Death by Chocolate Cake

by Elizabeth. M. Newby

  Bwytheney indeed showed Margaret a warm welcome. She was surrounded by people offering to buy her drinks and show her around. I couldn't help noticing her manager, Jules, standing awkwardly off to one side. He was fidgeting and glancing over at the crowd, clearly uncomfortable. I guessed he felt it was his responsibility to protect Margaret, and they were probably unused to a situation like this. I’m not sure that Margaret had ever agreed to be a judge at a summer fête before. And I had no idea what Caroline had done to pull this off, but there was no doubt that it was a masterstroke.

  Somebody needed to give Jules a warm welcome too, and with everyone else buzzing around Margaret, it looked as if it was down to me.

  “Hey, I’m Cara. Can I get you another drink?”

  "Jules," he said while sticking his hand out as a way of introduction.

  His attention was still distracted, though, as he watched Margaret, smiling and chatting away to some of the locals, including Beryl. While Beryl would usually avoid the Sunday night quizzes in the pub, there was no way she was going to miss out on an announcement about one of the most exciting things to happen on these islands for years. Her face was animated, and Margaret was holding her hand. Beryl would be thrilled. She never missed an episode of Margaret’s latest show ‘Faker or Baker’. Contestants were made up of professionals and one amateur. Judges had to guess which one was the amateur faking it.

  “Drink?” I said, seeing as he hadn't responded to my question.

  He gave a quick shake of his head and turned to look at me. His hair was dark and swept back into a slight quiff. His eyes were a piercing, icy blue that made me feel like he was boring into me.

  “Yes, sorry. I was a little distracted. A bottle of beer would be great.”

  Shadow wandered over, squeezed in between us, and promptly plonked himself on my feet, watching Jules and giving a little bark.

  “I think he’s trying to say hello,” I said.

  Jules looked a little unsure but ruffled the top of his head anyway. Shadow moved away again but found a spot not too far away from where he could lie down and keep his eye on us. I handed Jules his beer and took a sip of my wine.

  “So, what is it you do for Margaret?”

  "Oh, Margaret's just the face of the business, really. We're partners, and I do all the stuff behind the scenes: arrange events, sort the TV deals, make sure she gets paid. Everything really, other than standing in front of the camera.”

  “Gosh, that sounds like a lot of responsibility. I guess it’s you we have to thank then for her coming to Bwytheney?”

  Jules scoffed. “Not likely. This was all Margaret’s doing.” He leaned forward to whisper in my ear, “She went a little rogue on me. I think it’s her age. I didn’t know a thing about this until a couple of days ago.”

  I wasn’t too sure what to think. My gut reaction was to be pleased that Margaret was taking charge and doing what she wanted, and it was rather flattering that she was so keen to visit our islands. But the seriousness on Jules’s face told me that he was not impressed. Rather than annoy him, I thought it better to show him some hospitality so he could warm to Bwytheney and its residents too. Perhaps then, we could enjoy Margaret Flower’s company again next year.

  "Oh dear," I said. "Well, at least you get to explore the Nord Isles. It really is a wonderful place with lots to give. The summer fête might not be your usual sort of thing, but there's always plenty of fun to be had."

  “Well, I have to admit, I didn’t think there would be much going on here. With Margaret in so much demand, we normally attend much larger events. And we’re supposed to be starting a world tour to raise her profile in America and Australia soon. But I’ll bow to your superior knowledge. I’m sure the Nord Isles is buzzing.” Jules smiled, and I could feel the frosty atmosphere melting away.

  “Oh, it’s all happening here,” I joked. “War has already been declared between Celeste from Port Ynys’s French patisserie and Emma from Bwytheney’s Cupcake Café. You should have heard them before. This competition is serious!”

  Jules threw his head back and roared with laughter. A few heads turned round to stare.

  “You know, that is something that happens across the world. All-out war between different businesses. In fact, sometimes best friends become the worst of enemies as they trip over themselves to impress Margaret, who never has a clue what's going on.”

