A Fete Worse Than Death

by Liz Hedgecock

  ‘It doesn’t matter if the media jump all over it or not,’ said Pippa, hugging the duvet round her knees. ‘It still happened. And maybe, somehow, I could have stopped it.’

  ‘I know you’re upset.’ Simon reappeared, holding a toothbrush. ‘But there’s no point beating yourself up about it. I don’t see what else you could have done.’

  ‘What did Mummy do?’

  They both jumped and stared at Freddie, who was standing in the doorway, clutching his teddy.

  Simon gathered Freddie up into his arms. ‘How long have you been there, Freddie?’

  Freddie thought. ‘Maybe two seconds.’

  ‘OK.’ Simon kissed his forehead and put him down. ‘Maybe knock or say hello next time? What is it?’

  ‘I heard you talking. Can I come in the bed?’ He began to scramble up.

  ‘I don’t have a choice, do I?’ Pippa propped up Simon’s pillow, and Freddie arranged himself next to her with much pulling of covers and wriggling.

  ‘What are we doing today, Mummy?’

  ‘Well, you’re at preschool this morning, and I need to do some shopping because we didn’t go at the weekend —’

  ‘You could do that online,’ Simon interjected.

  ‘I don’t like shopping online. They give you the dodgy veg and battered tins.’

  ‘It’d save you a trip.’ Simon fixed her with a look.

  ‘I’d rather get out of the house.’ All the same, Pippa decided she would go in the afternoon, once she’d fetched Freddie. This morning, once she’d dropped Freddie off, she would — she would clear out the kitchen cupboards. They needed a good clean, and there was no time like the present. And you’re too scared to go out in the village without your three-year-old as a human shield, a mean little voice jeered.

  ‘I’ll walk you to preschool today,’ Pippa said. ‘The weather’s nice.’ Shut up, she told her inner voice.

  ‘Whatever.’ Simon retreated into the bathroom, his shoulders raised in a why-do-I-bother sort of way.

  Pippa didn’t trust the radio not to talk about Dev, and when Freddie asked if he could watch TV before preschool, she kept it muted until she found a kids’ channel. When it was time to leave, she considered taking the car after all. Quicker, easier. But Freddie charged out of the sitting room and sat down to put on his shoes, and the guilt was too much for her. The walk of shame it would have to be. At least most people would be at work.

  Freddie chattered all the way to the village, and Ruby cooed from her pushchair. It would have been idyllic if it wasn’t for —

  ‘Morning,’ someone said as they passed, and Pippa jumped. At least someone’s still talking to me. The country store and newsagent was shut now, as it was Monday, but she had no doubt they would have done a roaring trade in newspapers earlier that morning. She turned her head away, and carried on.

  ‘Good morning,’ said Mrs Marks, a little too brightly. ‘It’s a nice day, isn’t it, Freddie? Today we’ll be doing finger painting, and storytime, and lots of games, and we’re having fish fingers with potato waffles and beans for lunch!’ And she led Freddie to join the others on the rug.

  Was it her imagination, or was Mrs Marks more than usually anxious to take Freddie away from her?

  The Menace of Much Gadding.

  The Much Gadding Poisoner.

  Murdering Much Gadding mother Pippa Parker, 30 —

  ‘Hello, Pippa,’ said a gleeful voice behind her.

  She didn’t have to turn to know who it was. Sam, of course. And as she was between Pippa and the door, there was no escape.

  ‘Such a shame about the fete, isn’t it?’ Sam said, her voice at the maximum volume it could be without shouting. ‘Go on, Livvy, Mrs Marks is waiting for you.’ She watched Livvy trot across the carpet. ‘Poor Dev Hardman, such a lovely man. I do hope he’s all right. But poison! What a terrible thing to happen. Especially after the — what was it? The stabbing the day before —’

  ‘All right, you’ve made your point,’ Pippa said. She hadn’t realised it was possible to grind your teeth with rage. ‘Let me past, please. Ruby’s a bit fretful.’

  ‘Ooh, wait a moment, here’s Eva.’ Sam ushered Eva in. ‘I was just saying, Eva, what a shame about the fete, and that poor chef being poisoned.’

  ‘Yes, it was,’ said Eva, quietly. ‘I was there, too, on a stall.’

