Murder Keeps No Calendar

by Cathy Ace

  ‘Are you Edna Sweet?’ he enquired breathlessly.

  ‘Indeed I am. Do I know you? Can I help you?’ Edna wanted to cover all eventualities. She couldn’t help but notice the young man was very nice looking in a freckle-cheeked, sandy-haired sort of way, with even features and a few beads of sweat on his forehead. He looked to be about Edna’s age, or maybe a little older.

  ‘You don’t know me, but you can certainly help me, Edna.’ He beamed. He was rather like an enthusiastic puppy, thought Edna, and she couldn’t help but return his smile as he explained, ‘I’m in a spot of bother. I work for the local rag, and I’m a bit late with some copy. Gran was here this morning and said I should come to take some photos and write a bit about you. She said I’d love the place.’ Edna realized he was looking her up and down. She pulled self-consciously at her white collared shirt and her gingham apron. ‘What she didn’t say was that you were a girl. Well, she did call you a girl, but she calls everyone under sixty a girl and I didn’t imagine that someone your age would be setting up a tea shop.’

  He paused and pulled a large camera from his shoulder bag. ‘How about it? I could get you on page three by Thursday!’ He gave Edna a cheeky wink.

  Edna smiled coyly as she playfully flicked a tea towel in his direction and grinned. ‘Oh, get on with you – you are wicked.’ Then she thought about what he’d said. ‘What’ll it cost me?’ she asked in a matter of fact way.

  ‘Cost? There’s no cost. In fact,’ the young man drew conspiratorially close, ‘I’ll owe you a drink, Edna, if you do this for me right now.’

  Edna couldn’t have imagined such an opportunity falling into her lap – a story about her Tea Shoppe in the local newspaper, for free, the week she opened; she reckoned she’d better make the most of it. She struck a foolish pose and asked mockingly, ‘Where do you want me?’ and they were off.

  The young man arranged teapots, cups and saucers, and plates piled high with teacakes, along the edge of the Welsh dresser, and, as Edna changed into a clean apron and tidied her hair in the Ladies, he called out, ‘My name’s Stephen by the way – Stephen Halyard to be precise. Well, okay then, Stephen Henry Charles Halyard to be perfectly precise. And Joan is my father’s mother. I’ve already interviewed her, of course, so I’ve got some useable quotes. But for now, speed is of the essence; my deadline is six o’clock, and if I’m quick I can get all this e-mailed off and the editor won’t know I’ve been skiving, so,’ he lowered his voice as Edna emerged, ‘if you’re ready.’ He took in Edna’s freshly washed and brushed appearance and smiled as he said, ‘Splendid – what more could a chap want?’

  Edna blushed; she knew she wasn’t pretty, but she also knew that if she looked clean and fresh, her clear skin, bright eyes and neat figure allowed her to look at least respectable. That said, Edna didn’t have bags of confidence about her appearance, and she battled nerves and shyness as the young man snapped her. Stephen kept up a good flow of banter-like conversation; he jollied her along with encouraging words, and the odd anecdote about assignments he’d been sent on by his boss that had gone horribly, and hilariously, wrong. Edna poured endless tea, held plates of teacakes, offered them to the camera and, at one point, courageously offered both a teapot and a plate of teacakes in the photographer’s direction.

  Finally, as Stephen was checking the shots he’d collected on the little screen of his camera, Edna asked, ‘Do you want to interview me at all?’

  ‘Interview you? But I just have done, sweet Edna; couldn’t you tell I was squeezing every ounce of truth out of you? Didn’t you feel the weight of my interrogative skills? I’m shocked. Shocked and dismayed that you missed entirely the majesty of a man operating at the peak of his capacities.’ They laughed again, and then he was gone.

  After all the excitement, Edna quite forget she was due to close at six o’clock, so it was almost seven before she dragged herself up the narrow staircase to her little flat. Once there she plopped down into the old armchair she had bought at the nearest charity shop and mulled through the day’s events; not too much business, but those who’d been in had been complementary. She could hope for a busier day tomorrow and then, on Thursday, the local newspaper would be out and hopefully there’d be a photo and a bit of a story about The Sweet Olde Tea Shoppe.

