Crumbs and Misdemeanors

by Nancy Warren

  She nodded grimly. “Darius went out for a cigarette break ages ago. Lazy so-and-so.”

  I offered to help, but Eve declined. “Bunch of ghouls,” she said. “A little waiting never hurt anyone.”

  Then Sol came around the bar and called, “Who’s next?”

  Eve looked at him in surprise. I didn’t suppose he did much bartending, but he couldn’t cook in his kitchen, so at least he was helping.

  Was he gallant for not reporting Eloise’s money troubles and invoice skimming to the inn’s owners, or had he been holding it over her, waiting for a chance of blackmail? Or what if he was actually her husband, pretending not to know her? A shiver went through me. How could someone be so callous? She’d told him she’d recently lost a great deal of money. Who had better access to her funds than her husband?

  I pulled out my phone and, angling it from my hip, snapped a sneaky pic before he turned his back to reach for a glass.

  I looked down at the image. Sol was partially obscured by people in the queue for the bar, but it was a decent enough side image—enough for Lester to be able to tell if this was Eloise’s husband.

  I quickly sent the photo to Lester along with the line, “Was this him?”

  I put my phone away and prayed for a quick response. A simple yes or no would help narrow my search. I returned to the bakers, who appeared to be enthralled by a story Stanley was telling.

  I resumed my place and nudged Hamish.

  “What is it?” he whispered.

  In a low voice, I told him everything I’d learned from Lester—Eloise’s real name, that she’d worked in York, and that she’d left in pursuit of a husband who’d abandoned her. As I spoke, Hamish’s eyes widened. “You found out all that in the last twenty minutes?”

  I nodded. “Lucky guess.”

  “I’d like to take you up to Scotland with me and give you a job.”

  “Thanks, but I’m strictly amateur. I knew her and want to see her killer brought to justice.”

  “Poor girl,” he murmured. “She’d been through a lot.”

  I nodded and finished by saying that we needed to tell the police.

  “Agreed,” Hamish replied, his mouth set in a firm line.

  Stanley’s story came to an end, and the others looked at Hamish and I like we were two old fishwives rudely gibbering on in the corner. It was then that I noticed that Stanley’s biggest fan was missing. “Where’s Florence?” I asked, pointing at the seat where her cashmere cardigan was casually draped across the arm.

  “She left ages ago, come to think of it,” Hamish replied.

  “Just said she was popping to the ladies’ room,” Stanley said.

  “She’s probably still powdering her nose,” Maggie said, tapping her own nose lightly. “She’s a lady who likes to look after herself. But tell us, did you find what you were looking for at Lester’s Bakery?”

  I nodded grimly, unsure of how much to divulge to the group before speaking to the police. My phone pinged. I whipped it out. Bingo. It was Lester. But when I clicked open his text, my heart sank. I hadn’t nailed the suspect first time round. “Nope,” the message said. “Bloke was younger.”

  “Ooh, I’d love a turf cake right now,” Maggie continued, a nostalgic look on her face. “Lester’s really is the best bakery in those parts.”

  “Is it near Yorvik Viking Center?” Gaurav asked. “I think I was there once. It’s not too far from Birmingham.”

  Yorvik Viking Center? Why did that sound so familiar?

  And then I remembered. It was the logo on Darius’s T-shirt yesterday.

  Darius. The handsome Greek flirt who hadn’t worked in Broomewode much longer than Eloise.

  Darius. Who had just disappeared from the bar, leaving Eve in the lurch.

  Darius. Who was fuming about Florence’s new gentleman friend.

  I was getting a very bad feeling behind my breastbone.

  “How long did you say Florence has been gone?” I asked abruptly.

  Everyone immediately stopped talking about York. Gaurav checked his watch. “At least fifteen minutes ago.”

  Far too long to just refresh a swipe of lipstick or fluff up her curls.

  “Actually, I don’t think Florence is in the loo,” Gaurav suddenly piped up. “I went myself just a few minutes ago and I saw her talking with—” He stopped and glanced at Stanley, then looked as though he wished he’d kept his mouth shut. “With someone in the corridor.”

