Merrily Murdered

by Sonia Parin

  “As I said, no comment.”

  “So, you did know him.”

  Gloria didn’t answer.

  “Mrs. Mercer, I think I can connect you to Harold Moorhead. In fact, I know I can. Does the first of the month ring any bells with you? Yes? No? What would a private investigator discover if they made a few phone calls to hotels in the city? I’m guessing, with enough perseverance, they will discover a love nest.”

  Abby heard a click and then she saw the gate slide open.

  She jumped in the car. “I think we’re in, Doyle. And, I think Gloria might be concerned about being linked to Harold. What do you think? Will she try to threaten me or reason with me?”

  The house came into view. Harold had owned a large Victorian homestead but it paled in comparison to this one. There were several buildings surrounding the large bluestone house with wraparound veranda. Abby guessed they were stables, and what, at one time, would have been a coach house and separate staff quarters.

  The Mercers had a lush green formal garden kept green by the water from a well. Driving up to the house, she saw a conservatory in the side and caught a glimpse of blue suggesting they had a swimming pool in the rear.

  “I wonder how many hectares stand between this homestead and Harold’s?” Enough to keep a safe distance but Abby insisted she had stumbled onto something Mrs. Gloria Mercer wished to keep hidden.

  Chapter 15

  Coming face to face with Gloria Mercer, Abby couldn’t understand why she would have an affair with Harold Moorhead. If, indeed, she’d had one…

  Abby had met Harold just the one time, but that had been enough for Abby to think of him as a salt of the earth type of guy. Generally nice and easygoing.

  Joyce hadn’t exaggerated when she’d described Gloria Mercer as a snob. Abby tried to remain impartial but she couldn’t help picking up on an air of superiority about her.

  She did not invite Abby in. Holding the door open, she gave Abby an up and down look that seemed to draw lines of distinction as well as express disdain and disapproval.

  If pushed to guess her age, Abby would say Gloria hovered in her mid-forties but only because she obviously took great care of herself. She definitely had the body of a well-toned thirty-year-old. But she was most likely in her mid or late fifties.

  She met Abby’s gaze without having to look up so they were about the same height; slightly taller than the average woman.

  Abby felt instantly underdressed in her striped shorts and white T-shirt. Gloria Mercer wore an elegant pair of pants in a light shade of beige and a white linen blouse that looked expensive even to the untrained eye. While Abby’s brown hair hung in heat exhausted clumps, Gloria Mercer’s blonde hair, which had been expertly cut into a stylish bob, looked like it was surrounded by a halo of sea breeze. Despite being at home, she wore a light shade of pink lipstick and a hint of blue eyeshadow that highlighted her pale blue eyes.

  To Abby’s surprise, she waved a checkbook.

  “I heard you had a knack for digging around. How much do you want?”

  An admission of guilt if ever she’d heard one. Why would she say that? Did she even realize what she’d just said? Did she care?

  In her career as a reporter, Abby had lost count of the number of times she’d heard a public figure say one thing one moment, and, in the next moment, deny he or she had ever said anything. “How much? How about all of it?”

  Gloria Mercer held her gaze for long seconds.

  In case she’d misunderstood her, Abby added, “The truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth.”

  Gloria’s neatly shaped eyebrow quirked up. “Or else?”

  “I have to print something, Mrs. Mercer. It might as well be the truth but it can also be my version of the truth. Or rather, my impression of what I have seen and what I assume has happened.”

  “I had no idea Sebastian Cavendish allowed smut to be printed in his newspaper.” Gloria lifted her chin. “The next time I see him, I will have to point out the error of his ways.”

  Smut? Gloria appeared to be assuming the worst. Would someone with nothing to hide succumb so easily to bribery? “The fact you want to buy my silence tells me there must be some truth to the rumors.”

  Gloria’s cheeks paled. She looked uncertain and, in that moment, she looked defeated.

  Heavens! Abby could not be more surprised.

  She’d expected Gloria to stand her ground, even against the most obvious proof. That had been the window of opportunity to deny she had ever said anything.

