by K. C. Wells
Jonathon had lived alone since he’d left home for college, before ending up in Manchester. He was used to traveling around the world, with nothing to tie him to one place. Except that was no longer the case. Living in the manor house wasn’t exactly an encumbrance. He had no duties as such—those days were long gone.
No, what tied Jonathon to Merrychurch with silken bonds was Mike.
The thought of spending several months away from him made Jonathon’s heart sink. It was bad enough when he didn’t see Mike for a whole day, and although he said nothing, those nights when Mike slept above the pub were the worst. Not that Jonathon would ever let on how he felt. There was no call for Mike to know. Besides, it seemed too… demanding of him. Mike didn’t need a man who clung to him. He had a business to run, his own life to lead.
And Jonathon wanted to be part of that life. For good.
From beyond the closed door, a phone warbled into life. Jonathon exited the room, switching off the lights, and walked over to the phone standing in its cradle.
“Why aren’t you answering your mobile?” Mike demanded as soon as the call connected.
“Because it’s charging in my bedroom, and I’m in the studio.” Jonathon smiled to himself. “Were you worried?”
“’Course not. It’s just… well, when you didn’t answer, I wondered….”
A flustered Mike was absolutely adorable.
“What did you want?” Jonathon couldn’t let him flounder like that.
“Graham called. SOCO left five minutes ago. So unless you’re in the middle of something that can’t wait….”
Jonathon glanced at his watch. The pub wouldn’t open until six, so that gave them a couple of hours. Plus, he hadn’t seen Mike since the previous evening. “Want to pick me up here and we’ll go together?”
“Works for me. See you in ten.” And then he was gone.
Jonathon chuckled. He loved Mike’s abrupt manner, his decisiveness.
Let’s be honest here. I love him. It didn’t matter that they’d been together a relatively short time. Jonathon knew he’d fallen for Mike, hook, line, and sinker. Wasn’t it love that was keeping him from making travel plans for exotic, far-off places?
I could always ask him to come along. Except Jonathon knew he couldn’t do that. Mike couldn’t just up and leave the pub for a few months at a time. And then there was the small but not insignificant detail that Jonathon had no idea how Mike felt about him. Sure, they acted like an old married couple at times, with the way they behaved around each other. And things certainly worked in the bedroom—not to mention the bathroom, the kitchen, the stable….
He hasn’t said it, though, has he? The L word? Then Jonathon smiled. Neither have I.
The one thing Jonathon knew was that he didn’t want to say something that might… change things.
There’s no rush. We have time, right? It’s still early days, remember.
And in the meantime, they had a mystery to solve.
Chapter Five
“I SEE they left her jam table where it was.” Jonathon picked up a jar of mango-and-peach jam. “You never did buy me a jar when we were here last time.”
“We’d just found a dead body,” Mike remonstrated. “It was hardly the time to buy a jar of jam. And if you still want it, leave some money in the box.” It didn’t make sense to do such a thing, now Mrs. Teedle was dead, but to his mind, it felt… right. Respectful. He paused at the threshold. “Remember… they’ll have fingerprinted in here, so you’ll see that powder everywhere. They’ll also have taken away anything they think relevant to the case.”
Jonathon put down the jar. “This is my second crime scene, y’know.”
Mike snickered. “Ooh, get you.” He lifted the black-and-yellow police tape and pushed open the door. Jonathon followed him inside. “This is obviously the part of the house where she met customers. I’d guess that the rest of the house is through there.” Mike pointed to a door in the corner. “Let’s look around in here first.” He walked over to the table where Mrs. Teedle had been found. “Looks like whatever she was cutting up has been removed too.” Something about that had been niggling him ever since they’d left the house and awaited Graham. The gloves….
“What are you thinking?” Jonathon regarded him closely. “You’ve clearly got something on your mind.”
“It was her gloves. Do you remember what they were like?”
Jonathon frowned, but then his brow smoothed out. “Black. Like hospital gloves, kind of matte-looking.”
“Yeah, that’s right. But why did she need black nitrile gloves?”
