Roots of Evil

by K. C. Wells

  Ben grinned. “Funny. That’s what that constable wanted to know too. Well, I’ll tell you what I told ’im. Rachel Meadow came by regularly enough, but I think that was ’cause she ’ad business there. The German shepherd is a regular—and ’is master, of course. We get a lot of dog-walkers going that way. Take Mrs. Barton, for instance. She comes by now and again, same as does that Brent fella.”

  “And Nathan Driscoll? With Frisky?” Mike asked.

  Ben frowned. “Yeah, that was odd. I seen ’im with Frisky that day an’ wondered if something was up with Mrs. Hardcastle.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, Frisky’s her dog, ain’t he?”

  Jonathon blinked. “Are we talking the same dog?”

  Ben’s brow was still furrowed. “Cockapoo. Pale cream and brown. Curly coat.”

  Jonathon recalled Nathan’s words. “But… he said he often takes Frisky for walks in the forest because the dog loves it.”

  Ben chuckled. “Oh, Frisky loves his walks, sure enough, but not with Nathan Driscoll. Come to think of it, I reckon that’s the first time I’ve seen ’im go past. I see ’im in the village all the time, always scurrying from one place to another.” He cocked his head to one side. “Was that all you wanted to know?”

  “Yes, thanks. You’ve been a big help.” Mike extended a hand, and Ben shook it.

  “Glad to assist. I’ll be gettin’ back to work now an’ leave you to your… detectin’.” Ben winked. “You’d better get a move on if you’re gonna solve the murder, though. I do ’ear tell there’s an inspector comin’ to take over the case.”

  Mike laughed. “Who needs informants when you live in a small English village? Everyone knows everything.”

  Ben touched his cap again. “As it should be. Good day, gents.” And with that, he walked off toward the rear gardens.

  Jonathon closed and bolted the french doors. “Interesting. Nathan Driscoll ‘borrowed’ a dog and took a walk. A coincidence? Was he doing Mrs. Hardcastle a favor? Or did he borrow Frisky as a cover?”

  “We could always ask Mrs. Hardcastle,” Mike suggested. “She helps out in the village shop.”

  Jonathon smiled broadly. “I feel the urge to do a little shopping this morning. Want to come along?”

  Mike sighed. “Can I finish my coffee first? And there’s still that last piece of toast.”

  Jonathon grimaced. “It’ll have gone cold by now. Still, it was worth it. We learned something.” He smacked Mike’s backside. “Now, drink your coffee. I’ve got the mayor’s wife to see too, remember? You’ve only got your pub to run.” Then he scooted out of the room before Mike could return the smack.

  He laughed as Mike yelled, “Only got a pub to run?”

  Teasing Mike was such fun.

  DORIS BEAMED at Jonathon from behind the counter as he entered the shop. “I was gonna call you later. Your, er… order has come in.” Her wrinkled cheeks pinked.

  It took him a moment to realize what she meant. Then the penny dropped. “Oh, great.” His amusement died when she reached under the counter and withdrew a brown paper bag that she placed beside the till. Jonathon took out his wallet and removed a five-pound note.

  Doris leaned over the counter and lowered her voice. “My granddaughter says you can order these online.”

  “Really?” Jonathon paid her and took the bag.

  “I was only thinking, it might be easier if you did, that’s all.” She gave a half smile. “Save you the trip to the shop.”

  Jonathon thanked her and looked around for Mike, who was perusing the magazine rack. He glanced up as Jonathon approached, then dropped his gaze to the bag. “What’s in there?”

  “A failed experiment,” Jonathon said with a sigh. When Mike gave him a quizzical look, he explained. “Actually, it’s a copy of Attitude. I ordered it last week.”

  Mike arched his eyebrows. “Why the long face?”

  “Because I didn’t expect to be handed it as if it was pornography. It’s just a gay magazine. There isn’t even a seminaked bloke on the cover this month.”

  Mike gave him a compassionate glance. “Nice idea, but take a look.” He swung his arm to encompass the shelves before them. “Horse & Hound. Country Life. Harper’s Bazaar. Woman’s Weekly. House Beautiful. Puzzle books and crosswords. Knitting patterns. Children’s coloring books. Can you really see Attitude, DNA, and GT on the same shelves?” He tilted his head. “Or was that the plan, to bring Merrychurch into the twenty-first century?”

