by Nancy Warren
“Arnold came running out of the house and around the side where the hedges and the hives were. But by the time he realized it was me, he’d already been stung. You see, I knocked down the beehive before I even started yelling. He ran right into the trap I’d set him. He reached in his pocket for an EpiPen, but I snatched it out of his hands and dragged him down to the swarm. Then I left him there.”
Susan’s eyes filled with tears.
Bob looked down at his feet, as if the enormity of what he’d done had only just hit. “He took everything from us, he did. Everything.”
“But that wasn’t your only attempt on his life, was it?” He glanced up at me, as though having trouble hearing my words. “You knocked one of the great stones off the top of the tower, thinking it was him out there, picking gooseberries.”
“Tower? What tower?”
“Oh, come on. You’ve already confessed to murdering Arnold Bentley. Admitting to an attempt on my life won’t change anything.” It would make me feel better, though, since I’d been the one who nearly ended up flattened.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I was at the farm, not the manor house.” He looked so genuinely confused, I wondered if it was possible he hadn’t been responsible for my near miss with the Grim Reaper. But if it wasn’t him, then who had knocked the stone off? Could it really have been an accident?
“When did you know that Peter Puddifoot the gardener had seen you kill Arnold Bentley?” I asked in a voice that was a lot more in control now that he’d already confessed.
He glanced at Reginald McMahan and then at me. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Oh, come on. Peter Puddifoot saw you, or maybe he simply made a lucky guess.” I thought of that vile dog-kicker. What might he have done if he suspected Bob Fielding of murder? Not gone to the police. I bet he’d have tried to turn the situation to his advantage. “Did he want a payoff to keep his mouth shut?”
He let out a breath and scratched one of the welts as though the itching was unbearable. “More than a payoff. He wanted Susan Bentley dead.”
“What?” This from Susan herself.
“He knew I didn’t have anything but a guilty conscience. He said he’d keep quiet if I did away with you, too.”
“But why?” Susan asked, looking around.
“The farm,” Benedict answered her. “He felt he should have had Broomewode Farm when his father died. He may have been right, but my father had other ideas. I think it became an obsession with him to get it back. He was always trying to make trouble for Arnold. Anything he could do to get rid of them, he would.”
I wondered if it had been Peter Puddifoot who’d nearly killed me, mistaking me for Susan. Unfortunately, unless he came back as a ghost, I wouldn’t be able to ask him.
“Where is Pud?” Eve asked, glancing around. “He should be arrested.”
“Peter Puddifoot is dead. Murdered earlier today.” DI Hembly looked over at Reg. “And I believe the murder weapon was one of your fire pokers, Mr. McMahan.”
The blacksmith rose to his feet, looking as fiery as his own forge. “What are you suggesting?”
“How might one of your hand-forged pokers end up beside the body?”
Reg looked around. “They sell the pokers here, at the gift shop. Tell them, Eve.”
“They do. Yes.”
“You don’t seriously think I’d use my own poker to kill a man? Might as well leave a hand-signed note saying I did it.”
“We’ll need to see who bought a fire poker recently. Or if any are missing.”
Reg glared at Bob Fielding. “I am canceling my order for new tires.” And he moved, going to stand beside Susan.
Bob Fielding sat quietly for a minute, staring into his beer, then he looked up. “You won’t find a receipt. I took the poker when the saleswoman was busy with another customer. I took it on impulse. I knew I couldn’t kill Susan Bentley. My only option seemed to be to kill Peter Puddifoot. He was a vile creature. I’m not sorry.”
“But are you sorry you tried to frame me?” Reg asked, sounding pretty angry.
“That wasn’t my intention. I didn’t know you were the blacksmith until this evening. And it was a bit late by then.”
