by K. C. Wells
“Indeed. Although, I must admit that killing the competition is perhaps a little too strong an action to take.”
Melinda chuckled. “Agreed, dear.”
Jonathon concluded that there was little point hiding anything from the elderly couple. “We started with a list of people seen near the cottage that morning. Nathan was on that list, by the way. And as of today, we’ve spoken with all of them.”
“Hmm. Fat lot of use that was.” Mike scowled. “None of ’em went into the cottage, none of ’em spoke with her, and they all just bought a jar of jam.”
“How frustrating for you,” Melinda murmured. “Especially when one of them must be lying.”
“Yeah, but then it gets more complicated.” Jonathon shot a glance at Mike, who nodded. “We found some diaries, and they point to Mrs. Teedle being a… blackmailer.”
Melinda’s mouth fell open.
Lloyd removed his glasses and cleaned them on his napkin, shaking his head. “You think you know people, and then….”
“Are you certain?” Melinda’s brow furrowed. “Do you have any idea who her victims were?” She shivered. “Blackmail. Such a nasty crime.”
“Right now, it’s a theory, but her bank statements seem to back it up. There’s a snag, however. All the diary entries are written in code.”
Melinda bit her lip. “Code? That hardly points to an innocent activity, does it?”
“We’ve worked out some of the amounts just by matching them to the deposits made, but as for who was making them, we have no clue,” Jonathon said glumly. “We spent virtually all of Sunday trying to crack it.” Mike coughed, and Jonathon gave him another hard stare.
“So, unless you happen to know anyone who can crack codes, that avenue of inquiry is closed off to us.” Mike forked off another piece of cake.
“Plus, the investigation is now headed by a Detective Inspector from Winchester. We had the pleasure of meeting him the other day.” Jonathon grimaced. “Delightful man.”
“Can’t be worse than that Gorland fella,” Lloyd commented. “Officious little—”
“Thank you, Lloyd.” Melinda gave him what could only be described as A Look. She gazed thoughtfully at them. “And what if I did?” she asked quietly, before sipping her tea.
“Did what?” Jonathon was momentarily lost.
“Know someone who can crack codes,” she replied simply.
Jonathon stared at her. “Seriously?”
She put down her cup. “One of my duties as the vicar’s wife is to go visiting, and that includes going to the Cedars.”
“What’s that?” Jonathon asked.
“A retirement home on the road to Lower Pinton, just inside the village boundaries,” Mike supplied. “Nice place. It’s a big house set back from the road. Lovely gardens.”
“That’s the place. One of the residents is a sweet elderly lady by the name of Lily.” Melinda sighed. “She’s in her nineties, bless her, and getting about is sadly a chore for her, but her mind is still rapier-sharp.”
“And what makes you think she’d be any good at cracking codes?”
Melinda arched her eyebrows again. “Well, there’s the fact that during the war, she was a young cypher clerk at Bletchley Park,” she said dryly.
It took Jonathon a second or two to register her words. “Bletchley Park… isn’t that where Alan Turing worked on cracking Enigma?”
Melinda sighed. “A lot more went on there than what you might have seen in a film. The point is, she has experience that might prove useful. So, do I arrange a meeting, or do you want to stumble around a little more? Because it strikes me that if you want to dissect something, you need a scalpel, not the garden spade that you two are currently using.”
Mike snickered. “Seems to me we’d be stupid not to.”
Melinda beamed. “Perfect. I’ll set up a time to introduce you. Now, who wants that last piece of carrot cake?”
Mike gazed at Jonathon with narrowed eyes. “I’ll arm wrestle you for it.”
“Fine. And while you’re rolling up your sleeve….” Jonathon reached over and grabbed the plate on which the cake sat. “I’ll eat the piece.” He held the plate to his chest.
Jinx appeared at his feet, pawing at his leg.
Mike appeared to take it in his stride. “That’s okay. You have it. Just remember one thing. I know where you live. I know where you sleep.”
“If you didn’t know that by now, I’d be very surprised,” Melinda said matter-of-factly. When Jonathon, Mike, and Lloyd stared at her, she regarded them with mild surprise. “Didn’t you know? Vicars’ wives are unshockable. It comes with the job.”
