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

by H. Y. Hanna

  “Well, I think it’s lovely,” said my mother, leaning towards Audrey and sniffing appreciatively. “Where did you purchase it?”

  “I made it myself, actually,” said Audrey. “From the flowers in my garden. I love the old-fashioned floral fragrances. You don’t seem to get those anymore—it’s all so exotic now, when you go to the department stores; you know, things like neroli and ylang-ylang and other things I can’t pronounce.” She gave a self-conscious laugh. “I have to confess, I prefer the Old World fragrances such as lavender and rose… I suppose they would be known as ‘grandma’ perfumes nowadays.”

  “Oh, I think the vintage fragrances are lovely,” I said with a smile. “And I’m certainly not ‘grandma’ age yet! I never realised you could make home-made perfume, though.”

  “Well, as I say, it’s not the complex perfumes you can buy in the department stores, with essential oils and base notes and all that,” said Audrey. “It’s a very simple, water-based fragrance. But yes, it’s not as hard as people think. You just need to soak the flower petals, strain the liquid, and then heat the flower-scented water very gently, until it reduces down. It lasts for a good month, you know, if you keep it in an airtight bottle, in a cool place.” She glanced at Muesli and smiled. “Maybe I should try making some catnip perfume. Then Muesli might like me better. Still, I can see that shyness isn’t going to be a problem with her. If anything, I think our problem is going to be stopping her scampering off down the hospital corridor in search of new friends!”

  “I’ve trained Muesli to walk on a harness so you can keep hold of her that way. Well, maybe ‘walk’ is taking it too far,” I admitted with a laugh. “But she’s happy to wear a harness.”

  “That’s excellent. That was actually one of the questions I needed to ask you. It’s a requirement for all cats in the programme to wear a harness in public. For their own safety, really.”

  Audrey reached down and picked Muesli up again and began running her hands along the little cat’s body, touching her everywhere, rolling her over, picking up her paws, waving her hands in front of Muesli’s face. The little tabby squirmed slightly, but she accepted the handling without too much fuss, other than an indignant “Meorrw!” when Audrey tugged gently on her tail.

  “Of course, we wouldn’t let people treat her so roughly, but it’s hard to know what people might do sometimes, particularly children, or even those who might not have full control of their motor function,” Audrey explained. “So it’s important that we know the animal is very tolerant and won’t react aggressively, and can cope well with unpredictable situations.” She smiled and set Muesli back down on the floor. “Well, Muesli has passed with flying colours! I will send you all the official paperwork and then we can start organising some visits for you.”

  “Splendid,” said my mother, beaming as proudly as if Muesli had just graduated from Oxford. “I knew she would do wonderfully. In fact, if the judging hadn’t been interrupted, I’m sure Muesli would have won at the cat show last weekend.”

  “Er, well…” Audrey looked uncomfortable. She glanced at me and I could tell by her expression that she was thinking what I was thinking: that it was probably lucky that the judging had been interrupted by Dame Eccleston’s collapse, otherwise my mother could have suffered a very big disappointment and humiliation. Still, neither of us wanted to ruin her illusions.

  “Mother, I think Muesli is much more suited to being a Therapy Cat than a show cat,” I said quickly. Then I glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece and rose from the sofa. “I hate to break up the party but I’m meeting some friends for a drink this evening…”

  “Oh yes, and I’d better get home to start dinner,” said my mother, rising as well. “Thank you for the lovely tea and cakes, Audrey.”

  As we were standing in the hallway, putting on our coats, my mother glanced at something on the hall table and said, “These are beautiful… I don’t believe I have seen these here before.”

  I followed her gaze. On the hall table were several large pieces of cardboard, with what looked like collages of photos, illustrations, and words cut out from printed material, stuck on them.

  “Oh yes, I was having a sort out and I found these,” said Audrey with a reminiscent smile. “They were made by Mary when she was in her teens. She loved scrapbooking and used to enjoy cutting out all sorts of things from magazines and newspapers and even gift-wrap paper, and making collages with them. I was planning to take these to show her the next time I went over to Eccleston House.”

