The Great Witches Baking Show

by Nancy Warren

  I wasn’t surprised, but if they were keeping all the contestants overnight, they must suspect something bad had happened to Gerry. I thought of his empty wallet and felt like I’d been kicked in the stomach.

  As I left the room, I saw Marcus Hoare lurking at the end of the corridor. He was white in the face and clenching his hands together. I didn’t know where to look. I hadn’t liked the guy, sure, but I still felt bad that I’d passed on gossip about his wife. I walked by him without speaking, just a small nod, Gateau still curled against my shoulder. She made me feel calmer. I hoped the inn owners wouldn’t chastise me for bringing an animal inside and decided to take her straight to my room.

  I climbed the stairs, weary and even more perplexed than I’d been before I met with the police. At least my room was cozy. I locked the door behind me and flopped onto the bed. The small digital radio on the bedside table read ten p.m. It felt more like three a.m. Gateau hopped onto the bed and made herself comfy on the blanket. I lay down alongside her, tucking a plump white pillow beneath my head, and listened to her soft purrs. I was caught somewhere between exhaustion and being so agitated, I couldn’t even imagine sleeping. The empty wallet mystified me. I thought back to the morning. It seemed like eons ago. Gerry had certainly shown me a wad of cash, but there couldn’t have been more than a couple of hundred pounds in notes. Not enough to kill for, surely?

  Gateau raised her head and looked at me inquiringly. Her little paws plowed the bed covers. “What is it?” I asked. “Are you trying to tell me something?” She raised herself up and trotted back to the bedroom door, scratching at the wood. “Aha. Are you hungry, little one?” She mewed. “I’ll try and find you some food. And I should eat, too.” That sandwich earlier hadn’t been very substantial, and now my stomach was gurgling. There was nothing for it but to go back downstairs and see if I could scavenge anything from the restaurant.

  I’d only made it halfway down the stairs when I heard the commotion. Aaron, the electrician, and Donald were in the hallway, yelling at each other. I couldn’t get food without going past them. It was super awkward to head into a wave of angry syllables. “I will not be responsible,” Donald said.

  “Nobody’s asking you to.”

  “If this gets out—”

  I stopped in my tracks as Aaron turned and saw me, a look of pure fury stamped on his face.

  Just then, Inspector Hembly opened the door and walked out with Marcus Hoare. He was even more pale than before he’d gone in.

  “Sergeant,” DI Hembly said in a somber voice, “can you please gather everyone in the interview room? There are a few things I’d like to explain to the group before some of them can go home.”

  Donald looked at me, and I knew I shared the same concern on my own face. The phrase some of them can go home had struck fear into both our hearts.

  Chapter 10

  The crew and contestants assembled in the main pub dining room. Fortunately, there didn’t seem to be any other guests, and no doubt locals had been told the pub was closed for the evening. It was strange to see everyone together outside of the tent and so late in the evening, too. The strains of the day were showing: blue circles under the eyes, tired grayish skin, and worried brows. As I looked at everyone in turn, I was struck by how familiar they were to me now. Maggie seemed to be looking after Evie and Florence. Daniel and Amara were deep in conversation. Two contestants I’d yet to really chat with, Euan and Priscilla, were sitting by the fireplace, which had now been lit. Gaurav was standing alone, tapping away at his phone.

  I thought about my phone upstairs and wished hard that I could phone my mom and dad. Nothing could sound so nice as my parents’ voices right now telling me everything would be all right. I also missed my cottage, the way the ivy crept over the windowsills, the old stone walls, so full of history. I even missed Mildred, my dear kitchen ghost. Elspeth caught my eye across the room and gave me a reassuring smile as Jonathon talked urgently into her ear.

  The room was warm, the fire adding cheer to the depressing atmosphere, but voices were hushed. Everyone was waiting to be told what was going to happen. The anticipation was tangible.

  Sergeant Lane and DI Hembly entered the room. Everyone fell quiet and stopped what they were doing. Euan and Priscilla stood up. It was like a school assembly and the headmaster had walked in. I couldn’t shake the feeling of being in trouble.

