WITCH CHOCOLATE FUDGE

by HANNA, H. Y.

  Muttering angrily, he bent over and began hunting around on the floor of the bathroom. Caitlyn sighed and joined in the search, reflecting wryly that this was the other aspect of her new life that she was having trouble getting used to: having a shape-shifting vampire uncle. Especially since—based on the covers of all the romance novels Pomona liked to read—Caitlyn had always thought that shape-shifters were hunky men with rippling abs, ready to transform into snarling alpha wolves at the slightest provocation. But somehow her shape-shifter ended up being a decrepit old man who kept losing his teeth and turning into a fuzzy fruit bat.

  “…must have dropped them in the greenhouse,” Viktor muttered, climbing out of the shower cubicle empty-handed. “Hmm… could have been when I was trying to sample that pomegranate. Devilish tricky fruit, they are—lots of juice but getting through that tough outer skin is murder on my teeth…” He turned back to Caitlyn. “I shall have to return to the greenhouse to search for my fangs, once I have seen you safely back to the chocolate shop—”

  “You don’t need to worry about me,” said Caitlyn in exasperation. “After all, this is Lord Fitzroy’s home. Surely there can’t be any place safer than Huntingdon Manor?”

  “And yet someone was murdered here yesterday.”

  Caitlyn looked at him sharply. “You heard about that?”

  “I may be old but I am not deaf,” snapped Viktor. He folded his arms and added loftily, “As it happens, the police have been parking their car under my favourite spot in the crabapple tree by the main driveway, and I have been privy to several of their conversations.” He leaned close to Caitlyn and wagged a bony finger at her. “You be careful, young lady. That inspector has got you in his sights.”

  “Me? No, no, that was just a misunderstanding. I’m sure once Inspector Walsh speaks to Angela today, he’ll see that I have a solid alibi—”

  A sound at the bedroom door interrupted them. Caitlyn felt a flash of panic. What if someone came in and saw Viktor here? How was she ever going to explain what a strange old man was doing in her bedroom? She cringed as she imagined James’s face.

  “Stay here!” she hissed to the old man and hurried outside.

  To her relief, she saw that the noise had come from a folded note being slipped under her door. She picked it up and read it. It was Pomona’s handwriting:

  Not sure whether to wake you or let you sleep, but if you’re up, come down to breakfast in the Morning Room. See you there! xx

  Caitlyn made sure the door was locked, then returned to the bathroom. “False alarm… but you’d better go, Viktor. I don’t want to risk one of the staff coming in and seeing you…"

  Viktor waved a dismissive hand. “Do not fear. I can instantly take my other form—”

  “Yeah, well, I’m not sure finding a huge fruit bat in my bathroom would be any more reassuring,” said Caitlyn. She hustled him out of the bathroom and led him over to the bedroom windows. “Please Viktor, you’ve got to go."

  “Oh, very well,” he said tetchily. “In any case, I have not had breakfast yet so I might as well—” He stopped as he caught Caitlyn’s expression. “What?”

  “Er…” Caitlyn swallowed. She had never given it much thought before but now it suddenly struck her what Viktor actually was. “You’re… you’re not going to go and suck someone’s blood now, are you?”

  Viktor bristled. “Excuse me, young lady! I find that a most offensive assumption!”

  “Oh… sorry… I just thought that… with you being a vampire… you know…” Caitlyn trailed off helplessly.

  “Just because we are vampires, it does not mean we are all the same,” said Viktor huffily. “I’ll have you know that I am a fruitarian, thank you very much! Those of us in the Megabat Order do not lower ourselves to something as sordid as drinking blood. Dis-gusting!” He flared his nostrils.

  “A fruitarian?” Caitlyn laughed in relief. “Oh, right. Great. That sounds very… uh… healthy.”

  Viktor gave a disgruntled harrumph. Then he stepped up to the windows and heaved one of the glass panes open. Caitlyn watched in amazement as the old man hunched forwards, seeming to fold in on himself, and then his body shrank and contorted, so that a moment later, where there had been a stooped old man, there was now a large fuzzy fruit bat. The creature climbed onto the windowsill, gave her a grumpy squeak over its shoulder, then launched itself out of the window and flapped away in the morning sunshine.

