Tea before Dying Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Get 4 Books for Free

  Character List

  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

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Fact & Fiction

  Read More

  About the Author

  Copyright

  Tea before Dying

  a Cozy Tea Shoppe Mystery: Case 3

  By Vered Ehsani

  from Africa… with a Bite

  Get 4 Books for Free

  Ghosts of Tsavo ~ Beatrice Knight arrives in colonial Kenya desperate for a pot of tea. What she gets is a lot of adventure. This is the first book in the Society for Paranormals series, the prequel to this series.

  Victorian Nairobi: A photo album ~ Enjoy this collection of century-old photos taken during the early days of Nairobi’s history.

  That Night in Lagos ~ Learn how Miss Knight met the Mantis, her arch-nemesis, during her first adventure on the African continent.

  From Africa, with a Bite ~ Enjoy a beginner’s guide to African supernatural beings and things that go bump in the night.

  Three of these books aren’t available in any store. For more information, go to https://veredehsani.co.za/free-books/

  Character List

  Anansi ~ the Trickster God who appears as a giant spider

  Beatrice Timmons ~ more commonly referred to as Miss Knight; a paranormal investigator, and part witch, part werewolf

  Drew Anderson ~ Miss Knight’s half brother, and a werewolf

  Dr. Ribeiro ~ the zebra-riding doctor of Nairobi

  Gideon Knight ~ Miss Knight’s deceased first husband, and a ghost

  Grace ~ Lilly and Tiberius’ baby, Miss Knight’s niece

  James Elkhart ~ Miss Knight’s and Tiberius’ biological father, and a Mediterranean vampire

  Jonas ~ the gardener, cook and driver for the Timmons household

  Kam ~ the African God of Lightning

  Koki ~ the Praying Mantis, and a West African she-demon

  Le-Eyo ~ God of Death, otherwise known as Death

  Lilly Elkhart ~ Miss Knight’s cousin with whom she grew up in the Steward household

  Nelly ~ Miss Knight’s flying horse

  Pricilla (Cilla) White ~ Mr. Timmons’ niece and goddaughter, and Miss Knight’s best friend

  Prof. Runal ~ Director of the Society for Paranormals, and a werewolf

  Simon Timmons ~ Miss Knight’s husband, and an energy / identity thief

  Tiberius Elkhart ~ Miss Knight’s half brother, Lilly’s husband, and a Popobawa

  Wanjiru ~ Jonas’ daughter and Yao’s fiancée

  Yao ~ an Adze (an African vampire who shape-shifts into a firefly)

  Chapter One

  NOT EVERY DEAD child is transformed into a star, and not every condemned man is granted a reprieve. But one night, Death bestowed upon me both miracles.

  Only a few days ago, I had returned from the Sky Kingdom after saving Le-Eyo, the African God of Death, from mortality, so perhaps he believed he owed me. And perhaps he did. But at that moment, all my attention was on my recently miscarried son.

  “Bye, Mommy,” Arthur whispered into my ear. “I’ll see you again. I love you.”

  Unable to reply through the thickness in my throat, I watched the spirit of my never-to-be-born son skip away from me. My eyes misted over as I watched him take hold of Death’s hand and fade away into the moonlight.

  “I’ll always be close,” my little son had promised.

  As I gazed upward, I could see a new star twinkling next to the watchful moon.

  “I love you too,” I said. My voice was raw and strained. Of their own accord, my arms folded over my midsection, protecting the life that remained within: my daughter, Emma—Arthur’s twin sister. “Don’t worry, Emma. We’ll see him again. And I won’t let anything bad happen to you.”

  Pausing, I turned to the cottage. “Unless of course you break my teapot or ruin my tea leaves. Then, we will have a problem. But I know you won’t do anything like that.”

  Heavy, wooden wheels clattered along the dirt path leading from the small town of Nairobi to my—our—home. “Simon,” I whispered, hurrying to the back door. As I entered the kitchen, I took a moment to verify everything was as it should be.

  A black, round-bellied, metal stove warmed up the small room. A kettle, its surface battered and darkened over the years, squatted on the stove’s top, a thin stream of steam rising to the ceiling. The scent of burning wood mingled with the perfume of herbs I’d hung from a wooden rafter to dry. The lightly plastered stone walls contrasted with the rough flagstone floor. Copper and iron pots and pans hung in an orderly fashion from hooks over the stone countertop. A vervet monkey bounced along a timber beam overhead. One ghost…

  “Gideon,” I chastised him.

  The ghost of my first husband ignored me as he chased Shelby across the beam. A lock of brown hair floated around his deceptively angelic face. Light brown eyes twinkled with mischief.

  “Gideon, Simon is about to walk in at any moment,” I said, hands on my hips as I glared upward.

  “Oh, drat,” Gideon said in his whispery voice. “That man knows how to ruin everything.”

  “And I don’t want you around,” I added.

  Twirling upright, he placed a hand over his heart, his eyes wide with mock outrage. “Beatrice Knight Timmons, are you telling me to leave my own home?”

