Truth Will Out E-Book

K.C. Wells

• Herausgeber: Dreamspinner Press
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 341

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2018

Beschreibung

A Merrychurch Mysteries Case Jonathon de Mountford's visit to Merrychurch village to stay with his uncle Dominic gets off to a bad start when Dominic fails to appear at the railway station. But when Jonathon finds him dead in his study, apparently as the result of a fall, everything changes. For one thing, Jonathon is the next in line to inherit the manor house. For another, he's not so sure it was an accident, and with the help of Mike Tattersall, the owner of the village pub, Jonathon sets out to prove his theory—if he can concentrate long enough without getting distracted by the handsome Mike. They discover an increasingly long list of people who had reason to want Dominic dead. And when events take an unexpected turn, the amateur sleuths are left bewildered. It doesn't help that the police inspector brought in to solve the case is the last person Mike wants to see, especially when they are told to keep their noses out of police business. In Jonathon's case, that's like a red rag to a bull….

Leseprobe

Table of Contents

Blurb

Dedication

Acknowledgments

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Epilogue

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Copyright

Truth Will Out

By K.C. Wells

Jonathon de Mountford’s visit to Merrychurch village to stay with his uncle Dominic gets off to a bad start when Dominic fails to appear at the railway station. But when Jonathon finds him dead in his study, apparently as the result of a fall, everything changes. For one thing, Jonathon is the next in line to inherit the manor house. For another, he’s not so sure it was an accident, and with the help of Mike Tattersall, the owner of the village pub, Jonathon sets out to prove his theory—if he can concentrate long enough without getting distracted by the handsome Mike.

They discover an increasingly long list of people who had reason to want Dominic dead. And when events take an unexpected turn, the amateur sleuths are left bewildered. It doesn’t help that the police inspector brought in to solve the case is the last person Mike wants to see, especially when they are told to keep their noses out of police business.

In Jonathon’s case, that’s like a red rag to a bull….

This is for my husband, in gratitude for all the time he spent on this book, discussing the plot and coming up with so many ingenious ideas that I lost count.

Acknowledgments

THANKS TO my wonderful team of betas—Jason, Helena, Daniel, Mardee, Sharon, and Will.

My especial thanks to Daniel, for a coffee session that was really a plotting session.

Chapter One

JONATHON DE Mountford had forgotten how charming Merrychurch railway station was. From its quaint black-and-white mock wattle and daub exterior, to the colorful bunting decorating the arch above the door, to the troughs, pots, and hanging baskets filled with flowers everywhere he looked. The yellow-painted warning line toward the edge of the platform was bright, as if freshly done, and the station sign, with its white lettering on a dark blue background, was free from the graffiti Jonathon had seen in such plentiful supply only a short time ago in Winchester.

Only one thing was missing: there was no sign of his uncle, Dominic.

Jonathon checked the time on his phone. Ten minutes had elapsed since he’d gotten off the train, and the platform was deserted. The station guard had disappeared into his office, but Jonathon could hear him whistling cheerily. Then his mind snapped back to Dominic. Okay, it had been a very early train, but Dominic had assured Jonathon that he was still a habitual early riser and that collecting him from the station would be no trouble at all.

Maybe he’s waiting outside.

Jonathon adjusted the strap of the backpack slung over his shoulder, grasped the pull-up handle of his suitcase, and trundled through the open doorway into the station, with its ticket counter and bright posters. The only incongruity was the self-service ticket machine, but he assumed even Merrychurch had had to succumb to some of the demands of the twenty-first century.

Passing through the wide wooden door onto the pavement beyond, Jonathon found himself standing alone, a car park to his left, surrounded by a picket fence. Nothing else to be seen but the lane, with tall trees on both sides. No traffic. No noise, except for the birds chirping away.

And still no sign of Dominic.

Jonathon checked his texts, but there was nothing. Sighing, he scrolled through to find Dominic’s number. When all he got was his uncle’s recorded message, the first tendrils of unease began to snake through his belly. This really wasn’t like Dominic.

A glance up the empty country lane, a glance down, and he made his mind up. There seemed little point in waiting any longer. The best thing to do would be to make his own way into the village and then on to the manor house. He knew that Merrychurch was only a mile or so away, and, based on experience, it wasn’t worth waiting for the local bus, which only ran once an hour. With the happy chirping of birds in the trees to accompany him, Jonathon headed toward the village, pulling his suitcase behind him.