  I stared at the collages, that uneasy feeling rising in me once more. In my mind’s eye, I could see the anonymous note again, with its neatly cut-out letters, just like the letters on these collages. I thought back to my interview with Theresa that morning. She had never actually come out and confessed to sending the note, I realised. She had looked guilty and had stammered something—and I had instantly assumed that it was an admission. But what if I had been wrong? What if it was Mary who had sent that anonymous note to her mother?

  In fact, it actually made more sense for Mary to have written the note—because the note suggested that the murderer was an outsider—which was exactly the kind of thing you would plan if you were the murdered woman’s daughter and wanted to divert suspicion from yourself. The anonymous note suggested that the threat came from outside the family.

  I swallowed uneasily. Could I have been wrong about Mary Eccleston after all?

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  I was meeting Cassie and Seth that evening at one of our favourite haunts from student days: the Eagle and Child pub, situated on St Giles Street, that wide boulevard at the north end of Oxford, home to various university colleges, the Theology Faculty, the Oxford Quaker Meeting House, and the 12th-century St Giles’ Church. From the outside, the Eagle and Child was a relatively unassuming-looking pub, housed in a small, narrow building that dated from the mid-1600s and was sandwiched amongst a row of mismatched terraced houses that ran along the west side of the boulevard. What made it famous was the fact that it was once the regular meeting place of the Inklings, an Oxford writers’ group which included such iconic names as C.S. Lewis and J.R.R. Tolkien. Whenever I’d gone there as a student, I’d always thought it weird to imagine Lewis or Tolkien sitting there, discussing their first drafts and agonising over character development and plot holes, just like any other writer. Of course, like most Oxford students, you get a bit blasé after a while to all the magnificent history around you, and the Eagle and Child—like many other places—becomes just another local pub that you met your friends at.

  I stepped through the narrow front door and squeezed past several people queueing at the tiny bar (which did seem to be better built to serve dwarves and elves) and looked around, savouring the atmosphere: the dark wood wainscoting and cosy wooden snugs, the feeling of pleasant claustrophobia that these old English buildings always seemed to give. I was pleased to see that it hadn’t changed that much since my student days. Oh, it had been opened up and modernised a bit, but at least it hadn’t been turned into a Hollywood shrine with Lord of the Rings movie posters on the walls and cheap replica film props on sale behind the bar counter. In fact, with the typical English reserve and tendency towards understatement, you would have hardly been aware of the pub’s famous literary connections if you didn’t know its history. It was only when you ventured into the back room of the pub that you’d notice an illustration from The Lord of the Rings on the wall or the tiny map of Narnia hanging on a door.

  I found Cassie and Seth comfortably settled in one of the narrow wooden booths, each nursing a pint of the pub’s famous ale.

  “At last! We’d given you up for lost,” said Cassie as I dropped down beside them.

  “Sorry, I didn’t think the therapy assessment would take so long and then I had to drop Muesli back at Devlin’s place.”

  “Shall I get you a drink, Gemma?” said Seth, ever the thoughtful gentleman.

  I smiled at him, remembering the way he had off
ered to carry my case up to my college room the very first time we’d met. In many ways, Seth hadn’t changed much from that shy, studious boy, even though he was now a Senior Research Fellow at one of Oxford’s prestigious colleges.

  “Thanks, Seth. A shandy, please.”

  “So…” Cassie leaned towards me with a conspiratorial grin as soon as Seth was gone. “I’ve been dying to ask you but never seem to get a chance at the tearoom—and besides, I wasn’t sure you’d want the Old Biddies’ prying ears—but how’s the love nest?”

  I hesitated for a fraction of a second before saying, “It’s going great,” but my best friend knew me too well.

  Cassie raised her eyebrows. “But?” she prodded.

  I shrugged. “I don’t know… It’s… well, in a way, it’s wonderful living with Devlin. We get to see so much more of each other and, of course, his house is so spacious and comfortable, I’d never be living anywhere as nice on my own… and it’s perfectly located for work… and it’s great not having my mother breathing down my neck all the time…”

  “But…?” said Cassie again.

