod.
“Are you saying you’re not going to decorate the pub?” Joyce could not have sounded more affronted.
“Nope.”
“He’s decided to be a Grinch this year,” Mitch said as he took an order from a customer.
“Right, I’m rolling up my sleeves,” Joyce declared. “Where are the decorations? You can’t deprive people of a little cheer. Not after all that’s happened. They need to be distracted.”
“Distracted? Why?” Markus asked. “So you can get away with killing Harold?”
Joyce replied with a severe scowl. “Don’t change the subject.”
“Fine.” Markus shrugged. “If someone wants Christmas cheer, I send them to your café.”
“Markus Faydon, shame on you. Like it or not, I am spending the rest of the day decorating.” Joyce pointed at the stairs. “Now, go get the decorations.”
“There’s no tree,” he argued. “I won’t change my mind.”
“We’ll make one with whatever you have. While Abby and Faith work on a list of possible suspects, I will… spread some good cheer. I have to do something to offset everything that happened today.”
At some point, Abby thought, she would need to get out there and start interviewing people. She knew the detective would make the rounds but sometimes… it helped to have another perspective. Just then someone walked into the pub. Before the door closed, someone else walked in.
The air thickened with heat.
“Someone please tell me there’s a change coming. I’m not sure I can take any more of this heat,” she grumbled.
“It’ll come soon enough,” Mitch assured her.
Faith agreed. “Oh, yes. It’s bound to come.”
Joyce nudged her with her elbow. “Don’t let them fool you. This is a heatwave. Here to stay.”
The bar door opened again. A man stood there and looked from one end to the other. Finally, he asked, “Has anyone seen George Mercer?”
When Mitch strode over to have a word with him, Abby asked, “Who’s that?”
“That’s George Mercer’s foreman. Jon Reeds. He looks exhausted,” Joyce remarked.
“Yes, he does. Exhausted and dusty.” George Mercer had said they’d been busy driving cattle to a reservoir. Yet, he’d looked as fresh as a daisy. Had he lied?
Chapter 10
Joyce grabbed hold of Abby’s hand. “Are you going to explode?”
Startled, Abby swung around. “What? No… Why do you ask?”
“Your face is bright red… And now… Now you’re breaking into a sweat.”
“That’s because the front door is open.” Abby looked over her shoulder and saw Mitch still talking with George Mercer’s foreman. “I wish they’d either come in or go out.” For heaven’s sake, she thought, the man looked as though he’d crawled out of the wilderness. He had a layer of dust on him. He’d tipped his hat back but it flopped over his forehead. Why didn’t he come in for a cool drink? “Can you read lips?”
“No, but I can sometimes pick up on what a person is saying by their body language. Why?”
Abby gestured toward the door. “I want to know what’s going on there.”
Instead of turning, Joyce looked at the reflection on the mirror behind the bar. “Mitch is telling Jon Reeds about Harold. That’s my guess. And… I think Mitch is prodding him for information. I’d be wary of that. He’s likely to use it as a bartering tool.”
Glancing around the bar to see if anyone else felt bothered by the open door, Abby saw Doyle rolling over and looking over his shoulder. Giving the air a sniff, he scrambled to his feet, put his nose to the ground and made his way toward the front door.
He circled around Mitch, all the while edging toward Jon Reeds and sniffing him.
Smiling, Joyce asked, “Did you notice that?”
“Yes, Doyle sure knows how to employ the subtle art of detecting.” He didn’t normally sniff people. In fact, Abby couldn’t remember ever seeing him sniffing someone. “There’s something about Jon Reeds that has Doyle captivated.”
“The smell of cows?” Joyce suggested.
Doyle
stepped back, gave Jon Reeds an up and down look and trotted around Mitch. What he did next had Abby brimming with pride.
Raising himself up on his hind legs, he leaned against the door and tried to close it. When Mitch noticed him, he shuffled to one side with Jon Reeds mirroring him. That gave Doyle the opportunity to close the door all the way. Satisfied, he trotted back to his spot in front of the air-conditioner.
“Is my dog smart, or what?”
The front door opened again. Abby turned and saw Jon Reeds walk out.
