Tea with Milk and Murder (Oxford Tearoom Mysteries ~ Book 2) (17 page)

“Bloody hell, no!” said Jon. “It’s just part of the fun to sneak around like that and talk about when we’re next going to… er… you know, ‘
do it’
.” He flushed and added, with a sort of awkward smugness, “Danni gets really turned on by stuff like that—”

“YOU BASTARD!”

We all turned to look at Cassie. She was glaring at Jon, her body trembling and her dark eyes furious. Suddenly, she crossed the room, raised a hand, and slapped him across the face. He yelped and stumbled backwards, clutching his face and staring at her in horror.

“I should have listened to Gemma when she told me what a tosser you were,” said Cassie, her chest heaving. “I can’t believe that I defended you! I even refused to speak to her for your sake… What a fool I was!” Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears. “GET OUT!”

Jon took one look at her face, then turned and ran out of the room. The door slammed after him. There was a strained silence in the room. I hesitated, then went to Cassie and put a hand gently on her shoulder. She sniffed and wiped the back of one hand fiercely across her face. I could see that she was struggling not to cry in front of Devlin. The only worse blow to her pride now was to let us see her breaking down because of Jon Kelsey.

I turned discreetly away to give her a moment to control herself and said to Devlin, “So you’re not going to arrest him?”

Devlin shook his head. “We’ll check out his story, of course, but much as I hate to admit it, it doesn’t look like Kelsey’s our man.”

“He could have bought another bottle—in Sweet Almond—with cash,” I suggested hopefully.

Devlin shook his head. “No, Kelsey’s a coward. He’s the kind of man who gets his kicks from small-time lies and deception, but he hasn’t got the guts for murder.”

“So… we’ve got no suspects then?” I said in dismay. “Back to Square One?”

Devlin gave me a wry smile. “Welcome to the world of real-life detective work. It’s not the glamorous stuff you see on TV. And we do still have suspects. I’m going to go back and check Fiona’s story again—and there’s also Nell Hicks. And something else I’ve been thinking about, with regards to Mr Waltham and his first wife… I’ve been concentrating so much on Kelsey that I haven’t had time to follow up those leads. In the meantime…” He looked at Cassie and his eyes softened. “Why don’t you two girls have a quiet night in, get a bottle of wine and some takeaway, watch some silly movies… Maybe make that two bottles of wine.”

He smiled, then he was gone.

Left in the room together, Cassie and I looked at each other uneasily. Then we both spoke at once:

“Cassie, I—”

“Oh Gemma—”

We both laughed awkwardly.

“I give you every right to say ‘I told you so’,” said Cassie in a quavering voice.

“You know I don’t want to do that,” I said, putting an arm around her shoulders.

Cassie gave a stifled sob. “Oh, Gemma—I’m so sorry about all the things I said to you yesterday! I don’t know what I was thinking; I wasn’t really myself—in fact, I haven’t been myself since I met bloody Jon Kelsey! I didn’t mean any of those things! You know you’re my best friend!”

“Hey, what are best friends for but to take some insults sometimes?” I said with a grin. “I knew you didn’t mean them. I hope.”

Cassie gave me a watery smile. “You twit,” she said affectionately.

And then we were in each other’s arms, hugging and laughing and talking and crying all at the same time. Somehow we ended up on the sofa with a bottle of red wine open between us and a box of pizza on the floor. We spent the rest of the evening alternating between thinking of offensive names to call Jon Kelsey and plotting new ways to humiliate him.

I couldn’t remember the last time I had so much fun in ages.

Something was rubbing against my chin—something rough and raspy. I groaned and rolled over in bed. A moment later, the rough rubbing started again, this time on my forehead. I made a supreme effort and opened one eye, then another. I squinted in the bright light that was seeping in through the edges of the curtains. There was a grey huddle on the bed next to me and I heard a noise like a rumbling engine.

“Ow… Muesli, stop that…” I mumbled, trying to push her away.

She ignored me and renewed her licking with new vigour. I sighed.
If I don’t want half my forehead sandpapered away, I’d better get up
. Slowly, I lifted my head off the pillow and peered blearily at the clock on my bedside table. I blinked. Surely that couldn’t be right? I looked again, then sat upright quickly.

Ten-thirty!

How could I have slept so late? Why hadn’t my mother woken me?

I groaned again and put a hand to my head, feeling the room sway around me as I tried to stand up. My mouth was dry and I had a hell of a hangover. After a couple of bottles of wine, several slices of pizza, and two tubs of ice-cream, I had finally called a taxi in the early hours of the morning and left Cassie’s flat to come home. I could vaguely remember creeping into the house and staggering up to my room. I didn’t normally drink much and now, as my head throbbed, I was reminded why.

