Muffins and Mourning Tea (Oxford Tearoom Mysteries ~ Book 5)

by H. Y. Hanna

  “Yes, that was a mistake,” he said with no emotion. “But it did not matter in the end. Charlie Foxton was not worthy of the daughter of Vladimir Ivanovich Koskov. It is a good chance for Tatiana Vladimirovna to finish with him.”

  I drew a breath. “So I was right? You did all this out of love for Tanya?”

  “Love?” He laughed outright. “What is love? It is an emotion for the weak. No, I don’t waste time on love. I do my duty for my country, for the great men of my country—the men that will make Russia stronger.” He paused, then added bitterly, “But even he is weak because of love. It is terrible to see a man—a great man, powerful, ruthless, feared by all in business—bend to the will of a spoilt girl.”

  “You’re talking about Vladimir Koskov, aren’t you? You work for him! I was right in my impression that you were like a faithful hound hanging around Tanya… You are a guard dog! Or a bodyguard, rather. Vladimir Koskov sent you to Oxford with his daughter, didn’t he? To watch over her and protect her unobtrusively. That’s the reason for your Russian scholar disguise. Somehow he wrangled it so that you got accepted for a graduate degree at the same college that Tanya was in. And then what…? Did you catch Damian trying to blackmail Tanya with those photos?”

  “I intercepted the message,” said Mikhail coldly. “Tatiana Vladimirovna does not know, but I check all her emails, all correspondence that comes into her pigeonhole in the college Porter’s Lodge, all messages and notes that come to her room. I saw the message from Damian asking for money. And I heard from Mr Koskov about the photo on the internet. He wanted me to pay the money—just like before, to buy the silence. Anything to keep his Tatiana safe.” His lips curled in disgust. “But me—I don’t pay. No, I don’t pay kozyol like Damian Heath! I have experience of blackmail—it is never finished. Always, they come back… and always, they want more and more money. I will not allow a great man like Vladimir Ivanovich Koskov to be controlled by a stupid English boy!” He flushed angrily. “So I decided to kill him. It is easy—I have killed before. And then it will be over. No more danger to Tatiana Vladimirovna, no more messages asking for money.”

  “Did Tanya know this?”

  He gave a humourless laugh. “No. She knows nothing. Why should I tell her? It is not her business to know. She thinks only that I am boring nanny sent by her papa to look after her. She does not realise how I keep her safe.”

  “You mean, she wouldn’t have kept silent if she knew that you murdered Charlie.”

  “No, she would not understand the sacrifice necessary. She would make trouble. Already she talks too much to you and police. But what do you expect?” He gave a contemptuous shrug. “She is a woman. They are weak.”

  I felt a flash of irritation at his male chauvinist attitude and had to bite my tongue on a retort. I’m not much of a feminist but the man’s patronising superiority was intensely annoying. Still, I was uncomfortably aware that in this situation, he definitely had the upper hand. For one thing, he had the knife and I could feel the sharp prick of the blade against my right side, where he was holding it against my abdomen. His other hand was clamped around my left arm, pinning me against him. I didn’t dare struggle for fear of the knife going into my side.

  I glanced desperately around. In front of us, the lane stretched lonely and empty. Behind us, back through the kissing gates, was the wide expanse of the Meadow and dark walkways around it… but even if I managed to get free, how far would I get hobbling? He’d catch me within a few yards here in the lane. And if I escaped back into the Meadow, I would be effectively trapped in there. All the other gates would be locked now and the only other way to escape was to cross the river bordering the other side—something I didn’t fancy doing in the dark, when I was unable to swim properly with my weak ankle…

  “Do not waste time trying to think of escape,” said Mikhail, his voice amused as he read my thoughts. “There is no way. I would catch you in two seconds.”

  He was right. I took a shaky breath. My only hope lay in stalling, on the slim chance that someone might come down this lane and rescue me. It wasn’t completely impossible. True, few people tended to come down here after dark, especially once the Meadow gates were locked. But you never know…

  In fact…

  I peered at the dark lane ahead of me. Was I dreaming or were there four small figures coming slowly towards us? They were moving furtively, hugging the stone wall which ran alongside the lane, and it was hard to see in the dark… but could it be…?

