by H. Y. Hanna
“Oh no, not at all. There are evil men everywhere, in every culture and every country.” I smiled at him. “I’m looking forward to visiting Russia someday and enjoying tea from a samovar.”
“Davai! I will have great pleasure in sharing Russian tea culture with you!”
“That’s lovely… but I really think we need to let Lincoln examine Gemma now,” said my mother, hustling my father and Professor Obruchev away. She gave us a coy smile over her shoulder. “Take your time, Lincoln—make sure you give Gemma a thorough check-up!”
As the three of them hurried back to the car, I gave Lincoln an apologetic look. “I’m really sorr—”
“It’s okay,” he said with a chuckle. “There was nothing good on TV tonight anyway. Seriously, though, Gemma, I’m glad you weren’t hurt. Wouldn’t have wanted to see you back at the hospital.”
“No, I was really lucky that the Old Biddies showed up when they did. Although… you know it was them who put me in hospital last time?”
“No, really?” Lincoln laughed.
“Yes, they were practising their Krav Maga techniques on me and got a bit too enthusiastic,” I said.
Lincoln laughed even harder. “Maybe Devlin should consider hiring them as Senior Consultants for the CID,” he suggested, glancing farther up the lane where Devlin’s black Jaguar was parked in front of a police car.
I followed his gaze and saw a familiar attractive blonde woman standing near Devlin’s car. Mel Buckley. She was looking at her watch and saying something to Devlin. He nodded and gestured to the police car, and Mel gave him a wave, then began walking to the car. I realised that she must have been with Devlin in Blackbird Leys, working the other case, and had ended up being dragged along when Devlin rushed here. Now she was obviously keen not to hang around any more than necessary and was asking for a patrol car to take her home.
I saw Lincoln notice me watching her and felt compelled to explain. “That’s one of the informants who helps the CID,” I said. “Devlin is working with her on a homicide case in Blackbird Leys. She’s the woman you saw him with that day at the hospital.”
Lincoln glanced across and looked confused for a moment. “No… actually, she wasn’t.”
“What do you mean?”
He hesitated. “I mean, it was a different woman I saw Devlin with.”
I frowned. “Are you sure?”
“Yes. She was similar in some ways… blonde and… you know, attractive…” Lincoln flushed slightly. “But it was definitely a different woman.”
I turned back and stared at Mel Buckley, who was getting into the police car. Then I looked at Devlin, who was talking to his sergeant. Could there be two informants who worked with the CID, who were both blonde and attractive? It seemed incredibly unlikely. In that case, who was the woman that Devlin had been with at the hospital? I felt that familiar prickle of unease and, quickly, I squashed it. No, I said I wasn’t going to do that anymore.
I took a deep breath and plastered a smile on my face. “Oh… well, maybe I got it wrong. Anyway, it’s not important. Listen, I think Devlin is going to be stuck here for a while longer. Would you mind giving me a lift back, along with my parents?”
“Of course not. It would be a pleasure.” Lincoln put a solicitous hand under my elbow and turned towards his car.
Devlin glanced up and saw us. He gave me an understanding nod and a smile, and raised his hand in a wave. I hesitated, then waved back. Then, with a last troubled look at him, I turned and followed Lincoln to his car.
***
“And what’s banoffee pie? I’ve never heard of that but it sounds very interesting!” said the American lady, looking up from the tearoom menu.
I smiled her, feeling a strange sense of déjà vu. Barely a week ago, I had been standing here in my tearoom answering this very question. That had been last Friday—the morning of the May Day celebrations and Charlie Foxton’s murder. And now it was Friday again; I couldn’t believe that only a week had passed since then. In a way, it felt like a whole lifetime…
When I finally got back to the counter, I found Cassie laughing and talking with Seth, who had returned from his academic conference yesterday and had popped in to say hello.
“Gemma—Cassie’s just been filling me in on what’s happened.” Seth pushed his glasses up his nose, his usually serious brown eyes bright with interest. “I can’t believe that I go away for a week and you manage to get yourself involved in another murder!”
