Page 12 of Honey Mead Murder

“Oh, hello.” Evan’s words came out in a hushed whisper. His attention was on the cottage in front of them. “Do I look all right?”

“You look like I woke you up at two in the morning and dragged you down to the police station.” Murphy tried not to laugh when Evan hurriedly adjusted his tie and dragged his fingers through his hair. “I doubt Margo will even notice, given the time of morning.”

“That’s even worse. She won’t even notice if I look good or not.” Evan had gone from a crisp, put-together solicitor into a panicking mess in the blink of an eye. “Murphy.”

“I am too tired to handle your existential crisis. Not sure Margo’s looking for a relationship or a date.” Murphy opened the door and dragged himself out of the clown car with a little effort. He wound up practically rolling out of the vehicle onto the ground. “I can hear you laughing at me.”

“That was not a graceful exit by any stretch of the imagination.” Margo snickered at him.

“Not my fault Evan has a matchbox car.” Murphy pushed himself up to his feet. He dusted off his jeans and stretched for a second. “Morning.”

“Sun’s up. Definitely morning. There are eggs, bacon, beans, and crumpets. A fresh pot of tea, or I’ve got coffee if you prefer.” Margo gave him a quick hug. “Go on inside. My poor cousin’s spent all night worried about you.”

“All night?” Murphy tried not to grin at the admission.

“You’re both fools. Go on.” Margo turned her attention to Evan. “Ah, the solicitor general.”

“Joke hasn’t been funny any of the times you’ve said it,” Evan stammered, much to Murphy’s amusement. He stayed by the door, watching the man stumble over their conversation. “Paddington.”

“Going inside. Going inside.” Murphy winked at Margo when she turned to glare at him. “He likes you. Let him down gently. I’d hate to have to find a new solicitor and friend.”

Making his way into the cottage, Murphy was greeted by the scrambling of nails on the hardwood floor. He crouched down to catch Bumble and Treacle when they raced to get to him. They greeted him enthusiastically, helping to wipe away the wretchedness he’d felt most of the long night at the police station.

“Have you been behaving yourselves?” Murphy gathered the two dogs into his arms. He managed to stand up while carefully juggling them. “Did you have brekkie?”

“You’re free.” George skidded to a stop, having raced back into the cottage from the garden. “I had this terrifying thought they’d change their minds. Want some tea?”

“I just want to sit for a minute.” Murphy thought his legs might actually give out on him. He sank onto Margo's plush old couch, setting the dogs on the cushion beside him. Bumble immediately curled up in his lap while Treacle clambered up on the top of the sofa and plopped down on his shoulder. “I’m stuck in, it seems.”

“I’ll join you.” George kicked off his shoes and moved to sit beside him, twisting around to stretch his legs out and make himself comfortable against Murphy’s side. “You all right, Paddington?”

“Not how I’d hoped to end our date.”

“You weren’t expecting a dead body and police investigation?” George’s laugh had a slight edge to it. “What did you hope for?”

“A quiet moment together once the pub was empty.” Murphy hadn’t necessarily had a plan for what might happen next. “Not spending my evening being bombarded with questions by stone-faced detectives.”

“Later, when I’m not half asleep, remind me to tell you what Margo and I put together.” George shuffled a little beside him. His long hair tickled Murphy’s neck. “We were going to storm the castle.”

“What castle?” Murphy didn’t get an answer. George slumped further against him, and his breathing evened out. He’d obviously fallen asleep. “Never mind, Buzz. Get some rest.”

Closing his eyes, Murphy allowed himself to relax for the first time in several long hours. He adjusted his arm, so it was wrapped around George. Treacle moved from his neck and curled up beside Bumble.

He was sure they made quite a sight. Margo was going to have a field day when she saw them. He cracked an eye open, surprised to find Evan and his crush were still outside.

Interesting.

He hoped Margo was letting poor Evan down gently.

Murphy dared not move. The two dogs and George were a symphony of snoring around him. Not the worst way to end our date.

It wasn’t silent in the cosy comfort of Margo’s cottage. Napping with a pug could never be considered quiet. Bumble’s snoring mingled with Treacle’s. It was sweet.

“Oh, oh they’re adorable. Get a photo.”

The sound of hushed whispers woke Murphy up. He hadn’t even realised he’d drifted off to sleep. The voices and footsteps came closer; he could hear the sound of someone taking a photo with their phone.

Probably Margo.

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