Murder At The Bake Off (Celebrity Mysteries 3) (2 page)

I was last here at Christmas when I ended up helping Jack out on a case involving a movie star and a priceless necklace stolen from the safe in her room. The place looked jaw-droppingly beautiful then with all the holiday decorations, but even now, in the pale light of a late winter’s day, it still manages to look so luxurious yet welcoming that I get a tingle down my spine when we park up near the stone portico entrance. Straightening the fabric of my floral tea dress, I check my brown leather knee-high boots aren’t scuffed. Hopefully, I’ll look presentable enough.

“You look so good I’m tempted to ditch tea with Cherry and whisk you off to a bedroom at the hotel,” Jack says, spotting me carrying out my swift clothing assessment.

“I don’t think the Roseby is the kind of establishment which rents rooms by the hour,” I pretend to snip as we head across the parking area.

“Who said anything about an hour?” he asks, with a raised eyebrow. “Things have been so hectic lately with my business, your work, plus the farm stuff, I was thinking we could check in for a day or so, hide from the world, and catch up on some
sleep
.”

I playfully bat him on the arm as we’re immediately let inside the Roseby’s entrance. They have security cameras all connected in with the entry gate so the man on reception knew exactly who we were before we even stepped foot inside the place.

“Afternoon, Jack,” he says, then adds, “Lizzie, isn’t it? How are you this fine February day?”

“I’m very well, thanks.” I smile back, noticing his name tag says Andrew, and then add, “How about you, Andrew?”

“I’m very well indeed, thanks for asking. I’ll let the kitchen know you’ve both arrived so they can send the tea and cakes up to Ms. Bakewell’s room. She decided to meet with you there rather than in the bar or the lounge,” he explains. “It’s room number seven, on the first floor. Do you need somebody to show you the way?”

“No, thanks, Andy, I know where room seven is,” Jack replies. “Oh, how much is a room for a night? Any chance of a discount seeing as I do so much work for you guys? Lizzie and I were thinking of staying over.”

“Jack!” I hiss at him, flashing an apologetic smile at Andrew and ushering Jack away from reception. We don’t have the money to stay in a place like this. I doubt we ever will, unless there’s a lottery win in the offing.

Andrew chuckles at us and then turns to greet a guest waiting to check out.

At the top of the elegant staircase, we turn right and pad down the hallway, which is lined with carpet so deep I think I might sink into it, until we reach room number seven. The door is slightly ajar suggesting Cherry has left it open for us, but I don’t want to just barge in, so I knock lightly and wait to be welcomed inside.

There’s no reply. I look over my shoulder at Jack and he shrugs. I try again. Knocking more loudly this time.

Still no reply.

“Ms. Bakewell?” I say, aiming for a volume somewhere between a normal voice level and a shout. It would never do to be found yelling in a place like this. “Ms. Bakewell? It’s Lizzie and Jack, you’re expecting us…”

No response. I’m just about to tentatively push the door open and step inside when Jack slides in front of me. I notice he’s switched to private investigator mode. His dark eyes are alert, his handsome face caught up in concentration and his demeanour tense, as though he’s listening, waiting, assessing. Slowly, he eases the door open and edges into the room. I follow him and then smack into the back of him when he abruptly stops.

“Jack, what’s…?” The rest of the sentence hangs unfinished in the air as Jack rushes to the side of Cherry Bakewell. She’s lying on the carpet next to a table and four chairs which are arranged in the bay window of her bedroom suite. There’s a half-eaten cupcake on the floor next to her hand. Jack crouches down by her side and checks for a pulse.

My hand flies to my mouth and my heart starts pounding. “Is she…?”

Jack nods. “She’s gone.”

CHAPTER TWO

There’s a loud clattering sound out in the hallway, followed by a squeal. Half hidden behind the door, I can’t see out into the corridor so I don’t know who or what caused the noise. Jack seems to, though. He glances up and then bows his head, swearing under his breath.

Outside the room, scattered all across the corridor, is what looks like it should have been Cherry’s afternoon tea delivered by room service. There are smushed cupcakes, a pot of tea seeping its contents into the plush carpet, and a bowl of jam splattered up the wall. There’s no sign of the person who attempted to deliver the food and drink to the room. Whoever it was must have seen Jack on the floor next to Cherry, dropped the tray in shock, screamed and run off.

“Should I go after them?” I ask, already halfway out of the door.

“No!” Jack hisses. “It’s bad enough they’ve seen me here, next to the body, especially if there turns out to be any foul play. I don’t think they could have seen you, so I suggest you get out of here, walk calmly downstairs and wait for me in the lounge,” he instructs.

“But…” I start to protest. I’m not keen on running away from the scene and leaving Jack to sort everything out.

“Now is not the time for an argument,” he says firmly, reaching for his phone. “Please, I don’t want you dragged into this. Just go.”

Reluctantly, I nod, and as he starts to call in the incident to the local police, I back slowly out of the room.

I’m sitting in the lounge at the Roseby. My whole body is shaking. Cherry Bakewell is dead. I saw her with my own eyes. I squish my eyes closed and think of something else, trying to erase the image. It doesn’t work. Instead, it makes things worse. It must have been natural causes, surely? Maybe she choked on that cupcake she’d been eating?

