Witch Chocolate Bites (BEWITCHED BY CHOCOLATE Mysteries ~ Book 4)

by H. Y. Hanna

  “Really?” Caitlyn looked at the other girl with admiration. “What did the report say?”

  “Ah… well, this is the interesting bit…” Pomona paused dramatically. “Pierre Rochat’s body had been drained of blood!”

  “What?”

  “Well, not totally drained,” Pomona admitted. “Just, like, one third—but apparently one third is enough to kill you ’cos your heartbeat starts going irregular and you get cardiac arrest and organ failure… blah-blah… I have to admit, I wasn’t really listening properly after that—I was too busy admiring his ginger eyelashes. Yeah, seriously, ginger.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with red hair,” said Caitlyn, touching her own auburn curls.

  “On a woman,” said Pomona. “On a guy, it’s totally different. But I have to admit, he was kinda cute, even with the ginger hair. And there’s just something so sexy about the British accent, even when it’s not ‘posh’ like James’s—”

  “Pomie…!” Caitlyn said in exasperation. “What else did the autopsy report say?”

  “Huh? Oh… oh yeah… so, the cause of death was shock from blood loss.”

  “What about the puncture marks on his neck? Were they made by fangs?”

  “They could be!” said Pomona. “The pathologist wasn’t sure. The report said maybe it was some kind of weapon shaped like fangs… but I think the police are just trying to find a non-supernatural explanation, ’cos they don’t wanna admit that it could be a vampire!”

  “Inspector Walsh thinks it was made to look like a vampire murder, by someone using fangs from an animal—you know, like the skull of a wolf or tiger.”

  “Where would you get that?” demanded Pomona. “And anyway, even if they did, wouldn’t there be blood everywhere?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, this cute sergeant told me that the only way to lose that amount of blood that quickly was if you punctured the carotid artery in the side of the neck. But arteries are, like, under really high pressure—so if the killer had done that, wouldn’t there have been blood spraying everywhere? You were on the scene—did you see a lot of blood?”

  “No,” Caitlyn admitted. “I didn’t see any, as a matter of fact. Just Rochat’s body… and the puncture holes in his neck.”

  “You see? If it was a vampire, he would have sucked the blood up and that’s why you didn’t see a drop anywhere.”

  That was exactly what Beth Jenkins had said. Caitlyn frowned, not wanting to accept that the village gossips could be right.

  “Well, maybe… maybe the murderer used some kind of machine,” she suggested. “You know, like undertakers or morticians use… don’t they suck the blood out of bodies and replace it with embalming fluid or something?”

  “Oh, puh-lease!” said Pomona, rolling her eyes in an exaggerated fashion. “You think the murderer managed to do all that in the dark, in the middle of the forest?”

  Caitlyn said nothing. Her cousin had a point. Still, she was reluctant to accept that the murderer could have been a vampire—maybe because the idea was so creepy. Somehow, thinking that Pierre Rochat was killed by a fugitive jewellery thief was a lot easier to swallow.

  “I still think for once Inspector Walsh is right and there is no paranormal angle in this case,” she said stubbornly. “I think Pierre Rochat was murdered because of his role as a fence for jewellery thieves. Maybe there was some double dealing… or an exchange that went wrong…”

  “So what are you saying—that the murderer was one of the thieves?” Pomona asked.

  “Yes, the ringleader. Inspector Walsh thinks he’s hiding out here in the Cotswolds with the loot—maybe even right here in Tillyhenge—and that’s the real reason Rochat came to the village. So if the murderer is the ringleader, then it’s likely to be someone who was a recent arrival… like Lionel Spelling.”

  “That Goth guy?”

  “There does seem to be a lot of stuff pointing towards him. He lied about where he was on the night of the murder, he had an easy route through the woods to reach the cinema lawn unseen, he was in the pub at the same time as Pierre Rochat—and left straight after—and… well, he’s just a bit of a weirdo.”

  “Being a Goth doesn’t make you a criminal,” protested Pomona. “It’s just a fashion and lifestyle statement.”

  “I guess… but it does mean that he’s more familiar with vampire lore and stuff like that, doesn’t it?”

  “Maybe. But why would he wanna kill Pierre Rochat? I mean, he’s, like, a language school teacher, not some international jewel thief!”

