Murder for Tea

by Vered Ehsani

  “Well, toss me a knife if you don’t want to return,” I said, huffing at her reluctance.

  Instead, she re-entered the room in her human form and yanked the knife free from the table. She cut my bonds and then did the same for Dr. Cricket.

  “Don’t kill him,” I warned as she took a step toward Constable Hunt who lay crushed under the horse. I struggled to stand on legs which were tingling from lack of movement.

  Ignoring me, Koki approached the clump of horse and man. She reached out to pat Nelly while peering at the horse’s neck.

  “Miss Knight,” Koki said in a voice so tender I immediately stared in alarm at her.

  “What?” I asked. As I turned my head, my nose twitched at the sharp, coppery scent of blood leaking out of a bullet hole in Nelly’s neck.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  “WHAT SORT OF a doctor are you?” Koki demanded, glaring at Dr. Cricket as he fumbled through a cracked leather bag.

  “Not that kind,” I answered on his behalf, for I dare say he was incoherent with terror. His eyelids blinked so rapidly they were a blur, and he wheezed as if someone was clutching at his throat.

  “Useless human,” Koki grumbled and yanked the bag onto her lap. She began tossing items out: a scalpel, a stethoscope, some unidentified ointment. She stopped when she pulled out cotton wadding and bandaging.

  I watched her from my position next to Nelly. My hands clutched at the hole, blood seeping through my fingers and trickling down my arm. For her part, Nelly merely flicked her ears and snorted at the kerfuffle, or perhaps at the absence of food; at any rate, she seemed comfortable enough on the ground with her legs tucked under her. Hunt remained prostrated on her other side, moaning through his concussion-induced delirium.

  “Do we need these?” Koki asked, holding aloft a set of tweezers.

  I shook my head. “Fortunately, the bullet passed straight through. But I will need alcohol and something to suture the wound. A needle and catgut would do the trick. Dr. Cricket, do you have those?”

  “If not, we could always use Hunt’s gut for thread,” Koki purred, her eyes brightening at the prospect.

  “A capital idea, insect,” Gideon cheered from the doorway while Dr. Cricket merely groaned and squeezed his eyes shut.

  “Be grateful you’re already dead,” Koki said as she extracted a glass bottle inside of which was suturing thread and a curved needle.

  “Brilliant,” I said. “We’ll have to hold her still. Dr. Cricket, will you please assist Koki?”

  Dr. Cricket wobbled toward us, stared at my bloodied hands and collapsed into a faint.

  “Oh, bother,” I muttered. “I forgot he has a weak constitution for such matters.”

  Koki sniggered. “Men. Why do we even bother to tolerate them?”

  “They have their uses,” I said as I threaded the curved suturing needle. “Hold her neck. This needs but two or three sutures, and we should be settled.”

  Koki wrapped her arms around Nelly’s head and ordered, “Horse, behave.”

  Perhaps the implied threat had a subduing influence on our patient. More likely, the ordeal, blood loss and lack of food had weakened her sufficiently. Either way, she didn’t struggle, and a few minutes were sufficient for the task at hand.

  “That’s a useful talent, Miss Knight,” Koki said as she released the horse’s head.

  “Indeed,” I replied, pleased at the compliment and the sutured bullet hole. “There are a few skills I believe are essential, the instructions for which should be included in all basic education: reading, writing, suturing, archery, creative thinking and preparing a pot of tea. Speaking of which, Dr. Cricket…? Oh, bother, he’s still unconscious.”

  With a weary neigh, Nelly rolled onto one side, conveniently trapping Constable Hunt under the weight of her neck and shoulder. A moment later, soft snores filled the room.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  NOBODY APPRECIATES LEARNING that one of their closest associates is a serial killer unless like me, you have demons for friends. As Chief Constable Dougal had no reason to maintain relationships with such creatures and didn’t even know they existed, it came as a shocking revelation.

  “My Constable Hunt is the Wedding Killer?” he repeated for the umpteenth time as he stared at the gagged and bound man.

  “We have established that fact,” I said, my quota of sympathy exhausted by his prolonged disbelief. “And as we have clearly explained the circumstances and have provided proof and witnesses, there can be no doubt.”

