Baked to Death

by Dean James

  Little did Giles know. Try two hundred years too old. But of course I couldn’t tell Giles that.

  “Unlike someone else I could name,” Giles continued. “You need not worry, Simon. I have no designs on the professor, and I rather doubt he has designs on me.”

  Before I could frame a reply to that, Lady Prunella’s trilling voice interrupted us. “Simon, dear boy, come speak to Totsye. The poor lamb wants you.” Stepping past a smiling Giles, I entered the tent and squatted beside Totsye Titchmarsh. She held out a trembling hand, and I clasped it, patting it reassuringly with my free hand.

  “You’ve had quite a shock,” I said in tones of gravest sympathy.

  “Oh, Simon, I still can’t take it all in,” Totsye said, her voice barely a whimper. “Can it really be true? Is my darling Luke really and truly dead?” The tears flowed down her face, and her skin grew splotchy.

  “I’m afraid it is,” I said.

  “How could someone do such an evil thing?” Totsye moved restlessly on the divan where she lay. “It had to be that horrible idiot, Harald. Who else would want to harm poor darling Luke? That man ought to be drawn and quartered for doing such a thing.”

  The virulent spite in her voice took me aback a bit. She was even angrier with the man than she had been earlier in the day, when I had first met her. “You may rest assured, Totsye, that Detective Inspector Chase will soon sort all this out, and whoever did this will be charged accordingly.”

  “He won’t have to look very far,” Totsye said, letting go of my hand and attempting to sit up. Her enmity toward Harald Knutson was apparently reviving her. “Harald did this, or else he talked one of his minions into doing it for him. Either way, he’s guilty. Guilty, guilty, guilty.”

  “Totsye, dear, don’t excite yourself.” Lady Prunella fluttered around. “It’s not good for you, my dear.”

  “I’m perfectly fine, Prunie,” Totsye snapped at her friend. “Suddenly I feel reinvigorated. Luke’s death must not go unavenged. I will see to that.” She stood up.

  “I wouldn’t do anything rash,” I told her as I too stood. “Detective Inspector Chase won’t thank you for disrupting his investigation.”

  “You should know,” Giles murmured behind me.

  I ignored him. “Totsye, the best thing you can do is to tell Chase the truth. Tell him what you know, even what you suspect, and let him sort out the truth.”

  Totsye frowned. “I suppose you’re right, Simon. But you’ll never convince me that Harald is innocent. No one else would have any reason to harm poor, dear Luke.” The tears began to flow again, and she collapsed onto the divan. With a reproachful glance at me, Lady Prunella once again assumed her role as chief comforter to the bereaved.

  Though I knew Robin would castigate me for it later, I decided to brave his wrath and ask Totsye a few questions. “Totsye, I know how distressed you are, but would you mind if I ask you a few questions?”

  Lady Prunella started to protest, but I held up a hand. Miraculously, she shut up.

  “I suppose so, Simon,” Totsye said, sniffling into a handkerchief. “What do you want to know?”

  “I wanted to ask about the menu for tonight’s dinner,” I said. “How many people knew in advance what you would be serving?”

  Totsye frowned as she put the handkerchief aside. “One other person, at least. But, really, Simon, it was no great secret. It is a favorite menu of mine, and I often serve the very same dishes at the little dinner parties I give during our summer meetings.”

  “Would everyone in the encampment know, then?”

  “Not everyone, I would say,” Totsye answered after a few moments’ thought. “But the various guests I have had over the years would certainly know. Poor dear Luke and Adele, naturally, because I could not think of having a dinner party without inviting them both.” She grimaced. “Even that prat Harald, because once upon a time, if you can believe it he was actually a friend of mine. Before he became so unspeakably horrid.”

  That was interesting. Totsye and Harald had once been friends. I wondered what he had done that made him “so unspeakably horrid.” Had he become jealous of Totsye’s fascination with Luke? I’d have to investigate that further.

  “Was there any particular significance to any of the menu choices?” I tried to ask this in an offhand manner so that Totsye wouldn’t attach any particular significance to the question.

