The Great Witches Baking Show

by Nancy Warren

  “Just don’t be a soft touch, okay? I have my suspicions about Gerry. I don’t think he’s as nice as you think he is.”

  I wasn’t worried. I didn’t imagine Gerry and I would stay in touch, but if I could do him a favor after he’d been the one sent home, maybe someone would do the same favor for me when my time came.

  Upstairs, no one noticed that I slipped into Gerry’s room instead of my own. His black duffel bag was on the desk, already neatly packed. I checked the bathroom, but he’d packed everything, even his toothbrush. It was as though he’d suspected he might be the first one out and wanted a speedy exit. I was sorry he’d felt that dejected, but also pleased I didn’t have to pack his stuff.

  I hoisted his bag over my shoulder and then slid out again. I cast a longing glance at the staircase back to the pub, but I wanted to give Gerry his bag so he could get on his way. Dinner could wait. Poor guy had had a real weekend of it. At least he’d won a stack of cash at poker, though. He could take some solace in that. No one saw me go downstairs through the lobby, and soon I was walking down the now familiar lane back toward Broomewode Hall.

  There was a security guard sitting in a lawn chair when I got close to the tent. I explained my errand, and he nodded and let me pass. It was getting dark now, and without the bustle of cast and crew, the white tent looked ghostly. A cool breeze ruffled my hair and sent a chill through me. I kicked myself for not getting a cardigan back at the inn. I’d give Gerry his bag and get back to the nice, warm inn and enjoy a hearty dinner in the pub with Florence. And then I’d make a renewed effort to meet some more of the other contestants. I didn’t want to face the rest of the show without friendly faces around me. It was hard enough without feeling alone, too.

  I took a step forward but then jumped a mile when a black shape moved in the evening’s fading light.

  The shape resolved itself into a black cat walking daintily toward me. I breathed out a sigh of relief. “Well, hello there,” I said, dropping down to cat level. It came closer but not quite in petting distance. It stopped and stared at me through gorgeous green-gold eyes. I waited, and in a few seconds, she came closer and rubbed against me like she’d known me all her life. She had a glossy coat and a friendly manner. I searched for a collar or tag but found nothing. “You look too lovely to be a stray. Who do you belong to?” I’d always loved cats, and I felt less alone now that I had a feline friend. “I bet you keep the mice in that old manor house on their toes,” I said. The cat looked at me as though I weren’t the sharpest knife in the drawer. Still, she didn’t walk away, and her coat was so silky, I kept stroking her. She gave a soft, sweet purr.

  The duffel was heavy on my shoulder, so I got up again, waved the cat goodbye and headed into the tent.

  I noticed a strange odor, like something was singed. Perhaps it was remnants of Gerry’s charred pie. “Gerry?” I called. Nothing. It wasn’t dark yet but dusky enough that he could be standing between the fridge and his workstation and I wouldn’t see him. He hadn’t put a light on, but I knew which station was his. It was odd walking through the tent without the hubbub of the show. No mixers whirring. No peals of laughter from Arty and Jilly as they cracked up at their own jokes. Only an eerie silence.

  I thought I heard something moving. Poor Gerry, no doubt he was saying a final goodbye to his workstation, maybe giving his apron a farewell hug. As I got closer, a strange feeling made its way down the back of my spine, as though something was after me. I turned, but there was nothing there, only the cat. She must have followed me. “Hello again,” I whispered. “You gave me a fright.” She circled my ankles, and I bent down again to give her a stroke. “You’ll protect me from bumps in the dark, won’t you, sweet thing,” I whispered. She meowed back.

  The darkened tent was spooking me out. I had a strong impulse to turn and run, but I was just strung out and overwhelmed by the last few days, it was making me jumpy. There had been so much anticipation and buildup to this weekend, it was no surprise I was experiencing the fallout. I called Gerry’s name again, louder this time. He didn’t answer, but I felt there was someone in the tent with me. That I was not alone. “Who’s there?” I called out quite sharply.

  There was no reply.

