As the door shut, we were almost in a vacuum without sound coming in from the people outside. “We’ve been very fortunate in the come up to Valentine’s Day.”
I unravelled my scarf from around my neck, feeling the heat build around my cheeks from the room. “So, when I saw you the other day, you seemed really choked up about Doreen.”
He sighed and nodded, slumping into his seat at the desk. “We had business together,” he said. “And we were about to expand operations, taking on her greenhouses.”
“You were?” I asked, as if new information. “I heard there were a few people bidding for her business.”
He waved a hand. “Someone told her to list it for sale before accepting my offer,” he said. “I think it was just her way to try and get a little more money from me.”
“I heard she was moving.”
Pulling himself upright, he leaned back in his office chair. “She never said,” he grumbled. “But, it explains why she didn’t want to sell me the land, she wanted me to buy the house too. I wanted her to stay and work for me, you know, things like tend to the roses, that’s what she did best.”
I pulled my handbag to my lap and grabbed the newspaper. I placed it on the desk and planted my bag back on the ground. “I saw this,” I said. “And please, tell me if I’m overstepping, but it seems a bit premature to advertise, doesn’t it?”
He grabbed at the paper, turning it to see. “Well, we’d bought roses from Doreen to sell,” he said, dotting his finger on the paper. “What’s shocking is that they’ve used the advertise right below her obituary.”
It wasn’t quite an obituary, there was no piece of mourning. It was a gossip piece, thinly disguised in the newspaper and promoted heavily by Paul’s testimony.
“The roses actually arrived the day I found out she died,” he said. “We—I—I didn’t know what to do.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“You’ve got to admit to me, Eve,” he said, sighing, and looking me in the eyes, his glassy red eyes looking back. “I think they’re thinking I was the one with a hand in Doreen’s death.”
“But she wasn’t killed, was she?”
“You tell me,” he said. “You’re the one asking all these questions.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, but I had no reason to apologise if I was truly following my gut instinct and was only on the hunt for information. All I needed was a reason to dismiss Jonathan. “But you have to admit, her sudden death, everything happening, her daughter coming back into town, it’s all suspicious, isn’t it?”
“Wait,” he said. “Her daughter’s back.”
“Yes, and no doubt she’ll be selling the land too,” I said. “So, you might actually get a better deal.”
He shook his head. “No, no,” he grumbled. “Doreen told me her daughter ran away, she never heard from her when she left.”
“Ran away?”
He nodded. “Apparently, something happened, it must’ve been traumatic, because she was never seen from.”
That wasn’t what Philip had said, he mentioned letters, notes, blackmail. And it also went against what I thought I knew before speaking to Amanda. I learned there was no drug abuse, and now, she wasn’t kicked out, according to Jonathan, she ran away.
“If—if—if Amanda is back, then I should go speak to her,” he said, standing quickly. “Our families were close, we were friends for a short while, but when she disappeared, Doreen never said another word about her.”
There weren’t any answers, I just had more questions now. And Jonathan was excited with new information, he was raring to get to Amanda, most likely ask her to sell him the land—it was an easy out if Amanda was only here for the money, and if she was really left in charge of her mother’s estate.
“Did you know—” I gulped. “Did you know Mortimer was Amanda’s father?”
“Doreen’s neighbour?” he sat once again, his brow furrowed deep into his forehead. “No, Doreen and Mortimer were at each other’s throats, constantly it seemed.”
“Were they?”
He nodded. “He called the police on her often. Think he might have had some memory loss.”
“I heard Mortimer sold Doreen land,” I said. “So, if that’s true, perhaps Amanda will be giving the land to her father. If he is her actual father, I wouldn’t see why she’d keep it or sell it when she could connect with a long-lost parent.”
Was I goading him now? Perhaps with what I’d told him, if he was the killer, Mortimer was next. How he answered me would determine whether or not it was him; anger would be the most incriminating of emotions.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Jonathan was quick to his feet. “Sorry,” he said, grabbing at his beard. “I can’t believe Doreen never mentioned it.”
“Well, like you said, you never spoke about Amanda, why would it ever come up in conversation.”
“Right,” he said, moving around the desk to get the door. “I’m sure, whoever gets the land, I pay good money for those roses, I’m sure they’ll sell them to me.”
“I’m going to see Amanda later,” I said. “If you want me to pass a message along.”
“Actually—” he opened the door.
Two police were standing in the doorway. Healey and Barker. “Jonathan McDermott, you’re under arrest for the murder of Doreen Maidstone,” Barker’s voice carried loudly above all the clamouring from outside.
TWENTY-TWO
Cuffed. Jonathan McDermott was read his Miranda rights while I stared aimlessly, questioning whether or not everything going on was happening, and whether I believed any of it.
Did I believe this was happening? Could this have been real? While Jonathan had been on my list of suspects, he was genuinely trying to do business and with everything going on, it didn’t look like he was going to be getting any business done any time soon.
“Eve,” Paul said, his furrowed eyes locking with mine.
Snapping out of the daze. My body froze in the seat as I watched the events unfold over my shoulder.