“Not just involved… she solved it!” came a voice behind us.
We turned around to see Dora sticking her head out of the kitchen door. Her face was wreathed in smiles. “Gemma, I’ve just been talking to Miriam on the phone and she asked me to give you a personal thank you. She is really, really grateful to you for—”
“Oh no, I hardly did anything for her,” I protested.
“You found the real killer,” said Dora with an emphatic nod. “That was the best thing you could have done for Miriam. If you hadn’t made all the connections, the police might still be—” She broke off suddenly and sniffed the air. A rich buttery smell of baking was wafting out of the kitchen but it was also tinged with the faint scent of burning. “Oh my God—the scones!” cried Dora, disappearing back into the kitchen.
“I’m glad Miriam wasn’t involved in the murders,” Cassie said as the kitchen door swung shut. “For a while there, it was looking a bit iffy.”
“Yeah, me too,” I said. “I don’t know what I would have done if I’d had to break the news to Dora that her friend was actually guilty. I think I would have chickened out and left it to Devlin to tell her.”
“Speaking of Devlin, are things okay now between you guys?” asked Cassie in an undertone.
I hesitated, then said brightly, “Um… yes, of course. We’re going out to dinner tomorrow night, actually. Devlin told me he’s booked a table at the Cherwell Boathouse.”
“Ooh… the Cherwell Boathouse—the most romantic restaurant in Oxford!” said Cassie with a wink.
I smiled weakly. “Yes, it should be nice. Devlin has just wrapped up his Blackbird Leys case as well, so things should hopefully be quieter for the next few days. Maybe even the next few weeks if I’m lucky.”
“Well, that’s what you get for falling for a handsome detective,” said Cassie with a grin. “Talk about being married to the job! Still, you lucky cow—I haven’t been to the Cherwell Boathouse in forever! I need to find a chap to take me…”
Seth cleared his throat next to us. “Um… uh… Cassie? I was wondering if you… I mean, you probably wouldn’t… but I just thought I’d ask… er… on the off-chance, you know… that… er… maybe you’d like to… like to… uh… go with me to—”
“Oh, cripes! I forgot to take the forks to that Indian family!”
Cassie sprang up from the counter, hurried to the sideboard, grabbed some cutlery, and rushed over to a table by the fireplace, leaving Seth looking chagrined after her. I gave him a sympathetic smile.
“Maybe you can try and ask her again later.”
“Oh… er…” Seth blushed furiously and looked down, fiddling with his bicycle helmet. “Actually… er… I’d better get going. I’m giving a tutorial tomorrow and I’ve got to do some preparation, mark some essays…”
I sighed as I watched him beat a hasty retreat. I wished there was some way I could help Seth, but this was a battle he was going to have to fight himself. Not so much the battle for Cassie’s affections, actually, but the battle with his own shyness and lack of confidence. Every time I thought he was making some headway, things would take two steps back again.
A girl was coming into the tearoom just as Seth was leaving and I realised with some surprise that it was Tanya Koskov. She caught my eye and gave me a hesitant smile, then came over to the counter.
“Hi, Tanya,” I said, feeling slightly uncomfortable. After all, the murderer had turned out to be her bodyguard and, although I knew she hadn’t been involved, she was still connected.<
br />
“Hello…” She cleared her throat, looking uncharacteristically unsure of herself. “I… I hope you are recovered now from…” She cleared her throat again. “Mikhail, he was my… my protector but I did not… It was not my…”
“It’s okay, I know you weren’t involved,” I said quickly. “Mikhail told me that he was acting independently and that you didn’t know what he was doing.”
She looked relieved. “Yes. I did not know anything… It is wrong, what he did. I am… I am sorry.”
I gave her a smile. “You don’t have to apologise for him, Tanya.”
“Yes, I do,” she said fiercely. “And my papa apologises also. I spoke to him last night. He is coming out of hospital tomorrow. He is very angry. They are sending Mikhail back to Russia and… my papa will deal with him.” She took a deep breath and added, “I told him also that I don’t need nyanya anymore. I am not baby. I can take care of myself.”
