What in the devil is happening in Dufftown?

It was the first thought to pop into his mind when George called about finding a body. Again. How had it happened three months in a row? It was definitely the most murder-filled summer Murphy could ever recall happening in their little Scottish village.

Ever.

Before the bizarre death by dry ice that happened in June in his brewery, Murphy genuinely couldn’t remember the last time a murder had occurred in Dufftown. And then July had brought an allergy-induced murder. So he’d hoped August wouldn’t bring more of the same.

Three times was apparently not the charm.

Murphy arrived to find the lane already blocked off by a police vehicle. He nodded to one of the constables, who asked him to stay where he was. George was further down the lane, holding Bumble tightly in his arms. Bugger.

It was several minutes before one of the local detective inspectors arrived. Thankfully for all of them, it was Elwin, not Murphy’s cousin Sarah. She’d threatened to lock him up on principle if he got involved in another murder inquiry.

She was mostly joking.

He hoped.

For over an hour, Murphy had to stay by his vehicle and wait. It was painful to be unable to stand beside George and offer comfort. Finally, though, Elwin stepped over to speak with him.

“Paddy.” Elwin acknowledged him with a nod.

Paddington had been his nickname since his very brief stint in the military. A moniker that was bestowed on him because of his Baird surname and overall tall, stocky build. The dark brown hair and scruffy beard didn’t help matters much. It was a name that had stuck with him over the years.

“Everything all right?” Murphy glanced between the detective inspector and George. “You can’t possibly think….”

“I don’t believe George or his ancient pug was involved in this murder. We’re fairly confident the murder happened several hours ago. Margo has one of those fancy doorbells with a camera. It shows when he left the cottage.” Elwin held a hand up when Murphy when to interrupt him. “Give me some credit. I never believed he was involved in the last one either. We still have to do our job as investigators. So do me a favour, and don’t poke around in the inquiry. I’m begging you to stay out of this one.”

“I didn’t intend to be in the other ones.” Murphy held his hands up in surrender when Elwin glowered at him. “I’ll do my best.”

“You didn’t intend….” Elwin muttered a few impressive curses under his breath, along with a prayer to any divine being listening. “Three times is not the charm. So let us handle this murder inquiry.”

“To be fair, the last one literally fell into our laps. And we didn’t investigate.” Murphy grinned when his old schoolmate glowered at him even more deeply. “We didn’t investigate much.”

“Well, how about you go from not investigating much to not doing it at all? Now go take care of your boyfriend.” Elwin carefully ushered Murphy around the victim, who was being placed into a body bag by the coroner. He narrowed his eyes at the two of them. “Behave yourselves.”

Murphy waved off Elwin. It was sometimes hard to take him seriously when he’d known the man so long. He focused on an exhausted George, who still clutched a squirming Bumble in his arms. “Here. Why don’t I walk you home? I’m sure you could use a break from the flashing lights and noise.”

With a nod of acceptance, George wordlessly allowed Murphy to take Bumble. They walked away from the scene. He’d parked his vehicle off the side and out of the way; it would be fine until the police wrapped up their investigation.

A sharp whistle drew his attention to Evan, who stood by his vehicle. He promised to swing by George’s cottage midmorning. They were definitely going to need to have a chat about anything their solicitor friend uncovered.

They weren’t investigating.

They weren’t.

It was just a few questions to a solicitor friend to see where the police inquiry might go. A protective measure, nothing more. He wasn’t sure his argument would stand up in court or to the detectives.

Halfway to the cottage, Murphy set Bumble down to let him trundle along beside them. He’d been clutched in George’s arms for quite a while. With the pug leading the way, they slowly walked towards the cottage at the end of the lane.

“I genuinely thought we were finished with dead bodies.” George stopped in front of his cottage and spoke for the first time. He tilted his head to peer up at the sky. “Beautiful night. Moon’s bright. A cool breeze. Everything’s perfect—aside from the dead body.”

“Pesky thing, those dead bodies.” Murphy slipped his hand into George’s, trying to offer him a measure of support. “At least they can’t pin this one on you or me.”

“What about Bumble?”

“Well, unless the person was snored or licked to death, I think he’s in the clear.” Murphy tried to inject a little humour into the situation to ease George’s anxiety. “Why don’t I fix us some of the calming tea your ma sent you?”

It was a delicious blend, particularly when paired with one of George’s honey syrup experiments. His latest was a mixture containing blackberries and spices. It went surprisingly well in tea.

“Not sure tea’s up to the task of calming me after Bumble found a body in the lane.”

“Okay, first, sacrilege. They might chase you out of the village if anyone hears you. Second, it could always be worse.” Murphy took him by the shoulders and guided him up the path to the cottage. “He might’ve found two bodies.”

“Ah, yes. Of course, the silver lining is that my elderly, half-blind pug found one murdered person and not two.” George’s smile was slightly tremulous, but it was there. “I’m exhausted, but I don’t think I could sleep if I tried.”