It was a beautiful late-July day, just the right temperature that he didn’t need a jacket. As he walked along, he recollected the recent emails and conversations he’d had with Dominic. There was nothing he could put his finger on, but Jonathon had gotten the definite impression that all was not well. The speed with which Dominic had agreed to Jonathon coming to stay had been enough of an indication.

So why isn’t he here to meet me like he said?

Jonathon cast his mind back to their last conversation, a week ago. They’d spoken about the village fete, due to take place on the grounds of the house in early August. Dominic loved doing his Lord-of-the-Manor routine, and from what Jonathon could recall from past visits, it was usually a fun day. They’d also talked about Jonathon’s latest book, a collection of photographs taken on a recent trip to India. More than once, Dominic had expressed his pride in Jonathon’s work.

Maybe we should have discussed what was bothering him. Because it had been plain to Jonathon that something was definitely on Dominic’s mind.

From behind came the sound of a vehicle, and Jonathon squeezed himself into the hedge, pulling in the case to stand it beside him. It surprised him when the car came to a stop in the road next to him.

“Do you need a lift?” The voice was male, deep, and cheerful.

Jonathon regarded the driver of the 4x4. He was in his late thirties, maybe early forties, with dark brown hair cut short and neat. Warm brown eyes peered at Jonathon from behind a pair of rimless glasses. “If you’re going to Merrychurch, then yes.”

The driver smiled. “I didn’t think you’d be walking any farther. The next village after Merrychurch is Lower Pinton, and that’s four miles from here.” He nodded to the seat beside him. “Hop in. There’s room in the back for your case.”

“Thanks.” Jonathon crossed to the passenger’s side, stowed the case, then clambered into the front seat. “It was nice of you to stop.” He clasped the backpack to him, his precious camera safely protected within it.

“I figured you’d missed the bus. Easily done, now they’ve reduced the timetable.” He waited until Jonathon had fastened his seat belt before moving off. “Where are you staying in the village?”

“Excuse me?” Jonathon arched his eyebrows.

The driver laughed. “Okay, yeah, that was presumptuous of me, but the suitcase was a bit of a giveaway. And I’m only asking because if you don’t have anywhere to stay, I own the local pub, and there are rooms if you need one.”

“Ah.” Jonathon kept his gaze focused on the passing landscape. “I’m staying with my uncle, but thanks all the same.”

The lane leading to Merrychurch hadn’t changed in all the years Jonathon had been visiting his uncle: trees met in a leafy arch over the road, the odd house here and there….

“Have you been to Merrychurch before?”

Jonathon smiled to himself. “A few times, yes.”

“You probably know the place better than I do, then. I’ve only lived here for the past eleven months.”

Just then a rabbit darted out from the hedgerow, and the driver swerved the car violently to avoid it. Jonathon found himself holding his breath, but fortunately the rabbit escaped injury and reached the other side of the road.

The driver expelled a low growl, then glanced across at Jonathon. “I hate it when the little buggers do that. One of these days, I’m not gonna be able to stop in time.”

The fact that he’d swerved at all was a plus in Jonathon’s book.

A minute later they were in the heart of the village. The driver stopped the car in front of the charming, picturesque pub, leaving the engine running. “So, can I drop you someplace? Where does your uncle live?”

Jonathon was overcome with an unexpected rush of nerves. He knew there were those in the village who resented his uncle—Dominic had intimated as much on several occasions—and he didn’t want to say something, only to find his Good Samaritan harbored a grudge and turned out to be a psychopath. Then he pulled himself together. The stranger had already admitted he was a recent addition to the village population, so it was highly unlikely that he bore Dominic any ill will.

“My uncle had agreed to meet me,” Jonathon explained, “but—”

“But he wasn’t there when you arrived,” the man concluded. When Jonathon lifted his eyebrows once more, he smiled. “That much was obvious, or you wouldn’t have been walking into the village. Has he messaged you to say he was delayed?”

Jonathon shook his head. “Which is… weird.”

The man gave an emphatic nod. “Right. In that case, I’ll take you to him. That way, if he’s not there, I’ll bring you back here and you can wait in the pub until he surfaces. What do you think?”

Jonathon thought it was about time he knew the name of his Good Samaritan. “Sounds great to me.” He extended a hand. “Jonathon de Mountford.”

