Tea with Milk and Murder (Oxford Tearoom Mysteries ~ Book 2) Read Online Free PDF

gone, it was as if a stabilising force had been sucked from the room and people began to move restlessly, milling around and talking in hushed voices. A sandy-haired young man had followed Devlin into the gallery—I recognised him as Devlin’s sergeant—and he went through the crowd now, separating us into those who’d had contact with the girl and those who were background spectators. I found myself in the former group, directed into a corner with Cassie and several other guests, as well as a few of the serving staff.
    The sergeant came over to explain that while he and the constables would be taking statements from the other group, Devlin would like to speak to anyone who had had contact with the girl himself. So we would have to wait until he was finished with Jon Kelsey and then see him one by one. I sighed, leaning against the wall and kicking off my high heels. It looked like it was going to be a long night.
    My phone beeped suddenly. I pulled it out of my handbag and glanced down at the screen. It was a message from my mother:
     
    Darling, would you like some Christmas pudding?
     
    Huh? My mother’s text messages were usually slightly random but this one took things to a new level. I hesitated, then texted back:
     
    Not just now. Why?
     
    She replied promptly:
     
    What about memory foam slippers? They’re available in six colours. And different styles. The jester ones are adorable. And delivery is free until next weekend.
     
    Oh God. My mother had recently discovered the world of online shopping and it was scary what she could do with a “Buy Now” button. I hurriedly texted a reply:
     
    No thanks. Don’t wear slippers.
     
    My mother wasn’t easily deterred. Her reply came a moment later:
     
    They do memory foam neck pillows too. Provides marvellous support. They’ve got a special deal at the moment where you can get 10 neck pillows for the price of 5! And they deliver them straight to your door.
     
    I was starting to panic now. I texted as fast as I could:
     
    But Mother—I don’t want 10 neck pillows! I don’t even want one!
     
    I felt a bit guilty and added hastily:
     
    But thanks for the thought. Very sweet of you.
     
    My phone beeped a second later:
     
    I’ll just get one then, darling. Would you like it in neon pink or lime green?
     
    AARRRGGHH. I ground my teeth, rueing the day I had got my mother an iPad and helped set her up online. My phone beeped again.
     
    Oh dear. It says they are temporarily out of stock.
     
    Hallelujah. Then I felt a bit sorry for her and texted:
     
    Never mind. I’m sure they’ll bring new stock again soon. And there will be big sales for Christmas, don’t forget.
     
    I paused, then thought I’d better let her know what was going on, in case I was detained here for ages.
     
    I may be late home, Mother. Accident at the party. The police are here.
     
    There was a pause, then she replied:
     
    Oh wonderful news, darling. I’m so happy.
     
    What? Then I realised that she must have been responding to my previous text. I waited to see what she would say about my second message. Nothing came through. After a few more minutes of silence, I was forced to conclude that my mother obviously thought restocking neck pillows was far more important than her daughter being in an incident involving the police.
    I was shoving my phone back into my handbag when a familiar booming voice spoke next to me.
    “I saw who did it.”
    I looked up to see Mabel Cooke standing next to me, with the other Old Biddies gathered around her. They seem to be brimming with excitement.
    I looked at her in confusion. “Who did what?”
    Mabel leaned close to me. “Murdered the girl.”
    I stared at her. She had given voice to the dark suspicion I had been harbouring in my mind, but still, I didn’t want to accept it.
    “What are you talking about?” I said. “She had a seizure.”
    “Seizure, my foot,” said Mabel. “She was poisoned.”
    “Don’t be ridiculous,” I said