Free Mrs. Jeffries Takes the Cake by Emily Brightwell

desperately trying to think of how to answer. “Actually, he’s been rather busy lately.”
    “Oh goody.” Ruth leaned forward eagerly. “Has he a good murder?”
    “Lady Cannonberry!” Pilchard stared at his hostess in utter shock. “Surely you’re jesting. You can’t possibly have meant what you just said.”
    “Of course I did,” she declared. “I don’t condone the taking of life, Morris. But let’s do be honest here: murder is fascinating.”
    Morris pursed his lips and shook his head. “I think it’s quite distasteful.”
    “Here’s your tea, Mr. Pilchard.” Her eyes twinkling behind her spectacles, Mrs. Goodge handed him his cup. “Would you care for a scone or a slice of cake, sir?”
    Momentarily distracted, he turned away from his hostess to study the offerings. “A small slice of sponge, please.” He whipped his head back around, apparently ready to take up the argument again, but Ruth was a step ahead of him.
    “It’s only distasteful if you think it’s right that killers can take life with impunity,” she charged.
    “It’s very…common. Yes, that’s right, murder iscommon and almost always done by the lower classes.” As soon as he said the words, a bright blush crept up his cheeks as he realized whom he was having tea with. “Oh dear, I don’t mean to imply that any of you would ever do such a thing—”
    “Hello, hello.” The inspector’s cheerful voice interrupted the terribly embarrassed Mr. Pilchard. “I was just on my way to the Magistrates’ Court and thought I’d pop in and welcome our dear neighbor home.” He smiled happily at Ruth Cannonberry as he approached the table. “I do hope I’m not interrupting, but when Mrs. Jeffries mentioned this morning that you were coming around for morning tea, I just had to stop in and see you.”
    “Gerald, I’m delighted to see you as well,” Ruth said quickly. Her eyes suddenly sparkled with pleasure, a flush crept up her cheeks and her mouth curved in a wide smile. “I’m so happy you came. It seems as if it’s been far more than a fortnight since we’ve seen one another.”
    “Uh…uh.” Morris Pilchard cleared his throat loudly. The indelicate sound grated loudly in the quiet garden. Ruth dragged her gaze away from Witherspoon’s and made the introductions.
    Mrs. Jeffries looked at the others. Luty, Smythe and Hatchet seemed to be amused. Betsy and Mrs. Goodge looked impatient, and Wiggins was too busy stuffing his face with seed cake to notice anything.
    “Wiggins,” she ordered gently, “could you go and fetch the inspector a chair?” The lad nodded and leapt to his feet.
    Mrs. Jeffries hoped the inspector wouldn’t say anything about the murder. If Ruth found out they were “on the hunt,” she’d want to help, and as she had a houseguest in residence, that wouldn’t be a wise course of action. “Would you care for tea, Inspector?” she asked.
    “Thank you, that would be lovely. I’ve not got long. Constable Barnes is meeting me here in a few minutes.” His smile was strained as he spoke and his eyes seemed to dart between Morris Pilchard and Rum. “Oh, thank you, Wiggins,” he said as the lad returned and shoved a chair under him.
    He took the tea his housekeeper handed him and then reached for a plate. Witherspoon put a scone and a slice of seedcake on it and then slapped on a huge dollop of heavy, clotted cream. “Are you staying long, Mr. Pilchard?” he asked. He forked a quarter of the cake into his mouth.
    “I’m not really sure,” Pilchard replied. He glanced at his hostess and smiled. “It all depends.”
    “On what?” the inspector asked. He reached for a knife and slathered the cream across the top of the scone.
    Morris shrugged. “Oh, this and that.”
    “This and that, you say?” Witherspoon nodded encouragingly. His smile was quite strained by now. When Mr. Pilchard remained silent and merely kept smiling at Lady Cannonberry, the inspector stuffed the remainder of the