Murder in the Cards: A 1920s Historical Cozy Mystery (An Evie Parker Mystery Book 4)

by Sonia Parin

  Edgar looked away.

  “I’ll either be disowned by my family and end up back in the poorhouse or the lunatic asylum. Or worse. In prison. Is that worse or just as bad? Either way, my fictional family appear to be intent on disowning me.”

  They both looked at Edgar.

  Tom laughed. “No, he’s not giving anything away.”

  Edgar cleared his throat and lifted his chin. “With all due respect, my lady, it is not my place to do so.”

  “I’ll take that as an admission.” Evie turned her attention to the chapter about mad honey. “I should like to have a word with the detective and tell him about our findings. I think he will find it most interesting.” When she looked up, she saw Tom and Edgar exchange a look of surprise. “You don’t seem to agree.”

  “Don’t concern yourself with my opinions,” Tom said. “I rarely make any sense before I’ve had my second cup of coffee.”

  “Well, hurry up. I need a reliable sounding board. I still believe the detective wanted to bait me into snooping around. Remember, he showed an interest in how Mrs. Sheffield looked on the day of the afternoon tea party.” Evie looked up and tried to remember what else had prompted her to take an interest. “Oh, and he also asked if she had made any special requests. I believe that is key to our current preoccupation.”

  “And you hope to impress him with a story about mad honey?” Tom asked.

  Evie grinned. “I believe I am being more cunning than that. I hope to bait him into giving us more information. If he shows an interest in the mad honey idea, it will mean there is actually some substance to the theory, which I have yet to formulate.”

  “The theory which will propose Mrs. Sheffield loved honey so much, her killer decided to use it against her?” Tom asked.

  “Yes. Now, eat up. I wish to visit Mr. Sheffield’s apiary this morning.”

  “And what do you hope to find at Mr. Sheffield’s apiary?”

  “I must admit, I am curious about the flowering trees he keeps. We now know what makes Halton honey taste so extraordinarily good, it will be interesting to see where Mr. Sheffield is going wrong.”

  “Will you share your beekeeper’s secret with him?” Tom asked.

  Evie glanced at Edgar. “No, I don’t believe I will. It’s not my place to do so.”

  Edgar gave a small nod of approval.

  Evie finished her coffee and said, “I propose setting off early. I would like to return in time for luncheon.” She crossed her fingers. “Let’s hope it’s not interrupted.”

  “I see you are still not taking any chances with your suits,” Evie observed as they drove along a country lane leading to Mr. Sheffield’s apiary. “Is my granny likely to arrive earlier than even you expect?”

  “She sent a message saying she had sailed,” Tom said. “I doubt she would go to the trouble of duping me just so she can make her arrival a real surprise.”

  Evie brushed her hand along her skirt. “I have made all the necessary arrangements but I do wish I’d been able to organize some new gowns. She is bound to notice.”

  “And will that be the end of the world?” Tom asked.

  “Do I really need to remind you of the fact you have abandoned English tweed in favor of fashionable gray suits?”

  Tom tipped his hat down.

  “And where do all your suits come from? Honestly, I’m almost inclined to believe you really did strike it lucky in the oil fields.”

  Evie opened her bee book and turned her attention to discovering all she could about mad honey, including some of the symptoms. “Listen to this, mad honey can induce hallucinations.” Heavens. After breakfast, she had returned to her room to change for their morning outing and she had told Caro she had stayed up late to read about honey. Millicent had been there helping Caro tidy up her room and she too had heard her talk about mad honey. Not that she’d known much about it then, but Millicent had said she would take care to avoid any type of honey…

  By the time they arrived at Mr. Sheffield’s apiary, Evie knew honey bees feeding off rhododendrons could produce mad honey. “I’ll have to check with Ned Fordham to make sure we don’t have any rhododendrons growing.” Evie pressed her hand to her throat. “Heavens, what if we have been consuming mad honey?”

