Tea with Milk and Murder (Oxford Tearoom Mysteries ~ Book 2) (6 page)

“Her name is Fiona Stanley,” added Ethel. “And she’s in her third year, just like the dead girl.”

“So they were at the Art School together?”

Ethel nodded. “But I don’t think you could say they were
friends
.”

“Hah! Friends!” Mabel smacked the table scornfully. “Enemies, more like.”

“Devlin said you didn’t actually
see
anything, though,” I reminded them.

Mabel shrugged. Obviously eye-witness evidence was a minor detail. “She was poisoned,” she said, nodding ominously. “The question is—by what?”

The bell at the tearoom door jingled, announcing the arrival of a new customer, and regretfully I left the Old Biddies’ table. Much as I would have liked to stay and gossip about the murder, I had work to do. In fact, being the only person serving that morning, I soon began to feel overwhelmed. It was wonderful that my tearoom was doing such rip-roaring business but it was also beginning to fall into chaos. Orders were delayed, food got cold before it could be taken to tables, and I could see that customers were starting to look irritated.

“Is Cassie taking the day off today?” Mabel called out to me as I rushed past their table with a tray of cucumber finger sandwiches intended for the family group next to them.

I paused for a moment. “No-o… I’m not sure why she’s not come in yet. She’s probably held up somewhere…” I tried to conceal my irritation with Cassie. If she was going to be late, it would have been nice if she could have let me know. I had tried calling her a couple of times but her phone had gone straight to voicemail.

Mabel and the other Old Biddies exchanged a look, then they stood up in unison. Mabel turned to me, pushing her sleeves up to her elbows.

“Come on, dear. We’ll give you a hand.”

“Oh, no, there’s really no need—”

“Nonsense! We can see that you’re rushed off your feet,” said Glenda, taking the tray out of my hands.

The other three marched to the counter and began helping themselves to various crockery and food items there. I watched in a slight daze as Florence assembled a tray with a Shelley Rosebud bone china teapot and cups, a matching jug of milk, and a bowl of sugar, whilst Ethel whisked a plate of warm scones with jam and clotted cream off to the table of Japanese tourists and Mabel took charge of the menus and order pads. They were bustling off to different corners of the tearoom before I could protest and, to be honest, I was too grateful for the help to object much.

And if I’d been unsure about how the customers would react, I was pleasantly surprised. If anything, they seemed to be delighted to be served by what looked like quintessential sweet old ladies—for the tourists, especially, this fit the image of a traditional English tearoom perfectly. As for the old dears themselves, any guilt I might have felt was mollified by the fact that they seemed to be enjoying themselves immensely. In fact, they seemed to be relishing the opportunity to chat to people at the tables (and meddle in their businesses, no doubt). 

In no time at all, peace and contentment were restored to the tearoom and I was able to sit down for a moment for a much-deserved rest behind the counter. It was all going to be fine now, I told myself with a sigh of relief. Still, I couldn’t quite shake off the uneasy feeling that this was just the calm before the storm…

It was nearly twelve o’clock when the door swung open and Cassie finally stepped into the tearoom with a sheepish expression on her face. She came rushing up to me.

“Oh, God, Gemma—I’m so sorry! I completely overslept this morning! We stayed at Jon’s place last night and didn’t get to sleep till the early hours…” She blushed slightly, leaving me in no doubt as to what they were doing up so late. “I thought he’d like a bit of company, you know, after what had happened at the gallery… Anyway, when I woke up this morning and realised the time, I got here as fast as I could.”

I swallowed my annoyance. After all, everyone mucked up sometimes and last night’s fiasco probably gave her a better excuse than most.

“No worries, as my friends Down Under would say,” I said, giving her a smile. “The Old Biddies decided to help out.”

“The Old Biddies!” Cassie turned and looked disbelievingly at the white-haired figures bustling around the room. “You’re not serious!”

“Uh… Actually, they’ve been really good,” I said. “In fact, the customers seem to love them and the whole place seems to be running a lot smoother.”

Cassie looked shamefaced again. “Sorry—I know I must have left you in the lurch, especially with Sunday being one of our busiest days.”

“That’s okay. So how’s Jon?”

“Oh, the poor thing… It was such a horrible shock for him, having someone collapse like that in his gallery.”

“And someone he knew too,” I said.

Cassie frowned. “Well, not very well. She wasn’t much more than a customer, really. It wasn’t like Jon knew her personally or anything.”

“Did the police believe that?”

“Why shouldn’t they?” Cassie flared.

I bit my tongue. “No, no reason. I just thought… you know how police can be so suspicious sometimes…”

Cassie scowled. “Bloody right! I don’t know what Devlin’s playing at. I used to think that he was a pretty decent guy, but he’s acting like a complete plonker in this instance! Anyone can see that Jon’s the victim there. That girl was totally barmy and making poor Jon’s life a misery—and all he did was try to provide the best service for his clients!”