  Frowning, Totsye thought about that. “The only thing I can think of, I suppose, is that the fig pastries are always popular. I love them myself, and poor Luke was quite addicted to them.” Her eyes widened in shock as that hit home. “Oh, no. Don’t tell me the poison was in one of my fig pastries.”

  “I really don’t know. We’ll have to wait for the postmortem results to tell us.” Robin would have to be the one to tell her about the fig pastries, if he so chose.

  At the word postmortem, Totsye went into hysterics, saving me the trouble of dodging any further questions about the pastries. Muttering “sorry” over and over, I moved away as Lady Prunella sniffed and harrumphed and tried to soothe Totsye.

  Deciding that my presence in the tent was no longer welcome, I went outside and stood a few feet away from the entrance. Giles remained inside, for which I was grateful. I had no particular wish to speak to him at the moment.

  The sunlight was beginning to fade as sunset rapidly approached. I welcomed the coming night. All that sunshine made me tired.

  As I watched Totsye’s pavilion across the way, Tris strode out and made his way to the opening of the tent behind me. He summoned Murdo Millbank to speak with Robin, then came to stand beside me.

  I glowered at him, and he raised an eyebrow. “And what pray tell, is the matter with you, Simon?”

  “As if you didn’t know, Tris.”

  “Please, dear boy, let’s not start that tired routine.” Tris was being deliberately patronizing. He knew how it annoyed me.

  “What the hell were you doing, trying to hypnotize Giles?”

  Tris laughed. “Really, Simon, you can be so very amusing.”

  “Tris! Don’t play innocent with me. I know what you were trying to do.” I almost stamped my foot at him in frustration. He could make me angrier than anyone I had ever known.

  “And what would that be?”

  “Really, Tris, you can be so very amusing,” I said, throwing his words back at him. “Any schoolboy could see through what you’re trying to do.”

  When he made no reply to that, instead merely continuing to regard me with that supercilious look of his, I wanted to strike him. I knew, however, he would take great satisfaction in such a display of anger on my part.

  “I see, Simon,” Tris said. “You’re afraid that your boy-toy’s affections aren’t sincere and that I will steal him away from you. How very delicious.”

  His mocking laughter rang out as I turned and stalked off.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  I was so angry with Tris I wanted to smash something, but as I stomped my way through the encampment, my wrath spent itself in the physical exertion. By the time I had reached the entrance to the encampment, I had begun to feel more than a bit foolish. I really shouldn’t let Tris rile me this way.

  Standing in the rapidly deepening shade of an ancient oak near the guard post, I tried to compose my thoughts. Behaving like a jealous lover wouldn’t do anyone a bit of good. I had to examine the situation rationally and try to understand what was motivating Tris’s extremely odd behavior.

  Could it have something to do with Luke’s murder? With a shudder I recalled the look on Tris’s face when he had talked of putting a stop to Luke’s plan for blackmail. Tris hadn’t wanted to make Luke a vampire, but neither had he wanted to face exposure if Luke carried through his threat to reveal die truth about Tris.

  Given that difficult situation, had Tris taken the devious way out and used poison to rid himself of the problem? Tris obviously had knowledge of digitalis and its toxic effects. I suspected that, even if Tris hadn’t used
it on Luke, he had at least used it on someone in the past Tris was also definitely crafty enough to poison Luke and get away with it I was the only one aware of Tris’s motive for murder, and no doubt Tris would count on the fact that I wouldn’t grass on him to the police.

  That thought brought me to a most uncomfortable question. If I had proof that Tris had poisoned Luke, would I tell Robin Chase? The nightmarish aspects of that scenario made me want to run screaming away from this place. “Outing” Tris as a vampire would mean outing myself as well, because how would I be able to convince the police if I didn’t tell them everything?

  If, that is, Tris were the murderer.

  I had to hope someone else was guilty, otherwise I faced a thorny moral dilemma. My conscience would not let me keep silent if I knew, beyond the proverbial shadow of a doubt that Tris was the murderer.

  Why the bloody hell hadn’t Tris stayed in Houston? Why had he come back to England? Was he really serious about his feelings for me and his intent to win me back?

