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  BERRY MURDEROUS

  (Tea Shop Cozy Book Two)

  KATHERINE HAYTON

  Copyright © 2018 Katherine Hayton

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  For the few minutes after Willow Foxglove woke, she believed it might be possible to fall back asleep. There was no light stealing into the room, although she’d left the curtains open. That meant it wasn’t yet a decent hour. Even in slow creep toward mid-winter, being awake before the sun was too early. Without light, she couldn’t go out into the garden to dig around and start the day good and proper.

  No. Definitely a few more minutes—perhaps a few more hours—of sleep was needed before Willow could even consider cracking open her eyes.

  A painfully loud hammering began in the room beneath her.

  Willow tried valiantly to ignore this new intrusion into her attempt at unconsciousness. The pillow upon which she’d been resting her head took a small journey, ending up on top of her face, pressed tightly against her ears.

  If only the builders would stop their racket for a minute, sleep still seemed possible.

  Mavis jumped on her chest. The kitten had grown in leaps and bounds since their first acquaintance. Every time Willow mentioned how big the cat was getting, Harmony gave her a twisted smile and said, “You wait.”

  Willow still didn’t know much about cats. She’d decided after an eye-glazing session at the library that apart from house-training, everything could be learned simply by cohabiting with her furry companion for a while. So far, it had worked perfectly.

  “Go downstairs,” Willow whispered, abandoning the pillow—it was useless as a set of earplugs. “If you go through the conservatory all the builders will stop to admire you and ensure you’re out of harms’ way.”

  Willow stroked the soft fur underneath Mavis’ chin, just where she liked it, and the kitten closed her eyes in ecstasy. “If you do that, Mommy can have at least another five, maybe ten minutes of snoozing before she needs to face the day.”

  The mission shared, Willow shooed her kitten off the bed to go and do her duty. Mavis got halfway across the floor before deciding she’d prefer to curl up inside one of Willow’s slippers. That she no longer fit in there, didn’t faze her in the slightest.

  “We’re going to have to sort out this situation, kitty. I can’t have you disobeying orders when we’re in a war against noise!”

  Mavis appeared to have no such trouble with the battle, closing her eyes and promptly falling asleep.

  Another furious spate of hammering didn’t even have the kitten stirring. Willow wished her own nervous system could handle the terrible noise of her conservatory being renovated into a commercial tearoom with the same equanimity.

  “Move along, Mavis. I need my slippers.” Willow prodded the unresponsive kitten with the tip of her toe and received only a low purr of satisfaction in response. She sneezed, a hint of her allergies still lingering despite the success of the shots the doctor had given her to dull them. At least the hives were a thing of the past.

  To keep the kitten captive in her cat house might have been a breeze for Mavis, who loved the playrooms, but it had been torture for Willow. She was a woman who loved to roam where she pleased and wanted her cat to have the ability do the same.

  Now her allergic reactions were more controlled, it gave Willow great pleasure to see Mavis wandering around the house at her leisure. Except for right this minute, when she was being a decidedly naughty cat.

  Unwilling to kick Mavis out of her temporary bedding, Willow fetched another pair of slippers from the cupboard. These ones were newer and less used because they were less comfortable but for the short trip downstairs, they’d have to do.

  A flowing silk robe over her nighttime pajamas completed Willow’s transition from nighttime to morning. She would have another change in her near future, from a robed woman to one showered, made-up, and adequately dressed, but one step at a time.

  First off, Willow needed a mug of hot tea—something with a caffeine kick to start the day right and make up for the lack of sunlight. While walking out of the bedroom, she decided on an estate black with a touch of cayenne pepper.

  She didn’t often drink teas outside of what her own garden could produce, but when Willow did stock them, they were the best she could afford. If that level of refined heat couldn’t get her heart pumping, nothing would.

  “Morning, Miss Foxglove,” one of the builders called out, trekking across her kitchen.

  Willow tried not to see the lumps of mud falling off the side of his soles, instead keeping her gaze fixed on the young man’s open smile.

  “Good morning.” Willow had a brief struggle to remember his name, then dismissed it with a toss of her head. “You got off to an early start today.”

  “Just the usual time, missus.” As Willow reached out for the kettle, he warned her, “You’ll need to boil that again. We’ve been through at least two full jugs already.”

  When the builders set up shop in her conservatory—a time that seemed like months ago to Willow but was in actuality just a few weeks—she’d told the men they could help themselves to her tea chest of goodies.

  At the time, she’d thought them an excellent experimental base for what might be popular when the tea shop opened. In retrospect, all she’d done was make sure whenever she wanted a nice cup for herself, she was at the back of a very long queue.

  You’re the one who told them they could, Willow reminded herself as the young lad left and an older worker arrived. This time, at least, she could remember the man’s name. “Good morning, Charley.”

  “Morning, Miss Willow. How’s Monday treating you?” he asked, reaching for the kettle and giving a sigh as he flicked the cold container on to boil. He held his white mug aloft. “Always miss out, these days. Soon, the boss’ll be through the door, calling me back to work without any refreshment.”

