The Great Witchy Cake Off: Wonky Inn Book 7 Page 3

  “No problem,” I said. “I’ll sort out some refreshments for everyone too.” I looked around for Florence. This would give her a chance to impress our guests. When I couldn’t immediately spot her, I turned my attention back to George. “Any leads?”

  “Nah. Nothing yet.” He took a big gulp of coffee and moaned in happiness.

  I tried another tack. “Cause of death was a large knife in the chest, I take it?”

  George smirked. “We’ll make a detective of you yet, Alf.” He glanced around to make sure no-one was listening in, and leaned in. “Cause of death is likely to have been exsanguination. That’s blood loss to you. Caused by a single stab wound through the heart.” He paused, his brow wrinkling. “It was a vicious blow. Done in anger.”

  I grimaced.

  “There was also a mark on her neck that we’ll need a closer look at,” George continued.

  “Attempted strangulation?”

  George shook his head. “No. It’s more like a little burn.”

  “Do you have anybody in the frame?” I asked, pretending I knew what I was talking about and hadn’t just watched too many Hollywood movies.

  “No suspects at this time.” We were standing so close together I could smell his aftershave. Such a familiar scent. I inhaled. He straightened up.

  “So, erm, no suspects?” I repeated to cover my sudden confusion. “What about the woman who found her? Delores?”

  “Seems unlikely. She doesn’t appear to have any blood on her clothing. And whomever stabbed Janice will likely have some spatter on them. We’ve taken her to Exeter Police Station, and we will have her clothing forensically analysed of course, but I don’t think we’ll find anything.” He looked me up and down. “You were next on the scene. Were you wearing those robes?”

  I looked at what I had on. Dark charcoal robes. My best and newest set because I’d been hoping to impress Raoul a little, truth be told. “Yes.”

  “Maybe I should ask you to take those off.” He uttered this double entendre without the slightest hint of humour. I cocked my head in astonishment, unable to immediately decipher his meaning. Was he flirting with me?

  What about Stacey? I was about to ask, when a small figure ambled around the corner, drawing deeply on a cigarette.

  The presenter, Mindi Blockweg.

  For some reason I’d imagined that celebrities went around with perfect make-up and pristine clothing all the time, but Mindi appeared to be the exception to the rule. Dressed in a sloppy navy-blue jumper, a pair of linen cotton trousers that had seen better days and bright pink Crocs teamed with patterned socks, she had her short greasy hair tied up in tiny tight bunches and was puffing away like a steam train.

  “Good afternoon Officer. Alf,” she said when she spotted us and exhaled a cloud of smoke. I took a couple of steps back, trying hard not to be impolite and wave the cloud of noxious air away. She squinted up at George. On television you couldn’t tell how short she was, but she must barely have made five feet. “We spoke earlier, didn’t we? I’m sorry I don’t have my spectacles with me.”

  George smiled. “We did, Ms Blockweg. You haven’t remembered anything new?”

  “No. No, I haven’t. It’s a rum state of affairs the more you think about it, isn’t it? Janice was such a pleasant woman. If you were going to knock anyone off, surely you’d choose Patty.”

  “Why do you say that?” George asked, and scribbled something on his notepad.

  Mindi shrugged. “It’s no secret that Patty Cake is the driving force behind The Great Witchy Cake Off, but the programme was originally conceived by Janice. Patty made it happen, but Janice was the intellect behind it. Patty is a creative genius, but she’s also… shall we say… challenging to work with. She takes no prisoners. She gets things done but she has a tendency to make enemies. Janice is—was—entirely more moderate in her approach. She liked to smooth things over. Keep people onside.”

  “So, do you think perhaps she hadn’t managed to keep someone onside?” George asked with interest.

  “If that’s the case I don’t know who it might have been.” Mindi twisted her face mournfully. “She often calmed situations, I know that much. The production meetings I was invited to back at HQ could be fraught at times.”

  “It sounds like Patty is quite a volatile character,” I said. From what little I’d seen of her there was no ‘quite’ about it. The woman was a grade A pain-in-the-proverbial. “Why do people put up with her attitude.”