Jonathon absently rubbed the edge of his hand. “Maybe the stuff she was working with had prickles or something.”
Mike reached across and grabbed Jonathon’s wrist. “Let me see that. You’ve been doing that for the last two days.” He peered at his hand. “Jonathon… what have you done? You’ve got what look like blisters here.”
Jonathon pulled his hand back. “I know. They’re itching too.”
Mike didn’t like this. “You brushed aside some of the plant she’d been chopping up, didn’t you? It must be something fairly toxic to cause this reaction. Maybe you should see the doc.”
Jonathon gave him a frank stare. “Then maybe we’d better find out whatever she was chopping. It’d help to know what I’ve come into contact with. That can wait. Let’s look around here.” He walked over to the wall of shelves lined with jars and bottles, peering at the labels. “I’ve never heard of some of these things. Chaparral? Sounds like a western you see on those channels of old TV programs.”
“Hey!” Mike gave him a mock glare. “I used to watch repeats of that, so less of the old, if you please.” He joined Jonathon and perused the containers. “She does have a lot of ingredients.” He pointed to one bottle. “I’ve heard of that one. St. John’s wort. That’s good for people who have depression, supposedly.” His attention wandered to a section of wall without shelves, against which hung a photo frame, and beneath the glass was a cross-stitch of a country scene. A fox was leaping over a hedge, and below it lay a sleeping beagle. At the bottom he could just make out two lines of stitched words, not that he was close enough to read them.
“Ah, this is why she had ginger around the place.”
When Mike turned to look behind him, Jonathon pointed to a neat row of jars at one end of the kitchen table. He picked one up and peered at the handwritten label. “Ginger jam, November 2017. She’d only made this batch recently, then.” He shuddered. “I still say there was no need to stuff her mouth full of roots like that.”
Mike cast a glance over the rest of the table, his gaze alighting on a large, heavy bound book, its cover still bearing the traces of forensic investigation.
He opened it carefully, scanning the pages of handwritten notes. “These are her remedies. Look at this. Aconite—for the treatment of facial pain, neuralgia, vertigo…. I thought aconite was poisonous.” He turned a few pages and smiled. “Look at this one. Gelsemium—for those who fear the dentist’s chair.”
“Seriously?” Jonathon joined him and regarded the pages with interest. “Wow. She’s got cures for all sorts in here. Wonder if any of them worked.” He stared at the chopping board, its surface clear. “Strange to think she’d need to protect her hands from whatever she was chopping, especially if it was going into a remedy of some sort.” The knife they’d seen previously was gone, obviously removed by the officers.
Mike wasn’t sure what else they could glean from the kitchen. “Let’s take a look at the rest of the house.” He approached the door in the corner, which was locked, and turned the brass key. Jonathon followed him into a room that was nothing like the kitchen. It was a small, cozy sitting room, with a fireplace set into a brick chimney breast. Thick red carpet covered the floor, and a comfortable-looking armchair sat beside the fire, with a high back and wings, perfect for falling asleep in on winter nights. Beside the chair was a table made of a warm wood, on which sat photos in silver fram
es.
“That must be Naomi’s family in Australia.” Mike peered closely at them. Naomi wasn’t in any of them, but instead they featured a couple with three children of varying ages, all smiling for the camera.
“She wasn’t kidding when she said she was partial to champagne,” Jonathon remarked, pointing to the shelves set into the space next to the chimney breast. “Not to mention a drop of whiskey now and then.” On one of the shelves sat two bottles of Johnnie Walker Black Label, and next to them were thick, green heavy bottles, all bearing labels that Mike knew to be champagne. “She had expensive tastes, our Mrs. Teedle.”
Now that he mentioned it…. That was what had struck Mike since they’d entered the main part of the house. It was the air of… opulence. Heavy, rich fabrics hung at the windows. Not a speck of dust to be seen. Good, well-made furniture, including a sideboard filled with delicate glassware.
“Did she come from money?” Jonathon asked. “Because looking at everything in here, it sure feels that way. We’re talking nothing but the best.”
