Baking Bad--A Cozy Mystery (With Dragons)

by Kim M Watt

  “What if it’s a serial killer?” Rosemary asked, knitting needles clicking anxiously. “They seem to be very popular at the moment.”

  A murmur of agreement went around the assembled women, and Alice sighed. “I’m sure it’s not.”

  “There could be dozens of murdered vicars, a trail of bodies left across the country,” Rosemary added. Teresa grabbed Pearl’s hand again.

  “I find it highly unlikely that a trail of murdered vicars would have escaped our attention,” Alice said.

  There was a pause that made her realise that she might not have been as reassuring as she’d have liked, then Rose said, “And what about the dragons? With police poking around and all?”

  “We shall just have to be very, very careful,” Alice replied, and wondered if that was a condition Beaufort could manage. He must be able to, to keep his clan hidden for all these centuries, but still. It didn’t sound much like the High Lord of the Cloverly dragons. Not the one she knew, anyway.

  By dint of some calculated moves around the room, and some rather severe looks at young James the detective constable, Alice made sure she would be the last one interviewed by the DI. Not only did she want to be able to ask the W.I. her own questions now, while they were fresh in her mind, she also wanted the detective inspector to be tired by the time she went in. The questions the DI asked her after talking to everyone else might just give her an idea of what the inspector was thinking. Not that she thought the police couldn’t handle it, but, well. This had happened in her own backyard. It felt almost insulting.

  Now she tapped the table lightly. “Hit me.”

  Gert looked at her narrowly, then dealt another card. Alice examined it.

  “Hold.”

  Carlotta rubbed her chin with a heavily be-ringed hand. “Dammit,” she said, then added, “Sorry, Dean.”

  The dean, huddled in a chair near the stage in the now almost-empty hall, jumped like she’d tickled him, and gave a weak smile.

  “I fold,” Carlotta announced.

  Gert lifted the corner of the cards in front of her, just as if she didn’t know exactly what was there, and Alice, seated so she could see the kitchen door, saw James emerge looking unhappy.

  “House folds,” Gert announced, and pointed at Alice. “Show your cards, woman.”

  Alice turned them over, allowing herself a smile. A nine, a four, and a five.

  “Jesus Christ – sorry, Dean – I hate playing with you, Alice.”

  “I know,” Alice said comfortably, and collected her winnings. “Another?”

  “Does the pope – oh, God – oh, sorry, Dean.”

  “You should be ashamed of yourself,” Carlotta said, getting up before James reached the table. “The mouth on you. You’ll go straight to hell.”

  “Says the woman who takes spiked coffee to church every Sunday,” Gert said, shuffling the cards with quick, practised hands.

  “I get cold. Come, young man, and take me through. I don’t want to sit with this blasphemer anymore.”

  “Ah, right. Sure.” James looked distinctly uncomfortable as Carlotta linked her arm through his and patted his bicep.

  “You’re terribly tall, aren’t you? Strong, too.”

  “Um,” he said, and led her away more quickly than was probably entirely necessary.

  Alice smiled, and picked up the cards Gert had dealt her. “Dean?” she called. “Could I trouble you for another cup of tea? I hate to be a bother, but …”

  “Of course!” he said, jumping up from the chair and dropping his phone with an expensive-sounding clatter. “Right away.”

  “Milk, three sugars,” Gert said. “And make it strong, would you?”

  “Yes, yes, of course.”

  “Just milk for me,” Alice said, and smiled pleasantly.

  The dean scuttled away, clutching his phone like a life preserver, and Gert smiled at Alice.

  “So, what’s on your mind, love?”

  “As someone who knows everyone, Gert, do you know anything about our poor deceased vicar?”