  “It would certainly explain a great deal,” Tom mused.

  “Are you trying to suggest something?” Evie asked, her tone full of innocence. “I seem to recall you enjoying honey in the morning and being partial to Mrs. Horace’s honey cake.” Evie leaned forward. “Is that someone on a bicycle?”

  “I need all the honey I can get just to keep up with your train of thought.” Tom slowed down.

  “Oh, she looks familiar.”

  As they approached the woman, she looked up and the bicycle wobbled slightly. That’s when Evie thought the woman had recognized her. She reacted by leaning forward and putting more effort into her pedaling.

  “Charlotte Davis,” Evie said as they drove past her.

  “Are you sure?”

  Evie turned and watched the woman disappearing down the narrow country lane. “Yes.” The day before, she’d worn mourning clothes, but now, she looked quite cheerful in a pretty floral dress. “Maybe she didn’t recognize us.”

  Tom brought the car to a stop outside the gates to the apiary.

  Climbing out of the roadster, Evie looked into the distance and saw Charlotte looking back over her shoulder. She hadn’t acknowledged them. That could only mean she hadn’t wanted to be seen…

  Tom stood by the gate. “I suppose you want to be considerate toward the bees and walk the rest of the way.”

  “Yes, are you going to complain about it?”

  “I wouldn’t dare.”

  As they walked, Evie tried to identify the trees. They were mostly oak, maple and beech trees. They followed the path and found a cottage surrounded by a large plantation of trees in full flower.

  The door to the cottage stood open. Moments later, a man appeared. He had mussed brown hair and looked slightly disheveled.

  “Can I help you?” he asked.

  Evie introduced herself. “And this is Mr. Tom Winchester.”

  The beekeeper nodded and introduced himself as “Benjamin Nelson.”

  “We wanted to ask you about your hives.”

  “They are not my hives, milady. They belong to the Sheffield family.” He looked around him. “Although, this land used to belong to the Davis family.”

  The statement struck Evie as odd. Had Mrs. Sheffield surrendered ownership of her land to her husband? English law allowed married women to own and control property in their own right. A woman who enjoyed wielding her control would surely want to increase it…

  “Have you lived here long?” Evie asked.

  “Yes, all my life. My family has always looked after the bees.”

  Evie looked around and said, “I see you have apple trees.”

  “Yes, they’re for the bees.”

  Noticing some other trees, she pointed at them. “What are those?”

  “Cherry, milady. They flower early but continue on into April.”

  She couldn’t see any orange trees in sight. “I hear Mrs. Sheffield was very fond of honey. I suppose you supply the Sheffield house.”

  “Of course. It’s their honey.”

  Evie had wanted him to mention someone from the house had only just dropped by but he didn’t say anything. “It’s so pretty here. It would be lovely to have a picnic.” She watched his reaction, but he gave nothing away. “I hear say Mr. Sheffield takes a personal interest.”

  “That he does, milady. He visits regularly. Did you want to try our honey, milady?”

  “Oh, is that possible?”

  He nodded and walked back inside the cottage. A moment later, he reappeared and handed her a small pot of honey.

  “Out of curiosity, do you have rhododendrons planted here?”

  He shook his head and pointed to the small garden in the front yard. “I have lavender and some
other shrubs.”

  “Is there a reason for that?”

  “We prefer the bees focus on the fruit trees and… rhododendrons are no good for bees. In fact, you don’t want bees anywhere near rhododendrons, or azaleas.”

  “Really?” The fact he’d given them the information suggested he really didn’t have anything to hide. Evie thanked him for his time and they left.

  When they reached the roadster, Tom asked, “Did you get all the information you wanted this time?”

  “No, not really. I couldn’t bring myself to ask outright if Charlotte Davis had just visited him.”

  “You’re too thoughtful for your own good,” Tom murmured.

  “Yes, I suppose… I think we should now head back to the village.”

  “Any particular reason?”