Chapter 15
Susan Bentley leaned against Reg as DI Hembly and Sgt. Lane read Bob Fielding his rights. It was strange how the words had already become so familiar to me. “You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defense if you do not mention when questioned something which you may rely on in court.” As I watched Bob hang his head and offer up his wrists to DI Hembly for cuffing, I had a horrible sense of déjà vu. Like Gordon last week, Bob Fielding seemed to feel like he was well within his rights to kill someone who’d aggrieved him. First it was over love, and now money. Like Gordon, Bob’s speech had been calm and collected, as if he was a rational human being and was now prepared to accept his fate. DI Hembly walked him out of the pub.
Gina stood and rushed over to my side. She put her arm around my shoulder and whispered, “So you’re some kind of Baking Killer Catcher now, hmm?” she said, in awe. “Is there no end to your talents?” I knew she was trying to lighten the mood, but I couldn’t bring myself to smile. I caught Elspeth’s eye, and she gave me an approving nod. I touched my amethyst necklace and nodded back. I certainly had been protected from the moment she gave it to me, and maybe that security had given me the confidence to pursue the mystery of Arnold’s death. I had so much to be thankful to Elspeth for.
I turned to look at Susan. She’d averted her eyes during Bob’s arrest, concentrating instead on stroking Sly. I was still perplexed and kind of stunned by her reaction to Bob’s confession. Reg shook his head and then said, in a distressed tone, “He used my hand-crafted art as a murder weapon.”
Susan put a comforting hand on his arm. “But in a way he was trying to protect me.”
Gaurav jumped up and said he was honored to have been my colleague and help send that murderer to justice. I was astonished. I never would have imagined that Gaurav would transform from shy and retiring scientist to outspoken crime-busting sidekick. Clearly, I still had a lot to learn about people and the heights they could climb, as well as the depths they could sink to.
“I’ve got to get back to Birmingham tonight, Poppy,” Gaurav said, “and if I don’t leave now, I’ll miss my train.” He stuck out his hand. “It was good being partners with you this weekend.” I shook his hand vigorously. What a stand-up guy.
Florence and Hamish waved him off. Hamish turned to me. “You should think about police work,” Hamish said. “You’ve a knack for it.”
“Thanks for the compliment, but I should probably leave the real police work to the professionals.” I glanced at Elspeth. “I’d rather have a knack for healing.”
Hamish breathed in deeply, and I could hear that his cold was gone. “Yes, whatever was in that potion you gave me, it was magic.” I didn’t dare look at Elspeth as he thanked me, and then he, too, left the pub. The weekend was finally coming to an end.
Florence wrapped me in a bear hug. “I can’t wait to see you next week, Poppy. And let’s hope all we have to worry about is our baking and no more murders.” She pulled back and glanced out the window in the direction of the manor house. “I hope Broomewode Hall isn’t cursed,” Florence said darkly.
“Oh now, now,” Elspeth admonished. I hadn’t even noticed her approach us. “No such thing. Broomewode is a beautiful place, not somewhere to be afraid of. We’ve just been unlucky, but all that’s over now. You need to put all this fear behind you and get ready to bake your socks off next weekend. That’s all you need to worry about.”
“I’ll say,” Florence replied. She made a grand sweeping motion with her hand and curtseyed. “Adieu, dear friends. London calls.” I giggled as she made her grand exit.
Elspeth turned to me. “That was quite some detective work.”
I lowered my voice. “I’ve been wondering if perhaps it might be part of my powe
rs. An intuitive of sorts, for mysterious deaths. Could it be linked to being a water witch? Or am I getting ahead of myself?”
Elspeth assured me that a growing intuition, of any kind, was a sure sign that the energy vortex of Broomewode Hall was working its own magic.
“But I don’t feel like I’m getting any closer to solving the mystery of my birth parents—” I stopped myself. Was that strictly true? I recalled the vision of the woman that had appeared to me in the bathtub and her warning. Even though I’d never it heard it before, the more I remembered that night, the more convinced I was that the voice was familiar. I recognized it somehow. And then I remembered the image of the smiling man at the witches’ circle. I recounted these sightings to Elspeth. “What do you think it means? Am I getting closer?”
