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

by H. Y. Hanna

  “Okay, how about if I speak to her?” I suggested.

  “You?”

  “Yeah, she might not react so badly to me. I’m not the police. I’m no one official. I’m just a sympathetic fellow resident of the village—well, sort of, via my tearoom. And Theresa was fairly friendly to me at the cat show, if you discount the bit when she accused me of trying to poison her cat’s water,” I said, grinning. “In fact, she was practically confiding in me about her troubles… I think she would talk to me.”

  Devlin sighed. “Look, I know you want to help, Gemma, but I can’t have you questioning suspects in a murder case. You’re a member of the public. You shouldn’t really get involved.”

  “You let me sit in on your interview with Mary Eccleston.”

  “Yes, and I probably shouldn’t even have done that,” said Devlin grimly. “Besides, I was doing the questioning that time, you were simply listening. This would be totally different. No…” He held a hand up as I started to protest again. “This isn’t a place for amateurs.”

  “I suppose you’d be happy for Jo Ling to speak to her,” I muttered before I could stop myself.

  Devlin’s brows drew together. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Nothing,” I said shortly. Then I took a deep breath. I didn’t want to fight again. “I’m just trying to help.”

  “Yes, I know—and I appreciate it. But you’ve just got to let the police do their job, okay, sweetheart?” Devlin gave me a smile which melted the last of my resentment. “I’ll figure out a way to question Theresa—even if it means I have to go through a lawyer. It might add a bit of a delay but don’t worry, I’ll get there in the end.”

  I followed him to the living area where he flopped down on the couch with a big sigh. He leaned back and rubbed his neck tiredly. I felt a tug of pity for him. Devlin worked so hard. Now that I was living with him, I could see just how much of himself he gave to his job. I reached out and gently massaged the back of his neck for him.

  “Mmm…” He closed his eyes appreciatively

  “Meorrw?” Muesli’s little grey head popped up suddenly between us. She jumped up on the sofa and climbed into Devlin’s lap, purring with delight.

  He opened his eyes and smiled at Muesli, then turned his vivid blue gaze on me. “By the way, can you send me a copy of that photo?”

  “For evidence?”

  He laughed. “Well, I suppose I ought to have a copy for that, yes, but actually, I was thinking just for me. It’s a really lovely picture of Muesli and I’d like a copy to keep.”

  I rolled my eyes. “I can’t believe it. And here I thought you were going to say something really romantic, like you wanted a picture of me to keep with you at all times.”

  “I do have a picture of you.”

  I stared at him. Devlin flushed slightly and looked embarrassed.

  “Where?”

  He nodded reluctantly at his wallet on the coffee table. “In my wallet.”

  I reached across and flipped the wallet open. On the rear of the central leather flap was a picture slot and to my surprise, I saw a picture of myself tucked in there. It had been taken when I was glancing over my shoulder, a laughing smile on my face, my eyes glowing. It was obviously an old photo, slightly faded and with the edges worn. I realised from my long hair that it must have been taken when we were at Oxford together, eight years ago.

  “But… this is an old photo,” I said. I looked back up at him.

  “Yeah, well…” Devlin looked away, his cheeks reddening.

  “You mean… you’ve kept this in your wallet all these years?” I whispered.

  He turned back, his eyes meeting mine. “Always,” he said at last.

  I stared at him, my heart too full to speak. Then I leaned slowly towards him and our lips met. Softly, tenderly, then with greater passion. Devlin’s arms slid around me. Muesli meowed indignantly as she was jostled off Devlin’s lap but for once we were too busy to hear her.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Devlin left very early again the next morning and I decided to get to the tearoom earlier than usual too. Dora would normally be there well before we opened, to get a start on the day’s baking, and I was keen to see how she was doing with her new glasses. She had gone to see the optician in Oxford yesterday and picked up a pair of temporary reading glasses while waiting for the prescription ones. I hoped that she was already finding things much easier.