  “Yes, I’m hoping we’ll encounter Charlotte Davis along the way. I would bet just about anything she will deny riding out to the apiary.”

  “Do you think she wants to keep it a secret?”

  “Absolutely. And before you ask why, I’ll tell you. She wore a pretty dress.” When Tom gave her a puzzled expression, she said, “She was in mourning yesterday, and today she’s not.”

  Tom nodded. “Are you about to suggest she is somehow responsible for her sister’s death?”

  No, Evie thought. But… curiosity had taken a hold of her. “My mind is generating a few interesting notions.” None she wished to share just yet. “There’s an idea floating around my head.” Had Charlotte Davis worn the pretty dress for the beekeeper? Instead of sharing the information with Tom, she changed the subject and said, “They have the same setup as we do, with someone living on the property and looking after the bees. I suppose that rules out the possibility of an outsider meddling with the hives.”

  “If someone did, they would have to know how to take the necessary precautions,” Tom said.

  Evie gave a distracted nod. Had Charlotte been to the apiary? If she had, why would she want to hide it? While she wanted to entertain the idea, she didn’t feel entirely comfortable hatching a story about Charlotte and the beekeeper…

  As Tom focused on his driving, Evie turned her attention back to her book. She read through the next chapter and, in her excitement, she flipped through the pages again looking for the key paragraph.

  “Listen to this.” She leaned in so Tom wouldn’t miss anything. “The poisonous honey is commonly referred to as mad honey, a nickname earned because of the confusion it is known to cause. The toxin can cause very low blood pressure and heart rate as well as irregular heart rhythm. These symptoms could be life threatening.”

  “There you have it,” Tom said. “One question remains. How does that information fit in with what… Well, I want to say what we know but we don’t really know much. It would be a different story if the detective had at least told us how Mrs. Sheffield died. As it is, we can only speculate.”

  True.

  As they neared the village, they saw Charlotte Davis riding along in her bicycle.

  Tom slowed down and, when he caught up to Charlotte, Evie said, “Hello.”

  Charlotte’s bicycle teetered and wobbled slightly. Bringing her bicycle under control, she looked at them and gave them a tight smile.

  “Would you like a lift back to the village?” Evie offered.

  “No, thank you.”

  “Are you sure?”

  Charlotte gave her a stiff nod.

  “You must be tired from all that riding. The apiary is miles away.”

  “Oh, I’m fine. Thank you.”

  Interesting. She hadn’t denied going to the apiary. “We’ve just been to visit the apiary.”

  Charlotte Davis couldn’t pedal fast enough. She leaned forward and put all her effort into it.

  Tom had no trouble keeping up with her.

  She must have reached a point where she couldn’t pedal any faster, so, instead, she came to a stop.

  “Oh, do you need some help?” Evie asked.

  “No. I’m fine. I just remembered I… I forgot something.” She turned the bicycle around and pedaled away.

  “That’s one way to end a conversation,” Tom said. “What now?”

  Evie tried to decide. She supposed they could return to Halton House for lunch. “Except for the visit to Mr. Sheffield’s house, we haven’t been back in the village since the day Mrs. Sheffield died. I would like to walk around. Perhaps we might see or hear something of interest.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  “If you want to gather honey, don’t kick over

  the hive.” - Dale Carnegie

  Evie felt satisfied with their morning’s adventure but she didn’t wish to end it by returning to Halton House. “I’d say our chances of enjoying a quiet lunch are extremely good. The scriptwriters have been working since early this morning and I wouldn’t be surprised if they have decided to work right through lunch. Regardless, I would like to play it safe. Let’s enjoy lunch in the village. Do you have any suggestions?”

  “Other than the pub?” Tom shrugged.

  “The pub it is then.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Are you about to suggest the pub is not respectable enough for the Countess of Woodridge?”

  “Not at all. After all, it has your family name on it.”