  ‘Oh, then you’ll know more than me,’ Sam said, with a tinkling laugh that Pippa wanted to smash under her heel. ‘I was only there on Sunday morning. Tell me, did you see anything going on?’

  ‘No. If you don’t mind, Sam, I’m in a hurry —’

  ‘I won’t keep you.’ Sam stepped back to let her through, which meant Pippa had to wheel Ruby backwards, too. ‘Wouldn’t it be a tragedy if he died … just imagine. The kind of thing that would always be on your conscience.’ And she cast a sorrowful, lingering look in Pippa’s direction.

  Pippa waited until Eva had got past, then wheeled Ruby forward and ran over Sam’s foot. ‘Ooh, do excuse me. Got to dash.’ Almost barging Sam out of the way, she managed to get herself and Ruby outside.

  As she walked away Pippa heard the words ‘How rude!’, delivered at top volume. This was probably the most fun Sam had had in years. How long would it take her to tire of this game?

  Her phone buzzed. She had forgotten to take it off silent mode. Missed Call.

  Please don’t let it be Sheila.

  A text flashed on the screen: Bored of ringing. Please text to prove you’re still alive. Lila x

  Pippa sighed, put on the brake, and replied:

  I’m alive. Career and self-respect brutally murdered by CakeGate. P x

  She pressed Send, and even as the text whooshed away she scolded herself for being so flippant. Dev Hardman could be at death’s door, and she was making jokes about her self-respect. Just as she’d thought her opinion of herself couldn’t get any lower, it took the lift to the basement.

  And as it hit rock-bottom, Sam’s mock-concerned face swam into her mind. She shuddered, put her phone away, and wheeled Ruby onto the road. No matter how fast she walked, though, she couldn’t push Sam out of her brain.

  Sam hated her.

  Sam had shared the leaked newspaper article on Saturday evening.

  Sam, by her own admission, had been at the fete on Sunday. Pippa hadn’t seen her there on Saturday, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t lurking in the shadows.

  The jumbled pieces which made up the shambles of a weekend rearranged themselves.

  It would have been very hard to make sure the right person got the real sword. Whoever took it, it was likely to cause chaos at best, and serious injury at worst. However it had happened, she would be blamed.

  And again. No one would be stupid enough to enter a poisoned cake in a baking competition, not unless they were a psychopath who didn’t care about being found out. So someone had messed with one of the cakes, not knowing who would eat the fateful piece. It was pure chance that Dev had got it. But whoever got it, Pippa would get the blame.

  It was like the lifting of a veil. Pippa stopped dead, by the village green. Someone was out to get her. Not one of the actors, and not Dev. It was the only way any of it made sense.

  Was it Sam? And if not, who?

  CHAPTER 15

  ‘I need to talk to PC Horsley.’

  ‘I’m sure you do,’ said the young policeman. ‘He’s busy taking statements with Inspector Fanshawe, though. You’ll have to come back when he’s free.’

  ‘When will that be?’

  He scratched his nose and pulled a piece of paper towards him. ‘Maybe at one o’clock?’

  ‘That’s no good, I’ll have my three year old with me then.’

  ‘I can’t help that,’ said the policeman, uneasily. ‘We’re fully booked.’

  As if on cue, the door to the office opened and PC Horsley ushered Susan Rockall out. ‘Thank you for your time, Susan,’ he said.

  ‘That’s quite all right.’ Susan was as immaculate
as she had been the day before. Summer sandals, peach-varnished toenails, not a hair out of place. ‘I’ll go and call on Norman. Visit him in his natural habitat.’ She grinned, and suddenly looked ten years younger.

  ‘Say hi from us, won’t you,’ said PC Horsley, wistfully. Then he caught sight of Pippa. ‘Hello, Mrs Parker.’ He eyed the pushchair. ‘No Freddie today?’

  ‘Preschool,’ said Pippa. ‘Do you have a minute, PC Horsley?’

  He spread his hands. ‘I don’t know.’ He turned to his junior. ‘Do I, Constable?’

  ‘I didn’t think you’d be finished so soon,’ said the young policeman, a trifle reproachfully.

  ‘No sense hanging it out. Susan’s no poisoner, and she didn’t see anything suspicious either. When’s the next one?’

  ‘You can have five minutes,’ the youth said to Pippa. Not a moment longer, said his expression, as he held up the counter flap for Pippa and the pushchair to pass through.

