WITCH CHOCOLATE FUDGE

by HANNA, H. Y.

  “Absolutely delicious,” he said loudly, smacking his lips with relish.

  Caitlyn was touched by his gesture. And she could see that already, several of the villagers were drifting closer, their curiosity and desire for the chocolate overcoming their wariness.

  “D’you feel alright, Lord Fitzroy?” one of them asked.

  “Of course! Why wouldn’t I?” asked James. He picked up a chocolate truffle from the table and popped it into his mouth, closing his eyes in ecstasy. “Mmm…. These are incredible.”

  More and more people were drifting towards the table now and several were beginning to reach hesitantly towards the chocolates. One man looked furtively around, then picked up a piece of chocolate fudge and bit into one corner. His expression was almost comical as he tasted it. His eyes bulged, then softened and went dreamy, and a wide smile spread across his face. He crammed the rest of the piece into his mouth and reached eagerly for another. Next to him, a woman picked up one of the gourmet chocolate bars—a solid oblong of creamy milk chocolate with roasted hazelnuts embedded in the surface, which Caitlyn recognised as one she had helped make. The woman nibbled the edge of the bar, then gasped “Oh! Ohhh!” and broke into a wide grin. She scoffed the rest of the bar in two seconds and began eyeing the chocolate truffles.

  James picked up another piece of chocolate fudge and turned to Caitlyn with a smile. “You’re not having any.”

  Caitlyn hesitated, then reached out and took the fudge from him. She was very aware of their fingers brushing and tried to cover it up by quickly taking a bite. For a moment she forgot James, the party, everything, as the intense, bittersweet flavours filled her mouth and she savoured the dense, creamy texture of the rich, chocolatey fudge.

  “Oops—you’ve got some crumbs on your…” James chuckled and pointed discreetly at her mouth.

  “Oh…” Caitlyn flushed and hurriedly brushed at her lips.

  “No, the other side.” James made a movement, then stopped himself. “A bit lower…”

  Caitlyn tried unsuccessfully to find the crumbs.

  “If… if you’ll allow me…” James cleared his throat, then reached out and gently brushed his thumb at the corner of her lips.

  Caitlyn froze, her breath catching in her throat. He seemed suddenly very close, his face bent towards hers, his eyes intent on her lips. She felt as if every sense was on fire—she could smell the clean, male scent of him; she was aware of the warmth emanating from his body; she could feel the rough pad of his thumb against the soft skin of her lips—and her heart pounded like a mad thing.

  Then she became aware of something else—a warm, sticky, unpleasant feeling. It took her a moment to realise that it was around her hips and thighs, and then she felt her dress suddenly tighten and strain across her belly. She gasped in horror as she realised what was happening.

  Her chocolate spandex was melting!

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Caitlyn jerked back from James, her mind frantically remembering the Widow Mags’s warning, and felt the chocolate body sheath melt even more. Her agitation was only making it worse, and with every moment that passed, she could feel her dress getting tighter and tighter, as the control shapewear properties of the magical chocolate mould began disappearing.

  No, no, no! she thought in a panic, wrapping her arms around her middle.

  “Caitlyn? Is something the matter?” James looked puzzled.

  “Um… no… sorry, I… I’ve got to go!” she mumbled, shuffling away.

  She pushed through the crowd, looking desperately around. She needed to find the Widow Mags and ask her to fix the chocolate mould. But she couldn’t see the old witch anywhere. And the more she stumbled around, frantically searching, the worse things got. She could feel the melting chocolate start to ooze down her thighs now.

  Abandoning the search for the Widow Mags, Caitlyn shuffled towards the Manor. If she could just find somewhere private where she could calm herself down and maybe adjust her clothing, she might still be able to salvage things… She spied the side door that she had entered the other day with the kitten and quickly hurried inside. The darkened hallway was blessedly cool and Caitlyn felt her pulse slow slightly. She stepped through the first door she saw and found herself back in the Steward’s Office, where she had been trapped under the desk by an affectionate Bran.

