by Nancy Warren
“Oh no!” I’d been asleep for hours. So much for studying. And now the kitchen was closed.
“I thought I’d give you some more advice for tomorrow.”
I rubbed my eyes and said it wasn’t advice I needed—it was fresh yeast and a peek inside the kitchen pantry to see what goodies I might find to spice up my showstopper tomorrow.
I stood up, stretched, and told Gerry my plan. He accompanied me downstairs, and to be honest, I was glad of the company. The inn was quiet, guests tucked away in their rooms, lights turned low. No one about but me and the resident ghost.
It was a little spooky. The pub was always so lively, so warm and welcoming. Now it was deserted. Chairs stacked on tables, the curtains drawn, lights off. No laughter or cheerful voices, no Eve behind the bar. I could just make out the hunting prints that hung on the walls, the old oak bar with its row of pumps for pulling pints of ale, wineglasses hanging upside down from hooks above them.
I pulled my cell phone from my pocket and shone a white beam of light towards the closed kitchen door. I was hit with a feeling of trepidation so strong it was tangible, like I could reach out and grab it and hold it in my hands. Why was I suddenly feeling so nervous? I wasn’t doing anything wrong. Eloise had promised me some fresh yeast. But the bad feeling I’d been carrying around all day was intensifying. It felt like a clenching in the gut, a throb in my temples. I realized I was sweating.
“Gerry, I don’t have a good feeling about this,” I whispered. When a witch gets the death card, she should be extremely careful. And what was I doing? Creeping about in the dark with only a ghost for company. But I was pretty sure the death card was predicting the demise of my chances on the show if I couldn’t pull off an amazing bake tomorrow, and for that I needed a quick midnight visit to that amazing pantry.
Gerry looked thoughtful. “Tell you what, I’ll go ahead and make sure the coast is clear in the kitchen.”
I didn’t have time to object. Gerry disappeared through the kitchen door. The sense of unease, of unrest intensified further. It was the same feeling I got when I came across unhappy spirits, like they were weighed down by the unhappiness of their passing. He was gone for what seemed an eternity.
“Gerry?” I whispered.
He floated back from the door, a grim expression on his face.
“What is it?”
“Oh, this is not good, Poppy. Not good at all. I don’t think the death card was meant for you.”
“What do you mean?” My heart was beating a mile a minute.
He pointed back at the kitchen door and shook his head. “Maybe you should go back to bed. Best to stay out of the kitchen.”
He was a ghost so obviously couldn’t go pale, but his aspect was grim.
I began to tremble. What was happening? Was someone in danger? Was it Eve?
A sudden burst of adrenaline came over me. I ran through the door, following the beam of my phone’s flashlight.
Inside the kitchen I flipped on the lights, nearly blinding myself for the moment. I blinked until I could see properly and then noticed a lone onion on the floor. I gazed at the papery yellow ball, so out of place in the pristine kitchen. Clearly, it had rolled out of the pantry.
My veins seemed filled with ice. Neither Sol nor Eloise would leave the kitchen for the night with an onion in the middle of the floor.
I glanced around for Gerry, but he was acting peculiar. Like Gateau when she was on rodent patrol in my cottage. Not that she’d ever found one inside, thank goodness, but she liked to stay on top of the situation just in case.
That’s how Gerry was acting, gazing fixedly into the corner of the kitchen, then suddenly shifting. No doubt he’d tell me what he was doing at some point and in more detail than I cared to hear. But for now, I needed to check out that pantry even though every cell in my body tried to pull me in the opposite direction.
The pantry felt like a cold, black hole, the kind into which coffins get lowered. Death was in there, and I didn’t need Gerry’s warning to tell me that. I could feel it.
I walked forward anyway. I didn’t know enough about my own talents to make assumptions. What if someone was badly injured? Would I feel that same darkness? In case that were true, I had to go forward.
Even though I didn’t want to.
Gerry cocked his head and stared out the window. He was freaking me out.
Right. Quick peek in the pantry and I’d know. Standing here wasn’t helping anyone. Least of all me.
I went forward, retracing the path the onion would have taken. The door was ajar. I used my elbow to open it fully, and the light from the kitchen spilled into the storeroom onto a macabre sight.