  DI Hembly cleared his throat. “Thank you for your cooperation while we conduct our investigation. I realize many of you wish to return home this evening.”

  There were murmurs of agreement from the group.

  “Unfortunately, I’m only able to let some of you go.”

  A low groan and a ripple of chatter erupted through the group.

  “But I need to get back to my kids.”

  “Work will fire me if I’m not there in the morning.”

  “I’ve just found out my dog is sick.”

  Detective Inspector Hembly interrupted. “Our priority here is ascertaining exactly what happened to Gerald Parterre.”

  “If he wants me to stay, he’ll have to arrest me,” I heard Marcus mumble behind me but not loud enough for the police to hear.

  “Who’s going home?” Amara asked.

  “We ask you all to keep your phones on in case we need to ask you any questions. Sergeant Lane is going to read out the names of those we need to stay this evening. The production company has kindly agreed to pay for any of you who wish to stay for another night. However, if your name is not on the list, you’re free to leave.”

  The room fell silent again. It was like waiting to see who’d been voted off the show, except this time, we were all secretly praying to leave. Sergeant Lane brought out his little black notebook. “If the following people could please remain behind: Florence Cinelli, Poppy Wilkinson, Marcus Hoare, Aaron Keel, Donald Friesen, Gordon Bennett and Hamish MacDonald. The rest of you are free to go.”

  My heart sank, but I wasn’t surprised at hearing my name. I’d been the one to find the body, and I’d given information about Gerry’s arguments. I could have argued that I didn’t live very far away and could drive back first thing. Still, I was so stressed, I shouldn’t drive. I resigned myself to another night at the inn. Maggie and Evie both opted to stay. They were tired and upset and had too long a journey to face it now.

  Gordon Bennett walked over to me and gave me a hug. “I haven’t had a chance to say how sorry I am. That must have been awful,” he said. “Finding your friend that way. I hate that you had to see…that.”

  And suddenly I saw Gerry’s body on the ground. The silly cars and trucks all over his red shirt, the bright white trainers. He’d been like a little boy in some ways, as though everything was a game, from playing with clients’ wives to poker. Someone, though, had been deadly serious.

  “Thank you. Poor Gerry. He was so young. So full of life.” I was puzzled that his name had been on the list and said so.

  He made a face. “They want my technical expertise. I’m on standby to help them go through all the hours of recordings.”

  I’d never thought before about how tedious most police work must be. And how dull Gordon’s job must be a lot of the time. “Do you mind very much?”

  He considered my words. “Not really. It’s rather interesting to be in the thick of a police investigation.”

  “Are you a fan of thrillers?”

  Before Gordon could reply, Donald strode to the front and addressed the group, just as we were about to disperse. “Guys, can I have your attention for just one more minute? I’m not sure what’s in store for the show this week, but rest assured we’re going to do our best to get everything sorted and continue filming next week. In the meantime, for those of you who are staying, the kitchen staff is putting together some food for us. I’m also arranging for the rushes from today’s filming to be shown on a small projector in here, so at least you’ll have something fun to watch. It’s a real treat seeing yourself on screen for the first time.”


  He attempted a small laugh, but no one joined in. Despite his polished speech, Donald looked very tense indeed. The hairs at his temples were stuck to the skin with sweat. Veins bulged along his neck; his eyes were bloodshot and full of fear. In short, he looked…guilty. I supposed throwing that burnt fruit pie across the tent felt like a pretty stupid move right about now. But he also had my sympathy. The entire production rested on his shoulders, and who could imagine a worse disaster than a suspicious death?

  Florence rushed over to me as soon as he finished talking. “I don’t understand it,” she said, shaking out her mane of glossy hair. “Why could they possibly want me to stay? I don’t know anything.”

  “Don’t worry,” I said. “I’m sure they’re just covering their bases. Maybe you told them something of interest in your interview that they want to follow up. I’m sure it doesn’t mean anything bad.”

