Pudding, Poison & Pie (A Marsden-Lacey Cozy Mystery Book 3)

by Sigrid Vansandt

  “I don’t think you’re funny!” Martha exclaimed. “In fact, I think you’re being…an ass! I am going to the competition today and you can go to Hell!”

  Johns smiled. Martha picked up Amos and stomped upstairs. A door shut firmly somewhere above them.

  “What was that all about, Merriam?” Polly demanded.

  “I was having some fun with her, Mum, but she’s not going to the competition today. You’ll need to find a replacement. She’s in danger and the only way to handle Martha in these situations is to either lock her up or get her mad.”

  “How does getting her mad work to your benefit?” Polly asked, while trying to fry eggs and sausages for their breakfast.

  Johns put two pieces of toast in the toaster and dug for the butter in the refrigerator. He finally sat down with his coffee and answered her.

  “She’s up there fussing, stuffing things in a bag, thinking about what I said. It’s a distraction until I can handle everything. You see, I’m down here, knowing she doesn’t have a car. I’m calling Helen in a few minutes to tell her not to pick Martha up, no matter what, and making sure you are on your way, Mum, without Martha in the car with you. She’ll be safe here until I can find out who’s trying to kill her.”

  Johns looked smug and self-assured as he finished. He no sooner took a bite out of his toast than his feel-good expression died as he heard a jaunty triple honk come from the front of the house.

  “That woman had better not be doing what I think,” he growled loudly as he jumped up to go look out the front window.

  “Martha!” he yelled, as he ran outside into the snow with only his stockings on. “Come back here you redheaded…minx!”

  His demands would do him no good. She was already down the driveway. He turned and stomped back into the house. Once back in the warm kitchen with sopping wet feet, Johns sat down and removed the dripping socks. Polly smiled serenely as she wrapped up her packing.

  “You should have thought that one through a little better, my dear,” Johns’ mother said, her tone thick with humor.

  “How did she do it?” he asked.

  Before Polly could hazard an answer, Amos came trotting down the stairs. A big, blue bow was around her neck and a note dangled there with the words ‘read me’ written on it.

  Polly went over and detached the note.

  She read:

  “Please take care of Amos, Gus and Vera until after the competition today. Tell your son I’m not one of his underlings to dictate his orders to. Also, I lifted your keys from the peg on the way out and used the back stairs. See you in bit, Martha.”

  “Says here that she snatched the Ranger Rover keys as she stormed out of the kitchen and used the back stairs to go outside. Nice work, if you ask me.”

  “What time do you need to be at the gymnasium?” he asked quietly fuming at Martha’s ability to outwit him.

  “Son,” Polly began, “you are right about trying to protect Martha. It’s more a matter of how you went about it. Don’t treat her like she’s one of your constables. You were too dictatorial.”

  Johns sat steaming at the kitchen bar.

  “We’ll leave in an hour. Should give you time to go stick your head in the snow and cool it down a few degrees,” Polly said sweetly. “I’m only telling you this because Martha isn’t a woman who will tolerate being talked down to. Now, Merriam, if you would, please put these things in your police vehicle and fill up the wood box for the fire tonight. I’m going to take a long hot shower and doll myself up a bit. Have to look my best. Somebody’s going down in this competition, and it’s not going to be me!”

  MARTHA’S CELL PHONE WAS RINGING for the tenth time. She watched it buzz and beep, refusing to take Johns’ call.

  “Hmph! Someone trying to kill me. What nonsense. I can’t think of one person who would want me dead.” Then on further consideration, she added, “Not anyone who’s not currently in jail anyway.”

  The phone rang again, but this time, it was Helen. Martha picked up the phone and pressed the ‘answer’ button.

  “Hi,” she said grumpily.

  “You sound in a jolly mood,” Helen said brightly.

  “Do you know anyone who would want to kill me? Johns says someone wants me dead and he had the audacity to try and keep me from the Bake-Off Semi-Finals today.” Martha couldn’t hear anything on the other end of the connection. “Hey, are you still there or did I lose you?”