  I hesitated, feeling slightly disloyal to Devlin. “Well, it’s just that… there are little things, you know… like we had an argument because Devlin couldn’t understand why I dump my clothes on a chair by the bed instead of putting them back in the wardrobe immediately.”

  Cassie rolled her eyes. “Well, duh! That’s just a typical man for you! For one thing, you might want to wear one of the things again, before you put it in the wash… and it might not be really dirty but you wouldn’t want to put it back in the cupboard with all the clean clothes… or sometimes you just don’t feel like hanging things back up immediately.”

  “Exactly!” I said. “That’s what I told Devlin. I mean, he wasn’t using the chair so I didn’t see what the problem was. But it really seemed to bother him. Of course, when I pointed out that he leaves his CD collection strewn all over the side table, he didn’t seem to think that was a problem!” I scowled. “I don’t see why he can’t just stack them back on the shelf, instead of leaving them lying about. And then there’s the way Devlin is in the mornings: springing out of bed, so full of energy and in such a good mood… ugh…”

  Cassie burst out laughing. “So he’s a morning person, huh? Ooh, that’s never going to end well with you.”

  I gave a sheepish smile. “I’m not as bad as that, am I?”

  “Gemma, you’re terrible in the mornings! I often think it’s a sign of how much you love your tearoom that you’re able to drag yourself in and be so bright and cheerful to the customers in the mornings. I’d hate to see what you’re like when you first get out of bed. In fact, I have seen what you’re like—a bear with a sore head doesn’t begin to describe it. I think my sympathies are with Devlin on this one.”

  “But it’s not just me!” I protested. “Devlin isn’t perfect either!”

  “So what does he do? Snore? Leave the toilet seat up?”

  “No, no, he’s not uncouth like that. He’s a perfect gentleman in that sense. There are just some things he does that really wind me up, especially at the end of the day when I’m tired and irritable. Like… like he has this habit of humming under his breath. I don’t think he’s aware of it—he does it when he’s preoccupied with other stuff, like washing up the dishes, for example. But it’s not even a proper song! It’s just a sort of tuneless humming. It really starts to grate on your nerves after a while.”

  Cassie grinned. “It sounds to me like you’re just having trouble getting used to sharing a living space with each other.”

  I sighed and leaned back. “The thing is, I don’t know why these little things are bugging me so much. I mean, Devlin and I used to spend tons of time together at college, staying over in each other’s rooms.”

  “It was different back in college,” said Cassie. “I mean, we were all living in these student dorm staircases—all packed in together, sharing a bathroom between sixteen of us and stuff…” She shuddered. “There’s no way I could do that now. Besides, I think you get less tolerant as you get older. You want a space of your own.”

  “I guess…” I was silent for a moment, thinking. “Now that you mention it… maybe that’s what it is. I just don’t feel like the place is really mine. It’s Devlin’s house and I’m a sort of guest there, really, even though he’s told me to make myself at home.” I sighed. “I know I shouldn’t complain—I should just count myself lucky that I’ve got a wonderful boyfriend who’s invited me to live in his gorgeous house rent free and he loves Muesli… but…” I sighed again. “I don’t know… I guess I’d been dreaming for so long of a place of my own. Not that I’m complaining,” I repeated hurriedly.

  “No, I can understand that,” said Cassie softly. “A place of your own, a place with your own identity, a personal sanctuary that’s completely yours.”

  “Now you’re sounding like an advert for some kind of posh spa experience,” I said with a laugh.

  Seth returned, placing a small glass of shandy—a beer mixed with lemonade—on the table in front of me. He dropped back into the booth and said brightly, “What did I miss?”

  “Nothing much,” I said quickly. “Just some girl talk. Did Cassie tell you about the murder at the fête last weekend, by the way?”

  “Yeah, she told me all about it. And I read about it in the papers too.” Seth shook his head and gave an incredulous laugh. “I can’t believe that I don’t see you for a week and you’ve got yourself embroiled in a murder mystery again, Gemma.”

  Cassie turned eagerly to me. “I heard that the police have arrested Edwin Perkins for the murder. Is it true?”

