“That’s what her sleuth does in her Summersfield books,” Mike exclaimed.
Melinda’s thoughtful gaze hadn’t altered. “Then maybe that’s not the only similarity. Maybe you need to take a closer look at her books.”
“Mike has all of them,” Jonathon announced with a grin.
Mike coughed. “Yes, but I don’t remember everything about them. I think the obvious person to ask is Fiona. She knows Teresa’s books inside and out.”
Melinda stilled. “Fiona McBride? She’s helping you? Hmm.”
Jonathon met Mike’s gaze before leaning forward. “Is there something we should know about her?”
“Well….” Melinda appeared reluctant to continue.
Lloyd gave a dry chuckle. “What my dear wife is trying so hard not to say is that Fiona helping you solve Teresa’s murder might be more like Dracula helping you work out who is leaving those little holes in people’s necks.”
Mike blinked. “You mean she should be a suspect? But why?”
Lloyd cleared his throat. “You need to look at what happened to her husband. That might be considered by some to be a motive. Not that I think for one minute that Teresa had as much to do with his death as Fiona would like to believe, but—”
“But coming back to the purpose of your visit—Teresa….” Melinda took a drink of tea before continuing. “I’m going to be blunt.”
Jonathon bit his lip. “When are you ever anything but?”
That raised another wry chuckle from Lloyd.
Melinda sighed heavily. “I have no wish to speak ill of the dead, but… she was a gossip. I think you’ll find that if you interview the older members of Merrychurch, there will be quite a few who remember what Teresa was like. She may have left the village ten years ago, but some of us have long memories.” She glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. “Now, if you’re going to make it to the closing of the festival, you need to drink your tea and eat your cake.” Melinda gestured to the plate of sultana scones. “Do try one.”
Mike figured that was all they were going to get out of Melinda on the subject. He helped himself to a scone with butter, strawberry jam, and a dollop of thick cream. Jonathon’s eyes gleamed, but he said nothing. Mentally, Mike made a note to write a list of Merrychurch’s oldest inhabitants. It was beginning to look like their inventory of suspects was about to grow.
“Although….” That twinkle was back in Melinda’s eyes. “Should either of you wish to discuss wedding plans, may I offer my services as wedding planner? I could advise you on the service, the reception….”
Lloyd erupted into a fit of coughing, and when Melinda gave him a sharp look, he said in a most apologetic tone, “Sorry. Crumb went down the wrong way.” Then he leaned closer to Jonathon and whispered, “Run, dear boy. Run away. Before she really gets started.”
It was all Mike could do not to choke on his mouthful of scone.
HEATHER WAS in the middle of her closing speech, in which she thanked Jonathon for opening up the hall for their use, when Mike noticed Graham toward the rear of the ballroom. He nudged Jonathon. “He’s looking very official.”
Jonathon glanced in Graham’s direction. “Hmm. I wonder why he’s here.”
No sooner had the final round of applause died down than Graham made his way purposefully through the crowd toward Phil McCallister and Melody Richards. Mike tried not to stare as Graham addressed them, his notepad in his hand. From their expressions, it was obvious that the two authors were not happy. Graham made notes, then gave a quick nod before walking in Mike’s direction.
“Well, my first literary festival is at an end.” Professor Harcourt joined them, his bag over one shoulder. “I must say I enjoyed it immensely—with one exception, of course.” He gazed anxiously at Jonathon. “Was my session all right?”
Jonathon smiled widely. “It was more than all right. It was fascinating. I’m sure everyone liked it.”
“Ah, Professor Harcourt. Just the man.” Graham reached them, notepad still in hand. “I need to ask what your immediate plans are, sir. I’ve been asked to speak to a couple of the witnesses, to ask if they could stick around a few days. I realize this may be inconvenient, but—”
“Nonsense, Constable,” Professor Harcourt replied affably. “I understand completely. You have a case of murder to investigate. And to be honest, I have no qualms about delaying my departure.” He smiled, his eyes twinkling. “I may have difficulty making my wife see it that way, but I’m sure she’ll understand too.” He lowered his voice. “Although I suspect she’ll be happy to have me out from under her feet for a while longer.”
Mike inclined his head in Phil and Melody’s direction. “I take it they’re not so happy to be staying.”
Graham snorted. “What gave it away?” Phil’s expression was sullen as he stared at them. “The DI called me at home this morning to tell me to make sure any witnesses didn’t leave before he had a chance to interview them.”
Mike huffed. “As if he’s going to learn something that you haven’t already.”
“Or maybe he thinks the murderer will fall on his or her sword and confess as soon as Gorland so much as looks at them.” Jonathon scowled. “Pompous little—” Graham coughed violently, and Jonathon clammed up.
Mike snickered, then gave Professor Harcourt an apologetic glance. “Sorry. There’s no love lost between us and DI Gorland.”
“I’d surmised that much,” the professor said dryly. “It sounds as though things will become more interesting once he’s in charge.”
“And in the meantime, Jonathon and I have a task to complete.” Mike gave a quick glance around before leaning forward and speaking in a low voice. “We’re building up a picture of Teresa when she lived here.”
Professor Harcourt’s gaze narrowed. “I see. You think there might be one or more persons in the village with a motive for murder.”
“Right now it’s only a hunch,” Mike admitted.
Graham snickered. “Except your hunches have a habit of paying off. I’m not gonna tell you not to continue, but I will suggest that you get your task done before the DI gets here. Because you know what’s gonna happen as soon as he finds out you’re up to your usual tricks.” He fixed Mike with an intense gaze. “And I don’t have to remind you to share whatever information you manage to glean, do I?”
Jonathon grinned. “We said we’d be good, didn’t we?”
Graham raised his eyes heavenward. “I’m gonna regret this, aren’t I?”
Mike barely registered Graham’s rhetorical question. He was already devising his list of people to approach. And he had a good idea where to start.
“Fancy a visit to Rachel’s for a cup of coffee tomorrow morning?” he asked Jonathon in as nonchalant a manner as he could muster.
Jonathon’s eyes glittered. “I think that sounds like a great idea.”
Coffee, cake—and questions.
Chapter Eleven