Mike had to concede that Jonathon knew what he was talking about. Of course he would, coming from one of the oldest families in England. “I think we need to do some digging. We obviously don’t know enough about her.”
“Now that is weird.” Jonathon pointed to a bookshelf. “She has some beautiful books here, and then you have those.”
Mike peered closely, recognizing the slim volumes instantly. There were maybe fourteen or fifteen of them. “Those are the diaries Doris gives away free every New Year.” He pulled one off the shelf, gazing at the faux black leather binding, the words Merrychurch Village Grocers, EST 1899 embossed on the front, and below them was the phone number for the shop, and incongruously, its website address. In the top right corner was stamped in the same gold lettering: 2017 Week to View.
Mike slipped it back into its prior position. He knew what Jonathon meant. Among books bound in leather with gold leaf on the spine, the cheap diaries seemed incongruous.
“I know. She gave me the 2018 version for the hamper.” Jonathon pulled another from the shelf and opened it, frowning as he flicked through its pages. “There’s hardly anything in here. Just some entries that don’t make any sense.”
“Let me see.”
Jonathon handed him the small diary, and Mike gazed at the page. There were four entries for the end of October, on different dates, spread out over the week.
JWR 35/21
WRR 17/9
WRR 9/7
JWR 33/9
Next to each entry was a neat tick. Mike flicked back through the diary. The remaining pages for October were blank, but the same entries were found at the end of September, again with the same neat ticks beside them.
He glanced at Jonathon, who was already leafing through another. “Is that one the same?”
“Yeah.” Jonathon closed the diary, replaced it on the shelf, and removed another. “This is weird.”
Mike put the diary back on the shelf. “Let’s have a look at the rest of the house.” He walked through the sitting room to the door on the far side and found himself at the front door. “Wait a minute. This is obviously the main entrance to the house, but from the direction we approached, on the outside it looks like a side entrance.”
“But with the table outside, and the signs, that was obviously the way people were encouraged to enter—by the back door.” Jonathon peered at their surroundings. “You know what I think? Her customers only got to see that kitchen at the end. Everyone used the back entrance. Maybe no one ever saw how she really lived.” He pushed opened another door and gave a triumphant smile. “This is her kitchen, not that dark room at the end. Sparkling clean and not a potion in sight.” He whistled. “Top-of-the-line appliances too.” Jonathon closed the door.
“Maybe she got a good divorce settlement or an insurance payout,” Mike mused. “There’s been no mention of a husband so far.” He had to agree with Jonathon: the rest of the house reeked of money. Everywhere was parquet flooring, all gleaming varnished wood, covered in places by thick rugs that didn’t look the least bit worn. Paintings hung on the walls, mostly oils or watercolors.
“Possibly.” Jonathon absently rubbed his hand against his thigh.
Mike sighed. “Okay. We’re going outside to see if we can find some more of that plant. Then I’m taking you to the doctor. You need to treat those blisters.”
Jonathon frowned. “It’s nothing, really.”
“Sure. That’s why you keep rubbing it.” Mike glanced around them. “There’s nothing more we can learn here anyway. Our next step is to see what we can find out about her.”
“Strikes me your mate Keith might be good for that.” Jonathon grinned. “He came up trumps last time, didn’t he?”
Mike had already been thinking about his former colleague. “And all we’d be asking him to do is look up what info he can find. It’s amazing what he can dig up with just a name, date, and place of birth.”
“Graham will be doing the same thing,” Jonathon added. “This way we’re not asking to see police evidence.”
Mike laughed. “I’m pretty sure that’s not how Graham will see it.” He knew what Jonathon was like. He’d want to know more. Then Mike was struck by the sudden silence. Jonathon was staring at a painting on the wall. “Is something wrong?”
With a start, Jonathon turned to face him. “Is it wrong that we’ve just… leaped right in and started….”
“Sleuthing?” Mike suggested with a smile.
Jonathon flushed. “She only died two days ago, and here we are, going through her things…. Feels awkward. I mean, it’s not like I knew her.”
