Murder At The Bake Off (Celebrity Mysteries 3) Page 9

  “Metcalfe Supplements?” I check. “I thought this place was called Herbal Help For You.”

  “That’s the name we sell the supplements under,” the man explains to me as though I’m stupid.

  “It’s good to meet the face behind the business,” Jack says. “So, tell us, how did you get into the herbal supplement market? Do you have a background in natural medicine? In herbalism?”

  “My mother did, yes, but only in an informal way. After I went to university to do a business management degree, I was looking for a project to develop and Madeleine, that’s my mum, was making and selling herbal products from home and on market stalls. So I took the business to the next level, got proper premises and licences and created Metcalfe Supplements. We’ve been operating for many years and are a family business. My mother is still involved in formulations. I think that says a lot about a business, don’t you? When it’s been trading successfully for years and holds true to family values.”

  He fidgets in his seat, briefly glancing away, and I think I spot the tell-tale signs that he’s fibbing to us. Of course, I also have the advantage of knowing that things haven’t all been smooth sailing around here and that Cherry had been keeping this business afloat via the money she’d been giving to Maggie, Rudy’s wife.

  “It’s good you’ve got the family history and knowledge about herbs, and the proper licences as well, you say. It’s reassuring. Herbs, if used wrongly or in the incorrect amounts, can be so dangerous, can’t they?” I ask, watching Rudy carefully.

  He nods but doesn’t look at me. “Right, well, here’s the details of the products we sell and the trade prices.” He pushes the folder on top of his desk in our direction. “Is there anything else I can help you with?”

  “Maybe a tour of the premises?” Jack suggests.

  “Of course. I’d be delighted to show you around,” Rudy says, looking anything but.

  We follow him through a door into the factory area, where a handful of employees are hard at work. I have no idea what they’re doing, but there’s various impressive bits of machinery and loads of small green plastic bottles and packing boxes.

  “We’ll only stock the best products,” I warn, looking around.

  “Rest assured we only use the highest pharmaceutical grade of herbs here, mostly imported from the countries which have the very best growing conditions to maximise the natural benefits of each plant, leaf, flower or root. This is a precision business, operating to the highest standards,” Rudy replies, shooting me a look of irritation.

  Back in the car, I flick through the folder of products he gave us, taking in the various names of the herbs. Echinacea. Avena Sativa. Dandelion. Nettle. Skullcap. Valerian. Ginseng. Agnus Castus. St John’s Wort. I recognise Echinacea as a widely-used herb to fight colds and boost the immune system. I know you can get dandelion and nettle in teas to use as a bit of a home detox for the digestive system. Valerian is a sedative, I think. I’m not sure about the others. No doubt, we’ll be hitting the internet to look for any cautions about use of these herbs as soon as we can.

  “So, what do you think?” I check with Jack. “Could Rudy have used herbs to poison Cherry?”

  “Good question. One of many we’ll need to find answers to when we get home.”

  Home. Several hours later, after a nightmare of a journey on the M6 due to a combination of heavy traffic and roadworks, we finally arrive back at Eskdale Top. It feels so good to be home again. As I make us some hot drinks, I watch Jack checking his messages about the investigation. “Anything useful?”

  He shrugs and puts his phone down, rubbing at his eyes. “Not sure. I’ll need to call a few people back and see.”

  Placing a mug of coffee in front of him, I gently massage his shoulders. “It’s late, Jack. Leave it until the morning. Today feels as though it’s been going on forever, as it is. Let’s finish these drinks and head up to bed. You are staying over, right?”

  He half-turns and takes my hand. “Are you propositioning me?” he asks cheekily, the tiredness now vanished from his eyes.

  I grin. “I might well be.”

  “Forget the drinks,” he says, quickly getting to his feet and gently tugging me towards the stairs. “Let’s just go to bed.”

  The following morning, I’m in one of the greenhouses checking on the winter salad leaves when Jack tracks me down. “I’ve just had a call from the Delamere Festival organiser. She’s holding a meeting to update everyone on what’s happening since Cherry’s demise. As the security guy, I need to get over there straight away. Want to come with me?”