  “Maybe he’s both,” said Caitlyn. “The teacher thing could be a front for his criminal activities.”

  Pomona rolled her eyes. “If we’re talking about fronts, I can think of a better job for that: someone who lives with the rich, knows all about their expensive jewellery, travels around a lot… a butler.”

  “A butler?”

  “Yeah.” Pomona glanced at their closed bedroom door and lowered her voice. “That guy—Giles Mosley—the new butler here at the Manor.”

  “Well, I have to admit, I did think of him myself,” said Caitlyn. “I mean, Mosley told me that his last job was in Dubai… and that’s where the last robbery by the Blue Magpies took place. I suppose it could just be coincidence but…”

  “Too many coincidences.” Pomona leaned forwards. “And don’t you think it’s a bit weird that he was out in that tower? I mean, it’s not the kind of place you’d expect a prim and proper butler to be in.”

  “I suppose… although he could have just been exploring the estate, like he said. He only arrived a few days ago and it’s natural to be curious about the place you’re going to live in. Besides, Pomie, if you’d seen this tower, you’d see why anyone would be curious about it. It looked like something straight out of a fairy tale.”

  “Why is it there, in the middle of the woods?”

  “I don’t know—I suppose I can ask James tonight.”

  Pomona straightened her sheets and said in a carefully casual voice, “You know, there is another person who could be a suspect as well: he came to Tillyhenge recently, he’s stinking rich, and he moves in all the right circles so he’d know about expensive jewellery… plus he was at the Open-Air Cinema and he met Pierre Rochat…”

  “Don’t tell me you’re thinking of Antoine de Villiers!” groaned Caitlyn.

  “Aww, come on! You can’t rule someone out just ’cos he’s hot!”

  “You do all the time,” Caitlyn muttered. “You did it with that Irish gardener.”

  “That was different.” Pomona waved a dismissive hand. “Seriously, I think we’ve got to consider—”

  “Why would Antoine want to murder Pierre Rochat? He didn’t even know the man! You’re not suggesting that he’s a jewellery thief, are you?”

  “Why not?” retorted Pomona. “To be honest, I can see him as a jewellery gang ringleader much more easily than Lionel Spelling or Giles Mosley!”

  “It’s not Antoine—he owns a chateau, for heaven’s sake! Why on earth would he need to steal jewellery?”

  “For kicks? He looks like the kind of man who enjoys taking risks. Maybe he’s bored—lots of rich people are bored and, like, looking for new thrills. You know, like that guy in The Thomas Crowne Affair.”

  “That was a movie!”

  “Doesn’t mean it couldn’t have been based on real life. You’ve seen the celebrities in Hollywood… People who’ve got everything are always searching for the next thing to make their life interesting.”

  “You’re getting very deep all of a sudden,” said Caitlyn sarcastically. “I’m telling you—it’s not Antoine. I know. He’s a gentleman and—”

  Pomona burst out laughing. “Honey, Antoine de Villiers is a lotta things but a gentleman he is not. Trust me, I know.”

  “Let’s not fight about him again.”

  Pomona sighed. “Okay. But at least… keep an open mind about him?”

  “Fine,” said Caitlyn grudgingly. “In
fact, when I see him tonight, I’ll try to ask him about Rochat.”

  “Speaking of tonight, what are you gonna wear?”

  “Tonight?” Caitlyn looked at her blankly, confused by the sudden change of topic.

  “Yeah, the formal dinner! You can’t show up in your usual jeans.”

  “I wasn’t going to,” said Caitlyn defensively. “I was going to wear… uh…”

  “Don’t worry, coz, I’ve got it sorted,” said Pomona with a grin. “I went down to Angela’s boutique today and picked up something for you.”

  “You didn’t let her do any alterations on it, did you?” asked Caitlyn with a dark look.

  Angela Skinner was a resident of Tillyhenge who made no secret of her contempt for the Widow Mags and her enchanted chocolate shop—nor her jealousy of Caitlyn. After unsuccessfully trying to bully the Widow Mags in her own store (and ending up with chocolate warts in the process), the young woman had then tried to play a mean trick on Caitlyn by stitching up a dress so that it was too tight to wear, right before the all-important Fitzroys’ Summer Garden Party. Luckily, a bit of magic—and “chocolate spandex”—had come to the rescue, but Caitlyn had learned not to trust Angela after that. Still, she had to admit that the woman had exquisite taste and her dress boutique in the village stocked pieces that wouldn’t have looked out of place on a Paris catwalk.