  Caitlyn watched the bat flying away, wondering if she would ever get over seeing the shape-shifter transformation. Then she shut the window and hurried back to the bathroom. She looked wistfully for a moment at the deep enamelled bathtub. But no… If James and Pomona were already at breakfast, she didn’t want to keep them waiting. Sighing, she grabbed a towel and turned towards the shower.

  ***

  Twenty minutes later, with her hair still damp from the shower, Caitlyn found her way to the Morning Room and slid into a seat next to her cousin.

  “Good morning,” said James with a smile from across the table. “I hope you slept well?”

  “Yes, thanks,” said Caitlyn, giving him a shy smile in return.

  “I thought you were never gonna come down, sleepyhead,” said Pomona, munching on a piece of toast.

  “Can I get you some tea or coffee?” asked James.

  “Coffee, please. Black. One sugar,” said Caitlyn. She inhaled gratefully as he handed her a steaming cup. There was nothing like the smell of fresh coffee in the morning.

  “Now, what would you like?” James waved a hand towards the sideboard, which was bulging with serving platters. “You can have the full English… or you can just have a Continental breakfast if you prefer: rolls, pastries, preserves, orange juice…”

  “Take the full English,” said Pomona with her mouth full. “Trust me, it’s worth it.”

  Caitlyn grinned. “All right. Hit me with it.”

  A short while later, Caitlyn wondered if she was going to regret her decision as she surveyed the enormous plate put in front of her. It was filled with fluffy scrambled eggs seasoned with fresh butter and chives, grilled tomatoes, sautéed mushrooms, strips of crispy bacon, fat juicy Cumberland sausages, and a puddle of baked beans, all accompanied by a rack of toast, carefully trimmed into triangular sections.

  “I can’t eat all this!” cried Caitlyn, staring at the overflowing plate. “There’s enough food here for the entire British army!”

  James laughed. “Just eat what you can. Leave the rest.”

  “You’ll eat everything, I promise,” said Pomona with a smug smile as she popped the last piece of crispy bacon into her mouth. She sat back in her chair and rubbed her belly complacently. “Man, I have to say, when it comes to breakfast, the English sure know how to do it.”

  Caitlyn took a deep breath, picked up her knife and fork, and tackled the plate of food in front of her. She was surprised to find that, before she realised it, half the plate was gone. It was all so delicious, the different flavours and textures of the eggs, sausages, tomatoes, baked beans, mushrooms, and bacon somehow coming together to form the perfect combination in her mouth.

  She was just accepting a second cup of coffee from James when there was a commotion in the hallway outside and, a minute later, several men entered the breakfast room. The first was Inspector Walsh and he inclined his head apologetically.

  “Lord Fitzroy, Miss Le Fey, Miss Sinclair—I’m sorry to interrupt your breakfast…”

  “Good morning, Inspector,” said James, looking at him in surprise. “Would you like a cup of tea or coffee?”

  “No, thank you, sir. I’m afraid I am here on business. Specifically, I need to ask Miss Le Fey a few more questions regarding her movements yesterday evening.”

  “Me?” Caitlyn looked up in surprise. Slowly, she laid down her knife and fork as an uneasy feeling stole over her. She didn’t like the inspector’s grim expression and she couldn’t help remembering Viktor’s earlier warning.

  “Is that really neces
sary, Inspector?” asked James, frowning. “Surely you ascertained last night that Miss Le Fey has a rock-solid alibi for the time of the murder?”

  “Ah, that is the very reason I need to speak to her again,” said the inspector. He turned towards Caitlyn. “You told me yesterday, Miss Le Fey, that you were walking over the hill, back towards the chocolate shop, during the time the murder took place.”

  “Yes, that’s right. “

  “And you said that Angela Skinner would be able to confirm your story.”

  “Yes,” said Caitlyn. “I met her just by the stone circle. Why?”

  “I spoke to Miss Skinner this morning,” said the inspector. “And she tells me that she never saw you yesterday afternoon.” He leaned forwards and regarded Caitlyn grimly. “I hope, Miss Le Fey, you have not been lying to me.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  “What?” Caitlyn stared at him. “What do you mean…? How could Angela say that? She saw me! We walked past each other—I even spoke to her!”

