WITCH CHOCOLATE FUDGE

by HANNA, H. Y.

  She sucked her stomach in and pulled and heaved again, managing to tug the dress up a few more inches—but now she was having trouble breathing and the dress had jammed again, bunching horribly around her hips. Caitlyn gasped for a breath, feeling light-headed, and looked down in despair. What was going on? Why was the dress so tight all of a sudden? She gave the dress another tug and heard the sound of fabric ripping.

  Oh no!

  Quickly, she peeled the dress off again and stepped out of the shimmering green folds. She held it up in front of her and stared at it in bewilderment. Then a dark suspicion entered her mind. Could it be…? No, that seemed too mean and small-minded. But now that the idea was in her head, it wouldn’t go away.

  Turning the dress inside out, she held it up to the light and examined the seams at the side. Her heart sank as she saw what she had suspected. Someone had gone through and re-stitched the seams, but instead of altering them so that it was looser around her hips, the dress had been taken in and was now smaller and tighter. No wonder she had struggled to get it on!

  Caitlyn felt a flash of anger. It was Angela! Angela must have done this on purpose. She had pretended to be nice and helpful with that offer to let the dress out—and instead, she had stitched it up so that Caitlyn could barely get into it! Even if she did manage to eventually squeeze into it, the dress would be so horribly tight that it would show every ugly lump and bulge.

  I’d been right to be suspicious of Angela Skinner’s sudden friendliness, Caitlyn thought bitterly. She might have known that there would be an ulterior motive. Angela had concocted a very elaborate plan to find a way to get back at her. How the other woman must have laughed to herself yesterday when she had lulled Caitlyn into a false sense of security! And how she must have been enjoying the thought of humiliating Caitlyn at the party now.

  Caitlyn sat down on the bed, clutching the dress and feeling a sense of panic. What was she going to do now? It was nearly two o’clock and there was no time to undo the seams and re-stitch them in time for the party—and anyway, she had no dress-making skills. She could go back to wearing Pomona’s dress, she supposed, although the thought made her heart sink. She had been so looking forward to wearing her new dress and feeling beautiful in it…

  A knock at her bedroom door interrupted her dark thoughts. “Caitlyn?” came Bertha’s voice. “We ought to go now. Are you ready, dear?”

  “Er… No… not quite…” said Caitlyn breathlessly, springing up from the bed and looking frantically around.

  “Caitlyn, is everything all right?” Bertha opened the door slightly and peeked in. Her expression changed to one of concern as she saw Caitlyn’s face. “What’s the matter?”

  Caitlyn had been too embarrassed to admit her predicament but now, seeing Bertha’s kind face and motherly manner, she suddenly wanted a shoulder to cry on.

  “It’s my dress… it’s too small and I can’t get into it!” she cried.

  Bertha came into the room, a vision of purple in a lilac-and-lavender kaftan, and said, frowning: “Didn’t you try it in the shop, dear?”

  “Yes, I did!” said Caitlyn. “It fit fine up top but it was just a bit tight here…” She indicated her hips, embarrassed. “I’m wider in my bottom half…”

  Bertha waved dismissively. “A womanly figure is nothing to be ashamed of.”

  “Yes, well, Angela said she would help me—she promised to alter the seams of the dress and let it out a bit, loosen it up… But I tried it just now and it looks like she’s actually stitched it tighter!”

  Bertha narrowed her eyes. “You mean, Angela did that on purpose?”

  Caitlyn shrugged. “I don’t know. I can’t prove it but… I wouldn’t be surprised. I thought it was a bit weird that she was so friendly to me yesterday, especially given how she snubbed me at the stone circle the other day. I think she’s still mad at me and this was an elaborate trick to put me in a difficult situation, maybe humiliate me too.”

  “Hmm…” Bertha picked up the dress and examined it, then she brightened and looked at Caitlyn. “I know! All you need is some control shapewear and then you should be fine.”

  “There’s no control shapewear that would make me fit into that dress,” protested Caitlyn. “It’s literally a whole size too small now.”

  “Ah, well, there is control shapewear… and control shapewear,” said Bertha with a knowing smile. She gave Caitlyn a wink. “Don’t worry, Cinderella—you shall go to the ball. Come downstairs with me and bring the dress with you. The shop is shut now so no one can see you.”