Jonathon gazed at her with affection. “I think vicars’ wives are wonderful.” This new turn was an exciting one. He wanted to see who Naomi had been blackmailing.
Then all they had to do was work out why.
Chapter Nineteen
Tuesday, November 14
JONATHON SLID a hand across the mattress, then opened his eyes when his fingers didn’t encounter Mike’s warm flesh. A glance at his phone revealed it to be seven thirty. He sat up and scraped his hand through his hair. Mike’s clothes were still on the chair where he’d deposited them, but the robe he usually wore when he stayed over was not. Jonathon peered over the edge of the bed—the prosthetic wasn’t there either. He pushed back the covers, got out of bed, reached for his warm robe, and tied it securely around his waist.
As he approached the drawing room, he heard Mike’s voice, and he pushed open the door. Mike was on the couch, slippered feet propped up, his phone on the arm and earbuds in place while he scribbled notes.
“Yeah, I’ve got all that.” He glanced up as Jonathon came into the room, smiling at him. “Thanks again, Keith. … No, it’s fine. I was gonna get up early anyway.” Mike laughed. “Bastard. Life of leisure indeed. … I owe you one.” He disconnected, then beamed at Jonathon as he pulled the buds from his ears. “Good morning, sleepyhead. Some of us have been up for a while.”
Jonathon sniffed before he spied the mug. “Where’s mine?” he demanded.
Mike rolled his eyes. “You were asleep. And besides, I didn’t make it. Janet brought it for me. She was a little surprised to find me awake and on the phone.” He put down his pen and picked up his mug, inhaling the aroma. “God, I need this.”
Before Jonathon could inquire about what he’d learned, Janet entered, carrying a tray.
“I thought I heard you. Good morning, sir. And as you’re both awake, you’ll need more than a mug. Shall I have Ivy serve breakfast earlier or at the usual time?” She set the tray down on the coffee table.
Jonathon chuckled. “I want to stay on Ivy’s good side. Breakfast at eight thirty as usual, please.”
“Very good, sir.” Janet left the room.
He joined Mike on the couch and poured himself a cup before leaning over to kiss Mike’s cheek. “Good morning. Now tell me what Keith discovered. Hopefully something useful.”
Mike flipped back through his notepad. “He’s been a busy boy. Our Naomi didn’t exactly have an incident-free life before she went off to Australia. She trained as a nurse before becoming a midwife when she was about twenty-three. The interesting bit? She got herself pregnant, and her family basically disowned her. They were pretty well-to-do, and yes, it might have been the late sixties, with more liberal attitudes everywhere, but not in their house, thank you very much. So she left home and set up in a place of her own. She was working at a little cottage hospital in Nottingham, where apparently she delivered a great many babies.”
“Aha. Now that remark she made when she delivered Jason Barton makes sense. No wonder she did it so efficiently. What about her own baby?” Jonathon sipped his coffee.
Mike sighed. “A boy. Gabriel. But… he died when he was two months old, from what sounds like what they later came to call cot death. A couple of months after he died, she went back to work, although it seems there were concerns that it was too early. Maybe it was,” he mused, �
�because not long after that, she immigrated to Australia on their Ten Pound Poms scheme.”
“What was that?”
“The Australian government had this Assisted Passage Migration Scheme, which started after the Second World War. They promised employment opportunities, affordable housing, and a new way of life, and it only cost ten pounds for the fare to get there. I think it ended in the early eighties, and over a million people made the journey there.”
“How old was she? Twenty-fiveish? And she’d just lost a baby. Yet she decided to move to the other side of the world. Brave lady.”
Mike’s phone pinged, and he scrolled through. “Keith’s sent me something. It’s a photo of her birth certificate, her baby’s, and the subsequent death certificate. Not sure why, but there you go.”
Jonathon sighed. “Not exactly what I’d hoped for.” His phone vibrated in the pocket of his robe. He peered at the screen and let out a whoop. “Wayne, you little beauty.”
“Wayne?” Mike frowned. “Your ex in Oz?”