The man shook it. “Mike Tattersall. Pleased to meet you.” His eyes widened. “Ah. I guess I don’t have to ask who your uncle is, then.”

Jonathon had suspected that might be the case. Even if Mike was a recent addition to Merrychurch, he would have known about de Mountford Hall, the imposing manor house on the outskirts of the village.

Mike’s face clouded over, and he switched off the engine. “Your uncle is a sore point at the moment.”

Jonathon stilled. “Why?”

“My sister, Sue, is his cleaner. She’s worked up at the house for the past three years. Everything was fine, until last month.”

Jonathon had the impression that Mike’s sudden change of mood was more to do with his sister than Dominic. “What happened?”

Mike sighed. “Sue’s a member of an animal rights activist group. I try not to get involved, partly because it gives me the willies to hear she’s off on some protest. What I don’t know can’t keep me awake at night.” When Jonathon frowned, he gave a shrug. “Comes with the territory. I’m an ex-copper. I’ve tried telling her to stay on the right side of the law, but it’s not easy. She can be bloody stubborn when she wants to be. Anyway, last month she got wind of something and went charging off to the manor to see your uncle. Turns out he’s given permission for the local hunt to go across his land, which also means they’ll be close to the village.”

“But… didn’t they ban fox hunting? It’s just hunting with dogs now, isn’t it?”

Mike nodded. “Sue has got it into her head that the local hunt bigwigs will be ignoring that part. No idea where she’s getting her information from. But yeah, things got a bit… ugly.”

That fitted in with Jonathon’s uneasy feelings. Something had been wrong after all. “I think I’d like to go to the manor, please.”

Mike appeared to shrug off his mood. He straightened in the driver’s seat and nodded briskly. “Sure thing. Let’s get you up there.” He switched on the engine and pulled away from the curb.

Jonathon gazed at his surroundings. The village seemed as it always had: a few shops huddled together, the pub, and the post office. Then there were the houses, many of them thatched. The church tower rose above the trees, square and solid. The river still wound its way through the village, dipping below the picturesque stone bridge with its graceful arch. Ducks squatted along its banks, heads tucked under their wings, while others swam in the slow-moving, clear water, bobbing their heads below the surface, their rear ends stuck up in the air, as comical as Jonathon remembered from his childhood.

“Merrychurch hasn’t changed,” he murmured as they sped through the narrow, leafy lanes.

Mike chuckled. “Oh, you think so? I’ve learned from experience that things are seldom as they appear. You have no clue what’s lurking below the seemingly tranquil surface.” He snorted. “Yeah, there speaks an ex-policeman, always expecting the worst.”

Jonathon studied him carefully. Mike was obviously too young to have retired. “How come you left the force? Where did you work?”

“London Met. And I was invalided out when I lost my foot in a raid.”

Jonathon couldn’t help the automatic glance toward Mike’s feet.

Mike obviously caught the movement. “I have a prosthetic foot now. You’d never know it wasn’t real if you saw it.” Then he sighed. “At least that’s what I tell myself every night when the shoes come off. Anyhow, as I was saying… when they gave me my compensation, I was at a loss. I’d been a copper since I was nineteen, and there I was, nearly forty, with no clue what I was going to do for the rest of my life.”

“So you bought a village pub. Quite a change of pace from London, I imagine.”

Mike laughed. “You have no idea. The pub was Sue’s brainchild. She’d moved here with her husband, Dan, but things didn’t work out for them. When he left, she stayed, although that meant finding work. The pub came up for sale, and she thought of me. I did suggest that she could work there if she wanted, but she soon scuppered that idea.” He gave a wry chuckle. “She had a point. We’d have been at each other’s throats within minutes. Chalk and cheese, us two.” Mike nodded toward the windscreen. “There you are.”

Jonathon followed his gaze. On either side of the lane stood the old stone gateposts that he recalled from his childhood, the ones that bore the family crest. Except the crest had worn away during the two centuries or so that the family had owned the manor house, and the gateposts were beginning to crumble too. They marked the boundaries of the original estate. Subsequent members of the de Mountford family had sold off parts of it, and now all that remained were the one hundred or so acres that surrounded de Mountford Hall.

