Page 9 of Honey Mead Murder

George gave her a brief recap of the conversations he’d overheard. “Should we tell the police?”

“Not sure what exactly we have that we could tell them? You overheard gossiping.” Teagan shrugged. “Why don’t we see if they’ll let us leave?”

The police, after getting their information, allowed them to leave. Teagan had already locked up the pub. The forensic team had wrapped up; they’d taken the glass, the mead, and security footage from all of the cameras in and around the brewery.

Arriving home, George sat outside of his cottage for several minutes. It was dark inside. He couldn’t bring himself to get out of the vehicle.

It was two in the morning. But George made a three-point turn and drove the short distance to Margo’s cottage instead. He didn’t want to be alone.

Not after the night he’d had.

He was haunted by having watched the life go out of Ronald’s face. His blue lips. The way his eyes went blank. The bloodcurdling scream from Ella. Everything was so overwhelming that he found his hands still trembling hours later.

Pulling up in front of her cottage, George took a few shaky breaths. He turned off the engine and somehow managed to get the keys out. His fingers fumbled with the buckle on the seat belt before finally releasing it.

George wanted a warm mug of tea, biscuits, and puppy cuddles. He was surprised to see several lights on. The door opened when he was halfway up the path to the cottage. “Margo.”

“Rough night, Buzz?” She opened her arms and waited for him to decide if he wanted a hug. He hesitated, then stepped into her embrace. She gently patted his back. “Why don’t we pop into the kitchen, lovely? I’ve got a fresh pot of tea just about ready. I have some of Baba’s shortbread biscuits that you love so much. Everything’s going to be right as rain. You’ll see.”

“Is it? How’s your dad doing anyway?” George followed her into the cottage. He stopped when he spotted Bumble and Treacle curled up around each other in a large, fluffy dog bed. “Isn’t that too big for your Chihuahua?”

“Treacle thinks he’s a much larger dog. And Baba’s fine, complaining I don’t visit him enough.” Margo went straight into the kitchen. She set out two mugs and puttered around, getting the tea ready. “Disrupt Prince Treacle’s sleep at your own risk. He doesn’t like to be woken up.”

Crouching down by the dogs, George lightly patted Bumble on the head. He smiled at the rumbling snores from his pug. The familiar snuffling soothed some of the anxiety from the chaotic evening.

“George?”

He gave one last scratch to Bumble, then stood up. “Yeah?”

“Tea’s ready.” Margo had set everything up on the little kitchen table. She had a little plate filled with sweet treats and a few sandwiches. “I wasn’t sure if you’d gotten to eat before everything went tits up.”

“Not sure I’m hungry.”

“Have a sip of tea,” Margo encouraged. She dropped a sugar cube into her mug and slowly stirred. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Maybe.” George wrapped his fingers around the mug. “Evan Chan texted me. They’ve still got Murphy at the police station in Keith.”

“He’ll be okay. Evan’s a good solicitor. Dedicated to his clients. You know he’ll make sure your Murphy’s fine.” Margo stretched her arm out to grab his hand, squeezing it before letting go. “Sip your tea. It’ll make you feel better.”

“It’ll make me feel warm and caffeinated.”

“Like I said, it’ll make you feel better.” Margo bit into one of the chocolate-covered shortbreads. “Try a biscuit. You’ve had a shock; some sugar will do you good.”

With a dutiful sigh, George grabbed one of the flower-shaped biscuits. They were pistachio and saffron shortbread with a drizzle of white chocolate. It was sweet, buttery, and perfect.

Over shortbread and tea, George shared the events of the day. He told her about his brief altercation with Ronald Donelson and the man’s terrible, gasping breaths on the pub floor. She perked up when he mentioned the conversation he’d overheard.

“Darren and Natalia?” Margo reached out for another biscuit.

“You know them?”

“I used to work with Darren before the accident.” Margo had been a paramedic until she’d been involved in a horrific accident in her ambulance. A drunk driver had ploughed into them at a high rate of speed, sending them careening off the road. She’d been in a coma for weeks and had suffered from posttraumatic stress ever since. “I trained him. We rode together for months.”

“He was a paramedic? So why didn’t he try to help Ronald?” George recalled seeing the man on the edge of the crowd around the prone body on the floor. “Graeme was the only person who did.”

“Now, that’s an interesting question. Darren and Ella were always quite close.”

“How close?” George nibbled on the shortbread. He was suddenly taken back to his last visit with their grandfather. “You sure this was your dad’s recipe? Tastes a little more like Dada Ji’s.”

---