  My phone rang just as I was leaving the house and I was surprised to hear my mother’s voice on the line.

  “Darling! I was just making sure that you hadn’t forgotten about this afternoon.”

  “This afternoon?” I said blankly.

  “Muesli’s assessment!”

  “Uh… assessment?”

  “We’d arranged with Audrey Simmons to take Muesli down to the Vicarage at 5:30 for her Therapy Cat assessment, remember?”

  Yikes, I thought. I had completely forgotten about that. It was going to be a tight squeeze. I would have to dash back here first to pick Muesli up and then go back to the village… it meant that I would have to try and leave the tearoom early again today and…

  “Darling? You haven’t forgot, have you?” My mother’s voice was reproachful.

  “No, no! Of course not!” I lied quickly. “5:30. No problems. I’ll be there with Muesli.”

  Perhaps I could use the visit as a chance to ask Audrey about Theresa Bell, I thought as I mounted my bike and started cycling towards Meadowford. Even though I had let the subject drop last night, I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about that photo and Theresa Bell’s hand reaching towards the cake plate.

  There had to be a way to find out the truth. If only Devlin would let me approach Theresa! I was sure I could get some valuable information out of her—information that the police could then use to investigate her further. It was so stupid not letting me try, just because of some silly belief that amateurs shouldn’t get involved. Bloody hell, I’d helped to solve three murder cases by now! Surely, I wasn’t really an “amateur” anymore—and besides, it wasn’t as if I was suggesting I should go in to tackle a dangerous hostage situation… I was only going to ask Crazy Cat Lady some questions!

  I chafed at the thought of just sitting back, doing nothing, waiting for Devlin to wade through the official channels and get past Theresa’s objections. It seemed so… so pathetic, just giving up like this! Unbidden, the thought rose in my mind: Jo Ling would never just give up and accept the situation because there were a couple of obstacles in her way… Was I going to concede defeat so easily?

  I couldn’t put the affair out of my mind and it made me distracted and slightly irritable at work all day. I could see Cassie looking at me reproachfully several times as I slipped up on orders or made vague, unhelpful replies.

  “I’ll do that table,” she said at last, taking an order pad off me as I came back with the wrong order for the third time. “You know what? Why don’t you take the rest of the afternoon off, Gemma? I know you’re supposed to take Muesli for her therapy assessment this afternoon, so you’re going to have to pop back to Devlin’s place anyway to pick her up and you’ll need extra time for that. Why don’t you just leave now?”

  “Now?” I looked at the clock. “But it’s only 2:45.”

  “So? We’ve passed the lunchtime rush hour now and I can manage the teatime crowd with the Old Biddies helping me.” She nodded towards Mabel and her friends, who were trundling around the tearoom, serving tea and cakes and gossiping happily with friends and strangers. She gave me a dark look. “Besides, it’s not as if you’d be much help anyway.”

  “Oh Cass, I’m sorry,” I said sheepishly. “Have I been really bad?”

  “You’ve been a nightmare,” said Cassie with the blunt honesty you only get from really close friends. “But it’s okay—we’re all allowed to have ‘off days’. Just make sure you’re back to your cheerful, efficient self tomorrow!” she said with mock sternness.

  I laughed and gave
her a quick hug. “Thanks, Cassie. You are the best. Okay, I’ll push off now. Oh, but I’m still meeting you and Seth at the pub later tonight, right?”

  Cassie nodded. “Seven o’clock at the Eagle and Child. I’ll see you there.”

  ***

  Stepping out from the tearoom, I felt a bit like someone playing truant from school. I started mounting my bike to cycle back to Devlin’s place, then I paused. It was still barely three o’clock. I didn’t need to get Muesli until nearly 5:30. There was no reason to go straight back now…

  Without realising it, I dismounted and began wheeling my bike towards the other side of the village. I’m only going to take a look, I promised myself. I wasn’t planning to speak to her or anything—but I just wanted to see where Theresa Bell lived…

  I’d asked the Old Biddies for Theresa’s address before I left and I found her house at the other end of the village, just a few doors down from the Vicarage. It had once been a farmer’s cottage, I think, although a modern extension had been added on to one side. The two halves didn’t quite blend and it looked like someone had picked up two completely different houses and smooshed them together. On one side of the new extension, there was an enormous enclosure, almost the same height as the house itself, with wire mesh completely enclosing the garden inside.