  Dougal shook his head, the web of fine capillaries that covered his cheeks reddening. “It’s too much to believe. The Wedding Killer, working alongside me this entire time.”

  Forcing a smile through my exhaustion, I turned to leave. Koki had already departed, and Dr. Cricket was more than capable of answering any remaining questions. Outside, the early morning mist was clearing, the chill of night receding before the rising sun. Nelly was standing, her nose covered by a feedbag, a little monkey sleeping between her ears. Eyes closed, the horse chewed on the oats, occasionally sighing in contentment.

  “You deserve it, old girl,” I said, gently stroking her neck.

  Nelly nodded her head in agreement. Either that or she was attempting to reach a few oats that lurked at the bottom of the bag. Pulling the bag off, I dumped the remaining oats on my hand and waited for her to inhale them.

  It was all I could do to heave myself into the saddle. Given the events of the night, I allowed myself permission to slouch. My head seemed too heavy for my neck, and my stomach roiled in an unhappy manner.

  “Tea,” I muttered. “A pot of tea, a slice of toast, a hot bath, a warm bed.”

  With such visions I encouraged myself as Nelly plodded along the path that led down the hill toward the Hardinge estate.

  I was still murmuring such tea-infused invocations when Nelly shuffled into the barn.

  “What’s wrong with Nelly?” Jonas demanded, the gruffness of his voice not disguising his concern.

  “Don’t worry about me,” I said, waving at him. “I’m fine.”

  “Me, I can see that,” he replied as he studied the horse’s neck. “Nelly, she’s been shot.”

  “And I was abducted and threatened with bodily harm,” I added.

  Not impressed, Jonas gestured for me to descend, his unhappy scowl reassuring me that all was well in the world. Leaving him to care for Nelly, I stumbled out of the barn, my head spinning, a little monkey clinging to my neck.

  “Perhaps I’ll lie down first, before I take tea,” I said, too worn out to be alarmed that I would deny myself the pleasure of a hot beverage for even a few minutes.

  When I reached the cottage, I knew something wasn’t right. The discomfort I’d felt earlier in my stomach had evolved into stabbing nausea. The mere thought of food caused me to retch. It was an entirely new and startling sensation for me, one that left me too weak to do more than collapse onto the kitchen floor where the cool stone tiles soothed my flushed face.

  When I woke, I was being carried in a set of strong arms.

  “Simon?” I asked, blearily staring around me. The motion caused another wave of discomfort emanating from my midsection, and I closed my eyes.

  “It’s me,” Tiberius said as he eased me onto my bed. “Gideon summoned me when he found you’d swooned.”

  “I didn’t swoon,” I mumbled. “I lowered myself gracefully and consciously to the ground.”

  “Of course you did,” my brother said. “Cilla is here to keep an eye on you. I’ll fetch Dr. Ribeiro.”

  “That’s not necessary,” I said, but he was already gone.

  “Oh, Beatrice,” Cilla wailed from somewhere to one side of me. “You poor dear. You’ve overtaxed yourself or maybe you’re ill.”

  “Nonsense,” I mumbled. “I merely need to rest. I’ll be right as rain.”

  “Well, we’ll let the doctor decide what’s best,” she said.

  I snorted.

  “Shall I fetch us s
ome tea?” she continued.

  “That’s the best idea I’ve heard today,” I said. “And could you feed Shelby? Gideon will complain bitterly if I neglect the fluff ball.”

  “I’ll do it. Don’t fret.”

  “I wasn’t.”

  She patted my hand and hastened out of the room, the sound of her footsteps retreating. Once I was alone, I pulled myself up against the backboard of the bed. A spasm accompanied each motion. Closing my eyes, I placed my hands over my abdomen, willing my iron constitution to return. My human hand tingled with the buzz of energy from another life form.

  Forcing my eyelids open, I stared at my folded hands. “What is this?”

  I waited for the sensation to repeat itself. A moment later, it obliged me. “Perhaps I’ve finally succumbed to a water parasite.”

  Pondering the possibilities, and there were a few of them, I frowned and shook my head. We were very careful about boiling our water, so I doubted I was infected with one of the various unpleasant parasites endemic to the area. Perhaps it was malaria, although my symptoms didn’t include fever. I squinted at my torso and immediately a second energy form appeared.