  I was definitely creeped out. Since Gerry had specifically asked me to meet him here and I was already doing him a favor, I didn’t feel inclined to hang around. Something must have held him up, maybe another altercation with the series producer, and dinner wasn’t going to wait forever. I decided I’d leave his bag at his station and write a quick goodbye note. I was about to put the bag onto his countertop when I saw a dark shape on the ground. I bent over and looked closer.

  It was a man lying face down and very still. He was wearing very white running shoes. “Gerry?” My voice wavered. Had he fallen? Fainted?

  I was about to touch him when I felt as though unseen hands were pulling me back. I got out my mobile phone and put on the torch and then gasped and scrambled backward. Gerry had his hands outstretched as though reaching for his oven. There were black burn marks on his hands. Science wasn’t my strongest subject at school, but I could put together that a guy on the ground beside an electrical appliance, with burn marks on his hands, could’ve been electrocuted. Touching him was probably a very bad idea.

  I had to get help and fast. I scrambled to my feet and ran back to the security guard. He took one look at me and got to his feet. “Miss, what’s wrong?”

  I pointed a shaking hand toward the tent. “In there. A man’s hurt. Electrocuted, I think. Call an ambulance.”

  His eyes narrowed on me for a minute as though I might be joking. When it was obvious I wasn’t, he grabbed his walkie-talkie and began speaking into it even as he jogged toward the tent.

  I fell to my knees, out of breath and in shock. “I think he’s dead,” I whispered into the dark. As if she’d understood me, the cat appeared out of nowhere and leapt into my lap. She tucked herself into the crook of my arm, and I stroked her soft fur. I stayed crouched like that, trying to process what had just happened. Less than an hour ago, Gerry was ranting and raging, and now he was motionless on the floor.

  With every fiber of my being, I hoped he had just passed out. That it was a small shock. Nothing more serious than that. I raised my head and looked back to the tent, half-hoping I’d see Gerry stumble out of the entrance with an embarrassed grin on his face mumbling, “I’m fine, I’m fine.” But an instinct told me that was never going to happen.

  When the security guard came out of the tent alone, his expression told me what I most feared was true. “Never had no one die on my watch before,” he mumbled, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. And then I heard the wail of sirens coming from a distance.

  I wouldn’t believe it until a doctor had confirmed my suspicions. But, like the security guard, I was pretty sure Gerry was dead.

  Chapter 8

  In the few minutes before the ambulance arrived, the sky turned a purple shade of black. The cat stayed by my side, and she looked on kindly as the tears dropped from my eyes. I studied the blades of grass and ran my hands across their soft tips. The security guard shuffled from foot to foot, mumbling, “Never seen a dead body before,” to himself over and over again, which really creeped me out. Time felt stretched out before me, endless and surreal. It was like I was in a bubble or swimming under water, closed off to anything that wasn’t in my direct eye line. It wasn’t until I heard a man’s voice saying, “Miss, Miss, are you okay?” that I looked up.

  It was a solemn-looking police officer. He wore plain clothes, but his short hair and very demeanor told me he was a cop. From my position on the ground, he was extremely tall. He extended an arm and helped me to my feet. “I’m Sergeant Adam Lane.”

  I stared at him for a moment. He had a long Roman nose, deep-set warm brown eyes, a full mouth and a clean-shaven face. His flop of dark brown hair was much longer than I’d expect from a police officer, and he was, indeed, extremely tall. I was taken aback. “Poppy Wil
kinson,” I said, brushing the grass from my jeans and smoothing down my shirt. “I’m a bit…” I trailed off, not sure what I was. Shocked, grieving, frightened, disbelieving. My emotions were such a mess, I couldn’t isolate a single one. “I found him.”

  “Miss Wilkinson, do you feel up to answering a few questions?” he asked gently, as though I might have a choice in the matter. Naturally, the police wanted to interview me.

  “Of course,” I replied. He walked me back toward the tent. In those endless minutes I’d been crouched on the grass, a host of people had arrived. The grounds were awash with paramedics, and members of the crew had turned up, including the electrician, Aaron Keel, and Donald Friesen, who was striding around the now sealed-off tent, looking like he was pulling his hair out. When the police set up lights, it was almost as if we were about to shoot another episode. I couldn’t decide if it was more or less spooky than when it was dark.

