Tea with Milk and Murder (Oxford Tearoom Mysteries ~ Book 2) (18 page)

I heard a loud persistent meowing accompanying Devlin’s voice. That was Muesli! How had she managed to get hold of Devlin? I didn’t know and right now, I didn’t care—I just wanted to let Devin know that I was in the shed.

I turned my head and looked around. I needed to make some noise. I tried raising my bound legs and thumping them on the floor of the shed but it was too hard to lift them high enough and the solid floor muffled the sound.

I needed to bang against the wall of the shed, I realised. And then I also realised that my efforts to get to the gardening tools had moved me into the centre of the shed, away from the wall. I would have to wriggle back until I was close enough to thump my feet against the wall.

I rolled over and began wriggling back the way I had come. Outside, I could hear Muesli’s insistent meowing and Devlin’s puzzled voice. He seemed to be approaching the shed—his voice was getting louder—and then I heard footsteps hurrying down the flagstone path.

“Why, Inspector O’Connor! What are you doing here?”

Only someone who was attuned to it could hear the nervousness in Mrs Waltham’s voice.

“Hello, Mrs Waltham. I apologise for the intrusion and the unorthodox way of getting into your garden, but have you seen Gemma?”

“Gemma?” Mrs Waltham’s voice had just the right mix of surprise and puzzlement. “N-no… I don’t think I have…”

“Her mother’s worried about her—she hasn’t come into the tearoom or answered her phone. And I found her cat loose in the garden. She seems to be very agitated.”

“Oh, that silly creature! She’s always making such a racket. Such a noisy little thing. If you mean the meowing, it doesn’t really mean anything. She’s always doing that.”

“Really? I got the impression that she’s trying to tell me something.”

There was a scathing laugh. “You’ve been watching too many Disney movies, Inspector. She’s just being a typical cat. I take it you’re not a cat person?”

“No, I’m not… I’ve always been more of a dog person. I have to admit, I don’t know that much about felines.”

“Well, I do and I can tell you that this is just Muesli being a nuisance and trying it on. She’s probably hoping for some extra treats. Actually, I have some lovely tinned tuna in my pantry. Why don’t we go in and I’ll give her some and make you a nice cup of tea?”

“Thank you, Mrs Waltham, but that won’t be necessary. I just wanted to check to make sure that Gemma wasn’t here in your garden.”

“Why on earth would she be in my garden?” The voice was sharper this time.

“No particular reason, other than the fact that it’s next door to hers. And her cat was walking up and down the dividing wall, crying at me.” Devlin gave a sheepish laugh. “Maybe I
was
thinking of Disney movies. I thought maybe Gemma was lying injured somewhere and the cat was trying to alert me…”

Mrs Waltham’s voice said smoothly, “Well, as you can see, Inspector, she’s not here. In fact, I think I might have seen her cycling off about an hour ago.”

“Really?”

“Yes, now that you mention… I didn’t pay too much attention at the time, but it was definitely Gemma. She was cycling south into the city.”

“That’s strange…” I couldn’t see Devlin but I could tell that he was frowning. “Why would she be going south? She should be cycling north out of Oxford, to go to the tearoom. And it doesn’t explain why her cat is loose.”

“Oh, maybe Gemma just decided to let her have a little wander outside. I mean, it’s cruel to keep animals cooped up inside all the time, don’t you think?”

Devlin sounded doubtful. “Yes, but I’m sure I remember her saying that if she does take the cat out, she keeps it on a harness…”

“Perhaps she’s decided that it’s time to give the little thing a bit more freedom. Anyway, why are we standing out here in the cold? Are you sure you won’t come in for a cup of tea? I’ve got some very nice madeleines as well.”

“No, thanks, Mrs Waltham. I think I’ll just head back. I’ll call Mrs Rose again and see if Gemma might have turned up at the tearoom…”

I could hear Devlin’s voice fading as he turned away and footsteps slowly receding. My heart sank.
No! No!
I threw myself towards the wall, wriggling and squirming frantically. I had to make some kind of noise so that Devlin could hear me before he went out of earshot!

And then the air was rent by the most dreadful yowling sound.

“YOWWL! YOWWL!  YO-O-O-W-W-W-O-O-O-W-W-L-L!”

It was Muesli.

She was outside the shed door, making the most awful racket—bloodcurdling screams and yowls that made my hair stand on end. I heard the sound of footsteps rushing back.

“Muesli! Bloody hell—what’s going on?” Then Devlin’s voice changed. “Is it something in the shed?”