  Mindi took a deep drag on her cigarette. “Have you seen the ratings for the programme? It’s Witchflix’s top rated cooking show? I mean, that’s not to be treated lightly. It’s a goldmine. Everyone involved in the show is well paid, and ultimately the guys running Witchflix understand—you don’t bite the hand that feeds you. In our case, that hand ultimately belongs to Patty Cake. She’s the Witchy Cake Off queen.”

  Exhaling one final time, Mindi dropped her cigarette into the grass and ground it out with the toe of her luminous shoe. “Witchflix royalty in fact.”

  George pursed his lips, considering what Mindi had told us. “Any idea why Janice would have been in the marquee at that time of the morning? Was she looking for someone or something do you know?”

  Mindi reached into her trouser pocket and fished out a roll of mints. “I don’t know, sorry. It’s not unusual for the producers to check on the tent in the morning. As I said, Patty is the creative genius and she likes the tent to look just right for filming. I know the crew had finished installing the ovens and sinks yesterday and had been in there dressing the set with bunting and adding props till late last night. Maybe because she wasn’t here, Janice decided to do that instead. They both tend to start their day early.”

  Except now Janice would never again start another day. That knowledge hung over us all, and Mindi’s shoulders sagged momentarily before she perked herself up and offered us each a mint. George took one. I declined. Call me fussy but I couldn’t be sure how long Mindi had stored those mints in her crumpled trousers.

  “Thanks for the information.” George popped his sweet in his mouth.

  “Any time.” Mindi nodded and strolled away.

  We watched her go. “It’s peculiar, isn’t it?” I asked George. “Nobody has a bad word to say about Janice and yet everyone talks about Patty being difficult. They’re like Snow White versus the evil queen.”

  George snorted. “An old folks’ version of it at least. Janice was hardly the lovely Snow White character, was she?”

  “That’s a bit ageist of you, George,” I said. I motioned in Mindi’s direction. “She seems like an intelligent woman and yet she has no awareness of any negative character traits Janice might have had? I find that hard to believe. Surely you don’t become successful in the film and television business without having a spine of steel? I heard how she spoke to Rob Parker the other day. She was pretty sharp with him, and if that’s the case there will have been others. Janice must have annoyed plenty of people at one time or another.”

  “People don’t like to speak ill of the dead, Alf. You have to remember that in my line of work.”

  I grunted. “Well how do you ever get at the truth then?”

  “You go back to them. Several times if necessary. Give them a poke. The more water that flows under the bridge the looser the tongue becomes.”

  That made sense. “So you’ll just give people time to remember Janice properly then?”

  “I will.” George smiled and tapped my arm. “As I said, we’ll make a detective of you yet, Alf.”

  Later that afternoon almost the entire production crew, the presenters, and the contestants assembled in the bar to discuss the situation with George and his team. The whole inn had been temporarily given over to the needs of the production, so I didn’t have to worry about accommodating any other guests. George took his place at the bar itself, in order to command everyone’s attention from the front.

  A new producer had turned up to take Janice’s place. This seemed slight
ly hasty to me, but I suppose television is one of those cutthroat worlds, and the Witchflix bosses couldn’t afford too long a delay before they resumed filming.

  Her name was Murgatroyde Snippe and she cut a compelling figure. I figured she was my age, perhaps slightly older. Of average height, with short dark hair, she favoured men’s tailoring and was therefore wearing a shirt and thin paisley tie under a dark grey suit, teamed with black leather Classic Oxford shoes. This jarred slightly with the amount of make-up she was wearing. I’d never seen foundation applied quite as thickly before. You could have scraped it off with a trowel.

  Florence quietly zipped around between tables, depositing plates of goodies—finger size cakes and pastries—for the assembled throng to tuck into, and while there were some red eyes and a lack of appetite in some quarters, many others present tucked in with gusto. Once or twice I overheard exclamations of delight and spotted Florence flitting to the table in question, carefully inspecting what they were eating, before dashing back to the bar where I observed her scribbling something down with a pencil on a piece of paper.