“And there it is,” Jonathon said softly. The manor house was just visible above the tree line, perched on top of a gently sloping hill, its white facade standing out against the green, glowing in the early-morning sunshine. As Mike passed through the gateposts and followed the gravel-covered lane, Jonathon peered up at the hall. “I can’t imagine what he finds to do all day in that place. He must really rattle around in there.” Dominic was a confirmed bachelor and had lived alone since he’d inherited the house. Up until fifteen years ago, he’d worked in London, in the family law firm, but he had surprised everyone by announcing his retirement at the age of forty-five.

Mike took a left turn, and the gravel lane became a driveway that looped in front of the house, circling a grassy knoll where an ornate fountain stood, its wells dry. He pulled up in front of the wide arched entrance. “Delivered to the door. How’s that for service?”

Jonathon smiled and held out his hand again. “Thanks, Mike.” He glanced around. There were no cars in sight, but that might simply have meant they were in the garage.

“It’s very quiet. Mind you, it is still early. Maybe he overslept.”

Jonathon cocked his head and listened. Even the birds seemed to have ceased their happy song. That only served to add to his returning unease. He put down his backpack, got out of the car, and walked toward the heavy oak door, darkened by the shadow of the stone arch above it. Jonathon pulled on the central knob of the brass door bell, hearing the clang within the house. He took a step back and waited, his gaze fixed on the door.

After a minute of silence, he turned to Mike. “Looks like he’s gone out.”

“He has servants, right? At least that’s what Sue says.”

Jonathon tried to recall. “He used to, but that was a few years ago. I haven’t been here for two years, so I don’t know. He certainly didn’t mention getting rid of them.” In which case it either appeared to be their day off, or they hadn’t arrived yet, which seemed unlikely.

“Try the door. Maybe he left it unlocked.” When Jonathon stared at him, Mike snickered. “Yeah, I know. Since when does anyone go out and leave a place like this unlocked these days? It was just a suggestion.”

Nevertheless, Jonathon felt compelled to try. He grasped the heavy doorknob and turned….

The door swung open with a creak.

“Uh-oh,” he whispered.

Mike was out of the car and at his side in an instant. “That’s a bit odd. Want me to go in there with you?” he asked in a low voice. “Just in case there are….”

“What? Just in case there are what?” Icy fingers traced over Jonathon’s skin.

“Burglars, maybe?” Mike peered at the door. “Look, it could just be me with my overactive imagination. Or it could be something as simple as your uncle forgot to lock the door when he went out.”

Jonathon was praying for the latter. “Okay, you can come with me.”

Mike puffed out his broad chest. “And stay behind me. If there’s anyone in here, let me deal with them, okay?”

It took a moment or two to realize Mike was acting with such bravado to ease Jonathon’s nerves. He gave a mock sigh of relief. “Absolutely.” Not that he was afraid of taking on a few bad guys, but they’d have to be smaller than him, and since he was five feet six and as skinny as a rake, he thought that extremely unlikely.

Mike stepped into the cool interior, the white marble floor reflecting the sunlight that spilled in through the open door. He crept forward, his boots squeaking slightly against the tiles, his head to one side as he listened.

The house was as silent as the grave, and Jonathon ceased to see the funny side. “I don’t think he’s here.”

Mike came to a stop and peered up the staircase. “Well, if there are burglars, they’re quiet as bloody mice,” he whispered. “I’m going to check upstairs, but I don’t think there’s anyone here.”

Jonathon nodded. “I’ll take a look around too.” There was no way he was going to wait there, feeling as useful as an inflatable dartboard.

Mike narrowed his gaze. “Be careful.”

It was rather sweet, Jonathon thought, considering Mike had known him for all of five minutes. Well, he could be sweet too. “I will if you will.” Without waiting for Mike’s reply, Jonathon crept over to the sitting room door. One glance around it convinced him that room was empty. He moved from room to room, the soles of his trainers making the same squeaky noises as Mike’s boots.

No signs of disturbance. No signs of a break-in. Nothing.

When he reached the door of his uncle’s study, he paused. As a child, this room had always been off-limits. Dominic’s refuge for when visitors became too much, his sanctuary. Finding the door ajar only added to the panic fluttering in his belly.

“Dominic?” He pushed it cautiously, took two steps into the room—and froze.

“What’s wrong?” Mike hissed from behind him.

Jonathon swallowed hard. “I think we need to call the police. And an ambulance.” He tried to take another step, but his legs were like lead.

Mike pushed past him and came to a halt. “Oh, Christ.”