I raised my eyebrows. “Did your father agree?”
She lifted her chin slightly. “He did not want to. But in the end, he followed my thinking. He must let me become a woman—and grown woman does not need nanny.” She smiled. “So… no more nyanya for me while I am at Oxford.”
I smiled too, feeling suddenly that this was a different girl from the one I had first met a week ago. More mature, wiser, and… thoughtful to others.
Tanya gave a sudden laugh. “You know what my papa cannot believe? The story of your friends—the old ladies—attacking Mikhail. Still, he cannot understand how they defeat him.”
I chuckled and looked across the tearoom to where the Old Biddies were ambling around the tables in their sturdy orthotic shoes and woolly cardigans, nodding, smiling, and gossiping with the customers.
Tanya followed my gaze and said, “That is them, yes?”
“Yes, they look like such sweet, harmless old ladies, don’t they?”
“Ah…” Tanya grinned at me. “In Russia, we know always to be careful of the baboushkas. They are old but they are powerful.”
I looked at the Old Biddies again and grinned as well. “Yes, I think in England too.”
EPILOGUE
“Muesli! Stop it—what are you doing?”
I watched in exasperation as my little tabby cat attacked the pile of tissue paper that I had just painstakingly smoothed out and folded. It was Saturday morning and I had a couple of hours before I had to be at the tearoom, so I was taking the opportunity to finally do a bit of unpacking.
So far, though, the place was looking even more of a chaotic mess, with mountains of emptied cardboard boxes, used bubble wrap, and wrinkled butcher paper everywhere. And my little cat was certainly not helping. Muesli was delighted with all the new “toys” on offer and had spent the last half an hour diving in and out of boxes, shredding cardboard, and rolling around, pouncing on anything that moved.
She was clutching a scrunched-up piece of newspaper to her tummy now, rolling on her back and kicking enthusiastically to “disembowel” her prey. I tried to pull it out of her grasp and she dug her claws in.
“Meorrw!” she protested.
“Muesli, stop it… you’re making a mess! I need—”
The sound of the doorbell made me look up. I leaned over and caught a glimpse of a vehicle through the kitchen windows, parked in front of the cottage. It looked like a delivery van. My heart sank.
Oh no. Please. Not more plants.
I glanced over to the corner of the sitting room where—along with the Taiwanese rubber tree, the Jurassic sago palm, and the spiky bromeliad—there were now two sprouting spider plants, a Mexican yucca, and a Weeping Fig, courtesy of another visit from my mother last night. At this rate, I was going to have to hire a full-time gardener.
I sighed and got up. As I walked to the front door, I wondered with a shudder what it was going to be this time. A Madagascan Dragon Tree? A West African Snake Plant?
But when the door swung open, I was met with an enormous bouquet of two dozen red roses.
“Miss Gemma Rose?” the delivery boy asked, looking up from a clipboard.
“Yes, that’s me,” I said, still staring at the bouquet in wonderment.
He smiled and handed the roses to me. “These are for you.” He doffed his cap, then turned and went back to the van.
I shut the front door and walked slowly back into the sitting room, inhaling the gorgeous fragrance of the roses. They were absolutely beautiful—deep red, with velvety soft petals just unfurling, elegantly wrapped in black tissue paper with an ivory ribbon. There was a small card tied to the ribbon and I turned this over. My heart skipped a beat as I recognised the bold, dark handwriting.
Can’t wait to see you tonight.
D
A rush of love and happiness filled me. I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Everything was going to be fine. I would ask Devlin about that blonde woman at dinner tonight and I was sure there would be a good explanation…
Next to me, Muesli hopped up on a chair and stretched her neck towards the roses.
“Meorrw?” she said, her little pink nose twitching as she sniffed the bouquet and looked up at me inquiringly.
I laughed. “Yes, Muesli, I’m sure some of these are for you.”
FINIS
Don’t miss Gemma’s (and Muesli’s) next adventure in:
Four Puddings and a Funeral
(Oxford Tearoom Mysteries ~ Book 6)
COMING SOON!