  “Was it Darius?” I asked.

  Gaurav looked at me like I was being inappropriate. “I think so. Not that I’m well acquainted with our waiter.”

  “Oh no!” I cried, leaping up from the table, upsetting Hamish’s glass so that the remainder of his drink spooled across the oak, turning it a darker shade of brown. Darius was dangerous. I had to find Florence before it was too late.

  Chapter 16

  All of a sudden, the pub felt too noisy, too busy, too full of locals. Guffaws and shrieks shot through me like shards of glass. The room went cold and still as if visited by a haunted soul. Could I feel Eloise’s angry spirit? Was she here, reproachful about us taking too long to figure out her story? Surely not, if Gerry had indeed seen her pass over. My mind spun, tripping over itself with wild thoughts I couldn’t contain. Please don’t let it be Florence I’m feeling. Don’t let her be gone. Please, no.

  “Poppy?” Benedict asked worriedly. “What is it? You’re as white as a ghost!”

  The other bakers, Benedict and Stanley all stood up from the table alongside me. I’d clean forgotten that I was surrounded by people and stared back at him. “It’s Darius,” I said. “I think he’s dangerous. As in deadly dangerous. We need to find Florence immediately. Gaurav, did you see if Florence and Darius were leaving the pub?”

  Gaurav shook his head. “I only noticed the two of them because their conversation looked intense. I figured”—Gaurav lowered his voice, but it was no use; Stanley could hear everything—“it was a lovers’ tiff.”

  Trust Gaurav to pick up on the signs and stay discreet. I couldn’t even keep my mouth shut in front of Florence. Florence. I snapped back to attention. “We need to figure out where they might have gone.”

  I looked at Maggie, Gaurav, Hamish and Stanley, hoping they might have a clue where Florence might go to have a quarrel or difficult conversation with a lover. But they stared back with blank faces. Stanley just looked shocked, as well he might. Did he have any idea that Florence was such a femme fatale? He was probably wondering what on earth he’d gotten into, agreeing to drive all the way here from London. Suddenly, Hamish suggested they might have gone for a walk in the grounds. “If Darius had bad intentions, he’d suggest going outside. Try to get her as far away from other people as possible.”

  The group looked glum. “But that’s such a huge area,” Maggie said. “We’ll never be able to cover it all.”

  “We have to try,” I urged. “She can’t have gone too far. Florence isn’t one for hurrying,” I added, trying to dispel the feeling of dread, which was growing deeper and more disturbing as each minute passed. But I couldn’t bring myself to give a hopeful smile. It was like each cell in my body, one after another, was slowly catching on to my fear, and each time the fear spread it mutated, becoming stronger and more potent.

  “I’ve got the key to her room,” Stanley piped up. “She gave it to me earlier so I could drop off my overnight bag. I’ll search her things, see if there’s anywhere in the village that she likes to visit—a place she might suggest to Darius to calm him down. It’s a long shot, but it might narrow the search. I’ll catch you up.”

  Hamish said that was an excellent idea. I was really surprised Stanley was taking all this so well. He was calm and pragmatic. I felt bad for wondering if he might have been married before. It wasn’t nice to jump to conclusions about people just from their demeanor.

  Without thinking, I grabbed Florence’s cashmere cardigan and held it close. My nose filled with the scent of her powdery perfume. I
closed my eyes. Where are you, Florence?

  “I know the grounds as well as anyone, I suppose,” Benedict said. “I’ll go with you.”

  We left the pub, Florence’s cardigan still in my hands. Outside, the weather was still warm, the sun casting the last of her rays down on our frantic search party. Maggie called out Florence’s name, and we all followed suit, circling the inn’s perimeter, hoping that she hadn’t ventured too far.

  “Florence?” Hamish called in his deep baritone voice. “Where are you?”

  Gaurav echoed his call until we were all saying her name, the air filling with the sound of our collective worry. Surely she could hear us? Had they really gotten that far away from the pub? I cursed myself for speaking to Lester for so long. I’d lost precious minutes upstairs while Florence was being cornered by Darius.