  Sure enough, halfway to the jug boiling, the head builder, Jeff Waterman, stuck his head into the kitchen, nodding to Willow and glaring at his employee. “Break time’s over. The rest of us are starting work.”

  Charley nodded, and Willow took his empty mug. “I’ll bring this in when the kettle’s boiled,” she said. “Berry with stevia, isn’t it?”

  That earned her a shy smile as Charley nodded. “That’s the one.” He patted his rotund stomach. “Got to watch the sugar intake.”

  As he walked back through to the increased banging and crashing from the next room, the boss stayed put.

  “It’s nice of you to offer things for the boys,” Jeff said. “But I need them working to a timetable. Otherwise, I’ll never get this lot finished.”

  “A few minutes won’t hurt,” Willow said, yawning and easing out the stiffness in her shoulder. “Charley missed the hot water, that’s all. Otherwise, he would’ve been back in there already.”

  “Hm. Not from what I’ve seen,” Jeff said, his normally mild face screwing up into an expression of contempt. “That one’s even lazier than the young lad, and I’m on the verge of firing them both.”

  Willow star
ed down at her feet. The slippers were far too garish, she decided. For some reason, that made them even more uncomfortable than the ill-fit warranted. Not nearly so uncomfortable as the talk of hiring and firing made her feel, however.

  At least Jeff seemed to root out the problem and soon made amends. “Sorry, I shouldn’t talk shop in front of you. We’re on track for the building, so that’s the main thing. I’ll sort out my workers as need be.”

  “It’s good to hear that,” Willow said. “Not that you’ve been a bother or anything, but it will be nice to get the place back to myself.”

  “I thought you were opening up a shop?” Jeff rested against the door frame, crossing his ankles as though he planned on staying for a while.

  “Yes, I am.” Willow turned as the kettle clicked off and poured a nice hot stream over her prepared leaves before doing the same for Charley’s mug.

  “Then you’ll never have the place to yourself again, will you?”

  Willow frowned in annoyance. If only she’d made it downstairs earlier, the conversation could have commenced after a hit of caffeine was merrily waking up her bloodstream. As it was, she felt on the back foot. Willow offered Jeff a shrug, passing by with Charley’s mug and holding it up when she walked through the doorway, to draw his attention.

  “Thank you, missus,” Charley said. “Much obliged.”

  The hint of British-ness about his person delighted Willow for some strange reason. On her favorite show, Miss Walsham Investigates, the man with whom the main character had an on-again-off-again relationship also had a British accent. It was all very James Bond-like.

  “If you’re done bringing my men their morning refreshments, would you mind leaving so we can get on with the building?” Jeff asked.

  Willow frowned. His suggestion was framed in such an utterly reasonable tone of voice she couldn’t possibly take it as a slight—and yet she did.

  Trying her best to stomp in the fluffy crimson slippers, Willow tipped her nose into the air and made her way back through to the kitchen. She took her wake-up drink into the lounge, sipping furiously as she imagined a massive load of bricks suddenly falling on the rear of her house, ending with all the builders fleeing and no chance of setting up a tearoom at all.

  Willow smiled as she settled into the daydream, the thought filling her with a sneaky delight. Mavis trotted downstairs—refreshed from her nap—to curl against Willow’s thigh and promptly fall back to sleep.

  An hour later, Willow was out in the backyard. After fooling around with half-hearted weeding—a useless effort since the pests had curled up in despair at the colder weather and basically surrendered—Willow thought the only thing the garden was growing was discontent.

  Willow wanted the tearooms—of course, she did—but as soon as she’d taken steps to make the dream a reality, it all became overwhelming. Just working out what the conservatory needed in the way of changes to transform it into commercial premises was terrible enough. Next came the hiring of the right firm.

  After that, she had to undergo the ritual humiliation of being told that nothing she’d drawn up could possibly become a reality. In the nick of time, Harmony had also saved her by pointing out she’d need to check everything she was doing through the health department to make sure the proper guidelines were met.

  What had seemed a fun project had progressively nibbled away at Willow’s enthusiasm until she wanted to fling her arms up in surrender, shouting, “I’m done.”

  But then she’d lose even more face.

  Until this project, Willow hadn’t realized how much she relied on other people having a good opinion of her. To give up publicly and say she couldn’t do it, would ruin more than her tearoom dream. She mightn’t be able to venture into the town square ever again!

  In fact, Willow would prefer to move away from Aniseed Valley forever than endure the shame of being a public failure. Even though she’d lose her best friends and her comfortable house and probably half her money to boot.

  As Willow stared in horror at the builders in the conservatory, she thought it possible she might end up a homeless discard because she’d once thought it was an excellent idea to serve people herbal tea.

  A field mouse scampered over the back of Willow’s hand, immediately chased by a very alert Mavis. That was another problem she needed to deal with, according to Harmony. The mice population around here required her to put an eradication program into production.

