“My bad! Sol was being suspiciously quiet, so I couldn’t tell. I just wanted to check you were okay after all that nastiness just now. Everything all hunky dory?”
Christelle couldn’t help but wonder if Daegal was covering his own back just a little, checking that she wasn’t going to leave or cry or denounce everyone as evil creatures whom she didn’t want to be around any longer. Christelle intended to do none of those things. She just wanted to take a five minute break before the results were announced. It was at this point in the last show that a dead body had been found, and she had realized just how on edge she was feeling.
Maybe everyone was the same. Maybe that’s why the barbs were out.
“Everything’s good, thank you,” she said.
That weird nausea was stealing over her again, and her headache intensified when she looked into Daegal’s eyes. He flinched too and rubbed his forehead.
“Well, just as long as all that arguing didn’t put you off your stride. I noticed a few little pauses, but you seemed to pick it up again, so I didn’t cut. We can edit out the silences.”
Daegal was right. Christelle knew she was meant to be doing a whole lot more talking than she was, but sometimes the words just wouldn’t come and when that happened her brain seemed to go to sleep. She sighed.
“I’ll try to be a little brighter next time I’m on.”
“Perfect – remember, you’re the face of the show. You’re what people are going to envision of when they think of The Kitchen Witch Wars. Don’t let the judges overshadow you.”
“I won’t,” said Christelle.
She meant it too. She just wasn’t sure it was possible with three big personalities like theirs.
Christelle could only just imagine the slightly lumpy but comfortable sofa that was waiting for her in her dressing room. In her mind’s eye, the scene was complete, she was sure, with Mrs. Mogridge and her big smile and maybe even a comforting hug. Spurred on by this image, Christelle all but ran down the corridor and back to her room.
She opened the door hopefully, but and the sight that met her eyes was pure chaos. The contents of the place were strewn about everywhere, all her books and herbs and even the cushions from the couch were in pieces on the floor. There was not a thing left untouched apart from the drawer in which Granny Meadow’s Book of Shadows rested. That remained closed. Still safe. Or at least, as far as Christelle could tell. In a panic, she ran over to the drawer and opened it. The rush of relief that washed over her was immense; the book was still there, still in one piece. Christelle picked it up and thumbed through it. Yes, it all looked good. She carefully placed it back where it belonged and shut the drawer, muttering her incantation to keep it closed. Clearly that book was what someone had been looking for when they destroyed the rest of the room.
Luckily, they hadn’t been able to get to it.
A moan from behind the couch caused Christelle to cry out in surprise. What was that?
Picking up a lamp from the floor to use as a weapon, Christelle, holding her breath in fear, tiptoed over toward the source of the sound. She peered reluctantly behind the couch, ready to bring the lamp down heavily on the would-be thief’s head. Truthfully, she very much hoped she wouldn’t have to. But there, instead of a thief, was lovely old Mrs. Mogridge. She was bleeding from a nasty gash on her head, but she was alive; Christelle could see her breathing and every now and then she made a little moan.
“Help!” cried Christelle. “I need some help!”
Christelle’s voice sounded far too quiet, but she was shouting as loudly as she could. She didn’t want to leave Mrs. Mogridge on her own either. What if she woke up and there was no one here to take care of her? The idea made Christelle feel incredibly sad.
She didn’t know what to do.
Sol did.
Sol flapped his wings and disappeared out into the corridor; Christelle could hear his voice, but not what he was saying. She really hoped that he was looking for help.
When Christelle heard a thundering of footsteps coming down the hall, she knew that’s exactly what had happened. Daegal was at the head of the throng that appeared at the door, and Martine was with him. There were various other crew members, as well as Leif and Dermott. Christelle had never been so glad to see any of them before; she was so grateful that she started to cry.
“What happened?” asked Daegal. “Sol came up shouting something about a murder. What did he mean?”