  “What did you say?” asked the inspector.

  “I… I said hello and made some small talk about the weather. I don’t remember the exact words now.”

  “And what did Miss Skinner say in return?”

  Caitlyn flushed and looked down. “Nothing. She… she snubbed me.”

  Pomona made an angry noise whilst James looked taken aback.

  Inspector Walsh raised his eyebrows. “I see.”

  “But that doesn’t mean she didn’t see me,” Caitlyn protested. “She definitely saw me! Even if she didn’t speak to me—our eyes met and she deliberately turned away after I spoke to her.”

  “And why would she say that she didn’t see you?” asked the inspector.

  “Well, she—” Caitlyn broke off. She realised suddenly that Angela must have seen this as a perfect opportunity to get revenge, to make Caitlyn pay for some of the humiliation she had suffered. Angela was in a position of power here: Caitlyn’s whole alibi rested on her verification. But how could she explain that to Inspector Walsh? Surely she couldn’t tell him that the other woman had lied out of spite?

  “Yes, Miss Le Fey?” asked Inspector Walsh.

  Caitlyn squirmed. “I think she might be lying on purpose. There’s… I think Angela is angry at me and this is a good way to get back at me.”

  The Inspector raised his eyebrows again and Caitlyn flushed even more. It all sounded so petty—like girls fighting in high school. Except that this wasn’t a teenage popularity contest, thought Caitlyn grimly—this was a murder investigation and she was a prime suspect.

  “Inspector, you’re not seriously considering Caitlyn to be the murderer,” said James in an incredulous tone. “I understand that her alibi may be unsubstantiated at present but there is no conceivable motive for her to hurt my housekeeper. They barely even knew each other. Surely there must be other more likely suspects?”

  The inspector hesitated, then sighed and conceded, “Yes, you are right, sir. We do have other suspects. But you will agree that I have to check every alibi.”

  “Naturally,” James agreed. “I understand. But I think your time might be better spent following up the other suspects than hounding Miss Le Fey here.”

  “The thing is, Miss Le Fey was observed leaving the Manor in a furtive, hurried manner, just at the time the murder was likely to have happened, so you can see my difficulty, sir. We have to follow all leads.” His tone changed. “And on that note, I also questioned one of your maids, Amelia, this morning. Miss Le Fey claims she overheard your housekeeper having an unpleasant scene with Amelia in her sitting room, not long before her murder.”

  “An unpleasant scene?” James looked at Caitlyn in surprise. “What about?”

  Caitlyn shifted uncomfortably. It was obvious that James had no idea what his housekeeper was really like.

  “Mrs Brixton was trying to blackmail Amelia,” said Inspector Walsh bluntly.

  “Blackmail!” James stared at him incredulously. “Mrs Brixton?”

  “It has been confirmed by the maid herself,” said the inspector. “Apparently, she was caught trying to steal something from the Library the day before the murder, and Mrs Brixton threatened to report the incident to you, unless Amelia paid her a regular sum from her wages.”

  James looked stunned. “This… this is incredible. I’ve known Mrs Brixton for years—she has been with my family ever since I was a little boy. I confess, I have never really liked her very much, but I had always thought her to be an upstanding, honest woman, if a bit cold and controlling at times.” He frowned. “What was Amelia trying to steal?”

  “A ring,” said the inspector. “An antique signet ring with a dark red stone, which was kept in the display cabinet at the back of the Library.”

  “Oh, that ring,” said James with a laugh.

  “Is it valuable?” asked the inspector.

  James shrugged. “It’s never been valued by a jeweller, if that’s what you’re asking, but I doubt it’s worth much in monetary terms; it isn’t a precious jewel like a ruby. It’s a bloodstone and its value—if you believe the legends—lies in its magical powers.”

  Pomona squealed in delight. “A bloodstone!” she said breathlessly. “Omigod, those are, like, one of the most mystical stones ever! They’ve got some amazing healing energy.”

  James gave a slightly sheepish smile. “Yes, I used to be fascinated by that ring when I was a boy. I spent hours in the Library, imagining all sorts of stories about it.”

