Cozy Mysteries : A Parfait Murder - Out of the strong came forth sweetness: (Cozy Food Mysteries Women Sleuths Series, Bakery Mystery Books) (Murder and cake Book 4)

by Luna Snow

  Pat looked at her watch, it was 2:30 and the couple were nowhere to be seen. She walked over to the doorway to check on Maureen with the raffle, and just as she did, noticed an expensive looking car roll into the car park.

  It was them!

  It was a beautiful day and would have only taken the couple 5 minutes to walk the short distance from their house to the church hall, but still, at least they were here.

  “I’ll take over the raffle now Maureen, how are we doing?”

  Maureen was almost 80 and a stalwart of the WI.

  “I’ve sold over a hundred pounds worth of tickets and only have a few left.”

  Pat smiled.

  “That’s great Maureen. I’m sure Mr and Mrs Pemberton will buy the remainder.”

  And they did. They loved playing the local gentry, the local squire, lauding it over the local peasants. Trish was back again in her wheelchair, but didn’t look like the sickly invalid of their first meeting. This time she was dressed immaculately and wore some expensive looking jewellery. Harvey looked every inch the landed gentry, wearing his tweeds. He puffed a little as he pushed Trish up the ramp and into the hall. She must have been a weight and Pat noticed a bead of sweat on his brow. Now she realised why they brought the car.

  “Trish, Harvey, I’m so glad that you could make it.”

  Pat welcomed the pair warmly into the hall.

  “Now, I’m hoping you’ll buy some raffle tickets?”

  Long trestle tables had been set to serve the tea, and Pat showed the guests of honour to their seats at the middle of one of the tables, introducing them to the curious locals along the way. Reverend Eric was delighted that they had made the effort and almost bowed to Mr Pemberton, obviously hopeful of further donations to the church fund.

  The ladies of the WI brought out plates laden down with sandwiches and cakes, whilst a local folk band played gentle backing music. Pat sat across from Trish and Harvey, watching as they eagerly tucked into the fare, they certainly both had very healthy appetites. It was rather like watching pigs at a trough, but Pat smiled pleasantly throughout.

  After copious cups of tea had been drunk, it was time to draw the raffle. All the prizes were laid out on one of the table’s as Pat produced a bag full of the paper stubs and proceeded to pull out a number.

  “And the first prize goes to Yellow number 564.”

  There was a rustle of handbags and general murmuring as the guests shuffled around looking for their tickets. After a few moments there was a cry of delight.

  “It’s me.”

  Trish Pemberton had won first prize.

  It was tradition that all the raffle prizes were home baked goods or produce.

  Harvey stepped forward to receive the prize on his wife’s behalf.

  “Congratulations, you have won this delicious bowl of raspberry parfait.”

  His face lit up at the sight of the delicious pudding, scattered with fresh raspberries and pieces of honeycomb.

  “It’s my favourite – I hope you don’t mind dear, but I’m going to have to eat all of this”, he shouted good humouredly over to his wife who laughed loudly.

  “It’s an early birthday present darling.”

  Back at the table Trish laughed.

  “That’s typical. It is my husband’s favourite. That won’t last long.”

  It was true. Instead of taking the dessert home, Harvey couldn’t resist, and deciding to taste just a little, he had soon polished off the full bowl. Pat watched as he spooned each creamy spoonful into his greedy mouth. She had never seen anyone eat so much.

  “That was delicious.”

  He sat back and rolled his eyes in mock ecstasy, his lips moist and slightly covered in cream. All of the food had made him sweat, and he took off his jacket and proceeded to roll up his sleeves, the sweat now starting to bead on his forehead.

  “Are you alright Harvey, you look a bit hot under the collar dear. Perhaps you shouldn’t have eaten all of that pudding? The Dr’s always saying that you should cut back.”

  Muttering under his breath Harvey started to choke, becoming very red in the face, his eyes starting to bulge. At first his wife laughed, but then became serious as he appeared to be in some distress.

