Chocolate Swirls and Murder

by K E O'Connor

  I hurried to finish the cupcakes, a riot of nerves and excitement turning in my stomach. I’d done it. My entry was good enough. I was through to the finals. But that left me with a complication. Should I set the murder to one side and focus only on my baking to ensure I won?

  All day at the back of my mind, the suspects in Pete’s murder had churned away. Why had Pete been killed? Who had the opportunity? What was the reason he’d been murdered? Where was his laptop? Who was the last person to see him alive? So many questions. I felt like I was barely getting started. And now, I had a baking final to prepare for.

  I grabbed the tray of chocolate cupcakes, stumbling as I turned too quickly.

  A strong hand steadied me by the shoulder as another grabbed the tray and took it from me. It was Saracen. Where had he come from? The last time I’d seen him, he’d been walking out the kitchen door. When had he come back? He was like a silent, giant ninja.

  I blew out a breath. “Thanks. My mind’s not on the job.”

  “Thinking about murder?”

  I glanced around the kitchen, but everyone else was too busy to listen in. “Pretty much. Good cake save.”

  “Where do you want these?” he asked.

  My eyebrows rose. “They need to go out to the café. The serving staff will know what to do with them.”

  He disappeared with the cakes and returned a moment later. “All done. Ready to focus?”

  The talkative version of Saracen was back. “Absolutely. I need to get baking my entry for the contest. I made it through to the final.”

  “I meant questioning more suspects about Pete’s murder.”

  “Oh! Well, that’s also important.” I tugged at my bottom lip. “Please, can we do the baking first? You can help if you’d like. You were useful the other day.”

  “I squished most of your rosebuds.”

  “But we got through. It was a joint effort. And I find your presence surprisingly calming, considering how deadly you are.”

  “What makes you think I’m deadly?” The corner of his mouth slid up.

  “You work for Campbell.”

  He raised a shoulder. “I can spare a little time for baking.”

  “Great! Just let me beg off a couple of hours from Chef Heston. You can be my backup if I need it.”

  “You want me to rough him up if he tries to make things hard on you?”

  I stifled a laugh. That would be hilarious and was tempting. “Maybe don’t beat up my boss. He’d definitely hold it against me.” I raced off, and after much pleading from me and sighing from Chef Heston, I was given two hours to work on my design concepts for the contest.

  I clapped my hands together, getting that familiar bubble of excitement as I embarked on a baking adventure. “I’ve got two recipes. The first one is a red velvet mousse piped into fresh eclair cases and topped with a cherry and chocolate ganache.”

  “Sounds good,” Saracen said.

  “My second option is a dark chocolate and rosehip torte with an apricot glaze and gooey chocolate center. That might be too cutting-edge for the contest though. I’ve already made the eclair cases and the tart base, so it’s really focusing on the fillings and getting the combinations right.”

  “Will you need a taste tester?” Saracen asked.

  I grinned at him. “Absolutely.”

  “Show me what you need to make this happen. I’m already hungry.”

  We spent ten minutes arranging the ingredients for both desserts. I was soon whipping up the red velvet mousse, which was a combination of clotted cream, sugar, fresh vanilla from vanilla pods, and crushed strawberries and raspberries to add color and depth.

  I set the mousse in the fridge to set and turned my attention to the tart bases. I’d created six bases, knowing how tricky short crust pastry could be to get right. I selected the most perfect one and placed it in front of me.

  “What now?” Saracen asked.

  “How’s your stirring arm?”

  “My ... stirring arm?”

  “You need a steady eye and a strong stir to get this right.” I placed chocolate chunks in a glass bowl over a saucepan of simmering water. “Keep stirring until the chocolate is melted and lump free. Be careful not to let the bottom burn or the chocolate goes bitter.”

  “Stirring, no lumps, avoid the burn. Got it.”

  He was the perfect assistant.

  I added the filling to the tart, topped it with a lattice of sweet pastry, and placed it in the oven. “That’ll need twenty minutes. I’ll whip up the toppings and filling for the eclairs, and then we can head off and talk to our next suspect.”