  Curious, I went closer and realised that it was a custom cat enclosure. There were several Siamese cats inside, some strolling around the flower beds, some grooming themselves on top of the various wooden platforms, and some lounging in the late afternoon sunshine. They all turned and looked at me as I came up to the side of the mesh, their slanted blue eyes wide and curious.

  I tried to see if I could recognise the two that were at the cat show but they all looked indistinguishable to me: a group of sleek caramel and coffee-coloured cats, with startling blue eyes and darker points on their ears, legs, and tails. One large Siamese came boldly up to the mesh and sniffed me curiously.

  “MAAAA-OOOWWW?”

  “Hello!” I smiled and crouched down. Away from the tense atmosphere of the cat show, these cats seemed a lot friendlier. I’d found them totally unappealing on the day of the fête but now, I had to admit, they were growing on me: their wedge-shaped heads, exotic looks, and long, lean bodies—so different from Muesli—and yet attractive in their own way. And it was obvious that they had Personality with a capital P! These were cats with attitude… and since I shared my life with a cheeky little bundle of trouble, I had a soft spot for spunky, mischievous cats.

  “Hello—what’s your name?” I said softly, putting my hand out to let the cat sniff me through the mesh.

  “WHAT ARE YOU DOING TO MY CATS?”

  I jumped and sprang up. Turning, I found Theresa Bell standing behind me, her arms akimbo and her eyes hard and suspicious.

  “N-nothing!” I said, feeling a sense of déjà vu. “I was just saying hello. I was walking past and happened to see the enclosure—and I was admiring your cats. I never knew much about Siamese cats before and never realised how lovely they could be.”

  “Oh.” She thawed slightly and came towards me. “Well, I am glad you’ve finally realised how special they are. There is no other breed as wonderful as the Siamese!”

  “Yes, I don’t think I’ve ever seen ones as beautiful as yours.”

  She softened even more and preened slightly. “Yes, well, my cats are the very best of their kind—although they are often overlooked and slighted at cat shows.” She frowned. “They would win every show, you know, except that people are against me and will do anything to attack me and harm my cats.”

  “Uh, yes…” I interrupted her hastily before she started down that track again. “Do you do anything special to keep them in such great condition? I have a cat too and I’d love to pick up some tips.”

  Her eyes widened suddenly in recognition and she said, “You’re the girl with that moggie at the cat show! The one with the funny name—Cornflake, wasn’t it?”

  “Er… Muesli, actually. Her name is Muesli.”

  “Yes, well, there’s not much you can do with a common moggie,” she said, looking at me with pity. “But I don’t mind sharing some of my tips with you. Of course, you know that your Cornflake won’t ever have the same glossy pelt as my cats but I suppose you could make it look a bit better.”

  I bit my tongue on the sharp retort and said instead, “Thanks. That’s really kind of you.”

  “Would you like to come in?” said Theresa suddenly. “I was just about to make myself a cup of tea—would you like one as well?”

  “Oh….” I hesitated, thinking of Devlin’s warning about not speaking to Theresa Bell. But it wasn’t as if I had come specially to question her about the murder, I reasoned—this was just a social chat about cats and she was the one who was inviting me in. I’d be stupid to refuse, especially when some useful information just might slip out in conversation…

  “Thanks, I’d love a cuppa,” I said with a smile and followed her into the house.

