The Great Witchy Cake-Off Page 16

  Finbarr’s’ pixies had somehow made it into the tent although the Irish witch was himself nowhere to be seen. I curled my toes in horror as half a dozen pixies, armed with piping bags, tried to ice each other with brightly coloured frostings. The other half dozen had made a sandpit from a large bag of flour and were throwing flour bombs at each other.

  Napier meanwhile was experimenting with percussion noises by recording the sound that eggs make when you throw them into a glass bowl set on the floor from a height of approximately six-feet, while Bertha tried to wrestle the huge furry microphone—now covered in eggshell and splattering’s of yolk—from him. Stephen Arcott played the recording back at a high volume for everyone in the tent to hear, turning up the trebles just to make us all wince some more. Patty clasped her hands to her cheeks in despair.

  “Stop! Stop!” she was shrieking.

  “Cut!” Boo yelled.

  “Cut! Cut!” parroted Robert Wait, but to no effect. The ghosts wilfully ignored him.

  Raoul and Faery Kerry had retired to wherever it was the judges retire to when they weren’t needed and only Mindi, hovering in the background appeared to be taking everything in her stride. “I don’t think you should really be doing that,” she remarked mildly as Luppitt soared past her, and one of the pixies skidded over on a patch of spilt egg.

  My stomach lurched as I took in all that was going on, then tipped over when I watched Murgatroyde Snippe pull her mobile phone from her pocket. I knew what she would do. She would phone the big bosses and tell them.

  Because—I realised with a jolt—unlike everyone else working on The Great Witchy Cake Off, that’s the sort of person she was. A mean-spirited tittle-tattle who put herself above the programme everyone else worked so hard to create.

  Murgatroyde tapped something out on her phone.

  Somewhere to the left of me, hidden by a wall of computer screens, Ross made a sound as though he had stubbed his toe, but he was the least of my worries.

  Knowing the ban on magick in the marquee had been lifted, I directed a slither of annoyed energy Murgatroyde’s way. “Prohibere,” I ordered, keeping my voice low and my tone pleasant. I watched as Murgatroyde tapped the phone and glared at it, then lifted it up, the universal movement of someone looking for a signal.

  As Luppitt flew straight for me, an alarming sight given the size of the camera he sat astride, I held up my hand as though to catch him. He came to a rapid halt and was ejected over the top of the boom handle. Being a ghost he couldn’t hurt himself when he landed, but I heartily wished I could have metred out a kick in the pants for his trouble.

  The other ghosts, realising playtime was up, stopped what they were doing and sheepishly avoided my gaze.

  “For shame,” I said to Luppitt, then raised my voice to take all of the culprits in. “For shame, all of you! I asked you to do one thing for me and I turned my back for a few minutes—”

  “More like an hour,” grumbled Murgatroyde. “I knew this was a bad idea—”

  “I turn my back,” I spoke over her, “and this is what you do? Do you know how much work goes into making a programme like this? Do you have any idea what you are doing to each baker’s concentration? They can’t re-bake their goodies. This is a competition. This is their one shot.” I scowled at the Devonshire Fellows. “Listen, if you’re not up to the task, I’ll find someone else and you can go back to the shadows and work on your madrigals.”

  “I’m sure they won’t be any more palatable,” Ross said softly from his corner. “Alf, I really need to talk to you.”

  “One sec—”

  “Oh! I knew his wasn’t going to work,” Murgatroyde screeched loudly, and we all turned towards her. “The programme is ruined. They’ll fire me. They’ll fire us all! I can’t bear it! My heart!” she howled and then fainted dead away.

  You can imagine the fuss. We all crowded around her, instinctively trying to offer assistance while simultaneously denying her the opportunity to find oxygen.

  Patty clasped her head as though it was about to explode. “Can this get any worse?” she cried, and I had to sympathise. Chaos. Chaos everywhere.

