Gorland leaned out of the window, his perpetual scowl in place.
Mike drew alongside him. “Good morning. In need of a drink already? I’m afraid we don’t open until midday.”
“I suppose you’re feeling pleased with yourselves,” Gorland said with a sneer. “Not that you had much of a hand in it.”
“I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about,” Mike said pleasantly.
“Well, she might have been in your pub when she gave herself away, but it’s police procedures that will nail her. If she’s guilty.”
Jonathon caught his breath. “Fiona McBride?”
Gorland opened his eyes wide. “Don’t act like you’re surprised. Although, I’ll admit, your instincts were spot-on when it came to Meredith Roberts. Turns out the aunt’s new will was posted to her solicitor, with an accompanying letter. The two witnesses who signed it… no one’s ever heard of them. So it looks like we have at least two people who could have done this. There’s going to be an exhumation of the aunt’s body, of course. They must have missed something the first time. But we’ll get our man—or woman, in this case.” He smiled, his eyes glinting. “I guess this means I won’t be seeing you hanging around the police station anymore. Oh dear, how sad.”
“Does this mean you can prove either of them put peanut oil into Teresa’s cup?” Jonathon demanded. “Especially as no one saw them do it.”
Gorland frowned. “According to your pathetic, amateurish investigations, maybe. I think you’ll find a witness will turn up. They always do. Someone saw something, and it will come to light.” Jonathon had to admire his confidence. “And now that I’ve delivered my good news, I’ll go back to work. Sorry you didn’t catch the perpetrator this time, boys, but you can’t win every time.” With a wave of his hand, Gorland drove away.
“I have never wanted to hit someone so hard in all my life,” Jonathon ground out as they entered the pub.
“You think he’s right?” Mike bolted the door behind them.
Jonathon’s mind worked furiously. “I think he’s forgetting something very important. The missing notebook. The EpiPens. Her phone. When did either of them manage to remove them from Teresa’s bag without being seen? Because they are integral to this case.” And with that, he dashed over to the door that led upstairs, with Mike behind him.
Inside the room, Jonathon scanned its contents. Mike was right about one thing—they’d been over that room with a fine-toothed comb. He took a deep breath and looked again. “There is one place we didn’t look, you know.” Jonathon pointed to the old oak wardrobe in the corner.
“Wait a minute. We looked in there. And we used a mirror to check the top. Nothing up there either.” Mike went over to it. The wardrobe stood away from the two walls. “Plus, we checked behind it and at the side. Nothing.”
“Then what about underneath?”
Mike blinked. “You can’t get underneath. That plinth goes all the way around the base. There’s no room to slip a cigarette paper under it, let alone a notebook.”
Jonathon gazed at the wardrobe for a moment. Then he went over to it, placed his hand on the side, and pushed it toward the wall, tilting it. “Look under while I hold it. But be quick. This thing is heavy.”
Mike got down on the floor and peered underneath.
His gasp told Jonathon all he needed to know.
“It’s here. The notebook is here. And so are two EpiPens. And Teresa’s phone.” He paused. “And a tiny glass vial.”
Carefully, Jonathon let go and eased the wardrobe back down to the floor, where it landed with a thud.
“What are you doing? That’s evidence. We need to remove everything.” Mike sat back on his haunches, staring up at Jonathon.
He nodded. “And the only people who know what’s under there are you, me and the murderer. They’re going to want to retrieve them. And soon too. They can’t risk leaving them. Because who knows when you’ll decide to repaint the room, update the furniture…?” Jonathon smiled. “Trust me. They’ll be back.”
“So what are we going to do? Hide in the wardrobe in the hopes of someone turning up? Set up cameras?”
Jonathon laughed. “Nothing so hi-tech. But we’ll need backup.”
And he knew exactly whom to ask.
Chapter Twenty-Six
JONATHON WAS helping Mike by collecting empty glasses when Professor Harcourt strolled into the pub. “Professor!” Jonathon laughed. “You’re still here? I’m surprised your wife hasn’t started divorce proceedings for desertion by now.”
Harcourt chuckled. “Far from it. She said on the phone last night that I must go away more often. Something about having complete control of the TV remote….”
Mike snickered. “A brandy for you?”
Professor Harcourt tut-tutted as he sat on the nearest barstool. “It’s bad when the bartender knows your usual tipple. But yes, please. One last brandy before I have to leave.” He glanced around the pub. “Despite the murder, this has been a most pleasant stay. I’d forgotten how peaceful it is in Merrychurch. A couple of weeks here was just the tonic I needed. Unfortunately, real life rears its ugly head.” He gave a heartfelt sigh.
“You don’t sound like you want to leave us,” Mike commented.
“I don’t, and that’s the honest truth. Unfortunately, the B and B where I’m staying needs my room for a prior booking, so I have to go home.” Professor Harcourt smiled. “And in spite of my jokes, it will be good to see my wife. Our son should be home by now for the summer too.”
“Why not stay one more night?” Jonathon suggested. “There’s a room here. Unless you’d feel awkward about staying in the room where Teresa….”
Professor Harcourt let out a wry chuckle. “After all the things I’ve seen in my career? I’m not that delicate.” He sipped the brandy Mike had placed in front of him. “But I can’t deny I like the idea.” His expression brightened. “Hang real life. One more night can’t hurt.” He put down his glass. “I’ll go and collect my bag, and then I’ll be right over to finish my brandy.” His eyes twinkled. “After I’ve called my wife and told her I’ll be home tomorrow.”
“Look at it this way. She gets one more night of the TV remote,” Mike said with a grin.
Harcourt nodded eagerly. “Which is precisely the tack I intend to take.” He got off his stool and walked to the door.
Mike gave Jonathon a speculative glance. “What are you up to?”
“Giving the professor the opportunity to eliminate himself from our investigations,” Jonathon declared emphatically. “Because come tomorrow morning, we’ll know, one way or another. Right?”
Mike shrugged. “I guess.” He stilled, and Jonathon turned to see what had caught his attention.
Fiona McBride was walking toward them.
“Good afternoon.” Fiona’s cheeks were pink. “I wanted to talk to you both, after the way things ended yesterday.” She sat on the stool the professor had recently vacated. “I’ve told the police everything—the book, the letters, all the stuff I found about Teresa’s early writing career—all of it. And yes, I was going to tell the world. Like I said yesterday, I wanted her to suffer.” Her face reddened. “I didn’t intend on killing her.”