Cassie’s voice had rose shrilly in indignation and customers at several tables turned around to stare. I glanced at them, then caught Cassie’s arm and pulled her out of the dining room. We went into the little shop area adjoining the main tearoom, selling Oxford souvenirs and English tea paraphernalia, where we could have some privacy.

“The Old Biddies seem to think that the waitress who was at the bar last night might be involved. Her name’s Fiona Stanley, apparently. Did you hear the police mention her?” I asked.

Cassie frowned. “Yeah, I did hear Devlin say something about that to his sergeant. The girl’s a student here at the University, isn’t she?”

I nodded. “And so was Sarah. In fact, they were both in the same year, doing Fine Art.”

Cassie raised her eyebrows. “Fine Art? Really?”

Cassie had read Fine Art at Oxford herself, whilst I had done English. We’d been delighted when we had both been accepted and our close friendship, which had started in primary school, continued strong through our university years. In fact, even my moving to the other side of the world for eight years hadn’t threatened our friendship. Nothing had ever come between Cassie and me.
Except Jon Kelsey
, I thought sourly.

Aloud, I asked, “Would Sarah and Fiona have had much to do with each other?”

Cassie shrugged. “It’s a pretty small department—the new intake is no more than thirty students each year—and it’s got a very intimate feel; everyone works alongside each other in the studios. In fact, all the teaching is done in the department rather than in the colleges.”

“Oh?” I was surprised to hear that.

One of the ways Oxford was so different from most other universities in the world was its collegiate “tutorial system”. Basically, this meant that you were taught individually or in small groups of two and three, by the respective dons in their subjects at their colleges. Oh, you might have lectures in the department buildings and some subjects, like the sciences, had practical laboratory sessions, but most of your learning wasn’t done in classrooms but in private, one-to-one sessions where you were challenged to analyse, defend, and critique the ideas of your own and others, in in-depth essays and conversations with your tutor and fellow students. There was no hiding at the back of the class or learning things by rote at Oxford—and if there was one thing you graduated with, it was a finely honed skill of independent, critical thinking.

The tutorials—especially in the arts—were usually based in your affiliated college, but it sounded like Fine Art was unusual in having them based at the department. Did that mean that Sarah and Fiona had been in tutorials together? Had there been friction between them? Competition? Jealousy?

“I wouldn’t be surprised if that waitress was involved,” said Cassie darkly. “Didn’t Mabel say at the party that they saw her making tea for Sarah and putting poison in the cup?”

“They didn’t actually see Fiona doing anything,” I said quickly. “It was just a theory. And we won’t know for sure yet if Sarah was poisoned until the post-mortem results come back.” I sighed. “I don’t know… The thought that Fiona might poison a fellow student seems so far-fetched…”

“A lot less far-fetched than imagining that Jon had anything to do with it!” said Cassie hotly.

“Yes, well… did he explain his connection with Sarah to the police?”

Cassie nodded. “Yeah, he told them the same story he told us. He hadn’t seen Sarah since the time they had their last argument in London, when he told her that she had to back off otherwise he was going to report her for harassment. And she made a terrible scene at his gallery in London. His assistant verified that. She was there and witnessed the whole thing…”

She trailed off as she saw my expression. “What?”

“Nothing,” I said quickly.

“You don’t believe him, do you?” she said accusingly.

I gave a helpless shrug. “Cassie—you have to admit, you’ve only known Jon a few weeks…” I hesitated, then plunged on. “You don’t really know anything about his past, do you? There
might
have been more between him and Sarah than he’s letting on.”

Cassie’s eyes flashed. “I don’t believe it! Are you telling me that
you
suspect Jon as well?”

“I—”

“You do! You think he might be involved in this murder!”

“Cassie—”

“No, don’t deny it! I know you don’t like him, Gemma—you try to hide it but I can tell. You’ve got a thing against Jon and you’re ready to believe the worst of him!”

“Cass, no, you’ve got it all wrong!” I protested. I took a deep breath. I needed to calm her down and if that meant telling a few fibs… “I do like Jon! I think it’s wonderful that you’re so happy him. I didn’t mean that he might be involved in the girl’s murder—but I just thought… well, you know… he is a very attractive man… it would be weird if he hadn’t had any girlfriends before you. And maybe he did go out with Sarah but just didn’t want to let you know because… because he loves you so much and thinks that might hurt your feelings.”

It was cheesy and lame but Cassie was so blind where Jon was concerned, I didn’t think she’d notice. I was right. She looked slightly mollified.

“Well, I think he’s telling the truth about her just being a customer,” she said stubbornly.