  Her eyes lit up as she saw the antique lacquered Chinese screen in the far corner. Quickly, she crossed the room and ducked behind the screen. She hitched her dress up around the waist and looked down to inspect the damage. Okay, okay, it isn’t too bad, she told herself. The chocolate sheath had lost some of its shape but it was already cooling and hardening again. It was still malleable, though, so if she just pulled it back up and pressed it back into place, it would probably re-mould to the contours of her body.

  She sucked her stomach in and tugged the chocolate sheath upwards, smoothing her hands over it and pressing it against her hips and thighs. But it remained loose and floppy. Caitlyn felt a flutter of panic again. This had to work!

  Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes and concentrated hard, remembering what the Widow Mags had told her: “…magic is simply the ability to cause change by force of will…”

  She tried again, pressing her hands down on the chocolate, willing it to mould to her body. Then… with a thrill, she felt it: the chocolate changed texture, becoming satiny and cool again. It tightened and firmed around her, flattening her stomach, slimming her hips and thighs.

  Then she heard the door to the room open and someone step in. Caitlyn froze. The last thing she needed was for one of the guests to find her here, with her dress hitched up around her midriff and her hips and thighs encased in weird chocolate underwear! What if the story got back to James?

  She could feel her heart start to thud in her chest again and had to force herself to remain calm. There was no reason for anyone to realise that she was here behind the screen, she reminded herself. There was no gap along the bottom or between the panels and, as long as she made no noise, no one would know. Hopefully whoever it was would get what they wanted and leave quickly.

  Then she realised that the person who just entered the room didn’t sound calm either. She could hear their quick, hurried breathing and, although she couldn’t see, she sensed a furtiveness in their presence. They shut the door quietly, then moved softly across the room. Caitlyn heard the jingle of keys, then a click, followed by a hoarse creaking. And then the rustle of papers.

  Her curiosity getting the better of her, Caitlyn inched to the edge of the screen and peered cautiously around it. She blinked in surprise to see Winifred Harris hunched over the antique desk on the other side of the room, which now had its slanted top open. Thankfully, the woman was turned away from her—she was bending over the open compartment of the desk and muttering to herself as she rifled through the pages of an old leather-bound ledger.

  There was a pause, then Caitlyn heard the sound of paper ripping, followed by more page turning, and then the ripping again. This was repeated several times. Then Mrs Harris stuffed several torn pages into her handbag, slammed the ledger shut, and slid it back into the compartment. She lowered the slanted hinged top into place and pulled a bunch of keys out of her handbag to lock it.

  Caitlyn stifled a gasp, her eyes riveted on the keys. She had seen a bunch of keys exactly like that recently: a big, old-fashioned ring with lots of keys hanging from it, just like the ones Victorian housekeepers used to carry. She had seen it being carried by Mrs Brixton and then lying on the coffee table when she had dropped off her wet clothes in the housekeeper’s sitting room. It was the same bunch of keys that had been missing when she had returned with the police to the scene of murder. She tried to remember if Inspector Walsh had mentioned finding the keys—no, there had been no mention of them at all since that first day. It was almost as if it had been forgotten in all the excitement about the theft of the bloodstone ring.

  But if that was the same ring of keys, what was Mrs
Harris doing with it?

  The woman turned from the desk and Caitlyn hastily jerked out of sight behind the screen. She held her breath and listened as footsteps crossed the room again. There was the sound of the door opening and closing—and then silence descended in the room once more.

  Caitlyn let out her breath and peeked out from behind the screen again, then relaxed. Hastily, she smoothed her dress back down over her body and stepped out into the empty room. She approached the antique writing desk and ran a hand along its faded surface. What had Winifred Harris been doing? Caitlyn tried to raise the lid but found it securely locked. She bent and examined the lock. It was an old-fashioned warded lock with the traditional keyhole made to fit those big brass “skeleton” keys.