My fingers clench and my stomach turns. There were already cupcakes and a pot of tea on the table in Cherry’s room. The cupcakes she ate and then died. Did she choke on a too-big bite, or could they have been poisoned? I try to swallow but there’s a big lump in my throat. What if Jack or I had eaten one of those cakes instead of Cherry? Would we be the ones lying on the floor facing death? I gulp. My eyes travel towards the bar and I’m tempted to ask for a large brandy to calm me down. What is taking so long? Jack and the police and medical people have been up in Cherry’s suite for ages. The barman closed the door to the lounge earlier so that the hotel guests couldn’t see everyone trooping past. They’re trying to keep this quiet.

My mind, buzzing with uncomfortable thoughts, turns to Cherry’s family. Hadn’t I read that she’s got grown-up daughters and a grandson? The police will have to go and tell them what’s happened.

“Lizzie?”

I look up to see Jack standing a few feet away. There are two policemen with him, one standing either side. It almost looks as though they’re hovering, waiting to whisk him off to a police cell or something… No, they can’t be.

“Take my car keys,” he says, stepping forward and pressing the keys into my hands. “And go home.”

My eyes flash questioningly from Jack to first one of the policemen and then the other. “But…?”

Almost imperceptibly, Jack shakes his head and shoots me a pleading look. “Just go home, Lizzie. I’ll call you later.”

I get the message. Jack wants me to keep quiet, but why? What’s happening? Are they arresting him? “What about you?” I ask. “How are you getting home?”

“Mr. Mathis will be accompanying us to the police station for questioning,” one of the men replies before Jack can get a word in.

“You’re arresting him? For what?” I ask nervously. Jack is still flashing me shut-up looks, but I ignore him.

“Mr. Mathis is just helping us with our enquiries,” the man explains, then adds, “Are you a relation?”

“Fiancée,” I reply.

“Well, I’m sure he’ll call you when he’s released from questioning,” the policeman says, starting to lead Jack away.

I slump back into my chair, my mind whirling at a mile a minute. So, because the person delivering the hotel’s room service saw Jack crouched next to the body, they think he was involved in Cherry’s death? Which at least suggests the police think Cherry’s passing was in suspicious circumstances. And Jack’s keeping me out of it, wanting me to stay quiet about being in the room too, to protect me from being dragged in for questioning along with him. A part of me melts at Jack being in protective mode and the other part of me is fuming at him for being all macho and deliberately keeping me out of it. It’s not like this would be the first time I’d been hauled into the local police station for questioning on suspicion of being a murderer.

Unfortunately.

I climb into Jack’s four wheel drive and head back over the treacherous mountain pass road towards home. This road demands complete concentration to avoid becoming a victim of the
sheer drops and the sweeping, scarily steep inclines. Daisy and I hate this road because we nearly ended up as one of its casualties a while back. Daisy is my yellow VW Beetle car. I love her to bits. She’s part of my old city girl life in London but I refuse to part with her and replace her with something far more suited to farm life.

Usually, I heave a sigh of relief once I get safely over the mountain road and begin heading along the narrow but flat lanes close to Eskdale Top. But not today. I’m too worried about Jack and about what happened to Cherry.

I don’t feel like going home to my empty farmhouse. As I’m passing neighbouring Wellbeck, Jack’s brother’s farm, I decide to call in and tell Frazer and Emma what’s going on and where Jack is. Just as I pull into the yard in the dusky afternoon light, Emma is walking across to the farmhouse from one of the barns. Waving and smiling, she waits for me to park up and then opens the door of the car for me.

“Brilliant timing. I was just about to take a break and make a drink. Come in and join me,” she says. “Let me show you what I’ve done with your dress. It’s starting to look amazing.”

Emma’s lovely. She juggles family life with their three young children and farm work all with ease. She bakes the most amazing cakes, too. Oh, and she’s also pretty. Cropped blonde hair frames her delicate features, and today she’s dressed in leggings, boots and what looks like one of her husband’s practical waterproof jackets. She’s the kind of person you’d probably want to hate for being too perfect—if she wasn’t so friendly, down-to-earth and welcoming.

She spots the expression on my face, and her smile turns to a concerned frown. “What’s wrong?”

I shake my head as she ushers me inside the kitchen of Wellbeck farm, trying to decide which bit of bad news to impart first.

“Sit,” she says, easing me into a chair at the huge pine table covered with scuffs, felt-tip pen marks and assorted crumbs.

The door opens, and Frazer appears. “Hey, Lizzie.”

“Something’s wrong,” Emma tells him as she pushes a plate with a generous slice of lemon meringue pie on it towards me.

“I’m not even sure if I should be telling you this,” I start. “Because I don’t think they’ve made an official press statement yet, but Cherry Bakewell is dead.”

Emma’s hand flies to her mouth. “Oh, how dreadful! She was in town to judge the baking competition, wasn’t she?”

Frazer kicks off his muddy Wellington boots and takes a seat at the table. “What happened?”

