Murder At The Bake Off (Celebrity Mysteries 3)

by Zanna Mackenzie

  It’s only a small movement but I figure it’s going to have to be enough for me to make my move. A few feet away is a bottle of Champagne. It’s sitting on the makeshift dressing table unopened. That is going to be my weapon of choice. I just have to be fast enough to spring from here, grab a hold of it and bring it down on the back of Marvin’s head –all before he spots me, injures Petula and then comes after me.

  One. Two. Three.

  I yank my hand away from Geraldine’s. She’s clearly terrified, and I know exactly how she feels. Reluctant to let go, she claws at my arm and the tussle causes the cut-out bunny we’re hiding behind to wobble and then crash forwards. Its long wooden ears bash Marvin a sharp blow on the back of his head and he stumbles forward, the knife instantly dropping from his hand.

  The next second, all hell breaks loose. The room is raided by policemen, with Jack leading the pack.

  “You cut it fine,” Petula admonishes Jack, but there’s a wicked gleam in her eyes as Marvin is handcuffed and lead away by the police.

  “I was rounding up the troops. We heard everything, his confession, the whole lot,” Jack explains. Stepping back, he looks her up and down. “Are you OK?”

  She waves away his concern. “I’m fine. That was scary, but exhilarating. I can understand why people do crazy things like bungee jumping now!”

  It takes a full hour before order is restored at the festival. Marvin has been carted off to the police station. Petula has given her opening speech for the festival, along with a poignant section reflecting on Cherry’s life and how sadly she will be missed, during which she held Maggie’s hand tightly and both women sniffed back the tears. Now it’s time for the results of the opening bake-off-competition.

  Jack and I are standing off to the right of the stage, behind the scenes as Petula dishes out the awards.

  “Sorry you didn’t win,” Jack says, squeezing my hand.

  “I couldn’t have, even if my cake was as good as some of the others. Petula helped me make it. It would have been cheating for her to give me an award I didn’t deserve.”

  “And now,” Petula announces once the last of the applause has died away. “With the support of Cherry’s family, I am introducing the inaugural Cherry Bakewell Award for Best Novice Baker. An award to be given annually in memory of the Queen of Baking and how she had inspired so many of us to try our hands at this most rewarding of pastimes.” She lifts a beautiful glass bowl from the table in front of her. “I have great pleasure in announcing the first winner of this award as Miss Elizabeth Carter!”

  What? What!!!

  Jack ushers me onto the stage, and I stand there, completely flummoxed as Petula hugs me, kisses both cheeks, and presses the award into my hands. “Maggie and I both agreed you should have this. You’ve got great potential as a baker, Lizzie. But we both also wanted you to have this as a small thank-you for the role you played in helping to catch the man who ended Cherry’s life.”

  “Speech! Speech!” Jack shouts from his spot on the wings of the stage.

  I can’t think straight, let alone form the words to give a speech. I glare at Jack but eventually manage to get my head into the space enough to say how grateful and honoured I am to receive this award.

  Wow. I won an award for my baking. That is definitely not how I expected this day to end. Maybe I can make our wedding cake after all.

  A few hours later, I’m slicing up the prize-winning cake and dishing it out to my guests in the dining room at Eskdale. Maggie, Rudy and Petula have joined me and Jack for a small gathering in memory of Cherry.

  “This is delicious,” Maggie says, tucking into the fruitcake I made under Petula’s guidance. “We’ll make a baker of you yet, Lizzie.”

  Minutes later, Jack finishes his piece of cake and slides up to me at the kitchen sink, wrapping arms around my waist as I attempt to tidy up. “Can I have some more, please?” he whispers, kissing my cheek.

  “There isn’t any left,” I reply, gesturing to the now empty plate on the table.

  “I wasn’t talking about the cake,” he says, starting to nuzzle my neck.

  “Jack! Behave. We have guests,” I half-protest as his lips travel to my ear.

  “Later then?” he checks.

  “Definitely,” I say, leaning back and tilting my face to give him a quick kiss.

  “You know, I think I’m going to have watch my back with you, Lizzie Carter.”