  Inside, it was as if I had stepped into some kind of Siamese cat theme park—there were Siamese cat cushions on the sofa, Siamese cat coasters on the coffee table, Siamese cat paintings on the wall, Siamese cat porcelain figures on the shelves—even a Siamese cat miniature grandfather clock with a swinging pendulum tail! I sat down gingerly in an armchair covered with a Siamese-cat-patterned fleece throw and watched as Theresa brought in two mugs decorated with playful Siamese cats and a plate of biscuits. I was almost disappointed that the biscuits weren’t Siamese-cat-shaped as well.

  As I sipped the tea and nibbled the biscuits, Theresa gave me a few grooming tips, then launched once more into her favourite subject: the conspiracy against her and her cats, which prevented them from winning more often at shows.

  “It’s a diabolical campaign against me, I tell you! Absolutely disgraceful! They are just jealous of my cats and will do anything to prevent them from getting their rightful recognition.”

  “That’s terrible,” I said sympathetically. “I can’t believe people would be so vindictive.”

  Theresa sniffed. “Well, I don’t like to point fingers but… Clare Eccleston was exactly the kind of woman who would do something like that!”

  “Dame Eccleston?” I said with polite surprise.

  Theresa made a rude noise. “Hah! ‘Dame’, she calls herself! I knew her when she was plain Clare Rogers! Grew up in this village, she did—same as me and Audrey. Not that we were friends,” she added quickly.

  “I didn’t realise that you were all at school together.”

  “Well, Audrey and I were in the same class,” said Theresa. “Clare was a few years ahead of us. Always thought she was better than us… humph! Audrey might have hero-worshipped her—but I wasn’t so easily fooled! I have my pride and my own personality. I wouldn’t let someone dictate to me like that. I don’t know how Audrey put up with it, always pandering to Clare’s moods and whims. But then, she never did have any backbone,” she said contemptuously. “Audrey was always such a hanger-on, following the bigger girls everywhere in school.”

  She leaned forwards and scowled at me. “Do you know, last year Clare made the Cotswolds Cat Fancy Club reprint its annual calendar because her cats weren’t featured on the first page? And she forced herself onto the committee and had the gall to suggest that she should be elected as Club President! I should have been President! I had been on the committee for years and I had far more experience than Clare. She just used her husband’s money to buy a few Persians from another breeder and then started calling herself an expert, saying that she was breeding show champions, when really, she didn’t know the first thing about cat breeding!’

  “So Clare Eccleston stole the President’s position from you?” I asked, thinking of “last straws” and motives for murder.

  Theresa pursed her lips. “She would have certainly liked to! But in the end, the position went to Jane Banks, another committee member. Jane breeds Ragdolls,” she said with a disdainful sniff, as if
that said it all. “But I knew that it was just a sop. It was the committee giving in to Clare as usual. She must have told them that if she didn’t get the position, I wasn’t to get it either! And I’m sure it was Audrey who convinced the committee to submit to Clare’s demands. She is always letting Clare walk all over her. This Therapy Cats programme, for instance, was Audrey’s idea, but Clare swooped in and claimed all the credit, getting herself interviewed for all the newspapers and TV specials—I told the committee that they should have come to interview me! I have been doing therapy work with my cats for years. Not officially, perhaps, but my cats are wonderfully sensitive and they can almost talk to you. And there is no friendlier, more outgoing cat than a Siamese. They are ideal for Therapy Pet work!”

  “Have you signed up to volunteer?” I asked. “We’re taking Muesli for her assessment this evening.”

  “Oh, well, they haven’t asked me yet,” Theresa said huffily. “Audrey has taken over again as Leader of the programme, now that Clare is gone, and I’m sure she means to ask me. She has simply been too busy, I expect. All this fuss about Clare’s ‘murder’,” she said irritably. “Really, it’s ridiculous how much attention Clare is getting, as usual.”

  It was on the tip of my tongue to remark dryly that I doubted the dead woman would have arranged her own murder, just to get attention, but I restrained myself. Instead, I said soothingly, “Well, it’s understandable that people want to catch a murderer. In fact, I would have thought that the police would be keen to speak to you, considering that you were there on the day? You would be an important witness.”