  My heart leapt in hope and I almost called out for help. Then I caught myself just in time. I glanced at Mikhail out of the corner of my eye. He had taken the packet of photos from me and was now busy opening it, checking the contents. His head was down and he hadn’t noticed the four elderly figures creeping towards us.

  Nonchalantly, I shifted my position and angled my body around, turning on the spot. Mikhail shifted absently with me, keeping his knife at my side with one hand, but with his attention still on the photos in his other hand. Slowly, I managed to move him around so that he was facing the kissing gates, with his back to the lane. But just as I was congratulating myself, he tucked the photos into an inner jacket pocket and looked up with a brisk air.

  “Okay, now we go,” he said, jabbing me with the knife tip.

  I felt a moment of panic. My eyes flicked to the dark figures coming furtively up behind him. The only advantage they had was the element of surprise. I had to keep him talking.

  “How did you know I was coming here?” I asked quickly. “What made you think of coming to Christ Church Meadow?”

  “I followed you,” he said with a careless laugh. “You did not see me, no? I was on the bus from Meadowford-on-Smythe.”

  “What on earth were you doing there?”

  “I went with Tatiana Vladimirovna. She did not know that I followed her. I saw her go into your tearoom and I suspected that she will talk to you—that she will tell you too much. Then I see you run out and I have—what do Americans say—a hunch? So I follow you. I got off the bus after you and I followed you here to the Meadow. But when I saw you go to the path beside the river, I came back to wait here. I know you will have to come back out this way.” He made an impatient movement. “And now, enough talking. We will leave here. I must—”

  He broke off suddenly, cocked his ear, and spun around, just as the Old Biddies covered the last few yards to reach us.

  “Let her go!” shouted Mabel.

  “Yes! Let Gemma go or you’ll be sorry!” cried Glenda, holding her arms up, elbows jutting out in a familiar Krav Maga stance.

  “What is this?” Mikhail looked startled for a moment, then he burst out laughing. “Is it four baboushkas I see in front of me?”

  “Baboushka yourself!” snapped Florence. “We’re warning you—”

  “You are warning me? HA! HA! HA! HA!” Mikhail laughed so hard that he had to let go of me to clutch his sides. He snorted and gasped, tears coming out of his eyes. “HA! HA! HA! H—”

  He broke off as, with a yell, the Old Biddies piled into him. Screaming, shoving, punching, kicking, they attacked him from all sides. For a moment, I felt a wave of triumph and smiled in delight. Let’s see how superior Mikhail feels now! I couldn’t wait for the Old Biddies to demolish him with their new Krav Maga skills.

  Then my smile slipped.

  Wait… what’s happening?

  Belatedly, I realised how silly I had been to think four little old ladies could overpower the Russian bodyguard. This was no polite, simulated Krav Maga class. This was the real thing. And while Mikhail might have been temporarily surprised, he had recovered quickly. He was also a trained bodyguard, not any old Joe Bloggs on the street. The Old Biddies suddenly found themselves pitted against a deadly opponent with expert skill.

  My heart lurched as I saw Mikhail block a punch from Mabel and give her a shove which sent her reeling; he caught Glenda’s arm just as she tried to jab him in the eyes and twisted it, making her cry out in pain; he dodged a k
ick from Florence and hooked his leg around her ankle, making her trip and crash to the ground.

  “No!” I cried, hobbling forwards to help.

  Then there was a blood-curdling screech, followed by a high-pitched, quavering: “You nincompoop!”

  I looked up to see Ethel swinging her handbag at Mikhail’s head. The Russian didn’t even flinch. He stood and laughed at her while she swung the lavender handbag up in an arc, then brought it down with a loud thunk on the side of his head.

  Mikhail stopped laughing.

  Noiselessly, he dropped to his knees and toppled over on the ground. I stared disbelieving at him. He was out cold. Then I turned incredulous eyes on Ethel who was standing next to me, gazing down at her handiwork.

  She glanced up, clutching her lavender handbag to her chest, and gave me a smile, looking the epitome of a sweet old lady.