  When they entered, a few heads turned but Evie didn’t see anyone straightening in their seats. If anyone had looked uncomfortable in her presence, she might have suggested going to the tearoom instead.

  “I always expect to smell ale and yet I’m always surprised by the lovely aroma of something baking in the kitchen,” she said.

  Tom drew out a chair for Evie and settled down opposite her. Leaning in, he murmured, “the detective just entered.”

  Trying to be discreet, Evie glanced over her shoulder and saw the detective looking around the pub.

  “Do you think he’s looking for us?” Evie asked.

  “If he wasn’t before, he is now. He’s heading this way.”

  The detective removed his hat and greeted them. “Lady Woodridge. Mr. Winchester.”

  “Detective. Would you care to join us?” Evie invited.

  He didn’t wait to be asked twice. “I must say, my lady, this is the last place I would have expected to find you.”

  “We have been out and about this morning,” Evie explained. “It made sense to have lunch here. Were you looking for us, detective?”

  He gave her what looked like an impish smile. “According to my colleague, Detective Inspector O’Neill, as soon as I gave you an update on my investigation you were most likely to start asking questions. I wonder if you have.”

  “As a matter of fact, yes. You piqued my curiosity.” She watched his reaction but he gave nothing away.

  “Would you care to share what you have discovered?”

  Evie gave him a brisk smile. “Only if you share what you know about Mrs. Sheffield’s death.”

  “That sounds like a fair exchange.”

  Evie’s surprise was interrupted when the waitress came to take their orders. They all settled on the house specialty, pork pie.

  Evie expected the detective to suggest she share some information first. Instead, he surprised her.

  “Mrs. Sheffield had never been ill a day in her life,” the detective informed them. “And then she suffered a heart attack.” He drew out his notebook. “A myocardial infarction, to be precise.”

  Evie exchanged a knowing look with Tom. “And now you’re looking at possible causes.”

  “Expert opinions vary. In the absence of a history of heart disease in the family, doctors look at the person’s lifestyle.”

  “And what do the police look into?” Evie asked.

  “If a doctor can’t provide a reasonable explanation but suggest there might be something suspicious about the death, we start looking into motives for murder and possible suspects.”

  Evie brightened. The more she thought about it, the more she believed Mrs. Sheffield’s need to manipul
ate people had landed her in trouble with someone.

  “You seem cheered by the revelation, my lady.”

  “Oh, yes. Tom and I have been leading up to that discussion. While we haven’t talked about motive or possible suspects, we have come across a possible weapon. Honey.”

  “Honey?”

  Evie gave a vigorous nod.

  The detective sat back and studied her. “And how did you come by that lead?”

  “We stumbled upon it.” Before the detective could ask for more information, she said, “I’m more interested in suspects. How do you come up with those?”

  The detective thought about it for a moment and then said, “By retracing the victim’s steps leading up to the final hours and by contacting the people she liaised with.”

  “I see. That’s why you came to Halton House. Did a possible motive emerge from that meeting?” Evie answered her own question. “Of course not. Otherwise, I would have been taken into custody. Who else have you interviewed?”

  The detective smiled. “Hasn’t your maid informed you of my activities?”

  Evie looked puzzled enough for the detective to explain that every time he’d emerged from somewhere, he’d spotted Evie’s maid.

  “Oh, you mean Millicent. How did you happen to know she works for me? Have you been spying on Halton House?”

  Instead of answering her, the detective said, “Tell me about this theory involving honey.”

  Evie didn’t care for the way he changed the subject and, in truth, she wasn’t entirely comfortable with being spied on.

  “I’m not sure I should. You might find the information I have to offer ludicrous.”

  “I promise to keep a straight face.”

  Tom laughed. And, while he didn’t say anything, Evie imagined him thinking he had been trying to stop himself from laughing from the moment he had met Evie.

  “Detective. Are you, by any chance, indulging me?”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it, my lady. Remember, I have been in contact with my colleague and he assured me you can be of great value, offering insightful observations.”