Page 5 of Honey Mead Murder

“Since I swapped out a lot of the flowers in my garden last autumn, I’m guessing we’ll see a slight difference in flavour as well.” George waxed on enthusiastically about the native bushes and plants. They were all flourishing for him. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Murphy enjoyed listening to him. George had an almost melodic tone to his voice that he’d always found soothing. “You being so chuffed only makes me even more excited to begin playing with the next iteration of mead.”

“I’ve had some ideas for your mead. I’ve done some research online. Early season honey might make for nice summer meads.” George shifted the box under his arm. His dark brown eyes were bright and full of excitement. “You’ve talked about wanting to try a berry series. How about pairing the lighter honey with either strawberries and mint or perhaps blackberries? My late September yield should be darker and heavier. It would be brilliant with orange and maybe some sort of spices.”

On the top of his list for the year, Murphy had wanted to play with a fruit or berry series of meads. A small batch just for the summer. Teagan had helped him sort through ideas a few weeks prior. He couldn’t help grabbing onto the idea from George.

“Perfect. We’ve already started on recipes, so your ideas will fit right in.” Murphy took a risk. He threw his arm around George’s shoulder and dragged him closer. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“I’ve only come through the village, not across the ocean.” George leaned into him for the briefest second before pulling away when they heard a shout behind them. “I’ll… just go inside to check on Teagan.”

With a groan, Murphy turned to find his brother and sister-in-law heading towards them. He chuckled when the brewery door opened and shut quickly. Unfortunately, George didn’t have the fortitude to deal with the extroverted couple.

“Oi. Thought you were popping in to check on the preparations?” Graeme dragged him into a hug like they hadn’t seen each other in years. “Honestly. Are you avoiding us on purpose?”

“Graeme.” Murphy winced at the volume of his brother’s voice. He always seemed amped up a few degrees more than everyone else around him. “I’m sure everything’s fine. I’ve got work to do this morning.”

“Ohhh, work. Work, he says. The big man has work to do this morning.” Graeme teased in him a singsong tone. “What do we think, Maisie?”

“Definitely work. Important stuff.” Maisie winked at Murphy, grabbing her husband by the arm. “C’mon, Graeme, we haven’t finished in the pub.”

“Is George here?”

“Graeme. Maisie.” Murphy turned serious in an instant. He knew they were harmless and cheerful souls, but he wouldn’t have them bothering George. “He’s helping us with a new set of recipes. Leave him be. You hear me?”

Graeme placed his hand on his heart, giving an overdramatic sigh. “I’m hurt. Appalled that you’d think I’d bother the poor lad. All I hope to do is bring you two sweet lovebirds together so you stop pining from a distance.”

“I see him at least a couple of times a week. So how is that pining from a distance?” Murphy rolled his eyes at the dramatics.

“Distance isn’t always physical, Paddington.” Graeme snickered at him. He held a hand up when Murphy glowered at him. “Pax. Listen, we came out for a reason.”

“To annoy me?”

“We’ve got a couple coming today to check out the pub because they want to host an event. They’ll be at the tasting tomorrow as well. Thought the owner might meet with them?”

In all honesty, Murphy thought the worst part of running a brewery with a pub attached to it was having to meet with people. Play nicely. Be polite. Customer service. It didn’t come naturally to him, which had been the main reason he’d brought his Graeme and Maisie into the business in the first place.

“Fine,” Murphy grumbled. “When?”

“They should be here soon. Ronald and Ella Donelson.” Maisie glanced quickly over at Graeme. “I….”

Murphy briefly considered disappearing into the brewery and locking the door. “What’s wrong with them?”

“You’ll see. Not sure I have the words or ability to adequately explain Ronald and Ella Donelson.” Graeme pointed behind him. “Here they come now.”

Ronald and Ella Donelson turned out to be a middle-class couple in their forties who desperately wanted everyone to know how unbothered they were by their own money. They dressed a little too fancy for a small village pub. Their clothes were a bit too pressed.

“One does enjoy supporting the local business on occasion.” Ella brought her hand up to Murphy, who raised an eyebrow at Graeme, who was trying desperately not to laugh. “But one prefers to see the establishment before recommending it.”

“Right.” Murphy shook her hand firmly, refusing to kiss it like some knob in a movie. “Why don’t we show you the pub? We’ll have a few meads to test tomorrow….”

Ella grimaced while removing her hand from his. She plucked a handkerchief out of her purse and wiped her fingers off. Her husband opened his mouth, but she spoke over him. “Never mind Ronald. His tastes run far more plebeian than mine.”

Who the hell are these people?

Murphy tried not to gawk at the couple. He desperately avoided his brother’s gaze, afraid they’d both burst out laughing. “Why don’t we let Maisie give you two a—”

“Oh, no.” Ella delicately folded the handkerchief and stowed it in her purse. “One does prefer to spend time with a businessman than the help.”

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