  “Who do you have in mind?” Saracen asked.

  “Ricky,” I said. “Have you had anything to do with him yet?”

  “Hold on.” Saracen pulled his phone out of his pocket and raised it to his ear. “Go ahead, boss.”

  I strained to hear the other end of the conversation but couldn’t. I wouldn’t be surprised to learn Campbell had been listening in on our conversation this whole time. Now we’d gotten around to talking about something he was interested in, he got in touch.

  “Got it. We’ll get to work on that.” Saracen placed his phone back in his pocket.

  “Anything of interest?” I asked.

  “Campbell wanted an update.”

  “You didn’t tell him anything.”

  “He already knows everything that’s gone on.”

  I swirled a finger in the air. “Because of the listening devices he’s placed all over the castle?”

  Saracen pressed his lips together.

  I nodded. “They’re everywhere, aren’t they?”

  “Why would that be true?”

  “Because Campbell likes to snoop.”

  “Wrong.”

  “He does!”

  “He ensures the safety of some very important people.”

  “Which means he gets to listen to everything?”

  Saracen shrugged.

  I shook my head. “I know my rights.”

  “And they are ...”

  “No snooping! Especially not in my private apartment.” I leaned closer. “He doesn’t have any listening devices in there, does he?”

  Saracen simply smiled and continued to stir the chocolate.

  “That will do.” I took over and tested the chocolate. It was perfect. “This needs cooling, cream, and whipping.”

  “How long will that take? Campbell suggested we hurry up. I agree.”

  “Give me fifteen minutes for the tart to cook, then we can go out while everything’s cooling and find Ricky.”

  “Where are you planning on looking?”

  “The pub. A reliable source spotted him there recently.”

  “You believe he’s still in the village?”

  I tilted my head. “I do, although he might be keeping a low profile if he was involved in Pete’s murder.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “He was snooping around the castle asking questions. That suggests he has an interest. Maybe he wants to make sure someone’s charged so that the finger of suspicion doesn’t point at him.”

  Saracen grunted. “He sounds guilty. Let’s start with him.”

  Once the tart was done, I left it on the side to cool, grabbed my jacket, and headed out with Saracen to the only pub in the village. I felt like royalty as he drove us in an enormous sleek black SUV used to transport the family.

  The Parson’s Nose was a large building with an enormous thatched roof and a huge open fire at one end of the pub. Dark beams dominated the ceiling and were decorated with dried beer hops.

  Saracen stood in the pub doorway and looked around. “Where’s our suspect?”

  My eyes brightened as I saw Ricky. “This way.” I headed toward a hunched figure at the bar, nursing a pint of ale.

  “Ricky Stormy?” I asked him.

  He didn’t look up, but his shoulders tightened and his hand clenched around his glass. “Who wants to know?”

  “We do
,” Saracen said.

  Ricky’s head shot up, and his gaze ran over Saracen’s imposing form. “And you are?”

  “He’s here to ask you a few simple questions,” I said. “I work with castle security, and we’re investigating the death of Pete Saunders. I believe you knew him.”

  “Nope. You’re wrong.”

  I pursed my lips and tried again. “I saw you talking with Pete the morning before he died.”

  “You’re mistaking me for someone else.” He took a large gulp from his pint glass before setting it back on the bar.

  My brow wrinkled, and I studied him carefully. This was definitely the guy I’d seen talking to Pete. “I’m Holly Holmes. I sort of knew Pete. What can you tell me about him?”

  “Not a thing. And I don’t care who you are.” He shoved his stool back and stood. “I was trying to have a quiet drink. It looks like I need to go elsewhere.”

  “We haven’t finished with our questions.”

  “Not my problem.” He rapped his knuckles on the bar. “You should be careful who you let into this pub,” he said to the barmaid, Elspeth Samphire. “No one wants to come here to be interrogated.” He strode to the door.

  Hmmm. That hadn’t gone as I’d hoped. Before I had a chance to plan my next move, Saracen strode along behind Ricky and followed him out the door.