  “That’s inconvenient,” I said. “I do hope I’m not possessed by some energy-consuming spirit.”

  As I studied the second energy form, the truth dawned on me: my recent bouts of exhaustion, the debilitating nausea, my disinterest in food.

  “I’m back,” Cilla announced, a tray of tea and toast in her hands. “Why, whatever is the matter, Beatrice? You’re so pale.”

  “It’s… It’s nothing,” I whispered even as my mind scrambled to comprehend the truth. “I’ll be fine.”

  After several years of marriage and two husbands, I was finally in the family way; the second energy form embedded in my midsection was proof of that. Disbelief and amazement wrestled with shock and fear. In the end, joy won.

  Smiling, I stared up into my friend’s astonished face and said, “Everything will be just fine.”

  Read on to find out what was Fact and what was Fiction. But before you do:

  Get a photo album of Victorian Nairobi, the two prequels to this series and a beginner’s guide to African paranormals for free from my website (http://veredehsani.co.za/free-books/).

  The misadventures of Beatrice Knight Timmons and her friends continue in Death in a Teacup, Case 2 of “The Cozy Tea Shoppe Mystery series”. Go to my website and sign up for my newsletter so you don’t miss it.

  Fact & Fiction

  Allow me to clarify what parts of this story are based on some semblance of reality. Below are the facts as I understand them, and the fictional aspects pointed out.

  Fact: When stealing the teapot back from Constable Hunt, Yao asks if the bone china teapot is made from bone. In fact, it was and still is! Bone china is a type of porcelain that contains at least 30% of phosphate derived from animal bone.

  Fact: Why, you ask, for the love of all that is good would anyone make a tea set with ground-up bones? Well, bone china is the strongest porcelain and highly chip resistant (and no one appreciates a chipped cup). It’s also famous for its high levels of whiteness and translucency. Yes, the notion is rather morbid, so don’t think about it the next time you’re slurping tea out of a bone china cup…

  Fact: Tea bags were not invented until 1904. Thus Miss Knight’s shop sold tea leaves which, as she advised a customer, should be stored away from light, heat and humidity.

  Fact: As part of its plan to colonize its African territories, the British government encouraged landed gentry to move to the colonies. These wealthy landowners were lured by the wide-open spaces, big game hunting and the scenery.

  Fiction: Constable Hunt mentions that the murdered bride was a mail-order bride. This term wasn’t common until a few decades later.

  Fact: One of the customers of The Cozy Tea Shoppe is based on a real person. Mrs. Mayence Bent was the founder and owner of the Stanley Hotel, and was an impressive woman with a clever mind for business.

  Fiction: Mrs. Bent invited Mrs. Timmons to join the East African Ladies League. The League didn’t actually exist.

  Fact: However, the East Africa Women's League did and still does. Formed in 1917 at the New Stanley Hotel, a group of women banded together with the aim of working for the improvement of the conditions of life for women in the new country, then known as British East Africa. One of the League’s first missions was to win the right to vote for women.

  Fiction: The first tearoom was not owned by Beatrice Knight Timmons.

  Fact: Tommy Wood from Yorkshire set up a store, part of which he turned into a tearoom. He became Nairobi’s first mayor.

  Fact: Dr. Cricket mentions an American inventor named Alan Holmes. Mr. Holmes is a real inventor living in the USA. He created the frame widget which detects energy fluctuations in a room, including those from phantoms.

  Fact: The newspaper Simon Timmons was reading in the opening chapter makes mention of the world’s first Fingerprint Bureau. This Bureau did in fact exist and was opened in India in 1897. Azizul Haque and Hem Chandra Bose, working with Sir Edward Richard Henry, developed the fingerprint classification system. It’s named after Sir Henry (of course).

  Fact: Mrs. Isabella Beeton’s “Book of Household Management” did indeed describe housewives as Household Generals. This is Mrs. Steward’s favorite book, followed by Mrs. Lydia Child’s “American Frugal Housewife”, a book that recommends earwax as a remedy for cracked lips.

  Fact: For archery fans, Mrs. Timmons uses a compound bow. This modern bow employs a levering system, usually of cables and pulleys, to bend the limbs and increase the force on the arrow.

