Mike sighed. “Is nothing sacred?” He pointed to the laptop. “Boot it up. Let’s get your mind on other things.”
Jonathon bit his lip but complied. Mike poured the coffee, then split a warm scone for Jonathon before placing it on a small patterned plate next to the laptop.
Jonathon stared at the screen, deep in concentration. “This might take us a while. There’s a lot to go through here. I mean, where do we start? These cover six years.”
“Pick a year.” Mike buttered half of the scone, then added the jam. “We have to start somewhere. However, Sharon said Teresa had received anonymous letters, so let’s start with this year. We want to find out about the next book too.” Then he realized Jonathon had fallen silent. “You’ve found something already.”
Jonathon nodded. “From January this year. It’s a note about Fiona McBride, actually.” He scanned the screen. “Teresa thought she was the source of the anonymous letters.”
“But why?”
Jonathon was still reading. “Okay, this is interesting. Teresa thought Fiona had found out about someone called Tessa Durban.”
“Who on earth is Tessa Durban?” Mike got out his phone and opened a search engine. He typed in the name, then put down the phone and took a bite out of his scone. “God, these are good.” He peered at the screen. “Ah. She’s a writer.”
“What does she write?” Jonathon helped himself to a bite of his scone and rolled his eyes. “Agreed. This is amazing.”
“Correction—what did she write. Tessa Durban wrote three romance novels between 2008 and 2011, and hasn’t written since.” Mike clicked on a link and skimmed through the information. “Oh wow. Now I know why she stopped writing.”
“Did she die?” Jonathon’s eyes shone. “Was she killed by Teresa Malvain, and Fiona found out and was threatening to tell all?” He was clearly enjoying the thought.
Mike read aloud from the page. “On what planet could this be described as a romance? It’s like the author delved deep into every romantic cliché, yet came up with something that has no soul, no plot, a heroine who isn’t even likable, and a hero who obviously has no taste. I for one will never buy another of her books. Don’t give up the day job, Tessa.”
“Ouch. What is that?”
“That is a review of her first book. And there are lots more like it.” He clicked on another book, then headed for the reviews. He grimaced. “Oh boy. She was an awful writer, if these reviews are anything to go by.”
“I guess you were right about why she stopped writing. She couldn’t have made any money at it. Who was the publisher?”
Mike searched for a name. “There doesn’t seem to be one—oh, hold on a minute. Lulu.”
“That’s a platform for self-publishing,” Jonathon told him. “So she self-published back in 2008? A pioneer.”
“An unsuccessful pioneer, judging by her reviews. Obviously she was disheartened and never wrote again.”
“Never mind that,” Jonathon said with a hint of impatience. “The notes say Fiona had ‘found out’ about Tessa Durban. What exactly did she find out? That she was a dreadful writer? That isn’t a secret. You only have to read her reviews.” He got out his phone and tapped the screen.
“Who are you calling?” Mike asked as Jonathon put the phone to his ear.
Jonathon held up his hand for silence. “Hey, Sharon? It’s Jonathon de Mountford again. Sorry to disturb you, but—” He smiled. “Thanks for picking up the call. I wanted to know if a name is familiar to you. Tessa Durban.” He listened intently, one hand scrabbling in his backpack for his notepad and pen. “I see. You’re sure? Wow. … Oh, course she didn’t….” He chuckled. “Who would want that on their CV? … Thanks. Yes, that helps a lot.” He disconnected the call. “Now it makes sense,” he announced triumphantly.
Mike sat back and folded his arms. “Let me guess. Teresa Malvain and Tessa Durban are one and the same.”
Jonathon gaped. “How did you…?”
Mike buffed his fingernails on his shirt. “I wasn’t a DI for nothing.” He chuckled. “It’s the only logical conclusion.”
“Apparently those three books were her first forays into writing. She was still living in Merrychurch at the time. Then she wrote the draft of a murder mystery, got herself an agent, who in turn found her a publisher, and voila! She started writing the Summersfield series as Teresa Malvain and struck gold.”
“So, no talent for romance, but murder was different?”
Jonathon smiled. “Sharon only found out because Teresa let it slip a few years back, when they were sharing a bottle of wine.”
“That figures. She sure could drink.” Mike rubbed his beard. “I’m assuming this isn’t common knowledge.”
“Absolutely not. Sharon said none of Teresa’s fans have any idea that the romances were hers, and Teresa wanted it to stay that way.”
Mike nodded slowly. “But then somehow Fiona finds out. And starts sending the letters, warning Teresa that her past would catch up with her. What was Fiona’s plan? To expose Teresa? To humiliate her? And why?”
He gave a start when a loud cough erupted from behind them. Rachel stood there with a plate of cake. “Sorry, but I couldn’t help overhearing what you just said.”
Mike leveled a stern gaze in her direction. “What do they say about eavesdroppers never hearing any good about themselves? One of these days, you might be the topic of conversation.”
Rachel pulled a chair from the next table and joined them. “Okay, you know I’m not one to gossip, but—” She glared at Jonathon when he stifled a chuckle. “Do you want my help or not?”
Jonathon bit his lip, and Mike smiled. “Please,” he said, “do tell.”
“You want to know why Fiona might have it in for Teresa? I’ll tell you. It’s all to do with Fiona’s husband.”
“Melinda mentioned something about her husband,” Jonathon observed.
Rachel nodded. “Okay, this happened in 2003. Fiona’s husband, Ken, was really ill, and she tried to get a home visit from the doctor, because there was no way Ken could make it to the surgery. Teresa kept telling her the doctor was fully booked, although Fiona tried for a few days, always getting the same answer. Then Ken has a series of mini strokes, and they ended up calling an ambulance. When he got to the hospital, he had another stroke, only this was a lot more serious. He died three months later.”
“And Fiona blamed Teresa for his death,” Mike concluded.
Another nod. “We could understand her reaction. That’s why we were so surprised when she started Teresa Malvain’s fan club. It didn’t make sense.”
“Maybe it was a cover,” Jonathon suggested. “She acts all friendly toward Teresa, when in reality, she’s biding her time, waiting for the right moment to reveal all.”
The door chimes rang out, and Rachel left them to deal with some new customers.
Mike took another bite of his scone before speaking. “Okay, I get the letters and the book. But if she was doing all that, why kill her?”