Page 34 of Honey Mead Murder

“Treacle’s still out there.” Margo tried whistling for him again, stopping when Murphy placed a hand on her arm. “What?”

“Let’s not draw too much attention to the cottage.” Murphy grabbed the nearby iron fire poker. It had an intricately designed elephant on the top. “Call Sarah. If you can’t get her, call 999.”

“Don’t break that. I had it custom-made.”

“What the hell am I going to do with this?” Murphy muttered to himself. He was taking a piece of wrought iron into a gunfight and didn’t like his odds. Unto the breach.

Moving away from the cottage lights, Murphy tried to disappear into the shadows along the edge of the garden. He could hear Ella Donelson’s voice. She seemed to be arguing with herself about what to do.

The slight slur in her voice made him wonder if she was drunk. He finally caught sight of her, struggling to unhook her clothing from the hedge. She’d trapped herself while shoving through into the garden.

It would’ve been comical if he hadn’t spotted the rifle in her arms. There was nothing funny about a deadly weapon in the hands of a drunk. She’d be even more unpredictable.

Murphy edged his way behind the trees, trying to get closer to her. He whispered for Treacle, but the dog was nowhere to be seen. Sodding Chihuahua. Where’ve you run off to?

Coming out of the shadows to her left, Murphy remained out of sight. Ella continued to try to yank herself free from the hedge. He thought she was trying to avoid ripping her shirt. It probably cost more than his car. Ella had always cared about showing her wealth and status in every way possible. Her clothes had to be designer—even if they were bordering on hideous to his unsophisticated eye.

She was wearing a fancy silk-looking blouse with a skirt and high heels. He had no idea how she’d even made it up the lane in them. Not practical for a walk anywhere but especially on the rocky, uneven path behind the cottage.

Murphy froze when a branch snapped under his boot. Shite.

Ella glanced around wildly before spotting him. “You.”

“Did tiptoeing through the garden go wrong for you?” Murphy knew it would be several minutes before any of the police arrived. They were all out searching for Ella—and she’d decided to show up at Margo’s cottage. “Need a hand getting free?”

“You. You. This is all your fault.” Ella jabbed the rifle in his direction. “Your tasting. Such a dismal, grungy pub. I should’ve done it another way. But the dry ice was there. I thought the police would assume your daft little server made a mistake.”

“You didn’t count on the cameras.”

“Who has CCTV cameras inside their establishment?” Ella gave one last pull, and her blouse ripped, freeing her from the grasp of the hedge. “I had to do it. He was going to file for divorce.”

“One couldn’t have that, could one?” Murphy was intrigued by her dropping the affectation. “Why not fight the prenup? Surely you wouldn’t be left with nothing.”

“I deserved all of it.”

Right.

“Of course.” Murphy shifted a little closer to her. He hoped he’d be able to lunge for her rifle before she fired a shot at him. “Of course.”

Ella stumbled a little. She seemed more tipsy than sloshed. “Darren promised to fix everything for me. Weak fool. He couldn’t even take care of his wife.”

“Take care of her?”

“She asked too many questions about Ronnie’s death and claimed she’d seen me by the drinks. She saw me bring the glass to him. He was too much of a coward to shut her up.” Ella had a loose grip on the rifle. It made him nervous. “I’ll have to deal with her after I’m finished here.”

“Finished how?” Murphy was desperate to keep her talking, anything to give the police time to arrive and intervene. He held the fire poker down by his side. She hadn’t noticed it yet. “Why not make a run for it? Don’t you have a private plane? Jet off to some island somewhere. Isn’t that what people like you do?”

With a hiss of anger at him, Ella raised the rifle towards him. Murphy had no time to do anything with the poker aside from maybe fling it in her direction. He adjusted the iron in his hand, considering his options.

Before either of them could react, Treacle darted out from underneath the hedge. He latched onto Ella’s ankle. She shrieked like a banshee and dropped the rifle, attempting to kick the nimble Chihuahua darting around her feet.

Using the distraction to his advantage, Murphy rushed forward to grab the rifle. He tossed it out of reach behind him and caught Ella by the wrists, managing to stop her flailing. She kicked him hard in the shins, but he held fast, not wanting her to escape.

“Paddy!”

“Down at the end of the garden,” Murphy called back to his cousin. He was hesitant to move, since he had such a tight hold on Ella. “Quit your wiggling. I’m not letting you go.”

The police caught up to them seconds later and took Ella along with her rifle into custody. Murphy was left standing in the garden with his cousin. Sarah didn’t seem amused by him.

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