“Oh, Sol!” cried Christelle, “No, not murder, but it’s still terrible. Mrs. Mogridge is hurt, here, behind the couch. Look at this place, someone tried to steal something from me, and Mrs. Mogridge must have caught them. They hit her on the head.”
Finally, the group of people in the doorway looked around the room and noticed the mess. Leif flew forward and dashed around, his head bobbing here and there.
“Why would someone do this?”
“Let’s not think about that right now, let’s get Mrs. Mogridge onto the couch and get a medic in here. Then we can deal with the break in,” said Daegal. “Dermott - wait, no, not you, no offence but you’re a ghost. And Leif’s tiny. Where’s Wade? I need someone who can help me lift Mrs. Mogridge up onto the couch.”
No one knew where Wade was, and Dermott wasn’t offended in the least. Leif looked a little put out.
“I’m stronger than I look,” he said defiantly. He flew across to Mrs. Mogridge and hefted her up all on his own, gently laying her down on the couch. She looked a lot more comfortable, like she was sleeping rather than dazed by the aftermath of an attack. If you ignored the blood that was oozing out of the gash on her head, that is.
“Any healers here?” asked Daegal was who still reeling a little from Leif’s show of strength. “Anyone who can-?”
“I’m here.”
Alice bustled into the room, and everyone who was hanging around the doorway parted to let her through. Christelle, the only one in the room now since Leif had backed away to the doorway with everyone else, looked up through her tears. Alice was a healer? Was that part of being a hearth witch or something else? Christelle was completely confused, and she didn’t even have Mrs. Mogridge to talk to.
“Did you want me to help?”
Christelle tried to speak but the fear and shock overwhelmed her. She ended up only nodding.
Alice gritted her teeth and knelt next to Mrs. Mogridge. She placed a hand on the old woman’s forehead and closed her eyes. There was a look of concentration on her face like Christelle had never seen, and a glow starting to emanate around her. Everyone around the door started to back even further away.
“I’m just going to find Wade, see if he can sort this mess out for you,” Daegal yelled, before disappearing down the corridor.
Alice’s glow was intensifying, getting hot, and even Christelle had to move away despite not wanting to leave her friend’s side. Suddenly, with a cry of effort, Alice fell backward, and the glow disappeared - from Alice. Now Mrs. Mogridge was glowing, although not as brightly as Alice had done.
With a puff of smoke, the glow was entirely gone. Mrs. Mogridge opened her eyes and rubbed her head where the gash had been. Only now, of course, it was gone. There was still blood in her hair, but the wound vanished.
“Mrs. Mogridge? Are you all right? What happened?” asked Christelle.
She sat beside her friend and took her hand.
Mrs. Mogridge squeezed Christelle’s hand in return.
“Of course, I am, my dear,” she said. “But tell me, because I can’t seem to remember... who are you?”
BEFORE CHRISTELLE COULD answer Mrs. Mogridge’s strange question, a cry came down the corridor.
“He’s dead! Get the medic! No, too late, get the police! No, wait, get Christelle!”
It was Daegal shouting out, and the panic and upset in his voice was clear for all to hear.
Christelle heard her name and a sinking feeling grew in the pit of her stomach. Not again. The last time someone had been murdered in this studio Christe
lle had successfully unmasked the killer. It had been a terrible case of mistaken identity and it had been traumatic for everyone, to say the least. The fact that they were all back and continuing with the show as if nothing had happened was still something Christelle was trying to deal with. And now another murder? No, she wouldn’t help. She couldn’t. They’d have to call the police and that was that.
She sat still with Mrs. Mogridge’s hand in hers, with many strange questions ringing in her ears. She just wouldn’t go, even though she could hear Daegal’s voice calling her, his tone desperate. She would stay exactly where she was, immovable as a mountain. Nothing could make her get off this couch and leave her friend who must have had a big bump on the head to cause amnesia like this.
Christelle was curious though. Very curious. She really wanted to know what was happening down the corridor. She didn’t want to be involved, but she wanted more information. She looked down at Mrs. Mogridge who was smiling at Sol, tickling his chin as he tried to nip her fingers.