  “Yes,” I said, not bothering to argue that the cottage wasn’t his home. As far as Gideon was concerned, where I lived, he lived. It hadn’t been an issue before. Now that I was married again, his presence was at times inconvenient.

  Picking up a lighted storm lantern and wrinkling my nose at the whiff of kerosene, I hurried to the bedroom and stared into the mirror hanging above the washstand. My long, brown hair was in disarray, uncombed since my return from meeting with the Creator in the Sky Kingdom.

  “I’m a mess,” I hissed, tugging my fingers through my hair, trying to smooth it down.

  “He won’t care,” Gideon said as he floated through the door. “That’s one of the benefits of being married to an uncouth, unfashionable, identity-stealing—”

  “Gideon,” I yelled as I reached below the washstand to a shelf upon which were scattered a few toiletries. I picked up my brush and dragged it through my hair in long, sweeping motions. Why had I allowed myself to fall apart so thoroughly these past several days?

  You thought
you lost your baby, I reminded myself.

  “But I haven’t,” I affirmed to the thin face in the mirror. “Or at least, I still have one remaining.”

  “Talking to oneself is never a good sign for humans,” Gideon noted. His translucent form sprawled across the washstand, covering its marble surface.

  “Go away,” I warned, shaking my brush at him before tossing it at his head. I yanked my hair back and twirled it into a bun, then dipped my hands into the blue porcelain wash basin and splashed my face. Rubbing the water across my skin, I hoped I could remove the weariness and despair of the past few days just as easily.

  After drying my face, I leaned my hands against the washstand and stared at the reflection before me. Large, light hazel eyes stared back, their color almost yellow. The eerie color, the large hole in my right earlobe and the wolf energy currently inhabiting the metal prosthetic that replaced my left hand: these were all courtesy of a werewolf bite I’d suffered as a child. Apart from these features, there was nothing particularly extraordinary about the pale person in the mirror.

  At least, not on the surface.

  The crunch of small rocks under wheels convinced me my efforts would have to suffice. Wagging a finger at Gideon, I hastened to the front door and placed my hand on the doorknob.

  The wagon wheels rumbled to a stop. The oxen snorted. One of the men spoke to the other, his voice muted. My hand trembled.

  “It’s going to be fine, Bee,” Gideon whispered in my ear, his face appearing right beside mine.

  “Of course it is,” I snapped even as the trembling in my hand increased.

  How much had changed since I’d last seen Simon? I’d lived another life, and he’d sat in a London jail, resigned to his fate. While I’d battled a bride killer, negotiated with gods, stolen from a dragon, discovered I was pregnant, lost a baby and met my son, Simon had faced a hostile judge and jury in a distant land. Almost everyone, including me, had been certain he was already a condemned man. Victorian law was anything but lenient or forgiving.

  As a paranormal identity thief, Simon Timmons could take on the appearance of anyone onto whom his energy tentacles latched. He’d done so on a number of occasions to assist me. The most memorable occurrence involved a possessed automaton named Liam and the spirit of the deceased yet still murderous Mrs. Cricket. In order to save Lilly and me, Simon had drained the spirit’s energy.

  It was a filthy business to be sure but at times necessary. Except the one time when he’d stolen some of his ex-fiancée’s energy to prove a point. The vindictive lady had followed him to the British colony of East Africa and placed charges against him. I’d begged him to escape incarceration and possible execution by adopting a new physical identity.

  He’d refused.

  Staring me down, he’d said that adopting was a euphemism for stealing. To this I’d argued that it was merely a more agreeable word and really, who cared either way? Despite my tearful arguments, he boarded the train that carried him away from me and to his judgment day. Obstinate man.

  And now, here we were, separated by a few planks of painted wood.

  Gideon floated around until he was half embedded in the door. Grinning, he said, “Of course, if you want to leave the energy-sapping, identity-stealing brute outside, I have no objections.”

  Closing my eyes, I breathed deeply. The wagon’s wheels began to roll again, returning the driver to town.

  “Open the door, Beatrice,” Gideon ordered, “and I’ll let you two have a moment of peace. But only one moment, mind you.”

  Giggling, I said, “Thank you, Gids.” Taking a deep breath, I yanked open the door.

  Chapter Two

  AND THERE HE was: Simon Timmons. Identity thief extraordinaire, scandalous rogue, businessman, husband.

  For a moment, I remained in the doorway, and he stood several paces away. He was surrounded by blue and gray shadows and bathed in moonlight. His strength was visible not just in his frame but in every feature, in his pose, the proud tilt of his head. His hair was unfashionably shaggy, curly locks of dark hair bouncing on his broad shoulders. He hadn’t trimmed his sideburns either.

  My attention drifted to his eyes: gray and fierce, two storm clouds brimming with emotions, most of them dark and dangerous. His unkempt eyebrows scrunched together as he lowered his traveling bag to the ground, his gaze never leaving me.

  Straightening up, he broke the trance with one word: “Beatrice.”