Jonathon nodded. “He’s heard back from his dad.” He grinned. “Talk about good timing.” He scrolled through the email, trying to take in the gist of the information. “Okay. Jane, as she was then, met and married Wayne Teedle, a builder. One daughter, Gabriela.” His heart went out to Naomi. “She must have named the baby after the little boy she lost, to remember him. No more children, however. Seems there were complications arising from the birth.” He scanned the rest of the email.
“Anything juicy to report?”
Jonathon shook his head. “Her husband died in an accident—work-related, by the look of it—and left her provided for. Insurance. Daughter got married, has three kids. And when Naomi was fifty-five, she made the move back to the UK, but going under her middle name. Wayne says there’s nothing untoward about her life in Australia. No scandals. No dramas. Just an ordinary life. She studied homeopathy there.” He lowered his phone to his lap. “So we’re no nearer to finding a motive.”
“Maybe not. We know she wasn’t blowing smoke, if she’d studied homeopathy. And maybe things will become clearer when we find out who she was blackmailing. Because the more I think about it, the more convinced I am that the answer lies there.” Mike gave an emphatic nod. “You wait and see. Her murderer will turn out to be one of her victims.” He leaned forward and poured another coffee.
Jonathon had to agree. Of the five people seen near her cottage, they’d already discounted Rachel, and the others appeared to have no motives for killing Naomi. Well, except for Nathan, but Jonathon really couldn’t picture the dumpy little man strangling Naomi to eliminate the competition.
He put down his cup and rubbed his hand, trying desperately not to scratch it. The blisters hadn’t healed yet, and the doctor had told him he’d been very lucky not to have broken the skin.
But what if that stuff got into the bloodstream? By means of a cut, for example?
“It’s been nearly a week since we asked Graham about the forensic results,” Jonathon mused. “Do you think he might have more in by now?”
Mike snorted. “Oh sure, and that DI is going to be more than happy to hand over the report so you can take a look at it.”
“What if we asked him just to let us see a copy? Would he do that?” Graham had done it before, after all. Jonathon stroked Mike’s thigh. “He’d do it if you asked him.”
Mike appeared mesmerized by the movement of Jonathon’s hand, especially when he pulled aside the soft fabric and stroked bare flesh instead, shifting a little higher with each caress.
“I… could ask him, I suppose.” His breathing caught as Jonathon casually undid the tie around Mike’s waist. “Can I point something out here?” There was an urgent quality to Mike’s voice that was a definite turn-on. “Janet might come in at any minute.”
Jonathon shifted off the couch and onto his knees in front of Mike, pulling open the robe. “Then I’d better make it quick, hadn’t I?” He grinned. “Is the adrenaline flowing? Heart racing? Blood pumping?” He glanced down. “Stupid question.”
“God, yeah,” Mike whispered, before Jonathon lowered his head, still grinning. “Okay, enough talk,” he said breathlessly.
Jonathon locked gazes with him. “My father always taught me it was rude to talk with your mouth full.”
“BLOODY HELL. We’re open in fifteen minutes,” Mike exclaimed with a groan when someone knocked on the pub door. “Surely they can wait that long.”
“I’ll get it,” Jonathon told him. Mike had connected a new barrel and was checking it before the lunchtime opening. Jonathon unlocked the door and smiled when Graham stuck his head inside. “Good afternoon—well, almost.”
Graham came into the pub, scowling. “You two are gonna get me shot, you know that?” In his hands he carried a plain brown envelope.
“Hey, wait a minute.” Jonathon shut the door after him. “Like Mike said on the phone, only if it was no trouble and it wouldn’t get you into hot water.” He peered anxiously at Graham. “You’re not, are you?”
Graham hoisted himself onto a barstool. “No,” he said with a sigh. “And I shouldn’t have come in like that. It’s just… he’s pissing me off. He’s got me doing paperwork. I flippin’ hate paperwork.” He placed the envelope on the bar and tapped it with his index finger. “Anyhow, that’s the latest forensics report. Wanna tell me what you’re hoping to find?”
Jonathon decided to come clean. He held up his hand. “See this? That’s what I got for brushing aside some of the leaves Naomi Teedle was chopping when she died. Horrible stuff brought me out in blisters. Hogweed, Mike says.”