  “I don’t like this one bit. And I’m hungry…again! This stress is going to wreak havoc with my figure. Where’s that buffet?”

  As if on cue, a couple of tired-looking staff came into the room with trays of food. They pulled a trestle table resting against one wall upright and laid down their dishes. Ham sandwiches, egg sandwiches, and slices of cold roast chicken were set down, and a plate of fruit, cheese and crackers joined them. There was tea and coffee or anything we wanted to order from the bar. It all looked extremely tempting. The room began to empty out as the contestants who wanted to leave made their excuses. Florence asked if I wanted to stay and watch the rushes, and because I knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep after all this tension (not to mention the coffee I couldn’t resist), I agreed. We pulled up two chairs and munched our way through the food as a couple of the crew who were left set up a projector. From the corner of my eye, I watched Elspeth and Jonathon continue their whispered talk. Elspeth looked serious and firm, Jonathon determined—like he was trying to persuade her about something. I was intrigued.

  As the food reached my empty belly, I started to feel better. I was savoring a particularly succulent slice of roast chicken when I remembered that poor Gateau must have scampered off to forage for herself. I excused myself to Florence, revisited the chicken platter, and placed a few choice cuts inside a paper napkin.

  Cold air hit me as I followed the corridor in the direction I’d seen Gateau go earlier. The rest of the inn was deserted and lit only by a few lamps, which were mounted to the wallpapered walls in pairs. Their burgundy shades threw out a soft glow.

  “Gateau? Where have you disappeared to? I’ve got treats.”

  The sound of voices caught my attention. Two bodies were pressed up against the door to the inn’s back entrance. I stopped in my tracks. “Goodness,” I whispered to myself. It was Jilly and Arty, and they were locked in a passionate embrace! Did they even know they were allowed to go home? Did they want to?

  I turned on my heels and tiptoed off in the opposite direction. What an odd pairing, but I was glad something nice had come out of the weekend. Still chuckling to myself, I continued my search for Gateau.

  I couldn’t say why, but I had the feeling that she was by the kitchen door. In fact, I knew it. A strange sensation was sweeping through my body, something like a pulling motion, almost magnetic. The skin on the back of my neck got goosebumps. It was just like the moment I discovered Gerry’s body, when I was about to touch him, but something compelled me to draw away. No, pulled me back. I picked up the pace. My legs carried themselves faster and faster, operating like they were under the influence of some other being. It was then that I recognized Jonathon’s tall silhouette by the kitchen door. In his arms was Gateau. I was about to greet them when it dawned on me that Jonathon was talking to the cat. And what’s more, she seemed to be listening. I cocked my head and tried to understand what I was seeing. Because from here, it looked like those two were having a fully fledged gossip.

  Jonathon turned toward me, and for a brief second, pure shock crossed his face, but in a flash, he’d composed himself again and grinned. “Look what I’ve found.” He presented Gateau like a gift, as if he were returning her to me. “Elspeth told me you’d adopted a stray.”

  “She’s been following me around this evening. I couldn’t find a collar or owner, so I’m going to look after her until I do. I’m not sure if she is a stray, but I’ve named her Gateau.”

  The cat squirmed out of Jonathon’s arms and circled my feet.

  “I see you’ve chosen each other,” Jonathon said.

  “That’s so weird. That’s exactly what Elspeth said.”

  Jonathon smiled. “Maybe Elspeth and I have been spending too much time together lately. Clearly we’re rubbing off on one another.”

  I bent down, unwrapped my chicken parcel, and offered her the treats. She sniffed at them, seemingly bemused, and then carefully began to eat. “She’s so refined,” I said. “I feel like she’s asking me for a dish to eat from.”

  “Perhaps she is,” Jonathon mused. “Come, let’s go back and see what the day’s rushes look like.”