  But Margaret didn’t strike me as the sort of person who was oblivious to her surroundings. “So where are you Margaret and you heading after this then? America?”

  “That was the plan. But who knows now? Margaret is less than communicative about it right now.”

  I looked over at her chatting away and charming all the villagers, and wondered if he could really be talking about the same woman. A slight shudder passed across my shoulders. I was beginning to feel that all was not well between Jules and Margaret. I took my phone out and started taking a few photos.

  Tomorrow, I would have to get a post written on my blog, Nord Isle Living. I always got decent traffic, but I knew this one would explode. It would do wonders for the local tourism to the area and the local businesses that relied upon it.

  “One for the personal collection?” asked Jules.

  "Oh, no, actually. I run the local blog, Nord Isle Living. We get quite a lot of traffic these days. I mean, it's probably tiny compared to what you're used to on Margaret’s website, but it does well. Hey, do you think Margaret will have time for a little interview before she leaves? It would be a bit of extra publicity for her?”

  “Oh, Cara, let's be honest. It would be publicity for the islands rather than Margaret. I'm afraid there will be a fee involved if you want to use any photos featuring her. As for the interview, she might be able to squeeze you in if you’re able to pay the £4000 fee she commands for such things.”

  “Really? Oh…well. That’s a pity. I had no idea…”

  “Oh, don’t worry. You’re not alone in your assumptions. Everyone wants to profit from us without paying a penny despite the fact we’ve spent years building such a strong brand. Best to keep your distance if you don’t want to land yourself a bill. Anyway, I must be going. Nice to meet you, Cara, and thanks for the drink.”

  He placed his bottle on the bar and walked away, leaving me lost for words. I had never had to pay for an interview with anyone before. Okay, Margaret Flowers was by far the biggest celebrity to visit us, but it had never occurred to me that there would be fees involved, and now I was left standing there, cheeks stinging and feeling a little ashamed of myself.

  Shadow must have sensed how I felt as he came over and nuzzled his head against my leg. I looked over to see Pam, Emma and Jo all talking incessantly to Margaret. Normally, I would join them, but now I wasn’t sure if Jules might count that as an interview. Maybe it was best that I just headed home. I would probably need to avoid Margaret over the coming days. I certainly couldn’t avoid a bill for a few thousand pounds landing on my doormat. My readers were going to be bitterly disappointed too.

  Chapter 4

  I awoke on Saturday morning to a stream of sunshine peeking through the gap in my curtains. Shadow was already stretched out across the bed, soaking up its warmth. Soon the village would be buzzing with the summer fête activities and, of course, the Bake the Cake competition. There was still time for a quiet coffee, and a spot of breakfast before things became hectic. I needed to plan my visits to make sure I captured as much of the fun as possible for a blog post. It was a good advertisement for the islands.

  But I wasn’t too sure what to do about the cake competition. Of course, I was going to spend much of my time there, supporting my friends. But Jules had made it abundantly clear that photographs of Margaret Flowers were not allowed. There was a knot in my stomach and an unpleasant taste in my mouth. Usually, I was jumping with excitement for this weekend in the calendar, but now it had lost some of its shine.

  “What do you reckon?” I asked Shadow. “I guess I could take a picture of
the tent and contestants. After all, Caroline arranged the event. Jules doesn't own that. And I'm sure they'll be happy to have their creations photographed. That should be enough, right?"

  Shadow barked his approval and came to lie up against me, wanting a tickle under his chin. It seemed such a shame that I wouldn’t be able to share our celebrity chef judge, but it didn’t mean I couldn’t cover the event.

  By the time I had got myself ready and was closing the door on my cottage off the high street, the air was filled with the voices of crowds and someone speaking into a microphone making an announcement. It drowned out the usual sounds of seagulls squawking and the waves rolling in from the Irish sea. Instead, the usually quiet village of Islethorpe was alive with people ready for entertainment and treats.

