Redmond and Haze Mysteries Box Set Volume 2: Books 4-6 by Irina Shapiro & Irina Shapiro

Author:Irina Shapiro & Irina Shapiro [Shapiro, Irina]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Merlin Press LLC
Published: 2021-10-12T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 22

The Upper Finchley post office was located at the back of the village shop, which sold everything from produce to tools, and at the moment smelled strongly of raw meat. Jason smiled politely at the man behind the counter and proceeded toward the back, where a comely woman in her thirties was sorting through some letters and parcels that had just been delivered by the mail coach that served villages that weren’t on a railway line. A young man in uniform stood by, waiting patiently to be handed the mail to deliver. It would probably take him several hours to cover the area on foot, delivering letters and parcels to farms that were miles away from the village center.

“Good morning, sir. How can I help you today?” the postmistress asked Jason once the young man had set off.

“Good morning, Mrs. Curtis.” Jason had made sure to learn the postmistress’s name before approaching her. “My name is Jason Redmond, and I work with the police.”

“Yes. Of course. I saw you the other day. You examined the body,” Mrs. Curtis exclaimed, attracting the attention of the man behind the shop counter. She raised an eyebrow at him as if reminding him to mind his own business.

“My husband,” she explained. “Curious as a magpie, that one.” She turned her attention back to Jason. “Do you know who killed him?” she asked, lowering her voice. “Was he still alive when they buried him?”

“I’m afraid he was,” Jason replied. He had to give her something if he hoped to get something in return, and she was clearly as curious as her spouse.

“Strange, that,” Mrs. Curtis observed. “He seemed such a mild man. Who’d want to do that to him?”

“That’s what we’re trying to find out.”

Mrs. Curtis consulted a small watch pinned to her bodice. “I’m gasping for a cup of tea. Will you join me, Mr. Redmond? I can’t allow you back here, it’s against regulations, but we can sit right over there, companionable-like,” she said, indicating a small table and two chairs that were either used for the postal workers to eat during their dinner break or for the wrapping of parcels and copying out of addresses by people who’d failed to do so at home.

“It would be my pleasure,” Jason said.

“Good. The kettle’s just boiled, so I won’t be a moment.”

Mrs. Curtis stepped into the back room to make the tea while Jason waited patiently for her to return. She brought out a small tray with a teapot, milk jug and sugar bowl, two delicate cups and saucers decorated with a floral pattern, and a plate of shortbread.

They sat down at the table, and she poured. Jason accepted the cup of tea, refused the milk and shortbread, and took a sip. Mrs. Curtis took her time fixing her tea just the way she liked it, then reached for a biscuit.

“I always have to have something around this time,” she explained, “or I grow faint and my hands start shaking. Tea with lots of sugar usually does the trick.

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