Death at the Cafe Read Online Free Page A

a cup of tea with this Teresa. Perhaps you’ll even get to finalize your funding.”
    “That would be very good,” Mary nodded.
    “Come on, we have to change trains here.”
    “Where are we going?”
    “Baker Street.”
    “Home of Sherlock Holmes,” Mary added, joviality returning to her voice.
    “Perhaps he can help us with this confounding turn of events!”
    They exited the train, navigated the tunnels and escalators that led them onto the Metropolitan Line, and waited patiently on the platform.
    “Do you remember the time that we went to a Halloween party,” Mary began, after a moment of thought, “you as Sherlock Holmes and me as Jack the Ripper?”
    “But of course!” Annabelle said, happily looking into the distance as she brought the memory to her mind. “I had rather hoped you would go as Dr. Watson, instead.”
    “That would have been terribly boring,” Mary said. “You took the costume entirely too seriously.”
    “I did not!”
    “You did!” responded Mary. “You spent the entire evening – both the trick-or-treating and the party afterward at your cousin’s – staring suspiciously at people over your plastic bubble-pipe, trying to ‘deduce’ who had committed the crime of taking a bite of your Halloween cupcake.”
    Annabelle laughed. “Well, perhaps I was a little overzealous.”
    “I’ve not seen your cousin Josh since he drove us to that concert.”
    “’The Jacksons’! Oh yes, I remember that well. You danced so wildly you nearly poked somebody’s eye out!”
    “How times change,” Mary said, wistfully, as they stared into space.
    As they waited, a man sitting on a bench tossed a free newspaper onto the seat beside him. Mary glanced over twice before mustering up the courage to walk over.
    “Excuse me, are you finished with this paper?”
    The man nodded curtly and turned his gaze back toward the darkness of the tunnel. Mary picked up the paper and walked back to Annabelle.
    “I had forgotten how rude Londoners can be,” Mary said in an almost silent whisper.
    Annabelle shrugged sympathetically as the train rolled up to the platform. They entered a carriage and sat once again. Mary opened the paper and perused it solemnly, turning pages only after she had cast her eyes upon each headline at least once. Annabelle glanced curiously at her friend’s intense focus.
    “Are you always so interested in the news, Mary?” she asked.
    Mary shook her head. “No. I’m just wondering if there’s something here that could be connected to the woman who handed me the note.”
    Annabelle shifted her head, bemused.
    “Such as?”
    “Well, look here. A serial killer has been roaming the streets of Lewisham.”
    “That’s nowhere near the café. And look here,” Annabelle said, pointing to the top of the article, “it says he’s been caught.”
    Mary turned the page, almost disappointed at her poor sleuthing skills.
    “What about this! Russian spy poisoned in Notting Hill! She could have easily been poisoned!”
    Annabelle leaned over the paper, scanned a few paragraphs, and then relaxed her brow.
    “It says the actual poisoning happened last year – if it happened at all.”
    Mary turned the page again, deflated once more. Annabelle checked her watch while Mary continued to study the newspaper for clues.
    “Shall I read you your horoscope, Annabelle?”
    “Mary! You’re a Catholic nun! You shouldn’t be indulging in such poppycock!”
    “Oh, it’s just a bit of fun to pass the time.”
    “It’s nonsense and dangerous at that if you take it too seriously.”
    “Don’t be such a spoilsport!”
    “I’m not!” Annabelle gasped, with mock offence. “Look at us. We have the same sign, and we’re entirely different.”
    Mary smiled mischievously. “And we’re also incredibly alike, wouldn’t you say?”
    Annabelle rolled her eyes in defeat. “Okay. Go on then.”
    Mary folded up the paper eagerly, as if better to read it, opened her mouth to recite the words,