  If the photos of the model village were any indication, she and Harold had been carrying on for quite some time. That suggested a certain amount of confidence; a belief she could get away with anything, including murder.

  Before Gloria Mercer could recover, Abby took the opportunity to push her way inside her house. “Nice place you have here.”

  Gloria gasped and appeared to snap out of her momentary shock. “I didn’t invite you in.”

  “A woman in your position should have.” Abby walked on through to the first room she saw. A sitting room furnished in pale green and beige. She stopped to take in the scene. A Christmas tree stood next to a fireplace and the wall next to it had thirty framed photographs. All taken in the same place and at the same time of the year. Christmas.

  Gloria recovered enough to say, “As you can see, I stand on solid ground.”

  She did indeed.

  The family photographs had been taken every Christmas for the last thirty years. Happy family snaps of Gloria, her husband and her two sons. Why risk it all? Why hadn’t she been satisfied with everything she had?

  Holding her phone against her chest and being as discreet as she could be, Abby took photos of the framed photographs.

  “Where were you the morning Harold was killed?”

  “Enjoying my morning swim.”

  Gloria Mercer didn’t show any curiosity about the way Harold had died. And, if she had felt anything for Harold, she did not show it. In fact, Gloria Mercer had regained her composure. She smiled at Abby, her eyes bright with confidence.

  Shifting her gaze, Abby saw Doyle sniffing around the entrance hall. Had he found a new scent?

  “What about yesterday?” Abby asked. While she didn’t think Gloria had been the intruder who’d broken into Harold’s house, she wanted to keep her distracted while she finished taking the photos.

  “Home.”

  “All day?”

  Gloria gave a stiff, determined nod.

  “If the police haven’t talked to you yet, they will eventually get around to it. I don’t mean to scare you, but they do have persuasive skills.” Abby turned to the photos again and tried to commit each image to memory, in case she’d missed one.

  “I would like you to leave now.” Gloria Mercer didn’t threaten Abby but the intention glittered in her eyes.

  “You have a secret, Mrs. Mercer, and I’m going to find out what it is.”

  Hearing a car approaching, they both turned. Abby braced herself to meet Mr. Mercer and perhaps experience his wrath. Instead of looking pleased with herself, Gloria Mercer looked concerned.

  Looking out of the window, Abby recognized the car. Doyle trotted outside to greet Joshua.

  “I guess I’ll be leaving you in the police’s capable hands.” She handed Mrs. Mercer her card. “If you change your mind, feel free to give me a call.”

  Driving off, Abby looked down at Doyle. “Do you know what just happened? Because I sure don’t.” She spent the rest of the drive into town trying to figure it all out. Parking the car behind Bradford’s old Range Rover, she shook her head. “Honestly, I still can’t figure her out. Instead of denying it all, she confirmed my suspicions.” She gave Doyle a drink of water and sat back. “Maybe I’m barking up the wrong tree.”

  Something told her that if she continued to fixate on Harold having an affair with Gloria Mercer, she risked missing vital clues.

  Holding the door open for Doyle, Abby laughed. “Just
listen to me. I’m on the lookout for vital clues.” Locking the car, she looked up and down the street. It didn’t matter in which direction she headed, there was no escaping the sun, she thought and headed away from the main street.

  When she reached the alley, she stopped. Looking down at Doyle, she said, “Can you believe this? I found shade. Come on. Put your nose into gear.”

  She walked past the café back door and looked up with longing at the AC unit on the roof.

  “Abby Maguire.”

  Two doors down from the café, Ellen Dalgety, the owner of the bakery, leaned on her broom.

  “You should be wearing a hat,” Ellen said.

  “So people keep telling me. Maybe I’ll get one for Christmas.”

  Ellen wore a white baker’s hat, white T-shirt and pants. Her cheeks were bright red and her face shiny from the heat of the ovens.

  “Are you still baking?”

  “I’m working on the Christmas plum puddings and mince pies.”