  “What did you get? Can I see?” she asked excitedly.

  “Only if you let me do a makeover,” said Pomona.

  Caitlyn gave a resigned laugh. Her cousin never gave up! Pomona had been begging to give her a makeover ever since they were teenagers.

  “Oh, all right…” said Caitlyn, capitulating at last. “But nothing too major! I don’t want cat eyes or bee-stung lips or whatever other weird trend is going around the fashion world right now.”

  “You won’t even know you have make-up on,” Pomona promised. “You’ll look just like yourself—but, like, ten times prettier!”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Caitlyn followed Pomona down the staircase that evening, nervous and excited. She had barely recognised herself when she looked in the mirror before leaving their bedroom. Her red tresses had been twisted up into an elegant knot, with a few loose tendrils framing her face, and her face had been expertly made up to highlight her hazel eyes, turning them a luminous green, fringed by thick black lashes.

  The dress that Pomona had chosen was in a simple but sophisticated style—a deep indigo purple wraparound sheath that brought out the creamy tones of her pale skin and made her red hair seem even more vibrant. Caitlyn had been horrified at first at how closely the dress hugged her body—she normally chose baggy styles to try and disguise her big hips—but then she realised that with the right cut and fabric, a dress could actually flatter her curves, giving her a classic hourglass figure. Maybe Pomona was right all along, she thought. You had to work with your curves, not try to hide them.

  Now, she descended the sweeping staircase feeling more beautiful than she had ever done in her life. Her heart pounded as she entered the Drawing Room, where everyone was meeting for drinks before dinner. Would James notice the difference in her? Would he like it?

  Giles Mosley was waiting to receive them with a tray of champagne flutes. The butler was in full uniform—black morning coat with tails, grey waistcoat, starched white shirt with a black tie, and even white gloves—and looked slightly comical, although he took himself so seriously that Caitlyn didn’t dare even crack a smile. She thought again of Pomona’s suspicions about the Manor’s new staff member. It was true that his uniform would’ve made a very effective disguise, and his butler training might have given him the perfect organisational and project management skills to pull off a heist! And yet somehow she just couldn’t see Giles Mosley as a criminal ringleader. He seemed so pompous and “proper” that he would’ve probably considered jewellery robbery beneath him! Well, unless he was stealing the Crown Jewels, perhaps—jewels worn by the Royal Family might just be worth sullying his hands for…

  The thought made Caitlyn smile and she hurriedly turned away so that Mosley couldn’t see. She raised her champagne glass and sipped the sparkling, golden liquid as she surveyed the other guests. She was glad that she had listened to Pomona’s advice. Everyone was stylishly dressed, with the women in particular having gone to great effort for the evening, and for once, Caitlyn didn’t feel like the ugly duckling in a group of swans. In fact, she flushed with pleasure as several women eyed her with admiration and complimented her appearance.

  Then she looked up and her eyes met James’s on the other side of the room. He was looking at her like he had never seen her before and Caitlyn’s heart skipped a beat. Slowly, he began to weave his way towards her and Caitlyn felt her pulse beat faster and faster. Before he reached her, however, another man stepped in front of him.

  “You are a vision of loveliness, mademoiselle,” Antoine de Villiers said, raising her free hand to his mouth.

  “Th… thanks,” said Caitlyn. She pulled her hand away, embarrassed.

  “I hope you are sitting next to me this evening?”

  “I don’t know,” said Caitlyn honestly.

  Antoine gave her a teasing smile. “Ah… but I hope you want to?”

  “Er… well…” Caitlyn fumbled. She didn’t want to be rude. “Um… of course.”

  “Caitlyn is sitting next to me,” said a deep voice behind them.

  They turned to see James Fitzroy watching with a slight frown. He stepped forwards and his grey eyes warmed as he looked at Caitlyn.

  “You look beautiful,” he said quietly.

  Caitlyn flushed with pleasure. “Thank you.”