“We found her on the floor of her hotel suite at the Roseby,” I start to explain, sniffing back the tears. “The police must think she died in suspicious circumstances. Somebody from room service saw Jack kneeling on the floor next to Cherry and jumped to the wrong conclusion, I guess.”

Emma moves to my side, slipping an arm around my shoulders. “Where’s Jack now?”

I swallow and the tears force their way out, running down my cheeks in torrents. “The police took him away!”

Frazer runs a hand through his hair
,
which is the exact same shade of dark blond as Jack
’
s
. “He’s been taken in for questioning? They think he might be involved in all of this?”

I nod. 

He mutters a few swear words under his breath and then adds, “Why does my baby brother always find trouble? I thought when he quit working for the CCIA and settled down here that he’d put all of that stuff behind him, but no…”

Emma rests a hand on her husband’s arm.  “Don’t worry, Jack’s more than capable of looking after himself. He’ll be home safe and sound tonight, with everything sorted.”

“He’d better be,” I say.

“How come they didn’t take you in as well?” Emma asks.

“Because I happened to be behind the door when the room service person showed up, so they only saw Jack and Cherry, not me, and then Jack insisted I didn’t admit I was there too.”

Frazer lifts a hand in understanding. “I know, Lizzie. I know what he’s like. Coming over all chivalrous and heroic.”

“How come you never do things like that?” Emma teases him, obviously trying to lighten the mood. Emma is always playfully having little digs at her husband, claiming he doesn’t know how to be romantic or sweep a woman off her feet.

“Why? Do I need to?” he counters. “Have you been lurking at any murder scenes lately?”

Emma ignores him, piles meringue onto a spoon and pops it into her mouth. Under normal circumstances I’d have polished off that meringue by now, but at the moment I don’t have the appetite. My head is a whirl of panic and my stomach is in knots.

“We had a nice quiet life here before my brother showed up and started dragging us into criminal cases,” Frazer fumes.

“It wasn’t so long ago we were grateful he was around. When I pregnant he helped us out with farm stuff while I was out of action,” she reminds him.

“Are you defending him?” Frazer demands. “Am I the only one worried that this family is getting tangled up in his dangerous investigations?”

Emma sighs. “No, you’re not the only one, but Jack will make sure we’re all safe—Lizzie, you, me, the kids.”

“He can’t keep us all safe if he’s locked up in a police cell, can he?” Frazer gets to his feet. “I’d better get down there and see what’s going on.”

“I’ll come with you.” I leap up. Frazer and Emma exchange anxious glances. “And do not say I should stay here.” I’m not backing down. No way. I’m going with Frazer to the police station.

He shrugs. “OK. Let’s get going.”

A shudder runs through me the instant I set foot inside the police station. I have bad memories of this place from when I was the one sitting across the table in an interview room from a fierce-looking chief inspector.

At the reception desk, Frazer says, “We’re here for my brother, Jack Mathis. He’s being interviewed in connection with an incident at the Roseby this afternoon.”

The man behind the desk nods. “He’s still in with the chief, I’m afraid.”

“Any idea how long he’ll be?” I ask, eager to get Jack and then get out of this place pronto.

“Sorry, no, but you can take a seat over there.” He points towards a row of orange plastic chairs lined up against the wall.

We sit down and wait. And wait. And wait some more.

A portly man arrives, dressed in a black suit and wearing a trilby hat. He speaks to the man on reception at the police station in hushed tones and then takes a seat opposite us. I can’t help noticing the black circles beneath his eyes. He looks pretty upset about something. The nosy part of me starts wondering what it could be. A moment later a woman appears and sits in the chair next to him. She seems nervous and keeps twisting her fingers around each other, while her knees are constantly jigging up and down.

Eventually, the door opens and Jack walks out. I race over and give him a hug. “Everything OK?”

He ignores my question. “Let’s go home.”

“Not so fast, Jack Mathis!”

We all turn to see the portly man glaring at Jack. “I’m going to ruin you for this! Last time you hid behind that agency, but this time you’re going to take the blame, and I’m here to give my statement to the police to ensure that’s precisely what happens!” He steps forward and pokes Jack in the chest. “I’ll be telling them all about how incompetent you are. I knew I should never have listened to that idiot who told me you worked up here now and recommended you for the job.”

“Marvin,” Jack says calmly, pushing a hand through his recently-cropped blond hair and sighing in exasperation.

I notice the policeman behind the reception desk walking towards us, his expression wary, as though he’s anticipating a punch-up in the middle of the waiting area.

My brain frantically sorts through information, and I recall Jack telling me earlier that Marvin is Cherry’s agent, the man who asked Jack to be Cherry’s bodyguard for the duration of the festival.

Oh, sugar. Now I understand why this guy is so furious, his face all red and eyes bulging.

“Sir, I think you should calm down,” the policeman says to Marvin. “Why don’t you come through to the interview room now? Somebody will be with you shortly to take your statement.”

Marvin turns towards the nervous woman. “Come along, Geraldine. I’ll need your help with this.”

This day just keeps getting better and better.