  “Kind of.” Except, deep down, Jonathon had known how it was going to work out.

  Mike put his hand on Jonathon’s shoulder. “I know,” he said quietly. “And you’re right. Having a gay magazine on a shelf in here would’ve been a great first step. But how about you let the village get used to a gay lord of the manor first? You don’t have to rub their noses in it, though… maybe walk through the lanes holding hands with me, for one thing. Or give me the odd peck on the lips when you’re in the pub. Stuff like that.” He smiled. “There you were, talking about having a husband. Well, that’s the goal, to get to the point where you announce you’re getting married—to a guy—and have the whole village ready to celebrate it with you.” He leaned in and kissed Jonathon’s cheek. “Baby steps, love.”

  Jonathon caught his breath at the unexpected term of endearment, and Mike chuckled. “See? I managed to get it out that time.” He cocked his head to one side. “Too much? Too soon?”

  A warm glow filled Jonathon. “Just right.” Then he caught sight of the magazine rack again, and scowled, his newly acquired glow dissipating. “When I think about the eloquent, fascinating articles you find in gay magazines and then compare them to all these celebrity mags….”

  “And while you’re on that track, take another look at the top shelf. No magazines for men, if you get my drift. If the shop won’t even stock the latest equivalent of Loaded, they’re not gonna stock gay magazines. And here’s a thought for you. Are they being homophobic—or merely reacting to the adult nature of the magazines?”

  Mike had a point. Before Jonathon could respond, however, Mike tugged his arm.

  “Now, how about we go over to the deli section, where Mrs. Hardcastle is slicing bacon as we speak, and ask her about her dog? That is why we came here, right?”

  “Yes, it is,” Jonathon admitted. He followed Mike to the rear of the shop, where the long fridge was filled with cooked meats, cheeses, pork pies, and pates. Sure enough, Mrs. Hardcastle was carefully easing a joint of meat through the bacon slicer while keeping up a verbal battle with a teenage girl who was filling a stainless-steel tray with the rashers.

  “I still can’t believe you’d do such a thing,” Mrs. Hardcastle muttered. “Don’t you have any brains? As if that would work in the first place.”

  “She said it would,” the girl retorted.

  “Of course she’d say that. You were giving her money, you—”

  The girl glared and dropped the tray onto the counter with a clatter. “Sod this. I’m out of ’ere.” She pulled off her clear plastic gloves, slung them to one side, strode toward the door at the rear, and banged it shut behind her.

  Mrs. Hardcastle stared after her for a few seconds, then resumed her task, muttering under her breath.

  “It’s difficult when they reach that awkward age, isn’t it?” Mike offered.

  Mrs. Hardcastle jerked her head up and stared at him. “Mark my words, Laura has been at that awkward age ever since she learned how to say no.” She sighed. “And all of this over a love potion, if there is such a thing.” When neither Mike nor Jonathon responded, she let out another heavy sigh. “Laura’s my niece. She’s staying with me while her parents are away on business. I found this bottle of… stuff in her room, and when I asked her what it was, she said it was this love potion she’d asked old Mrs. Teedle to put together for her.” She rolled her eyes. “A love potion, I ask you. But still, taking money off a kid….”

  “I take it the potion didn’t work,�
� Jonathon said, biting back his smirk.

  Mrs. Hardcastle leaned closer. “Poor lass. She’s got her eye on young Jason Barton. Well, he’s a bit out of her league, to be honest. And then she gets all riled up when he doesn’t pay her a blind bit of notice.” She shook her head. “I’d go round there and give that woman a piece of my mind—if it weren’t for the fact that she’s dead.” She put down the bacon joint and removed her plastic gloves. “Now, what can I do for you?”

  “I was just checking you were okay,” Jonathon said smoothly. “I happened to see the chemist walking your dog the other day, and I had the idea you might be ill.”

  She gazed at him with wide eyes. “Aw, bless you. No, I’m right as rain. Nathan—he’s my next-door neighbor—called around on Sunday and said as how he was thinking of getting a dog, and how he’d always liked cockapoos, and could he take Frisky for a walk to kind of try him out?” She smiled. “Like I’d say no to someone taking him for a walk. I said yes, and off they went.”