When Mitch returned to the bar, both Joyce and Abby asked, “Well? What did he want?”
“You heard him. He’s looking for George Mercer.”
“And?” Abby tried to read his expression but Mitch had his usual eyes-brimming-with-amusement look that gave nothing away.
If anyone could get away with murder… he could.
Mitch Faydon had an air of lighthearted confidence and such an easy manner, people were drawn to him and engaged him in conversation as if they were lifelong friends. Even people who met him for the first time. He could hide anything behind that easygoing manner of his. Yes, even murder, Abby thought.
Smiling at Abby, he said, “The answer is no.”
“No?” Abby exchanged a puzzled look with Joyce who looked equally confounded.
Mitch gave them a wide smile. “Do I hear you ask if the answer is no, what is the question?”
Joyce bounced on her stool. “Oh, I know. I know. If Jon Reeds is looking for George Mercer, that must mean they were not in the same place today.”
Why would George Mercer lie about his whereabouts? “George Mercer looked too clean to have been out on a cattle drive,” Abby mused. “Even his Range Rover looks squeaky clean. So, the question must be…”
“Did George Mercer lie about his whereabouts today?” Joyce asked.
Mitch looked heavenward. “I said the answer is no, but you were close.”
“But…”
Laughing, Mitch shook his head. “No buts about it. Even if the answer to your question is no.”
Abby ran through several other possible questions and finally asked, “Did Jon Reeds see George Mercer at the cattle drive today?”
“Bingo.” Mitch clapped his hands. “And the prize goes to Abby Maguire.” He leaned on the counter. “For the record, George Mercer doesn’t drive the Range Rover on cattle drives. They have quad bikes for that.”
“What are the chances he had time to go home and change out of his dirty clothes?” Being the boss, he could call the shots and with everyone so busy at the cattle drive, no one would notice him missing.
“If you want the right answer, you’d have to ask him,” Mitch said.
George Mercer definitely had plenty of motive. The spring on Harold Moorhead’s land would be enough to kill for. But, surely, he would realize that would make him a prime suspect.
Abby tapped her notebook. “So… Did Jon Reeds see George Mercer at the cattle drive?”
Mitch straightened and wiped the counter. “He couldn’t say for sure.”
Joyce frowned. “If he’s not sure, then the answer isn’t really no.”
Mitch looked up in thought. “Oh, yeah… I guess so.”
“I’ve never seen George Mercer at the café. I’d be surprised if he even knows it exists. So we can’t suspect him of tampering with my refrigerator. But we can still suspect him of killing Harold. You’ll need to question him, Abby.”
“Why don’t I start by passing on the information to Joshua?” Abby suggested.
“Yes, I suppose you should.” Joyce looked around the bar. “Where’s that brother of yours? And… Where’s Faith? And when is the detective coming?”
“I saw Faith headed toward the dining room.” Mitch pointed toward the restaurant and then shifted his finger to point at the stairs. “Markus is grumbling and making his way down the stairs and I’m sure the detective is busy investigating.”
Joyce huffed, “I should hope so. We don’t want an unsolved murder on our hands at this time of the year. It would give the town a bad name and bring tourists in for the wrong reasons.”
Mitch tipped his head back and laughed. “I think Joyce is back to her old self again.”
Abby looked up from her phone in time to see Joyce looking at her from the corner of her eye. “Something tells me I need to brace myself. There’s a look of expectancy about you.”
“I know you’re struggling with the heat and you’ve already skated around the subject… but do you think you could put your brain into gear and help the detective out? You don’t want to let the team down, do you?”
“Team?”
“The girls,” Joyce clarified. “Your batting average to date has been exceptional. Better than Bradman’s.”
“Who?”
“Our national hero. He played cricket.”
Abby’s non-sporting brain switched off. She looked down at her notes but the words performed a little rumba dance. “I think I’m groggy from drinking too much water.”
“Yes, I noticed you didn’t even ask what his batting average was. 99.9%. In case you missed it, I gave you a huge compliment.”
“Thank you. And, in case you didn’t notice, there’s a detective looking into Harold’s death.”