  Gert rested her heavy forearms on the table. They were deceptive, more muscle than fat, and Alice had watched her win more than one arm-wrestling contest against younger and fitter men. It was Gert’s speciality at fetes. That and her strawberry jam, which was quite wonderful, and, Alice had a niggling suspicion, slightly alcoholic. “Not much that isn’t common knowledge. Ran with a bad crowd as a youngster. Spent a bit of time at Her Majesty’s pleasure for robbery, although I think there was more that didn’t stick. Found God and spent his time after that trying to put young kids straight. Came here for a quiet life, I believe.”

  “No reason to think anyone from his old life would be looking for him?”

  “Not so’s I know. He seemed like a real bad-apple-gone-good sort. And judging by the state of his shoes and his car, he wasn’t exactly getting any extra income from anywhere.”

  Alice nodded. “I thought that, too.”

  “I can ask around. Our Benny’s in Liverpool these days.”

  “Benny your nephew?”

  “No, Benny my cousin’s daughter’s new hubby.”

  “Of course.”

  “So shall I ask?”

  “If you could. I thought the vicar was from Manchester, though?”

  “Nah, that funny no-accent he’s got – had – isn’t his. You hear the other one come through when he gets – got – really stressed sometimes. I mean, it did. Poor man.”

  “Hmm.”

  “I imagine he really wanted to leave the old stuff behind.”

  “I suppose so,” Alice said. “He came here from Manchester, though.”

  “Oh, sure. I think he got out of Liverpool soon as he got out of jail.”

  “Hmm,” Alice said again, then didn’t say any more, because the dean came back in with their tea, apologising profusely for it still being rather on the milky side.

  The hall was quiet and still, the light grown golden on the wooden floorboards and against the walls as the afternoon edged on toward evening. The flowers the W.I. had brought in the day before for their meeting bowed their heads softly in the vases on the windowsills, and Alice could hear bird song drifting in from outside. She didn’t feel cross about being cooped up on such a beautiful day, exactly, but it did seem like a shame. She could have gone for a walk. Weeded the garden. Even just sat out with a book, although it wasn’t a Sunday, so that would have been terribly indulgent.

  “Ma’am?” James said, and Alice smiled at him.

  “Just me left, is it?”

  “If you don’t mind.” He offered her his hand, but she was already standing, brushing her trousers off.

  “You’ll be happy to get home after all this,” she said.

  He sighed. “I won’t disagree.”

  Alice smiled again, but it was more to herself than to him. If he was tired, the DI was probably exhausted. With any luck, she might even get some of her own questions answered.

  The back door to the kitchen was open, letting cooling air in, and the room smelt of baked goods and cut grass. The detective inspector was stretching in the doorway as if she were about to go for a 10k run, and otherwise the kitchen was empty. James pulled a seat out at the table for Alice, then selected a piece of fruit cake and leaned back against the sink with an appreciative sigh.

  “Have you sent everyone else home?” Alice asked.

  “Everyone I’ve questioned, yes. And as I didn’t think I really needed the manpower here, I’ve sent someone to keep an eye on the vicarage. Just in case anyone gets any ideas about poking around.” The DI sat down and eyed Alice as if she harboured suspicions that the chair of the W.I. might be the one doing the poking.

  “How very sensible,” Alice said. “People can be very disrespectful. Although one would hope not in this village.”

  “Can’t be too careful.”

  “Quite.” They examined each other across the table, and Alice was disappointed to note that the inspector didn’t look all that tired.
The younger woman straightened her back, as if trying to emulate Alice’s posture, and tapped a pencil on a yellow legal pad. “I thought you all used tablets now,” Alice said.

  “Call me old-fashioned. I like having a hard copy. In case anyone spills something on my phone.”

  “That was once,” James protested.

  DI Adams made a little gesture of dismissal and indicated the tablet that lay next to the pad. “I do find this very handy for research, though.”

  “I can see how it would be.” Alice kept her hands folded neatly on the table in front of her, waiting. She had an idea where this was going to go.

  “How would you characterise your relationship with the vicar?”

  “We were friendly.”

  “Did you have disagreements?”

  “Yes. Less now than at first. He sometimes had differing ideas of the W.I.’s role in the village.”