  All in all it had been a good day, and that Stephen Halyard was – well, Edna blushed at what she thought he was.

  Even before the local newspaper article appeared, Joan had clearly been busying herself on Edna’s behalf, and it seemed as though every member of the Women’s Institute, of which Joan was the treasurer, all the members of the church choir, in which Joan was the leading contralto, and every parent and grandparent of every Girl Guide – Joan was heavily involved with the Guiding movement – had decided to visit The Sweet Olde Tea Shoppe. Thankfully, they all seemed to be big eaters. Teacakes, Chelsea buns, fairy cakes, scones, ice-cream, sandwiches, pop, tea, and coffee were consumed in gargantuan quantities, and Edna found herself having to make an emergency visit to the wholesaler’s very early on Thursday morning to purchase more supplies.

  Although hard work had never frightened Edna – indeed, it had almost become her reason for being – she was already exhausted by the time she flicked the sign to ‘Open’ at ten o’clock on Thursday morning. She actually screamed aloud as, two seconds later, Stephen Halyard once again flung himself through the door – with that same grin plastered across his freckled face that she had dreamed of during the few hours of sleep she’d snatched the night before. He waved a newspaper triumphantly above his head, then gathered Edna and tried – without much success, given the space constraints – to spin her about.

  He started singing, ‘Tea for two, and two for tea . . .’ then subsided into ‘dum-de-dums’ for the rest of the well-known song.

  Taken aback, Edna found she was more abrupt than she’d meant to be when she snapped, ‘Stephen, put me down and stop messing about, I’ve just got all the cloths straight, and my pinny sorted.’

  Stephen immediately let go of her, and his whole face fell. Once again he looked like a puppy, but this time Edna was reminded of one being admonished for happily running into his master’s study with just half a slipper hanging out of his mouth. His eyes grew wide as he apologized, ‘I’m so sorry, sweet Edna Sweet – I didn’t mean to mess up your nice pinny.’ He attempted a cheeky grin and a wink, then added, ‘I’m so excited. Have you seen it? My boss put the whole thing in, word for word – no changes. And it’s a huge photo – he’s never given me so much space before, and he’s always changed my copy. Oh Edna –’ he looked as though he were about to grab her again – ‘I’m so blinking chuffed!’

  He thrust the newspaper toward Edna who opened it to see a huge photograph of herself, standing in front of her Welsh dresser pouring tea, beneath the headline ‘Sweet Olde Tea Shoppe: A New Local Treat’. Edna read the article; it filled the rest of the page, and not only did it list the entire range of her offerings, but it also talked about her whole life story. Edna thought she sounded like someone she would admire, and The Sweet Olde Tea Shoppe sounded like somewhere she’d like to visit.

  Joan Halyard, Stephen’s grandmother, couldn’t have been more flattering with her comments – she even mentioned the cleanliness of the lavatories – and when Edna raised her eyes to meet Stephen’s, she knew they were full of tears. She was overwhelmed; her exhaustion got the better of her and she felt dizzy. She put out her hand to try to find something that would steady her, but instead of grasping a piece of furniture, she found Stephen. He took her arm and steered her into a chair. A look of concern crossed his boyish face.

  ‘I’m not even going to ask if you’re alright, because you’re clearly not. You sit there – I’m going to make you a cup of tea – and you’ll take it with four sugars, young lady.’ He motioned for Edna to remain seated, which she did without any argument.

  Luckily, no customers arrived until a good fifteen minutes later, by which time Edna
had been fortified by an extremely sweet cup of tea, and a rather clumsy, but equally sweet, hug from Stephen. Even more fortunately, the first customer of the day was Stephen’s grandmother, Joan, who offered to step into the breach and insisted that she be allowed to help in the kitchen should the need arise.

  Edna felt enormous gratitude to this pair; she knew that because of their combined efforts on behalf of a complete stranger, her business stood the best chance of success she could have hoped for. She dared a firm handshake for Joan, and a friendly pat on the arm for Stephen, and the offer of free pots of tea for both of them for life – an offer which Stephen pooh-poohed, but which Edna noticed Joan did not decline.

