“Henry?” whispered Mona.
Her face turned pale and tears filled her eyes. She was visibly shaking when Christelle pushed past her to get to the body. The other body. As if one wasn’t enough, now two? This was getting ridiculous, and if it hadn’t been so frightening, it would have been funny.
In fact, Christelle could feel laughter begin to bubble up from her stomach, threatening to burst out of her throat. That would have been a terrible thing to have happen. So instead of laughing, Christelle moved everyone to one side and concentrated on the body at her feet once she had done so. Yes, it was Henry. Yes, he was dead.
Just like Wade.
Exactly like Wade.
Nails and all.
And crumbs.
Christelle could seem them, lightly dusting the man’s shirt.
Crumbs? It seemed like a clue, but Christelle couldn’t quite decide what it was and what it meant.
“Has anyone called the police?” she asked.
Surely, this time, they would get here before anything terrible happened. Before the murderer struck again.
“I have.” It was Daegal, if not entirely recovered then certainly almost back to his old self. “They’re on their way. In the meantime,...”
Christelle knew what the werewolf wanted. Why her? Yes, she’d had success before, but it had been luck and magic, nothing she had done specifically. Christelle sighed.
“Fine. I think it’s best if everyone goes into the main kitchen, and I mean crew as well, while we wait there for the police. We can talk about the clues and see if we can come up with any suspects.”
“There’s no need!” wailed Mona from the back of the crowd.
She still hadn’t made it all the way to the front, and it didn’t look as though she wanted to either.
“There’s no need because I did it; I killed poor Henry. Oh, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to!”
The kitchen witch fell to her knees sobbing, and everyone near to her moved a step or so further away. Where was the nail gun? No one wanted to come face to face – literally if the bodies of Henry and Wade had anything to say for themselves – with that.
“Mona, what are you saying?” asked Leif, the only one who was brave enough to go to someone he was starting to call a friend. “How could you? What made you do it?”
Mona sniffed long and loud, and wet. She wiped her arm across her face and her makeup smeared horribly, making her look like a manic clown. It suited the story she told, and it gave Christelle the creeps.
“It was an accident,” she pleaded. “Honestly, it was. I don’t want to go to jail! I’ve got too many things on my bucket list I’ve not accomplished yet!”
Christelle frowned.
“An accident? I’m sorry, Mona, but that can’t be right. One nail, maybe two, that’s an accident, but this...”
She turned to look at Henry’s body again and made a quick tally. “This is more like a hundred nails. Possibly more. You did this on purpose.”
Mona shook her head.
“Nails? What nails? What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about Henry and how he died,” said Christelle.
Mona had no clue that Henry had been killed with a nail gun, an extremely violent attack. She was at the back of the crowd, where she couldn’t see the body. So, what did she think killed Henry?
“Mona, he was killed deliberately with a nail gun, just like Wade.”
“What?” Mona’s voice was tinged with disbelief and with hope, strange as it sounded. “Let me see.”
She pushed her way to the front and stared at Henry, or what was left of him anyway. The nail heads refracted the fluorescent lighting.
“So, it’s true. Nails. Well I can tell you I didn’t do that. I thought he’d died because I hit him with that spoon earlier on. You know, delayed concussion or a bleed on the brain or something terrible like that.”
The witch stood up straight.
“Okay, I take it back. It wasn’t me. Don’t tell the police I said it was, will you?”
Christelle shook her head.
“Let’s just get everyone into the studio. Away from the body. Bodies. I’ll make us all some tea.”
She paused. Should she go and retrieve Alice and Mrs. Mogridge? No, not yet. They could stay where they were for the moment. They could probably both do with a little time out.
SAFELY ENSCONCED IN Studio B, Christelle started boiling water for her tea. She would have liked to have gone to retrieve her book of shadows from the desk drawer, but she didn’t want to disturb Alice and Mrs. Mogridge; she didn’t want to have to explain what had happened when she wasn’t quite clear on the details. She knew enough about herbs and spices to create some concoction that would make everyone relax. She wanted for now only to stop the hysteria that she could feel building in the room.
If Wade were still there, he wouldn’t have been able to stand it, being an empath as he was. But then, if Wade had been there the atmosphere wouldn’t have been so tense – only one person would have been killed which was bad, but not as bad as a double body count.
Lemon balm and peppermint. That’s what Christelle wanted to combine. That should make everyone feel calmer. And of course, there was everything she needed in the pantry.
Christelle knew Daegal stood behind her before she could hear him, before she could smell his aftershave. She knew he was there because she started to feel a churning in her stomach which quickly turned to nausea.
“Are you making a truth tea?” asked Daegal.
“No, I’m not,” answered Christelle quickly. “I’m making something to soothe them all, everyone’s as tense as a coiled spring and I need them all relaxed and thinking straight.”
“But what if you slipped some kind of tincture in that would make the killer confess? Like you did before? Wouldn’t that be possible?”
Christelle shook her head. No, it wouldn’t be possible because she didn’t know how to do it without her spell book, and she didn’t want to have her spell book on display because someone was trying to steal it. Christelle decided she would rather not say any of this to Daegal.