  With just over an hour before Bake the Cake kicked off, I made my way around the fête, capturing images of the different stalls and events. There was the sheep herding competition for children, which Shadow desperately wanted to join, a dance act performing on a stage, and a florist running a class on flower arranging. Then there were all the stalls selling clothes, tourist items and every imaginable type of food. My favourite was always the second-hand bookstall, where I spent a few minutes looking through the different titles before settling on a couple of classics I’d not yet read.

  When I eventually entered the Bake the Cake Competition tent, I was amazed at what Caroline had achieved without us knowing a thing. How does someone organise a tent fitted out with ten working kitchen stations complete with oven, fridge, and freezer? It struck me what a huge feat it must have been, especially without the support of her friends. I felt a twinge of guilt at not having asked her more about what she was up to. We had all known that something was going on, and we had all underestimated her, believing it was probably just something to do with the children or their school.

  I spotted Pam on the far side of the tent, looking excited to be there. She was chatting away with a couple of the other locals who had also entered the competition. Emma, on the other hand, was looking decidedly worse. She was fiddling with her apron, hair, and jewellery, trying to avoid making eye contact with anyone. Celeste looked like the picture of poise and was chatting away with a man I recognised from a restaurant over on Port Ynys. Emma certainly had competition, and I could understand her concern. I could also see Marie stood behind one of the stations. She worked part-time at Emma's Cupcake Café, and I wondered whether that put her in the professional’s category too – she would often bake a few cakes to add to the counter. She walked over to Emma, gave her a comforting squeeze, and seemed to be reassuring her when Caroline’s voice broke through the tension.

  "Welcome everybody to the first-ever Bake the Cake Competition.”

  Caroline paused while there was a round of applause. She was joined on stage by Margaret Flowers, who was beaming and clearly happy to be taking part. Shadow, realising something was about to start, curled up on my feet. At least they wouldn’t get cold.

  “Phew, I can’t believe we’re finally here,” Caroline joked, hinting at just how much hard work had gone into this event. “As you know, your first task is to create a cake with at least two tiers. You’ll have four hours to complete your cake, after which the judging will take place. In the meantime, our judge, Margaret Flowers, will make her way around each of you to hear more about your design and the flavours you’ve chosen. So, if you all take your places…you can begin…NOW.”

  There was a rush of movement from the competitors. Some ran to get ingredients from the fridges. Others pulled out bowls and pans from the shelves below their workstations. Emma sat quietly, and I wondered if she was frozen to the spot. But then I saw she was reading through her notes. If I knew Emma, she had organised every second available. I only hoped she could remain calm and on track.

  Pam, however, was giving the impression that she was rather more laidback. She was getting utensils out while talking to someone else and then looked over in my direction and gave me a wave. I gave a little wave back in acknowledgement and grinned. Pam was new to the islands and our group of friends, so none of us really had any idea if she possessed any baking skills. It would be interesting to see what Pam produced, but at least she looked like she was having fun.

  Two hours into the competition and there were a variety of sponges cooling. They varied as much in colour and flavour as they did in size. The contestants were now making their fillings and decoration before they began assembling and creating their masterpieces. Pam’s workstation was covered in flour and icing sugar, plus the glass bowls and pans she had used. One of her sponges had come out a little wonky, and she was now trying to trim it so that it was straight. There was still no sign of stress from her.

  In contrast, Emma and Celeste’s workstations were tidy, clean, and still organised. Here was a battle between the immaculate precision of someone trained in the patisseries of Paris and the artistic flair of someone self-taught. As much as I knew Emma could be melodramatic, I did feel a little sorry for her. But as the decoration stage began, she seemed to be holding it together. Emma was leaning over a cake tin. I couldn't quite work out what she was doing, but it had her full attention. After ten minutes or so, Emma smiled, picked up the cake tin and headed over to the fridge. Her steps were soft and fluid, and she placed the dish carefully inside. Whatever she had been creating in the tin was clearly delicate.

  Pam paused and looked up at her, “How’s it going?”

