Till Death Do Us Tart (Oxford Tearoom Mysteries ~ Book 4)

by H. Y. Hanna

  I let the subject drop, although I couldn’t stop thinking about it as we finished cooking the meal. It was only when we sat down to dinner and I realised how hungry I was that I finally allowed myself to be diverted. It was a simple meal but delicious, the pasta just perfectly al dente, the tomato sauce fresh and tangy, flavoured with basil and rich red wine. Devlin had also made a quick salad of lettuce leaves and crisp cucumber slices, drizzled with a bit of balsamic vinegar and olive oil, and this went beautifully with the pasta.

  “Smart, handsome, and good in the kitchen… how did I get so lucky?” I teased Devlin as we finally sat back from our empty plates.

  He grinned. “And I’ve got chocolate ice cream in the freezer.”

  “I think you’re eligible for sainthood,” I said with a laugh. I sprang up and started gathering the plates. “Here, I’ll do the washing up. Why don’t you go and relax in front of the TV?”

  Devlin stifled a yawn, passing a tired hand over his face. “Thanks. That sounds like a great idea.” He yawned again and gave his head a sharp shake. “It’s been a long day. And I’ve got an early start tomorrow morning.”

  He wandered over to the living area and a little feline form trotted after him. Muesli had had her own dinner whilst we were having ours and was now obviously looking forward to having a good wash on the lap of her favourite detective. I smiled to myself as I carried the dirty plates into the kitchen. There was something about the cosy intimacy of this domestic scene that made me feel all warm and fuzzy.

  “Do you want to set up a movie?” I called as I turned on the taps at the kitchen sink. “I’ll be done here in ten minutes.”

  There was no answer from the living room but I heard what sounded like movie credits coming from the TV. Quickly, I stacked the dishwasher and washed up the pots and pans, then gave the counter a wipe. I smiled again as I suddenly remembered my daydream about cuddling with Devlin in front of the TV. No Mother, no Old Biddies barging in the windows … Oooh, I can’t wait. Switching off the kitchen lights, I hurried across to the living room.

  Then I stopped short.

  Devlin was lying sideways on the couch, his long legs stretched out in front of him, his head tilted back against the cushions and his eyes closed. He was fast asleep. And curled up on his chest, her head tucked into the crook of his neck, her face the picture of contentment, was Muesli. She moved up and down slowly as Devlin’s chest rose and fell, and her purring was almost loud enough to drown out his deep breathing.

  I went slowly towards them, feeling something squeeze my heart at the sight of them together. Muesli opened one eye and gave a sleepy “Meorrw…?” then closed it again and snuggled closer to Devlin.

  I sighed. So much for romantic anticipation. It looked like I would be spending my first evening in my boyfriend’s house watching him cuddle with my cat.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  “That man is back again.”

  I glanced up from assembling a tea tray and gave Cassie a harassed look. “What man?”

  “You know, the chap who wants to sell us those novelty chocolate spoons.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Him again! Wasn’t he here just last week and we told him we were too busy to see him?”

  Cassie grinned. “Well, you have to hand it to him for persistence.”

  I looked over her shoulder and saw a small balding man in a shiny suit standing by the door. He had a case in one hand and a sycophantic expression on his face. He caught my eye and waved breezily, giving me a big smile.

  “I haven’t got time to see him now,” I said hurriedly. “The orders for that tour group haven’t gone out yet and they’re leaving in twenty minutes!”

  “Well, shall I tell him to come back later today?”

  I shook my head quickly. “No, it’s going to be manic all day today.” After the whole weekend off, it seemed like all the business we should have had was coming in one big flood. Not that I was complaining—it was great to be missed!—but it had meant a hectic day so far and it didn’t look like we were slowing down any time soon. It was nearly three o’clock, a time when the lunch rush usually died down and we normally had a chance to catch our breaths before the next horde arrived for “afternoon tea”—but today, every table was still full and there was even a couple standing by the front door right now, waiting to be seated.