  I raced after them, my heart thudding. I didn’t want things to get physical, but I really did need to speak to Ricky.

  I stepped outside. Ricky was almost jogging in his haste to get away from Saracen.

  Saracen continued to march after him, his long strides keeping pace with Ricky.

  “Leave me alone, man,” Ricky yelled. “I can’t help you. I don’t know this guy you’re talking about.”

  I ran after them. “We’re trying to discount you from the investigation. All you need to do is answer some questions.”

  “I know nothing. Get out of my face.”

  “Do you want me to take this goon down?” Saracen muttered as I caught up with him.

  “I don’t want you to cause him any harm,” I said. “But he needs to stop running. It’s making him look guilty.”

  “Agreed. Let’s put an end to this.” Saracen broke into a jog.

  Ricky turned as Saracen closed the gap between them, and his eyes widened. He danced back on his feet as he raised his fists. “I know my way around the boxing ring. Don’t make me knock you on your behind.” He jabbed out a fist.

  Saracen avoided it, dodged behind Ricky, and gripped him around the back of the neck with a large hand.

  Ricky squirmed and squealed as he was marched back toward me.

  I stared at them with wide eyes. Ricky’s face was bright red and sweat trickled down the side of his face. Saracen looked like a picture of calm. Talk about thriving under pressure.

  “Thanks for that, Saracen,” I said.

  “Let go of me, you loser,” Ricky growled out. “You can’t keep me against my will. Call off your guard dog.”

  “This won’t take a minute,” I said. “Since Pete was your friend, you’ll want to help us find out what happened to him.”

  “We weren’t friends.” Ricky twisted his head and glared up at Saracen.

  “If you promise not to run away, Saracen will let go,” I said.

  Saracen grunted.

  “Fine. I won’t go anywhere. Ask your dumb questions,” Ricky said.

  “Excellent. Thanks for being so helpful.” I nodded at Saracen. He gave Ricky a squeeze and let him go.

  Ricky scowled at him as he rubbed the back of his neck. “That’ll bruise. I should sue you.”

  “You don’t need to sue anyone,” I said. “Tell me about your relationship with Pete.”

  “We didn’t have a relationship,” Ricky said.

  “You knew him?”

  “In a way. It was no big deal.”

  “How did you know each other? Were you doing business together?”

  “What do you want to know for?” Ricky’s nostrils flared.

  “Because he was murdered at the castle’s food fair. We have to find out who did it.”

  His grin was sharp. “And that bunch of stuck up toffs have you investigating the murder? Good luck with that.”

  “I have plenty of backup if I need it.” I glanced at Saracen. “Don’t make me set him on you again.”

  Ricky lifted his hands and sighed. “Whatever. I came here because I knew Pete would be attending. The idiot got his name on the list of stallholders. I had an alert set up on my phone whenever his name appeared online, so I knew he’d be here.”

  “And why did you want to see him?” I asked.

  “He owed me money. I’d loaned Pete cash to open a pie store. I needed it back. Pete knew the terms of our agreement but was dragging his heels when it came to making his repayments. He kept coming up with lame excuses. I didn’t care about that. I wanted my money. I figured meeting in person and having a friendly little chat about his obligations would see us right. Then the idiot gets himself killed. I still want my money.”

  “You won’t get it back now,” I said.

  He shrugged. “I’ll find a way. Pete had assets.”

  “You’re going to steal Pete’s belongings?”

  “It’s not stealing. He’s repaying a debt he owes me.”

  “How much did he owe you?”

  “Thirty thousand. He needed it to pay for stock, lease, and do a basic refit. It seemed like a good deal. The guy had a sound business. At first, everything was straightforward, but then he stopped taking my calls. That’s never a good sign. Then the first payment was late, followed by the second. I don’t let people get into debt with me for long.”

  This was an excellent motive for murder. Pete decided not to pay back the money he owed Ricky. Maybe he’d paid Pete a lesson and reminded him what would happen if he didn’t repay, and things got out of hand.