  “You should charge extra for degree of difficulty. How hot is it in there?”

  Ellen laughed. “Hot enough. It’s actually not that bad. I get an early start so by the time the heat sets in, I’m done for the day.”

  Early start…

  “Just how early do you start?”

  Ellen wagged a finger at her. “Did I just become a suspect?”

  “No. But you might have seen or heard something.”

  “The detective’s already spoken with me and I can only tell you what I told him, I didn’t hear anything because I had the radio on and the back door was closed. I only realized something had happened when I was done for the day and came out to empty the trash.”

  “Did you know Harold?”

  She gave a tentative nod. “Before he retired, he used to come in at the crack of dawn for a coffee scroll and a chat.”

  Abby thought she detected a hint of evasiveness in her tone.

  “No. Get your mind out of the gutter, Abby Maguire. We only ever talked.”

  Yes, but… had that been enough for Ellen?

  “Harold always had a tale to tell. Did you hear the one about the Christmas of ’09 power outage?”

  Abby covered her ears. “I’ll see you around, Ellen.” As she walked away, she couldn’t help wondering if that had been Ellen’s way of getting rid of her. How could she not have heard anything, even with the radio on?

  By the time she reached the end of the alley, she’d spoken to every store owner on the main street with access to the alley. Those who had come in early had the same story. No one had heard anything.

  “I’m hungry and hot and, sorry, but I can’t help thinking about myself. Let’s go take a load off,” she told Doyle.

  Abby walked into Joyce’s Café, found a table by the window and sat there shaking her head as her encounter with Gloria Mercer came back to haunt her.

  “Hey, you made it back.” Joyce rushed toward her and sat down opposite Abby. “How did it all go?”

  “I have no idea. Gloria Mercer belongs to another world. Maybe even another dimension.”

  Joyce gave a knowing nod. “Yes, she’s rich. Why do you look so surprised? Do you know how many hectares they own?”

  Abby shrugged. “A lot?”

  “Okay, you’re still relatively new to the area. There are some families that go way back. Sort of like your Mayflower people. First settlers. They all belong to the upper echelons. To them, we’re nothing but plebs.”

  “I get that they have money but that doesn’t explain the woman’s behavior. Unless she leads a highly insulated life and thinks she can buy her way out of anything and everything, there’s just no explaining or understanding the way she acted with me.”

  Joyce tilted her head as if in deep thought. “Those first settler families I mentioned… Well, there might be some inbreeding. There has to be. Who can keep track of who’s who? That could account for her odd behavior. Anyhow, as I told you, she doesn’t come into town. She only drives through it.”

  “Meaning what? She doesn’t deal with normal people?”

  “Exactly.”

  “What about all that shopping she does?”

  “There used to be an ultra-exclusive store in Melbourne not open to the general public. Who knows? There might be more. Come to think of it, until recently, there was a large department store that catered to the snobs.” She gave a casual lift of her shoulder. “They closed. Clearly, there weren’t enough snobs to sustain it.”

  “You are kidding me.”

  “Nope.”

  “It still doesn’t excuse her behavior. What do you do if someone confronts you with the suggestion they have proof of wrongdoing or that you’re involved in something you’d rather be kept secret?”

  Joyce gave her a wry smile. “Deny. Deny. Deny. Even if you provide the proof.”

  “Gloria Mercer didn’t bother asking for it. Oh, and she threatened to contact Sebastian Cavendish.”

  “That figures. They belong to the same world.”

  Abby’s mouth gaped open. “Hello. We’re all breathing the same air.”

  “I doubt it. I’m sure Gloria has the air in her entire house filtered. It’s a fact of life, Abby. Did you know, people who fly first class get more oxygen than those traveling in economy class?”

  Call her naïve, but she believed everyone had been created equal. “Let’s hope Joshua had better luck getting information out of her. He arrived just as I was leaving.”

  “Really?” Joyce leaned forward. “What did he say when he saw you coming out of the Mercer house?”