  “Can I get you a glass of water?” Pat offered helpfully, but Harvey could not speak and slowly rising from the table he attempted to stand.

  “I, I, I, don’t feel at all….”

  He didn’t manage to finish his sentence but instead, his eyes rolled back to reveal just the yellowing whites, before he fell backwards and dropped like a stone to the floor.

  A united ‘gasp’ filled the room as people stood up and scurried around. Jean Pringle, a retired nurse, ran to the side of the poor man, and quickly checked his vital signs.

  Despite her wheelchair, Trish Pemberton rose with the rest of the gathering and hovered next to poor husband, not sure quite what to do, having no practical skills apart from shopping. She stood looking helpless, biting her perfectly manicured nails.

  After a few moments Jean Pringle stood up, looking rather pale.

  “I’ve already phoned for an ambulance, they will be here soon.” Pat rushed to the woman’s side to help.

  “There’s no rush”, Jean looked across at the distraught wife. “I’m afraid he’s dead.”

  A hushed silence filled the room as everyone looked at each other in wonder. Poor Trish Pemberton stifled a sob and fell immediately back into her wheelchair.

  Soon the ambulance appeared, blue lights flashing and siren wailing and quickly the body of Harvey Pemberton was efficiently stretchered away.

  “What do you think happened” Rita pulled Pat to one side as the bemused crowd started to filter outside and make their slow way home. The death had cast a pall over the proceedings and no-one felt it fitting to carry on with the frivolities.

  “It was probably his heart Rita. You saw him tucking into the cakes and cream fancies, and that raspberry parfait probably finished him off. It was full of double cream, sugar and mascarpone cheese and the honey of course. He ate the whole lot. There was enough there to feed a family four.”

  “Who made the raspberry parfait?”

  “Why me of course. Well at least he died happy I suppose.”

  Rita stared at Pat for a moment.

  “What’s wrong Rita?”

  The younger woman smiled and shook her head.

  “Oh it’s nothing Pat. Something just crossed my mind that’s all. It just seems uncanny that the poor man should drop dead, after you were wishing the very same thing the other day.”

  Pat laughed and pretended to looked shocked. “That’s not funny Rita. You know I felt bad about it afterwards and that’s why I invited them both here, extending the hand of friendship, that sort of thing. It does seem a little ironic though doesn’t it? But you saw the man, he was grossly overweight. He was puffing and panting as he wheeled his wife into the hall, the poor man was sweating. It was just a heart attack waiting to happen, that’s all.”

  Rita nodded her head solemnly. “I suppose you are right Pat, but what about Mrs Pemberton, I thought she was wheelchair bound?”

  Pat shrugged.

  “It must have been the shock?”

  The Reverend Eric was sat consoling the new widow, as two policemen entered the hall. Trish sat in her wheelchair drinking hot sweet tea and sniffling into a dainty white handkerchief.

  “I’m surprised they’re here?”

  Pat nodded across to the policemen who started walking across to where the two women stood.

  “What shall we say?”

  Rita shrugged. “I don’t know. Just explain what happened I suppose. I’m sure it’s just routine, a man has died after all.”

  Detective Inspector Alan Davies and his partner Tim Smith were not often called out to a death; they were more usually engaged in local petty theft, domestic squabbles and piles of paper work. They felt quite excited to be looking into something different.

  Showing his iden
tification, D.I. Davies motioned for the women to sit at one of the tables so he could ask his questions, and P.C Smith got ready with notebook and pen.

  “Can you tell us what happened here?”

  Pat remained silent as Rita talked and explained to the detective the sequence of events that had led to the death of Harvey Pemberton.

  “So you see Inspector, it seems like it was a case of over indulgence. The poor man was definitely on the obese side and a walking heart attack waiting to happen.”

  The detective narrowed his eyes. It might have been death by natural causes but he was going to make as much of the situation as he possibly could.

