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….
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Cat gives this one 4 Meows...
Jonathan deMountford has come to Merrychurch to visit his uncle Dominic to find him a no-show at the bus station which is very unusual. He is picked up by a friendly man, Mike, whom he finds owns the local pub and is an ex-copper. When Jonathan gets to his uncle's he finds him dead in the study, this leads to a mystery of who killed Dominic in the study with what. (I couldn't resist) There are many suspects and they just keep piling up, with many twists and turns. Sex-wise it is all off the page and it is a slow burn romance-wise. which is all fine to me, since the story is charming ( I love English settings and voice), interesting, and twisty. I cannot wait for more mysteries in Merrychurch!
Excerpt...
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.
I've always written, right from an early age. I was always writing stories as a child, and as I grew up, I had the idea of writing a novel, like so many people do. Born and raised in the north-west of England, K.C. Wells always loved writing. Words were important. Full stop. However, when childhood gave way to adulthood, the writing ceased, as life got in the way. K.C. discovered erotic fiction in 2009, where the purchase of a ménage storyline led to the startling discovery that reading about men in love was damn hot. In 2012, arriving at a really low point in life led to the desperate need to do something creative. An even bigger discovery waited in the wings—writing about men in love was even hotter.... K.C. now writes full time and is loving every minute of her new career. The laptop still has no idea of what hit it... it only knows that it wants a rest, please. And it now has to get used to the idea that where K.C goes, it goes. Website: kcwellsworld.com
Thanks for the review!
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