  We walked over to the entrance of the tent, where another man was standing, talking to a paramedic. “Miss Wilkinson,” Sergeant Lane said, “this is Detective Inspector Reid Hembly. He’ll be leading the investigation.”

  He looked to be about twenty years Sergeant Lane’s senior, with a gray buzz cut and a square jaw. His white shirt and navy trousers were crisp, and everything about his appearance was exacting, shined shoes and gleaming fingernails that must have been scrubbed until they felt raw. “You must be very shocked,” he said. “But could you talk me through what happened here this evening?” DI Hembly spoke to me the way my father did when I was struggling to understand something. I found his manner soothing.

  “How did you come to be in the tent? What did you notice? No detail is unimportant.”

  I nodded. I tried to focus on the officers’ faces and not on the forensic team, and someone I could only assume was a pathologist or maybe the coroner now surrounding Gerry’s body. I told them who Gerry was and everything that had happened this evening—Gerry’s continued problems with the oven, how he was voted off, his suspicions of sabotage, and ending with how he decided to come back and check the oven.

  I’d volunteered to bring him his bag and how I wished now that I hadn’t. If he’d been at the pub picking up his duffel, he wouldn’t have been in the tent. He might still be alive. I tried to include as much detail as possible. When I’d finished, I took a deep breath. “Was he…was the oven faulty?” I looked around. “I mean, he had burns on his hands. He was electrocuted, wasn’t he?”

  “It certainly looks that way,” DI Hembly said. “But we need to make some thorough checks before we jump to any conclusions.” He looked around at the tent all set up with its dozen kitchens. “Was it a very competitive group?”

  “No. Not really.”

  “Did Gerry have any enemies?”

  How could I answer this without buying into Gerry’s wild accusations? “He told me he thought he knew who’d sabotaged his chances, but when I asked him who it was, he wouldn’t tell me.” I shook my head. “I think he might have said that to sound dramatic. I can’t imagine anyone would want to hurt him seriously. It must have been a faulty oven, as he said.”

  “There was nothing wrong with that oven,” Aaron Keel said in a tight, angry voice. I started. I hadn’t noticed him standing nearby, but there he was, peering at the electrical panel. A police constable stood watching him.

  DI Hembly frowned at him. “Thank you, sir. We’ll be with you in due course.” Then he walked me farther away, out of earshot of the show’s electrician. No wonder Aaron Keel was snarly. An electrocuted contestant wouldn’t do his career much good, and we’d all heard Gerry complain that his oven was on the fritz.

  We settled at the long table where we’d eaten lunch earlier in the day.

  “Apart from you, did anyone else know that Gerry would be here at this time?”

  Oh, good question. I looked at the detective and tried to recall. As though he really were my dad, I wanted to give him the right answer. “Florence overheard us making the plan. In fact, I said I’d meet Gerry in thirty minutes, and she told him to give us an hour.”

  “Florence?” The sergeant had his notebook open and was writing down what I said. It was as disconcerting as having a cameraman follow me around when I was baking.

  “Florence Cinelli. She’s another contestant. Her tarte au citron won one of the challenges.” And that was so relevant to the investigation. Way to go, Poppy.

  Donald Friesen came charging toward us. He was red in the face, and beads of sweat were gathered at his temples.

  “Tell me this is all a nightmare and I’m about to wake up,” he said to no one in particular. He put his head in his hands. “My career’s just gone up in smoke.” Then, obviously realizing that wasn’t the most sensitive phrase, he said, “Sorry, Poppy. My brain is fried. No! That’s not what I meant.” He looked at the two detectives. “I’m the series producer. Let me know how I can help.”

  “Are all the cast and crew still here?” DI Hembly asked him.

  “They’re having dinner together, and then they’ll start leaving.”

  “Please make sure no one leaves until we’ve spoken to them. We’ll interview everyone this evening.”

  “But it was bad wiring. That’s got nothing to do—”

  “We’ll need to talk to everyone tonight.”

  Donald looked as though he might argue, then made a sound like the air letting out of bread dough when it’s punched down. He headed off in the direction of the inn, shaking his head from side to side.