  “What sort of stories?” asked Caitlyn.

  James shrugged. “There are lots of legends attached to bloodstones. People in the Middle Ages believed they were formed at the crucifixion of Jesus Christ, when the blood of his wounds fell to the ground and turned to stone. And even before that, people in medieval times believed that they had the ability to stop blood flowing from any wound—which is why warriors used to carry bloodstone amulets to protect them in battle.” He chuckled. “Lisa, my Marketing and Events Coordinator, is great at putting a romantic ‘spin’ on things and I think she found a book in the Library about bloodstones and decided to play up the ring’s magical associations for the tourists’ benefit. Makes a good story for the tour. But at the end of the day, it’s all just folklore and superstition. It’s just an old stone set in a ring—there’s nothing magical about it.”

  Pomona opened her mouth, as if she might protest, then subsided again. Caitlyn knew that her cousin believed passionately in the occult and was always quick to defend the existence of magic, but this time, Pomona obviously felt it wasn’t her place to argue with James. She couldn’t resist adding, though:

  “Well, Amelia obviously thought there was something magical about it, right? Otherwise, why would she have stolen it?”

  “It seems that she wasn’t stealing it for herself,” said Inspector Walsh. “She claims that she received an anonymous note, saying that she would be paid a large sum of money if she extracted the ring from the Library. She was supposed to drop it off at a certain location in the Manor gardens, in return for the payment.”

  “Jeez, and she believed that?” Pomona rolled her eyes. “I mean, how did she know she’d get paid? Someone could have just gotten her to steal the ring for them, picked it up, and then run off without paying her a cent!”

  The inspector gave a cynical smile. “People will believe anything they want to hear—especially when there is money involved.”

  “So what happened?” asked Caitlyn. “I mean, if Mrs Brixton caught Amelia red-handed, then she couldn’t have made the drop-off, could she?”

  The inspector nodded. “She left a note instead, explaining what had happened and that Mrs Brixton had confiscated the ring.”

  “You mean, the ring was in the housekeeper’s possession when she was murdered?” asked Caitlyn.

  The inspector gave her an admiring look again. “You are very quick, Miss Le Fey. Yes, the ring hadn’t been returned to the Library—according to Amelia, Mrs Brixton still had it when they were hav
ing their ‘discussion’ yesterday afternoon… just before her murder.”

  “And she hasn’t got it anymore?” asked Caitlyn.

  “No, it wasn’t found anywhere in her room or on her person.”

  “So are you saying that she could have been murdered for the ring?” James spoke up.

  “We are keeping an open mind at present,” said Inspector Walsh. “But that is one working theory, yes. Whoever asked Amelia to steal the ring could have come to the Manor to speak to Mrs Brixton. Perhaps offer her payment in return for the ring. After all, we know now that the housekeeper liked money—she wasn’t averse to using blackmail to line her pockets on the side—so it would be logical to assume that she might be open to negotiations. And perhaps those negotiations didn’t quite go as planned…” He paused. “Of course, there is also another possibility—that it was Amelia who killed her and took the ring.”

  “Amelia?” said Caitlyn. “But… I saw Mrs Brixton after Amelia stormed out and she was fine.”

  “Ah, but she could have returned later, couldn’t she?” said the inspector. “After all, we only have Amelia’s word that she never went back to the housekeeper’s sitting room yesterday evening. But she could easily be lying. And now she would have a double motive: not only would she get the ring and receive her payment, but she would also get rid of a woman who was threatening to blackmail her and make her life a misery.”

  “Omigod, yeah!” cried Pomona, wide-eyed. “You should arrest Amelia immediately!”

  Inspector Walsh gave another cynical smile. “I’m afraid we British police are known for our slow and plodding nature, Miss Sinclair. We don’t have the satisfaction of rushing in, guns blazing, to grab the fugitive—like the police do in Hollywood movies. We tend to ask a lot of pedantic questions and gather all the evidence we can before contemplating an arrest. Amelia Cole is certainly high on our list of suspects but, for the present, we are continuing with our investigation.” He turned to James. “And now, Lord Fitzroy, I would like to interview another member of your staff: one of the gardeners—Matt O’Brien.”