“Stay quiet,” he said, seeing where the blood was oozing from her lower right side. He took off his sweater, rolled it and put it under her head. “An ambulance is on the way. You’re going to be fine.”
The woman shook her head and said, “I can’t feel any pain.”
“That’s good. You’ve been hurt, but you’re going to be okay,” Johns said, speaking in an even tone, trying to reassure her.
“It was a woman. She came up to me in the gym. The crowd was so tight. I saw her face and something stung me, but…”
The officers had cordoned off the area. The paramedic team bustled into the entry. In less than three minutes, the woman was on a gurney. She was quickly moved out of the building and into the ambulance. Johns watched them leave and, at the same time, saw Detective Inspector Knells glide in through the doors.
“I got here as soon as I could,” he said to Johns.
“Did you see the woman’s red hair?” Johns asked him without any courtesy in his voice.
“I did, so what?” Knells returned.
“It’s the exact same color as Martha Littleword’s. Ring any bells in there, Knells?” Johns said, with a tinge of sarcasm and pointing to the detective’s head.
Knells wasn’t mentally following as quickly as Johns was walking away. He jumped into the Chief’s wake, trying to keep up with the powerful man’s stride.
“There are three reasons why our two female victims have been killed and this last one nearly killed,” Johns said, walking with determination into the gym. “One drank Martha’s tea. One lived directly across from Martha’s cottage in the only other house on that lane, and this last woman has the exact same hair color.”
Johns scanned the room for Martha. “Our killer has missed the mark three times; but have no fear, he won’t give up.”
Knells didn’t say anything but continued to follow Johns, staying in his shadow as they moved through the last few clots of humans.
Both semifinalist teams were at the furthermost end of the gym in the kitchen area huddled around a long table talking to the judges. There in the middle of her teammates stood Martha, completely oblivious to the horrific situation of the stabbing. Johns saw the bunched-up pile of beautiful red hair shift as she moved and shimmer in the sunlight filtering in through the upper-story windows.
His heart took a pause in his chest as if to qualify Johns’ own relief at seeing her alive, safe, and (he smiled to himself) smack in the middle of God knows what kind of trouble. Knells came up behind him.
“Your theory may hold water,” Knells tried to observe.
Johns turned on him with a searing look of hostility. “Damn right it holds water. Let me get something straight with you, Detective. Getting cozy with the lads in Leeds and having them put me on suspension was pure crap. You know it, too. What’s your real game, huh?”
Knells, being slightly shorter than Johns and weighing thirty pounds less, stepped back from the angry bull of a man. He shot back, “You’re on suspension because you’re a prime suspect. That is protocol and you know it.”
“It’s not protocol to sit at my desk, bandy my good name around for a hundred kilometers in any direction of this village, and put your meaty paws on my girl’s bum. Why don’t you hustle back to the hole you crawled out of, probably someone’s arse in Leeds, and let me get back to work finding the real killer?”
Knells lashed back. “I have full authority here, and you are on suspension. If you attempt to give me any more grief, you might find yourself more than suspended. How does ex-Chief of Police for Marsden-Lacey sound to you, Johns? I like it here. Your chair feels right.”
Johns made a ‘hhrumph’ sound and stalked off toward the kitchen. Knells turned and walked away toward the front entrance. Neither man would back down. It wasn’t in either of their natures. Johns would have to prove his innocence, or the other would have to prove his guilt.
“MY HAIR COLOR?” MARTHA WAS saying as she sat slumped in a chair in the corner of the school’s kitchen. Helen, Polly, Agosto and Alistair all listened as Johns told them what had happened.
“I think I’m going to be sick, Merriam. You were right and now this woman could be…” Martha said, her face pale. The earlier happiness had seeped out of her spirit. “Oh dear God! I wish it had been me instead of her. I should have listened to you but instead was a hot-headed…Do you know if she’s going to be okay?”
“I’ve got a call in to the hospital. We should know something soon,” Johns said. “It’s critical, Martha, that you try and consider who might have a reason to want you dead.”
She focused intently on her hands lying in her lap and shook her head. “I…I don't know anyone,” she said, her manner thoughtful. Squinting her eyes as if inwardly searching for a hidden nugget of insight, Martha was quiet for a moment.
“What if it was someone from when I worked with the law firm?” she asked finally. “I only worked in a support position as a paralegal, but it’s possible someone may feel resentment toward the firm or even me.”
“Did you ever work on any cases where someone was sent to jail?” Helen asked.
“We were a defense firm. Sometimes I would attend court with one of the solicitors representing one of our client’s interests. There were times where fraud or true illegal activity had taken place and it was a part of the indictment,” Martha replied.