  Mystified, Caitlyn followed the older woman downstairs to the kitchen, clutching the dress to her chest and feeling self-conscious dressed only in her underwear. They found the Widow Mags waiting at the table and Bertha quickly explained Caitlyn’s predicament.

  “Hmm…” The Widow Mags walked around Caitlyn, surveying her body with a critical eye. “Yes… yes…” She raised both hands suddenly. “Stand still, girl, and don’t fidget.”

  Caitlyn gulped and held her breath. The Widow Mags waved one hand and, as Caitlyn watched in amazement, a wave of smooth, melted chocolate rose suddenly out of the big cauldron and glided slowly towards her, weaving through the air like a wide brown satin ribbon. It swirled around her, encircling her hips and thighs, and then moulded itself to her body. Caitlyn gasped as she felt the warm chocolate touch her skin. But it didn’t feel like chocolate—instead, it felt like a satin sheet, smoothing itself to her curves. And within minutes, she felt the silky chocolate cool and harden, forming a flexible dark sheath which encased her waist, tummy, hips, and thighs. It flattened her stomach, smoothed her thighs, and tightened her hips and bottom, giving her a sleek hourglass figure. Caitlyn laughed in disbelief. It was like chocolate spandex!

  Then the Widow Mags flicked her other hand and the green dress floated through the air, slipped over Caitlyn’s head, and settled itself gracefully around her body, fitting her perfectly.

  “That’s… that’s amazing!” Caitlyn spluttered. She laughed. “Pomona is going to die when she hears this—imagine using chocolate to make you look thinner!” Impulsively, she reached over and kissed the Widow Mags on the cheek. “Thank you!”

  “All right, all right… don’t fuss,” said the Widow Mags gruffly, although her eyes were bright with pleasure. Then she became serious and wagged a finger at Caitlyn. “There is one condition you need to remember…”

  “Don’t tell me, it turns into a pumpkin on the stroke of afternoon tea?” said Caitlyn with a laugh, too excited to care.

  “No,” said the Widow Mags. “However, the chocolate sheath can melt if you’re not careful. Not from your body heat—it is enchanted so that it won’t melt on contact with your skin—but it is attuned to your emotional temperature.”

  “My emotional temperature?” said Caitlyn, puzzled.

  “Yes. If you become agitated for any reason, if your heart beats faster and your pulse races—whether from excitement, fear, or anger—the chocolate will begin to melt.”

  “So hang on to your temper!” said Bertha with a chuckle. “Not the easiest thing for a redhead.”

  Caitlyn smoothed the dress down over her flat stomach and smiled. “Don’t worry, I’m going to be the most zen person at the party!”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Caitlyn arrived at the Garden Party really feeling a bit like Cinderella. As she joined the crowd milling around the landscaped front gardens of Huntingdon Manor, she saw several people eyeing her admiringly and her confidence soared. She accepted a glass of Pimms—that quintessential English summer cocktail—from a waiter walking past with a silver tray, and then set out to mingle.

  Whatever James’s worries might have been, it looked like everything had come together for the party wonderfully. Pretty, pastel-coloured streamers and bunting were draped everywhere, lending an elegant, festive feel to the occasion. Wicker chairs and colourful cushions had been scattered about the garden, and picnic blankets were spread beneath several trees. A s
tring quartet played softly in one shady corner and, across the lawn from it, several men in polo shirts and women in floaty floral dresses played croquet on the perfectly manicured grass.

  A long row of trestle tables had been set up in the centre of the front gardens, covered with a pristine white cloth and displaying an array of vintage teapots and porcelain china teacups. These were accompanied by a smorgasbord of English picnic foods: loaves of freshly-baked bread, cold smoked meats, potato salad, sausage rolls, dainty finger sandwiches, Scotch eggs, creamy cheeses, classic pork pie, and Cornish pasties. And if that wasn’t enough, there was dessert to follow in the shape of scones with home-made jam and clotted cream, traditional fruitcake, juicy fresh strawberries and—last but not least—chocolate treats from Bewitched by Chocolate.