  “I’m here,” Helen answered finally, her early cheerful tone gone and replaced by a more unsure one. “Why don’t you clarify for me exactly what he meant by saying that someone wants you dead? Is he referring to a real threat or how you kind of get on people’s nerves occasionally?”

  “I don’t get on peoples’ nerves!” Martha exclaimed. “For your information, people generally love me. What is this today: dump on good old Martha day?”

  “Simmer down, M. Let’s get this conversation back on track. What is going on?”

  Martha took a deep breath. She’d pulled the car over to the side of the road to talk legally on the phone. “He says Saundra and Mrs. Cuttlebirt weren’t the intended victims. He thinks it’s me for some reason.”

  Neither woman said anything for a short moment. Martha continued, “I shouldn’t have left the farm, Helen, but it was like he was telling me, not asking me. I don’t like being told what to do.”

  “Of course, you don’t,” Helen said sympathetically. “He’s forgotten he’s not talking to subordinates, but to his…girlfriend?”

  “Psshh,” Martha hissed. “If he can’t remember which is which, I’m not sure he’s the right person for me.”

  “He’s having a rough time, too, Martha,” Helen remonstrated. “They’ve put him on suspension, and some new guy is trying to take over at the Constabulary.”

  Martha pursed her lips. She was feeling bad and ashamed. Johns was probably trying to take care of her, but she wasn’t used to being handled.

  “I’m turning around, Helen. Do me a favor, please.”

  “Sure, anything.”

  “Don’t go back to Flower Pot. If someone is trying to…kill me, I don’t want you to accidentally get in the way.”

  “I’m headed for the gymnasium. Whoops, I’ve got another call coming in. Better go. I’ll see you when I see you. Be careful.” Helen was gone. Martha turned the car around and called Johns.

  “Where are you?” he said without any perfunctory niceties.

  “Want to try that again?” Martha said blandly, her temper beginning to rise a bit.

  She heard him taking a deep, calming breath. “I am sorry for being too controlling. It’s been pointed out to me that you’re not one of my officers.”

  “I should think not!” Martha tossed out.

  “You’re not perfect either,” Johns snapped back.

  “Close, but…yes, I’m not perfect either.”

  “You’re too hot-headed.”

  “You’re an arrogant mama’s boy.”

  “What the…? Littleword, that’s enough. Tossing insults won’t get us anywhere.”

  “Maybe, maybe not. There’s some truth, though, in everything we said,” Martha said with humor in her voice.

  “It’s not the most positive way of handling our differences,” Johns said.

  “I’m bored suddenly,” Martha said, her tone blasé.

  “Where are you?” Johns said loudly.

  “Coming back to the farm. Does Polly need a ride to the competition? I’m on my way there.”

  “You’ve only got yourself to blame, if you’re killed,” Johns yelled.

  “I’ll tell you what, Chiefy Poo,” Martha blasted back, “if someone tries to take a pot shot at me at the competition, I’ll be sure and say with my last dying breath that you were right, and it’s my fault I’ve been killed. Happy?”

  Johns clicked the phone off, leaving Martha to consider what a worthy opponent he actually was. Feeling pleasantly contented with herself, Martha turned the car around and hea
ded back to the farm. She was looking forward to seeing Chiefy Poo again. With this last thought, Martha burst out laughing. If anyone wanted to kill her, it had to be Johns at this very moment.

  Chapter 27

  THE COMPETITION WAS IN FULL swing. Harriet’s team, Polly’s team and The Tea Tarts were all focusing intently on their creations for the perfect English tea. It had been a grueling two hours and it was coming to a close.

  It was interesting to note that many furtive looks were being shot in the direction of The Tea Tart’s work area. They were taking a vastly unique approach to the classic tea. In fact, the word ‘classic’ needed to be tossed out altogether when considering this interpretation. It was more of a national anthem approach.

  In the middle of an immense silver trough sat a three-tiered cake on a pedestal dish. The cake had a red icing centerpiece made to look like a fountain. Stuffed all along the sides of the cake were sparklers and British crown memorabilia.