  “Yes, and no,” I say, carefully closing the greenhouse door. “Yes, on the curiosity side, but no, because I’ve a heap of stuff to catch up with around here and I’m beat after all the rushing around of the past two days.” Not to mention I’m exhausted. I didn’t get a huge amount of sleep last night. Fooling around with Jack was one reason. Lying awake in the dark much later, worrying myself silly about clearing Jack’s name was another.

  Jack shrugs. “No worries. I’ll head over there now then, leave you to sort things at this end.”

  Mentally, I quickly run through what I need to sort. It should all be doable later. I can work through into the early evening if necessary. It’ll be dark by then, but I can still get most of my jobs done. Plus, curiosity, as is often the case with me, has got the better of me. “Wait!” I shout across the farmyard. “I’m coming, too.”

  The festival meeting is taking place in Delamere’s village hall. Delamere’s a touristy haven next to the lake, surrounded by hills. In size, it is somewhere between a large village and a small town, and it’s a mecca for walkers and climbers, as well as those who want to potter around the craft shops and art galleries and just enjoy the scenery. When we arrive at the community hall, the festival organiser Tammy Whiteley is already sitting at the head of the table, surrounded by the people involved in getting the festival up and running. There are a couple of empty chairs at the other end of the room, so we slip into them and wait for Tammy to start the meeting. A woman is sitting next to her who I swear looks just like Petula Musgrove, second only in the baking stakes to Cherry Bakewell. I lean forward to get a better look, trying not to be caught gawping at her. Yes, it is Petula Musgrove—I’m certain of it. Of course. I remember now she’s one of the other judges for the cake competition.

  “Right, ladies and gentlemen,” Tammy shouts above the general hum of chatter. “I’ll update you on the latest. We were, of course, without a judge for the main baking competition due to what happened to poor Cherry Bakewell.” She stops and visibly shudders, then gathers herself and presses on. “Of course, we did contemplate cancelling the whole festival, not just the competition, as a mark of respect, but after much debate and consulting with all parties involved, we will continue as planned. I’m thrilled and relieved to announce that another baking legend has very kindly agreed to step in as the new judge. Please, a round of applause if you will, to thank Mrs. Musgrove for helping us out at the last moment.”

  Everyone claps and thanks Petula, who smiles graciously and nods in acknowledgement. When the applause fades away, Petula gets to her feet. “Thank you. Though the police investigating the, er, incident with Cherry have assured me that I’m not in danger, I am naturally still rather concerned for my own safety. For this reason, I have declined the opportunity to stay at the Roseby Hotel seeing as their security has already been called into question. I have decided to instead seek accommodation with one of you. You’re all committed to the festival and are all locals too. I very much doubt one of you is a murderer. I feel this will be safer and a more anonymous way for me to stay in Delamere until after the festival.” She clears her throat before continuing, “I understand the festival has a security coordinator?”

  Jack stands up. “That would be me, Mrs. Musgrove. Jack Mathis, from Mathis Investigations.”

  She eyes him up and down, and, though she must easily be thirty years his senior, I’m sure I spot a wishful gl
eam in her eyes at the sight of him. “In that case, Jack, I will be staying with you. Do you live here in Delamere?”

  “No, ma’am. In a village on the other side of the mountain pass, about a thirty minute drive away. There’s probably somebody far more convenient for you to stay with here in town,” he suggests gently.

  Several women who live in Delamere offer Petula the chance to stay with them, but she ignores each and every one of them. Moving over to Jack, she links an arm through his, saying, “I think I’ll feel far safer with this young man. Oh, and Jack, sweetie, it’s Ms. Musgrove these days, not Mrs. And you can call me Petal, short for Petula.”

  I struggle to hide an entirely inappropriate smile at the sight of Jack’s worried face. He obviously doesn’t want Petula as a houseguest. I know it has nothing to do with being responsible for keeping the new bake-off judge alive and everything to do with the fact he actually looks a tad scared of her. A former special agent, he usually doesn’t baulk at any dangerous situation he encounters during the course of an investigation—except, it appears, having Petula Musgrove living in his home and flirting with him. Not that Jack’s at home that much, anyway, between his work and the time he spends up at Eskdale Top with me. I wonder if Petula realises she might be spending a lot of time home alone at Jack’s place.