  In the centre of the table, taking pride of place, was the Widow Mags’s magnificent chocolate fudge cake, surrounded by piles of her home-made fudge, decadent chocolate truffles, gourmet chocolate bars, and other cocoa sweets. Caitlyn couldn’t help noticing, though, that no one was helping themselves to any of the chocolate. People were making a wide detour around that section of the table and eyeing all the chocolates warily. A few looked more wistful than fearful but even they didn’t seem to have the courage to go up and try a piece. The beautifully crafted chocolates, fudge, cake, and other treats sat forlornly, untouched, melting slightly in the sun.

  Caitlyn glanced across the lawn at the Widow Mags, who was standing by herself, trying to look unbothered, and felt her heart go out to the old witch. She knew that it must hurt the Widow Mags to see all her hard work and careful preparation being snubbed by the villagers. A middle-aged woman with stiff permed hair walked past the old witch and smiled smugly, and Caitlyn felt a surge of anger at Winifred Harris. It seemed that the malicious woman had done her job and convinced everyone to cold-shoulder the Widow Mags and her chocolates.

  Caitlyn was about to walk over to offer her support when a tall, thin woman, with an upturned nose and a bit too much make-up, sauntered past. Their eyes met and Angela Skinner’s mouth dropped open as she surveyed Caitlyn’s appearance.

  “Hi, Angela,” Caitlyn said with a smile.

  “Caitlyn!” The other woman’s eyes bulged. “You… you look fabulous…” she said, sounding like the words were choking her.

  “Thank you,” Caitlyn’s smile grew wider. “You deserve the credit for that—if you hadn’t picked out this beautiful dress for me—”

  “And does it… er… fit okay?” asked Angela, her eyes hard and suspicious.

  “Oh yes,” said Caitlyn, smoothing her hands down over her hips. “It fits perfectly. Almost as if it was made for me—it’s really done wonders for my figure.”

  Angela gave her a sickly smile, then turned and stalked away. Caitlyn swallowed a laugh. It was petty and childish, she knew, to be gloating over Angela’s discomfiture, but there was something so nice about seeing the other woman thwarted.

  She turned back to where the Widow Mags had been standing but the old witch was no longer there. Caitlyn frowned, scanning the crowds, but she couldn’t see the old woman anywhere. She looked for Pomona too and finally saw her cousin in the distance, standing with a group of fashionably dressed young guests who looked like London professionals. They were talking and laughing uproariously together, and looked like they were having a great time.

  Caitlyn was just starting to make her way across the lawn towards them when she heard her name being called by a familiar deep voice.

  “Caitlyn.”

  She turned to see James Fitzroy approaching her, looking ridiculously handsome and the epitome of the English gentleman in a tailored linen jacket paired with a crisp white shirt, the top buttons undone to reveal the bronzed column of his neck and chest.

  James smiled at her, his grey eyes admiring. “You look beautiful.”

  Caitlyn flushed. “Th-thanks, you look pretty stunning yourself… Oh! I mean… I’m not—”

  He laughed easily. “No, please, don’t take it back. My ego would be crushed.”

  “The… um… the party is great,” she said hurriedly. “The place looks fantastic and everyone seems to be really enjoying themselves.”

  “Yes, I’m glad now that I didn’t cancel the event. It’s all down to the hard work, of course, of my staff. I thought—”

  “Lord Fitzroy.”

  They turned to see Inspector Walsh standing next to them. “I’m sorry to interrupt, sir, but it is a matter of some urgency.”

  “Yes, Inspector?” James looked at him inquiringly.

  “As you know, we have been checking the bank accounts of the various suspects. We noticed that there have been several large sums of money leaving Matt O’Brien’s account at regular intervals in the past few months. Always cash withdrawals. They may be nothing but they do look suspicious. We’d like to question Mr O’Brien again. My men have been looking for him this morning but we haven’t been able to locate him. Do you know where he might be?”

  “Now that you mention it, I haven’t seen him all morning either, which is a bit odd,” said James with a frown. “I would have thought that he would be here with the other gardeners, helping out…” Then he brightened. “He might have gone into Cheltenham last night and not returned yet. I’ve heard from Old Palmer that Matt likes his drink and can sometimes have a ‘big night out’. He’s complained about Matt turning up late for work with a hangover the next day.”