Eloise lay flat on her back, pinned under the heavy shelving unit that had fallen on top of her. Potatoes had rolled into one corner, onions in another. Her face was covered in soft white flour like snow. Her eyes were closed, at least. I looked up. How had an entire shelf of baking products collapsed and fallen on top of her like that? Had she reached for something on an upper shelf and somehow pulled it over on herself?
With a stab of guilt, I wondered if she’d been reaching for something to help me. Raisins and nuts were scattered haphazardly all over the polished concrete floor, and spice jars had smashed, scattering their contents. The storeroom smelled of cinnamon and nutmeg and faintly of onion.
I dropped to my knees, hoping she’d only been stunned. “Eloise? Can you hear me?”
Silence.
I touched two fingers to her neck. I waited, hoping to feel the beat of her pulse beneath the skin. Blood roared in my ears. I pressed harder, desperate for a sign of life. Nothing. Her skin was cool, but that could have been from lying on cement. I was aware of a mad impulse to lay my sweater over her.
“Oh, Eloise,” I said, straightening up and surveying the terrible scene before me.
Chapter 7
Trembling, I dialed 999. The woman on the other end of the line had a calm, steady voice. Her soft tone soothed me, and I talked her through the horrific scene in front of me. As much as I wanted to, I couldn’t tear my eyes away from Eloise’s lifeless body. It didn’t seem right, seeing her so still. When we’d been baking, she was so animated, her hands always moving, kneading the dough or gesticulating, drawing circles in the air as she talked.
When I finished the call, Gerry came up behind me, silently shaking his head. “I can’t believe it,” he said. “She’s gone, hasn’t she?”
“Yes. I’m afraid she’s dead.”
He made a rude sound. “I know she’s dead. I’m dead. But she’s gone. While I’m still stuck here.”
I glanced at him then. “Oh, I see what you mean.” I closed my eyes and tried to feel her. I had the slightest sense of her, like the scent of perfume after a woman’s left the room, faint and growing fainter. I nodded, opening my eyes. “Yes. I think she’s passed over.”
“And isn’t that just great. She’s gone, like that.” He snapped his fingers, though no sound emerged. “But me? It’s like there’s a great party going on and I’m not on the guest list. This string of people walk right by me like I’m not standing there and slam the door behind them.”
“Gerry, I really feel for you and I’m sorry, but do you think we could talk about this later?”
He threw up his hands. “Yeah. Sure. It’s not like I’ve got anything better to do than stand about waiting. Won’t be long and the next spirit will waft past me in this cursed place.”
“Cursed?” I looked at him, wide-eyed. The terrible feeling that hadn’t left me all day deepened, and I began to join the dots. Last week, I’d been convinced that I was a bad penny, death and destruction trailing behind me wherever I went. Elspeth, Susan and Eve had tried their best to assure me otherwise, and for a while I’d allowed myself to believe their comforting words. But just twenty-four hours after meeting me, Eloise lay dead. It didn’t look like foul play—a terrible accident, perhaps. Had the shelves been loose? Too overloaded? Had Eloise tripped, and flailing, taken
a shelf down with her? I couldn’t see how else such a death could happen. She must have knocked herself out. But then again, I couldn’t be sure of anything these days. Maybe Gerry was on to something and Broomewode was cursed. Even a simple, fun turn of the tarot deck had death staring me in the face.
“Oh, Gerry. The death card,” I said, my eyes widening. “You’re right. It wasn’t for me. Eloise was standing right behind me when I pulled that card. Why didn’t I put two and two together? Maybe if I hadn’t been so obsessed with myself, I would have kept an eye on Eloise. That card was a warning, and I didn’t heed it. I could have saved her, and I didn’t.”
“Come on. Let’s get you out of here.”
“I have to stay.” Police would be arriving soon.
“You’ll have to let them in the front door. You’ll hear them better from the pub.”
I let him lead the way, somewhat relieved to leave the kitchen with all its dark energy. When we got to the pub, I put on the lights. Gerry told me to sit down while I waited for the crime-scene technicians and detectives to arrive. “You need a whisky,” he said. “I’d pour you one myself, but I still haven’t figured out that whole gripping thing.”