  I yelled for Finbarr and he ran in to retrieve his pixies. I rolled my eyes as he made his apologies, wondering whether the time had come to send him home. Meanwhile, we’d called Millicent down from the inn to assist us. She’d been offering solace and magickal remedies to those afflicted by food poisoning. Honestly, I could have reconfigured the marquee to use as a hospital tent, such did Whittle Inn feel like a war zone at that moment. Millicent, as always, brooked no nonsense and once order had been restored and Murgatroyde had been fortified with green tea and a little something extra that Millicent had added to help calm her down, I turned to the Devonshire Fellows who were patiently—and shame-facedly—awaiting instructions.

  Given the interminable delays, we were way behind schedule, so I mouthed a hurried apology to Ross as Boo set the cameras rolling once more. I’d catch up with him a little later.

  The theme for the final Cake-Off show of the series was Halloween. Fitting because it would be aired on October 31st.

  Boo called action, and Bertha re-invoked the spell that would start the cameras rolling. Luppitt, William and John just had to move them around and change the focus of attention occasionally. As long as everything was held steady and we had plenty of footage for the editors at the end of the day, everything would work out fine. Similarly, Stephen and Napier had to be in the right place at the right time to pick up the sound on their microphones and keep a check on the levels. Ross, behind the scenes, was monitoring for overall sound levels and background noise as well as keeping an eye on what we were filming.

  Or at least I hoped he was. He had his head down and his brow was furrowed with concentration, so that was something.

  As Boo sent in Mindi to chat with Scampi, I craned my neck to have a look at Florence’s signature bake. This first challenge asked for two dozen fairy cakes for a child’s party. Florence had opted to create twelve ‘good fairy’ and twelve ‘evil fairy’ cakes, possibly inspired by my tale of woe from the previous Christmas. The twelve good fairy cakes were created using an almond sponge mix, flavoured with a tiny amount of sloe berry. I could see her applying pure white frosting flavoured with lemon to these now and carefully crafting wings from edible rice paper. Her other batch of cakes were bright red.

  As Mindi counted down to the end, the contestants placed their bakes on the end of their benches. Raoul and Faery Kerry went around to each to look, sniff and taste each batch.

  Eloise was up first, and to be fair what she had looked good, but unfortunately she hadn’t had time to finish the icing of the second batch, so she hadn’t finished the task completely. Scampi fared even worse. He’d managed to produce twenty-four cakes, but they hadn’t held their shape under the weight of the toppings, and several of them collapsed as the judges approached.

  Finally it was Florence’s turn. Some of the fairies had been finished off in a rush and their faces were lopsided, but otherwise the cakes looked great. The delicate rice paper fairy wings had been brushed with edible gold shimmer and tiny silver balls. Her red cakes, decorated with little figures that looked like demons with fairy wings, had a chilli chocolate topping and gold ball decorations.

  “Well I think they look amazing, Florence,” Faery Kerry was saying.

  “I wouldn’t like to meet some of the faeries you’re acquainted with,” Raoul chipped in and Florence laughed.

  “The flavours are impressive. The chilli isn’t too overpowering at all,” Faery Kerry said, nibbling on the frosting.

  “I agree. I think you’ve done a great job here, Florence. Well done!”

  Florence beamed into the camera and gave a thumbs up.

  Boo called cut.

  “We’ll just have a short break and go straight on to the next round,” he announced. “Clear everything down and set up for the technical challenge, please.”

  “Clear down,” repeated Rober
t Wait, full of his own self-importance as assistant director.

  “Clear down,” repeated Bertha, and shot Robert an annoyed look. My Wonky Inn Ghostly Clean-Up Crew leapt to the challenge, scurrying around the set, spiriting the used pots, pans, bowls, plates and utensils away and replacing them with fresh ones, sweeping, cleaning, even scrubbing surfaces clean where necessary.

  I needed a cup of tea and I wanted to check on whether Millicent’s potion had started to work on the production crew, but Charity grabbed me before I could get very far. “George is here,” she told me, so I went to find him.

  He was waiting for me at the bar, chatting with Zephaniah. Given how quiet it had been over breakfast there hadn’t been a huge amount of clearing up to do and at a loose end, Zephaniah had been completing a crossword, something he was a huge fan of.