“Let’s start with something manageable. Tea. You never know how you’ll feel after you’ve had a cup.” Murphy continued to guide George into the cottage and finally to one of the chairs at the kitchen table. “Are you hungry?”

George shook his head. He stared blankly at the top of the table, not even noticing Bumble, who flopped across his feet. “Not hungry.”

After filling the kettle and turning it on, Murphy gathered two mugs, the box of tea, and the bottle of syrup. He left George to sift through his thoughts in silence. It was always best not to force him to speak when he was lost in thought.

Murphy grabbed the Loch Ness monster-shaped metal strainers and filled them with tea. He set them into the mugs, poured the hot water in, and chuckled at the little head bobbing at the top. The two were a set he’d gotten George as a gift.

After allowing the tea to brew for several minutes, Murphy took the strainers out and placed them in the sink. He added a little of the honey syrup and stirred it in. George nodded his thanks when Murphy set the tea in front of him.

George swirled the spoon around in the mug absently. “I wonder who the person was. I didn’t recognise her. Not someone from around the village.”

“Maybe a tourist? There was that wedding earlier. Teagan mentioned their auntie had the bridal party at the hair salon a few days earlier.” Murphy sat down across from him. He cupped his hands around the mug, enjoying the warmth from it. “She could’ve been one of the guests who decided to stay past the ceremony and reception. Or someone just passing by? Maybe a hiker?”

“In the middle of the night?”

“It’s still summer. It wouldn’t be a complete stretch to have someone hiking through the highlands, maybe lost track of time.” Murphy thought it unlikely, but it was possible. He noticed a jar with bright yellowish-orange contents on the counter. “Ah. Your new experiment? How’d it go?”

“Too soon to tell. I added a few spices to the honey and ginger. I went with cardamom, cinnamon, and nutmeg. I think it’ll be quite lovely in the autumn. Something different to the fruity flavours I’ve played with this summer.” George finally stopped stirring his tea and took a sip. He seemed happy enough with how Murphy had made it. “Are you hungry?”

“I could eat.”

“I’m craving french toast.” George continued drinking his tea before setting the mug down. “Craving Abba’s french toast, to be specific.”

“Not his pancakes?” Murphy had tried quite a few of the Sheth patriarch’s creations. He was an amazing cook who blended Indian flavours into almost every dish. “What goes into the french toast, then?”

“A lot of spices and chilli.” George closed his eyes for a moment. “In the morning. I’ll make it in the morning before I head into the garden. I’m so tired all of a sudden.”

“Come on. Let’s finish up the tea and head for bed.” Murphy found a container of cardamom-spiced shortbread and slid it across the table to George. “A little something to soothe the stomach beast.”

“You’ll stay?”

“Where else would I go?”

They finished up their tea in a silence punctuated by pug snores. Murphy could see the exhaustion slowly descending on George. He was practically asleep at the table by the time Murphy had washed up the mugs and teapot, setting them aside to dry overnight.

“Up you get. Your back won’t thank you for falling asleep in your kitchen chair.” Murphy went over to lift George up, who batted his hands away with a strained laugh. “Let’s at least try to get some sleep, yeah?”

“Yeah.” George’s agreement was half-hearted at best.

Part of him wanted to carry George upstairs. But Murphy knew his boyfriend, no matter how tired, wouldn’t appreciate that level of help. He followed closely to make sure George didn’t stumble on the stairs.

He wasn’t only tired but distracted. Who could blame him? For the third time in three months, they’d found themselves somehow connected or adjacent to a murder.

With stilted movements, George changed into a pair of shorts and collapsed on the bed with a tired sigh. He didn’t even bother to get under the covers. His head missed the pillow entirely, but he didn’t move.

Murphy undressed and pulled on a pair of pyjama bottoms. He gently shifted George until his head rested on the pillow and got him under the covers. Bumble huffed at him, wanting up on the bed, so he lifted the pug as well. “We’ll take good care of him, right?”

Bumble immediately scrambled up to curl up on the pillow beside George’s head. He seemed to agree wholeheartedly with the idea. Murphy watched for a moment before climbing into bed as well.

The quiet usually was peaceful in the cottage. However, Murphy could see the tension in George’s body even in the dimly lit room. He definitely hadn’t slipped off to sleep as quickly as the now-snoring Bumble.

George finally twisted around to face him. He shuffled forward a little until they could wrap their arms around each other. It took a moment to find a comfortable position. “Why would someone do that? Kill somebody and leave them in the lane like a bit of rubbish? It’s so cold and callous. They just abandoned her in the street. How long was she there?”

“I don’t know, Buzz.” Murphy brought a hand up to play with George’s hair briefly. He didn’t do it for long, knowing it could go from relaxing to annoying quickly. “I’ll never understand how someone can take a life.”

George mumbled something under his breath that Murphy couldn’t quite hear. He shifted against him. “Never.”

Murphy lowered his hand, adjusting his hold as George drifted off beside him. “Goodnight, Buzz.”

Honey Moon Murder