Uncle Dominic lay in a heap on the floor by the fireplace, the harsh red of the blood pooled around his head stark against the white marble. Jonathon could only watch as Mike hurried over to the prone form and bent over to place two fingers against Dominic’s neck. The silence stretched as Jonathon waited, unable to tear his gaze from the sight.

Finally Mike straightened and looked Jonathon in the eye. “I’m so sorry. He’s dead.”

His words didn’t compute. Dominic couldn’t be dead.

Mike walked over to him and grasped his upper arm. “Okay,” he began, his voice calm and even. “I’m going to take you out to the car, and then I’ll call the local police.” When Jonathon gazed at him, blinking, Mike patted his arm. “You can’t stay in here, Jonathon. This could be a crime scene.”

That was when the shivers set in.

Chapter Two

JONATHON STARED through the windscreen at the house, his body and mind numb.

I can’t believe this is happening.

Mike had gone inside when the local police had arrived, after giving Jonathon strict instructions to stay put. Jonathon had barely registered his words. He kept seeing Dominic lying there, his eyes open, and God, the blood….

It took a moment to realize Mike was back in the car. He studied Jonathon carefully before speaking. “Right. There’s nothing you can do here, so I’m taking you back to the pub. Constable Billings will be over when they’re done processing the scene. Doubtless he’ll have a few questions.”

Jonathon swallowed. “What did you mean, this could be a crime scene?” He opened his eyes wide. “What do you think happened?”

Mike’s gaze flickered to the windscreen. “At first glance it looks like he fell and caught his head on the hearth. His feet were all tangled up in a rug, so maybe he tripped.”

Jonathon frowned. “First glance?”

Mike shrugged. “Sorry. That’s the copper in me talking. Never assume anything until the coroner has had a look.”

Coroner. Postmortem. Jonathon shuddered. Then Mike’s words sank in and he shook his head. “Tripped? No way.”

“What makes you say that?”

Jonathon pointed toward the house. “That man climbed Everest! He was a sailor! Trip? He had the balance of a mountain goat.”

Mike held up his hands defensively. “Hey, I’m telling you what I saw. And you don’t know. Maybe he had a dizzy spell.”

Jonathon stuck out his jaw. “And maybe he fell because someone pushed him.”

There was a silence, broken only when Mike cleared his throat. “Okay, yeah, that’s a possibility too, but unless there’s evidence of a struggle….” He sighed. “You can’t jump to conclusions. You have to look at the evidence.” Mike glanced at Jonathon’s face. “Come on, let’s get out of here. SOCO and the—”

“SOCO?” Jonathon searched his befuddled brain for the term.

Mike gave him a gentle smile. “Scenes of Crime Officers. So yeah, SOCO and the coroner will be here soon, and I don’t want you here when they carry out your uncle’s body.” Jonathon shivered, and Mike sighed. “That does it. I don’t know about you, but I need a drink.” He switched on the engine and drove around the knoll to head back along the driveway to the lane.

Jonathon leaned his head against the window, the passing scenery just a blur. He was grateful not to be on his own right then. Mike’s solid, practical presence was the only thing holding him together. He closed his eyes, but Dominic was still there in his head. Still dead.

Twenty-eight is way too young to have your first brush with death.

When the car came to a stop, he opened his eyes. They were behind the pub in a car park that might have had room for maybe twenty cars.

Mike regarded him, his concern obvious. “Are you okay?”

“As well as can be expected, considering the circumstances.” Jonathon picked up his backpack and opened the door.

“I’ll get your case.” Mike had already opened the rear door and was lifting it from the back seat. “Now, do you want me to show you to your room, or do you want a drink too?” When Jonathon gave another involuntary shiver, Mike nodded. “Drink first.” He locked the car, then led the way to the solid back door. “I’ll leave the case in the kitchen. It’ll be safe there. Abi won’t be here for an hour or two, and we’re not open yet.”

“Abi?”

“She makes the food.” Mike closed the door behind them, and Jonathon followed him into the large kitchen, then through into the warm-looking bar, its chairs covered in a rich red that complemented the white-painted walls and black beams. The bar itself was a dark wood, varnished to a high gloss. The place had a cozy, old feel, nothing like the pubs Jonathon frequented.

“You said you own this?” Usually landlords were appointed by the brewery that owned the pub.