  “And what did he decide?” Jonathon asked.

  “Why, he—” Mrs. Hardcastle frowned. “Well, that’s strange. He never did say. In fact, he took off sharpish right after he brought Frisky back. I’ll have to ask him this evening when I see him.” She gestured to the fridge. “Now, are you sure I can’t tempt you to a nice bit of bacon?”

  Five minutes later, they left the shop, Jonathon clutching his brown paper bag and a white plastic one secured with a red tie, a label stuck on it. When they reached their cars, Jonathon came to a halt. “I am not going to see the mayor’s wife armed with a bag containing half a kilo of bacon.” He thrust it at Mike. “Here. Take it back to your place. We can have it for breakfast the next time I stay over.”

  Mike grinned as he took it. “What makes you think there’ll be any left?”

  “Because I’ll stay every night for a week until it’s all gone,” Jonathon flung back at him. “And that includes tonight.”

  Mike chuckled. “Aha. Now I know the secret. If I want you in my bed, I need bacon in the fridge. Gotcha.”

  “It isn’t true, you know—‘the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.’” Jonathon kissed him lightly on the lips.

  Mike pulled him close. “Then how do I get to your heart?” His voice was low.

  Jonathon smiled. “Maybe you’re already there.” And without waiting for Mike to reply, he pulled free of Mike’s embrace, got behind the wheel of the Jag, put it into reverse, and steered out of the little car park behind the shop, waving at Mike as he passed him.

  It was the closest he’d come to saying those three little words, but he figured they wouldn’t be far behind.

  Chapter Eleven

  THE MAYOR’S house wasn’t what Jonathon expected. It was a detached cottage with a dark gray slate roof, standing among three or four similar houses in a narrow lane not far from the water mill. The front garden was beautifully maintained with neatly shaped shrubs and flower beds behind a low stone wall. A couple of windows were set under a kind of eyebrow where the roof curved over them, something seen in a few houses in the village.

  Jonathon locked the Jag and strolled up the path that led to the wooden front door. He rang the bell and waited. A minute later Mrs. Barton answered, her eyes widening in obvious surprise.

  “It’s… Mr. de Mountford, isn’t it?”

  Jonathon gave a polite nod. “I hope it’s not an inconvenient time to call.”

  “Not at all. You’re just in time to join me for a cup of tea, or coffee if you’d prefer.”

  Jonathon beamed. “I never say no to a cup of coffee.”

  She stepped aside, and he entered a low-ceilinged hallway, the floor covered with stone flags and thick rugs. “Go straight ahead, through the kitchen and into the conservatory. I’ll make us some coffee.”

  He followed the direction through the sunny kitchen that opened out into an even sunnier space with glass all around. The comfortable-looking rattan furniture was inviting, and Jonathon took a seat on the couch, gazing out at the garden beyond. The rear was as perfectly maintained as the front.

  “Your gardens are delightful,” he called out toward the kitchen.

  Mrs. Barton stepped into the conservatory. “Nothing like the ones up at the manor house,” she said with a smile. “Your uncle used to show me around when John—my husband—would go up to see him. Your uncle was so proud of the gardens.”

  It always warmed Jonathon when people spoke well of Dominic. “It’s nice to meet someone who knew him.”

  From behind her came a beep. “Kettle’s boiled.” She disappeared from view, but it wasn’t long before she returned with a large tray that she set down carefully on the low coffee table. “Help yourself to cream and sugar. I’ve brought out some of my homemade biscuits too. I didn’t know if you have a sweet tooth.” She sat beside him on the couch and poured out two cups. “You were lucky to catch me in. Thursday is usually my day for working with John, but he had a few meetings. I wasn’t about to say no to a morning of leisure.”

  Jonathon had to admit, for someone spending a morning doing nothing, she was immaculately dressed in dark gray slacks, a cream blouse, and a lace cardigan. Her glossy brown hair fell to her shoulders, where it curled under at the ends, and she wore only the lightest touch of makeup. It was easy to see where Jason got his good looks.

  “I’m glad to find you in, then.” Jonathon helped himself to a biscuit.

  “What brings you here today?”