  The word pulsed with love and longing, hope tinged with despair. Space vanished as one or both of us moved. I don’t remember how I traveled from the doorway into his arms but once there, I tightened my grip around his neck, vowing never to let go.

  “Simon,” I whispered repeatedly, my tears choking any other words that might have followed. Or were those his tears?

  There we stood, wrapped around each other, speaking only each other’s name. I was unable to move for fear one of us would vanish, and I would awaken from a vivid dream.

  “This can’t be just a dream,” I whispered as I stroked the bristles on his cheeks and inhaled his musky cologne. “You are here, aren’t you? This is real. Please, let this be real.”

  I felt a hand stroke my hair, tugging it free from the hasty bun in which I’d tied it. “Beatrice,” Simon murmured into my neck. “I’m here. By the gods, I am here.”

  Breathing deeply, he kissed my shoulder, my neck, my forehead. “I’ve dreamed of this moment since the day I left,” he said. “Even when I believed the gallows had my name on them, I still dreamed of being with you.”

  Pulling back slightly, I stared into a face I’d thought was lost to me. “Never again,” I said. “Never leave me again.”

  Swallowing hard, Simon nodded and gave me his promise not in words but in a kiss and then another, each more demanding than the previous. Not bothering to collect his bag, Simon scooped me up and carried me into the cottage.

  Fortunately for all of us, Gideon extended his one moment of peace so that it lasted the rest of the night.

  Chapter Three

  SOMETHING WAS DIFFERENT.

  In my world, different wasn’t desirable. It often involved some creature sneaking in through an open window with toothy jaws open, or giant insects or one-eyed crocodiles or an army of skeletons descending on my home.

  As I lay in bed, my eyes adjusted to the dawn light shimmering through the thin curtains. Yellow weaver birds raucously announced sunrise from the thorn tree near the window. The scent of damp earth and fresh grass mingled with another, heavier perfume, one that could only come from a man.

  Gasping, I rolled out of bed, mentally preparing to snatch up my walking stick and pummel whoever was in my room. Before I could complete the roll, two thick arms coiled around me and tugged me against a firm, warm chest.

  “Good morning,” Simon’s voice rumbled in my ear.

  “Oh, it’s you,” I breathed out. “Thank heavens.”

  Snorting, he rubbed his bristly chin against my neck. “Were you expecting someone else?”

  “Well, now that you mention it…” I teased.

  “You are truly a witch,” he said.

  Stretching my arms to encourage energy flow, I turned and wrapped them around his neck. “I’ve missed your compliments,” I said.

  “Is that all you missed?”

  Coughing a couple times, I scolded, “Don’t be rude.”

  Arms around each other, we lay in silence, enjoying the presence of each other. Of course, such peaceful contentedness could never last; Shelby bounded in the room, screeching as she pounced on Simon’s face and smacked his ears with her little, furry fists.

  “She missed you, too,” I said.

  “Clearly,” he said, his voice muffled by the fur.

  Having a young vervet monkey was a guarantee we would be awake and up before the sun had extended itself beyond the horizon. The only thing that made this bearable, apart from Shelby’s cuteness—her means of survival—was the kettle steaming on the wood stove.
/>   “Thank heavens for Jonas,” I said as I brought out my mother’s metal teapot from the kitchen cupboard and stroked its engraved surface. Leaning against the counter, I waited for the water to come to a boil. I then prepared a pot of tea for two and peeled a banana. “You know, Shelby, you are actually old enough to do this yourself.”

  The monkey’s lips lifted, exposing her teeth and gums as she squawked at me.

  “Are you really suggesting she prepare her own breakfast?” Simon asked as he slumped into a chair. The wood creaked under his weight.

  “Not at all,” I said, joining him at the table. “I’m hoping she can one day prepare the tea and carry it into our room.”

  “Ah, yes. That makes more sense.”

  A few moments passed. I watched Simon study the kitchen as if he was familiarizing himself with his home. Satisfied, he turned to me.

  Before he could speak, I blurted out, “I believe I’m as addicted to you as I am to tea.”

  His bushy eyebrows rose. “That’s astonishing.”

  “Truly.”

  Smiling, he lifted his cup to his lips. “Why, Mrs. Timmons, you’re a romantic.”

  “I’ve been accused of many things but not that.”

  “My apologies,” he said.

  Another moment of comfortable silence passed between us in which the only sounds were the crackle of wood in the round belly of the stove, the birdsongs outside, and Shelby’s satisfied grunts as she devoured the banana. My hands lowered to my waist.

  How does one share life-changing news? I pondered. Clearing my throat, I instead said, “Your first day home. What are your plans for the day?”

  He waggled his eyebrows and smirked suggestively.

  “Of course,” I said, laughing.

  Growing serious, he said, “Well, at some point, I should attempt to resume my business, if my partners will allow me.”

  I waved a hand to dismiss his concerns. “People have a remarkable ability to forgive and forget past transgressions, especially when future profits are at stake,” I reassured him.

  “I hope you’re right.”

  “Of course I am,” I said, pulling my hair back into a bun. “After all, Nairobi still needs to import goods and construction items.”