  “You seem sure of yourself Miss. Let me be the judge of that. Now, you say he was eating some kind of pudding at the time of his death- what kind of pudding was this?”

  “Well we were just talking about that Inspector. To be precise, he had actually just finished eating it when he dropped dead. It was Pat here. She made the raspberry parfait that Mr Pemberton was eating. He had just won it in the raffle.”

  “In a raffle eh, that’s highly irregular I would say” his attention immediately switched over to Pat as the PC made copious notes in his little book.

  Pat coughed a nervous little tickle forming in her throat. All eyes were upon her.

  “That’s right Inspector. It’s traditional. Every year we raffle off homemade goodies in aid of some charity or other. I made the pudding.”

  “And did you know the Pemberton’s very well Miss?”

  “Hardly at all. Well they hadn’t been in the village very long, they only moved into their new house last month.”

  “Pat invited them here today, so they could meet the locals.” Rita added helpfully.

  D.I. Davies frowned and Pat shifted uneasily in her seat.

  “So Mr Pemberton died eating a pudding that was made by Miss Green here, and it was Miss Green who also invited the couple here today. Now that seems very interesting, don’t you agree P.C Smith?”

  Pat felt a slight bead of perspiration form across her forehead. Now it was her turn to sweat.

  “Are you sure you didn’t know the couple before Miss Green, or Mr Pemberton perhaps? Why did YOU particularly feel the need to invite them here today- why not one of the others in your group?”

  Pat opened her mouth to speak but failed to find the words, and only managed a small croak. She felt under pressure and didn’t know what to say.

  “Pat had been talking to the Pemberton’s about the sale of the old school. It has been a bit of sore point, but Pat wanted to extend the hand of friendship today didn’t you Pat, show that there were no hard feelings?”

  Rita stopped talking as she saw the colour drain away from her friends face. Perhaps she had said too much already?

  The D.I.’s eyes lit up as he eyed Pat suspiciously.

  “Is there any of this pudding, this raspberry parfait left Miss? Did anyone else eat it?”

  Pat shook her head weakly “Only Mr Pemberton ate the parfait. I’m afraid he ate it all up, there’s none left.”

  “And the dish it was served in Miss Green.”

  “Oh, I suspect that is being washed with the rest of the dishes. It will probably be in the dishwasher as we speak.”

  “Oh no Pat, It’s still on the table by Mrs Pemberton. We didn’t want to disturb her.”

  The D.I. indicated to the P.C to go over to the table and retrieve the glass dish, and quickly proceeded to place the item into a plastic bag and sealed it as evidence.

  “Well Miss Green, Mrs Harris. I think that will be all for now. I suggest you do not leave the area for the next few weeks. We may be in touch and want to question you further, down at the station. Now, we must go and speak to Mrs Pemberton, if you will excuse us.”

  Pat looked down into her lap; she knew the D.I. was looking at her and could not meet his eye.

  Rita smiled as stood up to continue with the clearing up and tidying away.

  “Well, I think we cleared up the Inspectors questions!”

  Chapter 8

  It was several days later when the police pulled up outside the house of Patricia Green and arrested her on the charge of 1st Degree Murder. A quantity of poison had been found in Harvey Pemberton’s body and that had stopped his heart. Traces of the same poison had been found in the remains of the raspberry parfait that had been smeared across the glass bowl.

  It appeared that Pat Green hadn’t a leg to stand on.

  The whole village were shocked as the news of Pat’s arrest filtered quickly through the small hamlet, and no-one could quite believe it, there must be some kind of mistake. No-one that is except for Rita, there was a doubt in the back of her mind about her good friend although she hated herself for thinking it.

  Joe was devastated. He could not believe that Pat was a murderess, not Pat Green, his neighbour and best friend. He had known her for over 30 years.

  The sun was setting and the autumn sky looked fabulous, pink and golden clouds disappearing into the western skies. A few birds chorused the close of day, a sweet evensong, but despite the beauty around him, Joe felt sad, wondering if there was anything he could do to help his dear friend.

