by Sonia Parin
“To do what?” Joyce sounded exasperated.
“I don’t know. If I had to guess, I’d say George Mercer will be keen to snatch the property. Harold has water.”
“Ah. Now I see.”
They all nodded.
Abby straightened. “Is George Mercer wealthy?” He had a new car and he owned cattle…
“Wealthy enough,” Mitch said. “His family has owned the property for over a hundred years.”
Water.
Harold had ample water on his property. Would someone kill him for it?
“Does anyone have a contact at the solicitor’s? Otherwise I’ll ask Faith to see what she can find out.”
Markus leaned forward and patted her head. “You’re a smart cookie. You did all that without trekking out into the heat.”
Grinning, Abby said, “I might stay at the pub until the heatwave breaks. I might even wait until the rain comes.”
“In that case, you’ll have to shift over to the corner and battle it out with Alan Hodge for the regular spot.”
Chapter Nine
Half an hour later, Faith walked into the bar. “I thought I’d deliver the news personally. I called the solicitor’s office. He has a new receptionist, Rebecca Howard. We went to school together.” Faith settled down next to Abby. “We were not the best of friends. So I threatened her.”
Joyce and Abby stared at Faith, their mouths slightly parted, mostly in surprise because Faith looked quite pleased with herself.
Taking a quick sip of water, Abby asked, “What did you say to her?”
“I told her if she didn’t co-operate Joyce would ban her from the café. She called my bluff.”
“And?” Abby thought Faith looked too happy to have failed to change the receptionist’s mind.
“I had to be creative. And that’s not my forte.”
“And?” Abby asked, caution creeping into her voice.
“I gave her the chance to change her mind, when she didn’t, I told her I’d send Joyce a text message saying she shouldn’t take any orders for coffee from Rebecca Howard. She got all cranky and haughty.”
“And?”
“Oh, she called Joyce but Joyce didn’t pick up because…”
“Because I’m here,” Joyce laughed.
“That’s right, but Rebecca didn’t know that. I knew the café was closed today. Also, I saw you coming into the pub.”
Abby slumped on the counter, her voice a whisper, “And?”
“She caved in and told me what I wanted to know. George Mercer went in to see his accountant.”
“Not his lawyer?”
Faith shook her head. “They share an office and a receptionist. Anyhow, the accountant asked Rebecca Howard to look for Harold Moorhead’s file.”
Straightening, Abby pumped the air with her fists. “Told ya. The moment he heard about Harold, he went straight to the accountant. What does that tell you?”
Markus smiled at her. “What does that tell you? If George Mercer had killed Harold to get him out of the way, he would have stayed here to finish his beer.”
True. If he had killed Harold, he would have avoided making any blatantly obvious moves that would draw attention to himself. The fact he had rushed out only proved he wished to take advantage of someone else’s misfortune. Of course, they still needed proof he had gone to see his accountant to get the ball rolling. Abby assumed he would want to get his hands on Harold’s property. The fact the accountant had asked to see Harold Moorhead’s file could be circumstantial. It really didn’t prove anything.
“All that work only to prove him innocent?” Faith looked at Mitch. “Beer, please.”
“Then again,” Markus said, “George Mercer might have arranged for someone else to kill Harold.”
Everyone agreed that could be a possibility.
Markus looked out the window. “His Range Rover is still parked outside. He must have a lot to talk about with Joe Adams.”
“Who’s that?” Abby asked.
“The accountant.”
“Oh.” Abby wrote the name down in her notebook. “Do you think Joe Adams knows something about Harold’s will?”
Faith rubbed her hands together. “Would you like me to call Rebecca and find out? She was one of the mean girls in high school. I wouldn’t mind turning the screws and making her suffer more.”
“Faith, this type of behavior is unlike you. Why do I get the feeling I’m responsible for corrupting you?” Abby asked.
“You? A bad influence? Oh, no. Everything I know I picked up from Joyce.”