There was a note pushed under my door. I picked it up and read it:

Darling,

I thought I’d let you sleep in as you came home so late last night. But don’t worry—everything is in hand! Mabel and the others will help me at the tearoom. Take your time and come in whenever you’re ready.

Love,

Your Mother

“
Meorrw… Meorrw… Meorrw… Meorrw
?” said Muesli plaintively, winding herself around my legs.

I stretched stiffly, wincing. “All right, Muesli, all right… Give me a minute.”

I staggered into the bathroom, brushed my teeth and splashed some cold water on my face, then went back to my room and dug out Muesli’s harness from the pile of clothes on my chair. I fumbled with it, trying to get it on her squirming body, then let her lead the way downstairs. I could barely keep up as she trotted out the back door and into our rear garden. Yawning, I leaned against a tree while Muesli sniffed around behind a bush.

I didn’t know how I was going to keep my eyes open at work today. And it was Friday—one of our busiest days of the week. I yawned again and gave the harness a little tug.

“Come on, Muesli, let’s keep moving. If I stand here, I’m going to fall asleep again leaning against this tree.”

To my surprise, there was no resistance on the leash, and when I gave it a bigger tug, I realised why. The entire harness flew back to land in a tangle of straps and buckles at my feet. I stared blankly at the empty harness for a moment, then I realised what had happened. In my daze, I probably hadn’t closed the clasps properly and Muesli had slipped out of the harness.

“Bugger!” I muttered, looking around to see if I could spot her.

Then I saw the end of a tabby tail whisk through the branches of the blackthorn tree by the wall, and a minute later, I saw Muesli disappear over the wall, into the Walthams’ garden.

“Muesli!” I said in annoyance. “Muesli, come back!”

Argh. I want to kill that cat.
I felt a terrible sense of déjà vu. Wasn’t I just here not even a week ago?

I went out our back gate into the rear alley where I had met Meg last time. She wasn’t there but I tried the Walthams’ back gate on the off-chance. To my delight, I discovered that the handle turned easily. I stepped into their garden and looked around. I didn’t really like going in uninvited, but if I could see Muesli and grab her, it would save me having to go and ring on the front door and disturb Mrs Waltham.

I peered around the garden. It was twice the size of ours, heavily planted with trees and shrubbery and several flowerbeds. I could see a row of rosebushes along the wall, blooming in all their pink glory, and a flagstone path running alongside them, leading up to the house. The other side of the path led past me and curved around the bottom of the garden to a wooden shed tucked in the corner.

There was no sign of a little tabby cat.

“Muesli…” I called softly. “Muesli, where are you?”

A whiskered face popped up from behind a rosebush.

“
Meorrw?”
She looked at me enquiringly.

“Come here!” I hissed.

She gave me a disdainful look, then turned and began to dig in the soft earth around the rosebush.

“Hey! Muesli, stop that!”

She ignored me and kept on digging. For a little creature, she could sure move soil. A large hole was appearing around the base of the rose and the entire plant was starting to sag to one side. I remembered Mrs Waltham’s pride in her roses and ran over in horror.

“Muesli, stop! Stop that!”

I made a grab for her but she ducked out of the way, slipping between my legs and running down the path towards the shed. I whirled just in time to see her tail disappearing into the bushes next to the shed.

“Aaaarrrgghh!” I ground my teeth in frustration.

I hurried over to the shed and cast around the undergrowth there. I couldn’t see her. Then I noticed that the door of the shed was slightly ajar. Had Muesli gone in there? Pulling the door open, I peeked in. It was relatively clean, although incredibly cluttered with sacks of fertiliser, piles of terracotta pots, a jumble of gardening tools, several tins of old paint, bottles of pesticides and cleaning solutions, a large tin watering can, and on the wooden shelf attached to the wall, an assortment of gardening gloves, twine, packets of seeds, and other junk.

“Muesli?” I whispered.

I thought I heard a faint meow behind the sacks of fertiliser. Stepping into the shed, I peered around the items stacked on the floor. There were so many hiding places in here, I had a sneaking suspicion that Muesli was enjoying a game at my expense.

“Muesli, where are you?” I said in frustration.

Was that the flick of a furry tail in the corner? Yes! Something moved behind a large bottle in the corner of the shed. I leaned across and picked up the bottle with one hand, intending to grab Muesli with the other. Then I paused in confusion as I realised that the corner was empty. I was so sure I had seen her! Perhaps it had been a trick of the light?

Faintly, I heard the sound of an engine, then a car door slamming. I wondered if that was Mrs Waltham, back from some shopping, and I felt suddenly mortified at the thought of being caught skulking around in her shed.

I straightened hurriedly and turned to leave, then realised that I was still holding the bottle. I started to put it back, then paused as something on the bottom of the bottle caught my eye. I stared at the label with the familiar skull-and-crossbones icon, followed by the words:

POISON!