“Yeah. We came up with that too.” Graham pulled a face. “Nasty stuff.”
“Well, I started thinking about the blood on the knife. Whether it was Naomi’s or not. Because if not, then whoever’s blood it is, they’ve possibly come into contact with this stuff too, and we’ve already seen what a mess it makes.”
Graham opened the envelope and removed the sheet of paper. “It wasn’t hers. We’ve got DNA, but of course it’s no one on file. At least when we catch them, we can nail them for sure. But we do have something else to go on.” He pointed to a paragraph. “There was a residue on her neck, a trace of something that the killer had on their hands or gloves.” He smiled. “Although, having analyzed it, I’d go with gloves.”
Mike joined Jonathon and peered over his shoulder at the report. “A leather treatment?”
Graham nodded. “Stuff you use to keep leather looking good. You can apply it to handbags, gloves, saddles, furniture—just about anything. Only this particular compound? The forensic guys even narrowed it down to the actual brand. It’s a leather treatment used in valeting cars.”
“Really?”
Graham chuckled. “That’s given you something to work on, hasn’t it? Now, quid pro quo. You got anything for me?”
Jonathon gave Mike an inquiring glance.
Mike cleared his throat. “You might want to look into her finances. We know she was provided for by her husband’s insurance policy, but… she had expensive tastes, mate.”
Graham’s eyes widened. “Blackmail? We’ve got statements from her bank, but there’s nothing to point to blackmail. No large deposits.”
“Ah, because they’d show up as regular payments. The only way we knew they weren’t was because of the coded diary entries. There’s a set of diaries at the house—you know the ones, you’ve probably got one free from Doris, same as me—and they contain the codes and payments. And before you ask, no, we haven’t cracked the code yet.”
Graham grinned. “You two are amazing. I’ll get onto that ASAP.”
“Feeling better?” Like Jonathon had to ask.
“Miles better. Sod him and his bloody paperwork—I’m gonna pay another visit to that cottage and get those diaries.” He extended a hand to Jonathon. “Thanks, mate.”
Jonathon shook it. “You’re welcome. Just remember this next time we ask a favor, okay?”
Graham stare
d at him with wide eyes. “Yeah, right. This was quid pro quo, remember? Now we’re even.” He got off his stool and headed for the door. “Don’t go showing that report around, all right? Otherwise he’ll have my guts for garters.” He patted Jonathon’s shoulder. “Play nice with the parish council tonight. I know it’s only your first meeting, but don’t go suggesting they have a Pride parade or something like that. You’ll scare the pants off them.”
Jonathon gaped. “How did you know about tonight?”
“I am a policeman, right?” Graham gave a nonchalant shrug. “We have our sources.” Then he winked. “I ran into Melinda Talbot as I was coming here, and she told me all about it.”
“Now that makes sense.” Jonathon followed him to the door, let him out, and bolted it behind him. Then he reconsidered and unbolted it again. It was opening time. When he got back to the bar, Mike was grinning.
“Let’s see if they have more luck cracking the code.”
“I notice you didn’t mention Lily,” Jonathon remarked.
“’Course not. She’s our secret weapon. And I’ve been thinking. There are a few garages we might visit to see if they use that brand of leather treatment. Plus we’ll see if Doris stocks it.”
“I can see our suspect list growing even more.” Not that Jonathon minded all that much. After Ben’s list hadn’t rendered them any obvious clues, it was clear they needed to widen the scope of their investigation.
Investigation sounded so much better than snooping.
Chapter Twenty
DORIS PULLMAN beamed at Jonathon. “I was so pleased when Melinda said you’d be joining us.”
“It was nice to be asked,” Jonathon admitted. Not everyone had arrived yet in the village hall, and Doris had made tea for those who had. A table stood near the stage, with seven chairs around it, a pot of tea and a milk jug in the center, and two plates of biscuits, one at either end. Melinda, it appeared, was the council’s secretary, and it was she who took the minutes. The mayor, John Barton, had greeted Jonathon warmly, and they’d talked for a few minutes about Jason’s plans, which now included studying photography. John was plainly supportive, and Jonathon was delighted things were working out well.