  It was a novel sensation, having the admiration of two handsome men, and she felt a bit like she was floating on a cloud—although perhaps that was also the effect of the champagne on her empty stomach. In fact, by the time dinner was announced, she had drained the whole flute and felt quite light-headed. She wasn’t the only one. All the guests seemed to be in a jovial mood and the atmosphere was merry as the group drifted into the grand Dining Room for the meal. The long mahogany table was laid with gleaming silver and beautiful Wedgewood crockery, and the sparkling wine glasses seemed to catch the light from the huge chandelier. A small place card inscribed with each guest’s name in beautiful calligraphy was placed in front of each seat. The Manor’s maids were hurrying to and fro, arranging plates of food, whilst Giles Mosley carefully uncorked a bottle of wine at the buffet table nearby.

  As everyone was about to take their seats, a soft knock sounded behind them. Caitlyn turned to see a pretty young woman with honey-blonde hair and an English-rose complexion hesitating in the Dining Room doorway. It was Amy Matthews, whose late husband, Huntingdon Manor’s gamekeeper, had been murdered a few months ago. Caitlyn knew that James had been very kind to Amy following his death, letting her remain in her cottage rent-free and even offering her a job as a personal assistant, when Amy had struggled to find work in the local area.

  Of course, there were whispers in the village that Lord Fitzroy’s solicitude stemmed from more than just his usual concern for his tenants. Caitlyn had heard the rumours and she wasn’t surprised. James and Amy were of a similar age and made such a handsome couple—it was no wonder that tongues had been wagging. Now as she saw Amy standing gracefully in the doorway, slim and pretty in a simple navy dress, Caitlyn thought with a pang that Amy would make a lovely Lady Fitzroy.

  “Sorry to bother you, James,” said Amy, holding up a piece of paper. “I just wondered if you wanted to check this so I can make any changes before I leave… although I’m happy to come in early tomorrow morning, so you can have it before your meeting—”

  “Good God, Amy, I thought you’d left ages ago,” said James. “Don’t feel that you have to slave in the office until late, you know. That document could have waited until the morning.”

  Amy laughed. “I know—but I like to get the work done and make sure you’ve got everything you need.”


  “You’re an exemplary PA—I don’t know what I’d do without you,” said James with a smile.

  Amy blushed and began turning away, but James put out a hand to stop her.

  “Wait, Amy, don’t run off—why don’t you join us for dinner?”

  “Oh no, I wouldn’t want to impose—”

  “Don’t be silly, you’re not imposing. I’m sure everyone would love to have you.”

  There was a murmur of assent around the table and everyone nodded and smiled at Amy.

  The young woman looked at the guests, then down at herself. “I’m not really dressed properly—”

  “Nonsense, you look lovely,” said James gallantly.

  Caitlyn felt a prickle in her breast and was ashamed to realise that it was jealousy.

  “Well… thank you,” said Amy with a shy smile, approaching the table.

  “Voilà, mademoiselle, you can sit here—next to James,” said Antoine de Villiers, deftly removing a place card from the seat beside James and moving it to the empty seat next to his chair.

  Caitlyn realised with dismay that the card that he had moved was printed with her name. She was now seated next to the Frenchman and Amy would be taking her place next to James Fitzroy. She glanced at James, wondering if he would say something, but he was silent. Maybe he didn’t want to embarrass Amy by making a scene. Or maybe he’d prefer to sit next to her, thought Caitlyn, with a hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach.

  Everyone sat down and there was much oohing and aahing over the dishes on display. Mrs Pruitt, the Manor’s cook—or Catering Manager, as she was now called—had outdone herself. She had been frustrated ever since James took over the title and rejected the elaborate three-course dinners that his father used to expect every night, instead opting for simple meals on trays in his study. So with the excuse of the London guests, she had taken the opportunity to put on a veritable feast. There was a refreshing lobster salad to start, with crisp sliced apples, watercress, and candied walnuts, followed by a creamy soup of minted peas; next came pan-fried sea trout with Scottish mussels, and succulent corn-fed chicken breast with lemon verbena seasoning; and finally, the star of the show: traditional roast beef with Yorkshire pudding, slow-roasted carrots, creamed Savoy cabbage, and duck-fat-roasted potatoes, together with gravy and horseradish sauce.