  Inspector Walsh turned to Caitlyn. “And you, Miss Le Fey? Do you have any ideas where he might be? I understand that your cousin has become very… ahem… friendly with the Irishman.”

  Caitlyn shifted uncomfortably. “I have no idea,” she said honestly. “And I haven’t spoken to Pomie yet today so I don’t know about her.”

  “It is imperative that we speak to Mr O’Brien… and to make sure that he has not left the area.”

  James looked at him in surprise. “Are you suggesting that Matt might have done a bunk?”

  The inspector inclined his head. “It would not be the first time a suspect has escaped before his guilt could be proven.”

  “But… but I just don’t understand why Matt would want to kill my housekeeper,” said James. “I mean, he doesn’t have any motive!”

  Caitlyn bit her lip, wondering what to do. She glanced across the lawn at Pomona in the distance and remembered her promise to her cousin—but on the other hand, if Matt really was the murderer and she didn’t speak up, she would never be able to live with that on her conscience.

  “Actually…” She cleared her throat and the two men looked at her questioningly. “Matt could have a motive—a very strong motive for killing Mrs Brixton…” Quickly, she told them about discovering the hidden cannabis plants in the greenhouse.

  “Growing cannabis in my greenhouse?” said James incredulously.

  Caitlyn nodded. “I think Mrs Brixton must have found out about it and used it to blackmail Matt.”

  “And when were you planning to inform us of this interesting piece of information, Miss Le Fey?” asked the inspector icily.

  She flushed. “I… I was going to come and tell you, Inspector. I just got a bit… um… side-tracked. And anyway, I didn’t think it would matter much… one more day—”

  “Didn’t think it would matter much?” the inspector’s voice turned furious. “It could mean the difference between the murderer being convicted or getting away! Withholding information that is pertinent to a murder investigation is a serious offence, young lady. I hope for your sake that your reticence hasn’t cost us an arrest!”

  Turning, he gave terse commands to two of his men, instructing them to search the grounds for Matt, then he stalked off in the direction of the Manor. Caitlyn swallowed and looked down, not wanting to meet James’s eyes. There was an uncomfortable silence.

  Finally, James cleared his throat and said with a sympathetic smile, “Sometimes it can be hard to do the right thing. It was Pomona, wasn’t it? She asked you not to tell the police a
bout Matt.”

  Caitlyn nodded. “She said that the police were prejudiced against Matt because of his past criminal record and that they’d jump on him and use him as a scapegoat for the murder.” She sighed. “But it was my fault too. I shouldn’t have let her talk me into it…”

  “You could have come and told me, Caitlyn,” said James softly. “You should have trusted me.”

  “I…” Caitlyn stared up into his warm grey eyes and felt her heart flutter. Then she remembered her chocolate spandex. Mustn’t get hot and bothered, mustn’t get hot and bothered, she told herself frantically.

  She was almost relieved when a movement near them distracted James’s attention. He glanced over at the long table, then his brows drew together.

  “Nobody seems to be eating the chocolates,” he said with a frown.

  Caitlyn followed his gaze. “Yes,” she said with a sigh. “People are scared of the Widow Mags and her creations… and there are… um… some individuals who have been deliberately encouraging that fear and prejudice.”

  As they watched, a lone figure finally approached the table and went up to the chocolates. It was Molly. The little girl was wearing a pretty white dress and colourful ribbons on her pigtails. She reached up eagerly towards a chocolate lollipop, but just as her chubby fingers closed around the lollipop stick, a woman rushed up and slapped it out of her hands.

  “I told you never to touch those chocolates, Molly!” cried the young woman. “They are from that witch’s shop!”

  “But Mummy, she’s a good witch—” the little girl started to protest before her mother cut her off.

  “They’re evil and bewitched! You’re not to eat any of those chocolates, do you hear me?” She grabbed the little girl’s hand and hauled her away, with Molly still protesting.

  “This is ridiculous,” said James, his lips tightening.

  He strode over to the table and Caitlyn hurried after him. She felt everyone’s eyes on them—even the string quartet seemed to pause in their playing to watch. James reached out and picked up a large piece of chocolate fudge from the top of the pile nearest to him. As the entire village watched, he raised it to his mouth and bit into the square of rich, creamy chocolate confectionery.