“Oh no, it can’t be anything in there! We always keep the door bolted.” Mrs Waltham’s voice sounded less smooth and calm now. “It’s really just full of old junk—I’m sure there’s nothing in there…”

Devlin’s voice hardened. “All the same, Mrs Waltham, I would appreciate it if you could unlock it for me and let me have a look inside.”

There was a moment of silence, then Mrs Walton’s voice said stiffly, “Certainly. I think the key to the padlock must be in the kitchen. Let me go in and get it for you…”

Her footsteps faded away. I wondered suddenly if she was planning to make a getaway. Surely she wasn’t going to come back and hand over the key and let Devlin open the door and find me bound and gagged on the shed floor?

Anyway, I didn’t care. All I wanted now was to let Devlin know that I was here. I rolled over once more, discovering that if I straightened my legs and rolled sideways rather than trying to wriggle forward, I could manage to move easier. I threw myself sideways and rolled over and over until my shoulder hit something. It was the wall. I felt a mixture of relief and elation. Now, I squirmed until I had turned my body around and could prop my feet up against the wall. I bent my knees and began to bang my heels against the side of the shed.

THUD! THUD! THUD!

Muesli added another bloodcurdling yowl and this time Devlin threw himself against the door.

“Gemma? Gemma, are you in there?” He banged against the door. I saw it jiggle in its frame and heard a fumbling at the bolt, then saw it shudder under another impact. Devlin was obviously trying to break his way in, but I knew that it was too securely bolted. Without the key to the padlock—or a steel cutter—he wouldn’t be able to open the door.

Then I heard the sound of rustling around the side of the shed and Devlin’s face appeared suddenly at the small window high up in the wall. His blue eyes widened as he saw me.

“Gemma!”

He turned his face away, raised his elbow and used it to smash in the glass pane. Then he reached through and undid the latch, and pushed the window frame upwards. It swung open with a screech of rusty hinges.

Devlin stuck his head through the opening. “Gemma! You okay?”

I made some jubilant noises through the gag in answer. Devlin tried to heave himself through the window but it was too narrow for his broad shoulders. He let out a breath of frustration and dropped back down.

“Hang on—I’m calling for reinforcements. I’ll have you out in a few minutes.”

A little furry shape jumped up onto the windowsill and pushed her way past Devlin, then dropped down inside the shed.
Muesli!

She trotted over to me and sniffed my face anxiously, then began purring loudly. Outside, I could hear Devlin talking on his phone as he called for an ambulance and backup to break down the shed door, as well as arrest Mrs Waltham. Inside the shed, I breathed a long sigh of relief, and let my head drop back down on the floor, relaxing at last. It was over. I was safe.

Next to me, Muesli curled up against the curve of my body and tucked her tail around her. She flexed her paws in a kneading motion and blinked at me.

I smiled at her through my gag and thought,
I take it all back, Muesli. Lassie would have been proud of you.

I had to admit, despite being a thoroughly emancipated, modern woman, there was something nice and yes, okay,
romantic
about being carried out of the shed in Devlin’s arms. Despite my protests, he insisted on accompanying me in the ambulance, and hovered over me like a brooding guardian angel as I was admitted into A&E—the Accident & Emergency department at the hospital.

“I’ll be fine, Devlin,” I said as his phone rang persistently for the third time in the last five minutes. “I know you’ve got a lot to do with Mrs Waltham’s arrest—they’re obviously wanting you back at the crime scene. Don’t worry about me!”

Devlin hesitated, then said, “I’ll be back to see you later. I’ve contacted your mother and she’s on her way—and I’ve rung Cassie too. You won’t be alone for long.”

“I’m perfectly happy being alone,” I assured him with a laugh. “Seriously. Stop worrying! I feel fine and I’m sure they’ll discharge me as soon as they’ve checked me over.”

Well, that’s where I was wrong. Devlin had barely left when I discovered that I was exchanging one over-protective male for another! Lincoln heard about what had happened and immediately rushed down to A&E to see me. He then proceeded to annoy the Emergency specialist by double-checking every examination she had performed on me and insisting that I be given every test possible for someone suffering from concussion. Things got so heated that I thought the British Medical Association would have to be called in to arbitrate, but at last they compromised on a CT scan of the head.

“But Lincoln, I feel fine!” I protested.

“You have a bad headache, don’t you?” he said, frowning.