  Then, before she had time to react, she heard a new step in the hallway outside. The next moment, the door swung open and Pomona stepped into the room, looking fabulous in a white sundress with a halter-neck top that showed off her golden tan.

  “You’re here! I’ve been looking everywhere for you. I was just gonna ask James to put out an announcement when someone told me they saw you coming in this side door—” She broke off as she registered Caitlyn’s expression. “What?”

  “Nothing.” Caitlyn breathed a sigh of relief. “I thought you were Mrs Harris coming back.”

  “Who’s Mrs Harris…? Oh, not that old busybody on the village committee who goes around telling everyone what to do?” Pomona made a face.

  “She might be something else as well…” Caitlyn said darkly.

  “What d’you mean?”

  “She was in here just now and she had a bunch of keys with her—the same bunch of keys that used to belong to Mrs Brixton, and which went missing after the murder.”

  Pomona’s eyes widened. “You mean…”

  “I don’t know,” said Caitlyn. “I know it sounds crazy but… maybe… maybe Winifred Harris is the murderer? Otherwise, why would she have the keys?”

  “But… are you saying that she murdered the housekeeper just to get her hands on some keys?” Pomona looked sceptical. “Couldn’t she have just, like, stolen them, made copies, and then put them back?”

  Caitlyn shrugged. “Maybe the murder happened for other reasons. But it’s definitely suspicious that she’s got the keys.”

  “What was she doing with them?”

  “She used them to open that,” said Caitlyn, pointing to the antique writing desk. “She took out a big leather-bound book—I think it was an accounts ledger because I remember James saying the other day that Mrs Brixton kept a lot of the household accounting in that desk—and then she ripped out some pages from it.”

  “Really?” Pomona’s eyes were bright with curiosity now. She approached the desk and bent down to examine the lock, like Caitlyn had done earlier. “Hmm…”

  “I suppose we could go and ask James for the key,” said Caitlyn hesitantly. “I’m sure he must have duplicate copies of everything. But I wish we could open it and check first. I mean, I don’t really know how to explain it to him… Wouldn’t it sound like I’m accusing Mrs Harris? And what if she was in here for a legitimate reason? Ugh, that would be so embarrassing…” She joined Pomona by the desk and crouched down in front of the keyhole again, then sighed impatiently. “I wish I knew a spell to unlock it!”

  Pomona grinned suddenly and elbowed Caitlyn out of the way. “Maybe we don’t need a spell.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Her cousin didn’t answer. Instead, Pomona reached up and pulled something out of her hair. It was a large satin flower with a giant bobby pin attached. She removed the pin, straightened it, then carefully applied pressure at one end to bend it into the shape of a hook, then again at the other end so that it formed a short L-shaped handle. Then she crouched down in front of the keyhole and slowly inserted the pin into the hole, jiggling it gently while also turning it at the same time.

  A minute later, there came a faint click and Pomona smiled triumphantly as she lifted the lid on the desk.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  “That’s amazing!” said Caitlyn. “How did you learn to do that?”

  Pomona shrugged. “You pick up these things in your teens.”

  “I never learned to do stuff like that.”

  Her cousin grinned. “I told you—you didn’t go to the right parties.”

  Both girls looked into the compartment beneath the slant-topped lid of the desk. There were several old leather-bound volumes. Caitlyn picked up the one at the top of the pile and flipped through it. They could immediately see that several pages had been ripped out.

  “I saw Mrs Harris removing some of these pages,” said Caitlyn. “I wonder why she did that?”

  Pomona tilted her head, trying to read the handwritten entries on the remaining pages. “It looks like a bunch of expenses…” She followed a couple of lines with her finger. “They look like things for a party.”

  “Yeah, I think this is a record of all the expenses from the Garden Party each year, as well as a few other events that the Manor organises with the village committee. This must be a separate account dedicated to funding those expenses,” said Caitlyn. “Look, these last pages are for this year’s party…” She trailed off and frowned. “It looks like Winifred Harris ripped some pages out of each year’s party expenses.”