  Fiction: Dr. Cricket couldn’t have created this bow for Mrs. Timmons, as it was first developed in 1966 by Holless Wilbur Allen in Billings, Missouri. The compound bow has become increasingly popular and in the United States, the compound is the dominant form of bow.

  Fact: The first Governor appointed to the British East African Protectorate was Sir Arthur Henry Hardinge.

  Fiction: Governor Hardinge was appointed in July 1895, a few years before the Stewards and Mrs. Knight arrived in Nairobi, and he was based in Zanzibar. He did have a family but later on. And as far as I know, he never provided lodgings to a vampire, a Popobawa, a werewolf or any other paranormal beast.

  Fact: Case 1 of The Cozy Tea Shoppe Mystery series takes place in June of 1900.

  Fact: Unlike Mrs. Timmons, Vered doesn’t own a flying horse, or any horse for that matter. At any rate, she prefers to go to work on her elephant.

  Fact: A big round of applause is owed to: Monica La Porta, a good friend, a great Beta reader and an awesome author (http://monicalaporta.com); Starla Huchton, cover designer extraordinaire (http://www.designedbystarla.com); and Shelby for being so darn cute.

  Fact: Subscribe to Vered’s blog at http://veredehsani.co.za and receive a Victorian Nairobi photo album, the two prequels to this series, a beginner’s guide to African paranormals, and other gifts.

  Fact: If you enjoyed this book, please recommend it to others. I rely on and deeply appreciate your support; plus, you’ll feel awesome from performing your good deed for the day.

  Fact: Vered has other books you might want to read. Their descriptions are further on.

  Read More

  To find sales links for all my books, visit here: http://veredehsani.co.za/my-books/

  THE COZY TEA SHOPPE MYSTERY SERIES: Tea isn’t the only thing that’s brewing in the delicious sequel to the “Society for Paranormals” series. Join semi-retired paranormal detective Miss Knight as she attempts to keep the kettle boiling and her customers satisfied (or at least alive) while dodging murder, mayhem and other inconveniences. Serving tea has never been more dangerous.

  Murder for Tea

  Murder is brewing: While Beatrice Knight Timmons is part witch, the only thing she’s interested in nowadays is tea, and copious amounts of it. But that’s not all that’s brewing. No sooner does she open her very own tearoom and shop in the sm
all town of Nairobi, someone with a vendetta against young brides murders one and leaves the body in The Cozy Tea Shoppe. With her best friend’s wedding only weeks away, can Miss Knight stop the murderer while making sure her next order of tea leaves arrives in time?

  Death in a Teacup

  Death is on the menu: With the Wedding Killer behind bars, the witchy Beatrice Knight Timmons is able to focus on managing The Cozy Tea Shoppe. But when the African God of Death pays her a visit after losing his throne, murder is back on the menu. All decorum is thrown out with the tea leaves as the line between the living and the dead gets thinner with the passing of every full moon. Only Anansi the Trickster God can persuade the powers-that-be to reinstate Death and the circle of life. But everyone has their own agenda, and time is running out as the next full moon approaches. While the small colonial town of Nairobi is used to all manner of monsters and mayhem, this latest debacle might need more than a pot of tea to endure it.

  SOCIETY FOR PARANORMALS: A paranormal detective refuses to let danger, death and unwanted suitors inconvenience her in colonial Kenya.

  Ghosts of Tsavo

  Where African myth meets Victorian manners: Armed with Victorian etiquette, a fully loaded walking stick and a dead husband, Beatrice Knight arrives in colonial Kenya desperate for a pot of tea and a pinch of cinnamon. But she’ll need more than that if she’s to unravel the mystery of the Ghosts of Tsavo without being eaten in the process. All this while surviving the machinations of her best friend’s dashing godfather and the efforts of her safari guide to feed her to any lion willing to drag her away. What is a ghost-chasing widow to do?

  The Automaton’s Wife

  Jane Austen meets Lara Croft: Beatrice Knight has enough to contend with: a zebra is dead on her lawn, her horse is possessed and a gentleman has arrived with the temerity to propose to her. To top it off, her dead husband Gideon has absconded with an automaton, threatening to return for his wife. The wife in question however soon has other issues, for a killer has moved into town with a nasty habit of carving up the victims. As luck should dictate, who should be the next target but Mrs. Knight herself?