  We stopped walking for a moment and fell quiet, hoping to hear a response, however distant or quiet it might be. The blood rushed in my ears. Nothing. The silence was louder than our calls.

  “Should we split up?” Gaurav suggested.

  I knew that it would make looking easier, but as worried as I was about Florence’s safety, I didn’t want to put anyone else in danger either. If I was right about Darius, then sending someone else straight into his orbit was a big mistake. Huge.

  “We’ll find her,” Benedict said, sounding calm and confident. I never thought I’d be so glad to have him around, apart from when he saved my life, that is.

  “You’re right,” I said, pulling myself together. “No one knows the land here better than you. Where might two people be hiding if they didn’t want to be found?”

  Benedict scratched his forehead. “There are a hundred places like that around here.”

  The dread in my body was still growing, and I was beginning to feel crushed under its weight. Darius was an obsessive. Lester had told me he wooed Ella until she agreed to marry him, much quicker than Lester felt comfortable with. If Darius was obsessed with Florence and had seen that she’d moved on within twenty-hours of sharing his bed, then what might he do? Darius had clearly thought nothing of marrying Eloise and then disappearing to a new part of the country and starting again. Could he have been so upset by Eloise trying to get in between him and his new romance that he’d cornered her in the kitchen on Friday? If Gerry was right and there were no loose bolts on the pantry floor, then someone had removed them on purpose. And if that someone was Darius, then Florence was with a murderer right now. Alone with a murderer. Not exactly the kind of situation you wanted your best baking friend to be in.

  Benedict began listing good hiding places around the grounds, but I didn’t have time for us to search them all. I knew that our best option was for me to try and somehow tune in to my powers as a witch.

  I told the other bakers to work in pairs and search each place carefully, using Benedict’s suggestions and starting from the inn and working out. I was grateful to have a whole team of people so willing to help right now. I told them I’d stay and see if Stanley had unearthed any clues in Florence’s room.

  The bakers told me to be careful, and I could see that Benedict was concerned. “Don’t worry,” I mouthed, as he turned back to look at me one more time.

  He nodded grimly and took charge of the others. Hamish pulled out his phone and was probably putting in a call to DI Hembly, and I was relieved that soon the police would be on the alert. Knowing Hamish, he’d relay more about what I’d learned speaking to Lester at the bakery. I watched as the group disappeared around the corner.

  I walked to the side of the inn until I stood at the beginning of the path that led to the magic circle. I didn’t have time to walk there, but at least I could be facing its special energy.

  I was still clutching Florence’s cardigan, and then the words of Eve’s spell suddenly flew into my head. I touched the soft fabric and tried to concentrate on Florence, her scent, her laughter, her certain je ne sais quoi.

  Goddesses of the sun, earth, stars and moon,

  Lead me to Florence and please do it soon.

  Her life is in danger, of that I am sure.

  Help me find her by your light good and pure.

  So I will, so mote it be.

  I concentrated my energy, just like I did when opening locked doors or lighting a candle’s wick, but this time turned the energy towards the image of Florence, imagining it as a ball of light. An electric force coursed through my body, beginning in my belly and reaching out to my toes and fingertips. I buzzed with the vibrations. I closed my eyes, trying to manifest the moment I’d find Florence safe and well, trying to will it into being, to feel the relief of finding her unharmed.

  I don’t know what I’d been expecting, but when I opened my eyes, everything looked the same. Was there some clue that my spell had worked? Did I feel more inclined to turn in one direction than another? Maybe some kind of magic light to appear and point me in the direction of a secret spot? I suddenly felt foolish. I didn’t feel a thing, just even more drained from concentrating so hard and using my energy. I clearly didn’t have enough control over my powers to be of any help. I hung my head in shame.

  What use was being a witch if you couldn’t use magic to help a friend in danger?

  Chapter 17

  But now wasn’t the time to let my emotions get the best of me. I had to stay strong and keep looking for Florence. Maybe my magic would work in ways that were still mysterious to me. I couldn’t lose hope.

