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    Dead in the Pond: Grasmere Cottage Mystery, #2
    Dead in the Pond: Grasmere Cottage Mystery, #2
    Dead in the Pond: Grasmere Cottage Mystery, #2
    Ebook142 pages1 hourGrasmere Cottage Mystery

    Dead in the Pond: Grasmere Cottage Mystery, #2

    By Dahlia Donovan

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    About this ebook

    Join bestselling author Dahlia Donovan on a cosy mystery adventure in Grasmere Cottage Mystery book two. With love, wit, and a murder to solve, life for Valor and Bishan continues to be blinkin' complicated in this sweet gay romance.

    Killer on the loose? Check.

    Frogs in the garden? Check.

    Playing a twisted game with a killer? Not good.

    Bishan Tamboli struggles to recover from his false arrest. He worries the police still aren't as convinced about his innocence. With his longtime boyfriend, Valor, at his side, he intends to solve the puzzles and catch the murderer amongst their former schoolmates.

    He's fought hard for his independence as an autistic and refuses to throw it all away because of a nameless monster. With friends and family in the killer's crosshairs, Bishan fears the mystery will bring the end of everything and everyone he loves.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherHot Tree Publishing
    Release dateOct 13, 2018
    ISBN9781925655964
    Dead in the Pond: Grasmere Cottage Mystery, #2
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      Book preview

      Dead in the Pond - Dahlia Donovan

      CHAPTER 1

      Might need about three more cups of tea before any of this makes any sense to me. Valor rested his head on Bishan’s shoulder briefly. "I am so glad you’re home."

      Everyone aside from Valor had been decidedly odd since Bishan’s release from jail. He didn’t like it. At all. Why couldn’t their lives return to business as usual?

      Well, probably not business as usual exactly.

      Nothing could be quite normal after finding themselves smack dab in the midst of a mystery of the Poirot and Father Brown variety. The police had yet to figure out who’d begun the murderous campaign against former Harrovians; Bishan was only glad they’d stopped pursuing him for it.

      He’d been freed from jail two days ago.

      And sometimes it still felt as though he were there.

      It’s not an anagram, Bishan insisted pedantically. And it wasn’t. The creepy murder messages left via bolded letters in old Harrow play programs might be puzzles, but they weren’t anagrams. They’re not already formed into words that you have to unscramble.

      Valor had spread out the multiple not-anagrams across their kitchen table along with the two that had potentially been deciphered already. So what are they?

      Puzzles.

      Right. Valor grabbed his cup for more tea. Do you think they got the first two correct?

      Bishan glanced at the two supposedly decoded messages with a critical eye. They both seemed plausible in the context of the victims and assuming the perpetrator was indeed a former schoolmate of theirs. He found the Shh or Sh at the beginning to be odd.

      Shh. Not so cleverly done. Time’s almost up. When the clock strikes one, whose name shall be crossed out?

      Sh. The play has just begun. Tick-tock. Tick-tock. Lord Byron is struck down. How many more to go?

      I’m not the killer. I don’t know. Bishan picked up one of the programs yet to be deciphered. He wrote down each bolded letter at the top of a plain sheet of paper. They seem threatening enough to be accurate.

      Valor plucked Staccato off the table and set the cat on his shoulder. I know you’re not the killer, Bish.

      I know you know. Bishan couldn’t keep the slight sharpness out of his voice. He’d never doubted Valor’s belief in him.

      Valor stretched a hand out to rest on Bishan’s shoulder. I was agreeing.

      Oh. He deflated slightly. Non-autistics tended to agree by repeating what had been said, something he always found a bit confusing. Of course.

      Distracting himself with their puzzle, Bishan started to separate letters out into words. He went through almost ten versions with no success. Valor didn’t press him to continue the conversation; he never did, which was something Bishan had always appreciated about his boyfriend.

      Let’s assume sh or shh is going to be at the start of all of these. Bishan had separated the remaining unsolved programs and put the bolded ones at the top of individual sheets of paper. If we go from there, it removes at least two to three of the letters straight away.

      We’ve been at this for ages. Why don’t you take a break? Valor stretched his arms over his head and yawned widely. Let’s go for a walk.

      It’s been an hour. An hour isn’t ages. He glanced briefly at the clock over the hob then back to his puzzle. He liked puzzles, but it felt wrong to enjoy this when it came from such an awful act of violence. What if someone else dies?

      Valor visibly winced before shifting his chair around so he could wrap his arm around Bishan. It won’t be our fault. We’re not the one with the gun.

      Cinnamon.

      You know what I meant.