  “Did you ever argue?”

  “I wouldn’t describe it as such, no. We disagreed. Rather quickly he realised that the W.I. gets things done, and it’s best to let us get on with it.”

  “Hmm.” The DI made some scratches on the pad. It could have been some form of shorthand, but it looked to Alice more like the start of a noughts and crosses grid. “Mrs Shaw was quite upset.”

  “Jasmine? Yes. She can be quite emotional. She fainted when her flower arrangement won ‘Most Improved’ last year.”

  “How unfortunate.”

  “Especially considering she landed on the flower arrangement in question.”

  The inspector snorted, and they shared amused grins for a moment before the DI frowned down at her pad again. “Any reason she’d be so terribly upset over the vicar, though?”

  “As I say, she’s emotional. She cries if one of her houseplants dies, so it’s a weekly occurrence. At least.”

  “How was her relationship with the vicar?”

  “Friendly. I don’t think they had much to do with each other outside the W.I. meetings, although Jasmine always made sure to bring extra cakes for him whenever we had one. Poor man.”

  “I hear her cooking isn’t great.”

  “Her cooking is disastrous. But she’s lovely, and tries terribly hard, so we all pretend she’s getting better all the time.”

  “She’s not?”

  “You saw the lasagne.”

  “Jesus, that was a lasagne?” James said. “Her poor hubby.” Alice and the DI both looked at him. “I mean – obviously he could cook, too. And no one marries anyone for cooking skills these days. Obviously. Um.” He suddenly busied himself with the sink. “I’ll wash up, shall I?”

  The women looked back at each other. “Mrs Alice Deirdre Martin, correct?”

  “I favour Ms.”

  “I see here Mr Martin is missing.”

  “Yes.”

  “For about twelve years.”

  “Yes.”

  “And yet you’ve never declared him dead. Or annulled the marriage.”

  “No.”

  “So you still hope he might come back?”

  “Not at all. It just seemed to put a lot of importance on something that I found very unimportant.”

  “His disappearance was unimportant?”

  “The marriage, Inspector.”

  The inspector scrolled down on the tablet, although Alice had no doubt she knew exactly what was on there. DI Adams did not seem to be the sort of woman to forget things. “You were questioned following his disappearance.”

  “And never charged.”

  “No. Odd circumstances, though. You come home from …” She scrolled again, and again Alice was sure it was for effect. “… the RAF, and within a week he’s gone.”

  “Yes.”

  “You were a wing commander.”

  “Yes.”

  “Fifty-five is quite young to retire.”

  “It was the right time for me. The only direction from there was promotion to a desk job, which held no particular appeal.”

  They examined each other. “He was just gone,” the DI said again. “Not even his clothes touched.”

  “None of his belongings were taken from my house, true. That is not to say he didn’t have some elsewhere. He was not a very … satisfactory husband, Detective Inspector.”

  “I see. A curious situation, though.”

  “Indeed. But tell me, Inspector, do you think I’d have created such a questionable situation if I had disposed of him?”

  DI Adams watched Alice with dark, thoughtful eyes, tapping her pen on the table, and Alice returned her gaze calmly. She’d been through all this before. She had hoped she wouldn’t have to again, but it was just like Harvey to keep dragging himself through her life, making things messy.

  “Apparently the vicar was afraid of you,” the inspector said finally.

  Alice raised one meticulously shaped eyebrow. “I am a woman of a certain age, with a certain history of authority. Many people have been afraid of me. I’m sure you have had – and will continue to have – a similar experience, Detective Inspector.”

  By the sink, James snorted, and tried to cover it with a cough. DI Adams took another sip of tea, and Alice could see her lips twitching. “So is that a yes?”

  “It is a yes.”

  They watched each other for a moment, and the DI was the first to look away, much to Alice’s satisfaction. The inspector cleared her throat, and said, “Well. I think that’s all for now, Ms Martin. Please understand that we may need to ask you further questions, however.”