  “Where were you when Pete’s body was found?” I asked. “I don’t remember seeing you at the food fair.”

  “Nah! I hate those food fairs. All that overpriced rubbish that you can get in the discount stores for much less. It tastes just as good. I only came here to have a chat with Pete and get what I was owed.”

  “You weren’t at the food fair when Pete was killed?” I asked.

  “Nope. I was in the pub.”

  “All day?”

  “I went in about three in the afternoon. I had business to take care of in a nearby town so went over there, got that sorted, and then returned. I took a look in at the food fair to make sure Pete was still around and then headed here. I chatted up a cute barmaid most of the afternoon. She has it bad for me.”

  “And you didn’t leave the pub at any time?” I asked.

  His eyes narrowed. “Oh, I get it. You’re pointing the finger at me for Pete’s murder.”

  “Well, he did owe you money. And he was being slow at paying it back.”

  “Yeah, all true, but I’m not an idiot. Killing someone makes it hard to get back what you’re owed. I’ve been known to rough up a few people when they welch on a deal, but murder isn’t me. I loan money, and I collect money with a healthy rate of interest on it. That’s most of my business. Do I break a few kneecaps along the way? Now and again. Murder’s not in my repertoire.”

  I shuddered at the thought of a broken kneecap. Ricky sounded like he had an appetite for violence. “If it wasn’t you, who do you think would want to kill Pete?”

  “I can tell you exactly who killed him. Pete had a serious rival. A posh bloke called Dennis. I even saw him at the food fair.”

  Dennis Lambeth was already on my suspect list. “Did you see them together at any time during the food fair?”

  “You bet I did. I saw them arguing. And it got physical. Dennis is hardly Muhammad Ali when it comes to fighting, but he still shoved Pete around and called him all kinds of names that I’d never repeat in front of a lady.” Ricky grinned at me. “That guy was jealous of Pete’s success. He’s losing money and tr
ade and is furious about it. If anyone wanted Pete dead, it was Dennis. That’s your killer. You’re wasting time by trying to get a confession out of me.”

  “Do you know what they were arguing about?” I asked.

  “I couldn’t hear. I was too far away. I just saw it was them. But it was bound to be the usual thing. Pete always undercuts Dennis’s prices. He gets his supplies from a different source.”

  “What source?”

  Ricky tapped the side of his nose. “Dennis was always riding Pete’s back about his inferior products and claimed his pies were nothing better than dog food.”

  I swallowed, glad I’d never gotten around to trying Pete’s pies.

  “How bad are things with Dennis’s business?” I asked. “I learned he had to close one of his stores not so long ago.”

  “And there’ll be more closures. You’ll have to ask him yourself how bad things are, but I don’t expect him to be in business in a year’s time.”

  I blew out a breath and glanced at Saracen, who’d been standing stoically next to Ricky this whole time. We’d just found the next suspect we needed to speak to.

  “So, am I free to go?” Ricky glanced at Saracen. “You’re not gonna set this meathead on me?”

  “Sure, you can go. Just don’t leave the village,” I said.

  “I can’t stay around for much longer. Two more days here and I’m out.”

  “Not before we discount you as a suspect,” I said.

  “Yeah?” Ricky took a step toward me. “You’re gonna stop me, are you?”

  “No, I’m not going to do anything,” I said. “But I’ll happily send Saracen out to find you.”

  Saracen took a step toward Ricky and glared at him.

  He scarpered backward. “Fine, fine. I’ve still got some business locally. But if you want to find out who did this, talk to our angry, almost bankrupt pie maker. He wouldn’t have thought twice about burying the pie slicer in Pete’s back and laughing while he did it.” Ricky shot one more glare at Saracen before stomping away.

  “What do you think about him?” I asked Saracen.

  “He looks guilty. You need to check his alibi.”

  I nodded. “Is everything okay with you?” Saracen had a sheen of sweat on his forehead.

  “Sure. Just fine.”

  “Wait out here in the shade and cool down. I’ll go back in the pub and ask Elspeth if Ricky was hitting on her the afternoon of Pete’s murder.”