“Yes?” I mumbled, pulling myself from the chair, my body was numb. The type of numb you get when you sleep on one side for far too long and wake with an unbearable searing sensation. I held myself steady, my legs falling out from beneath me.
“You okay?” he asked.
Nice of him to ask. “I’m fine, I’m fine.”
“And what were you doing talking with Jonathan?”
A quick turn from how he had been moments earlier. I shook my head, glancing around the room, I grabbed my scarf from the edge of the table. “It was nothing.”
“Well, Eve, you know I wouldn’t make an arrest unless we had something,” he said. “So, I basically saved you, once again.”
My breath throttled as my lips snarled and my nostrils flared. “You what?”
“Eve, Eve,” Ruth called out from the shop floor, quickly approaching the door. She must’ve been watching, or at least paying close attention. “I think the son is going to close the shop.”
Paul snickered. “Probably for the best, this place will be shut down if we find more illegal activity.”
I couldn’t wrap my head around it, I had come into this place with all intentions of having a talk with Jonathan, and finding out if he’d had any part to play in the death of Doreen. As we spoke, and as he told me information, I knew it wasn’t him, I knew he couldn’t have had any part to play in her death—they were good friends from all accounts, and he was only doing business, whether he bought the land, or someone else, he planned on buying the roses regardless.
“What did you find?” I asked.
“If you must know, now we’ve made an arrest,” he said, shrugging his shoulder as if weighing up the options.
Ruth continued to watch from the doorway, bearing witness to how Paul acted around me, even if he knew he was being watched.
“Jonathan was buying the land,” I said. “Why would he kill her?”
He shrugged once again. “Greed, perha
ps. But we found a gardening glove, left at the scene. Blue—like the shop.”
“Blue?” Ruth scoffed from the door, shifting Charlie in her arms. “You’re going off a glove.”
“And their existing relationship,” he said. “He was greedy for her land, and she had other people interested. The moment she died, he could play the papers Doreen had written up, selling the land to him, as if it was always the case.”
I shook my head. “Have you spoke with the daughter?”
“Amanda? Yeah. Several times.”
“Then you’ll—”
He cut me off. “She’s the one who delivered the paperwork, her mother had already signed them, so, all they needed were his signature and the sale was done.”
That didn’t make any sense at all. Jonathan didn’t know the sale was even a done deal, there was still so much they had yet to discuss, most importantly, the fact they hadn’t signed over or paid anything.
“Detective,” an officer said from the doorway, barging past Ruth. “We’re taking Mr McDermott to the police station for questioning.”
He nodded. “I’ll be out in a minute.”
“So, you’re saying Jonathan is guilty based on a glove and some paperwork which could’ve been written up at any time?”
“Well, it will be used to get him to confess.”
“You realise, you’re saying, two gardeners, who met on occasion, who had an existing business relationship in place, couldn’t exchange gloves, or help each other on occasion?” I hoped to make some sense of all this to him.
“Eve,” Ruth said. “Think we should leave it.”
My lips butted as I hummed. “You’re right, Ruth. But an innocent man is about to go to prison.” I shook my head and huffed, leaving the office.
“What did he say when you were alone?” Ruth asked as she joined my hip and walked by my side.
“Jon or Paul?”
“Jonathan,” she said. “I thought you thought he was guilty too.”
I shook my head.
“Everyone, out,” Max, Jonathan’s son called. “Please, leave.”
It was a well-heard request, one which nobody could deny given the situation.
He stood by the door, his chest rising and dipping with each breath he took. On the face of things, he appeared strong.
“I’ll help your dad,” I told him.
“Thank you.”
We left, back to the café. It was the only place I could gather myself to think.
The police cars had cleared out from the road outside the flower shop, and all that remained were the small crowd of people around as they gossiped.
I sat by the window in Briars, Charlie cuddled up on my lap. I ordered a water, with my mind fuzzy on the facts, I needed something plain to clear them up.
“So, you went in,” Ruth began, “you confronted him about the paper?”
I nodded along. “Doreen was selling him roses,” I replied. “He told me she was using him to get the roses out, I guess it was becoming too much for her to handle on her own.”
“Guess that’s why she was selling it.”
“But Jonathan told me he wanted to employ her, buy the land, but not her house,” I said. “She was trying to flog the house as well.”
“And he wasn’t buying?”
“Exactly.”
“Do you still think it wasn’t him?”
I played the bottle cap for a moment, twisting and turning on the bottle itself. “When you know in your stomach, this is one of those times,” I said. “In my gut, I know Jonathan didn’t do it. He cried when he heard the news. He didn’t even get angry when he found out she was looking for other buyers.”
“People can commit murder, and control their emotion,” Ruth said, raising her brows at me.
I guess it was easy to acknowledge they’d arrested someone, and let it be. “Not to mention, Amanda was the one who gave Paul the information. If that doesn’t seem out of place, then I don’t know what does.”
She continued nodding along to what I was saying.
There had to be someone out there who knew what was happening, maybe Jonathan did kill her—but he wouldn’t get the land, it wouldn’t work out that way. Philip probably knew more than he was letting on, perhaps he knew Doreen had a will, and it left everything to Jonathan—or even himself.