“Yeah,” I admitted, rubbing the back of my head. It was true—my head was throbbing dreadfully. It was like the worst headache I had ever had. In fact, it seemed to feel worse now than when I was in the shed. Perhaps it was the adrenaline that had dampened everything. Now that it was all over, things were really beginning to hit me. Still, I didn’t want to admit how shaky I was feeling. Maybe I was my mother’s daughter after all.

I gave Lincoln a grin, attempting to make light of the situation. “It’s hardly surprising I’ve got a terrible headache given that I got clobbered across the head with a garden trowel!”

“A bad headache is also a sign of concussion, which is not something you want to mess around with,” said Lincoln grimly, all serious-doctor now and not the polite childhood friend coming to dinner at my parents’ house.

“Fine,” I said sulkily, submitting with bad grace to one of those humiliating hospital gowns and allowing myself to be wheeled off to Radiology. The results of my CT scan were innocuous enough but, to my dismay, even the Emergency specialist agreed with Lincoln that my severe headache was enough to merit an overnight stay in the hospital for observation. Lincoln insisted that he would not return to his own patients in the ICU unless I agreed to remain.

Sighing, I gave in and allowed the nurses to settle me in a cubicle in the Short Stay ward and dutifully took the painkillers they gave me. They had barely drawn the curtains around my bed when the fabric was yanked back again and my mother stepped in, brandishing a hot water bottle, a bouquet of flowers, and a bag of muffins. And a lime green memory foam neck pillow.

My weak protests were completely ignored and I submitted to my mother’s ministrations. Okay, I had to admit: the neck pillow really was very comfortable. In fact, I think my headache even lifted a bit.

The Old Biddies had come with my mother from Meadowford-on-Smythe, leaving Cassie behind to look after the last few customers in the tearoom. They were all agog with horror and excitement at my close brush with death, although, as usual, they seemed to already have all the details of the arrest and the background to the crimes.

“Darling! How dreadful!” My mother clasped a hand to her throat. “Who would have believed it…? Mrs Waltham! I’m so shocked—I mean, she had such lovely roses!”

Obviously those who excelled in horticulture couldn’t possibly be psychopaths, in my mother’s book.

“She seemed such a nice quiet woman,” Florence agreed. “I met her a few times at the local gardening centre and she was so pleasant, so unassuming! I felt quite sorry for her, actually, what with all she had to deal with, especially with her stepdaughter. I would never have imagined her as someone who could plan a murder!”

Yes, I thought, that had been Mrs Waltham’s secret weapon. Her frumpy appearance and downtrodden, nondescript personality.

“Well,
I
always thought that she was up to no good,” said Mabel with a superior sniff. “You only have to look at the age difference between her and David Waltham to know that there’s something fishy going on there!”

“I don’t think marrying an older man is automatically an indicator of a criminal personality,” I protested.

“Oh, she had it all planned out,” said Mabel.  “Even tried to get that old fool, Waltham, to change his will, although he didn’t change it the way she liked.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“She had hoped that he might change his will so that she would get the bulk of his estate if he dies. David Waltham did change it, but not as she’d hoped. He still left almost everything to Sarah in the event of his death—including the house in North Oxford—and the only way his second wife could inherit the estate was if Sarah died first.”

“How do you know all this? I thought wills were confidential,” I said, frowning.

Mabel sniffed again. “I have my sources.”

“That must have been the day I met them at the solicitors!” my mother said suddenly. “Remember, darling? I said they were just coming out of the offices. I remember now that Mrs Waltham seemed very unhappy.”

“Yeah, she must have had a big disappointment,” I mused. “Going in there with her husband thinking that he would alter his will in her favour and then finding that she was still beholden to his spoilt brat of a daughter!”

I paused, then said excitedly, “I remember now! I asked Devlin whether Sarah had a life insurance policy and he had mentioned that she would inherit her father’s wealth—I hadn’t thought to ask who would get the money instead if
Sarah
should die.”

My mother gasped. “Do you think she was plotting to murder Sarah from the start?”

“I don’t know… Maybe not plotting exactly,” I said. “Maybe the idea had occurred to her—but I wonder if she would have done it so quickly if it hadn’t been triggered by her disappointment with the will…”

“And then when David Waltham got septicaemia after his operation and took a turn for the worse, she must have panicked,” said Glenda breathlessly. “If he died, then suddenly Sarah would own everything, including the house.”

Ethel nodded. “And you know, they had that terrible row where Sarah threatened to throw her stepmother out of the house as soon as her father died.”

“Yes, whereas with Sarah out of the way, it didn’t matter if David Waltham should die in hospital. His second wife would inherit everything,” said Florence.