  “Florence,” I hissed. “Florence! What are you doing?”

  She floated towards me; her eyebrows raised in genuine seriousness. “I’m making a note of the cakes everyone likes, Miss Alf. It’s research.”

  “Research?”

  “Yes, you know. Into the flavours and textures people prefer. It will be useful information when I’m baking for our guests in the future.”

  “I see,” I said. “But to be honest, Florence, all of your cakes are so good I doubt anyone will be complaining.”

  “But we have baking royalty here at the inn, Miss Alf. I want to make sure I do my very best.”

  Florence swirled about to gape at Faery Kerry with wide fangirl eyes. The faery sat alongside Boo Sully and Murgatroyde Snippe at a large round table. The rest of the production crew huddled together at the other side of the room. I wondered if there was some sort of unspoken hierarchy. Maybe some rivalry. No doubt George would have noticed, but I decided I’d mention it to him anyway.

  I understood Florence wanting to do her best. I leaned towards her and whispered, “Has Faery Kerry tried any of your sugary treats yet?”

  Florence shook her head, hardly able to tear her gaze away. “Not yet. I really wish she would, Miss Alf. I’m trying to keep an eye on her. I don’t want to miss her reaction, but I’m not actually sure she eats anything.”

  Faery Kerry—the most famous of the judges—had been a celebrity cook for decades prior to the commissioning of the show. She’d written dozens of books on baking, including one bestseller entirely devoted to the art of creating faery cakes. I knew Florence had devoured this title from cover to cover on many occasions.

  “I’m sure she will soon.” I tried to be reassuring. “I’ll keep an eye out too.”

  “Thank you, Miss Alf.”

  “Mmm. This macaron is delicious. What’s the flavour do you think?” A technician sitting close to the front of the room was enquiring of her neighbour.

  Florence sped to the woman’s side. “It’s passion fruit, Miss,” she offered, and began to run through the other flavours on offer.

  George called the meeting to order. “Good afternoon everyone. Thank you all for making yourself available—”

  “Not everyone is here yet,” a voice interrupted him from the main doorway. Mindi stood half in and half out of the room. I couldn’t see it, but I imagined she had a cigarette on the go and was trying to keep it quiet. I frowned. There was absolutely no smoking allowed on the premises.

  I glanced around the bar area. Neither Patty Cake nor Raoul were in attendance. Come to think of it, I hadn’t seen Patty all day.

  “Who’s missing?” George asked.

  “Raoul went to pick Patty up from wherever it is she’s staying,” Mindi told us helpfully, then disappeared back outside to finish off her cigarette. “Here they are,” her discombobulated voice called through a few seconds later.

  Wearing a knee length black dress, shiny black stilettos, with a black silk scarf tied artfully around her hair and a pair of sunglasses that if anything were darker than the ones she’d been sporting over the previous few days, Patty drifted slowly into the room casting a melancholy glance around at everyone gathered before her.

  “I’m so sorry to keep you waiting, my darlings,” she offered in a husky voice. “Only—” She raised a crisp white handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes. Raoul, who had followed her in, took her by the elbow and led her to a seat next to Faery Kerry.

  Patty nodded at Murgatroyde. “They’ve sent you, have they?”

  “The office thought you’d appreciate the support,” Murgatroyde replied.

  Patty dabbed at her cheeks. “They didn’t waste much time. Poor Janice.”

  Murgatroyde set her jaw. “Indeed. It’s a terrible thing.”

  “Can I get you some tea or coffee?” Charity approached Patty’s table and interrupted, her voice low and respectful. Murgatroyde seemed relieved at the disruption. Florence bustled over and set down some cups and saucers and a tray of nibbles.

  “Coffee. Black.” Patty requested and Charity scuttled back to the bar.

  I remained in my position next to the fireplace observing Patty with some curiosity. Was this demonstration of emotion only for effect or did she genuinely lament the loss of her co-producer?

