Killing Jane Austen - A Honey Driver murder mystery (Honey Driver Mysteries)
Page 25
‘Fine. I can manage – even if it is only sparkling bubbly and not champagne.’
She poured him a gin from the office supply. Despite its provenance, the champagne was reaching the right parts. It wasn’t so bad and it kept pouring into her glass. Doherty got himself another gin.
‘Seems your mother made a good choice.’
‘Hmmm,’ said Honey, between sips.
‘Good.’ He was smiling like the cat with the cream – or at least was about to get some. ‘All relaxed and feeling good now?’
‘Very.’
‘You look good,’ he said, one arm snaking around her, pulling her gently towards him. He set down his glass.
‘Do you really want to go out? I mean,’ he said, his fingers stroking the nape of her neck. ‘We could make ourselves comfortable around your place. Send out for something. Turn the lights down and put something sexy on the stereo.’
Honey giggled. ‘The stereo? You mean the jive box.’
‘How does that work?’ he said, his other arm around her now, his lips placing gentle kisses down the side of her face.
She giggled some more. Those bubbles were going straight to her head. ‘I don’t know. Lindsey’s got one.’
One hand ran down her back. He cupped the back of her neck in the other.
She giggled again. At him?
He held her back a bit. ‘Are you OK, Honey Driver?’
Honey smiled and was about to say that everything was fine, when something went ping!
‘Ouch!’
Steve looked curious. ‘Something wrong?’
Yes. There was.
‘Ummm …’
It was hard to speak due to the stabbing sensation in her lower ribs. Hunger pangs had nothing to do with it. ‘I’ve been stabbed!’
Doherty’s eyebrows rose. ‘Not me,’ he said, raising his hands.
Honey struggled with the protruding stay that had dug through the silk and into her flesh.
She took deep breaths. There was no way she was going to tell him that she was wearing the sexiest item ever worn by a woman for a man. And this time it was next to her skin, not a voluminous flannelette nightgown. Sod it!
Then there was that groggy feeling. Where had that come from?
She had to have air. She also had to change.
‘I won’t be a minute.’
She dashed off as best she could. The stay was stabbing and her legs seemed wobbly. It felt as though she was running on a wobbly blancmange. Wobbly or not, she headed out past the kitchens and along the path to the coach house where her bedroom was.
Stumbling and wobbling was bad enough, but something else was happening. There was a mist coming down. No big deal in February, except that this mist was definitely territorial, whirling around nowhere except her head. She was wearing it like a wreath at eye level. Things were bleary because of it.
Despite great gulps of fresh air, she couldn’t keep her eyes open. Perhaps my eyelids have turned to lead, she thought. You’ll feel better once you change and have a sit down. Perhaps a drink of water … or something …
It occurred to her that if it hadn’t been for the whalebone stay, she would have passed out.
No! Think positively.
Who said that? She looked about her, convinced that someone else was telling her to do that – not the common-sense, conscious side of herself.
Once inside, she fumbled with the fastening of her skirt. It didn’t give up easily, but after a bit of tugging and a few well-chosen magic words, the skirt fell to the floor.
She kicked it to one side. At the same time she fumbled with the laces that bound the corset tightly to her body. It was the last thing she did before falling on to the settee, an inelegant figure in smoky grey stockings and a sexy corset. Her head hit a cushion and her legs flaked out in all directions, one foot hanging over the scroll end of the Georgian settee.
That was where Steve found her. At first he was a little angry. He’d been looking forward to this for a very long time. Then he smiled. It was funny and he had to laugh. He decided to make her more comfortable. First he laid her out a bit straighter; then he loosened her stays. Finally, he covered her with a velvet throw that was usually hanging on the back of the settee.
On his way back through the hotel, Lindsey asked him if everything was all right.
He grinned. ‘Your grandmother thought she’d slip me a Mickey Finn. Your mother drank it instead.’
‘Shame,’ said Lindsey. ‘She had something really sexy to show you.’
Steve lowered his eyelids. ‘If you mean the corset, forget it.’
Lindsey frowned. He could see she didn’t understand so went some way to explaining.
‘I’m a guy that likes plain cooking without the garnishes. Tell your mother that when she wakes up, will you?’
Lindsey nodded and said that she would. After he’d gone, she went out to the coach house, saw her mother lying flat on her back, and sighed resignedly. It looked as though the corset would wing its way back to Grandma – or into another auction.
Deadly Lampshades
The Next Honey Driver Mystery
When Honey Driver decides to give the Green River Hotel a makeover, she didn't envisage her interior designer Philippe Fabiere getting choked to death with an antique lavatory flush handle. It also turns out that his store room has been completely cleared of French antique artefacts – including a painting of a scantily clad woman that Honey had purchased. When traces of deadly nightshade are found in Philippe's system the finger of suspicion points at others in his profession. Is this a case of professional jealousy, or is there something more unique and sinister afoot? And what have the Russians at St Margaret's Court Hotel got to do with it? Why have they cut the wires on the security cameras on the cottage opposite their main gates? And what about the German couple who sit around reception, him helping out the workmen whilst his wife sits knitting? Who is it that's so fond of deadly nightshade?
Look out for other forthcoming
Honey Driver mysteries:
Murder by Mudpack
Wicked Words
The Ghost of Christmas Past
Death of a Diva
Blood and Broomsticks.
To find out more about Jean Goodhind
and other Accent Press titles
please visit
www.accentpress.co.uk
Killing Jane Austen
A Honey Driver Mystery
by Jean G Goodhind
Published by Accent Press Ltd – 2014
ISBN 9781909520288
Copyright © Jean G Goodhind 2013
The right of Jean G Goodhind to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
The story contained within this book is a work of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, electrostatic, magnetic tape, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the written permission of the publishers: Accent Press Ltd, The Old School, Upper High St, Bedlinog, Mid Glamorgan, CF46 6RY.
Printed and bound in the UK
Cover design by Joelle Brindley