Mike nodded and patted the bar top. “I’ve worked hard to give the place an atmosphere. When I bought it, there was no food provided and little in the way of comfort. There was, however, a huge TV screen. Apparently the former owner was a big sports fan, and that was all you could watch here. I didn’t feel a TV went with a pub this old, so I took it down. No one’s complained so far.” He went behind the bar, grabbed two glasses, and held them up to a bar optic. “Here.” He placed the squat glasses on the black bar mat.

Jonathon eyed the amber liquid. “What’s this?” He sat on one of the stools in front of the bar.

“Brandy. By the look of you, you need it.”

Jonathon wasn’t about to disagree. He lifted the glass and drained the contents in one long gulp before coughing violently when the fiery liquid hit his throat. He wiped his mouth and grimaced. “God, how can people like that?”

Mike chuckled. “Well, if you toss it back like it’s water….” He took a sip and then regarded Jonathon’s backpack, still over his shoulder, with interest. “You’re very careful with that bag. What does it contain, your life savings?”

Jonathon placed the backpack on his knee and opened it. “My most precious possession.” He took out the camera and held it up for Mike to see. “He goes everywhere I go.”

“He?” Mike smirked.

“Definitely.”

“And is this a hobby or something more than that?”

Jonathon placed the camera on the bar top and then reached into the bag. He handed Mike a large book with a glossy cover. “I was bringing this to give to Dominic. It’s my latest book.”

Mike stared at the cover, which was an image of a stunning waterfall, tumbling down a precipice. His eyes widened. “Oh my God. Of course. You’re the Jonathon de Mountford. I thought it sounded familiar, and not just because of your uncle. I love your work.”

“Really?” No matter how many times people professed to love his photographs, it still felt as new as the first time it had occurred. And Jonathon still couldn’t get used to it.

Mike nodded, his eyes shining. “I have your book on Australia. Some of the images in there are simply stunning. You have a great eye for capturing the essence of a place.” Then he laughed. “Get me. I’m fangirling Jonathon de Mountford.”

Jonathon’s cheeks felt like they were on fire.

Mike handed the book back to him. “I’m just sorry we had to meet under these circumstances.”

And just like that, Jonathon was plunged into the present. For one brief moment, he’d forgotten the day’s horrible event.

“Let me show you to your room.”

It was like Mike could read his emotions, and Jonathon was grateful for the intervention. He nodded. “Thanks.” He put the book and camera away and slid off the stool.

Mike led him toward the signs indicating the toilets, but then opened a door marked Private. Beyond was a wooden staircase, with a red carpet covering the center of each tread.

“The bed isn’t made up, but I can soon sort that out,” Mike said from in front of him. When they reached the landing, Jonathon saw five doors leading off it. Mike pointed to the farthest door. “That’s where I live, so if you need anything and I’m not downstairs, feel free to knock on my door.” Then he opened the nearest door. “This will be yours, for as long as you need it.”

Jonathon stepped into a large room with a huge bay window at the far end, bracketed by deep blue curtains from floor to ceiling. There was a heavy stone fireplace, cleaned out but with a basket of logs beside it. The bed was wide, covered with a floral quilt, and had a small oak cabinet on either side. The varnished wooden floorboards were partially obscured by two or three matching rugs.

“There’s only one bathroom up here, I’m afraid. It’s two doors down. I haven’t got around to fitting en suites yet.”

Jonathon shook his head. “I wouldn’t want one. It would spoil the room.” The bedroom was full of olde world charm. He wandered over to the window and traced the leaded panes with his finger. Real leaded windows, not the modern attempt to copy them. “How old is this place?” His room overlooked the front of the pub, and he could see people below, going about their daily lives, with no clue as to the horrific tragedy that had taken place.

How many of them will be sorry he’s dead? It didn’t sound like Mike’s sister would be among that number.

“I’ve seen documents that claim there was an inn first registered here back in 1458. There’s a chair downstairs that your ancestor used to sit in, so they say.”

Jonathon whirled around to stare at him. “John de Mountford, Earl of Hampshire? That was back in the late 1700s.”

“Which is why no one is allowed to sit in it,” Mike remarked dryly. He exited the room briefly, only to return with a pile of folded bed linens. “I’ll just make up the bed. I only do it when I know I’m expecting guests.”

“Can I help?” Anything to take his mind off the current situation.

“Sure.” Between them, they pulled off the quilt and covered the bed with soft, fresh-smelling cotton sheets. “So, how long were you intending to stay with your uncle?”