  A photographer had arrived to take photos of the scene, and a small crowd of investigators were gathered around Gerry’s body. It was all very surreal, like watching a cop show on TV, except I seemed to be one of the actors. And I did not know my lines or how the plot turned out.

  “Sir?” someone called. “I think you should see this.”

  “You head back to the inn now, too,” Sergeant Lane said. “We’ll come down and find you shortly.”

  I remembered poor Gerry’s duffel bag and told the sergeant he’d find it on the floor near Gerry, where I’d dropped it.

  He gave me an encouraging smile and his dimples flashed, then the two detectives pulled on latex gloves, slipped protective covers over their shoes, and headed toward the action.

  I started back down the lane toward the inn when I saw Elspeth Peach walking hurriedly toward me. She was still wearing her peach suit but now with the addition of a scarf wound around her neck. “Poppy,” she said, a little out of breath. “Thank goodness you’re okay. I sensed that you were in danger.”

  A wave of emotions hit me, and the full force of the evening’s events was finally unleashed. “Not me,” I said, welling up. “Gerry. Oh, Elspeth, Gerry is dead!”

  “Dear child, what on earth are you talking about? He was sulking his way out of the tent just a short while ago.”

  Through my tears, I managed to tell her everything. My voice was shaking, and when I finished, she leaned in to hug me. “My poor child.”

  I felt something circling my ankles and nearly screamed, but it was only the friendly black cat. I bent down to pick her up. “Hello again,” I said into her fur. “You’re quite the persistent kitty.”

  “Ah, I see you’ve chosen each other,” Elspeth said. I held the cat closer to my chest, and she nuzzled into the crook of my arm.

  “I think she’s lonely. Maybe a stray.”

  “Don’t worry, Poppy. Things are already working themselves out,” Elspeth whispered. I looked at her quizzically. “You can trust the cat. She’ll protect you from harm. Come on now, let’s make our way back to the inn. I’m sure you’re famished, and I fear we’ve a long night ahead of us. Take this cardigan to keep warm.” She pulled a thick sweater from her bag.

  “How did you know I was cold?”

  “Instinct, dear.”

  She offered me a tissue, and I took it gratefully, dabbing at my wet cheeks, embarrassed that I’d cried in front of the great Elspeth Peach. Although funnily enough, she no longer
felt like a stranger or like a celebrity that I’d looked up to all my life. No, I felt strangely close to her now. She felt more like family, a beloved great aunt, perhaps, even though we hadn’t spent more than five minutes alone together.

  We ambled down the lane in friendly silence. I couldn’t manage a conversation. My mind was whirring with everything that had happened. On top of the stressful baking show, I’d found Gerry dead. It was all too much.

  When we got to the inn, I reluctantly put the cat on the ground before going inside. All the contestants were gathered in the pub talking and exclaiming loudly as Donald tried to hold their attention.

  “Poppy!” Florence called out. “There you are! I was worried sick. Where have you been? Donald says there’s police all over the grounds and we can’t leave.”

  Everyone turned to face me. No doubt my face was a mess, streaked with mascara and tears. They all stared, as if they expected me to explain everything.

  I opened my mouth to speak when Elspeth flashed me a kindly look and said, “Bakers, I’m afraid there’s been a terrible, terrible accident.” There was something so calm and soothing about Elspeth. After Donald had wound everyone up, she seemed to bring the stress level down in a few sentences.

  Yes, the police had asked everyone to wait so they could speak to us all, but she was sure it was only routine. Everyone should go back to eating their dinner or whatever they’d been doing. The police would be with us as quickly as they could.

  It wasn’t long before Sergeant Lane came in. With him was Jonathon wearing a leather jacket, with a weekender bag slung over his shoulder. “I was about to drive away,” he said, “when I got the word.” He looked around, his blue eyes coming to rest on me. “Everyone else all right? Poppy, horrible for you. Can I get you anything?”

  I shook my head, grateful that he cared.

  “What’s all this about us not being able to leave?” Marcus asked, sounding annoyed. “I’ve an important job in the city.”