  I raise a questioning eyebrow. “Oh? Why’s that?”

  “You’re getting too good at this sleuthing business, that’s why,” he says, stepping back and shoving his hands into the pocket of his jeans, a slightly worried expression on his face.

  “Is that a bad thing?” I check, tidying away more plates.

  “Yes—and no. It’s just that on the one hand, I like working on cases with you. On the other, though, I worry about your safety.”

  “So long as you’re keeping an eye on me, I’m going to be perfectly safe, aren’t I?”

  He nods. “Yes, absolutely, you’re right. Still, it would help reduce my stress levels and my blood pressure if you promise not to go running off to Yorkshire on your own and taking over investigations.”

  “Is that running off to Yorkshire specifically or running off to anywhere for an investigation?” I check cheekily. “Anyway, I wasn’t on my own,” I reason, sliding some cutlery into the sink to wash up later. “I had Petula with me.”

  Jack rolls his eyes and shakes his head. “Yeah, Petula is certainly one scary lady.”

  I laugh, and abandoning the rest of the clearing up, link an arm through Jack’s. “Let’s go and join the others.”

  He tugs gently at my arm, and I spin round to face him.

  “There is another thing I’m worried about.”

  “Oh?”

  “You becoming a better PI than me and pinching all my clients,” he replies. For a moment, I’m not sure if he’s joking or if he really thinks I’m good at this investigation lark.

  When we rejoin the others, Maggie raises her mug of coffee in the air to make a toast. “To my mum,” she says. “The best baker who ever lived!”

  We all lift our own mugs in salute to the Queen of Baking and chorus, “To Cherry!”

  Who will be the murder victim of Lizzie and Jack’s next crime-solving adventure?

  Find out what happens in another new Lizzie and Jack

  Celebrity Mystery, coming soon.

  ***

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  Or read on for an extract….

  CHAPTER ONE

  “You’re ready.”

  I struggle to catch my breath. Tucking a strand of sweaty strawberry blonde hair behind my ear I gasp, “You’re sure?”

  James, my agency trainer and mentor, nods and smiles. “Yep. I’m sure.”

  When I signed up for the chance to become a support officer for the Celebrity Crimes Investigation Agency (otherwise known as the CCIA) I knew my apprenticeship would be tough. I’ve fought to put aside the aching limbs, lack of sleep and mental demands of these past few months and keep my eyes firmly on the prize - my dream job.

  If I do manage to complete my apprenticeship, and still be alive at the end of all of this, then hopefully the agency will offer me a job as a support officer. Right now though, I’m wondering if James is right. Am I really ready for the next stage of my training? It doesn’t feel like it. Despite all the efforts to build up my fitness I’m still gasping and out of breath after facing the assault course from hell. I have to confess, I didn’t realise throwing myself into muddy ditches, climbing trees and being abandoned in t
he middle of nowhere with just a map, compass and bottle of water would be the type of assignments I’d be put through. I mean, I’m applying to be a support officer, not a special agent. But as James pointed out, if I get this job I will work alongside agents, and where they go in order to solve a case, then so do I.

  The steady beat of helicopter blades makes me shield my eyes and peer into the skies above the hundreds of acres of woodland, moor and hills which surround agency training camp.

  “That’s our lift,” James says, gesturing towards the helicopter now coming in to land in the field just across from us. “You’ve got ten minutes to pack your stuff and meet me back here. This will be your final challenge. Fail this one and you’ll be on your way home with no job.”

  Nerves and anxiety bubble up inside of me. This is it. My last chance to prove myself. My last training exercise. Whatever I am about to face will determine my life from this point on. “Only ten minutes? Where are we going anyway?” I shout above the sound of the sinister-looking black helicopter.

  “Yes, you’ve only got ten minutes, so you’d better get a move on,” James shouts back. “I’ll explain later where we’re going and why.”

  I sprint for my cell-like bedroom in the training block and throw clothes, toiletries and my How To Be A Support Officer course folder and notes into my suitcase. As I tug the case down the hallways, dashing back to meet James, my mind is whirling. What will my assignment be? Where will it be? What if I fail?