  The police had been buzzing around Pat’s house and garden for the last couple of days and they had even questioned him. Sat at his kitchen table over tea and biscuits, he had tried hard to explain what a wonderful woman Pat was, a cornerstone of the village, an upright and peace loving woman, but one who would stop at nothing to see justice done.

  They had picked him up on that one, talked about her past, her campaigning and possible links to Mr Pemberton. Could there have been an affair they had said, a sexual motive. He had laughed at their ideas. He had known nothing of her dealings with Mr and Mrs Pemberton, nor the closing of the old school, but he had mentioned that she had been upset about the silencing of the church bells.

  They had been interested in that.

  “But she wouldn’t kill anyone just because the church bells were silenced, that’s ridiculous”, he had said.

  The young police woman had shaken her head

  “You’d be surprised at some of the motives for murder sir”, and she had scribbled something into her notebook.

  Joe wished he hadn’t mentioned it, kept his mouth shut and hoped that he hadn’t got her into more trouble. He was only trying to help.

  They had even been poking about around the bees, and one of them had got stung; served them right.

  Leaning over her garden gate he brushed away a tear.

  “Joe!”

  Turning around, Joe could hardly believe his eyes. It was Pat.

  “Pat, I thought you were locked up?”

  She looked pale and tired but smiled nonetheless.

  “I was but they released me tonight – no charge.”

  Joe couldn’t stop staring at her. He had thought he would never see her again, perhaps that is except in prison.

  “Close your mouth Joe, it looks like you’re catching flies.” She teased him gently.

  Eventually he found his voice.

  “I knew that you didn’t do it Pat. I tried to tell the police, but they didn’t seem to want to listen to me, probably thought that I was just an old fool. No-one listens these days if you are old. I thought.., oh I don’t know what I thought but it’s so good to see you.”

  The two embraced instinctively and it felt good.

  “We’re survivors you and me Joe, Survivors.”

  The old man smiled and nodded.

  “So what happened to make them change their minds?”

  “Come inside and I’ll tell you over a cup of tea Joe, No, wait a minute, I’m sure I’ve got a bottle of good whiskey somewhere, let’s crack that open. I could do with a stiff drink after the last few days.”

  Pat flopped into the fireside chair with a generous glass of single malt. She felt as if she could sleep for a month. The last two days had been an ordeal, questioning and more questioning, but she had kept her cool.

&nbs
p; “Well Pat, are going to tell me what happened?”

  Joe was impatient to learn the truth.

  Closing her eyes Pat let out a sigh of relief.

  “It was the bees Joe,”

  He looked puzzled.

  “What do you mean?”

  “It was the honey all along.”

  He still didn’t get it.

  “You know I’ve let part of my garden run wild for a few years now, for the bees and wildlife?”

  Joe nodded.

  “Well it seems that I have a large amount of Bella donna growing towards the back of the garden, You know- deadly nightshade.”

  “Go on”

  “Well it appears that the poison that killed Mr Pemberton was traced back to the honey I used to make the Raspberry Parfait; the honey from my hives. Apparently the bees are very attracted to deadly nightshade and the pollen and nectar from the flowers is full of poison and this in turn gets into the honey. It was the honey that killed Harvey Pemberton.”

  Joe shook his head in disbelief. “I can hardly believe it Pat, it seems a bit far-fetched. I mean, how much of the honey did you put into that raspberry thingy?”

  “Well, that’s just the point you see Joe. A few days before, I took him a couple of jars of honey round, as a kind of welcome gift, the same day I invited them to the afternoon tea. His wife Trish didn’t like honey, but Harvey said he loved it. In fact he loved it so much- he had eaten both jars by the end of the week. The poison in those two jars, plus the additional in the raspberry parfait just finished him off. I hate to speak ill of the dead Joe, but if he hadn’t been so greedy he would probably still be alive.”