“An increase in your visions is certainly a step in the right direction, Poppy,” Elspeth said gently. “Be patient. And practice your protection spell. As much as I’d like the show to be smooth sailing from now on, I have a feeling that it might not be that easy. I don’t want you coming to any harm.” She laid a slim, elegant hand on my shoulder, and I felt a zing of power that went through my arm. “And I don’t want any mishaps in the kitchen, either.” I felt she was making it clear I had to work to ensure my passage into the next round. I couldn’t afford to rest on my laurels after winning one competition. The remaining bakers were all amazing.
I gulped. No pressure then.
I gathered my things, ready to head back to my little cottage. I said goodbye to Susan, promising to come visit her when I returned next Friday. Maybe I’d bring her some of my practice bakes from the week, some comforting rich coffee cake or some biscuits to dip into tea. I wanted her to know that I was going to take my newfound sisterhood seriously. Understanding more about the coven was key to understanding my true identity as a witch and, with any luck, more about who my parents were. With Katie Donegal now recuperating in Ireland, my cunning plan to grill her for more information about people who’d lived in the village now amounted to zilch. And I’d yet to find another way to get inside Broomewode Hall. Not for the first time, I wondered if something, or someone, was conspiring to keep me away.
I glanced at Benedict, who was currently stroking Sly.
“Did you get your letter?” Eve asked me.
“What letter?”
“Oh, those chambermaids. Not a brain between them. I asked Sarah to make sure and take it to your room. Now where could it be? Ah, here it is,” Eve said, handing me an envelope with my name written in neat black capital letters on the front.
I tore open the envelope so quickly, I gave myself a paper cut.
Dearest Poppy,
You are in terrible danger. You shouldn’t be here. I’m begging you: Please leave Broomewode Manor. Do something to get yourself voted off of the show next week. Otherwise I fear it will be too late. Please heed my words.
I gulped. Blood pounded in my ears, and I felt my heart rate quicken. I shook my head, dumfounded. Who on earth would send me this? And why leave it unsigned? I looked around the room for anyone watching me. Was this some kind of sick joke?
“Goodness, Poppy,” Eve said. “What is it? You’ve gone the most terrific shade of white. It’s like I’m looking at a ghost.”
A ghost. Could this be Gerry’s doing? But Gerry couldn’t hold a pen. Another contestant who saw me as a threat? But I felt like they were all my friends.
“Poppy?’ Eve said again, breaking the train of my racing thoughts.
I took a breath. I wasn’t ready to cause any more alarm. The cast, crew, and staff here at the inn had been through enough already without me adding a cryptic warning note to the mix. “Oh, it’s nothing. Just a message about keys to my cottage,” I mumbled. Wow. In my shock, I couldn’t even think of a good lie.
Luckily, Jonathon was motioning to Eve for some more drinks, so I didn’t have to explain any further. She kissed my cheek and said she’d see me next week.
I tried to calm my unsteady breath and regain control of my whirring mind. So I’d received a warning about being in danger—it wasn’t even the first one of the week. The woman in my vision had said the same thing. In a way, I was being protected, even if it also felt a bit like being threatened. What was worse: being spoken to from some other dimension or receiving some creepy note?
I felt something at my feet, and then Sly was pushing against my knee. I bent and nuzzled into his warm coat, wrapping my arms around his neck. “I won’t forget what you did for me this week, boy,” I whispered into his ear. “You’ll be getting some treats of your own next week, too. And a new ball. Just don’t abandon me next weekend––it seems like I need all the protection I can get.”
I heard an angry meow. And then felt something butting against my side. I twisted round, and Gateau was looking up at me, furious. “I’m so sorry, my little puss. Don’t think I forgot about you and the role you played either. Whether you like it or not, you and Sly are a good team.” Her green eyes were pools of distaste, communicating the sentiment I don’t think so, silly human remarkably well. I picked up the little fur ball, and she nestled into the crook of my arm. She didn’t hold grudges either.