  James is waiting for me with his holdall slung over one shoulder. “OK, Amber. Let’s get this show on the road. Well, I suppose in this case I should say let’s get this case up in the air instead!” He laughs and nods towards the helicopter. “After you.”

  I step forward but stop as James tugs gently at my arm. “You can do this, Amber. Just remember everything you’ve learned these past few months.”

  “Everything?” I gulp. “That’s a lot of stuff to remember.”

  James winks then pushes me forward, placing a hand on top of my head to indicate I need to stay well below the blades of the helicopter which are now powering up, ready for take-off. Clambering into my seat I fasten my seatbelt. My stomach is in knots. I’ve never flown in a helicopter before and I’m feeling a tad nauseous as we lift off. The land drops away below us and we soar over the forests and hills, off to goodness knows where.

  “Hey,” a voice says to the right of me. “I’m Mitch.”

  Caught up in what’s going on, I hadn’t even registered the fact there are two other people sitting beside me. Some support officer I’ll make. I definitely need to get to grips with being more observant. I also need to remember absolutely everything I’ve had drilled into my mind during training as well. Not an easy task. If I fail this assignment everything I’ve gone through so far will be for nothing. Plus, I’ll never get to work with Charlie. I need to do this, and I need to do it right.

  Forcing down my anxiety I fix a smile on my face. “Hi, I’m Amber.”

  “Support officer trainee, right?” Mitch replies, looking me up and down, his gaze lingering a little too long in certain places and making me feel uncomfortable.

  I nod. “You?”

  “Recently qualified special agent status,” he says proudly. “This will be my first case taking the lead.”

  He’s well-spoken and has a British aristocratic air about him. His sandy hair is short and tidy but not in an army way, more in a this-haircut-was-done-in-a-trendy-London-salon-and-cost-more-than-you-earn-in-a-month kind of way.

  “This is Esme,” he says, leaning back in his seat to reveal a woman I’d guess to be in her mid-twenties.

  “Hi!” she waves and grins at me. “Don’t you just love flying like this? It’s awesome.”

  Actually, no, I don’t, but there’s no way I’m about to admit as much. Instead I nod enthusiastically. “Yes, it’s amazing. Are you an agent too?”

  She laughs. “I will be one day, but for now I’m a support officer trainee like you.”

  Esme’s deathly pale skin and jet black hair combined with numerous piercings on her ears, nose and mouth give her a don’t-mess-with-me look. I’m glad we’re both on the same side for this assignment. Fortunately, we aren’t competing for one job because the agency will take us both on - providing we meet this challenge and come up to the required standards.

  “So, where are we going?” I ask them. “Do either of you know what case we will be working on?”

  Mitch shrugs. “No idea. Apparently James is going to fill us in on the details when we arrive. From which point we’ll have just twenty-four hours to solve the case.”

  Only twenty-four hours? That can’t be right, can it? I turn to James for confirmation of this piece of news. He simply nods and a sneaky smile snakes across his stubble-strewn face. James has been a terrific trainer and mentor. He’s firm but fair, always encouraging, but he doesn’t stand for any wimping out. He’s also a good friend of Charlie’s.

  I sit back and focus on the horizon, forcing myself to think positive thoughts. I will not allow the rising tide of nausea and anxiety to take hold. I will not let negativity and doubt worm its way into my head. I think of Charlie instead. My Charlie. We’ve been dating for several months. He’s off working on yet another case at the moment. He’s a CCIA special agent and right about now he will probably be coming to the aid of some celebrity somewhere around the globe. He’s prohibited from telling me the details of what he’s investigating because it’s against agency rules. In addition, as all of the CCIA’s clients are famous, everyone has a big fat privacy clause written into their contract. Between his investigation caseload and my time at CCIA training camp we haven’t seen much of each other lately.

  The helicopter suddenly dips alarmingly and it looks as though we’re heading in to land at our destination. My stomach performs several somersaults and I’m glad I didn’t have time for any lunch. I feel hot and cold at the same time. What have I got myself into? What will my last test be? I gulp and remind myself to stay calm. I can do this. I can do this.

  Can’t I?