  “Eat something quickly?” Zephaniah was asking George.

  “How many letters?” George frowned.

  Zephaniah checked. “Five.”

  “Five? Gobble?”

  “That’s six,” I interrupted them. “G.O.B.B.L.E.” I counted the letters off on my fingers. “Six.”

  “So what’s the answer then, Ms Clever Clogs?” George asked.

  I laughed. “At least I can count, Detective Sergeant Gilchrist.”

  “But you don’t know the answer, do you?” George smiled.

  “Eat something quickly?” I thought for a moment. “How about fast?” George roared with laughter.

  “That’s four letters!”

  I rolled my eyes. “Oh yeah. You got me on that one. I was thinking ‘quickly’ means fast and you can fast instead of feast.” I pulled him away from Zephaniah. “Anyway… Do you have any news?”

  George shook his head. “Nope. Nothing at all. What about you? What about Ross?”

  Ross. Oh yes. Oops. I’d been meaning to have a word with him. “He did want to talk to me, so I’d better catch up with him. I think he may have something for us.”

  “Feast?” said Zephaniah in the background, thinking aloud.

  “Can we talk to him now?” George asked, meaning Ross.

  “He’s tied up in the marquee at the moment,” I said, and George looked puzzled.

  “Ross is in the marquee? Is he taking part?”

  “Just don’t ask.” I said. “It’s been crazy here.”

  “When isn’t it crazy here?” George muttered.

  I folded my arms in defence. “I’ll drag him out as soon as they finish filming the morning session. Shouldn’t be too much longer.”

  “Morning!” Marissa entered the bar with Silvan not far behind her. “Nice to see you again, DS Gilchrist.”

  George perked up at the sight of Marissa. Today she’d dressed in a sky-blue silk shift that shimmered as she walked. With her white hair tumbling over her shoulders she looked like a goddess. Even I sighed at the sight of her.

  “I told you, Marissa, please call me George,” George said.

  Silvan sidled up to me and I thought he was going to make some cutting remark about George’s propensity to chat up other women, or my inability to keep a love interest for very long, but he held himself in check.

  “A curious thing,” he said, leaning close and speaking low. “I’ve just seen someone using the phone in your office when they thought no-one was looking.”

  “I don’t mind if someone needs to use a phone.” I dismissed the information, assuming he meant Charity or Millicent.

  “Even one of the guests?” Silvan asked.

  “Who?”

  “Whom,” Silvan corrected me. “The little producer.”

  “Murgatroyde?” I asked, and Silvan shrugged. “Small woman, short dark hair, wears men’s suits?”

  Silvan smiled. “That’s the one. Why would she have needed to use the phone in your office?”

  “Because I blocked all the phones in the marquee,” I explained. “I think she was about to call the producers and tell them what a mess the filming is.” I wondered if she had now called them. Why hadn’t she asked for permission to use my phone? Why the secrecy?

  More importantly, they’d be on to Patty if they were unhappy. This could all end in disaster.

  Next to us, George had engaged Marissa in conversation and was obviously trying to wow her with his intellect. “I was just helping Zephaniah with his crossword,” he told her. “Are you any good at crosswords. What was that clue again, Zeph?”

  Zephaniah consulted the grid. “Seven down. Eat something quickly.”

  “Hmmm,” Marissa said. “Are there any letter clues?”

  Zephaniah unfolded his newspaper to show her the grid. There was a photo of Janice standing with Raoul, Patty and Faery Kerry on the reverse. It had been taken by the local press on the day they had arrived. “Second letter ‘c’.”

  Second letter c?

  Eat something quickly?

  Murgatroyde.

  The image of Janice in the paper pulsed and vibrated as I stared at it. My brain began to whir, filling in missing letters, and the missing pieces of a puzzle too.

  How had I missed something so blindingly obvious?

  “George! I need to show you something!”

  We had some parts of the puzzle, but we didn’t have them all. I took George up to Murgatroyde’s room and he made a swift but thorough search of it, bagging a few items in plastic evidence bags, and then mob-handed—because Silvan insisted on coming along too—we returned to the marquee where filming had wrapped up for the morning.