  If so, what was he doing playing mind games with Giles? I couldn’t fathom his motives in hypnotizing Giles, but I was sure that’s what he was doing. But why? Was he trying to distract me so that I wouldn’t delve too deeply into his role as a murderer?

  I could find no sensible answer to that question. Tris was playing games with both Giles and me, and I didn’t like it one little bit. If he thought he would win me back with such dirty tricks, he was sadly mistaken.

  If he did anything to harm Giles, he would regret it deeply.

  The strength of my emotion as that thought hit me settled any doubts I might have had about what, and whom, I wanted.

  Tris wasn’t the only one who could play devious games, however. On that thought, I pushed myself away from the old oak and started walking back into the encampment Torches were being lit as dark descended, and for a moment I had the oddest feeling I had stepped back in time a few centuries. I shook my head to clear it. No time now for such fanciful thoughts.

  Instead of heading for the crime scene, I veered off in another direction, another goal in mind. Robin would be livid when he found out what I was planning to do, but I would deal with that later.

  Master Elfwine was tending his oven, as I had hoped. “Good evening, Master Elfwine. How does your oven?”

  “Splendidly, sir, splendidly.” The master baker beamed proudly as he gazed on the device.

  The fragrant odor of baking bread wafted on the evening air, and I sniffed appreciatively. Even though I ate very little, I could still enjoy the olfactory pleasures of food. “That bread smells wonderful,” I said.

  Elfwine nodded. “I can assure you it tastes every bit as wonderful as it smells, sir,” he said, with the air of a salesman making a pitch. “Mistress Maud, the bread maker, has quite the knack. Her loaves are much in demand, this year as ever.”

  “Does she make other things besides bread?”

  “Oh, my, yes,” Elfwine said. “Her pastries are highly prized as well. In fact, they are in such demand that she cannot make enough of them here. She brings many with her to the gathering that she has made ahead of time in the mundane world.”

  “I had a quite delicious fig pastry this evening,” I lied. “It must have been one of Mistress Maud’s.”

  “No doubt, sir, no doubt. No one else has the hand with pastries that she does, and she has standing orders for them every gathering.” A shadow crossed his face. “The late Duke of Wessex was one of her best customers. Alas, poor fellow, he’ll enjoy no more fig pastries.”

  “Yes, the poor man. Quite shocking, isn’t it?” I made noises of commiseration for the man’s obvious grief. “Tell me, though, was it well known that the late duke had a fondness for these pastries?”

  Elfwine laughed sadly. “Aye, sir, it was well known. I have seen him eat as many as six or seven at a sitting.” He patted his ample stomach as he continued, “Even I, stout trencherman that I am, could never manage more than two, rich as they are.” That answered one important question, why a fig pastry had been chosen as the medium of delivery for the poison. Luke’s greedy appetite for the pastries was well known. Another question had also been answered. Thanks to the culinary talents of this Mistress Maud, an ample supply of the pastries was available. Anyone could have bought one, laced it with poison, and slipped it to the victim.

  “Tell me, sir,” Elfwine said. “Were you there when it happened?”

  The man was saddened by what had befallen the late duke, yet he wanted to hear the details. I thought it couldn’t hurt to give him a brief recounting. Perhaps that way the story wouldn’t get exaggerated and embellished beyond reason. Master Elfwine gave the impression of an amiable gossip, and no doubt my tale would soon be spreading through the encampment

  If the master of the oven were disappointed in what I told him, he at least had the manners not to let it show. Taking my leave of him, I inquired where I might find Mistress Maud.

  “Why, in our shop, sir,” Elfwine said, smiling. “I have the great good fortune to call the lady my wife.” Raising an arm, he pointed to a nearby tent. “You’ll find her there, sir.”

  I thanked him, then made my way to his tent. As I approached, a tall, stoutly built woman emerged from the opening and began to spread a thin cloth over the baked goods displayed on the racks outside. “Good evening, Mistress Maud,” I said. “If I might trouble you, good lady, before you close up for the evening?”