The old woman would probably be all right on her own... she was just confused. Just needed a little time to feel like herself again. So, if Christelle herself just popped her head out of the room to find out who was dead... that wouldn’t hurt, would it? She wasn’t going to cause any fuss, and she wouldn’t agree to solving any murders, but at least she would be up to speed.
Or maybe...
Just then, Alice appeared in the doorway.
“Err, Christelle, Daegal is really desperate for you to go to him. It’s... well, it’s not good, let’s put it that way. He needs your help.”
Christelle felt a momentary lift. She could help, couldn’t she? Just because the police would be involved too – because they had to be called, there was no doubt about that – it didn’t mean she couldn’t try her hand at a little investigating, did it?
“Well, if he really needs me...” she said, trying not to sound too pleased about it all. “I guess...”
Her heart was beating so fast she thought Alice might be able to hear it. After all, she was clearly some kind of gifted healer. Which reminded Christelle about her friend’s predicament.
“You wouldn’t mind sitting with Mrs. Mogridge, would you?” she asked. “While I...”
She pointed vaguely down the corridor.
Alice looked horrified by the idea. Before she could speak, Christelle continued.
“Just keep her occupied until I get back. She seems to have lost her memory, so-”
“Oh!” said Alice, brightening. “It’s a healing thing? Okay, I’ll see what I can do. Sorry I ran off before, it’s just I don’t like others knowing what I can do. That’s why I tell them I’m a hearth witch. Hearth witches are safe, uninteresting. Healers... we’re not so safe, and we’re interesting. Everyone always has something they want me to fix for them, and it’s exhausting. And downright rude, to be completely honest. Sometimes they just can’t take no for an answer.”
Alice indicated her gold tooth using the tip of her tongue.
“Knocked out when I said I couldn’t help one time.”
“Whoa, that’s intense!” said Christelle. “No wonder you gave us a story. Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me.”
“Pah!” laughed Alice. “Everyone saw what I did. I’ll be inundated with requests as always. Still, the quiet was nice while it lasted. Go on, before Daegal has some kind of aneurism and I’m expected to fix it up for him.”
Christelle nodded and raced from the room, Sol clinging on as she sped away.
What she found at the end of the corridor was something that she would never forget. There, surrounded by pretty much everyone who was involved in the show, including, Christelle was sure, the murderer. Christelle knew that the murderer always returned to the scene of the crime and being absent right now would look highly suspicious. Lying motionless before her, was Wade’s body. The runner’s body would run no more; he had been killed.
His body lay in a crumpled heap on the floor, and Daegal was standing over it, as though protecting the boy from any more harm. The werewolf looked pale and was muttering under his breath. A spell or incantation? Or was he just scared and didn’t know who to talk to. After all, one murder was bad, but two... this was serious.
“Daegal?” Christelle asked.
“Oh, you’re here! Thank goodness. You need to help me. You need to tell me who killed my son.”
“Oh, wait, whoa, what?”
The words Daegal had said seemed to echo around the corridor.
“Your son?”
The werewolf nodded.
“And I had only found out about him just last month.”
There was a slight sadness to Daegal’s words, but Christelle couldn’t see an outpouring of grief like she might expect if someone’s child had just been killed. But then... this was Daegal.
Before she could say anything, Daegal took hold of her shoulders and turned her around to face him. A wave of nausea washed over her, and she almost broke away to run to the nearest bathroom. Instead she stayed where she was and waited, teeth gritted, to hear what was next.
“Don’t judge me, Christelle,” said Daegal. “I know what you’re thinking. How could I not know I had a son? How could I have been ignorant for twenty years? I’ll tell you, before I became the self-assured, confident man I am today, the one you know, I was a wild thing, so confused by what I was that I went crazy. I had, shall we say, a lot of girlfriends. I have a number of children, and I take care of all of them. But Wade... his mother only got back in touch a month ago. The boy was looking for work, and she told me it was the least I could do, to get him a job here.”