  “Of course.” Alice rose to her feet, extending a cool hand for the inspector to shake. “Good luck, Detective Inspector. I will help wherever I can.”

  “One last thing. You seem to have a certain influence around here. The respect of the locals, shall we say.”

  “I guess you could say that,” Alice said cautiously.

  “So people might come to you if they needed help, or advice.”

  “It depends. I’m not the most sympathetic ear, but if they needed something done, then yes.”

  The inspector held her gaze for a moment longer, then said, “I don’t have to worry about you digging around in this investigation, do I, Ms Martin?”

  “It is a police affair, Detective Inspector.”

  “So the fact that you talked to every person in the room, and actively avoided being brought in here until you had done so, shouldn’t worry me at all.”

  Alice bit down on a smile. “I am the chair of the W.I., and, as you say, people do have a certain regard for me. I thought it best to be able to offer support to everyone individually. We have just lost our vicar.”

  The inspector didn’t look particularly impressed. “This is likely a very straightforward case, Ms Martin. You are ex-military. You must understand that civilians getting in the middle of things only ever serves to complicate matters and slow things down.”

  “Quite right, Inspector.”

  The DI shook her head and sighed, and Alice saw just the slightest dip of weariness in her shoulders before she straightened up again. “Okay. Thank you for your cooperation.”

  “Always a pleasure to help,” Alice said, and picked her bag up off the table.

  “Ms Martin?” DI Adams called, just as she was stepping out into the warm afternoon light, crisp and fresh-smelling after the long day indoors. “You will, of course, contact me immediately if you happen to be told anything that has any bearing whatsoever on this investigation.”

  Alice turned back to her and smiled. “Of course,” she lied, with perfect innocence.

  5

  Miriam

  There was a sharp and instantly recognisable knock on the kitchen door, and Miriam rushed to open it. She wasn’t even sure why she had it shut, really. It was a perfectly wonderful afternoon, the heat baking her garden and filling it with the scents of flowers and sweetly ripening vegetation, and the bees ambling sleepy and slow around the hanging baskets under the eaves. But then, there had been a murder, so she supposed it was only reasonable that
she felt a bit uncomfortable having the open door at her back. Anyone who could kill a vicar … Well, there was no telling what they were capable of.

  She opened the door wide to let the two dragons in, Mortimer looking even more anxious than usual.

  “Hello, you two,” she said, trying for bright and breezy but hearing a squeaky edge to the words. “Come on in. I’ve just put the kettle on.”

  “Afternoon, Miriam,” Beaufort said. “Tea would be wonderful. We’ve had a very exciting time of it.”

  “Have you?” Miriam asked distractedly, already busying herself with the biggest teapot. “Well, yes, I imagine getting out of the hall with the dogs and everything must have been quite exciting.”

  “We’ve been breaking and entering,” Mortimer said, examining the corners of the room as if expecting someone to jump out and arrest him at any moment. “We’re criminals!”

  “You what?” Miriam dropped the kettle in the sink, splashing water all over herself and the counter. “What are you talking about?” She grabbed the dish cloth, patting at the front of her top and only making it more damp.

  “Mortimer, do calm down. There was no breaking involved,” Beaufort said, as if that made anything better.

  “There was entering. We entered a crime scene. I’m sure that’s illegal.”

  “No one saw us.”

  “It was so close, though!”

  “It was a little close,” Beaufort admitted.

  “And we didn’t even find anything out!”

  “Mortimer, would you like some banana cake?” Miriam asked. The smaller dragon had collapsed on the floor of the kitchen, barely inside the door, and taken on the grey of the stone floor. He didn’t look well.

  “No, I don’t want banana cake! I want to not have broken into a vicar’s house!”

  “We didn’t break in,” Beaufort repeated. “That window was basically an invitation.”

  “You broke into the vicar’s house?”

  “Yes!” Mortimer wailed.

  “No,” Beaufort said, very firmly. “And I would love some banana cake, Miriam. That’s very nice of you.”