  I followed Jonathon, Gateau happily trotting behind us, and asked why he and Elspeth hadn’t left with the others. “I suppose we both feel a bit protective. This is my first season, of course, so I don’t want to ditch and run at the first sign of trouble. We’ll see how things look tomorrow. We’re not supposed to get too friendly with the contestants, obviously, until the judging is all over, but this is not a normal situation.” He said they’d stay the night and longer, if necessary, and make themselves available for anyone who wanted to talk. “Pastoral care,” he said. “Plus, Elspeth has a secret supply of clotted cream fudge from Devon in her room, and she’s willing to share.”

  Back inside the dining room, the smell of freshly brewed coffee engulfed me. I was already sure I wouldn’t sleep tonight, so I poured myself another cup. Those left were eating heartily and sipping from big ceramic mugs. Jonathon more sensibly chose Earl Grey, and Florence made space for us at the table. She was watching the screen avidly. “Isn’t it so exciting to see what we all look like?” she asked, though it was more of a statement. Since she was a drama student, I suspected she already knew what she looked like on film. I had a strong feeling she’d look better than any of us.

  The cameras were trained on Florence as she stirred cream into her lemon mix. And, yep, she looked wonderful. Her skin was glowing, the whites of her eyes and the whites of her teeth gleaming as she laughed that throaty laugh of hers. Her silk blouse caught the light as she moved. “You’re a true Hollywood beauty, Florence,” I said. “Born for lights, camera, action.”

  She glowed even more in response. “Gosh, what’s that?” she asked, looking down at Gateau.

  “She’s followed me about this evening. Isn’t she the most gorgeous thing? I’m adopting her until her owner surfaces.”

  Florence bent down to stroke the cat, but Gateau shied away from her touch.

  “Aww, why doesn’t she want to play?” Florence asked in a babyish voice.

  I didn’t have an answer for Florence. To me and Jonathon, Gateau had been extremely affectionate. I shrugged off her question and let Gateau nestle in by my feet.

  It was odd how the atmosphere in the room had changed. The tension had eased away. Those left behind at the inn were eating and chatting like it was a slumber party. Only Donald Friesen exuded anxiety and paced about the room as he watched the rushes. He appeared to be checking his own pulse intermittently and picking the skin around his fingers. Poor guy. Aaron hadn’t stayed. I had no idea where he was.

  Hamish, the baking policeman, headed over to us. He smiled at Florence and then laid a friendly hand on my shoulder. “How you doing, Poppy? You’ve had quite the day.” There was something comforting about Hamish, like a big brother. His hair was up at odd angles from running his hands through it too often, and his brow was rippled with lines, but his shirt was a trendy plaid. Maybe it was something to do with being a police officer; there was a firmness about him, but he seemed compassionate and caring too. Ove
r the course of the evening, he’d been reassuring the whole group, keeping everyone calm and explaining the stages of an early investigation. It was normal procedure, he’d said, and no one should be distressed.

  Having a cop on “our team” was comforting. I could talk to him in a way I couldn’t to the police investigating the case. I asked him the question that was beginning to obsess me. “Do you think Gerry was murdered?”

  I hoped he’d laugh at such a foolish suggestion. Explain that the police were only doing their due diligence before proclaiming a tragic accident. He didn’t.

  “Seems likely,” he said, not in a dramatic way like Florence, but as though he’d looked at the evidence and made a rational conclusion.

  “But why? Who?” I asked.

  His green eyes warmed when he smiled. “That’s what the police will have to work out. I’m happy to say I’m here to bake, not solve a crime.”

  “Why did they ask you to stay?”

  I thought he’d shrug off my question, but after glancing around to make sure no one was listening, he dropped his voice. “In truth, they didn’t. I volunteered. I don’t like leaving knowing the killer is still out there and likely involved in this production.”

  Well, I had asked. Now I felt both reassured that he was staying to guard us and frightened because he felt he needed to. Florence gave a little squeal of distress, “How can they make us stay in a hotel with a murderer?”

  “If they believed there was any danger, they wouldn’t have you stay. But I know there will be police officers on duty all night.” He hesitated then said, “And I’m in room three if you need me.”