were interrupted at that moment by my mother calling to me from across the room. She had her iPad in her lap and was frowning at it.
“Gemma, darling, what is my Apple ID password again? I thought it was ‘gemmarose’ but it’s not letting me in.”
“Did you capitalise the ‘G’?” I asked. “Remember, your Apple ID password needs the first letter to be a capital.” And well done for broadcasting your password to everyone in the room, I thought.
“Ah…” My mother tapped haphazardly at her iPad. “Oh, yes! Got it! Here, look…” She turned to Dorothy Clarke, seated next to her. “See, you can get The Times newspaper now in the iPad. Isn’t that clever? So you don’t have to have a paper delivered every day…”
Dorothy leaned over to look. “Oh, marvellous, Evelyn. Technology is amazing, isn’t it? Maybe I ought to get an iPad. My daughter keeps telling me to join this Face-thing where you can see your friends’ pictures on the computer.”
“Oh, yes, I know all about Facebook. Helen helped me do that last week. I’ve got six friends on it, you know,” my mother said proudly. “And they’re so lovely. They like everything I say. This morning I posted a message about the shocking murder at Gemma’s tearoom and I had ten people liking it within an hour! Though I’m not sure why I had ten ‘Likes’ when I only have six friends but—”
“Mother!” I looked at her in disbelief. “You shouldn’t be telling random people on Facebook about the murder!”
Dorothy gave an exclamation and looked at me. “Why, Gemma! I had no idea that it was your tearoom when I saw the six o’clock news last night! A murdered American tourist! How ghastly!”
I felt Justine stiffen next to me.
“Yes,” I said. “It’s the reason I’m here today. I would normally be working on a Sunday, but we had to close the tearoom because the police are still working the crime scene.”
Dorothy leaned forwards, lowering her voice to a dramatic whisper. “Were you the one who found the body?”
I sighed. I was beginning to feel like I ought to walk around carrying an FAQ with answers such as “Yes, I found the body”, “No, I don’t know who the police suspect”, “Yes, he was found with a scone in his mouth”, “No, I’m afraid we’re fully booked this week but I can take reservations for next week” (okay, the last one was wishful thinking).
“I heard on the news that the police have a suspect in custody already,” said one of the other ladies.
“Rubbish,” said Mabel tartly. “They don’t have anybody in custody. They just have a few outlandish theories—which is hardly surprising when you consider that useless excuse for a sergeant that I met. Really! That boy couldn’t find his own willy if it wasn’t zipped up in his trousers! The police have no idea what they’re doing.”
“I’m sure I heard that they had a suspect,” said the other lady stubbornly. “Somebody who had attacked the American in a pub or something…”
Mabel sniffed. “Yes, they’re trying to pin it on Glenda Bailey’s great-nephew.”
“The police suspect Mike Bailey?” I said.
“Yes, and all because they found some scones at his place that were from the tearoom!” Mabel shook her head in exasperation. “Glenda had to call and explain that she was the one who had given them to him.”
I frowned. “But surely that wouldn’t be enough for them to suspect him? I mean, several people bought scones from me on Friday.”
“It’s because of that fight in the pub,” one of the other ladies spoke up. “My son was there with his friends and he told me that Mike Bailey punched the American in the face!”
Mabel waved a hand dismissively. “Mike has a temper on him—but he’s not a murderer. I’ve known him since he was a child. He needs a good telling-off and his mouth washed out with soap—but he’s not the type to kill anyone.”
Maybe not on purpose , I thought to myself. But I wouldn’t put
“Gemma, darling, what is my Apple ID password again? I thought it was ‘gemmarose’ but it’s not letting me in.”
“Did you capitalise the ‘G’?” I asked. “Remember, your Apple ID password needs the first letter to be a capital.” And well done for broadcasting your password to everyone in the room, I thought.
“Ah…” My mother tapped haphazardly at her iPad. “Oh, yes! Got it! Here, look…” She turned to Dorothy Clarke, seated next to her. “See, you can get The Times newspaper now in the iPad. Isn’t that clever? So you don’t have to have a paper delivered every day…”
Dorothy leaned over to look. “Oh, marvellous, Evelyn. Technology is amazing, isn’t it? Maybe I ought to get an iPad. My daughter keeps telling me to join this Face-thing where you can see your friends’ pictures on the computer.”
“Oh, yes, I know all about Facebook. Helen helped me do that last week. I’ve got six friends on it, you know,” my mother said proudly. “And they’re so lovely. They like everything I say. This morning I posted a message about the shocking murder at Gemma’s tearoom and I had ten people liking it within an hour! Though I’m not sure why I had ten ‘Likes’ when I only have six friends but—”
“Mother!” I looked at her in disbelief. “You shouldn’t be telling random people on Facebook about the murder!”
Dorothy gave an exclamation and looked at me. “Why, Gemma! I had no idea that it was your tearoom when I saw the six o’clock news last night! A murdered American tourist! How ghastly!”
I felt Justine stiffen next to me.
“Yes,” I said. “It’s the reason I’m here today. I would normally be working on a Sunday, but we had to close the tearoom because the police are still working the crime scene.”
Dorothy leaned forwards, lowering her voice to a dramatic whisper. “Were you the one who found the body?”
I sighed. I was beginning to feel like I ought to walk around carrying an FAQ with answers such as “Yes, I found the body”, “No, I don’t know who the police suspect”, “Yes, he was found with a scone in his mouth”, “No, I’m afraid we’re fully booked this week but I can take reservations for next week” (okay, the last one was wishful thinking).
“I heard on the news that the police have a suspect in custody already,” said one of the other ladies.
“Rubbish,” said Mabel tartly. “They don’t have anybody in custody. They just have a few outlandish theories—which is hardly surprising when you consider that useless excuse for a sergeant that I met. Really! That boy couldn’t find his own willy if it wasn’t zipped up in his trousers! The police have no idea what they’re doing.”
“I’m sure I heard that they had a suspect,” said the other lady stubbornly. “Somebody who had attacked the American in a pub or something…”
Mabel sniffed. “Yes, they’re trying to pin it on Glenda Bailey’s great-nephew.”
“The police suspect Mike Bailey?” I said.
“Yes, and all because they found some scones at his place that were from the tearoom!” Mabel shook her head in exasperation. “Glenda had to call and explain that she was the one who had given them to him.”
I frowned. “But surely that wouldn’t be enough for them to suspect him? I mean, several people bought scones from me on Friday.”
“It’s because of that fight in the pub,” one of the other ladies spoke up. “My son was there with his friends and he told me that Mike Bailey punched the American in the face!”
Mabel waved a hand dismissively. “Mike has a temper on him—but he’s not a murderer. I’ve known him since he was a child. He needs a good telling-off and his mouth washed out with soap—but he’s not the type to kill anyone.”
Maybe not on purpose , I thought to myself. But I wouldn’t put
Similar Books