      Bishan had come out of jail with a mission: ensuring he didn’t get dragged back. To him, it meant solving the crime, if the detectives couldn’t do it themselves. I can do this.

      Nina’s got friends working on them as well. You going for a walk won’t be the end of the world. Valor usually didn’t want to go for walks in the morning. What? Why are you frowning at me?

      I don’t understand why you want to walk so desperately. Bishan crossed his arms, twisting so the uneasiness at staring into Valor’s face faded away. Eye contact always made him incredibly uncomfortable. We can go later.

      You should be outside more.

      But why? Bishan had never been much of an outdoorsy type of person. He enjoyed rambles in the woods on occasion, but not a walk through the village. Too many people tended to want to stop them for a chat. Val?

      Can we, please?

      But why? Bishan found it very difficult to force himself to do anything without understanding the reason.

      Valor ran his fingers roughly through his already messy ginger hair, a sign Bishan had come to recognise as his boyfriend being unsure. I keep seeing you locked up in a room without a window, and it makes me so sodding angry.

      It had windows. He noticed Valor appeared to truly be struggling and decided it didn’t matter if he didn’t entirely understand why. Let’s go for a walk.

      Maybe I’ll stop feeling so strange.

      The uneasiness in the pit of his stomach hadn’t gone away since they’d found a body in the garden over a month ago. Being home improved the feeling slightly. Bishan continued to struggle with it, though.

      Dealing with emotions had never been his strong suit. It was hard to process them when first he had to identify them. Valor tried to help, but it usually only muddled it all up even further.

      Bish? Valor stood by the door with his jacket already on. Would you rather stay?

      Yes.

      Yes, but if I do it’ll make leaving harder the next time. Bishan slowly got to his feet. He took a moment to run a comb through his silky black hair to straighten it a bit. They didn’t both need to appear as if they’d only recently rolled out of bed. Life can’t be lived inside the cottage.

      Well, it can, but it’ll be lonely. Is that another Barnaby-ism? Valor teased.

      Maybe. Bishan enjoyed how his dad often coined what he called pearls of wisdom. It’s true, though.

      So, walk? Valor prompted after Bishan had spent almost a full three minutes shuffling papers around, getting his jacket on, and finding shoes. And yes, you have to wear trainers.

      Bishan frequently went through a phase where he loathed wearing shoes; he felt like his toes were suffocating. In the summer, he almost never wore them. Valor had gotten quite stern about him putting something on his feet during colder months.

      I only almost had frostbite one time.

      They wandered down the lane to the walking path that led down to the pond. The police had already cleared the area. Valor had gone down once already to pay his respects to Mr Clarke.

      Grief was strange.

      Bishan had never been comfortable with it. He’d cried when Mr Clarke died, but he didn’t want to attend the funeral. What was the point?

      Mr Clarke wouldn’t mind one way or the other. Funerals, as far as Bishan understood, meant more to the living. He wanted to find another way to demonstrate his admiration for their former housemaster.

      Before allowing Bishan to attend the prestigious Harrow School, his parents had required more of him than just the multiple scholarships for music, maths, science, and English that he’d earned. They’d insisted on speaking at length with whoever would be the master of his boarding house. His father, in particular, had wanted to ensure they understood Bishan responded and approached life differently from the other boys.

      Mr Clarke had been the perfect housemaster. He’d actively discouraged bullying of any sort while encouraging the boys to grow into strong individuals. Bishan had flourished at Harrow, and most of it came down to his time at West Acre Boarding House.

      Going to a funeral didn’t feel an adequate way to express his appreciation for what Mr Clarke had gifted him—a safe environment to grow, learn, and develop as a young autistic Anglo-Indian man. It wasn’t enough. Bishan wanted to do something more.

      Even if it is only for myself as he’s not actually around to see it.

      Do you think Mrs Clarke would mind if we had a dinner to celebrate Mr Clarke’s life? Bishan picked up a stone to skip across the pond. He dropped it in his pocket and continued down the path. Something for us old boys who remember him?

      Harrow had numerous odd traditions. Bishan had enjoyed the structure of it. He’d fit in far better than anyone had expected, and even now, thirteen-plus years later, he missed some aspects of school.

      Why would she mind?

      Allistics can be weird. Bishan shrugged. As much as non-autistics didn’t understand him, he rarely grasped their thought processes either. I know. We should have a Harrow football game in his honour. It was one of Mr Clarke’s favourite things.

      And maybe the murderer will show up.

      They always do on Poirot, just to see what’s being said.

      It’s a brilliant idea. Valor held his hand out, waiting as always until Bishan decided if he wanted to hold it. I’ll start making calls to set it up when we get to the shop.

      Bishan reached out to

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