  “What did she do with them?”

  “She stuffed them in her handbag and took them with her.”

  “What for?”

  Caitlyn shook her head helplessly. “I don’t know. The only thing I can think of is… she wanted to remove the record of those expenses… but why?”

  “I know! ’Cos they were faked,” said Pomona suddenly. “I’ll bet you anything that’s why Mrs Harris snuck in here: to remove evidence of her embezzling money from the Manor account. And—hey! If Mrs Brixton was in charge of these accounts, then she must have been in on it too!”

  “Yes, you could be right,” Caitlyn said excitedly. “And that might explain something else: the motive for the murder! We know Mrs Brixton was really into blackmailing people—she’d already tried it with Amelia and with Matt O’Brien too—so maybe she saw this as a golden opportunity to blackmail Mrs Harris as well.”

  “Oh yeah, she probably said she would tell James and everyone else in the village about the fake expenses—unless Mrs Harris paid up.” Pomona wrinkled her nose. “And that Harris woman is such a pompous, self-righteous snob—she’d kill anyone who tried to mess with her reputation. Like, literally.”

  Caitlyn thought about it for a second. “I’m not sure that she actually planned it, you know. I think… I wonder if… if maybe the whole thing was an accident.”

  “An accident?”

  “Yes. I mean, I’m sure you’re right: Mrs Brixton did try to blackmail Mrs Harris exactly like you said… but maybe… maybe the two of them got into a fight that day. Mrs Harris was already in a bad mood because she’d just been trying to remove the Widow Mags’s chocolates from the Garden Party menu and James refused. I was there when she came to see him. She must have already been seething. And then… she must have gone to see Mrs Brixton after that. I just thought she went home when she stormed out, but actually she went to search for the housekeeper. In fact…” Caitlyn frowned in an effort to remember. “When I went back to the old servants’ quarters to collect my clothes, I remember hearing raised voices in Mrs Brixton’s sitting room. The door was closed so I didn’t see who it was, but it sounded like they were having an argument.”

  “Wait… are you saying that Harris killed the housekeeper by mistake?”

  Caitlyn nodded. “She’s got a terrible temper. You should have seen her last night at the chocolate shop—she didn’t like something the Widow Mags said so she grabbed a jar of chocolate sauce nearby and looked like she wanted to smash it on someone’s skull!”

  “Jeez…” said Pomona, shaking her head. “Sounds like she’s got anger management issues.”

  “That’s what I thought too. And you know, I thin
k that’s what happened with Mrs Brixton! They were arguing, Mrs Harris lost her temper, grabbed the nearest thing—which happened to be that big china jug—and hit the housekeeper on the head with it. And then when she realised that Mrs Brixton was dead… maybe she just panicked and ran away.”

  “She didn’t panic that much if she remembered to take the keys,” said Pomona. “That means that she was cool enough to think about damage control.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, if she got rid of the record of those fake expenses, then she’d be removing all evidence of her embezzling activities, right? And with Mrs Brixton dead, no one else would know. The whole thing would be buried.”

  Caitlyn snapped her fingers. “You know what? You’re right. And I think that’s what she was trying to do yesterday! She came in here when James and I were in the office and she looked taken aback to find us. At the time, I thought she was just snooping around—you know, for village gossip—but now I think she was probably trying to get to the ledger. She must have been really frustrated to find us here, which meant she had to abandon her plan—”

  “But she decided to try again today when there would be a lot more people around, and it’d be easier to sneak in here unnoticed!” Pomona finished for her.

  Caitlyn nodded. She picked up the ledger and shut the desk again. “Come on—we’ve got to tell James and the police!”

  Hugging the ledger to her chest, Caitlyn left the room with Pomona at her heels. But they had barely stepped out of the office when they heard a terrified scream. They looked at each other in surprise, then rushed outside, hurrying across the gravel driveway that circled the front of the Manor and into the formal gardens beyond. But they stopped short as they reached the front lawns and stared in horror at the scene in front of them.