“I’m not sure how to take that,” Joyce said, her tone haughty. “Actually, I always try to look on the bright side so I’ll take it as a compliment. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
Mitch and Markus looked at each other. “Must be the heat. It’s getting to them too.”
Abby scooped out an ice cube from her glass and sucked on it. “I think we have to assume George Mercer is off the hook.” She looked around the bar. If the killer wanted to keep abreast of the situation, this would be the ideal place, she thought. Hiding in plain sight.
Faith looked downcast when she said, “I hope the killer turns out to be someone from out of town. I don’t think I could handle finding out one of us is responsible for killing Harold.” In the next breath she appeared to cheer up. “Are we setting up a crime board and if we are, where should we do it?” Faith dug inside her handbag and drew out her iPad. “I’ve just had a bright idea. I could set something up on-line and we can all have access to it.”
“An interactive crime board. I like it. But when you say everyone, surely you don’t mean the whole town.” Abby didn’t think that would be such a good idea since their list of suspects was bound to incense some people.
“Just us.” Faith drew a circle which included Mitch and Markus. “Circle of trust.”
“I think you might want to ask Mitch and Markus before drafting them into our band of sleuths.”
“Do we get badges?” Mitch asked.
“I’m not exactly deputizing you. You’re always within earshot so you might as well join us.”
Mitch nudged his brother. “Wait and see. Abby Maguire is going to start delegating. She’s already hoodwinked you into running errands for her.”
“I did no such thing.”
Faith clapped her hands. “Okay, I’ve set something up. It’s nothing fancy. Who’s our prime suspect?”
Abby drummed her fingers. Mitch and Markus both brushed their hands across their chins while Joyce gave her wings a gentle flap.
“Come on. There’s no right or wrong answer. Don’t be shy.” Faith huffed. “Fine, if no one else wants to go first, I will.”
Before Faith could name her first suspect, Joyce put her hand up. “I name myself as prime suspect.”
Abby rolled her eyes. “That’s silly.”
“Is it? Think about it. If I’m the real killer, I would want to clear my name as soon as possible.”
“Oh. That’s really smart thinking.” Markus nodded. “And oddly perverse.”
“Well, I certainly had opportunity,” Joyce continued. “What if I sabotaged my refrigerator? I knew Stevie Garth wouldn’t be available because he’s on his honeymoon and there’s only one other electrician around. He just happens to be the man I hold a grudge against.”
“Do you?” Faith asked.
“Don’t be daft. I’m tossing around a theory.”
Abby gaped at her. “Actually, this is a really good idea. Everyone knew Harold liked to stay home and play with his train set. The house is surrounded by security cameras so anyone approaching the house would have been caught on camera.”
Joyce gave a vigorous nod. “So, this is the hypothetical theory I’m proposing. I needed to get Harold out of the house and I did that by creating an emergency. I remembered you and Faith were coming over for lunch. Knowing I had asked Bradford to collect the Christmas lights from Harold, I sabotaged the refrigerator and the next
day, I gently encouraged you to go with Bradford and urge Harold to fix my refrigerator.”
“You are so devious,” Faith murmured.
“When Harold arrived early the next day, I…” Joyce floundered.
“I think your admission of guilt just fell to pieces,” Abby suggested. “Someone killed Harold after he finished working on your refrigerator. Specifically, during the time you were at the pub.”
“Heavens, you’re right. I could not possibly have killed Harold. Mitch is my alibi. Well, that’s a relief.”
“Hang on.” Mitch put his hand up. “You said it yourself. You sabotaged your refrigerator so there was nothing wrong with it. When Harold arrived, you killed him as he was unloading his stuff. Then you switched your refrigerator back on and came to the pub for breakfast.”
Joyce stared at Mitch, her eyes wide. “Oh…Oh…Oh!”
Mitch nodded. “How are you going to get out of that one?”
“Honestly? Do we really think Joyce is capable of killing someone?” Abby looked around and saw everyone trying to process the information. “Oh, come on. Really?” Shifting, she turned to Joyce, “I actually think you’re on the right track. Joyce, when did you notice your refrigerator wasn’t working?”