  By the time Edna’s first paying customer arrived, she was ready to step into the fray herself – which she did with alacrity and a winning smile. Joan and Stephen shared a pot of tea and some rock cakes, and it was clear to Edna that Joan was keeping an eye on her. Dared she hope that Stephen was doing the same? She thought probably not and tried hard to focus on getting through what turned out to be a bumper day, with many people dropping in to try out the newly-famous little tea shop. And so it continued into the weekend.

  By the end of the month it seemed Edna had hit a rhythm; The Sweet Olde Tea Shoppe had become an integral part of village life – and she played her role as hostess to the hilt. She loved every minute of it all. There was a morning crowd, a lunchtime crowd, and an afternoon crowd.

  Joan and Betty were, of course, daily regulars – except for a Sunday, when they spent their day at St Michael and All Angels, the large Anglican church that dominated the center of the village. If she’d been pushed, Edna would have confessed this lack of an appearance by Joan was a nice change for her; working seven days a week had been something she’d been used to for years and being on her feet twelve hours a day was something with which she was equally familiar – she’d even got used to seeing the same old faces across the bar at the pub where she’d worked night after night. What she wasn’t used to was the way Joan would wait until the place was empty, then call across and ask Edna very directly about some sort of controversial topic. What worried Edna was that, as she got to know more about Joan from Stephen – who dropped in several times a week – she developed a picture of a woman who almost single-handedly held together the strands that wove the fabric of the traditional life of the village. Edna was in no doubt it was Joan’s very public support of her venture that had guaranteed its success, and, while Joan didn’t exactly have power within the community, there was no question her influence ran deep, and probably held more sway than any actual power base could.

  Given that influence, Edna always felt as though Joan were testing her; Edna became nervous that if she gave responses Joan didn’t like, she might withdraw her very visible support of the tea shop, and may even take negative action. Edna made up her mind to broach the subject when she next spoke to Stephen alone, though she knew this would be tricky; she didn’t want to offend Stephen, or even his grandmother via him.

  On Monday 31st July, something happened that would make the idea of such a conversation leave Edna’s mind forever. It was on that day, during a little pre-opening ‘One Month in Business’ celebration, to which she had invited Joan, Betty and Stephen, that she left Stephen fiddling around with something ‘top secret’ in the kitchen. She wanted to check on how the ladies were doing with their toast and marmalade and, as she approached them from behind, Edna quite clearly overheard Joan say to Betty, ‘. . . but of course we’ll have to put it in the tea – that’s the only way he won’t taste it. It’s a very bitter poison, you know, and we can’t have him not drinking the full dose . . .’

  At that precise moment Stephen burst into the room, stopping Joan in her tracks, and lighting up the whole space with his inimitable brand of happiness by declaring that the ‘suspense was over’ as he pushed a tiny birthday cake bearing one little candle under Edna’s nose.

  It was just as well Edna was supposed to look surprised, because her mouth was still agape from having overheard Joan. She gathered herself enough to be the gracious recipient of well-wishes, and even managed to summon enough wind to blow out the candle.

  And then another extraordinary thing happened; Stephen gathered her up in his arms and gave her a fleeting kiss upon the cheek, gushing, ‘Listen – I’ve learned all the words now.’ As he broke into a loud, and fairly tuneful, rendition of the whole of ‘Tea For Two’, Edna tried to not look embarrassed. Joan and Betty exchanged a particularly meaningful look when Stephen warbled ‘a boy for you, a girl for me’.

  Edna didn’t know what to think; she couldn’t even process her feelings for Stephen because she was still so caught up in the earlier moment. What should have been an opportunity for meaningful eye contact and bashful lash fluttering became a moment when all Edna wanted to do was run into the street and escape the atmosphere she suddenly felt was suffocating her.

  She must have looked like a deer caught in headlights because, as he took his bows after his big finish, Stephen passed the cake to his grandmother and asked Edna, ‘You’re not going all wobbly on me again, are you?’