  “Tell him to come back later in the week,” I said as I picked up the tray, carefully balancing the weight of the heavy teapot at one end with the teacups and plate of scones on the other, and carried it over to an American family by the window.

  They had that enviable self-confidence and friendly manner most Americans seemed to possess and I found myself enjoying a short chat with them as they told me about their home state of Minnesota. Then it was a mad dash to serve the tour group before they were due to leave. I breathed a silent prayer of thanks again for our new baking chef, Dora. She might have been a bit prickly at times and too proud for her own good, but she was usually fantastic under pressure, whipping up the most delicious cakes and baked goodies, all without turning a hair on her neat grey head. Although… I frowned to myself. There seemed to have been a few problems in the kitchen lately—I remembered Cassie mentioning it to me—some mistakes and accidents that Dora had had, which seemed very unlike her… A new group of tourists cut short my train of thought and I hurried to offer menus and seat them.

  By the time I returned to the counter, I was relieved to see that everything seemed to be under control for the moment. Then the front door jingled again as someone entered and I looked over, reaching automatically for a menu. But I paused as I recognised who had just come in. It was Audrey Simmons—and she didn’t look like she was in the mood for tea and scones.

  “Hello, Audrey.” I went over to greet her. “How nice to see you. Would you like some tea?”

  She shook her head, her face strained and anxious. “No, actually Gemma, I came to have a word with you, if you’ve got a moment…?”

  “Sure. What’s the matter?” I said, putting a gentle hand on her arm and drawing her to one side.

  “Is it true?” she said. “That Clare could have been murdered? Your mother was hinting at it when you all came to Eccleston House, wasn’t she? And I’ve just been in the village post shop and everyone’s talking about it. Apparently, Mabel Cooke and her friends have been telling everyone that they have proof that Clare didn’t die of a heart attack after all—that her death was due to ‘foul play’!”

  Grrr. I thought of my mother and the Old Biddies reproachfully. What were they doing, going around spreading rumours like that?

  “Well, I…” I hesitated. “There does seem to be some suspicion surrounding her death. There was that odd thing about her heart pills… and then there was that letter Mary found yesterday.”

  “Yes, I’ve been thinking about that,” said Audrey. “It was horrible… horrible… I had trouble sleeping last night thinking about it! I don’t think Mary realises how serious that letter is. I’ve been trying to urge her to report it to the police but she keeps refusing.” She sighed. “I love Mary dearly but she can be like an ostrich sometimes—she thinks if she can just shove something out of sight, it will go away. But I don’t think so—that letter was just vicious… and if it’s true that Clare was murdered, then we must show it to the police! That letter might be a clue to catching her killer!”

  “Did Dame Eccleston have any enemies?”

  “Well…” Audrey looked uncomfortable.

  I gave her an encouraging smile. “You’re her oldest friend. I’m sure you knew a lot of what went on. And Dame Eccleston… er… made her presence felt. Perhaps she rubbed someone up the wrong way?”

  “Clare always meant well,” Audrey said defensively.

  “Oh, I’m sure she did,” I agreed. “But perhaps not everyone appreciated her good intentions?”

  Audrey shrugged. “She wasn’t very popular, that’s true. People often didn’t like her manner. There were a few problems at St Cecilia�
��s College… but these things happen, of course, especially in a community as big as a college, with so many staff and students.”

  “But no one in particular who you think might have wished Dame Eccleston harm?”

  Again, Audrey looked uncomfortable. “Well, I did think of this yesterday, but I didn’t like to mention it in front of Mary. She’s led a very sheltered life, you know, and she’s quite sensitive. And she likes Joseph.”

  “Joseph?”

  “The college gardener. He also does some work at Eccleston House from time to time.”

  “Yes, I’ve met him. I thought he was a bit… er… odd.”

  “Oh my goodness, yes, I’ve never warmed to him. But I have to say, he’s a fantastic gardener. Not just in terms of digging things up and pruning things, but really knowing a lot about plants—their history and uses and everything. Clare kept telling me to get him to come and redo the Vicarage gardens and I wonder now if she might be right—things are getting so wild and with the spring pruning and the new bedding—”

  “So something happened with Joseph?” I said, bringing her gently back on track.