  “Well, we did warn him, dear. We told him that he would be sorry!”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  “The Old Biddies knocked him out?” said Devlin incredulously. He glanced over at where the paramedics were loading Mikhail onto a stretcher, then across to the ambulance where another paramedic was checking four little old ladies over for injuries.

  I nodded. “I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen the whole thing with my own eyes! I thought he was going to kill them—and then Ethel just sort of shrieked and clobbered him with her handbag.” I shook my head in admiration. “Honestly, I thought all this Krav Maga stuff was a lot of nonsense but maybe there’s something in it after all. I mean, how else can you explain how a frail little old lady managed to wallop a trained bodyguard double her size?”

  “Hmm…” said Devlin, looking sceptical. He narrowed his blue eyes thoughtfully as Mabel, Glenda, Ethel, and Florence trundled over to join us, followed by the paramedic who had been examining them.

  “How are they?” he asked the paramedic.

  “Nothing too serious. A couple of scrapes and bruises—oh, except Miss Webb here has strained her shoulder. Must have been when she gave the Russian the killer punch with her handbag,” he said, looking at the little old lady admiringly.

  Ethel blushed. “Oh, it was nothing really. Just a little move I picked up in Krav Maga class, you know,” she twittered, clasping her lavender handbag to her chest.

  Devlin raised an eyebrow and eyed Ethel speculatively. “It must have been a powerful move, taking down a grown man with nothing more than a leather handbag…”

  As he spoke, he reached out and plucked the handbag out of Ethel’s hands. It lurched in his grasp and he nearly dropped it. He lifted it up again with some effort.

  “Bloody hell! What have you got in this?” he asked.

  He reached down and unzipped the vintage leather bag. There, nestled amongst the tissues and gum drops and hand creams and loose change, was an enormous red brick. We all stared at it in awe.

  “Krav Maga technique, eh?” said Devlin dryly, taking the brick out. “I think perhaps Mikhail Petrovsky owes his present condition more to the fact that he was smacked on the head by a very large brick.”

  He looked at the Old Biddies sternly, waiting for an explanation.

  “Well, they did tell us in class to use anything handy we could find for weapons,” said Mabel with great dignity. “And to always have things ready on our person that we could use to protect ourselves.”

  Glenda nodded. “That’s part of the Krav Maga philosophy.”

  “Where on earth did you get it from?” I asked, still staring at the monster brick.

  “Oh, from up there,” said Ethel, nodding towards the start of the lane. “I think someone has been doing some repairs or renovation, and the builders left a pile of unused bricks at the side of the path. I picked one up as we were creeping here and put it in my handbag—I thought it might come in handy.” She giggled and the other Old Biddies smirked.

  “Miss Webb,” said Devlin, sounding exasperated, “I won’t be taking it further this time but just so you know for the future: regardless of what your Krav Maga class tells you, you do realise that it is an offence in the U.K. to carry a concealed weapon, even in self-defence?”

  Ethel opened her eyes very wide and looked up at him innocently. “Oh, but I didn’t pick up the brick to use as a weapon, Inspector. I meant that it might be handy in my garden—you know, I saw this programme on the telly where they showed you how to use unused bricks as markers for your herb garden. You can write the names of the herbs on the side using stencils and it adds a lovely personal touch to your borders. Ever so clever, really!”

  Devlin sighed. “Just… please leave unused bricks where they are and don’t carry them around in your handbag.”

  As the Old Biddies trotted off, escorted by a constable, Devlin turned to me and said in exasperation, “It’s a wonder she didn’t dislocate her shoulder, swinging that brick around. It weighed a tonne!”

  I stifled a laugh. “You can’t expect me to criticise them. The Old Biddies probably saved my life.”

  “Which wouldn’t have been necessary if you hadn’t got involved in the investigation in the first place,” growled Devlin. “I told you not to meddle, Gemma. You were all very lucky. If things had been different, Mikhail Petrovsky could have hurt you badly. All of you. He’d murdered two people recently and he wouldn’t have hesitated to kill again.”

  I sobered, chastised. “Yes, you’re right, of course. It’s no laughing matter.”

  Devlin’s face softened. He slid an arm around me and pulled me close. “But I’m very, very relieved that the Old Biddies’ Krav Maga technique was so good,” he said with a wry smile. He dropped a tender kiss on my forehead. “Thank God you weren’t hurt, Gemma.”

