Read Online Tea with Milk and Murder (Oxford Tearoom Mysteries ~ Book 2) by H.Y. Hanna - Free Book Online
Book: Tea with Milk and Murder (Oxford Tearoom Mysteries ~ Book 2) by H.Y. Hanna
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Authors: H.Y. Hanna
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bit of a tough time with her studies and having to work several part-time jobs as well, to supplement her student funds. To be honest with you, I think she just needed a sympathetic ear. She was quite upset by the way Sarah treated her.”
Ethel used to be librarian at our local library and I’d always remembered her gentle, smiling face—she was just the type of kindly soul who you’d want to share your troubles with.
“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…
CHAPTER SEVEN
It was nearly twelve o’clock when the door swung open and Cassie finally stepped into the tearoom with a sheepish
Ethel used to be librarian at our local library and I’d always remembered her gentle, smiling face—she was just the type of kindly soul who you’d want to share your troubles with.
“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…
CHAPTER SEVEN
It was nearly twelve o’clock when the door swung open and Cassie finally stepped into the tearoom with a sheepish