Page 10 of Honey Mead Murder

“This is definitely my baba’s recipe. He adds more pistachio.” Margo leaned forward with her elbows on the table. “Back to Darren and Ella. They were way too close. I heard all sorts of rumours.”

“Yeah?” George glared at his cousin when she continued to draw things out. “Quit being unnecessarily dramatic.”

“Fine, fine. Several of the other paramedics swore they’d seen them kissing.”

“And?” George wiped his fingers on the kitchen towel on the table. “Kissing can be completely innocent.”

“Not when his tongue was halfway down her throat.”

“Don’t think that’s physically possible.” George sipped his tea. “Does he have an unusually long tongue?”

“I meant metaphorically.”

“How does one metaphorically shove… never mind.” George decided the details didn’t matter. The detailed explanation would only frustrate him. “Did you know dry ice could kill someone?”

“Technically, yes? In layman’s terms, a small chunk of dry ice could stick in your oesophagus. It not only causes damage but produces carbon dioxide. You run the risk of choking to death. It can be deadly or simply do damage to your throat. There’s a danger if it gets into your stomach.” Margo went into a more detailed explanation, but George was stuck on the first part. “You’re not listening.”

“Carbon dioxide poisoning.” George pushed the plate of shortbread away. He’d suddenly lost his appetite. “So either we have a true accident, which I don’t believe. None of the drinks at the party included dry ice. It was left in a cauldron on the bar counter. Anyone could’ve accessed it.”

“Or, it was no accident.”

“Exactly. We know Maisie, Graeme, and Murphy had nothing to do with it.” George would bet his entire life on the three being innocent of all wrongdoing. “So, someone else in the pub chipped some dry ice into the glass and gave it to Ronald.”

“Small gathering means only a few suspects.” Margo leaned back in her chair, pulling open a drawer in the kitchen and grabbing a notebook. She found a pen as well. “We should get organised.”

“Organised?”

“You’re going to poke your nose into this investigation, Buzz. I know you. You’re as obsessed with true crime as I am. They’ve taken Murphy, the love of your life, in for questioning.” Margo grinned when he grumbled at her choice of words. “So? Who are the prime suspects?”

“Are you going to help me?”

“Every Sherlock needs a Watson to keep him out of trouble.” Margo tapped her pen against the paper. “We’re putting Ella and Darren at the top.”

“And Ronald’s brother.”

“Ella, Bertrand, and Darren.” Margo jotted down the three names on separate pages.

“Well, it’s a place to start.” George watched her grab her phone and send a message. “It’s three in the morning. No one’s going to be awake.”

“A person died at the brewery. I guarantee you far more people are awake than you think. Tiny village? Big gossips.” Margo smirked when her phone began to chirp and vibrate on the table. “I’ll have everything but their bank account information in less than an hour.”

“Local gossip is always more effective than a police inquiry.”

“Though maybe not always as accurate,” Margo conceded.

“Then what? You get potentially faulty information from your local sources? We can’t traipse around the village asking questions.” George had to reconsider for a second. It wasn’t the worst idea Margo had ever had. “Could we?”

“If you’re not playing Sherlock, how can I be Watson?”

SEVEN

MURPHY

Two things kept Murphy calm in the interrogation room while detectives threw questions at him. First, the pub had security cameras. Second, he hadn’t touched the glass involved in the incident.

Evan sat beside him through all of it. He offered the police multiple witnesses who placed Murphy away from the victim and his drink. “Face it, Detectives. He has no motive. Several people within the pub and the CCTV footage point to him being on the opposite side of the room. You’re wasting your time with my client.”

The two detective constables exchanged glances. DC Smith reached out to stop the recording. They closed their notebooks, allowing Murphy to finally relax into the uncomfortable chair.

---