I raised my hands in a gesture of surrender. “You’re probably right. Sorry, it was a stupid idea…”

We returned to the main dining room but Cassie remained in an irritable, distracted mood for the rest of the day. In fact, even though she was back, she was much less of a help than she should have been, and if it hadn’t been for the Old Biddies, things would have still been a shambles. As it was, we finally weathered the lunchtime rush and all managed to sit down with a sigh of relief as the tearoom emptied out again by three o’clock.

“Mabel, Glenda, Florence, Ethel… I really don’t know how to thank you all,” I said to them with a warm smile. “You were
wonderful
.”

“Tosh, dear—we enjoyed it!” said Glenda whilst the others nodded.

I had to admit that they looked very well, their cheeks flushed and their eyes bright from the extra activity. And I was amazed at their stamina—for little old ladies, they sure had incredible energy. They seemed far less tired than me after several hours of running around on their feet!

“Any time you need an extra pair of hands, just let us know,” said Ethel.

“Yes, we don’t do anything much these days since retiring,” said Florence. “It’s nice for us to feel useful.”

“Well, it’s not much of a thank you but all your meals this week in the tearoom are on me—and please help yourself to anything you like from the kitchen!” I said.

“Ooh, in that case, I must sample a bit of that new Velvet Cheesecake your mother’s made,” said Florence.

“Yes, and the muffins looked fabulous too,” said Glenda.

“Pot of tea?” said Ethel, getting up and heading to the kitchen.

The others followed her, already chattering excitedly about what they were going to eat. I glanced at Cassie—she had been very quiet—and I found her looking down at her phone. She seemed to be busy texting something.

“Cassie? Fancy a cup of tea?”

She looked up, an embarrassed expression on her face. “Er… actually, Gemma, if you don’t mind… I think I might push off early today? You’ve got the Old Biddies here anyway and everything seems to be under control. It’s just that… well, you know I’m going to Florence with Jon. We’re flying tomorrow morning and he said he’s taking me out for an early dinner… and then I’d really like to get home and pack…”

I felt that flash of annoyance again, mingled with hurt, but I hurriedly squashed the feelings. I should have been pleased for Cassie and excited for her. Of course she’d want to prepare for her romantic trip away. And if she’d rather spend time with Jon than with me… well, that was pretty natural too.

I swallowed and plastered a smile on my face. “Sure, no problem. Have a great time in Florence!”

“Thanks—I’ll see you on Wednesday,” she said, giving me a quick hug. Then she took off her apron, grabbed her things, and hurried out the front door.

I watched her go with troubled eyes, unable to shake the feeling that my friend was gradually slipping away from me.

The rest of the afternoon passed fairly quietly. We had our usual resurgence at around four o’clock tea time but nothing that we couldn’t handle. In fact, the Old Biddies and I were starting to develop a rhythm, working together as a team, and I found myself enjoying their company more than ever before.

Just before we were closing, a black Jaguar XK pulled up at the curb outside the tearoom and a tall, dark-haired man stepped out of the driver’s seat. It was Devlin.

“Gemma… Can I have a word?” He said as he stepped in. He glanced around the room, noting the Old Biddies watching him with bright, beady eyes. “In private,” he added.

“How about the courtyard outside?” I asked. “It’s a bit chilly but we wouldn’t be overheard.”

Devlin nodded and followed me out to the little courtyard adjoining the tearoom. This used to be the stable yard adjoining the old inn, and it still retained much of its original period charm, with cobblestones and whitewashed walls, and even an ancient horseshoe still nailed to the wall by the stable doors. There were a few wooden picnic tables in the courtyard and I planned to add big tubs of flowers when summer arrived—it would make a very pretty extension to the main tearoom, somewhere to enjoy the sunshine while having your tea and cakes. Right now, though, it was cold and bare—but it would serve our purposes.

“What do you know about Jon Kelsey?” said Devlin without preamble.

“I don’t know much about him,” I said cautiously. “Cassie’s only been dating him for a few weeks.”

“You said at the party that you didn’t like him.”

“I… No, not really,” I admitted. “But that doesn’t necessarily mean anything,” I added quickly.

“No,” Devlin agreed. “But I have a lot of respect for your instincts, Gemma.”

I flushed with pleasure. “Is Jon a suspect in the murder?”

“Anyone who had any connection with the girl is considered a suspect until proven innocent,” said Devlin. “In this case, it’s certainly curious that she had a past connection to Jon Kelsey and died in his gallery.”

“And the post-mortem? Have you got the results back yet?”

Devlin regarded me silently for a moment, as if trying to make up his mind, then he said, “It’s definitely a suspicious death. There’s going to be an inquest. And yes, the belief is that she was poisoned.”

Poisoned.

That word hung in the air between us. It still sounded far too surreal and melodramatic and yet each time it was mentioned, it seemed to become a bit more real. And this wasn’t just the lurid speculation of a bunch of little old ladies anymore—this was the cold hard conclusion of a forensic pathologist.