  “No, not arrested. He’s just been asked to go down to the station to ‘help with enquiries’. I think the village gossips were jumping to conclusions again.” Quickly I told them everything, including the scene in Edwin’s bookstore earlier that day. “So you see, Edwin couldn’t have been the murderer, because he had an alibi for the whole time when the poison might have been given. He was with this Nate Briggs chap.”

  “Oh.” Cassie looked disappointed. “Edwin seemed like the kind of creepy old git who would be a murderer.”

  “That’s a bit harsh, Cassie,” Seth spoke up in his quiet voice. “Sometimes things aren’t what they look like and someone who seems to be in the perfect position to be a murderer is actually completely innocent.”

  I knew Seth was speaking from experience—only a couple of months back, he had been accused of a violent murder in one of the Oxford colleges. It had been really touch-and-go for a while whether he’d be arrested, and it had been a harrowing time for all of us, racing to solve the case and prove his innocence.

  “Oh, Seth… I’m sorry!” said Cassie, immediately contrite. “You’re right. I spoke without thinking.”

  She reached across and gave his hand a quick squeeze. Seth blushed to the roots of his hair. I saw his fingers reach out to clasp Cassie’s in return but she had already withdrawn her hand and was turning away to say something to the passing waitress. Seth’s eyes filled with frustration and he quickly pulled his hand back again, embarrassment clouding his face.

  I felt a familiar prickle of impatience. I knew that Seth had a secret crush on Cassie—in fact, he had fallen head over heels for her from the moment they met as students—but he was shy and hesitant, and too scared to declare his feelings, in case Cassie didn’t return them and it ruined their friendship. I could understand that, but still, I wished he would say something. For one thing, I suspected that Cassie did care deeply for him, more than she realised. And for another, if he didn’t get a move on, another man would step in—as had often happened in the past. Pretty and vivacious, and with a killer figure to boot, Cassie was never short of male attention. And Seth… I sighed to myself. Watching Seth try to conduct a romance was like watching a tortoise cross the road! At this rate, by the time Seth nerved himself to finally say something, Cassie would probably be married with three kids already!

&n
bsp; “Okay, so if it’s not Edwin, then who else is left?” said Cassie, turning back to me and returning eagerly to the subject of the murder. “That crazy Siamese cat lady?”

  “Theresa Bell? It could still be her, I suppose,” I said doubtfully. “She was certainly in the right place at the right time and Liam’s photo definitely shows her reaching towards the cake plate. But she’s got an answer for that.” I repeated my conversation with Theresa Bell that morning.

  “She was pinching some of the cake to eat?” said Cassie incredulously. “You’re kidding me!”

  I shook my head. “Nope, that’s her story.”

  “It’s so ridiculous, you almost feel that it must be true,” said Seth.

  I agreed, “Yeah, that’s what I thought. I mean, why think of such a stupid reason unless it’s the truth? And also… well… she did really seem to be embarrassed—not guilty or scared or desperate, the way you’d expect her to feel if she had been found out as the murderer—but more just genuinely sheepish and embarrassed.”

  “Anyway, it’s not just about the opportunity to tamper with Dame Eccleston’s cake, is it?” said Cassie. “I mean, in poison cases, you have to think about whether the person could have had access to the toxin as well.”

  “That’s easy in this case,” I said. “The poison is a cardiac glycoside; the most commonly known one is digitalis, which you can find in foxgloves. And you know foxgloves grow everywhere, even along the side of country roads!”

  “It doesn’t even have to be foxgloves,” Seth added. “Cardiac glycosides are found in a diverse group of plants of which foxgloves are only one. You can also find them in the oleander, lily of the valley, dogbane, and wallflower. In fact, you can even find them in some butterflies, which feed on the flowers. The ancient Egyptians and Romans knew all about them and used them to treat heart problems.” He leaned forwards, his eyes brightening with excitement. “Their mechanism of action is fascinating! The glycoside inhibits the sodium potassium pump in the membrane of cardiac myocytes and so the intracellular sodium concentration increases. Then a second membrane ion exchanger is also affected—”