Read Online A Scone To Die For (Oxford Tearoom Mysteries ~ Book 1) by H.Y. Hanna - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: H.Y. Hanna
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“Oh for God’s sake!” Cassie burst out. “Are you stupid? He overslept and was late, so he was running from his house, which is on the other side of the village!”
Fletcher looked at Cassie in distress. “Don’t say ‘stupid’. It’s not nice to call someone that,” he said, wringing his hands.
The sergeant gave Cassie a cold stare. “I’d thank you to let me question the suspect in peace, or I may have you for police obstruction, miss.”
Cassie sprang to her feet, her face red. “You—!”
“Whoa!” I said quickly, stepping into the kitchen.
Fletcher looked up gratefully. “You tell him, Gemma! You saw me come! I was late because I didn’t hear my alarm!”
I glared at the sergeant, feeling a wave of dislike for him. I knew that he was probably just doing his job but he was a bit too cocky for his own good.
I raised my chin and said levelly, “Fletcher’s right—I met him as he came in, just before 9 a.m. He lives on the other side of the village, about a fifteen-minute walk from here… or ten, I suppose, if you are running.”
“Any neighbours who can verify his whereabouts?”
“His house backs onto the woods on one side and Miss Ethel Webb lives on the other. She used to be the village librarian before she retired.”
“We’ll need to speak to her and check his alibi,” the sergeant said importantly. Then he turned back to Fletcher, who flinched under his gaze. “Now, about yesterday, I want to know—”
“I don’t think Fletcher can help you,” Cassie cut him off. “He was in the kitchen most of yesterday.”
“Yes,” I agreed. Then I added, glancing sideways at Fletcher and lowering my voice, “And he’s not really the type to talk much to people. It’s a waste of time asking—”
“Gemma.”
I whirled around. Devlin was standing in the kitchen doorway. I wondered if he realised that he had called me by my first name.
He said in an impatient tone, like someone speaking to an annoying child, “We have to question everyone. We can’t make exceptions. It will all be over quicker if you let us do our job.”
“Yes, but you don’t understand.” I hurried across to him and said in an undertone, “Fletcher is… different. He… he doesn’t interact with others like most—”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Devlin said, his voice making it clear that this was the end of the discussion. “I’d like to speak to Mr Wilson myself now. If you and Miss Jenkins could wait outside please?”
There was a pause, then Cassie got up and stalked out. I hesitated, then gave Fletcher an encouraging smile and walked to the kitchen door. As I got there, however, I looked back. Devlin was standing with his head bent, reading the notes the sergeant had scribbled on a pad. The light from the kitchen windows caught the glint of his dark hair and highlighted his aquiline profile. It brought to mind those paintings of Celtic warriors… I shook my head sharply. I had to stop thinking of Devlin O’Connor like that. He was no longer the romantic hero of my youthful dreams—he was now the detective in a murder investigation.
CHAPTER SEVEN
As it was, Devlin didn’t keep either Cassie or Fletcher long; their interviews were even shorter than mine and they were soon released. I was glad to see that Fletcher looked slightly less distressed as he came out of the kitchen and felt grateful that Devlin had obviously acted with sensitivity. However, my goodwill towards him vanished when he came back in, after a hasty conference with the pathologist, and told me that I would have to shut the tearoom for the rest of the weekend.
“What? You can’t be serious!”
There was no sign of humour on his face. “I’m perfectly serious. This is now a crime scene and until the SOCO unit can go over the place, we can’t have a dozen tourists trampling around destroying evidence.”
“But… he was found outside in the courtyard! Can’t you just fence off that area
“Oh for God’s sake!” Cassie burst out. “Are you stupid? He overslept and was late, so he was running from his house, which is on the other side of the village!”
Fletcher looked at Cassie in distress. “Don’t say ‘stupid’. It’s not nice to call someone that,” he said, wringing his hands.
The sergeant gave Cassie a cold stare. “I’d thank you to let me question the suspect in peace, or I may have you for police obstruction, miss.”
Cassie sprang to her feet, her face red. “You—!”
“Whoa!” I said quickly, stepping into the kitchen.
Fletcher looked up gratefully. “You tell him, Gemma! You saw me come! I was late because I didn’t hear my alarm!”
I glared at the sergeant, feeling a wave of dislike for him. I knew that he was probably just doing his job but he was a bit too cocky for his own good.
I raised my chin and said levelly, “Fletcher’s right—I met him as he came in, just before 9 a.m. He lives on the other side of the village, about a fifteen-minute walk from here… or ten, I suppose, if you are running.”
“Any neighbours who can verify his whereabouts?”
“His house backs onto the woods on one side and Miss Ethel Webb lives on the other. She used to be the village librarian before she retired.”
“We’ll need to speak to her and check his alibi,” the sergeant said importantly. Then he turned back to Fletcher, who flinched under his gaze. “Now, about yesterday, I want to know—”
“I don’t think Fletcher can help you,” Cassie cut him off. “He was in the kitchen most of yesterday.”
“Yes,” I agreed. Then I added, glancing sideways at Fletcher and lowering my voice, “And he’s not really the type to talk much to people. It’s a waste of time asking—”
“Gemma.”
I whirled around. Devlin was standing in the kitchen doorway. I wondered if he realised that he had called me by my first name.
He said in an impatient tone, like someone speaking to an annoying child, “We have to question everyone. We can’t make exceptions. It will all be over quicker if you let us do our job.”
“Yes, but you don’t understand.” I hurried across to him and said in an undertone, “Fletcher is… different. He… he doesn’t interact with others like most—”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Devlin said, his voice making it clear that this was the end of the discussion. “I’d like to speak to Mr Wilson myself now. If you and Miss Jenkins could wait outside please?”
There was a pause, then Cassie got up and stalked out. I hesitated, then gave Fletcher an encouraging smile and walked to the kitchen door. As I got there, however, I looked back. Devlin was standing with his head bent, reading the notes the sergeant had scribbled on a pad. The light from the kitchen windows caught the glint of his dark hair and highlighted his aquiline profile. It brought to mind those paintings of Celtic warriors… I shook my head sharply. I had to stop thinking of Devlin O’Connor like that. He was no longer the romantic hero of my youthful dreams—he was now the detective in a murder investigation.
CHAPTER SEVEN
As it was, Devlin didn’t keep either Cassie or Fletcher long; their interviews were even shorter than mine and they were soon released. I was glad to see that Fletcher looked slightly less distressed as he came out of the kitchen and felt grateful that Devlin had obviously acted with sensitivity. However, my goodwill towards him vanished when he came back in, after a hasty conference with the pathologist, and told me that I would have to shut the tearoom for the rest of the weekend.
“What? You can’t be serious!”
There was no sign of humour on his face. “I’m perfectly serious. This is now a crime scene and until the SOCO unit can go over the place, we can’t have a dozen tourists trampling around destroying evidence.”
“But… he was found outside in the courtyard! Can’t you just fence off that area
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