  CHAPTER TWO

  We’re landing on the helipad of a large country house which looks vaguely familiar. It’s built of Cumbrian stone and slate and looks very impressive. Where have I seen it before?

  “This is the Roseby Hotel,” James says, unclipping his seatbelt before we’ve even touched down.

  The Roseby. Of course. That’s why it looks familiar. I’ve seen it in loads of magazines and on the TV. It’s a five star hotel frequented by the rich and famous. Nestling in acres of private grounds, it sits part way up a hill in the Lake District, a few miles from the tourist town of Delamere.

  Wow. I never thought I’d get to stay at the Roseby.

  James opens the door, jumps out and beckons for the rest of us to follow. I fumble with my seatbelt to gain a few precious seconds so that by the time I do step out the helicopter has actually landed. I scurry over to James remembering to stay low down so as not to tangle with the helicopter blades. Seconds later we’re joined by Esme and Mitch.

  “This way,” James instructs, leading us along a path towards the hotel.

  The cool wind swirls around us and the fresh air thankfully calms my stomach, helping to clear my head after the flight. I glance around. The leaves on the trees are showing distinct flashes of yellow and orange as autumn gets into its stride. Far below us, at the edge of the hotel’s grounds, I can make out a stretch of water in the dusky afternoon light. A few yachts are moored in a small marina and islands stud the lake. I dread to think how much a suite at the Roseby costs per night. Are we actually getting to stay in a luxury hotel while we do our training?

  “In here?” I ask, as the path curves around some shrubs and a slate-tiled and decidedly grand entrance comes into view.

  “No,” James replies. “That’s for the guests. We’re using the staff entrance round the back.”

  Ah, yes, of course we are.

  Our little group traipses around the edg
e of the building before eventually taking the steps down to the door the hotel’s employee’s use.

  “OK, you have rooms in the staff quarters. Go down the corridor on the right and take the three rooms at the far end. Sort yourselves out then meet me back here in fifteen minutes,” James instructs.

  “You said we have a room each, so where are you staying?” Esme asks James.

  “I’ll be staying in the hotel,” he replies with a smirk. “Trainer perks.”

  “Typical,” Esme mutters as James disappears off in the opposite direction.

  I lead the way to our accommodation as Esme, clearly starting as she means to go on, teases Mitch. “So, if you’re a qualified special agent how come you’re stuck in the staff quarters with the lowly support-officers-to-be?” she asks him.

  “I suppose it’s because I’m still the new guy and have yet to prove myself,” he replies smoothly. “That won’t be the case for long though. This assignment is just a formality for me. Soon I’ll be a fully qualified agent, moving up the ranks, and then I’ll be the one in charge on proper missions not pretend ones like this.”

  Esme nudges me and when I glance over she rolls her eyes in Mitch’s direction.

  “Right, who wants what room?” I say as we reach the end of the corridor. The doors are open on the three rooms and they all look identical so I don’t think it matters who sleeps where, but it feels right to offer the others a choice.

  “I’ll take this one,” Mitch replies, strolling into the nearest room and dumping his holdall on the bed.

  Esme turns to me and shrugs. “I’m not fussed.”

  “I’ll take this one for me then,” I say, selecting the room right at the end of the corridor. Esme goes into the remaining room and flops dramatically onto the bed.

  I inspect my room but, in truth, there’s not much to inspect. The suites at the Roseby must cost an astronomical amount and I’m sure they’re furnished to the highest standards. I seem to recall from bits I’ve seen in magazines that there’s no such thing as a room here; they’re all suites, complete with their own lounges, luxury spa bathrooms and private balconies or verandas. Unsurprisingly, the staff bedrooms hold no such pretentions of grandeur. Before me is a single bed with a white duvet. The floor is beige carpet tiles. In the corner of the space is a large wardrobe. There’s a wooden chair next to the bed, and a door opens into the tiniest shower room I’ve ever seen. Everything is clean but basic. I wheel my suitcase towards the wardrobe but leave it unopened. There’s no time to unpack. I can hear Mitch and Esme chatting (or should that be bickering?) as they wait for me in the hallway. They seem to have a lot to say to each other.