  I turned back towards the inn and saw Benedict heading my way. He seemed taller somehow and more confident. After our unfortunate first meeting, where I’d thought he was a ghostly poser, I’d slowly come to accept that he was very much flesh and blood and pretty hot.

  “Anything?” I called out hopefully.

  But Benedict just shook his head. “I’ve sent the others to the most likely places, but I don’t like leaving you alone. It’s not safe. Have you had any luck?”

  “I don’t think so,” I said quietly, ashamed that I didn’t have better news to deliver.

  I realized then that Benedict hadn’t questioned me when I asked for a moment alone. And he wasn’t asking now what I’d done while he’d set up the search party. Benedict wasn’t an uncurious man. Was it possible that he …? No. Of course not. Why on earth would Benedict suspect that I had any magical powers? He probably just thought I was a bit of a strange girl and was being kind about my eccentricity. Well, I’d take that over being outed as a witch.

  I felt that dreadful despair creeping up on me again when suddenly a familiar sound pierced the air. It was the hawk! Had he heard my spell? Was this the sign that I was looking for?

  I cupped my hands against the setting sun, and there he was: the hawk. My hawk, I was sure of it, with his lovely plume, the scattering of white on his rich brown body, the cinnamon-red of his tail. His beak was curved and sharp, and as he swooped down past us, I saw that his eyes were sharper, more focused than I’d ever noticed before. He let out a shrill call and swooped down ever lower, his speckled feathers spread out to make a wide, majestic fan, head angled forward in concentration, focused on something I couldn’t see. Was he trying to tell me something?

  “Come on,” I said to Benedict, still looking skyward. “Let’s get going.”

  “Are you seriously suggesting …” Benedict tailed off, seeming to think better of questioning my harebrained ideas.

  Obviously, I couldn’t address Benedict’s query. What would I say? Yes, the hawk has shown up to show us the way to Florence. And I think I might have called on him for help using my special powers. In fact, I think the hawk is attached to my birth dad, who might also happen to be magical? Not going to happen.

  I followed the hawk’s flight, not letting him slip from view. The sun was setting in the distance, and the hawk made a beautiful silhouette against the darkening sky. Benedict stayed beside me in a silence that I was surprised to find was comfortable. I was grateful that he didn’t question my methods. I didn’t want to explain myself while att
empting to locate Florence through intuition and magic, and keep the dread at bay. I felt more attuned to Florence now that the hawk was here.

  We were covering ground fast with the inn behind us, Susan’s farm off to the right and the great Broomewode Hall ahead on our left. The baking tent’s white awning caught the fading light and glowed.

  But then the hawk changed direction. He turned away from the manor house and back towards us, hovering and circling a part of the grounds I’d never explored before. “I don’t understand,” I said to Benedict. “What is he circling? I can’t see anything.”

  “There’s an old cistern just beyond that cluster of trees,” Benedict said, picking up the pace.

  “A cistern?” I asked, almost breaking into a run trying to keep up with Benedict’s long stride.

  “Like a stone well hidden in the grounds. It used to act as a water reservoir in the old days, holding the water until it was needed for the house. It just collects rainwater now.”

  A well. Of course a crazed jealous lover would lure his target to a dark place below ground where it was a struggle to get out. I shivered. Florence must be so frightened.

  I ran to keep up until we reached what I figured was the cistern, half hidden by a cluster of beech trees.

  “Down here,” he said, pointing to a ladder at the mouth of the stone structure. He took the first step and then reached out for my hand. I took it and let him lead the way. His grip was firm, and I was comforted by the size of his hand, how safe my own smaller one felt tucked in his.

  “Be careful,” he whispered, letting go of my hand. “The rungs are slippery. Keep a sure footing.”

  The inside of the cistern was damp and dank, an almost metallic smell rising up from the ancient stone. I could hear voices. They grew louder the farther we descended into the dark.

  “That’s Darius!” Benedict whispered.

  I nodded grimly although he couldn’t see me. It was Darius all right. I just hoped that we weren’t too late.