  “Yes, it was very silly really. It was to do with a flower border in the rear quadrangle, just by the college chapel. Joseph had been nurturing some dahlias in a greenhouse and Clare wanted him to transfer them to the border, but he refused. He said that although we’ve had a really warm spring, it was still too early and a cold snap might kill them. Anyway, Clare overruled him— she told him he would lose his job if he didn’t do as she said. Clare could be a bit… um… high-handed sometimes when she wanted to get her own way.” Audrey gave an apologetic laugh.

  That’s a polite way to describe a woman who sounded like a nasty bully, I thought. Aloud, I said, “What happened?”

  “Well, unfortunately Clare was wrong and Joseph was right. The flowers all died in that sudden frost we had last week—if you remember? Joseph was livid. Honestly, I’d never seen anyone so furious and upset. You’d think that a member of his family had died! I happened to be over at St Cecilia’s that day—I had gone to discuss something with Clare about the village fête—and I walked in on them having a dreadful row. You could practically hear them shouting from the other side of the quad. I was quite shocked because aside from anything else, I had never heard Joseph speak before. I’d almost thought that he was mute!”

  I frowned. “But surely… he could just plant them again? It seems a bit extreme—you don’t think he could want to harm Dame Eccleston just for that?”

  Audrey gave me a look. “You don’t know Joseph. He’s very… odd, as you said. And he really loves his plants—almost like… obsessed. I don’t think he sees them like we do. He’s a bit of a loner and… well, his plants are everything to him.” She brightened slightly. “It’s what makes him such a brilliant gardener, though. There’s nothing he doesn’t know about plants and flowers. And such an amazing nose—he can identify different species of rose just by scent, you know. I said to Clare once that she ought to get him to put all his knowledge down in a book but she just laughed. She said Joseph was too stupid to write a book.” Audrey grimaced. “Clare could be a bit tactless sometimes when she said things.”

  Bloody hell, talk about understatement of the year. The more I heard about Clare Eccleston, the more I was beginning to dislike her—and the more I was beginning to agree with Mabel Cooke that many people might have had reason to want her dead. I glanced sideways at Audrey and wondered how she could still think of her friend so fondly. They said love was blind—maybe childhood friendships were too. I knew that I would overlook a lot of things in Cassie. Having said that, Cassie wasn’t a megalomaniacal tyrant…

  The front door tinkled again at that moment and we looked up to see the Old Biddies walk in. I had been wondering where they had been—usually, they were the first in the tearoom every morning. But from what Audrey had said, it sounded like they had been busy holding court at the post office today. They certainly looked very self-satisfied as they trundled in, taking off their hats and coats.

  “… I think Ruth is going to regret moving into the retirement village—you mark my words!” Mabel was saying as they came up to the counter.

  “Well, I think she is going to have a fabulous time. There will be art classes and Scrabble competitions and tai chi and theatre visits to London… The retirement village even has its own pool and bowling green. Think of all the gentlemen she is going to meet!” Glenda giggled. “And Ruth told me that they have dances every Saturday evening! Oh, I do hope she’ll take me as a guest.”

  “I just wish she could have donated her books to the library, instead of selling them off,” said Ethel with a sigh. “It’s such a wonderful collection, built up over a lifetime. It seems such a shame…”

  “Well, you can’t really blame her when that bookseller was offering that kind of money,” said Florence reasonably.

  “Hmmph! I don’t trust that Edwin Perkins,” said Mabel with a sniff. “He may be the best second-hand bookseller in Oxford but I still think—”

  “Edwin?” Audrey said breathlessly next to me. “Is Edwin Perkins here in Meadowford?”

  I looked at her in surprise. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes suddenly bright with excitement.

  Ethel nodded. “Ruth Harding has decided to move into the retirement village now that her husband has passed away. We’ve just been over at her house, helping her with some packing. But there is no space for all her books in her new home so she called Mr Perkins to come and value her collection.”

  “Is he still there?”