“They’d know. It’s been done, and they’d know. Let’s build up their trust with a simple tea and then by the time the police get here we’ll have gathered some clues. It’s not our job to find murderers, Daegal.”
The werewolf nodded although he was disappointed, that much was clear.
“It’s going to be all right,” said Christelle. “The show, your son’s killer, his mother... it’s going to be fine.”
She didn’t know if she believed her own words, but she had to say something. Then she stepped forward and put her arms around his waist. She squeezed gently. Her grandmother had always said a hug could cure anything, and maybe she was right; she had been a witch, after all.
Daegal squeezed back and Christelle could feel the weight of him crushing her a little. He was exhausted and he needed this hug.
“I knew it!”
The voice came loudly, screaming from the doorway of the pantry. “I just knew it!”
Martine stood here, red faced, hands on hips.
“Daegal you’re a cheat and a liar and I’m through with you!”
Christelle and Daegal’s hug broke up as the man went to Martine.
“This?” he said, indicating toward Christelle.
“This was just a hug. Nothing more. Sometimes a hug is good, you know?”
Martine stamped her foot.
“A hug? Yeah, right, pull the other one! I know you, Daegal. I was warned not to date you and now look, here we are. Even my anti-love potion didn’t work well enough. You just couldn’t stay away from one another!”
“Anti-love potion?” asked Christelle. “Oh, so that’s why I wanted to puke every time we talked... Clever.”
And she meant it. For a jealous girlfriend that was some quick thinking.
“Err... thank you, I guess?” said Martine.
Despite everything, she was proud
of her potion. She didn’t usually make magic like that.
“But that’s not the point. The point is you two have been seeing each other behind my back and that’s disgusting!”
“I can assure you; I’ve not been seeing Daegal, or anyone else for that matter. I had thought we might be becoming friends, but that’s all.”
Christelle was going to be firm on this.
“And I’d appreciate the antidote to the potion, if you don’t mind. I can’t work like this, feeling like I’m going to puke when I talk to my boss. It’s damaging your show too, making me feel flat and tired all the time.”
Martine hadn’t thought of it like that. And if she was honest with herself, she did believe Christelle. Daegal was too much of a professional to two time her, wasn’t he? He couldn’t afford scandal, which is why their relationship was kept secret in the first place. Would he really risk it all and have two girlfriends at once when one was going to look like favoritism when it came out anyway?
Daegal looked bemused and suddenly rather old. Lines had appeared on his forehead that Christelle were sure hadn’t been there a moment before, and his cheeks looked sunken and soft. She felt so sorry for him.
So, evidently, did Martine.
“I’m so sorry, baby!” she said, leaping at him and kissing him passionately.
Christelle didn’t know where to look or what to do, so she went back to rummaging for her ingredients. It didn’t take her long and before she turned around again.
“So, that antidote, Martine?”
But when no response came and she did finally turn, she found she was on her own. Apart from Sol, of course.
“Oh, great,” she said. “Perfect.”
She stomped out of the kitchen and set about making her tea. She just hoped it would work. As for her sickness, well, she’d have to deal with that later when Martine was finally able to help her. Love... it made people do crazy things, that’s for sure.
AT FIRST, AS CHRISTELLE had guessed, no one was particularly keen on drinking the tea that she was offering. She didn’t blame them; she had used potions to get to the truth in the past, and even though she knew that this tea was fine to drink, no potions involved, she wasn’t surprised that others were less sure.
But because no one wanted to be seen to refuse – how suspicious would that look – they did drink eventually. Then they drank some more. It tasted great, and it made them relax just a bit. The thread of hysteria was still unraveling just below the surface, Christelle could sense it.
Now that she had given out her tea and allowed a little time for everyone to drink it, she just had to wait things out until the police arrived. Keep everyone occupied. Make sure no one escaped. That sort of thing.
Then again, solving the mystery would be fun...
As she sipped her drink and then offered everyone a second cup, Christelle started to think about everything she had heard and seen that day. There was a lot to unpack, and not all of it was going to be relevant.
The crumbs. It was the crumbs that were really confusing her. Both Wade and Henry had had crumbs on them, but where had they come from? And why?
“Well, Sol, maybe they had just been eating cookies...” she said mournfully.
“Crackers! Crackers!”
Christelle blinked. Crackers? Crackers! Of course!
“Sol, you’re a genius!” She stood up. “I know where the crumbs came from!”
No one really understood what she was talking about, but they listened anyway. The ones who knew they were innocent were curious about Christelle’s thinking, and the one who had committed murder – twice – was curious about how close their crime was to being uncovered. In fact, that person was trying to work out whether it was worth their while running, or whether they had been sneaky enough to carry out their terrible crimes without being spotted.
Christelle had worked it out before, but that was a fluke. Surely this time they had been careful. Very careful. And so, they listened too, waiting to see if they could get away with the very worst crime of all.
“The crumbs came from Dermott’s crackers.”
The murderer relaxed. Dermott, then, was getting the blame. Fine. Let him. He was a terrible cook anyway.
