by Poppy Blake
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HarperImpulse an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd
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First published in Great Britain by HarperImpulse 2018
Copyright © Poppy Blake 2018
Cover design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2018.
Cover illustrations © Shutterstock.com
Poppy Blake asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
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Ebook Edition © March 2018 ISBN: 9780008285135
Version: 2018-04-20
Table of Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Acknowledgements
Also in This Series
Keep Reading…
About the Author
About HarperImpulse
About the Publisher
To Mum and Dad; I know you would be so proud to see my name on the cover of a novel
Chapter 1
Rosie surveyed the Windmill Café whilst she waited for her chocolate and pecan brownies to bake. Even without the burble of her customers’ cheerful chatter, the room still resonated with warmth, comfort and contentment. However, Rosie felt far from contented and comfortable because she knew she needed to broach the thorny subject of that night’s approaching escapades with Mia before she exploded from an overdose of anxiety.
‘So, what do you think of the blackberry and apple roulades?’
‘I think they’re amazing! They’re definitely going on the menu for the Autumn Leaves Hallowe’en party on Saturday,’ declared Mia, cramming a third mini Swiss roll into her mouth and rolling her eyes in confectionery ecstasy before crumbling into a fit of giggles.
‘And the pumpkin and treacle tartlets? Do they make it onto your list?’
‘Absolutely, and the apricot and cranberry brownies, and the gingerbread with lemon icing, and the red velvet cupcakes with the raspberry coulis that looks just like blood! You know, I really wish you’d reconsider my fabulous idea to hide eyeball gobstoppers inside the Boston Scream pie.’
‘Health and safety, Mia. Don’t you think we’ve had enough contact with the food inspectors to last us a lifetime? Okay, so that just leaves us with the punch to finalize.’
Rosie leaned over the huge copper jam pan she had been adding spices to all day. She inhaled a deep breath, savouring the heady fragrance of warm red wine, cinnamon sticks and cloves that sent her taste buds tingling. She gave the dark crimson liquor a stir before sampling it, gasping as the alcohol hit the back of her throat. Maybe if she downed a couple of glasses of the lethal brew she would find the courage to confess her swirling trepidation to Mia.
‘Well, if it tastes as good as it smells, we’re onto a winner,’ said Mia. ‘And we’re definitely having the hot chocolate with marshmallow ghosts and the green slime smoothies for the kids. I take it, then, that you’ve also vetoed my idea to float plastic spiders in the pomegranate cocktails?’
‘Yes! Of course I have!’
Rosie rolled her eyes in mock chastisement, but after what had happened at their Summer Breeze party in August, she was even more nervous than usual about hosting this celebration of all things scary – she didn’t think she could cope with a second drama. It hadn’t been her fault that one of their guests had been poisoned, but she’d still insisted on triple-testing every recipe for their Autumn Leaves party before it was granted a place on the menu, stipulating that only the most delicious, mouth-watering creations would be allowed to feature.
The celebration was also billed as a farewell bash for Mia, her friend and fellow baking fanatic, before she embarked on her foray into the field of outdoor sports. She was going to train as a zip wire instructor at the outward-bound centre, Ultimate Adventures, over the winter season when the café was only open at the weekends. Rosie knew she would miss Mia’s daily dose of chirpy banter, but she consoled herself with the fact that Mia was following one of her dreams. And anyway, they would still be able to meet up in the local pub, the Drunken Duck, whenever they wanted to partake in that trio of female solace; cocktails, cake and gossip.
She slid the last batch of cupcakes onto a wire rack to cool and plunged the baking sheet into a sink of hot soapy water, relishing the loud sizzle. She scrubbed the tray clean, dried it, and returned it to its allocated place in the drawer below the oven, before reaching for the antibacterial spray to wipe down the marble countertops one last time.
Rosie saw Mia smirk and shake her head in exasperation but choose to say nothing, and her heart ballooned with gratitude. Her friend understood the reasons behind her constant battle with the cleanliness demons, and the way she was unable to relax until every surface of her beloved café was spotless and sparkled under the overhead lights. She returned the spray to her box of deodorizing goodies, shoved her copper curls behind her ears where they burgeoned like inflated candy floss, and untied her apron strings, watching in amusement as Mia did the same.
‘I’m loving the autumnal theme you’ve got going on today, Mia! Black cats and witches’ hats are a perfect choice for our Hallowe’en bake-a-thon,’ she said, referring to her friend’s very loud apron.
‘And what did you think of the pumpkin one I wore yesterday?’
Rosie thought back to the previous day when she had struggled to keep a straight face as Mia – Queen of Quirky Culinary Attire – had produced an apron bedecked with pairs of pumpkins divided by what looked like courgettes, giving the unsuspecting onlooker pause for thought. She had politely declined Mia’s offer to make one for her so they could present a united front, insisting she preferred to stick with the Windmill Café’s signature aprons made from plain peppermint-coloured linen and embroidered with a very tasteful white windmill.