“She must have started plotting how to kill Sarah last week, after David Waltham developed septicaemia, and she put her plan into action last Saturday,” said Mabel. “Lucky for her that she had the poison handy.”

“How devious!” said my mother.

“What’s devious?” Cassie stuck her head in through the cubicle curtains.

“Cassie!” I smiled in delight to see my best friend.

She came in, followed by Seth, and they both gave me a hug.

“I shut the tearoom up early,” said Cassie. “The news had got around the village already anyway and nobody was really interested in having afternoon tea—they were just worried about you and wanting to know if you were okay.”

“They were worried about me?” I smiled, touched.

It was nice to think that the villagers might be accepting me as one of their own at last. Not that I was a complete stranger—after all, my family used to live in Meadowford-on-Smythe when I was a little girl—but coming back after living for eight years Down Under had turned me into an “outsider” and there were times in the early days when I’d thought I’d never win them over.

“Oh, they love you, Gemma,” said Cassie with a mischievous look. “Especially since you’re the first person to bring a giant indoor water feature to Meadowford!”

“Ah yes, speaking of the water feature,” my mother said brightly. “I had the most marvellous idea! Why don’t we get some goldfish for the pond?”

I looked at my mother in alarm. “
Goldfish
?”

“Yes, Helen tells me that in Feng Shui, fish symbolise wealth and prosperity, so I thought it would be ideal to add some goldfish to your wealth-accumulating pond—”

“How about a
painting
of goldfish?” Seth suggested.

“No… no goldfish of any kind,” I said desperately.

“Ah, painting! Yes, that reminds me—I had another idea, Gemma,” my mother said. “Cassie tells me that she’s withdrawing her exhibition from the Kelsey gallery in town, so I thought… why not hang her paintings up at the tearoom?”

I broke into a wide smile. “Now
that
is a ‘marvellous’ idea, Mother,” I said. I turned to Cassie. “Would you be happy to do that, Cass? I think your paintings would go really well with the ambience of the tearoom.”

“Yes,” Cassie agreed, her cheeks flushing with pleasure. “That would be great. Thank you! And I could even do one of goldfish especially for the tearoom,” she added with a mischievous look at me.

I scowled at her. “Don’t you dare.”

She laughed, then said, “So, what were you guys talking about? Who’s devious?”

Quickly, I brought Cassie and Seth up to speed on everything. Cassie frowned as I finished.

“There’s still one thing I don’t understand, though,” she said. “So Nell Hicks had nothing to do with the poisonings, right?”

I nodded.

“So why did she take the shortbread biscuits to give to Sarah at the hospital?”

“Maybe she was hoping that she could get back into Sarah’s good graces and get her old job back,” Seth suggested. “Don’t they say the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach? Well, maybe that works for women too.” He grinned.

“That’s a good theory, young man,” said Mabel, nodding approvingly at him. “I shall check my sources, but I fancy that your explanation is pretty close to the mark.”

“I think we should leave Gemma to get some rest now,” Ethel said, seeing me trying to hide a yawn.

“No, I’m fine,” I protested, even as another yawn overtook me.

The truth was, I did suddenly feel shattered. Maybe it was all catching up with me at last. All I wanted to do was close my eyes and go to sleep for a bit.

Then I remembered something. “Muesli… what about Muesli?”

“Oh, don’t worry, darling—Inspector O’Connor told me that he’d asked his sergeant to make sure that Muesli was returned to your room. And he would check on her himself when he went back to the house.” My mother hesitated, then said, “You know, darling, I’ve been thinking, maybe it’s time we considered letting Muesli have the run of the house? I mean, the poor little thing must hate it shut up in your bedroom all day and I think, after saving your life today, she deserves to be rewarded.”

I looked gratefully at my mother. “She’d love that, Mother! But are you sure? I mean, what about her scratching the sofa and chairs and curtains—”

“Oh, I’ve got an answer for that,” said my mother with an airy wave of her hand. “I just found this wonderful online pet store and they sell all sorts of clever things for the feline owner! Apparently, if you buy a scratching pole, then your cat won’t scratch the furniture.” My mother beamed, looking very proud of her newly acquired knowledge.

“Hmm,” I said. I didn’t have the heart to disillusion her and tell her that from my own bitter experience, cats never used anything that you specially bought for them. I started to say something else but succumbed to another yawn.

“We’ll leave you now,” my mother said, as the Old Biddies hustled Cassie and Seth out of the cubicle. My eyes were already drifting closed as she bent over and gave me a peck on the cheek…