“Come on,” Reg said to Susan. “It’s been an emotional day. Let’s get you home.”
After they left, Benedict came up to me. “And did you make it through to the next round?”
Knowing that the two judges and several of the crew were listening, I said, “I’m afraid I can’t discuss any details of the show.”
His lips twitched. “It’s all right. I signed a non-disclosure agreement, too.” The twitch turned into the hint of a smile.
“Well, okay, yes, I’m through to the next round.”
He nodded, his eyes holding mine. “See you next week, then.”
A Note from Nancy
Dear Reader,
Thank you for reading The Great Witches Baking Show series. I am so grateful for all the enthusiasm this series has received. I have more stories about Poppy planned for the future.
I hope you’ll consider leaving a review and please tell your friends who like cozy mysteries and culinary adventures.
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Your support is appreciated. Turn the page for Poppy’s recipe for Gooseberry Upside-Down Cake with Raspberry Kisses.
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Until next time,
Happy Reading,
Nancy
Poppy’s Recipe for Gooseberry Upside-Down Cake with Raspberry Kisses
So here you have it. The winning recipe for the fruit cake round! Nothing could compare to the delight I felt when Elspeth and Jonathon announced that I’d won this challenge. And just because you’re such lovely readers, I’m going to share my recipe with you here. I can promise you that this gooseberry and elderflower delight with mini raspberry meringues will win you the heart of anyone who takes a bite. Make sure that the gooseberries are in season when you make this cake—it’s what will help you achieve the right balance of tartness with the sweet and sumptuous raspberry meringues. It’s difficult to give an exact bake time for meringues, as it very much depends on your oven. Just keep an eye on them until they’re done.
Adding a little whipped cream to the whole thing could be a naughty treat, too. When it comes to cakes, sometimes more is more.
This recipe will serve a hungry ten people.
Ingredients:
Gooseberry layer:
0.9 oz. honey (try to find some from “contented bees”)
3.5 oz. gooseberries
Sponge:
2 (happy) eggs
4 oz. sugar
4 oz. self-rising flour (or regular flour with 1 teaspoon baking powder added)
4 oz. unsalted butter
Raspberry Kisses
3 large egg whites
5.3 oz. caster (super fine) sugar
2.5 tablespoons of freeze-dried raspberries
Method:
Firstly, you know that you’ll have to grease a cake tin and line it with baking parchment before any of the fun stuff begins. In this case, you’ll be needing a flat 8-inch cake tin, and you’ll need to grease it again once the parchment is in place. Nothing worse than sticky gooseberries stuck to your tin.
Now cover the bottom of the tin with a good old heap of the honey. Place an even layer of gooseberries on top. This might be a bit finicky, but it’s worth them not overlapping too much.
Now it’s time to make your sponge. Add all the ingredients to a processor and blend.
Bake at 180 C/350 F for 40 minutes until the sponge turns a lovely golden brown.
Meanwhile, you can make a start on your raspberry kisses. Heat the oven to 100 C/215 F.
Line two baking sheets with greaseproof paper.
Beat the egg whites using an electric whisk or stand mixer in a large, spotlessly clean bowl until soft peaks form.
Add the sugar gradually, a tablespoon at a time, whisking well after each addition, until all the sugar has been added.
Continue to whisk the meringue for a few minutes more until it is very thick and glossy and forms stiff peaks when you lift the whisk out of the bowl.
In a pestle and mortar, grind the freeze-dried raspberries to a fine powder, then pass it through a sieve to remove the seeds. Now add it your meringue mix.
Fit a piping bag with a large plain or star nozzle, and then fill the bag with the meringue and twist the top closed. Use a little meringue mix to stick the greaseproof paper to the baking trays (this makes it easier to pipe) and pipe small “kisses,” slightly spaced apart on the trays.