“Dermott?” said Joachim, pulling his jacket closer around him and digging his hands into his pockets as though he was cold. “Why Dermott? Are you saying he’s the killer?”
“I’m saying that when he presented you all with crackers instead of the dish he was meant to create, Zach had a coughing fit and the crumbs went everywhere. I’m saying that maybe, those crumbs where then transferred to the victims. That’s all I’m saying.”
“Whoa, hang on, wait a minute!” said Dermott. “That doesn’t follow. Yes, crumbs went everywhere, my poor cake was destroyed, but Wade was helping to clear up. If his body has crumbs on it, he got them from there, right? Not from me later!”
Christelle had to admit that rang true.
“What about Henry, though? There were crumbs on him too. They must have come from the killer. Henry was nowhere near the bench when Dermott’s food was delivered.”
“They were muffin crumbs, my love,” said a voice from the doorway.
“Mrs. Mogridge!” screamed Christelle. “How are you feeling?”
“My poor old noggin is aching like a good ’un, but I’m feeling better, thank you, dearie. And as I was saying, Henry had muffin crumbs on him, not cracker crumbs. Different kind of baking altogether, as anyone in this room would be able to tell you.”
If this was true it changed things considerably. Wade’s crumbs could be explained. Henry’s however... muffins? The only muffin Christelle could think of was the one she had baked herself earlier that day. The ones...
“Oh, my word!” exclaimed Christelle. She looked at Mrs. Mogridge who nodded.
“I think you’ve got it. Some of it, anyway.”
She smiled but rubbed her head as well, the pain clearly taking its toll. “And just so you know, in case you wondered, Alice is resting. She had to work hard to fix my memory, the poor thing. Being a healer is no easy job.”
“So, you do remember?” asked Mona. “You’re okay now?”
“I remember most, but not all.”
“Do you remember who hurt you?”
Mrs. Mogridge shook her head.
“I don’t.”
There would be one person in the room who was relieved to hear that. One person who was feeling safer than ever. This investigation was going nowhere. Christelle might think she knew things, but they meant nothing at all. Crumbs, indeed. So what? This was a kitchen; there were crumbs everywhere.
Christelle herself was beginning to doubt the crumbs were even an issue. Not when it came to the murders, anyway. Though when they came to who had broken into her dressing room, tried to steal her book of shadows, and then attacked Mrs. Mogridge, they meant everything.
Henry.
But why? Why would he do that? The book was important, of course, but important enough to hurt an old lady and risk the competition? Someone must have been paying him well to sacrifice what he was so eager to have. Or...
A thought came to Christelle. A memory about the judging that nudged something in her brain. Pieces of conversation began to knit themselves together.
“Where’s Daegal?”
The werewolf stepped out of the shadows, holding Martine’s hand. Clearly the pair were going public. Fine, let them. That was their look out. Christelle wished them well, but she needed to gather her thoughts so that she could put the jigsaw together. And she needed help to do it. Apart from Mrs. Mogridge, Daegal was the only one who she trusted enough to go into details with.
“Can we talk? Alone? I have an idea.”
As Christelle spoke she desperately tried not to look in the direction of the person she thought might, just might, be the killer. With all eyes on her, she knew that she was being somewhat careless; she knew that the person who had used a nail gun on two people was listening, and that they were
going to start getting nervous. But she had to flush them out.
She had to take the chance.
Daegal didn’t look so sure.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he muttered. “We can’t leave everyone alone.”
“Nobody is alone, that’s the point. They’re all together. If anyone makes a move, everyone else will be able to stop them. But for now, Daegal, please... just walk away, come with me, and let’s chat. I promise it will turn out okay.”
“Promise! Promise!” shouted Sol.
“See? That’s a triple promise.”
Christelle beckoned to Daegal who reluctantly let go of Martine’s hand and crossed the room to Christelle. She pointed to the corridor.
“We’ll go to that small room we met in this morning, if that’s okay?”
Daegal shrugged. He was as bemused as anyone else, but he trusted Christelle. Time to follow some orders instead of giving them.
TWO PEOPLE WATCHED Christelle and Daegal leave the room with the greatest interest. One was the killer who knew they had to get out of here, although they had one visit to make on their way out of the studio, and the other was simply curious. They had an idea about what might be happening, and they wanted some glory to themselves. It might even help their chances in the competition. If not, it wouldn’t harm to have their name all over the press. Their career might get a boost. They might even get their own show where they wouldn’t have to work with all these other, less talented people.
So those two people who watched the pair leave the room and walked down the corridor both wanted to leave the studio themselves. And they would.
Who was going to stop them?
As it turns out, no one was.
It was Joachim who made a move first. He stood up and stretched.
“They can’t keep us in here forever,” he said. “They do know we need to eat, right? They know we need... comfort breaks? Well, I don’t know about anyone else, but I do at least. And I’m going. If everyone’s in here who’s out there with a nail gun ready to shoot me? No one, that’s who. It’s safer than it’s ever been.”
And with that, he swept out of the room.
Kitchen Witch Wars and the Chef Who Nailed It Page 8