Page 7 of Honey Mead Murder

People came to Murphy’s place to try the mead on tap that evening and for stories. His grandda and da brought guitars with them. They’d sing and weave tales about the village and other local lore.

Tonight had been different so far. Half of the crowd were the usual locals. The rest were acquaintances of the Donelsons, none of whom seemed thrilled to be there.

The sneering and tittering laughter had begun to rattle George’s nerves. He reached up to raise the level of his noise-cancelling headphones. It helped a little, though not much.

“All right, Buzz?” Maisie waved him over. She was pouring water into one of the bowls containing dry ice. “Thought we’d add a bit of atmosphere to the evening.”

“Nice.” George watched the bubbling, creeping clouds burbling up out of the bowl. “Careful it doesn’t get into the mead. Dry ice can be deadly.”

Moving across the room, George tried to find Murphy. For a tall bear of a man, he could vanish in the crowd. Instead, he heard someone behind him, though the voice was too muffled to understand.

“How dare you ignore me.” Ronald Donelson snatched the headphones off George’s head, yanking his long hair in the process. “I asked a question.”

“Oi.” Murphy thundered his way across the room, shouldering through people who parted like the Red Sea. “Leave him alone, or I’ll toss you out on your arse. And keep your bloody hands to yourself.”

“I beg your pardon.”

“Good. You should.” Murphy led George away from Ronald. He paused to grab the headphones before continuing across the pub. “Are you okay?”

George reached up to rub his head, which still smarted a bit from his hair being yanked. “I’m fine. Margo did warn me they were a loathsome duo.”

“How about you hide out in my office? I’ve got a book I’ve been meaning to share with you. Tasting should wrap up soon enough.” Murphy guided him through the door behind the bar, which led them into the brewery. “Maybe not an ideal first date.”

“Margo said this was more of a pre-date. A date teaser.” George rested a hand on Murphy’s forearm. He hesitated before grasping Murphy by the forearms and leaning up for a kiss. A soft first kiss. A little awkward when their noses bumped together, but they adjusted quickly. “So, where’s this book?”

“I’ll show you.” Murphy cleared his throat a few times. Finally, he flipped the lights on and grabbed a book from behind his desk. “Saw this at a car boot sale a few weeks ago.”

“British Bees: An Introduction to the Study of the Natural History and Economy of the Bees Indigenous to the British Isles.” George ran a hand reverently across the weathered cover. He traced the gold embossed bee on the front. “I’ve been hunting for this for ages. It’s hard to find the first edition. Bee history is a niche interest.”

“Enjoy.” Murphy gently placed the noise-cancelling headphones onto George’s head. “I’ll be back.”

He was deep into the first section when a scream jolted him out of his reading. He ripped off his headphones, wondering if he’d misheard. A second bloodcurdling yell sent him racing for the bar.

The room was in utter chaos. Several people were shouting into their phones to 999. George pushed through a small cluster to find Graeme on the floor trying to revive Ronald Donelson, whose lips were already turning blue.

“Breathe, Ronald, breathe.” Ella spun towards Murphy, swatting him on the arm with her purse. “You did this. You killed him with your frothing drink. You murdered my Ronnie.”

FIVE

MURPHY

The cacophony of sound was horrendous and never-ending. Murphy fended off the assault from a hysterical Ella Donelson. Several of her friends gathered her up and guided her away from the scene. At the same time, the recently arrived paramedics attempted to save her husband’s life.

Graeme had trained and worked as a volunteer firefighter, so he had first aid and CPR basics. He’d done his best with Ronald. But, one look at him had told Murphy the man was beyond help.

Ella’s screeching didn’t calm down until one of the paramedics gave her a sedative. She was led away to the waiting ambulance. Her accusations about the frothing drink had caught the attention of the local constable, who called in one of the detectives from the Major Investigations Team that covered Moray County.

The sinking feeling in his belly only grew worse with each passing moment. Everyone at the tasting had been separated and told not to speak to each other. A forensics team was on the way while the constables sealed off the pub in preparation for the detective.

After what felt like ages, a familiar vehicle pulled into the parking lot. Murphy didn’t know whether to sigh in relief or groan in frustration. He knew immediately which of the MIT detectives had been assigned to this case.

“Well, well, well. What have you gotten yourself into this time, Paddington?” DCI Sarah Baird’s brown eyes twinkled with amusement when she spotted him. “You can relax, Constable Davie. My cousin’s not going anywhere, not if he knows what’s good for him. Can you check to see if they’re ready to remove the body?”

“Will do.” Sean Davie returned to the bar, leaving the two cousins.

“What the devil happened, Paddy?” Sarah crouched down in front of where he was sitting.

With a sigh, Murphy gave her a recounting of the entire evening. He left nothing out—not even his brief flare-up with the deceased. Maisie had served the drinks, so he hadn’t touched the glass at any point.

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