“Yesterday, early in the morning. It must have stopped working overnight.”
“Oh,” Faith exclaimed. “Last night, my fuse blew during the night. I wonder if anyone else had electrical trouble?”
Mitch cleared his throat. “Actually…” He looked at Markus. “The circuit overloaded last night and shut down. Luckily, I was still up.”
Abby gasped and her shoulders nearly reached her ears. “Is it fixed now?”
Mitch pointed to the air-conditioner. “Clearly.”
Another thought occurred to her. “Is there any chance someone might have tampered with people’s fuse boxes?”
The brothers exchanged a look of concern. “Hard to say. You only really need to flick the switch off. I’d call that tampering. But you need a key to access the boxes.” Mitch turned to Joyce. “I’m more interested in Joyce’s busted fridge. She has her equipment serviced regularly.”
“I do.”
Had someone really tampered with it? It could have happened at any time during the day. With so many people coming and going…
“Before you ask, I’m not going to suspect my staff and no one broke into the café. I would have known. The alarm is set downstairs every night.”
Markus leaned on the counter. “Let me get this straight. Are you still trying to clear your name or trying to convince us you are innocent but you’re really guilty?”
Joyce’s cheeks flashed red. “There’s no difference between one and the other. You’re trying to trick me.”
“And you haven’t answered the question.”
As Markus toyed with Joyce, Abby turned her attention to her notes. She put a question mark next to Herbert Moorhead. Would Harold’s brother stand to inherit anything? He lived miles away, but would anyone recognize him if they saw him hovering around town?
She sent the detective a text asking if he knew about Harold’s brother and was then distracted when Joyce shrieked.
“I’ve just noticed what’s wrong with the pub.”
“Wrong?” Markus frowned.
“Where are your Christmas decorations? Where’s your tree? And the music? I don’t hear any Christmas carols.”
Mitch snorted. “Markus refuses to sacrifice a tree this year. He’s put his foot down. No more cutting down trees.”
Markus confirmed it with a firm nod.
“Are you saying you’re not going to decorate the pub?” Joyce could not have sounded more affronted.
“Nope.”
“He’s decided to be a Grinch this year,” Mitch said as he took an order from a customer.
“Right, I’m rolling up my sleeves,” Joyce declared. “Where are the decorations? You can’t deprive people of a little cheer. Not after all that’s happened. They need to be distracted.”
“Distracted? Why?” Markus asked. “So you can get away with killing Harold?”
Joyce replied with a severe scowl. “Don’t change the subject.”
“Fine.” Markus shrugged. “If someone wants Christmas cheer, I send them to your café.”
“Markus Faydon, shame on you. Like it or not, I am spending the rest of the day decorating.” Joyce pointed at the stairs. “Now, go get the decorations.”
“There’s no tree,” he argued. “I won’t change my mind.”
“We’ll make one with whatever you have. While Abby and Faith work on a list of possible suspects, I will… spread some good cheer. I have to do something to offset everything that happened today.”
At some point, Abby thought, she would need to get out there and start interviewing people. She knew the detective would make the rounds but sometimes… it helped to have another perspective. Just then someone walked into the pub. Before the door closed, someone else walked in.
The air thickened with heat.
“Someone please tell me there’s a change coming. I’m not sure I can take any more of this heat,” she grumbled.
“It’ll come soon enough,” Mitch assured her.
Faith agreed. “Oh, yes. It’s bound to come.”
Joyce nudged her with her elbow. “Don’t let them fool you. This is a heatwave. Here to stay.”
The bar door opened again. A man stood there and looked from one end to the other. Finally, he asked, “Has anyone seen George Mercer?”
When Mitch strode over to have a word with him, Abby asked, “Who’s that?”
“That’s George Mercer’s foreman. Jon Reeds. He looks exhausted,” Joyce remarked.
“Yes, he does. Exhausted and dusty.” George Mercer had said they’d been busy driving cattle to a reservoir. Yet, he’d looked as fresh as a daisy. Had he lied?