  The meeting continues apace, and every little detail is analysed to ensure the whole festival goes off without any further hitches—at least, that’s what we all sincerely hope happens.

  As soon as the meeting concludes, Petula announces she’s off to collect her luggage from the storeroom at the back of the hall, and then she’ll be right back so Jack can take her home. She even added a little wink after she said it, and Jack’s face went a bit pale.

  “You’ve got to help me,” he whisper-hisses in my ear. “She can stay at Eskdale with you, can’t she? My place is a tiny terraced cottage, you’ve got loads of room so she’ll be far more comfortable with you. Plus, it works out that I’m at Eskdale more than I’m at home anyway.”

  “You wouldn’t be scared of Petula Musgrove, now would you?” I tease. “She likes you.”

  “That’s exactly what I’m worried about,” he says quietly, running an anxious hand through his hair. “Please, Catwoman, you can handle her much better than I’d be able to. Please, do it for me.”

  He clasps my hands tightly as we both spot Petula walking towards us, pulling her red suitcase on wheels behind her and smiling at Jack like the cat who got the cream. “Oh, Jack, sweetie, I’m ready when you are.”

  Jack half turns away from Petula and leans in close to my ear, saying, “Save me.”

  I take pity on him and decide to try to persuade Petula to lodge with me instead, but I don’t think for one moment it’s going to be easy. She definitely has her eye on my fiancé. Standing up, I introduce myself. “Petula, I’m Lizzie.”

  “My fiancée,” Jack adds pointedly, standing a bit behind me as though I’m shielding him from danger.

  “We were just saying it would be much more comfortable for you to stay up at Eskdale Top with me. It’s a small farm in the middle of nowhere, so far quieter and off the beaten track, and much safer, too. Nobody would track you down up there. I have more room than Jack does so…”

  Petula wrinkles her nose. “I don’t like farms. They’re dirty, smelly places. Anyway, I’m perfectly happy staying with Jack.”

  “I won’t be there much,” Jack says. “I’m working all hours and if I’m not working, I’m usually up at Eskdale myself. You’d be better off staying there.”

  “So, if I stayed at your home, I’d be there alone most of the time?”

  “Yes,” Jack and I both chorus.

  She shrugs, disappointment in her eyes. “Very well. Then I’ll stay at this Eskdale place instead.”

  “It might be worth leaving your car here in town, to be on the safe side,” Jack suggests. “Then we’ll drive you to Eskdale, so there’s no trail. It’s just a precaution. I’m sure there isn’t somebody out there gunning for Delamere Baking Festival judges.”

  “You’d better hope not,” she says, swanning past us and heading for the door.

  Oh, boy. The next few days are going to test my patience big time. Petula Musgrove is not going to be a model houseguest.

  CHAPTER TEN

  I’ve settled Petula into the one and only decent guest bedroom—the other rooms still desperately need a good decorate through. She’s still upstairs unpacking as we take a well-earned five-minute break with two giant mugs of coffee, needing the extra caffeine to sustain us through the rest of this day. There’s a knock at the door, and Jack is instantly in work mode, on full alert. My mind switches into overdrive. Is there a baking judge assassin lurking out there in the Cumbrian countryside? Has that person been watching Petula since she arrived and spotted her leaving the village hall with us? Have they followed us up here?

  “I’ll get it,” Jack says, heading for the door.

  “Mr. Mathis, we were told by your next door neighbour that we’d probably find you here.”

  I recognise that voice. It’s Mark, one of the local policemen. My heart sinks. Why is he looking for Jack? I get up and walk cautiously over to the door.

  “Miss Carter,” he says, dipping his head slightly in acknowledgement. “Sorry about the home visit.”

  “What did you want me for?” Jack asks him. “Is it in connection with the Bakewell case?”

  “Yes. It is. I need to ask you to accompany me down to the police station. We have some further questions for you.”