I smiled weakly but agreed a strong drink might help calm me. There was so much energy coursing through me, I decided to focus it. I sat at the bar and concentrated on a bottle of single malt, using the energy in my body to lift it from the shelf and set it down gently in front of me.
“You’re getting good at that,” Gerry said, whistling through his teeth.
“My powers are getting stronger,” I admitted. “Or I’m learning how to use them.”
I lifted a tumbler and brought it to rest next to the bottle. I poured myself a hefty slug of the deep amber liquid and took a sip. It warmed my throat.
Gerry could see that I was distressed and sat beside me, looking longingly at the bottle. “I could use a stiff drink, too,” he said. “But it would go right through me. I wouldn’t even get to taste it.”
“I’m sorry.” Then I recalled his odd behavior in the kitchen. “Were you looking for Eloise’s spirit in the kitchen?”
“Yeah. I was hoping to catch her before she left. I thought maybe I could be her plus-one and tag along with her.”
“Is it so bad? Being here?”
“I wouldn’t mind if I could join you in a drink or see more than the inside of this inn and the tent, which is full of bad memories for me.”
“Right.” He’d suffered the indignity of being the first contestant sent home from the competition and then been murdered. No wonder he had bad feelings about that tent. “I’m sure there’s a reason you’re still here. Your time will come.”
I didn’t know how these things worked. Why some spirits passed on and others didn’t. I couldn’t tell him about Mildred, my kitchen ghost, who’d been in my cottage for close to two hundred years and seemed content. Then there was the soldier who patrolled outside the cottage. His appearances were sporadic, but I suspected he’d been around longer than Mildred. Would Gerry be doomed to haunt the corridors of Broomewode Inn for centuries?
I hoped not. As my powers grew more focused, perhaps I could find a way to help him. Since I had the ability to see the spirits of the departed, maybe I’d find a way to nudge them forward.
However, my first task was to help the police discover what had happened to Eloise. “Do you think Eloise accidentally pulled the shelving unit down onto herself?” I asked Gerry, hearing the lilt in my voice. I wanted him to convince me it had been an unlucky accident.
Gerry looked at me with pity. “Around here? Not bloomin’ likely. Something was up with that bird. She was always moping about. Kept hanging about in the dining room. I reckon she wanted to watch the customers eat her cakes. She was insecure, like. Begging for compliments. Eve told her off, and so did that waiter who fancies himself. Adonis, is it?”
I bit back a smile. “Darius.” But Adonis was pretty apropos. He was gorgeous, and he did look like he fancied himself. Not that I blamed him if women like Florence kept throwing themselves at him. “And I think she was short of money. I overheard the chef warning her that she couldn’t keep getting advances on her paycheck.” He’d also intimated that she might be padding her expenses, but I didn’t feel like voicing that, not when her death was so recent.
If Eloise’s death wasn’t an accident, then had I witnessed anything in the last two days which might be a clue? I knew the drill by now, and the moment that DI Hembly and Sgt. Lane arrived, I was going to face the third degree. I wanted to be prepared.
I didn’t have long to wait. There was a knock on the front door of the inn, locked at this late hour. I made sure to check through the window set in the door that it was actually the police standing there before I unlocked and opened it.
I’d expected a uniformed patrol to arrive first, but it was the detectives I’d come to know so well. I blinked in surprise. DI Hembly wore a tuxedo and bow tie, while Sgt. Lane wore a navy suit and a dark tie.
“Were you at a party?” I asked. I was still in shock from discovering the dead pastry chef, but seeing these two looking dressed to the nines was a second, admittedly much smaller shock.
DI Hembly said with a shrug, “My wife bought tickets to a charity event.” He didn’t look thrilled.
“Mrs. Hembly supports the ballet,” Sgt. Lane added.
“DI Twinkle Toes,” Gerry murmured in my ear.
I had to suppress a giggle, then immediately sobered when I recalled why they were here. “She’s in the kitchen,” I said, leading the way. I explained as concisely as I could how I’d happened to find her.
We walked by the bar and Sgt. Lane glanced at the whisky bottle and empty glass, then raised an eyebrow in my direction. “That was me,” I admitted, embarrassed to be seen having a whisky at the bar. “I was pretty upset,” I whispered weakly, pointing at the empty tumbler.