Jonathon was busy stuffing a pillowcase that smelled of lavender. “A couple of weeks. He wanted me to accompany him to the village fete.” His throat tightened, and across on the other side of the bed, Mike stilled.

“I shouldn’t have reminded you.”

Jonathon held his head high. “Yes, you should. I’m going to have to talk about it, deal with it, so there’s no point avoiding the subject.” Then it hit him, and he felt the realization like a body blow. “I have to phone my father. He has to be told, and I’d rather he heard it from me than from the police.”

Mike nodded. “I’ll leave you to it. Come down when you’re done, and I’ll make us some tea, coffee—whatever you want. Besides, Constable Billings should be here soon.” He left the room.

Jonathon fished his phone out of his jeans pocket and then stared at it. “What the hell do I say to him?” he whispered to himself. Then he scrolled through, clicked Call, and wandered back to the window to gaze out at the village.

“I take it you’re at Dominic’s.”

The sound of his father’s voice, so cheerful and… normal, made Jonathon’s stomach clench. “Not quite. You need to sit down, if you’re not already doing so.”

There was a moment’s pause. “What’s wrong?”

“There’s no good way to say this, so I’m just going to come out with it. Dominic is dead.”

The hitch in his father’s breathing was audible. “Oh God. What happened?”

“The police are there now, but it looks like he fell and hit his head on the hearth.”

More silence followed. Jonathon couldn’t imagine how it would feel to lose a brother. His father had to be devastated.

“I see…. Wait a minute. Police? From where?”

“The local constable, I think.” Jonathon didn’t see why that should be of importance.

“Absolutely not. This needs to be handled by someone with authority, not some village PC Plod. I’ll get on to Scotland Yard immediately.” There was a crisp, authoritative edge to his father’s voice that Jonathon recognized instantly. This was Thomas de Mountford, barrister, a man who didn’t take no for an answer. A man who always got what he wanted. And apparently not a man to let grief stop him for more than a few minutes.

“I don’t think that’s necessary.” Not to mention Jonathon couldn’t see the local police taking kindly to being descended upon by detectives from London. Not for what had all the markings of an accident.

“Well, you should, given the situation we now find ourselves in.”

Something in his father’s voice made the hairs on the back of Jonathon’s neck stand up. “What situation?” he asked guardedly.

A sigh from the other end. “I suppose I’d better tell you. It makes no difference now because you’d learn soon enough, when the will is read.”

That uneasy feeling in the pit of Jonathon’s stomach was spreading its tendrils again. “Okay, what’s going on?”

“Because Dominic has no heir, the house passes to the next male in line.”

“Which is you, as his younger brother.”

His father coughed. “Actually, no. Your uncle and I agreed that you should inherit the hall.”

“Me?” The word came out as a squeak, and he cleared his throat. “Why?”

There was a moment of silence before his father responded. “Put quite simply, I have no intention of giving up my career, not when there is the possibility of becoming a High Court judge.”

Jonathon had long known of his father’s judiciary ambitions. “You can’t have both?”

He didn’t miss the noise of irritation. “Jonathon, de Mountford Hall is a huge responsibility. Why do you think the family crest can be seen all over that village? Because as the owner of the hall, the incumbent has an obligation to take care of its inhabitants. Such a responsibility requires being physically present.”

“We’ve talked about this. The title died out many years ago. There hasn’t been an earl, or a lord, or a viscount in the family for how many generations?”

“The title may have disappeared, but the hall remains, and as long as the family line continues, there will be a de Mountford living there.” A pause. “And as I am speaking to the last of the de Mountford family, there—”

“Don’t.” The demand came out harsher than Jonathon might have wanted. “We are not going to discuss this again.” Only his father could take a tragic death and turn it into yet another opportunity to argue that Jonathon needed to be married and working on producing the next generation.

Jonathon had no problem with the idea of marriage in principle. Where he and his father differed was with the gender of his future spouse.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I know you two were close.” It felt mean-spirited to deliberately bring the conversation back to its painful origins, but it was better than letting his father continue in his usual vein.

“God, the things we got up to when we were younger.” There was a softness to his father’s voice that Jonathon hadn’t heard in a long time. Then he cleared his throat and it was obvious the moment had passed. “I want you to keep me informed on everything that happens there, do you understand?” That hard edge was back.

“Yes, sir.” Jonathon knew from experience that was the only response his father expected.

“Are you staying at the hall?”

“Right now I have a room at the local pub. I’m waiting to hear from the police.”