  He relaxed against the seat cushions. “I’m conducting research, actually, by way of feedback. I’m asking people if they’d like a similar bonfire party next year, and if they can think of any way to improve it. This was my first such event, and I’d like to do it again.”

  Mrs. Barton’s face lit up. “It was a wonderful night. And as for improving things, I think you got it just right. Those fireworks were magnificent.”

  At that moment, a golden retriever walked sedately into the conservatory, heading for them.

  Mrs. Barton smiled. “Ah, I wondered when you’d appear. You think you’re missing out on something, don’t you?”

  The dog laid its chin on Jonathon’s knee and gazed up at him with liquid brown eyes. When Jonathon stroked the sleek gold head, the dog closed its eyes, but when he stopped, the dog brought up its leg and placed a heavy paw on Jonathon’s arm, opening its eyes to stare at him.

  He laughed. “Oh, I’m sorry. Was I not allowed to stop?” Jonathon resumed his stroking, and the dog lowered its paw.

  “This is Goldie, who knows better than to beg for cuddles, not that you’d know it.” Mrs. Barton gazed fondly at Goldie. “He’s getting on, poor old thing. His hips aren’t what they used to be. We’ve had to cut his walks down. He used to drag me all over the place three times a day when he was a puppy, but not anymore.” Her eyes held a look of sadness. “We’ve had him ever since Jason was one, possibly two years old, so there’s not much time left, I’m afraid. The lifespan of a golden retriever….” She swallowed.

  The love in her voice tightened Jonathon’s throat. He bent over and looked into the dog’s eyes in an effort to hide the tears that pricked his own. “You’re gorgeous and you know it,” he told Goldie, who chuffed and pushed his head into Jonathon’s hand.

  “Do you have a dog?” Mrs. Barton asked as she dropped a cube of brown sugar into her cup, then stirred it.

  Jonathon looked up and shook his head. “I’ve spent too much time traveling to think about getting a dog. It seems cruel to have a pet that I then have to kennel when I go away on a trip.”

  “I understand. And I’ve seen the results of your trips. Jason was showing me some of your photos of India and Australia. I think you have a fan there.” She smiled, the sunlight catching in her pale blue eyes. “Actually, there’s no ‘think’ about it. Jason has a mild case of hero worship.”

  “You don’t appear concerned.” Jonathon left off his stroking to drink his coffee, but fortunately Goldie seemed to understand and sat at his fee
t—well, on his feet.

  Mrs. Barton chuckled. “It’s definitely bringing out his creative side, and there’s nothing wrong with that.”

  Jonathon sipped his coffee, his gaze focused on Goldie. “Now that I think about it, I knew you had a dog. My gardener mentioned it.”

  “Oh?”

  Jonathon raised his chin to look at her. “He lives on the edge of the forest, and he was commenting about the number of people who walk their dogs there. He likes people-watching.” He paused, awaiting her reaction.

  Mrs. Barton stilled. “Really? And he mentioned me? I can’t think why.”

  He didn’t break eye contact. “He was watching out of his window on Sunday morning, and I think he counted four villagers all walking their dogs along that path.” He chuckled. “I bet you probably ran into all of them when you took Goldie for a walk.”

  For the briefest moment, Mrs. Barton’s face tightened and her eyes widened, but then she smiled. “Funny. I don’t think I saw a soul that morning. Not even Mrs. Teedle, when I stopped to buy a jar of marmalade.”

  “Ooh, I haven’t tried that one. Mike loves the mango-and-peach jam. In fact, the way he’s going, he’ll have eaten through the entire jar before I get so much as a spoonful.” Jonathon kept his tone light, but that moment had been enough to assure him they were right to keep her on the list.

  It was not the reaction of an innocent woman.

  Jonathon did his best to put her at her ease. “I’m very fond of marmalade. Is it a chunky version or more like a jelly?”

  “Do you know, I haven’t opened it yet. Let’s see.” She got up from the couch and went into the kitchen.

  Jonathon gazed thoughtfully at Goldie, who brought his head up at the movement before settling back to sleep. “You’re doing a great job of keeping my feet warm,” Jonathon told him quietly.

  Mrs. Barton came back, carrying the now-recognizable jar. “I can see chunks in here, if that helps you decide if you’d like to buy some.” She placed it on the table.