Active Ingredient: NICOTINE

(Beta-Pyridyl-Alpha-N-Methylpyrrolidine)

Keep out of reach of children and pets. Wear gloves. Do not let solution come into contact with skin. If contact occurs, wash thoroughly and seek medical help immediately.

Slowly, I turned the bottle over and looked at the large label on the front with a picture of huge red roses accompanied by lurid letters proclaiming:

Aphid Be-Gone!

Natural pesticide for beautiful roses.

My mind whirled. Suddenly, I remembered sitting with my mother for tea with Mrs Waltham… My mother had complimented Sarah’s stepmother on her roses and asked how she kept them so free of aphids… and Mrs Waltham had mentioned a special formulation which she purchased online…

Then I thought of that bottle of poisoned lotion again. If Jon wasn’t the one who had given Sarah the bottle of almond lotion, someone else had… Someone who could slip it easily into her bathroom… Someone who knew her well and knew her habit of trying new creams and lotions… Someone who could have easily removed the tainted bottle before the police searched Sarah’s room, and hidden it, then thrown it out a few days later when nobody was looking… except that she was unlucky and Meg Fraser had found the bottle…

And almost unbidden, a memory of Nell Hicks’s voice came to me…

“Sarah… well, she never gave her step-mum a chance. Was right nasty to her at times. That woman was a saint to put up with it… Mistress in name only. Sarah’s the real mistress there. And, of course, her father indulges her in everything…”

I drew in a sharp breath.
Oh my God. It was her all the time…

I was still standing there, staring stupidly at the bottle, when I heard the sound of footsteps approaching the shed. I stiffened, suddenly conscious of a sense of danger. I had left the door of the shed ajar.

There was a sound behind me.

I whirled but—too late—something hard hit me on the head.

Pain exploded behind my eyes.

And then there was darkness.

When I came to, I found myself lying on the floor of the shed, my hands and feet bound and a gag in my mouth. I wriggled around, trying to get upright, but it was almost impossible with my hands tied behind my back and my ankles secured by rope. I squirmed and struggled for several minutes before I had to stop, exhausted.

There was a sound outside the door of the shed and I tensed. The door was firmly shut now and I wondered, with a sinking heart, if it was bolted. The sound came again—a faint snuffling—and then I heard a forlorn “
Meorrw
?”

Muesli!

I started squirming again, trying to wriggle my way towards the door. I managed to get almost there before I had to stop again, absolutely exhausted by my efforts.

“Mmm… Mmm… Mmmm!” I try to speak through the gag but nothing sensible came out.

Muesli must have been able to hear me, if not smell me.
But what could she do anyway?
I thought in despair. She was a little cat. She didn’t even have opposable thumbs. It wasn’t like she could reach up to unbolt the door and then come in here and untie me.

The next moment, I heard something else: the sound of footsteps coming rapidly down the flagstone path.

“Hey! Get away from there! SHOO!”

I heard the rustle of bushes, like something moving quickly through the undergrowth, and then, the next moment, the shed door opened and Mrs Waltham stepped in. She looked surprised to find me so close to the door and used her foot to shove me back into my original position by the wall.

“Don’t think you can get away,” she said contemptuously. “I know how to tie a knot and I made sure that yours were good and tight. Can’t have you escaping now, can I, and letting everybody know my secret?” She smiled. “Not when everyone thinks I’m the poor grieving stepmother. We wouldn’t want to disillusion everyone, would we?”

I squirmed and made angry noises through the gag.

She laughed. “You must be feeling pretty stupid right now, hmm? You never suspected, did you? Not like that Detective-Inspector O’Connor.” She looked slightly disgruntled. “He’s no fool and he came back to ask me a lot of uncomfortable questions last night. But I’m pretty sure I’ve led him off-track. If that stupid maid hadn’t found the bottle in the bins, no one would have been any wiser.”

She folded her arms. “Still, it doesn’t matter. No one can tie that bottle of lotion to me. Sarah bought it herself from the store in Oxford—all I had to do was add the poison to the bottle at the opportune moment.” She chuckled. “It was a stroke of luck that she decided to shave her legs before going to the party—that just made things even easier.”

I looked at the woman standing above me with horror. What had happened to the quiet, mousy Mrs Waltham? This woman was a complete psychopath! She showed no remorse, no guilt for the murder she had committed. Her calm, thoughtful manner as she talked about murdering Sarah was terrifying.

Then I thought suddenly of the bottle of pesticide I had found. They might not be able to connect the lotion to her, but they would certainly be able to trace the purchase of the pesticide to her credit card!

