“Who’s Rebecca?” Mike inquired.
“Sophie’s older sister. She’d be about eighteen now.”
“What about her?”
Rachel took a deep breath. “I saw her only a few weeks ago in the village. She’s got a job, here in Merrychurch. She’s a cleaner at the Cedars, that residential home on the road to Lower Pinton.” She stared at them, aghast. “You don’t think she could’ve had something to do with Teresa’s death, do you? I mean, she adored Sophie. We all did.”
“As to whether she had something to do with it, that will depend entirely on whether she was in the pub Friday night.” Mike frowned. “And although I was run off my feet, I don’t recall seeing an eighteen-year-old girl at the bar, but—”
“Which means nothing,” Jonathon interjected. “She might have felt she was too conspicuous, in which case it would have been easier to ask someone to help her.”
Mike widened his eyes. “Anyone ‘helping’ her, as you put it, would be guilty of murder. Who would willingly do that, knowing what the charge would be if they were caught?”
Jonathon met his gaze. “Someone who knew the family. Someone who felt as strongly about Sophie’s death as she did.”
Rachel’s breathing hitched. “Jonathon’s right. Rebecca had a lot of friends, and they’re still in the village. And like I said, everyone adored Sophie. That child simply… drew people to her. She might have been seriously ill, but she was a ray of sunshine around here. So yes, while Rebecca might not have been in the pub that night—and you’ll need to check that out—someone could’ve been there on her behalf.”
“Then she goes on the list until we can prove she had nothing to do with it.” Jonathon shivered. “I didn’t expect anything like that was lurking in Teresa’s past.” Although it did fit in with what he’d learned about her thus far. He had to wonder, was there more to come?
“Thank you, dear.” The two old ladies who’d been seated on the other side of the tea shop got up from their table and walked sedately toward the door, waving cheerily.
“Thank you!” Rachel called out. When the door shut behind them, leaving only the three of them in the shop, she stood. “Let me clear away their cups, and then we can talk some more.”
Jonathon waited until Rachel was in the kitchen before letting out a sigh. “This is awful. That poor family.” He pushed his plate away. “I think I’ve lost my appetite. And if I were Rebecca, I wouldn’t think twice about putting something in Teresa’s coffee. Maybe not with the idea of killing her, but possibly with a view to making her really ill.”
“Except that theory doesn’t hold water, not when you take into account the missing EpiPens. If they only wanted her to be ill, they wouldn’t have stolen them.”
Jonathon frowned. “I see what you mean. The two things have to be connected.”
“We need to find Rebecca, even if it’s just to eliminate her from our list of suspects.”
“And if she did do something? She’s eighteen.” Jonathon’s heart ached for her. He was an only child, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t empathize with her.
“And eighteen-year-olds have been known to commit murder, especially where family is involved.”
“I’ve been thinking,” Rachel said as she approached their table and sat down. “There are other examples of people who might bear Teresa a grudge, but I’m not sure it would be a motive to kill her.”
“Well, let’s hear about them.”
“You might want to consider the Merrychurch Reading Club.”
Mike blinked. “Is there such a thing?”
Rachel smiled. “It consists of eight or nine ladies who meet up once a month to discuss a book. They did ask me to join them, but hey, since when do I have time to read?”
“So what happened with the ladies?” Jonathon wanted to know.
“They asked Teresa to speak to them, as a former resident. You know, talk about her books, her writing, her career. The only reason they approached her was because she used to live here.”
“Let me guess.” Mike snorted. “She told them where they could put their invitation.”
“Not quite,” Rachel said with a wry grin. “She sent a frosty reply—or rather, her PA did. She didn’t bother to reply personally.”
“Yeah, that sounds about right.” Mike shook his head. “Which only goes to confirm my impressions of her. But you’re right. I can’t see some little old lady slipping peanut oil into her coffee simply because she couldn’t be bothered to answer their letter.”
“Are there others?” Jonathon asked.
Rachel nodded. “Some of her former neighbors were in London at Foyles for a book signing. Teresa was one of the authors. But when they got to see her and asked how she was doing, she blanked them. One of them told me, ‘It was like we were dirt on her shoe.’”
Jonathon let out a low growl. “Okay, it’s official. Teresa Malvain was a bitch, and I’m surprised no one killed her before this.”
Rachel coughed. “Be careful where you say that. After all, you were in the pub that night, weren’t you?”
Mike snickered. “And I can see John Gorland grinning in delight at the idea of you being a suspect.”
They had a point. “Okay, I’ll keep my thoughts to myself.”
“And in the meantime, I’ll keep thinking about anyone else who should be on your list.” Rachel glanced at Jonathon’s notepad, her eyes twinkling. “Although you might need a bigger one of those.”
The way things were shaping up, Jonathon wouldn’t be the least bit surprised.
Chapter Twelve
THE MANOR house had been restored to its usual state, albeit with Ben grumbling about people walking all over his precious gardens. Janet, the housekeeper, was clearly delighted to have things back to normal and even more pleased at Jonathon’s news of the engagement.
“So will Mr. Tattersall be moving in here after the wedding? Will he continue to run the pub?” Janet asked as she poured Jonathon’s coffee Monday morning. Mike had stayed the night at the pub. Jonathon loved the fact that they weren’t in each other’s pockets all the time, but Janet’s questions did raise an interesting point.
Things were bound to change after the wedding.
“I’ll be honest—we haven’t discussed that yet.” But maybe it was time they did.
Of course, the first order of business would be to inform his father, but Jonathon wanted to wait a while longer. In order for that conversation to take place, a couple of vital conversations had to happen first.
No time like the present.
Jonathon got out his phone and called Mike. “Good morning.”
“It is now.” Mike’s voice stirred Jonathon’s memory, and suddenly he was thinking of a warm bed and an even warmer, lean body curled around him. “Miss me?” Mike asked gruffly.
“You know I did.” Jonathon pushed aside the tempting thoughts, not that it took much to have his body reacting. Mike’s voice was enough. “Listen, I wanted to run something by you. I’d like to invite Ruth and Clare for the weekend.”