Page 34 of The Spy Who Loved Tea

“An episode.” Mrs. Gable’s eyes sparkled. “Is that what we’re calling it?”

“That’s what Constable Oakes is calling it, and I see no reason to contradict him.” Vera smiled. “Now, might I have a lemon scone and a cup of tea? I find near-death experiences leave me rather peckish.”

Mrs. Gable laughed—a sound Vera hadn’t heard from her in days—and began preparing the order.

“On the house,” she said firmly when Vera tried to pay. “Today and every day, as far as I’m concerned. You saved my life, Vera Calloway. The least I can do is keep you in scones.”

“That,” Vera said, “is an arrangement I can live with.”

She took her tea to the small table by the window—her usual spot, with a clear view of the high street and the village green beyond. The morning sun was warm through the glass, and for a moment, she allowed herself to simply sit and breathe.

It was over. Or this part of it was, at least.

The bell over the door jingled. Vera looked up to see Constable Oakes entering, his helmet tucked under his arm and his expression caught somewhere between awe and confusion—an expression he had been wearing more or less constantly since the events at the train station.

“Mrs. Calloway.” He approached her table with the caution of a man approaching a sleeping lion. “Might I have a word?”

“Of course, Constable. Do sit down.”

Oakes sat. He placed his helmet on the table, adjusted it slightly, then adjusted it again. He was clearly working up to something.

“The detective from London,” he said finally. “DCI Morrison. She’s been asking questions about you.”

“Has she?”

“She wanted to know how you happened to be at the station at that hour. And how you managed to subdue a trained... well, whatever he was. And how you knew to tie those particular knots.”

Vera sipped her tea. “What did you tell her?”

“The truth. That you’re a retired schoolteacher who keeps to herself and knits scarves for the village statues.” Oakes paused. “She laughed. Said that was the most creative cover story she’d heard in twenty years.”

“Cover story?” Vera widened her eyes. “I’m sure I don’t know what she means.”

“No,” Oakes said slowly. “I don’t suppose you do.” He studied her for a moment—really studied her, perhaps for the first time since they’d met. “The Chief Inspector from the Yard came down yesterday. He examined the knots you used to tie up that Julian fellow. Said he’d only seen that particular combination in special forces training manuals. A Prusik loop with a double fisherman’s backup, he called it.”

“Is that so? How fascinating.”

“He asked if you’d served in the military.”

“I was a Girl Guide,” Vera said. “We took our knots very seriously.”

Oakes stared at her. Then, unexpectedly, he smiled.

“Right,” he said. “Girl Guides. Of course.” He stood up, tucking his helmet back under his arm. “Well, Mrs. Calloway, I just wanted to let you know that the investigation is ongoing, but it’s been taken over by the Serious Crimes division. Apparently this OmniCorp business goes quite high up. There’s talk of arrests in London. Board members, executives, that sort of thing.”

“How gratifying.”

“And Julian—if that’s even his real name—is cooperating. Giving up names, accounts, the whole operation.” Oakes shook his head. “He confessed to all sorts of things. The Major’s murder. Mr. Pym. Breaking into half the cottages in the village to leave threatening messages.”

Vera thought of the petunia on her pillow. The scent of expensive cologne.

“Did he say why?” she asked. “The break-ins?”

“Intimidation, apparently. He wanted the holdouts to know they were being watched. That they could be reached anywhere.” Oakes grimaced. “Nasty business. But it’s over now, thanks to...” He trailed off, looking at her with an expression she couldn’t quite read. “Thanks to a series of fortunate coincidences.”

“Fortune favors the prepared, Constable.”

“So I’m learning.” He tipped an imaginary hat. “Good day, Mrs. Calloway. Try to stay out of trouble.”