  ‘Come to give your statement, Mrs, ah, Parker?’ said Inspector Fanshawe, getting up from his chair and approaching Ruby. ‘And this must be Bump. How old is she now?’

  ‘Eight months,’ said Pippa. Ruby wriggled with delight as the policeman tickled her under the chin.

  ‘How time flies,’ he mused. ‘Take a seat, Mrs Parker. Are you ready, Jim?’

  ‘Actually, I wondered if I might speak to you off the record,’ said Pippa.

  Inspector Fanshawe frowned. ‘That’s highly irregular.’

  ‘So is two possible attempted murders at a local fete.’

  He sighed. ‘I’m putting the kettle on.’ He walked over to the kitchenette and opened the cupboard. ‘Tea, Jim?’

  ‘Coffee for me, sir, please. Milk and two sugars.’ PC Horsley said, sitting down behind the desk. ‘Take a seat, Mrs Parker. You do understand that if you say something useful to the case, I may have to put it on the record.’

  ‘I suppose.’

  ‘I’ll take that as a yes. Fire away.’

  Now she was there, in the police station, with Jim Horsley watching her, Pippa felt oddly shy. ‘Well, I was thinking about the case, and…’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘It could be someone who wants to get back at me,’ she said, all in a rush, like ripping off a plaster.

  His incredulous expression stung, and Pippa felt her face growing warm. ‘For what, Mrs Parker?’

  ‘Taking over the fete. Trying to make it more successful. Pushing people to do things and give favours.’ She took a deep breath. ‘I’ve wound up a lot of people. One of the other mums hates me, and she was there. Mrs Harbottle wanted the fete to stay as it was, and she was there the whole time. It could have been her —’

  ‘And you think someone poisoned a celebrity — endangered their life — just to pay you back for organising a charity event?’

  The kettle pinged in the awkward silence, and with it Pippa’s patience snapped.

  ‘Then you find a better way to link the sword and the cake incidents! I’m the only person who stands to lose out either way, because I’m carrying the can for the whole thing! Unless you think it’s someone who doesn’t want the church spire to be mended!’

  ‘Mrs Parker,’ Inspector Fanshawe placed a mug in front of PC Horsley. ‘I can tell you’re upset, but shouting at us isn’t going to change anything.’

  ‘You don’t understand,’ said Pippa. ‘I tried so hard, and –’

  ‘Yes, we know,’ said the inspector wearily. ‘But you must understand that we can’t conduct our investigation based on small grudges.’

  ‘What else do you have to go on?’ asked Pippa.

  ‘Not much,’ admitted PC Horsley. ‘But we’ve only just started taking statements.’

  ‘Have you sent the cakes to be analysed?’

  ‘Of course we have. It’ll be a few days before we get the results, though. Same with the sword. We’ve had to send that to a specialist team who can get the prints off it. Even then, I don’t think it’ll be conclusive. Everyone knows nowadays to wipe the prints off, thanks to detective fiction.’

  Inspector Fanshawe sipped his drink. ‘Do you have anything else to tell us, Mrs Parker?’

  ‘Not really,’ said Pippa. ‘But what I said is the only motive I can think of that joins the two things together. The sword, and the cake.’

  ‘It’s odd,’ said Inspector Fanshawe. ‘I can’t say I’ve come across anything like it in all my years as a policeman. Anyway –’ he came round the desk. ‘We’d better be getting on.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Pippa, standing up and taking the brake off the pushchair. ‘Thanks for listening.’

  ‘I’ll bear it in mind,’ said PC Horsley. ‘You never know, there might be something in it.’

  When Pippa left the office, accompanied by PC Horsley, Beryl Harbottle was waiting, sitting on a plastic chair which her back didn’t touch. ‘Is it time for me yet?’ she asked, her tone a blend of plaintive and aggrieved.

  ‘It is, Mrs Harbottle.’ PC Horsley kept the door propped open. ‘You know your way out, Mrs Parker.’

  Pippa checked her watch as she wheeled Ruby down the path. It was a quarter to eleven, and already she felt as if she had endured a whole day.

  If the police won’t listen to me, I’ll have to investigate on my own behalf.

  Where to begin?

  She had until a quarter past twelve, when she would need to go and collect Freddie from preschool. What could I do in that time? She wheeled Ruby along, lost in thought.