Sign up to my newsletter to be notified when it’s released (& get exclusive reader discounts, giveaways, sneak peeks and other book news): http://www.hyhanna.com/newsletter
Have you read all the
BOOKS IN THIS SERIES
A Scone To Die For
(Oxford Tearoom Mysteries ~ Book 1)
When an American tourist is murdered with a scone in Gemma Rose’s quaint Oxfordshire tearoom, she suddenly finds herself apron-deep in a mystery involving long-buried secrets from Oxford’s past.
Armed with her insider knowledge of the University and with the help of four nosy old ladies from the village (not to mention a cheeky little tabby cat named Muesli), Gemma sets out to solve the mystery—all while dealing with her matchmaking mother and the return of her old college love, Devlin O’Connor, now a dashing CID detective.
But with the body count rising and her business going bust, can Gemma find the killer before things turn to custard?
READ NOW: AMAZON | AMAZON UK
Tea with Milk and Murder
(Oxford Tearoom Mysteries ~ Book 2)
While at an Oxford cocktail party, tearoom owner Gemma Rose overhears a sinister conversation minutes before a University student is fatally poisoned. Could there be a connection? And could her best friend Cassie’s new boyfriend have anything to do with the murder?
Gemma decides to start her own investigation, helped by the nosy ladies from her Oxfordshire village and her old college flame, CID detective Devlin O’Connor. But her mother is causing havoc at Gemma’s quaint English tearoom and her best friend is furious at her snooping… and this mystery is turning out to have more twists than a chocolate pretzel!
Too late, Gemma realises that she could be the next item on the killer’s menu. Or will her little tabby cat, Muesli, save the day?
READ NOW: AMAZON | AMAZON UK
Two Down, Bun To Go
(Oxford Tearoom Mysteries ~ Book 3)
A sinister phone call in the middle of the night throws tearoom owner, Gemma Rose, straight into the heart of a new murder mystery—this time with her friend, Seth, arrested as the key suspect! The grisly killing in the cloisters of an old Oxford college points to a bitter feud within the University—but Gemma finds unexpected clues popping up in her tiny Cotswolds village.
Meanwhile, her love life is in turmoil as Gemma struggles to decide between eminent doctor, Lincoln Green, and sexy CID detective, Devlin O’Connor… whilst her quaint English tearoom is in hot water as she struggles to find a new baking chef.
With her exa
sperating mother and her mischievous little tabby cat, Muesli, driving her nutty as a fruitcake—and the nosy Old Biddies at her heels—Gemma must crack her toughest case yet if she is to save her friend from a life behind bars.
READ NOW: AMAZON | AMAZON UK
Till Death Do Us Tart
(Oxford Tearoom Mysteries ~ Book 4)
When Oxfordshire tearoom owner, Gemma Rose, enters her little tabby, Muesli, in the cat show at the local village fair, the last thing she expects is to stumble across a murder.
And when her meddling mother and the nosy Old Biddies decide to start their own investigation, Gemma has no choice but to join in the sleuthing. She soon finds there’s something much more sinister sandwiched between the home-made Victoria sponge cakes and luscious jam tarts …
But murder isn’t the only thing on Gemma’s mind: there’s the desperate house-hunting that’s going nowhere, the freaky kitchen explosions at her quaint English tearoom and an offer from her handsome detective boyfriend that she can’t refuse!
With things about to reach boiling point, can Gemma solve the mystery before the killer strikes again?
.
READ NOW: AMAZON | AMAZON UK
MUFFINS AND MOURNING TEA
(Oxford Tearoom Mysteries ~ Book 5)
Cotswolds tearoom owner, Gemma Rose is excited to join the May Day celebrations in Oxford… until the beautiful spring morning ends in murder. Now, she’s embroiled in a deadly mystery —with four nosy old ladies determined to help in the sleuthing! Soon, Gemma finds herself stalking a Russian “princess” while trying to serve delicious cakes and buttery scones in her quaint English tearoom—and keeping up with the Old Biddies in Krav Maga class!