“We should see Amanda.”
“Well, they’ve made an arrest now,” Ruth said, throwing her hands in the air. “I think we best leave it be.”
An arrest, sure, but my stomach grumbled and knotted at their decision. I clenched both hands at the sides of my waist. “I saw the way he reacted, the way he spoke, and I hardly think he’s some great actor. While there’s some great amateur dramatics in Silver Lake, this isn’t one of those times or one of the performers.”
“I’m going to get a tea, I think you should too,” she said. “It might even calm you down.”
She was right. The water was only doing me so much good. A fruit tea with some sugar would’ve been the fix for me. A little refresher before we left to find Amanda.
One way or another, I was going to get answers.
“I’ll order,” Ruth said, scooting out of her seat.
I raised a finger. “The raspberry fruit tea.”
The teas arrived five minutes later. Large fogs of steam rose from the cups, mainly mine. It was purely hot water with a red tint.
Pulling the cup into my hands, Ruth nodded. “Two sugars,” she said. “Should be sweet.”
I took a sip, immediately scalding the tip of my tongue and the roof of my mouth.
“Ack!”
Pulling back and glancing forward, I saw her at the counter.
Amanda Maidstone?
TWENTY-THREE
She bounded over with a smile on her face and a carry cup of coffee warming her hands.
“Thought I saw you sitting over here,” she said.
Ruth gasped. “Amanda,” she said. “Wow—ugh—wow, take a seat.” She offered up the seat beside her, moving along to make room.
“I shouldn’t be too long,” she said. “I’m looking for Ben. He left this morning.”
“He did?”
She nodded. “Not to worry,” she said. “He can’t be far.”
For someone whose mother had just died, she didn’t seem hit with any sense of mourning. “And how are you doing with everything?” I asked. “Your mother’s death, reconnecting with your father.”
She smiled. “Yeah, surprisingly, I’m fine,” she said. “When one parent didn’t want me, my mother, I’ve found someone who did, and we’re connecting.” Sighing deep into her chest, she glanced at me. “Are you okay?”
I shook my head. “They’ve made an arrest, for your mother’s murder.”
“What?” she mumbled once more, mouthing the words, and muttering once again. “They’ve, what?”
“Jonathan, from the flower shop,” Ruth added.
“No, no, not him,” she said. “He—he—he was friends with my mother.”
I snapped my fingers, and Charlie bopped his head up from my lap. “That’s what I said, it wasn’t him.” And then I realised, I was in front of the person I was so adamant about calling out and questioning. I reached around myself for my handbag. “I’ve misplaced my bag.”
“Is it under the table?” Ruth mumbled, looking around with me.
“No, no,” I said. “I think I left it.” And inside my handbag were the lists of questions I’d had aimed at Amanda.
“Sure, Jonathan’s wife is there,” she said. “She can let you in.”
Ruth scoffed. “Fat chance,” she said. “She left him years ago.”
“Oh—oh—okay,” she said, glancing around herself. She took a stand, grabbing at her cup. “Where did they take him?”
“Jonathan?” Ruth asked. “To the station.”
“Why?”
“Because—because—” her trembling lips made an odd dance. “Because he’s Ben’s father, and I don’t want my son�
��s dad going to prison.”
I stood, meeting her height. “I told you he’d been arrested, and you barely bat an eyelid, then you find out he’s divorced and suddenly you’re—”
“Eve!” she said, drawing attention to herself and our table. She sobbed into her chest, turning on her heavy feet. She marched toward the door.
I chased after her, followed by Charlie.
Ruth’s voice trailed after us. “Guess I’ll pay for these as well then.”
Amanda walked faster, up the road, her voice trembling as she cried, before finally, she stopped, pulled to a halt at a bus stand.
“Amanda,” I said. “Tell me what’s going on.”
“Eve, listen to me,” she said. “I didn’t have anything to do with what happened to my mother, and if they’re arresting someone for murder, I know it wasn’t him, and now—it looks like I did it.”
It did. She was right. “I think you should speak with Paul.”
“Paul?”
“The inspector on the case.”
“Oh,” she sniffled. “I spoke to him several times. I even gave him some paperwork to hope he’d give to Jonathan, because if my mother wanted him to have the land, then I’d want that for him as well.”
Ruth finally caught up with us. “Did she confess?”
I shook my head.
“No, it wasn’t me,” she said. “But—but—but sure, I came back the same night it happened. I was looking for my son. He runs away a lot, but he never goes far. Not until this time.”
“Why? What was different this time?”
Charlie barked. We were across the road from the flower shop.
“Ben had been talking with someone,” she said. “And I thought it was Jonathan, I thought he’d found out about his dad somehow.”
“So?”
“Well, now, I think he was talking with my mother.”
“Ben went to see your mother before she was murdered.”
“No, no, no,” she wailed slightly. “He didn’t know where she lived, or anything, or—or—or—” Spiralling into a seat against the bench, she shook, her hands clasped together, and her head bolted forward with her chin to her chest.
“You think she’s telling the truth?” Ruth asked in a whisper.
Silver Lake Cozy Mystery Bundle Page 24