Page 30 of Honey Mead Murder

While Ella kept repeating herself over and over, George managed to calm his mind down. He had to get out of “freeze” mode and into fight or flight, preferably the latter. His chances weren’t brilliant when facing down an armed murderer.

George shifted closer to the door. He wondered if he could duck back into the brewery and lock her in the pub. “You killed him, didn’t you? The night of the tasting. You dumped dry ice into his drink and gave it to him.”

“He made a mockery of me.” Ella sneered angrily. She treated the rifle with a casualness that only served to increase his worry. “I took a class on creating mixed drinks that included a warning about the dangers of dry ice in cocktails.”

“Did you?” George kept a close eye on the movements of the rifle in her hand. He had no idea if she knew how to use the thing, but he wasn’t taking any chances. An angry fool with a gun was still dangerous even if they weren’t sharpshooters. “Ronald did seem to be an unpleasant bloke.”

“He was. One expects some level of refinement from a family such as his.” Ella lowered the barrel of the rifle slightly. “He had affairs yet had the temerity to file for divorce after I dared to have one of my own.”

“So you put dry ice in his drink?”

“He never knew. Such a glutton. Tossed back the drink without even looking at it.” Ella seemed completely disgusted by her deceased husband.

Listening to her rant about her husband and her plot, George inched closer to the door. Just a little bit more, and he’d be able to bolt out of the door. He had no idea where Murphy was, but he had to get out of the room and call the police.

For a split second, Ella spun around toward the camera. She aimed the rifle at it, wavering on her heels. George wondered if she’d been drinking before he took advantage of her distraction to dash out the open door.

He slammed it behind him and then locked it. “Shite. Shite. Shite. Where’s my phone?”

Breathing through the adrenaline-pumped panic, George scrambled away in case she decided to shoot through it. He raced over to lock the front door as well. It wouldn’t do for her to find another way at him.

Phone.

Where’s my phone?

“Oh for….” George groaned when he realised the phone was in his hand. He immediately dialled the police, trying to keep his voice clear despite the shakiness. The dispatcher promised they were on their way. They tried to keep him on the line, but all he wanted was to find Murphy. “We have to be quiet, Bumble.”

Lifting Bumble into his arms, George crept up the stairs. He pushed the door open and couldn’t swallow back a shout when a shadowy figure loomed in front of him. It took a second for him to realise it was Murphy in nothing but a towel, with his hair and beard dripping with water.

“I heard sounds while I was in the shower.”

George didn’t hear a word Murphy had said. He couldn’t tear his gaze away from the bare chest in front of him. The muscles, the slight softness, the bristly hair still damp from the shower. It was a lot to take in, and he wanted to enjoy the moment; then he remembered the murderer downstairs. “Ella. Rifle. Oh my god. You have a tattoo. Never mind. I called the police.”

Murphy reached out to take George by the arms. “I need you to take a few deep breaths for me, alright? Take a second. It’s going to be okay.”

“Ella was in the pub. She had a rifle.” George breathed in deeply and tried not to focus too much on the intricate Celtic design on Murphy’s chest. “She… wanted the security footage because she thought it caught her putting dry ice in Ronald’s glass.”

“Well, shite.”

“She had a rifle.” George reiterated the most important part in his mind.

“You called the police?”

George had managed to get his breathing under control. He set Bumble down when he wiggled in his arms. “I did. Oh my god.”

“Why don’t you have a seat? Not much we can do until they arrive. I’m not anxious to confront an armed killer.” Murphy led him over to the sofa. Bumble had already gone over and flopped down on his bed. “You okay?”

“Why don’t you go put some bloody clothes on?” George was finding himself highly distracted by the almost naked Murphy. He grimaced at his own turn of phrase. “Poor choice of wording.”

“Having problems?” Murphy teased. “Fine, fine. Let me finish drying off. You might watch the window for the police.”

Once Murphy had gone to get dressed, George crept over to the window. He immediately noticed the Mercedes was gone. Ella had clearly come to her senses and made a run for it.

A few moments later, several police vehicles raced up the lane towards the brewery. George left Bumble in his bed and went downstairs to meet them. Murphy came bounding down the stairs behind him a few moments later, still dragging a T-shirt over his head.

“We should meet them outside.” Murphy stepped up behind him. He rested his arm across George’s shoulders while holding his laptop in his other hand. “I’ve got the CCTV hooked up to this computer, so we can hopefully watch what she did.”

The encounter with Ella had shaken George up a fair bit. He’d never come face-to-barrel with a gun ever in his life. The most dangerous things in his life were bee stings and an overenthusiastic pug.

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