  “Mmm…” I slid my arms around his waist and snuggled closer to his chest, savouring the reassuring, solid warmth of his body. I felt Devlin pull me closer and then his head came down and his lips captured mine in a kiss. This was the kiss I had been waiting for. Soft and tender, then deepening into an urgent, hungry demand that felt as if it would consume me. The world around us ceased to exist. It was just Devlin… the hardness of his body… the possessive weight of his hands around my waist… the touch of his mouth on mine…

  Slowly, I became aware of wolf whistles and catcalls around us. Someone—it sounded like Devlin’s sergeant—yelled out: “Should I book a room, guv’nor?”

  We broke apart. There was a flush on Devlin’s cheeks as he saw his colleagues smirking at him.

  “All right, all right… Get back to work!” he said, a sheepish grin on his face.

  My own cheeks burning, I stepped away from Devlin and straightened my clothes. Clearing my throat, I said, “I never got a chance to ask them—how did the Old Biddies know that I was here? For that matter, how did you? I couldn’t believe it when I heard the sirens—we hadn’t even had time to call the police.”

  “You can thank Tanya Koskov for that,” Devlin said. “She rang me when she got back to her college and told me that she had been to see you at your tearoom—and that she had promised to let me know about her previous false alibi for Damian’s murder. When I asked her where you were, she told me that you’d rushed off to Christ Church Meadow. I got the impression that something was wrong, so I dropped what I was working on in Blackbird Leys and came here as fast as I could. Of course…” He smiled. “I wasn’t as fast as the Old Biddies. They followed you from Meadowford.”

  “Seems like everybody followed me from Meadowford today,” I said dryly.

  “They were eavesdropping through the kitchen door and heard most of your conversation with Tanya. So after she left, they discussed things amongst themselves and started to get worried about you. They called a taxi and got the driver to bring them down to Christ Church Meadow. On the way, they rang and told me everything they had overheard. I was on my way here myself—we weren’t sure which gate you’d gone in at, or which one you’d be coming out of, but I took a punt and told them to head for Rose Lane, as it’s the closest one to Haverton Coll
ege.” He blew out a breath. “Thank God my punt paid off.”

  There was a commotion farther up the lane and I saw headlights approaching, then a dark green Land Rover pulled to a stop as police constables prevented it from driving any closer. My eyes widened as Lincoln got out of the driver’s seat. He went around to the front passenger seat and opened the door. My mother stepped out and hurried towards me. Behind her, my father and Professor Obruchev got slowly out of the rear of the car, the latter looking slightly bewildered and still clutching a dinner napkin.

  “Darling! Mabel Cooke rang and told me what happened!” cried my mother, rushing over. “We left the restaurant straight away. Such a nightmare trying to get a taxi on a Friday night! Thank goodness Lincoln was home and could come to get us and drive us here.” She fussed over me, patting my arms, smoothing my hair. “Are you all right?” She gasped and lowered her voice to a dramatic whisper: “Did that animal assault you?”

  “I’m fine, Mother, I’m fine. He barely touched me. It was all over really quickly.”

  “Yes, well, Mabel did say that the Russian was a bit of a limp rag. Nevertheless, I still think it’s a good idea to let Lincoln examine you,” said my mother blithely, reaching over, grabbing Lincoln’s arm, and hauling him next to me. “Nothing like an expert doctor’s opinion!”

  I flushed and glanced at Devlin, who was still standing on my other side, then at Lincoln, who looked intensely embarrassed.

  “Mother! The paramedics have already examined me and I’m fine, I tell you,” I hissed through clenched teeth.

  Devlin cleared his throat. “I think I might go and have a word with my team. Excuse me.” He turned and strode away.

  I started to call him back but was interrupted by my father and Professor Obruchev coming over to join us. My father asked in his gentle, quiet voice how I was, then the Russian professor thrust himself forwards and grasped both my hands in his.

  “Oh! Gemma Philipovna! I am very distressed to hear—it is one of my countrymen who has been responsible for murders!” He looked at me earnestly. “I hope this will not give you bad association with Russia—”