As Rosie performed her final check of the electric plugs and switches, the pirouette of unease that had curled through her veins all day tightened and she knew she couldn’t ignore her mounting apprehension any longer. She needed to just come straight out and say what was on her mind.
‘Do you think there is any way at all we can get out of going wild camping tonight? I’ve still got a long list of things to organize for the Autumn Leaves party, not to mention having to be around in case the r
emaining guests in the lodges and the shepherd’s hut need me for anything.’
Mia grinned, a glint of mischief appearing in her dark mahogany eyes.
‘You’ll need to come up with a much better excuse than that, Rosie! Matt and Freddie have been looking forward to this expedition for weeks. Anyway, how can you possibly consider giving up the chance to spend a night under the stars with Norfolk’s very own version of Bear Grylls? It’s the perfect opportunity for you to cement your relationship.’
‘Mia, I keep telling you, Matt and I are just friends!’
‘Friends who worked together to save the Windmill Café from certain disaster. If you and Matt hadn’t turned super-sleuth and uncovered who was responsible for poisoning Suki, then we wouldn’t even be having this conversation. Did Matt complain when he came to our aid in our time of need?’
‘No, of course he didn’t, but…’
‘So, now we’re repaying the favour. Matt needs us to go with him and Freddie to balance out the numbers. Only four of our lodge guests have signed up for the Wild Camping and Medieval Myths expedition; that’s all three of the guys, and Brad’s girlfriend Emma is coming too. Without us tagging along, it would mean Emma would be the only woman, so this way it’s a good mix with Matt and Freddie as our extremely hunky guides. Perfect!’
Mia removed her apron, shoved it into her handbag and slotted her arms into her white denim jacket which she had hand-embroidered with a garland of custard-yellow buttercups. More hippie than yuppie, Mia had definitely been born in the wrong era, with her love of all things flower-power, from the daisies in her hair to her gem-encrusted sandshoes.
Rosie adored her best friend and partner in culinary creation. She was well aware that the only reason she had been able to progress from forlorn florist to contented café manager was down to the eternally optimistic support of Mia Williams. It had been weeks since she had tortured herself with the memory of discovering her ex-boyfriend Harry rolling around amongst the chrysanthemums in their little flower shop in Pimlico with one of their bride-to-be clients. Her new home in the white-washed windmill with the peppermint green sails had turned out to be the perfect place to put her life back on track. She had moved on.
In fact – and she didn’t intend to admit this to Mia any time soon – she had even started to toy with the possibility of dating again. Just because she’d had her fingers burnt once didn’t mean she should avoid every encounter with a cosy log-burning fire for the rest of her life, did it?
However, there was still one thing she needed to work on and that was her attachment to her good old friend and enemy – bleach. No matter how hard she tried to contain her ever-present urge to clean, she just couldn’t relax until she was satisfied that not a single germ lingered anywhere in the café waiting for its chance to pounce on the gullible. She suspected that her obsession with hygiene required the attention that only a professional therapist could provide – especially after the heightened anxieties her recent brush with a potential food-poisoning scare had caused.
‘Right. I’ll let you go upstairs and get packed and I’ll see you over at Ultimate Adventures at seven o’clock. I know I don’t have to say this to you, Rosie, but I will anyway. Don’t be late! It’s a good hour and a half hike to where Matt and Freddie want us to set up camp for the night. And don’t forget to bring a torch … and maybe a few of those brownies too! Bye-ee.’
Rosie waved Mia off in her cute little cream Fiat 500 then locked the Windmill Café’s French doors behind her. Mia was right. They did have to return the favour for the kindness and support – not to mention the Poirot-esque tenacity – with which Matt had helped her hunt down the person responsible for the poisoning scandal that had almost brought her idyllic Norfolk countryside sojourn to an end. If she had lost her job at the café, then she would also have lost her home.
So, it was thanks to Matt Wilson, the handsome and intrepid owner of Ultimate Adventures, that she was still in Willerby, baking scones, roulades and tartlets for the hungry hordes who were about to attend the inaugural Autumn Leaves party on Saturday night.
Rosie made her way up the spiral staircase that led to her studio flat above the Windmill Café. She had only made a lacklustre start on packing for her night under the stars. More like nightmare under the stars, she thought as she groaned out loud. How on earth had she got herself into this? She really wasn’t an outdoorsy kind of a girl, the sort who relished the chance to commune with nature. She was more Countess of Cupcakes than Connoisseur of Camping.
Oh well, all she had to do was tip her hesitation over the parapet and launch herself into the unknown – again!