  My stomach tumbles and my mouth goes dry at the memory of when the police arrived almost two years ago and said pretty much the same thing to me. I was a suspect in the murder of my former celebrity chef boss, Armand. I remember feeling sick with worry as they drove me down the bumpy track from Eskdale on the way to the police station. Now, the same thing is happening to my poor Jack. Do they seriously think a former special agent who runs his own security and investigations business, and whose focus is to keep people safe, would murder the Queen of Baking with a poisoned cupcake?

  This is beyond ridiculous. I open my mouth to say so, but Jack gently places a hand on my arm.

  “It’s fine, Lizzie. I’ve got nothing to hide. I’ll go and get this sorted and be home before you know it.” He plants a kiss on my lips, then adds, “Sorry to leave you with…” He raises his eyes to the ceiling, silently indicating my ungracious house guest.

  I squeeze his hand. “Don’t worry about that. Give me a call when you need picking up, OK?”

  “I’m not dragging you out to collect me. You’ve got enough on as it is. I’ll make other arrangements.” He gives me another quick kiss. “See you later.”

  Fighting tears, I dump the rest of my mug of coffee in the sink and am tidying up on the pine kitchen table when I spot Jack’s notebook. We’d been going over the case stuff so far and agreeing that up to now the finger of suspicion seems to be firmly pointing at Maggie and Rudy Metcalfe. Reaching for the book, I flick through the notes again.

  How long will they keep Jack down at the station for questioning? They can’t detain him for too long; they have no reason to. The fact they’re hauling him in for another interview suggests their investigation so far hasn’t turned up many, if any, other suspects. I wonder if they have the Metcalfes on their list to warrant further investigation. Then I notice the scribbled note in the book about Simone Barker, the woman who claimed Cherry had stolen her recipes. The note includes what I assume to be her address over in Witherby, a tourism and fishing town on the Yorkshire coast I know quite well from childhood holidays. The details also include today’s date, followed by a time—two o’clock this afternoon. Had Jack arranged to go and meet with Simone today? It certainly looks like it. There’s no phone number, though, so I can’t phone to cancel on his behalf.

  My fingers are absently tapping against the table top as I wonder how long it would take me to drive over there and meet with Simone in Jack’s place.
A couple of hours, probably. My eyes flick towards the clock. I’d have enough time. Will the police release Jack in time for him to take the meeting himself? We really need to find out who is behind Cherry’s murder as fast as possible, preferably before the big bake-off festival competition, just in case the killer is looking to strike again, this time with Petula. In that second, I decide to take the meeting for Jack. I’ve been with him on a few investigations now, so I know how these things work. Besides, it’s just a harmless chat with one of Cherry’s old friends. I can easily handle that. I grab Daisy’s keys and race to the bottom of the stairs to let Petula know I’m popping out.

  “Fine,” she says from the top of the stairs, with a wave of her hands as though shooing away a cat. “I’ll stay here with Jack.”

  “Jack’s not here. The police called ten minutes ago and asked him to go to the station with them again.”

  “Where are you going?” she demands, walking down the steps towards me. “I was under the impression I am not to be left alone, as a security precaution. I’ll have to come with you.”

  Sugar. I turn away and count to ten, determined to stay calm. She appears next to me. “So, where are we going then, Elizabeth?”

  For some reason she’s taken to calling me Elizabeth, rather than Lizzie. Nobody calls me Elizabeth, not even my mother.

  I paste on a smile. “Fancy a trip to the seaside?”

  Witherby is even prettier than I remember it. On this dull February day, the rain-washed streets are quiet save the seagulls parading up and down the promenade, checking for any scraps of food dropped by customers of the nearby eat-in and take-out fish and chip shops.

  Thankfully, Petula slept all the way over here, but as I manoeuvre Daisy into a parking space, she stirs and sits up. “Are we here?”

  “Yes, this is Witherby. Lovely, isn’t it? Can’t you smell the bracing sea air?”

  Petula pulls a face and flips the sun visor down above the passenger seat to check her makeup is still presentable after her nap. “All I can smell is fish and chips and boat diesel.”