  Abby grinned. “Since I know we’re allies, I didn’t take his scowl seriously.” Straightening, she looked over Joyce’s shoulder. “You can ask him yourself. Here he is.” And looking thoroughly worn out, Abby thought.

  Joshua drew out a chair and collapsed into it with a weary sigh. “I have just met the most…” He shook his head and pushed out a breath. “Words fail me.”

  Joyce yelped. “Detective Inspector Joshua Ryan is sharing information with us?”

  “I haven’t mentioned the case,” he said. “I’m only referring to the woman I met. I didn’t actually identify her.”

  “Gloria Mercer,” Joyce said.

  He gave a reluctant nod.

  “We were just talking about her. I wanted to know how you felt about Abby encroaching on your territory.”

  Joshua turned to Abby. “Oh, yes. That reminds me. What were you doing there? She’s lodged an official complaint against you.”

  “Me?”

  “Yes, you. She said you tried to blackmail her.”

  “I did no such thing.”

  Joyce grinned. “Deny. Deny. Deny.”

  Joshua gave his tie an impatient tug and loosened it. “I went there to talk to her husband and ended up having to listen to her complaining about a certain snoopy reporter.” Joshua laughed. “She will have words with Sebastian Cavendish.”

  “I fail to see what you find so amusing.”

  “It’s delirium from the heat.” He stood up and removed his jacket. “How did you even manage to get a foot in the door?”

  Abby bit the edge of her lip. “I honestly can’t remember.”

  “Did you threaten her?” Joshua asked.

  Had she? She remembered being firm and determined. “I don’t recall my exact words. I might have insinuated… It all happened so quickly and… and unexpectedly, what with the security gate and having to talk my way in. I’m going to take the Fifth.”

  “We don’t have the Fifth here,” he warned.

  “Then I stand by my earlier statement. I don’t remember.”

  Joshua displayed a mixture of surprise and weariness. “What possessed you to go there in the first place? That’s what I don’t understand.”

  “Um… I’m a reporter and my job is to seek out the truth?”

  Nodding, Joyce said, “Abby is working on a solid theory.”

  “Oh, really? Do share,” he invited.

  “Sure
ly, I’ve mentioned it to you…” She told him about Harold putting the little cars in the model village at the start of the month. “That can’t be a coincidence. He had a system. I’m sure of it. Think about it.” Abby’s voice hitched up. “If George Mercer found out about his wife’s affair, he would have reason to kill Harold.”

  Joyce rose to her feet. “I think you could do with some chamomile tea. You’re getting all worked up, Abby. That won’t do you any good.”

  Neither one spoke until Joyce returned and set a mug in front of Abby.

  “Did you tell Joshua about the pram?”

  Heavens. Abby suspected he hadn’t commented about her affair theory because he didn’t buy it. What would he make of her other hunch?

  “He doesn’t want to hear about it… And, I think I already mentioned it.”

  “No, you didn’t. At least, I think you didn’t.” He brushed his hand across his face. “I think my brain’s turned to soup.”

  “You could show some interest,” Joyce said. “I’m disappointed in you, detective. You know Abby’s far-fetched ideas have paid off in the past.”

  He picked up a menu and studied it. “I show plenty of interest.” He looked up. “Is your air-conditioner on?”

  “Why does everyone keep asking me that? Have you stopped to consider the possibility you might be feeling a different type of heat?”

  Abby and Joshua both stared at her, their expressions blank.

  “Neither one of you have any strong leads,” Joyce explained.

  They both answered, “Oh.”

  Abby grabbed a menu and fanned herself. She had misunderstood Joyce’s meaning, and, by the sounds of it, so had Joshua. She glanced at him and then she stared at him.

  “What?” he asked.

  “Um… I was just counting my lucky stars. I’m so far away from home and it’s Christmas time, but I’ll be fine because I have you guys.”

  “Oh, right… For a moment there I thought you might have cracked the case. Which, despite Joyce’s opinions, I would welcome with open arms because it would mean getting out of this suit and getting into holiday mode...”