  How on Earth did wanting to serve tea end up with her killing rodents? Willow didn’t even mind the little creatures. They stayed in their places, and she stayed in hers. On the one occasion a mouse got into her home, the poor thing had died of fright before she could take steps to move it back out.

  Willow wiped away a few tears of frustration while getting to her feet. She closed her eyes, trying to imagine the plan coming into reality. Once the tearooms got off the ground, she could luxuriate in the memory of this moment of hideous doubt.

  When they brought her onto Good Morning America or some-such program, Willow would be able to laugh while informing the host how close the business came to not opening at all.

  Willow’s heartbeat stopped racing, and her stomach loosened out of its knot of anxiety. She took a couple of deep breaths, inhaling the smell of the soil, defrosting slowly in the weak rays of the morning sun.

  Winter was the time for regrowth, and things always looked hopeless around now. The garden wasn’t a living bed of plants stretching up to the sun. Instead, it was a place of dull soil and dry sticks, with all the goodness of another harvest buried deeply out of sight beneath the earth.

  The same winter nipping at her garden had struck her plan for the tearooms, too. This was her winter of discontent, and soon it would show the first blossom of oncoming spring.

  But it couldn’t do that until the builders undertook their craft with all the ensuing racket. As Willow became aware of her surroundings once more, the piercing noise of an electric drill tore through the air.

  A headache began to pulse behind her right eye. Whether from the noise or the induced stress of her house being full of men with tools, it didn’t matter. Willow needed to get away from this place for a while and give her nerves a nice break. A café in town could cook her breakfast this morning and, while she was gone, the builders could invade the kitchen to their heart’s content.

  With renewed enthusiasm for the day, Willow tromped back through her dead winter garden to freshen up and dress in something appropriate for public viewing.

  Her plan for breakfast was unfortunately derailed when Willow finished pulling on her best slacks, only to hear the doorbell.

  It seemed life had a different plan on offer for her day.

  Chapter Two

  Reg stood at the door, shoulders slumped in total defeat. With a cry of welcome, Willow pulled him inside and sent him through to the kitchen. She placed her hand on the side of the kettle and had to stop her jaw from clenching. The jug was cold again. With a sigh, she refilled it and clicked it on to boil.

  Reg was a private man, apart from the odd enthusiasm that spilled from him everywhere he went. Although he might confide in a total stranger about every theory on offer about Roswell, if Willow tried to come at whatever concerned him now, directly, he would shy away and clam up.

  “It’s a nice morning, isn’t it?” Willow always had a well of weather-related small talk at hand for these occasions. It worked equally well in all social situations and could expand out for hours in remembrances of exciting weather from the past.

  Except Reg wasn’t in an expanding-conversation mood. “Is it?”

  “Nice for this time of the year, anyway. I ventured out to the garden to do some weeding, and the plants have all died off. Saves me quite a lot of trouble.”

  Reg stared out the kitchen window, his face dull and gray, looking much older than his sixty-seven years. “Everything dies in the end.”

  Willow shut her eyes. She could have kicked herself for forgetting the date.
Today was the anniversary of Reg’s wife’s death and no wonder he was in a mood. This day was always a torment for him, much as her own anniversary of widowhood would be in a few weeks.

  “This’ll warm you up,” Willow said, sliding across the mug of mint tea. “And if that doesn’t work, I’ve got something with a kick of pepper that does the trick. I tried it myself this morning.”

  When she sat down, Willow chose the chair beside Reg rather than across from him. Together, they stared out the window, watching the gray landscape through sad eyes.

  “Hey, missus. Okay if I pop the kettle on again for our break?”

  Willow turned and smiled at Charley. “Go right ahead. Glad to see you getting in first, this time.”

  “Right you are.” Charley refilled the jug and stood by while it came to the boil. “You her fancy man, are you?” he asked after a long pause.

  Willow laughed while Reg snorted. “No,” she said. “This is my friend, Reg. He used to be the groundskeeper at the high school in town here, if you attended?”

  Charley shook his head. “Nah. My folks brought me over after I was finished with all that nonsense. I’d been in an apprenticeship with a builder back in old Blighty, so just picked up something along the same lines here.”

  Reg frowned. “What’s old Blighty?”

  Willow thought Charley’s laugh might have more to do with the absolute puzzlement on Reg’s face than the question itself.

  “It’s a nickname for Britain. Us ex-pats have a ton of them. If you ever want to learn a bit of slang, come down to The Old Chestnut pub of an evening, and I’ll teach you a boatload over a pint.”

  Reg’s eyes brightened a little, then faded. “I’ve got my work in the evening.”

  Jeff appeared in the connecting door, arms folded in a stern line across his chest. “You having your break early, are you?”

  Charley shot him a cheerful smile. “I’m getting the pot warmed up for everybody.”

  Willow frowned at the expression of disgust that flooded onto Jeff’s face. Poor Charley seemed utterly oblivious, continuing the conversation as though his boss hadn’t interrupted.