Mike rolled his eyes. “You’re kidding, right? Those sites are notoriously slow at closing accounts when someone dies. Unless she had an assistant who has already done it.”
Jonathon widened his eyes. “An assistant. I didn’t think of that. We need to contact them.”
“Except the police will have done that right away.”
Jonathon grinned. “In which case, we’re not treading on anyone’s toes, are we? I’ll go back to the house and take a look online. You see if Teresa did have an assistant and if we can talk to them. Then we’ll meet at the pub at four when it closes. That’ll give us a couple of hours to compare notes and decide on a plan of action.” Their lack of progress irked him. Teresa had been dead for over a week, and so far, they only had a couple of suspects, not that they’d investigated all possibilities. They still had Harold Tenby to see, for one thing. At least the police seemed to be as clueless as they were.
There had to be something of value online, given Teresa’s propensity for sharing the minutiae of her life.
Something that would point to her murderer.
AFTER TWO hours of scouring Teresa’s Facebook timeline and author page, Jonathon had had more than enough. Given the amount of posts she put online on a daily basis, he was amazed she ever found time to write a word. And that was before he’d managed to take a look at her readers’ group, where she shared snippets from upcoming books, release posts, giveaways….
He was beginning to despair of ever finding anything that might help them, but then a post caught his eye.
Did they get away with murder—twice??? The spouse dies first, and everyone thinks it’s a tragic accident—except for one relative. But when THEY get too close, they’re found dead, apparently by suicide. But WAS IT??? My next book might be a huge departure from the norm for me, but I guarantee it is going to be a book you’ll want to read.
Jonathon scribbled down a few notes before calling Mike. “Listen, I think I may have found something.”
“That makes two of us. I’ve found Teresa’s personal assistant.”
That brought a smile. “Fantastic. And I think there’s another direction we should be taking. So far we’ve looked at the books she wrote. What if we should really be looking at the one she was going to write?” He read the post aloud.
“Didn’t she mention something about her next book at the dinner?” Mike asked.
“Yes. Something about not only revealing the plot of the next Summersfield novel, but also dipping her toes into a new market.”
Mike chuckled. “I love your memory. By the way, I got a text from Graham. He said he’s definitely coming to the pub this evening, and he wants to talk to us about something.”
“He said us? How intriguing.” That could mean only one thing—it was something to do with Teresa’s murder.
“I know we said we’d meet up at four to discuss our findings, but Abi is running the bar right now, so if you wanted to come over a bit earlier….” The way Mike’s words trailed off made Jonathon think he had more than sleuthing on his mind.
Jonathon coughed. “I think you’re forgetting something. We have guests, remember?”
“Oh. Yeah. You’re right. Oh well.” The dejected tone in Mike’s voice tugged at Jonathon’s heart, and he couldn’t bear to tease him a moment longer.
“Then isn’t it a good thing that they called to say they’re shopping in Winchester, don’t expect them for dinner, and there’s a damn good play on that they want to see while they’re there?”
“You little sod.”
Jonathon laughed. “Sorry. I couldn’t resist. But I will come over, only if…”
“If what?”
“Only if you promise to make it worth my while,” he teased.
“I just put fresh sheets on my bed. The ones I washed with that lavender and chamomile washing powder that you love so much. The bed smells wonderful.” Mike lowered his voice. “But it would smell even more wonderful if you were in it.”
That was enough to send Jonathon’s mind off on a tangent that had nothing to do with murder and everything to do with Mike, naked, between clean, sweet-smelling sheets.
Sleuthing could wait.
BY NINE o’clock, the pub was filled with lively chatter as the locals gathered. Mike was surprised to see Professor Harcourt, who smiled as he sat on a barstool. “I’ve been having a very relaxing few days. Since we had tea with the Talbots, I’ve caught up on some sleep, done a lot of reading, even helped Melinda in the vicarage garden…. It’s been great. Not that my wife is of the same opinion. She expected me home two days ago.” He leaned closer. “I’m afraid I’m guilty of lying to her. I told her I was helping the police with their case.”
Mike let out a dramatic gasp. “Oh, Professor.” He grinned. “Okay, confess. What are you avoiding?”
“Is it that obvious?” Professor Harcourt sighed. “She recently put together a list of jobs she’d liked me to do around the house. Doors that need repainting. Locks that need fixing. In other words, DIY hell.”
Mike snickered. “Now I understand. What’ll it be?”
“A glass of brandy, please.” Professor Harcourt glanced around the pub. “Where’s Jonathon?”
“He’s in the kitchen, talking to Constable Billings. It was too noisy out here.”
Harcourt arched his eyebrows. “Nothing wrong, I hope.”
“Oh, no,” Mike assured him. “Graham had some information he wanted to share with us, and apart from the noise level in here, we thought it best if he wasn’t seen talking to us. Word might get back to the wrong ears, if you get my drift.” Mike placed the glass in front of him.
The professor’s eyes sparkled. “Aha. You mean DI Gorland might think he’s consorting with the enemy. Very wise.”
“That you, Dr. Harcourt?” Seth Franklin approached the bar, smiling broadly, a half-empty pint glass in his hand. “I thought it was you earlier this week.”
Professor Harcourt frowned, then returned Seth’s smile. “Mr. Franklin. I haven’t been Dr. Harcourt for a good few years now. How are you?”
Seth nodded, his cheeks pink. “Good. Why don’t you come over ’ere, and we can have a good chat. I’ve been wantin’ to see the quack about my bunions for a while. Reckon you might be able to give me some advice?”
Mike bit back his laughter at the expression on Professor Harcourt’s face. “Oh. I see.” He gave Mike a look that said plainly help me.
Just then, Graham and Jonathon walked into the bar. Graham gave Mike a wave as he headed for the door.
Mike beamed at Professor Harcourt. “It’s not every day you get a chance to discuss someone’s bunions. Don’t let me stop you.”
Professor Harcourt narrowed his gaze. “I shan’t forget this, you know.” His lips twitched, however. He followed Seth to a table at the far end of the bar.
Jonathon took the newly vacated stool. “What have I missed?”
Mike chuckled. “The professor is about to hear all about Seth’s many ailments.”