RACHEL MEADOW stared at them as they entered her tea shop. “I’m not sure I want to talk to you two,” she declared with obvious mock indignation. She cleared the table that some customers had vacated, placing the teapot, cups, saucers, milk jug, and cake plates onto her tray.
“What have we done now?” Jonathon demanded.
Rachel straightened. “Excuse me? You got engaged on Saturday night. How come I had to find out about it from a customer? I’d have hoped to have gotten it from the horse’s mouth at least.”
“That’s fine. We’ll just take our gossip elsewhere,” Mike announced with an evil glint in his eyes.
She stilled. “Gossip? Are we talking Teresa Malvain–type gossip?”
Jonathon tried hard to keep a straight face. Mike knew how to push Rachel’s buttons. “Possibly,” Jonathon said, drawing out the syllables.
Rachel glanced around the tea shop, then pointed to a table in the window. “Sit there. I’ll bring out your usual. Coffee, two slices of cake?” And before they could say a word, she’d disappeared through the door that led to the kitchen.
Jonathon sat at the round table. “This is where we were sitting the first time you brought me here.” He loved the brasses on their high shelf, the pretty watercolor paintings of local scenes, and the frothy lace curtain that covered the top half of the bow windows.
But the best part was sitting on a tray Rachel carried through the door. A tall, elegant coffeepot, accompanied by two china cups, a white milk jug, and two plates, each barely visible beneath the slab of delicious-looking cake that covered it.
“I swear, you always manage to come in the day I bring in a freshly made walnut cake. How do you do that?” Rachel set the tray down on the white tablecloth.
“What can I say? It’s a gift.” Mike picked up the plate and sniffed.
Jonathon had to laugh. “I’ve never seen someone inhale a cake before.”
Rachel chuckled. “You leave him alone. It’s his favorite.” She placed her hands on their shoulders. “This is on the house. Call it my way of saying congratulations. And when I get a moment to breathe, I’ll see if Doris has any decent engagement cards in her shop.”
“I had no idea he was going to propose,” Mike explained. Then he added with a smile, “Although to be fair, Jonathon had no idea he was going to propose that night either.”
There was no way Jonathon could argue with that.
She bent down, her head between theirs. “Now, about this gossip…,” she said conspiratorially.
Jonathon burst into laughter. “Grab a chair and join us. It’s not as if we didn’t come here with the express purpose of picking your brains anyway.”
“Oh, goodie.” Rachel pulled up another chair and sat facing them. “Okay. The word on the grapevine is, it’s murder. Someone induced anaphylactic shock.”
Jonathon was seriously impressed. “Wow. Your grapevine is amazing.”
She preened. “Only the best gossip reaches these ears. So is that right?”
“Only if this goes no further,” Mike advised. Then he rolled his eyes. “Who am I kidding? You probably get to hear more than we ever do.”
Rachel’s expression grew more somber. “I don’t share what you tell me. You know that.”
Jonathon reached over and squeezed her hand. “We do. So… yes. Someone made sure she ingested peanut oil.”
“To which she was highly allergic, according to the internet.” She frowned. “Does that mean you’re looking for suspects in the village?”
Jonathon had been giving the matter some careful thought. “We want to know if there’s anyone in particular from her past in Merrychurch who might have reason to want her dead. Because the word reaching our ears is that Teresa—”
“Pissed off a lot of people,” Mike said, finishing his sentence. He aimed a grin in Jonathon’s direction. “You’re too much of a gentleman to say ‘pissed off.’ I, however, am not.”
Rachel’s frown deepened. “Well, a few things come to mind. She was certainly adept at putting people’s backs up. But whether what she did was sufficient reason for them killing her, that’s another matter.”
“Tell us and let us decide.” Jonathon got out his pen and flipped open the notepad.
“Okay,” she said slowly. “You might want to look at the Bradings, to start with.”
Mike gave her an inquiring glance. “The name isn’t familiar.”
“Maybe they’re before your time. The Bradings were a family who moved into the village in 2013, and they rented Teresa’s former cottage. She’d moved to London years before, but she’d held on to the house. Well… the Bradings weren’t that wealthy. They had a little girl, Sophie, who had some sort of debilitating disease, and the doctors were doing lots of tests, trying to cure her.” Rachel’s face tightened. “She was six.”
“Aw, the poor kid.” Mike poured the coffee.
Rachel sniffed. “Anyway, they’d been in the house maybe a year or more when Teresa put the rent up. I mean, it skyrocketed. She wasn’t alone, by any means—house prices rose dramatically in 2015, especially for properties in desirable areas.” Rachel gestured to the window. “Welcome to Merrychurch, one of the most desirable villages in the UK, apparently. But back to my story. Teresa obviously felt she could get more for the place, and although it was a struggle, Mr. and Mrs. Brading paid the increase, because they wanted to stay here. I don’t blame them. It’s a great place to bring up kids.”
“What happened?” Jonathon forked off a piece of carrot cake.
“Teresa put up the rent again. What with the cost of Sophie’s treatment, which was private because they couldn’t find an NHS specialist for her, and the hefty rent increases, the Bradings had to move. They just couldn’t afford to live there anymore. So at the beginning of 2016, they left. Not long after that, Teresa sold the house for a tidy sum.” Rachel’s face fell. “Then it became obvious why she’d put the rent up. She wanted her tenants out of there so she could sell it when the market price was at its highest. But they had a lease, so she found a way to make them want to leave.”
“But did the terms of the lease allow her to do that? Hike up the rent?” Mike appeared horrified.
Rachel nodded. “Mrs. Brading told me the lease made provision for rent increases. Very cleverly, it made no mention of how high the rent might possibly go.”
Jonathon suddenly had a sinking feeling in his stomach. “What happened to Sophie?” When Rachel’s eyes glistened, he knew. “She died, didn’t she?”
Another nod. “Not long after they’d left. Now, no one can say that Teresa caused Sophie’s death, but….”
“But her parents might think otherwise,” Jonathon concluded. “Especially if they’re distraught and looking for someone to blame.” He cocked his head to one side. “Where did they end up?”
“They found a place in Fareham, which was closer to the hospital. There was no money left for treatment, although they tried crowd-funding for a while—not with much success, I might add.” Rachel wiped her eyes. “Poor Sophie. Her death really knocked the stuffing out of them.” Her eyes widened. “Oh God. Rebecca….”