“Oh, the poor man. And you didn’t save him?”
Mike leaned over the bar. “No, because I wanted to know what Graham had to say.”
Jonathon’s eyes shone. “Lots. And yes, I made notes.”
“Forget the notes. Give me the gist.” Mike laughed when Jonathon looked pointedly at the fridge containing the wine bottles. “Oh, I’m sorry. Does your throat need some lubrication? I’d have thought you’d gotten enough of that earlier.” He loved the way Jonathon’s eyes darkened a little.
“You are a wicked man.”
Mike placed a glass of chilled chardonnay in front of him. “There. Now talk.”
Jonathon took a sip. “Okay. A police officer contacted Graham, saying he knew Teresa. In fact, he was the one who recommended that she meet with Professor Harcourt for her research.”
“Ah. Okay. So what did he have to say?”
“He mentioned Teresa’s upcoming book, but this is where it gets interesting. This wasn’t about the next Summersfield novel. This was for something new. Teresa was going to write books about real crimes, specifically about unsolved murders. And the reason he’d contacted her was because of a case he’d heard about when he was just starting out in the police force.”
Mike let out a low whistle. “She wasn’t kidding when she said it would be lucrative. That’s a huge market.”
Jonathon nodded eagerly. “Anyway, this guy’s first inspector had told him a few details about a case he thought might be of interest to her. As far as I can ascertain, someone’s spouse died in what looked like an accident, but a relative was suspicious. They went to the police and demanded an investigation, but nothing came of it. Then the relative killed themselves, apparently from grief.” Jonathon locked gazes with him. “Does any of this sound familiar?”
Mike nodded slowly. “It’s that post Teresa put on Facebook. So what was her angle? It wasn’t really a suicide, but murder?”
“Yes.” Jonathon’s brows knitted. “But this is where I got confused. If this was the book Teresa was talking about with Professor Harcourt in their meeting, where does the untraceable poison come in that he mentioned? Is that what the relative took to kill themselves?”
Mike considered this for a moment. “Maybe we’re talking two different books here—Summersfield number twenty-one, and the true crime one. Maybe she was researching the Summersfield book when she met the professor.”
Jonathon’s frown deepened. “That makes the situation worse. Which book brought about her death? That’s if it was a book at all and not some other motive. Heaven knows, there are enough people out there who had reason to want her dead.”
“It doesn’t matter if there was one book or two,” Mike told him. “The motive is the same—someone who didn’t want Teresa shining a light on their past.”
Someone who thought they’d gotten away with murder.
“So we’re no better off,” Jonathon mused.
“I don’t know about that.” Mike leaned forward, his elbows on the bar. “But I think I know what might help us get closer to finding out the truth.”
“And what’s that?”
He smiled. “We talk to her assistant. ASAP.” She had to have some of the answers.
He hoped.
“By the way, Graham says he’s going to see if he can find out anything more about this case. He’ll get back to us when he does.”
Mike arched his eyebrows. “And what does Gorland think of this development?”
Jonathon huffed. “Graham said he thinks it’s not linked to her death.”
“Well, that settles it.” Mike grinned. “It almost certainly is.”
“You’re not implying that Gorland’s a poor detective, are you?” That sparkle of good humor in Jonathon’s eyes was very attractive.
Mike lowered his voice. “I’m implying he couldn’t detect his way out of a paper bag.”
Jonathon’s attempt to stifle his laughter resulted in an epic fail when he sprayed white wine over himself.
Chapter Nineteen
MIKE OPENED his eyes and rubbed them. Even without rolling over in bed, he knew Jonathon was awake. Mike had grown accustomed to the sound of his breathing, slow and even. Sometimes, when he woke up in the middle of the night, it was those comforting sounds that lulled him back into the arms of sleep.
I love it when he stays the night. Then he realized it was going to be a permanent feature, once they were married.
Now there was a thought to warm him.
“Morning.” When Mike got no response, he turned over to find Jonathon sitting up in bed, a notepad in his hand. Mike sighed. “It’s Sunday morning.”
“And your point is?” Jonathon gave him a cheeky smile. “What can I say? I woke up thinking about the case. And what concerns me is some of the chief suspects are no longer around. Phil, Melody….”
“Is Fiona McBride on the list?”
Jonathon frowned. “Should she be?”
“I think after what Melinda and Lloyd told us, she—”
“They didn’t tell us anything,” Jonathon interjected. “They merely hinted. But you’re right. They obviously know more than we do, so maybe we should take a closer look at her.” He tapped the notepad with his pen. “And we mustn’t forget Harold Tenby.”
“Who?” For a moment, Mike was confused. Then the penny dropped. “Ah. The guy who rents Lily’s house. Yes. We need to talk to him.” He peered at the notepad. “And you’ve got Meredith.” One name was conspicuous by its absence, however. “Why don’t I see Paul’s name?”
Jonathon heaved a heavy sigh and added Paul to the list. “There. Happy now? But I still don’t think he’s a murderer.”
“What did I say about being objective?” Mike took the notepad and pen away from Jonathon and placed them on the bedside cabinet.
Jonathon smirked. “I’m getting déjà vu here. Because it feels like you’ve done this before.”
Mike decided it was time to forget subtlety. He slowly pushed the sheets off his body, loving the hitch in Jonathon’s breathing. “I am merely saying there’s something here that needs your attention more than that list.” When Jonathon shifted instantly across the bed to lie between Mike’s spread legs, Mike let out a contented sigh and closed his eyes, his hands resting lightly on Jonathon’s head.
Sunday morning sex was the best.
JONATHON PEERED at his phone screen and chuckled. “I think Janet has made Ruth and Clare’s weekend. She took them breakfast in bed.”
Mike scowled. “How come we never get breakfast in bed?”
“Because I don’t want toast crumbs turning up in uncomfortable places, that’s why.” Except he wasn’t thinking about breakfast. His mind had already returned to the case. “Do you think I should wait until Monday before contacting Teresa’s PA?” Calling on a Sunday felt wrong, kind of pushy.
“If she’s an assistant, she’ll probably have an answer phone. You can always leave a message.” Mike poured him another mug of coffee. “I thought I’d ask Abi if she wants to work today.”