A Taste To Die For - A Honey Driver Murder Mystery (Honey Driver Mysteries)

A Taste To Die For - A Honey Driver Murder Mystery (Honey Driver Mysteries) by Jean G. Goodhind Page B

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Authors: Jean G. Goodhind
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downstairs.’
    The phone rang and he picked it up. He plastered his hand over his mouth before attempting to answer the phone and pointed to the stairs leading down to Casper’s office.
    Intrigued, Honey made her way down, knocking before entering the subterranean suite that served as offices.
    The first thing she saw on entering was Casper’s pale complexion.
    ‘My goodness. You look as though you’d seen …’
    Casper’s visitor rose from his chair.
    Honey’s jaw dropped. Her head tilted back to accommodate the man’s huge height. Six feet six at least. And black. And beaded. And dressed in … animal skins? He was also carrying what looked like a spear. An assegai? His hair was plaited or matted or … something. Now what was he? Yes, that was it. She was looking at an honest-to-goodness Masai warrior. In Bath. A tourist?
    She heard Casper clearing his throat. He probably couldn’t believe it himself.
    ‘This gentleman tells me he has important information regarding the murder of Oliver Stafford.’
    Honey nodded slowly while she tried to find her voice. Now it was her turn to clear her throat.
    ‘Is that so?’
    ‘Call me Obadiah Jones,’ said the voice from on high. He offered her a long, slender hand as he flashed his uncommonly white teeth.
    ‘Right!’
    She found her voice in time to say hello and pleased to meet you without sounding too stupid.
    ‘Do you think we can sit down,’ she said, her neck already aching from having to adopt such an acute angle.
    ‘Certainly.’
    His accent was negligible, which was not what she’d expected.
    ‘And this evidence … Obadiah … can you tell me exactly what it is?’
    The multi-coloured beads festooned around his neck jangled when he nodded. ‘Most certainly. I heard my wife arguing with Mr Stafford. She was calling him many rude names and threatening to destroy him if he didn’t continue to “play ballˮ.’
    Honey stared. She looked at Casper for help. He looked just as shocked as she felt. Bath might welcome tourists from all over the world, but Masai Warriors were definitely a bit thin on the ground.
    ‘And your wife is …?’
    ‘Stella. The story is that she was on safari and I was her tour guide around the Masai Mara. We married in Africa, but she pretends that it never occurred. I followed her back here to claim my rights. She said she was not herself at the time we married so it doesn’t count.’
    ‘That’s wonderful.’
    ‘Not so wonderful. I was paid to do it.’
    ‘That figures.’
    ‘But I overheard this argument.’
    ‘He’s given me the details,’ said Casper, a perplexed look sullying his usually calm expression. He related a few details.
    ‘I can’t go to the police about it. You see, I shouldn’t be here. My work permit’s run out.’
    The truth was obvious. He wasn’t a real Masai warrior, just a very tall man dressed up to look like one.
    Honey asked the obvious question. ‘Who paid you?’
    He shook his head. ‘I cannot divulge my client’s particulars. It’s private.’
    Honey took a deep breath and reminded herself that this was a serious business. Murder was involved, plus the reward of substantial bed occupancy at the Green River Hotel for taking on the job in the first place. ‘And you definitely heard her threaten Mr Stafford?’
    His rat’s-tails hair-do rattled as much as his beads when he nodded. ‘I sneaked through the back way to … use the facilities, shall we say. I heard her screaming at Stafford to do as she said. There was no security guard there – at least at first. And then it was not the same … Maybe he was asleep.’ He frowned. ‘When I arrived the first time, he appeared quickly. But I hid.’
    Honey made a mental note to have a word with the security guard – after she’d had a word with Bling Broadbent.
    ‘You have to tell the police,’ said Honey.
    A sense of panic moved him. ‘You tell them,’ he said, backing towards the door. ‘I don’t want to get involved.

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