  Unless the murderer had followed Janice to Whittlecombe, or Janice’s death had been completely random, it seemed more than likely that the killer was hiding in plain sight in this very room.

  I shivered at the thought. We always kept a fire going in the bar during the day, no matter what the weather. This was a large room to heat, and the stone walls meant the room was cool even during the height of the summer. And besides, you can’t beat a proper fire to create atmosphere, can you? Today though, I couldn’t help thinking of the cosy environment as a rotten apple. Something putrid lay at the heart of Whittle Inn.

  It wasn’t welcome.

  Casting one final glance at Patty, who swivelled her head to look at me, I directed my attention to George. At the front of the room he cleared his throat and consulted his notes once more.

  “Okay, I think we can begin now.” He looked up to check on Mindi who had returned to the room and closed the front door behind her.

  “As I was saying. Thank you all for attending this meeting. I thought it was important to run a few things by you while you’re all in situ.” He looked pointedly at Patty. “Now it goes without saying that you should each have spoken to a member of my team, and if you haven’t already done so, I would respectfully ask you to remain behind after the meeting to remedy that.” There was a small murmur of consent.

  “On behalf of my team, I would like to offer my condolences on the loss of Janice Tork Mimosa. I know from speaking with many of you that she was well loved and will be sorely missed. I can categorically assure you that we will do our utmost to catch the person who did this, but of course we will require your assistance.”

  George glanced around the room. “It would greatly assist my investigation if your whereabouts are known at all times, and I would ask you not to leave the inn or the grounds until a member of my team gives the go-ahead.”

  “Preposterous,” a sharp voice piped up.

  Everyone in the room swivelled their heads from George to the source of the interruption.

  Patty. Who else?

  “I’m not even residing here. Of course I need to leave the grounds.”

  Raoul smiled at George. “Patty is staying at the other inn in the village.”

  “Oh, I see. I wasn’t aware.” George had a quick word with one of his colleagues who must have confirmed this. “Then I would ask that you don’t leave the village, Ms Cake.”

  Patty, still wearing her sunglasses, fixed him in her sights. “Entirely unnecessary,” she spat. “I can assure you I had absolutely nothing to do with this.”

  “That’s as maybe—” George began.


  “If you didn’t do the crime, you won’t do the time,” Faery Kerry offered, and her soft musical laughter tinkled around the room.

  I studied the elderly faery with renewed interest. She seemed to be taking the death of Janice fairly well.

  “Ridiculous,” Patty muttered, but she settled back in her chair and held her tongue. Faery Kerry might have been the only person in the room who could nay-say Patty.

  “Do you have any inkling who was responsible, Detective?” Mindi asked from the rear of the room, and George’s face brightened as he turned away from the disgruntled Patty.

  “Not at this time but we’re looking into a number of leads,” he responded with a confidence that that almost had me convinced.

  “I assume you don’t think anybody else is in danger?” Raoul asked and George flashed his calm confident smile once more.

  “We’re working on the premise that this was a one-off. Someone who had a grudge against Janice.”

  “Does that mean we can all go back to work?” Murgatroyde asked. I was surprised when George nodded.

  “We’re clearing the scene as quickly as possible. So, I think yes. You’ll be able to resume shortly. Within an hour or so.”

  “I’m not sure I want to,” moaned a young woman with coloured paint all over her hands. One of the set dressers I surmised. There were mutters of agreement.

  “I can understand that, and it is of course entirely up to each individual, but as I’ve stated, we do think this is a one-off and we would ask you to remain within the grounds for the next few days, or at least not to leave the village.” George shot Patty a sharp look. “Now does anyone have any more questions?”

  “Of course, it doesn’t have to be one of us that’s the culprit at all, does it?” Raoul Scurrysnood’s growl rolled around the room and everyone turned to look at him.

  “What do you mean?” George asked politely.

  Raoul’s twinkling green eyes sought me out. “Just that it may not have been somebody from the production that killed Janice. It might have been someone from the inn.”