“I imagine they’re going over the house with a fine-tooth comb. Well, they’d damn well better be. As soon as you’re given permission to go to the hall, I want you staying there. I don’t want it left empty.”

Jonathon had a nasty feeling he knew where this was going. “But… I only intended spending two weeks here. Then I was going to Vietnam.” He’d spent months putting the trip together.

“Your little… hobby can wait, surely? Until it’s been established how Dominic died. And after that, well… you’ll have new responsibilities.”

Jonathon’s heart sank. Sometimes he hated being right. “Can we talk about this another time?”

“Of course. You must be feeling pretty low right now. If you need me to come down there, call. I can take a brief leave of absence in the circumstances.”

After Jonathon had sent his love to his mother, they said their goodbyes, and he ended the call. With a heavy heart, he left the room and went down the stairs and into the pub.

Mike was sitting at a table near the bar, talking earnestly with the police constable who’d been first on the scene. “Hey, come and sit down. You look haggard.”

Hardly surprising, Jonathon thought. He joined the two men and stared questioningly at Constable Billings. “Well? Do you still think it was an accident?” He sat on the remaining empty chair.

Constable Billings frowned and looked at Mike, who gave him an apologetic smile.

“Jonathon voiced the opinion that given his uncle’s remarkable good balance, someone might have pushed him, causing him to fall.”

The constable’s furrowed brow smoothed out. “Oh, I see.” He gave his attention to Jonathon. “It still looks like an accident to me, sir. Of course, things might change once the coroner’s report comes out. We’ll have to wait and see.” He got out his notebook. “I have a few questions for you, if that’s all right. I know you’ve been through a lot this morning.”

“Please, ask away.”

“When did you last speak to your uncle?”

“Last week. He called me to check that I was still coming to stay with him. He was supposed to meet me at the station this morning.”

Constable Billings nodded, making notes. “Who is the next of kin?”

“That would be my father.” Jonathon rattled off details, impressed that the officer kept up.

“Just one more thing. Would you know where Bryan Mayhew is right now?”

Jonathon froze. “Who the hell is Bryan Mayhew?”

Constable Billings frowned. “I thought you’d know. He’s the student who’s staying up at the manor.”

“Oh yeah, I know him. He’s been a regular for the last couple of weeks. Didn’t your uncle mention him?” Mike asked.

“No, he didn’t.” Which again was odd. Dominic had certainly been acting out of character lately. “Why do you want to find him?”

“I just find it strange that he’s not there. He’s been investigating the history of the hall and the de Mountford family for the past four weeks. I assumed your uncle would have spoken about him.”

“There’s no sign of him?”

“None. His bike isn’t anywhere that I could see. He rides a motorbike,” Constable Billings added. “He’s always zipping along the lanes on that thing. Gave poor old Mrs. Dawkins a scare when he drove past her one day last week.” He shrugged. “I wanted to ask him when he last saw your uncle alive.”

“You… you don’t think he had something to do with Dominic’s death, do you?” It seemed awfully coincidental to Jonathon’s mind. His uncle had died, and this student was nowhere to be found.

“And there you go again, jumping to conclusions.” Mike patted Jonathon’s arm. “What did I say about evidence?”

Jonathon addressed Constable Billings. “What happens to my uncle’s… body?”

“He’s been taken to the mortuary at the Fareham Community Hospital. Oh, and there’ll be no need for you to identify the body, sir, seeing as you were the one who found him.” The constable rose to his feet. “Will you be staying here, sir? If I need to ask more questions.”

“Yes, I’ll be here. When will you get the postmortem results? They will examine his body, right?”

“I did say there’d be a coroner’s report, didn’t I?”

“Yes, you did,” Mike interjected. “You can’t blame Jonathon for being a little… distracted right now, given the current state of affairs.”

Jonathon arched his eyebrows at that but said nothing.

“Of course. Entirely understandable. I’ll be in touch as soon as there’s any news.” Constable Billings spoke with a calm, soothing voice. “Don’t you worry, sir. I’m sure it was just a tragic accident.” He shook Mike’s hand. “I’ll talk to you later, Mike.”

“Sure.” Mike got up and walked him to the door.

Jonathon would have liked to believe that they were right, that it really was just an accident, but something in his gut was telling him that was merely wishful thinking. There was one thing he was certain of, however.

He needed to talk to this Bryan Mayhew.