  George entered the tent first, holding his badge up so that everyone could see he was on official business. Most people were present with the exception of Patty and Bertha. I assumed they were collecting production notes and directions for the final part of filming.

  It didn’t matter.

  It wasn’t them we were interested in.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, if you could all remain where you are please.” He looked at me. “Except the ghosts, Alf.”

  “Okay, guys,” I told the Devonshire Fellows. “Why don’t you take a break and I’ll call you back when we’re ready to resume.” If we were ever ready to resume. Things looked kind of bleak.

  I asked Florence to stay, though, and given that Ross was waving at me, I figured he had something to say to me too, so I didn’t banish him.

  “Ms Snippe,” George began, “I have a few questions I’d like to ask you. Can we step aside—”

  “Me?” Murgatroyde asked and her face flushed. “What do you want with me? I haven’t done anything.”

  “I’m sure that’s the case,” George said pleasantly. “I just need to ask—”

  Murgatroyde rolled her fists into tightly clenched balls of fury. “No! I’m not feeling well.” Her voice rose. “Leave me alone. You’ve nothing on me!”

  George looked alarmed and turned to me. “You said she hadn’t been feeling well. Is she—”

  “Batpoop!” Millicent exclaimed as Murgatroyde clutched her chest. “I gave her enough stimulant in her anti-fainting potion to keep a horse awake for a week.”

  Murgatroyde glared at Millicent. “What are you saying? Have you poisoned me? I’ll take legal action.”

  “Is that all you think about?” Millicent folded her arms. “Sue away. The only thing I have of value is my dogs and even they’re a pair of mongrels.”

  “This is a conspiracy!” Murgatroyde shrieked, and I frowned at her ridiculously melodramatic over-reaction. Why was she being so loud? What was wrong with the woman.

  “DS Gilchrist just wants to ask a few questions.” I reminded her, trying to stay calm. “You’re not under arrest. You weren’t even here when Janice was—”

  Around us, the walls of the marquee jittered as though caught by a heavy wind. I turned my head in surprise. Until now, they’d hardly flapped at all.

  “Look out!” shouted Raoul, and I heard Faery Kerry scream.

  A whisper of wind and something dark flew past me, temporarily clouding my vision. I ducked and at the same time was pulled off
my feet, landing on my hands and knees of the makeshift floor of the tent. There was a clunk and a howl of pain to the side of me, and I spun sideways, jumping to my feet as Silvan had taught me to do.

  Silvan!

  He lay on the floor, sprawled on top of George, but it was George who was howling. One of the main joists that held the marquee together had come loose and swung free and while Silvan had managed to jump to George’s aid, the joist had still connected with George’s shoulder.

  Better that than his head, I supposed.

  “My goodness,” Mindi spoke softly. “Such drama.”

  “Is everyone alright?” I asked as Millicent rushed to George’s side.

  “Argh!” George moaned in agony.

  Millicent knelt beside the injured detective. “Don’t worry,” she told him, “I know a little spell to take the pain away and then we’ll get you to a hospital.”

  “Not so fast.” Murgatroyde pulled out a wand and waved it at me. “Give me the evidence bags.”

  I stared at her in shock.

  “Don’t do that, Alf,” George said through gritted teeth.

  “Do it, or I’ll loosen another joist.” Murgatroyde wagged her wand at me. “And the next one won’t miss.”

  From the floor, I watched with one eye as Silvan casually reached into his pocket. He slowly drew his own wand out, but before he could do anything, a hot flash of energy forked through the air from behind me and knocked his wand away.

  I swivelled in surprise.

  Bertha had sneaked into the marquee and was now standing behind Ross. In one hand she held out her own wand, and in the other she had a vial of water poised in the air above the ghost’s head.

  “Holy water,” she told me. “From the font in the local church.”

  She stood there, confident, ready to drip the water onto Ross. She had to imagine she could banish him using an exorcism of some kind.