  “Crass,” Polly muttered under her breath to her team as they worked furiously to apply delicately created icing petals to their cake. “They’ve lost their minds. Agosto is a Spaniard and Alistair’s a proper Brit. Both snobs in their own right. No one wants to eat something that looks like it might blow up in your mouth.”

  “Teams!” Agosto called over the microphone. “You have one hour!”

  If they’d been nervous before, they went into hyper-mode and their movements were frantic. Helen and Martha were busy creating the display for the tea. Each team had been given one round table to decorate. Mr. O’Grady and Polly put tiny real roses and red raspberries as garnish around the too-gorgeous-to-eat chocolate and raspberry cream, layered, torte cake.

  “We’re done, I think,” Helen said, standing back to take in their efforts. “Polly, when you can, please check the table.”

  “Looks wonderful, girls. Remember when the judges come for their turn at our table, Martha, you and Helen are to be their waiters. Go ahead and get changed. Mr. O’Grady and I are done with the sandwiches, pistachio macarons, chocolate espresso Madeleines, and white chocolate truffles. We only need the scones to come out of the oven.”

  Helen and Martha walked down to one of the faculty restrooms to get changed. Both were dog-tired from the last three hours of intensity. Finding the room, they went inside.

  “I forgot to tell you something, we’ve been so busy,” Helen said. “Would you and Kate consider having Christmas at Healy this year?”

  Martha looked up at Helen from inside her button-down Oxford. Wiggling it down over her head, she said, “I guess so. Does that mean you’re staying in England?”

  “I’ve invited my daughter, Christine, and her family. Well, to be honest, I invited all three of my children, but only Christine can come. The others have too much going on.”

  “Are you thinking Christmas Eve or Christmas Day?” Martha asked.

  “If you come for Christmas Eve and stay for a few days, it would be wonderful. Healy has so much room and Piers wants people he loves to fill the house. Emerson is terribly excited about Christmas this year.”

  “You almost sound like the Lady of Healy, Helen,” Martha teased, trying to suss out more information from her best friend.

  “Well…I think I am…or at least, I’m going to be,” Helen said turning around with a huge smile on her face. She’d slipped the ring on and held it out for Martha to see.

  “Holy Krakatoa, Helen!” Martha squealed. “That thing is huge! Did he mortgage Healy to pay for it?”

  After enveloping Helen in a painful, but joyful hug, Martha asked to see the ring again. “Oh, Helen, you’re going to move into Healy. Do you remember our first visit last summer? We said it had something magical about it, didn’t we?”

  “We did. I remember. It does have something special about it, Martha. I want you there as much as possible. Promise me?”

  “Don’t you worry, Helen, I’m always going to be Piers’ conscience. He better use every resource at his disposal to treat you well.” Martha paused and hugged Helen again, saying, “I know he will, buddy. He’s a good guy.”

  “Do you really think so, M?”

  “I do. I really do.”

  THE TENSION IN THE GYMNASIUM was at a fevered pitch. Agosto, Lana, Miss Purcell and Alistair were finished with the other two teams and had moved to The Dough Nuts’ table. Helen and Martha were serving the tea and answering the judges’ questions about the different prepared items. The audience talked in hushed tones, and the television crews discretely performed their camera work.

  “Thank you, ladies. Please give us some time to try your cakes and other items. After a short break, we’ll announce the two semifinalists,” Agosto said with an air of brevity.

  The Dough Nuts waited by their workstation, as did the other two teams at theirs. Agosto, Alistair, Lana and Miss Purcell stood up, went over to a long table, and whispered secretly among themselves.

  “I don’t like the way Agosto looked when he tasted the macaroons,” Mr. O’Grady said in a hushed tone.

  “He’s from Spain. He probably has a feel for pistachio freshness or something,” Martha said softly to the other three. They all nodded in worried agreement.