  “Yes, we’d only just left and he was still discussing one of Ruth’s first editions with her.”

  “Oh, excuse me… I must try to catch him… I need to speak to him about… er… the village fête for next year…” Audrey hurried out of the tearoom.

  Mabel watched her go sardonically. “She’s wasting her time,” she said.

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  Glenda giggled. “Don’t you know? Audrey has been in love with Edwin Perkins for years. She is always baking things for him and going into Oxford to visit his bookstore, and finding excuses to involve him in the village events. It was she who got him the stall to sell second-hand books at this year’s fête, you know…” Glenda wrinkled her nose. “Though I must say, I really don’t know what she sees in him. He walks with that dreadful stoop and he is so thin… I do think men look better with a bit of weight on them. I mean, a ‘beer belly’ is so much sexier than a bony chest, don’t you agree, Gemma?”

  “I… er… I hadn’t really given it much thought,” I said weakly. “So, um… does Edwin return her feelings?”

  Mabel snorted. “Not when he has younger fish to fry.”

  Glenda leaned towards me and said, like a schoolgirl passing a secret in the playground: “Edwin is in love with Mary Eccleston.”

  “With Mary?” I spluttered. “But she’s… she’s young enough to be…”

  “Exactly,” said Mabel, nodding. “Well, they do say there’s no fool like an old fool.”

  “It’s quite sad watching him, actually,” said Florence, shaking her head. “Almost embarrassing. The way he used to hang around them all the time, like a starving old dog hoping to be thrown a bone.”

  “I thought it was quite sweet,” Ethel spoke up. “He is so devoted to her—he really would do anything for her. And although there is a big gap in their ages, well, Mary is so shy and naïve, sometimes I wonder if an older man would suit her better.”

  “Well, he’s not likely to get a chance to try his hand, is he?” said Florence.

  Glenda giggled. “He might, now that Clare Eccleston is dead.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “Did Dame Eccleston not approve of Edwin’s feelings for her daughter?”

  “Not approve?” Mabel guffawed. “She laughed him out of town! Called him a dirty old man behind his back—and to his face!—and delighted in humiliating him by telling everyone about the way he hung around Mary. Sai
d he was like an old dog sniffing arou—” Mabel clamped her mouth shut suddenly. I glanced around. A man had just entered the tearoom. It was Edwin Perkins.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  He stood on the threshold for a moment, surveying the room with a kind of fastidious appraisal, then he came towards the counter. I reached for a menu and stepped forwards to greet him but before I could say anything, Mabel’s booming voice cut in:

  “Good to see you again, Edwin. All finished up at Ruth’s?”

  “Yes,” he said stiffly. “Mrs Harding and I have concluded our business; I thought it would be salubrious to have a cup of tea before returning to Oxford and I had heard this place recommended.”

  “Oh, yes, people come from far and wide to eat at Gemma’s tearoom,” said Florence proudly. “Best scones in Oxfordshire!”

  “Yes, well, perhaps we should let Mr Perkins decide for himself,” I said, slightly embarrassed. I smiled at him. “Would you like a table by the window?”

  “No, this one will do,” he said, indicating a table near the counter. “I don’t intend to stay long. Just a pot of tea, please.”

  “Are you sure you wouldn’t like something with your tea?” I said. “We have a large range of cakes and buns, as well as, of course, our signature dish: freshly baked scones with home-made jam and clotted cream. We also do traditional finger sandwiches, in a range of flavours.”

  “Well, I…”

  “Try the Victoria sponge,” Glenda piped up. “It’s very good. Although perhaps not quite as good as Mary Eccleston’s…” She giggled.

  A faint line of colour showed along Edwin’s cheeks but his expression remained impassive. He glanced down at the menu. “I’ll have a plate of cucumber sandwiches, then.”

  I went back to the counter to put the order through. Meanwhile, the Old Biddies had found something new to occupy their attention: they were poring avidly over a copy of today’s local newspaper.

  “Look at those eyes…” said Glenda with a mock shiver. “One can tell he’s a criminal.”