  The newspapers. I could read the newspaper online. I could try to find out which hospital Dev is in, and see if visiting is allowed.

  But none of it seemed satisfactory, somehow.

  Her phone pinged. Not Lila again.

  But it was Serendipity. I heard the news this morning. Are you OK? X

  ‘No,’ Pippa said aloud, before realising she would need to text that.

  Coffee? X

  Pippa sighed. It wasn’t exactly investigating, but – she had a feeling Serendipity would understand.

  Yes please now?

  Sure X

  Pippa did a three-point turn and directed the pushchair towards her old home, and River Lane.

  ***

  ‘I got back late last night,’ Serendipity said, spooning coffee beans into the grinder. ‘But I saw it on the breakfast news.’

  ‘It was on breakfast news?’ Pippa’s heart sank. She really had caused a major catastrophe. Maybe she should go to the estate agent’s when she finished her coffee.

  ‘Yes, he’s one of the regular chefs on their cookery slot.’ The grinder whirred. ‘I don’t follow it as such, but I watch sometimes to see what they’re cooking.’

  ‘Trend-spotting.’

  ‘Yeah.’ Serendipity loaded the machine with coffee and set it going. ‘So of course they made a big thing of it, because he’s a “friend of the show”.’

  ‘Ohhh.’ Trust her to get a chef who would cause the maximum amount of negative publicity. ‘What did they say?’

  ‘They just wished him well. Biscuits?’

  ‘Oh God, yes.’

  Serendipity opened the cupboard and took down a biscuit tin decorated with bunting spelling out ‘BISCUITS’. She saw Pippa looking at it, and bit her lip. Quickly she arranged some biscuits on the plate, and put the tin away. ‘Let’s go through.’

  They sat at opposite ends of the sofa. Pippa remembered how her sofa hadn’t fitted into Rosebud Cottage, but Serendipity had a miniature Chesterfield topped with a crocheted throw, which looked as if it had always been there. ‘I can’t believe Ruby’s asleep again,’ said Serendipity.

  ‘It’s a new routine,’ said Pippa. ‘Long may it continue. Occasionally she even naps long enough for me to drink a whole cup of tea while it’s still warm.’

  ‘Lucky you.’ Serendipity took a biscuit and nibbled at the edge of it. ‘So, how did it go?’

  ‘How do you think?’ said Pippa. ‘It was a complete mess pretty much from start to finish. Dev was late on the fir
st day, and I ended up moving everyone around in the programme to patch it up, so we were all on edge. It was raining on the first morning. And then there was the attempted stabbing.’

  ‘The what?’ Serendipity’s biscuit paused halfway to her mouth.

  ‘Someone switched one of the am-dram swords for a real one. Luckily it was nothing more than a cut finger, but it could have been so much worse.’

  Serendipity put her biscuit on the side of the plate. ‘Sorry, but – someone put a real sword into the mix?’

  ‘Yes. One of the swords in Lady Higginbotham’s drawing room.’

  ‘But that’s…’

  ‘Much more serious. That’s why the police are investigating. Once you have that little bit of information, it all becomes… Not clear. More complicated, actually.’

  ‘I … wow. I don’t think I can process that,’ said Serendipity. ‘Tell me more about the fete. I know my stuff sold out the first day, Marge texted me. How were takings? Did you reach your target?’

  ‘I have no idea.’ Pippa ate the rest of her biscuit and reached for another. ‘It hasn’t been at the front of my mind.’

  And then she saw it. The newspaper, folded the wrong way, lying on the shelf under the coffee table. ‘Mind if I take a look?’

  ‘I get it delivered,’ said Serendipity. ‘It’s only worth using for keeping the table clean.’

  CELEBRITY CHEF SERIOUSLY ILL AFTER CAKE BUNGLE

  Well-known TV chef Dev Hardman is in a critical state after a village baking competition went horribly wrong —

  ‘You’ve read this, haven’t you?’ Serendipity nodded, biting her lip again.

  Pippa went back to the article, but she couldn’t settle to read it. Phrases jumped out at her —

  “He was clearly unwell,” said a spectator…

  …local private hospital…

  …following an earlier incident…

  …his parents are at his bedside…

  …Gadcestershire Police are conducting a full investigation…

  …call for better regulation of these sorts of events…