Chapter 2
Rosie parked her car alongside Mia’s Fiat in the gravel car park next to Ultimate Adventures’ reception lodge. Set against a dense arboreal backdrop, and sporting a wide sun-bleached veranda, the outward-bound centre’s office looked more like a wooden ship floating on an emerald ocean. It had taken Matt months to persuade her to participate in one of the various activities on offer there and finally, in order to avoid the very scary looking zip wire ride, she had succumbed to his powers of persuasion and joined him on a field archery shoot, which she had to admit she’d enjoyed. However, she had no doubts whatsoever that the same thing could not be said for the treat he had in store for them that evening.
Twilight was tickling the canopy of trees overhead and the woodland had taken on an eerie feel that sent goose bumps scooting across her forearms. She grabbed her borrowed rucksack from the boot of her car and made her way towards the group of people gathered underneath a pool of amber light next to the store room waiting for instructions.
‘Hey, Rosie, great to see you!’ exclaimed Freddie, stepping forward to greet her with a fist bump before seeking out Matt and handing over a crisp ten-pound note.
Rosie rolled her eyes, but was gratified that the gesture at least meant Matt had retained his faith in her. She had no intention of letting him in on the details of her earlier conversation with Mia, or the fact that she was only there because Graham, the Windmill Café’s owner, had asked Matt to arrange the personalized expedition for the guests currently staying in the luxury lodges on the site next to the café as part of a themed week of activities.
Four members of the group, two men, Rick and Phil, and a couple, Brad and Emma, were self-confessed obsessives when it came to local legends and folklore; they were members of a club back in Manchester called the Myth Seekers Society, dedicated to the pursuit of all things mysterious and spooky. The mere mention of ghost-spotting was another one of the reasons Rosie had baulked at joining them. No wonder only one of the women in the party had decided to accompany them on their trek, and judging by the way Emma was hanging onto Brad’s every word, that was probably because she couldn’t bear to be apart from him for even one night.
Rosie envied Helen and Steph, their remaining lodge guests, whom she suspected would at that very moment be wallowing in their heated outdoor spas with a glass of something fizzy. In fact, she had seen the glee on Helen’s immaculately made-up face as she waved off her husband, Rick, and his friends, before rushing over to Steph’s lodge for a session with the local beautician who had just arrived with her case full of treasures. Oh, how she wished she was with them. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a manicure.
‘Ready for one of the most exhilarating nights of your life?’ asked Matt, his familiar mischievous grin going some way to improve her flagging spirits.
Dressed in his Ultimate Adventures uniform of black jeans and bicep-hugging black T-shirt with purple logo, he looked every inch the ruggedly handsome Action Man. His dark blond hair had been teased into surfer-dude tufts, and his determined jawline sported an attractive smattering of stubble. Maybe a night in the great outdoors chasing mythological creatures wasn’t going to be such a terrible experience after all, thought Rosie, as a ripple of attraction sped through her veins.
‘Absolutely!’
‘Now why don’t I believe you?�
� Matt laughed. ‘We’re lucky – it’s forecast to be a mild night with no rain expected, but the three most important rules of any wild camping expedition are preparation, preparation, preparation. So, here, put this on, it’ll keep the chill off.’
‘Thanks, Matt.’
Rosie accepted the black waterproof jacket, emblazoned with the Ultimate Adventures logo and lined with a thick purple fleece, and she instantly felt protected from whatever the meteorological gods might decide to throw at her.
‘Hi, Rosie. I have to confess, I wasn’t sure whether you’d turn up!’ giggled Mia as she huddled deeper into her Siberian goose down jacket and pulled a thick Inca-inspired woolly hat over her ears.
Rosie mock-glared at her friend who had been so keen on joining one of Matt’s expeditions. Why, oh why had she listened to Mia and agreed to hunker down for a night under the stars in a bivouac in the East Anglian wilderness?
She thought of all the things she could be doing at that very moment, like delving into the any of her numerous glossy cookery books, reading about each recipe’s origins, its ingredients and its method of preparation. In troubled times, these tomes of culinary marvel had been her best friends and she’d often wondered why someone hadn’t thought of bottling the inky smell of freshly printed cookery books and offered it for sale to all fanatical bookaholics.
Alternatively, she could be soaking in a hot bath filled with the luxury bubbles her sister Georgina had given her for her birthday, anticipating the delicious delights she and Mia were planning for the Autumn Leaves party on Saturday night, only six days away.
But no, here she was, freezing her butt off on the edge of a pine-fragranced forest, preparing for a night under canvas – all for the dubious pleasure of watching dawn break over the horizon through an ancient stone archway at the centre of a crumbling old priory! So what if the medieval building was supposed to possess certain healing qualities? She didn’t have rheumatism or rickets! And was she really expected to believe that if a chunk of the stone was ground up and heated in milk it would cure a migraine in an instant? How did that golden nugget marry with the equally extolled myth that ‘disaster shall strike any man who removes a stone from its resting place’?