  Agosto stood up, and in a regal march to the podium, he mounted the box placed behind it to increase his ability to reach the microphone. He cleared his throat imperiously.

  “We have come to an agreement as to who continues on as semifinalists of the Marsden-Lacey First Annual Pudding and Pie Bake-Off.”

  The audience sent up a nice applause, causing Señor Agosto to lower his head in a dignified acknowledgment of the augustness of the moment. The competitors tried desperately to maintain their composure, but almost everyone was fidgeting in some way or another.

  “I would like to say before I make the final announcement that all of our teams showed an exceptionally high degree of culinary expertise and creativity. This decision was difficult and we want to express our profound appreciation for each competitor’s participation. Thank you.”

  “Get on with it, Agosto,” Polly muttered, her voice barely audible.

  “Our two semifinalists are…Berry’s Bakers and…”

  The audience went wild with applause, shouts and people standing up calling congratulations to Harriet’s team as if they were at a soccer game instead of a cooking contest.

  “Please! Please! Quiet!” Agosto, flustered by the uproar, pleaded into the microphone. “We must have quiet!”

  Finally, the exuberant audience settled back into their seats and waited for the last semifinalist to be called. Polly’s team and The Tea Tarts’ team looked almost miserable from the tension of expectation.

  “The last finalist is The Dough Nuts. Congratulations!”

  Again, utter pandemonium gripped the audience. People rushed down onto the gym floor. Well-wishers thronged into the cooking areas and happy, as well as not so happy, competitors were congratulated strenuously. Many spectators expressed their excitement for tomorrow’s final event, causing the two teams still in the competition momentary stomach knots as they considered that eventuality.

  Chief Johns, because he was no longer officially on the police force, had to practically twist Knells’ arm to have four officers on hand to watch over The Dough Nuts and, more importantly, Martha. He worked his way through the tight press of humanity using Martha’s red hair as a point of reference for his progress.

  Finally, he inserted himself into her inner circle of food fans. Seeing him, she called, “We did it!” Flinging her arms up and around his neck, she took Johns off guard and kissed him full on the lips. Any earlier irritation with her was quelled immediately by her exuberance at winning.

  “You must be a better cook than I gave you credit for that night when you tried to feed me those skeet pucks,” he teased.

  “Damn right, I am, Chief,” she said wiggling free from his arms and going to re-hug her teammates. She fell in with the crowd and Johns lost sight of her causing him some angst.

&nbs
p; The excitement in the room was palpable. The press was interviewing Harriet’s team. Agosto was being prepped to do a quick Christmas-interest bit for one of the major news channels. In the blink of an eye, it all changed for Johns. He couldn’t find Martha anywhere.

  He separated a few well-wishers from Polly and Helen’s entourage and asked his mother, “Where did Martha go?” He craned his neck to try to see her, but nothing.

  “She’s somewhere, probably talking with one of the newspapers,” Polly said. She turned back to Mr. O’Grady, who was fielding questions from two flirtatious ladies about his deft handling of the mascarpone tartlets.

  Johns pushed through the crowd. Not seeing Martha anywhere, he spoke into his police microphone telling the other officers to locate her, if possible. People were leaving the gymnasium and trickling out into the entrance area. It wasn’t in his nature to panic, but something was wrong. He saw her at the same time a woman in the crowd did.

  The woman raised her hand to her face and was mouthing the words “Oh my God!” her face a mask of horror. There on the floor was a body and blood was pooling fast.

  “Martha!” Johns yelled and ran toward the woman on the floor.

  Chapter 28

  HIS POLICE TRAINING TOOK OVER. He spoke into his mic telling Sergeant Endicott to call an ambulance. Pushing people away who’d begun to create an encirclement around her, he broke up the crowd to see better. Within seconds, two other officers arrived and moved people from the building. Word of a woman being attacked sped through the crowd like wildfire.

  Johns knelt down and turned the woman over. He steeled himself. Shock and relief flooded over him; it wasn’t Martha. The woman’s eyes blinked. She was breathing.

  “I…I,” she tried to talk.