  As Edna looked into his face she noticed for the first time he had wrinkles beneath his lovely, happy eyes. For some reason, she burst into tears.

  Stephen was distraught. ‘I’m sorry, I’m truly sorry, Edna – I thought you’d like the little cake. I didn’t mean to overwhelm you. Or was my singing really that bad?’ He clearly didn’t know what to say or do for the best.

  ‘Stephen, it’s not your fault. I was up early this morning and I haven’t eaten yet – it must be a sugar low. I’m sure I’ll be fine once I eat something.’

  Stephen brightened. ‘I’ll get a piece of cake ready for you in a jiff.’

  Edna’s smile broadened and became less forced. ‘I’ll be fine – and a piece of cake would be great. You go and get that organized.’

  She gave him a friendly wink, and gathered her thoughts. She told herself to not be silly; she had misheard Joan’s comments. She straightened her pinafore, flicked her stumpy ponytail in defiance, and turned to face the anxious Joan and Betty with a broad smile on her face.

  With cake and hot, sweet tea to sustain her, Edna was able to cope with opening up at ten a.m., but Joan lingered alone after Betty and Stephen had left.

  That night, as Edna sat on the edge of the bath soaking her feet in hot water and brushing her hair absentmindedly, she tried to focus again on what she had heard Joan say that morning. She rationalized that Joan couldn’t really have been talking about poisoning someone, but then wondered how her words could be interpreted otherwise. If she’d been talking about poisoning wasps, or ants, or something creepy-crawly like that, she wouldn’t have mentioned that the poison was so bitter that it had to be hidden in tea, or that the person in question needed to drink a full dose.

  As Edna mulled over this problem, she realized she’d brushed her scalp sore and that her toes had gone all wrinkly, so she wiped off her feet, put away her brush and fell into bed, where her dreams were unpleasant.

  When Edna woke the next morning she knew she had to try to find out what on earth Joan had been talking about. Despite her feeling that, somehow, everything would work out for the best just because of Stephen’s presence, she had never been a person to rely upon others; it just wasn’t in her nature. So she set her mind to finding out more about Joan from other members of the community, rather than just from her grandson who – however wonderful he might be – was bound to be biased. She would also keep an ear open for all Betty and Joan’s future conversations.

  With these resolutions in place she got herself dressed for what looked as though it would be another hot, sunny day, and hoped her success would continue. She followed her plan of trying to find out about Joan from other villagers, and reassured herself that everyone spoke so highly of her she must have misheard Joan’s bizarre conversation with Betty.

  It was the 24th of August when it happened again. T
he morning rush had started late that day, and Edna was grateful for it. Usually by eleven she was full of the early gossiper crowd, but that day it was just the obligatory Joan and Betty, plus Charlie and Ivy from the almshouses down the road. They were a delightful little couple of whom Edna had become quite fond; she thought of them as ‘the little couple’ because they were so diminutive. Both in their early eighties, with a stack of grandchildren and a diamond wedding anniversary on the horizon, whenever she saw them together Edna felt she’d happily trade her youth for a taste of the happiness and contentment they seemed to share.

  As Charlie patted his wife’s hand, and they murmured about some family get-together they were looking forward to attending, Edna strained to hear every word that Joan and Betty were exchanging in their prestige seats at the window. She’d already been over to refresh their hot water, bring more butter, a new selection of jams, and had hovered at the next table as much as possible without seeming to be listening. After years of learning how to block out inane bar conversations, Edna had retrained her ears to pick up on key words she had previously been unwilling to catch; she still needed to convince herself what she’d overheard the previous month was rubbish.

  It was while she was polishing a knife at a table behind Joan’s back, that, once again, Edna caught the word ‘poison’. Every nerve in her body immediately reacted. She heard Joan say, quite clearly, ‘. . . you see, my dear, once the poison has worked and he’s gone, we’ll have to have someone to help us move the body, because if we kill him there, everyone will know it was us. And we can’t lift him on our own – he’s far too heavy for that. We’re not as young as we used to be.’