She must have shared my thoughts because she looked thoughtfully across to the bottle, which was now sitting on the shelf. “Hmm,” she reflected. “I probably should have got rid of the spray instead of leaving it here in the shed, but it seemed such a waste. It’s so good for my roses and it’s so hard to get hold of. Still, I suppose I had better get rid of it now—better safe than sorry…”

She stepped over to the shelf and picked up the bottle, then turned to look down at me.

“Anyway, I doubt anyone will even think of it. The only people I mentioned the aphid spray to were you and your mother. I realised afterwards that I’d made a mistake, but thank goodness you were distracted by that Jon Kelsey. Hah!” She gave a satisfied laugh. “I didn’t think I’d be glad of your snooping but it was actually very useful, helping to divert all the attention towards him. I saw your mother last night and she was telling me all about the drama at your friend’s place. How lucky for me that Kelsey gave Sarah a bottle from the same brand! I hadn’t planned on that.” She paused thoughtfully. “Hmm… I wonder if there’s still a way to frame him…”

I squirmed again and made more angry noises.

Mrs Waltham laughed contemptuously. “I know what you’re thinking—that I’ll never get away with it. That’s where you’re wrong. No one saw you come here today, did they?” She looked at me with satisfaction, her eyes travelling down my body, still clad in my pyjamas. “Looks like you came straight out with that silly cat of yours, just like you do every morning. I’ve been watching you. And when I saw your mother this morning, she told me that you had come home very late last night and would probably sleep in, so they’re not expecting you at the tearoom anytime soon. You obviously came into my garden through the back gate, so no one saw you walk in our front door… and now you can stay here in the shed until dark. Then I’ll figure out a way to get rid of your body.”

I shivered. She noticed and a smile curled the corners of her mouth.

“Yes, you didn’t think I would leave it to chance, did you? I’ve just been to move your bicycle—I took it down to Cowley and left it in the churchyard there. When your mother gets back later, I’ll simply tell her that I saw you cycling off and then, when they find your bicycle there, the police will be too busy looking in the wrong direction…” She smiled—a calculating smile that sent a chill up my spine. “So don’t get any clever ideas. I’ve already thought of everything. Now, you just wait here like a good girl while I go off to sort out my alibi for this evening.”

She bent down to check my bonds, then seemingly satisfied, she left the shed, bolting the door securely behind her. Her footsteps faded away.

I lay for a moment, trying to fight the rising tide of panic that threatened to overwhelm me. I couldn’t breathe. My chest was rising and falling in agitation and I felt like I was suffocating as I sucked air in desperately through the gag. I closed my eyes and tried to focus.

Breathe, Gemma, breathe. In. Out. In. Out.

I opened my eyes. It was all right, I told myself. Somebody would come and find me. No matter how late my mother thought I would sleep in, she wouldn’t expect me to not turn up at the tearoom at all. Surely when the afternoon rolled around and I still hadn’t appeared, she would call to find out if I was okay? My phone was still on my bedside table and when no one answered it, that would make her worried and come back to check on me, wouldn’t it?

But what if Mrs Waltham didn’t wait until later to kill me? She only said she would dispose of
my body
later—not that she would kill me later. When was she planning to do it? When she came back? And
how
was she going to do it?
Oh my God, if my mother waits until this afternoon to call me, I might be dead by then!

My panicked thoughts were interrupted by the sound of snuffling outside the door of the shed again.

Muesli!

I turned my face eagerly towards the door. This time, I saw the door rattle slightly in its frame and I knew that she must have been rubbing herself against it. If only she were a dog! Then she could bark for attention or something—wasn’t that what dogs always did in movies? Lassie performing some clever trick and rescuing her master… but what could a
cat
do? Purr for help?

Suddenly I heard Muesli give a chirpy “
Meorrw!
” and then all was silent. She was gone.

Where had she gone? I regretted my ungrateful thoughts. Even though she hadn’t been able to do anything, just knowing that the little cat was there had made me feel slightly better. Now I felt completely abandoned and alone.

The despair threatened to swamp me again and I fought it.
No. I’m not going to just lie here, waiting to die!
I began wriggling towards the stack of gardening tools in the opposite corner of the shed. There were other ways people escaped death in books and movies if they didn’t have a convenient clever canine to rescue them, right? They were always rubbing the ropes binding their hands on some sharp surface and sawing through their bonds that way. Okay, well, I could give it a go too. If I could get near one of the spades or pitchforks, I might be able to cut my ropes loose.

It was painful going, wriggling and squirming across the floor, and I winced as my efforts caused the rope to cut into the skin around my wrist. But I couldn’t just lie there like some helpless victim. After a few minutes, I had to stop to rest. I was sweating and the skin around my wrists was rubbed raw. I was disheartened to see that I had only moved a few feet. But I couldn’t give up. I closed my eyes and gathered my strength, then just as I was about to start wriggling again, I froze.

Was that a man’s voice?

“Gemma!”

Yes! It was Devlin!