Chapter Ten
Joyce grabbed hold of Abby’s hand. “Are you going to explode?”
Startled, Abby swung around. “What? No… Why do you ask?”
“Your face is bright red… And now… Now you’re breaking into a sweat.”
“That’s because the front door is open.” Abby looked over her shoulder and saw Mitch still talking with George Mercer’s foreman. “I wish they’d either come in or go out.” For heaven’s sake, she thought, the man looked as though he’d crawled out of the wilderness. He had a layer of dust on him. He’d tipped his hat back but it flopped over his forehead. Why didn’t he come in for a cool drink? “Can you read lips?”
“No, but I can sometimes pick up on what a person is saying by their body language. Why?”
Abby gestured toward the door. “I want to know what’s going on there.”
Instead of turning, Joyce looked at the reflection on the mirror behind the bar. “Mitch is telling Jon Reeds about Harold. That’s my guess. And… I think Mitch is prodding him for information. I’d be wary of that. He’s likely to use it as a bartering tool.”
Glancing around the bar to see if anyone else felt bothered by the open door, Abby saw Doyle rolling over and looking over his shoulder. Giving the air a sniff, he scrambled to his feet, put his nose to the ground and made his way toward the front door.
He circled around Mitch, all the while edging toward Jon Reeds and sniffing him.
Smiling, Joyce asked, “Did you notice that?”
“Yes, Doyle sure knows how to employ the subtle art of detecting.” He didn’t normally sniff people. In fact, Abby couldn’t remember ever seeing him sniffing someone. “There’s something about Jon Reeds that has Doyle captivated.”
“The smell of cows?” Joyce suggested.
Doyle stepped back, gave Jon Reeds an up and down look and trotted around Mitch. What he did next had Abby brimming with pride.
Raising himself up on his hind legs, he leaned against the door and tried to close it. When Mitch noticed him, he shuffled to one side with Jon Reeds mirroring him. That gave Doyle the opportunity to close the do
or all the way. Satisfied, he trotted back to his spot in front of the air-conditioner.
“Is my dog smart, or what?”
The front door opened again. Abby turned and saw Jon Reeds walk out.
When Mitch returned to the bar, both Joyce and Abby asked, “Well? What did he want?”
“You heard him. He’s looking for George Mercer.”
“And?” Abby tried to read his expression but Mitch had his usual eyes-brimming-with-amusement look that gave nothing away.
If anyone could get away with murder… he could.
Mitch Faydon had an air of lighthearted confidence and such an easy manner, people were drawn to him and engaged him in conversation as if they were lifelong friends. Even people who met him for the first time. He could hide anything behind that easygoing manner of his. Yes, even murder, Abby thought.
Smiling at Abby, he said, “The answer is no.”
“No?” Abby exchanged a puzzled look with Joyce who looked equally confounded.
Mitch gave them a wide smile. “Do I hear you ask if the answer is no, what is the question?”
Joyce bounced on her stool. “Oh, I know. I know. If Jon Reeds is looking for George Mercer, that must mean they were not in the same place today.”
Why would George Mercer lie about his whereabouts? “George Mercer looked too clean to have been out on a cattle drive,” Abby mused. “Even his Range Rover looks squeaky clean. So, the question must be…”
“Did George Mercer lie about his whereabouts today?” Joyce asked.
Mitch looked heavenward. “I said the answer is no, but you were close.”
“But…”
Laughing, Mitch shook his head. “No buts about it. Even if the answer to your question is no.”
Abby ran through several other possible questions and finally asked, “Did Jon Reeds see George Mercer at the cattle drive today?”
“Bingo.” Mitch clapped his hands. “And the prize goes to Abby Maguire.” He leaned on the counter. “For the record, George Mercer doesn’t drive the Range Rover on cattle drives. They have quad bikes for that.”
“What are the chances he had time to go home and change out of his dirty clothes?” Being the boss, he could call the shots and with everyone so busy at the cattle drive, no one would notice him missing.