“No one was with you?” DI Hembly asked kindly.
“No. I didn’t want to disturb anyone.” I smiled in gratitude, thankful that the detective wasn’t imagining that I was some kind of lush.
“All on your own?” Gerry complained loudly. “That’s nice. What am I then? Chopped liver?”
I ignored the irritable ghost and led the two men into the kitchen. I’d left the lights on, and in the harsh glare, the kitchen looked perfectly undisturbed but for that single onion. In the storeroom, Eloise lay as I had found her, crushed beneath the heavy shelving unit, surrounded by broken bags of flour, tinned goods, spices and spilled produce.
I admitted that I’d knelt beside her and felt for a pulse and confirmed that I hadn’t seen anyone in the vicinity.
“Why were you down here so late?” the detective asked.
“Eloise was helping me prepare for my showstopper tomorrow on the baking competition. You see, I’m not doing very well this weekend. She had some ideas on how I could spice up my final bake.”
“Quite literally, I see,” the sergeant said, looking down at a broken canister of ginger.
The forensics team arrived, and Sgt. Lane asked if I would step out of the kitchen with him so that they could take a statement. We walked in silence back into the dining room and took a seat at the table where just a few hours ago, I’d been trying to enjoy dinner with the other contestants. If only I’d known how bad my day was really going to get, I would have made an effort to enjoy it more.
“It just goes to show,” I said, suddenly finding myself speaking out loud, “that you really don’t know what’s around the corner. You have to take the good as and when you can. Seize every opportunity.”
Sgt. Lane looked at me in surprise. “You’re absolutely right. I say almost the exact same words to myself almost every day in this job.”
He smiled, and those dimples reminded me that he was a great-looking guy. Sgt. Lane looked even more handsome than usual in his tailored suit. It was sleek and perfectly cut, not the kind of thing you’d expect to see a homicide policeman rocking on a Saturday nig
ht. I suspected he’d been out on the town too. No doubt on a hot date.
“Poppy,” he said gently, “let’s go over your evening again. Start with the last time you saw the victim.”
I nodded and began by telling him about meeting Eloise yesterday—no, wait. It was already Sunday morning. I’d said I’d met her Friday morning and how she’d been so generous with her advice. My voice wavered a bit as I talked about the dead woman. I explained all about my disastrous bread week and how Eloise had promised some fresh yeast and was going to advise me on my showstopper. “But I was so exhausted, I fell asleep after dinner. By the time I woke, it was almost midnight, and I thought I’d see if anyone was still here. I hoped she’d left the yeast out for me.”
Sgt. Lane scribbled furiously in his notebook and asked if I’d seen anyone when I came down the stairs. “Or someone leaving the inn, perhaps? Any movement in the parking lot? A car pulling away?”
Just a friendly ghost who was brave enough to go into the kitchen first.
I shook my head. “It was deserted. Kind of creepy, to be honest,” I confessed. “If I hadn’t been so worried about messing up tomorrow, I would never have gone into the kitchen to see if Eloise had left the yeast there for me.” I paused. “Seems silly now, to be so worried about baking bread.”
Sgt. Lane’s warm brown eyes softened at the edges. “Don’t be tough on yourself. You’re working hard. You’ve got a goal, and that’s what’s important.”
He had no idea. There was the ongoing search for my birth parents, my newfound powers as a water witch, the coven, my ability to see ghosts. Winning the baking competition was far from my only goal. But I swallowed it all down. It made me sad, how I had to keep things inside, hiding the things which made me me.
“I only met Eloise this weekend,” I explained. “She was so kind. Eve told her I’d been struggling to make decent bread all week, and she let me help her prepare the weekend’s dough for the inn. She shared some amazing tips.” Not that I’d be able to implement them properly.
Sgt. Lane asked if she’d seemed distracted or worried. I swallowed hard when I realized that I was going to have to share what I’d overheard in the kitchen. Even though Eloise was no longer with us, it felt awful spilling all her secrets. I didn’t want to betray the woman who’d helped me, but if I could make sure her death was fully investigated, then I had no choice.