Joyce pursed her lips and puffed up her cheeks. “It’s just a little heat. For heaven’s sake. Think of the tennis players who have to endure it and run around a court.”
“They get paid a lot more than I do.”
“Is this about money?”
“Nope. It’s still about the heat.”
“Where’s your hunger for the truth?”
Abby had to concede Joyce had made a valid point. She glanced toward the window. Despite it being well after midday, the glare from the sun hit her eyes, probably reflected from a window on the opposite side of the street. Abby held her empty glass up. “Barkeep, another glass of water, please. Hold the ice.”
Clearly determined to get the ball rolling, Joyce said, “Show me what you have so far.” Joyce grabbed the notebook and snorted. “This is gibberish.”
“Please don’t insult my shorthand. It’s taken me years to perfect it.” Taking the notebook back, she asked, “By the way, is there a Mrs. George Mercer?”
Joyce nodded. “Happily married for over thirty years. Gloria. That’s her name.”
Abby steepled her fingers. Bradford had mentioned something about Harold being known as a Lothario.
She let her imagination run with it.
What if…
What if Harold and Mrs. Gloria Mercer…
“Do you think Harold had an affair with Mrs. Mercer?” Joyce asked.
“It’s amazing how you do that. I just entertained the same thought.”
“Yes, well… You know what they say about great minds.” Joyce grinned. “Harold Moorhead had quite a reputation with the ladies. I’ve heard say one of the reasons he stayed away from town was that he knew there were a few men threatening to get him back. Write that down in your notebook.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“It really wouldn’t surprise me. Mrs. Mercer is all hoity-toity. She never comes into town and does all her shopping in Melbourne. Can you imagine that? She drives down once a month. I’m willing to bet anything they organized to meet when she traveled to the city. In fact, if you investigate that angle, I’m sure you’ll find no one will be able to verify Harold Moorhead’s whereabouts on those days.”
“That’s not necessarily true since everyone knew he liked to stay home. How would people know he wasn’t home? Anyway, are you suggesting they took their clandestine meetings out of town?”
Joyce reasoned, “That’s the only way they could have kept it quiet.”
Markus came down the stairs and set a large box down in front of Joyce and warned, “You put them up, you bring them down.”
“What is wrong with you? Where’s your spirit of Christmas?” Joyce dove inside the box and drew out a decoration. “Green and red?”
>
“We like to keep it tasteful.”
“Is this everything? Where’s the nativity scene?”
Mitch walked by and tapped the side of the box. “It says 1 of 3 there.”
Joyce pointed the finger toward the stairs and gave Markus a wordless command to get the rest.
Holding her gaze for a moment, Markus looked to be about to make a stand. Instead, he relented and strode off.
Joyce didn’t celebrate her triumph. As usual, she took it with good grace. “I’ll need a stepladder too, please.”
Before she could be roped into helping out with the decorations, Abby slid off her stool, and went looking for Faith. She found her in the dining room sitting with a group of women who appeared to be having an extended lunch.
Faith waved her over. The group didn’t exactly look lively. No one at the bar had expressed any sadness over Harold’s demise. Now, Abby suspected this group was about to make up for it. As she walked toward the table, she noticed everyone’s downcast expressions. One woman looked teary eyed. Another one didn’t bother to hide her tears.
Lowering her voice, Faith said, “They all knew Harold.”
Abby wanted to ask how well they’d known him…
One of the women dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief. “You have to find the person responsible, Abby Maguire.”
Abby assured her, “The police are doing all they can.”
Faith kicked her under the table. “I’ve just been telling them how you’re on the case and drawing up a list of suspects.”
One of the women gestured toward the bar. “Have you questioned the men in there? They all had it in for Harold.”
“I have been making discreet inquiries.” That didn’t seem to be good enough for them and Abby found herself at the receiving end of a couple of scowls. “Perhaps you can help me. Did anyone see something or someone suspicious this morning?”
“I already asked,” Faith said. “Everyone got a late start this morning so by the time they came into town, they were confronted with the devastating news.”
“You’ve got a nose for this type of thing, Abby Maguire. We know you do,” one of the women said. She turned to the others who all agreed with a firm nod. “You need to do something. How can anyone think about Christmas when this has happened?”