  “Why certainly, sir,” she said, turning a rosy, smiling face to me. “It’s never too late for good custom.” She twitched back the cloth to reveal a tasty array of baked goods. I moved closer to examine them.

  Thankfully for my purposes, several fig pastries remained. “I’ll take those,” I said, pointing to them.

  Mistress Maud smiled even more widely. “An excellent choice, sir, and you have just bought the last of the batch. I must make more tomorrow.”

  “Then I did indeed come in good time,” I said, withdrawing my wallet from inside my tunic. I handed over the money, my eyes widening a bit at the price. Mistress Maud’s wares did not come cheaply. “After having sampled these delightful pastries at a dinner party, I decided I must have some to take home with me.”

  “They are quite popular,” she said, cheerfully taking my money, before handing me the pastries wrapped in paper and stuffed into a paper bag.

  She had no idea how popular they would be with the police, but it was not my place to enlighten her. Instead I said, “Yes, I have heard that. Apparently the late Duke of Wessex was one of your best customers.”

  Mention of the deceased brought a frown to her face. “Yes, the poor man. I brought along five dozen for him alone.” She shook her head. “No one else seemed to enjoy them the way he did.”

  “That must be why Dame Alysoun arranged to have them for her dinner party this evening,” I said.

  “Ah, yes,” Mistress Maud replied. She cut her eyes back and forth to see whether anyone else was in hearing distance. “The poor lady. She was a one to believe that the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, I’m here to tell you. But how she deluded herself with that one.” She shook her head in sorrow. “All her persistence availed her nothing.”

  Mistress Maud was every bit as amiable a gossip as her husband, it seemed. “She is deeply grieved by his most untimely death. Just as his sister must be.” I paused. “But I gather there are others who will actually rejoice in his death.”

  “The idiot who fancies himself our king, you mean. I’ve a good mind to sell him no more of my fine goods. He can look elsewhere for his pastries. What he bought today will be the last he’ll have from me. I’ll just tell him I’ve run out of figs.” Her lips compressed themselves into a prim line for a moment. “And that goes for that slimy little toad, Sir Reggie, too. He’s just as obnoxious as Harald, though he has spent many a shilling here. Live and let live, that’s what I say. But Reggie despised Luke for being what he was. The blighter didn’t have the wit to realize that very few of us care
d who Luke slept with. He was a better man than Reggie any day.” Tears misted her eyes. “No more of my fine pastries for him either.”

  “I have distressed you, Mistress Maud,” I said, “and for that I beg your pardon most humbly.” This was beginning to sound like the dialogue from one of my own historical romances. Forsooth!

  She waved away my apology. “You need not worry, sir. I have not taken it amiss. ’Tis common knowledge, after all.”

  “The police will surely be quite interested to hear all this,” I said. “Especially that both the king and Sir Reginald bought fig pastries from you today. If I understood you correctly, that is.”

  “Aye, they did.” Mistress Maud’s eyes narrowed. “Surely, though, it was just some sort of accident, sir?”

  I shrugged. “That is what the police must determine.”

  “I see.”

  And indeed I could see. The wheels in her mind had begun to turn busily, and no doubt she would soon come to the conclusion that Luke’s death was no accident. I had better move along before she started asking questions I didn’t want to answer.

  “Thank you, Mistress,” I said, patting the bag in my hand. “I will enjoy these. And now I must bid you adieu.” Bowing slightly, I then took my leave.

  I could hear her muttering to herself as I strode away. Without asking her directly, I had discovered that my two chief suspects, Harald Knutson and Reggie Bolingbroke, were customers of hers. They had both bought fig pastries from her today, and they had both been in Totsye’s tent shortly before the dinner party. Either of them could have put a poisoned pastry on Luke’s plate. If, of course, they knew which plate was his.

  Then there was the question of the poison. Was it digitalis that killed Luke? If so, what was the source? It could be someone’s heart medication, but that would be too easy to trace.

  Foxglove shouldn’t be that difficult to find. Gardens all over England were full of it In fact, I fended I had seen it growing on the grounds of Blitherington Hall, just up the hill. An enterprising killer could have taken some from there and made his or her own little batch of deadly digitalis.