Daegal looked down at Wade’s crumpled body.
“And now look at him. He didn’t even like the job. He wanted to be a teacher, but his mother was sure he could become powerful like me if I was helping him. I felt sorry for him.”
Christelle was shocked.
“You felt sorry for him?” she said incredulously. “He’s your son and you felt sorry for him?”
Daegal nodded.
“Look, I can’t pretend to have been fond of him. I barely knew him. I was trying to spend more time with him, trying to understand who he was, but we were strangers to one another. He’d heard stories about me his whole life, untrue stories, about how I abandoned his mother, and he had a stepfather who had been there all along. We didn’t have to like one another. I was doing him a favor, and he was making his mother happy. That’s all. Don’t judge me, I’m being honest. We can’t all be perfect.”
The words hit home. Christelle knew she had been judgmental, and she was sorry. She still felt terribly sick, and her head had started to hurt. She thought about Alice and wondered, if she asked very nicely, whether whatever this bug was could be healed. But no – that was the reason Alice was hiding from the world in the first place. She didn’t want to do it anymore.
Back to the matter at hand.
“Tell me what happened,” said Christelle. “I can’t promise I’ll be able to help, but if I don’t know anything at all I definitely can’t.”
Daegal sighed. He looked around him.
“Everyone back to the studio. We’ve got a show to finish. I want the judges to decide on a winner and an eliminated chef in the next ten minutes, and I want the chefs in the kitchen where I can keep them in check. Now!”
He roared this last word so loudly that the lighting rig above his head began to shake. There was no arguing – everyone ran. Now it was just Daegal and Christelle left, and Daegal could speak.
“I was just coming down the corridor, heading towards the studio. I thought I heard something behind me, and when I turned around Wade was staggering along behind me. I’ll never be able to forget it. He’d been... nailed.”
Christelle blinked a few times and cocked her head to one side. Nailed? she thought.
“Nailed?” she asked.
“Nailed?” repeated Sol. Twice.
Daegal nodded.
“It’s easier to show you.�
��
He gently turned Wade’s body over and Christelle seriously wished he hadn’t. The young man had been killed with a nail gun by the looks of it. Nails stuck out everywhere. It looked painful.
“Anyway, he collapsed here, and I yelled out for help. That’s it. That’s all I know.”
“Are those crumbs all over him?” asked Christelle.
She didn’t want to look too closely, but Wade did seem to have crumbs on him.
Daegal nodded slowly.
“I guess... is it important?”
Christelle tore her eyes away from Wade’s body and was about to speak to Daegal, to tell him that the crumbs might be important. But she needed more than that, and then... she heard a scream. Who it was she had no idea, but it came from the direction of Studio B.
“Find something to cover him up with,” she said to Daegal, “The police need to see him as he is. Call them and I’ll go and see who’s screaming. And why.”
Although it was the last thing Christelle wanted to do, she knew someone had to take charge, and it wasn’t going to be Daegal, not this time. His confidence had disappeared as well as a lot of bluff and bluster with it.
Daegal did as he was told, and Christelle rushed off towards the studio, her heart pounding out of her chest as she went.
Chapter 9
“Another one?”
Mona was standing on the outside of the circle of contestants, judges, and crew when Christelle arrived to see what was happening, and she was trying to peer over the top of everyone else in order to get a glimpse of what they were all staring at.
“Who is it?” she asked.
No one was listening to her.
Christelle didn’t have the patience to hang around the outside waiting for information to filter in. She nudged at Sol and he took off her from her shoulder, flapped himself over everyone in the room, and landed on the floor at the front of them all.
“Henry!” he yelled back. “Henry’s dead!”
It was as if the parrot’s voice set off a mute button. Chatter stopped completely, and the bird’s words echoed around.
Kitchen Witch Wars and the Chef Who Nailed It Page 7