“You have a right to be here. She was your tenant. And did it sound like Graham minded us taking a look?”
Jonathon bit his lip. “Not really.”
Mike gave a satisfied nod. “So as long as we share anything we find out, I don’t see a problem with it. Of course, if we discover who the murderer was, I’m not about to let you go off to confront them. Not that you’d do that anyway. You’ve got brains. Now, let’s take a look outside, shall we, while there’s still enough light?” The sun had just set.
Mike walked back into the far kitchen, and when Jonathon was through the door to the main house, Mike locked it before leading him outside into the garden. It wasn’t a large space, with only a few neat borders, but it had obviously been well thought-out. Fruit trees, now bare, were trained against the fence, and there were raspberry canes to one side.
“Looks like she grew her own fruit for the jams.” Mike pointed to a thick shrub. “That’s a gooseberry bush.” To the rear of the house were beds and pots containing what looked like herbs, but beyond them, plants sprang up all over the place, giving that part a wild look. He gazed at the thick growth, searching for the leaves he’d seen on Naomi’s table. Then he spotted them, growing in the farthest corner of the garden.
Mike’s heart sank. “Damn.” He’d thought the plant had looked familiar.
“What’s wrong?”
Mike sighed. “You’re bloody lucky, do you know that?”
Jonathon blinked. “What do you mean?”
“You only came into contact with a little of that stuff.” Mike pointed to the plant. “It’s hogweed. Not sure if it’s common or giant hogweed. It’s certainly big enough.”
“Nice name,” Jonathon said with a smirk.
Mike gripped his shoulder. “Well, that nicely named plant nearly cost someone his leg this year. It was on the news. At least we can tell the doctor what you’ve come into contact with.”
Jonathon widened his eyes. “Are you serious?”
“Put it this way. If you’d gotten that stuff on your fingers, then rubbed your eyes, right now we’d probably be talking with an eye surgeon, discussing how to save your sight.” Cold crawled over Mike’s skin. Something had niggled at him the first time he’d seen the plants lying on her table.
“Am I… going to be all right?” Jonathon was pale.
>
Mike downplayed his fears at the sight of Jonathon’s reaction. “You’ve only got a couple of blisters. I’m sure they can be treated.” He patted Jonathon’s arm. “Don’t worry.”
Jonathon twisted his neck to stare back at the house. “What on earth was she thinking of? What remedy could require hogweed?”
Jonathon had hit the nail on the head. “That’s just it. I can’t think of any use for it. Hogweed has no medicinal uses, as far as I know. It’s poisonous, full stop. And the giant variety is banned in this country. It’s illegal to cultivate it.” Mike followed Jonathon’s gaze.
Then what was she going to do with it?
Jonathon squeezed his arm. “Come on. Let’s get out of here. I need to see the doctor, remember? And you need to call Keith. We can always come back here if we need to.”
Coming back was a given. There still remained the riddle of the strange notations in the diaries, because that was a mystery begging to be solved. Although he did have an inkling.
Before he could walk away from the house, however, Jonathon tugged on his arm. “Have you got any money on you?” He pointed to the table by the door. “What about this jam you promised me?”
Mike laughed. “Really?”
Jonathon speared him with a look. “It’s not as if you won’t benefit too. That was you Sunday morning, wasn’t it? Eating my marmalade?”
He had a point. “Okay, let’s see what she’s got.”
Jonathon chuckled. “Don’t give me that. You’ve had your eye on that mango-and-peach jam since you first saw it.” He peered at the jars before his attention wandered to the ground below. “Someone’s had a dog here. Look at all these paw prints. Big dog too.”
Mike glanced at the earth. Sure enough, there were several clear prints in the scuffed soil. “Well, it’s not hers. There’s no sign of a dog in the house.”
Jonathon picked up a jar of mango-and-peach. “Definitely this one, then. There’s also plum, marmalade, and raspberry.” He glanced at the clipboard lying beside the jars. “Aw. There was also a cherry jam too. That must have sold out.”