  “Erm, okay, I think. My worktops are certainly tidier than yours,” said Emma as she grinned and took in the chaos that reigned all around Pam. Even the floor was covered in dollops and dust.

  Pam glanced over in the direction of Emma’s pristine surfaces. “Ha! Yes, my mum always used to moan at me for being a messy cook.”

  Just then, Shadow shot to his feet and started barking. Those who stood next to me visibly jumped back, and my own heart pounded. It was so unlike him.

  "What is it, boy? What's the matter?" I gave him a reassuring tickle behind the ears. He looked upset.

  “Hey, what are you doing?” said Pam, staring across the tent.

  Emma frowned and turned her head to look behind her. Standing beside the ingredients on her workstation was Celeste. Her cheeks were flushed red, and I was sure I could see her skin pulsating near her throat.

  “What? It’s not against the rules to look at what another contestant is doing." Celeste smiled sweetly, but there was something behind the eyes that betrayed her.

  I could feel my own frown forming, wondering what she had been doing. Why would Celeste want to look at the ingredients Emma was using? Was she trying to discover some secret ingredient? Was she more worried about Emma than she let on? I didn’t know the answer, but I also knew that it was not an entirely innocent move. Something was going on.

  Meanwhile, Emma stormed across the room, her jaw clenched and eyes bulging. “What did you just do? WHAT DID YOU DO?” Emma’s voice was rising in pitch, almost hysterical.

  Caroline flew from the stage at the front where she had been chatting with Margaret Flowers. Margaret’s mouth had dropped open, and she was looking around the room, unsure what to do or where to go.

  “Emma!” shouted Caroline.

  Emma looked at Caroline, back at Celeste, who was slowly edging her way backwards and then to the different pots of ingredients she had laid out on the side. Something caught her eye, but I couldn’t see what. Nothing looked out of place.

  “She’s just tried to sabotage me. She needs to be disqualified.”

  “How dare you? I did no such thing!” It was Celeste’s voice that was rising now.

  “Okay, just calm down, everyone." Caroline looked around and then caught my eye.

  All I could do was shrug my shoulders. I had been watching Emma walk over to the fridge and then had been distracted by Shadow. Maybe that was why he barked – he was trying to raise the alarm about something.

  Margaret was making her way from the stage to the commotion, poise r
estored.

  "She's tampered with my ingredients. I know she has," said Emma.

  “Oh darling, please don’t try and blame your failings on me. It’s not my fault you’ve got inferior ideas, skills, and ingredients. I was just taking a look to see if you’d upped your game at all. But I can see you’ve done no such thing.”

  "Stop lying. I know you've done something. I know it!”

  “Okay, ladies, let's calm down, or I'll have no choice but to disqualify you both. Emma, how do you know that Celeste here has done something?”

  “Look, the lid’s not on the icing sugar properly.”

  “Oh, how ridiculous. You didn't put the lid on properly, and it's now my fault?”

  "If the lid wasn't on properly, the contents would be all over the bottom of the bag I bought it in. I haven't touched it yet. You have, though. You’ve tampered with it.”

  “Well, there’s an easy answer to this,” said Margaret. “I’ll just taste test it.”

  Margaret took hold of a teaspoon and dipped it into the icing sugar. Everyone in the room held their breath as they watched the spoon slowly rise to Margaret’s lips. Beads of sweat were gathering on Celeste’s forehead. Had she really dared to do something?

  Margaret paused for a moment as if waiting for the icing sugar to declare that something was wrong. "It's just icing sugar—nothing else. Okay, let's get back to the competition, and from now on, you will need to remain away from the other workbenches. That’ll stop any more of this nonsense.”

  Margaret began walking in the direction of Pam to start another round of updates from the bakers. Caroline scuttled alongside her, apologising profusely. I had no doubt that she would be seething with Emma later. She was desperate for this event to go without a hitch.

  But I also couldn’t shake the feeling that Celeste really had been up to something before getting interrupted just in time. The tension was growing, and at some point, I knew it would have to snap.

  Chapter 5