“I’m going to need to talk with someone at your old law firm, Martha,” Johns said. “We need to know if they’ve had any threats or problems. Also, I’d like a case review. I’ll get Constable Waters to line up photos of everyone involved in cases you were involved in for the last ten years.”
“I want to finish the competition, but I understand, if I shouldn’t. I don’t want anyone else to get hurt. Who can take my place?” she asked the two judges, Agosto, and Alistair.
“How about Perigrine? He’s an excellent sous chef,” Alistair suggested. “I think he’d be honored, Polly.”
“Well, let’s give him a call. I’m having my team over to the farm tonight for a briefing on our day tomorrow. You’ve been a wonderful teammate, and we’ll miss you, Martha, but the show must go on,” Polly said like a tough military drill sergeant. “Tell Mr. Clark we’d love to have him, Mr. Turner; and if he’s interested, to be at my house around six o’clock.”
With everyone milling out of the kitchen, only Helen, Piers, Martha and Johns were left. Helen pulled a chair over to where Martha sat.
“What’s the best way to keep her safe? Did anyone get a description of the person who…” Helen didn’t want to say it because she knew the fear was already working inside Martha’s mind. It was like the dream she’d told Helen about only a few days ago and it was becoming a reality, of sorts.
“It’s okay, Helen,” Martha said, patting her friend on the knee. “I’m thinking about the dream, too. In the dream, it was a woman who tried to stab me.”
Johns regarded the women sitting before him with a look of befuddlement on his face. He said slowly, “It was a woman who stabbed our red-headed lady in the entrance hall or someone dressed up like one.”
“Merriam, I think this thing has to be played out until the end,” Martha said, looking him straight in the eye. “The fastest way to catch this person is to bait the trap. I’m the best bait you’ve got. Besides, I have a score to settle. Mrs. Cuttlebirt was dear to me. I enjoyed her nosy neighborliness.”
“No! No way am I…” Johns stopped before saying another word. He held his breath for a short second and, taking a deep breath, he continued, “I’m remembering a conversation you and I had only a few hours ago Littleword.”
Martha smiled up at him.
“If I were on board with your bait proposal, what’s your plan?” he asked in a co-conspiratorial attitude.
“I don’t like the idea at all,” Helen exclaimed, jumping up from her chair and shifting her gaze back and forth between Johns and Martha. “She could be killed. That’s not a plan!”
“Helen, put
your skinny back-end back down on this chair,” Martha ordered gently, pulling Helen down into her chair. “We have to stop this person from hurting anyone else. Merriam’s people are going to be stationed all around. Its important, though, to let the press know the woman is alive and give her name. This will draw the killer back out. Whoever it is, thinks they’ve finished the job already.”
“We’ll need to get DCI Knells in on this, if we’re to have police back-up,” Johns said grudgingly. “I’ll ask Perigrine, Endicott, Donna Waters, and Sam Berry to help.”
“You’ve got it all figured out,” Helen snipped, “but I don’t like it.”
“Got to be done, dear. This person has to be stopped. Or someone else will get hurt.” Martha stood up and dusted the invisible remains of the day from her apron. “Wasn’t it Shakespeare, who said delays have dangerous ends? If that be so, then let’s give the devil his due.”
Chapter 29
SUNDAY AT TWELVE O’CLOCK SHARP two terribly determined cooking teams squared off against each other with pudding on their minds. The goal for the last day of competition was for each team to create the perfect traditional English pudding. Not an easy task, especially when you had so many cooks in the kitchen.
Polly’s team, The Dough Nuts, was making Lord Randall’s Pudding. It was a chocolate pudding made with heavy brown sugar, apricots and a marmalade topping served with custard. To pull off the dish, they were going to need the full three hours. It was tight, but everyone knew, if done right, it was a true treat for the taste buds.
The opposing team, Berry’s Bakers, was also shooting for the gold. They were attempting the Queen of Puddings, or the Monmouth. It was an old-fashioned pudding of baked breadcrumbs in cream, topped with sweet jam, tart berries, and soft meringue.
The tension was at its pinnacle. There was no room for even the tiniest mistake. Time was too precious.
“Here’s the marmalade,” Helen said, handing Polly the jar. Earlier that fall, Polly had made her own batch of the tangy fruit preserve using Seville oranges. She hoped the infusion of their orange flavor would remind the Spanish Agosto of his homeland and be a mark in their favor.
Their batter was done. They added apricots and the marmalade to the glazed earthen dish. Helen and Martha worked on the custard topping for later.
“Okay, here goes,” Polly said, pouring the chocolaty pudding batter over the top of the marmalade. “Let’s get the cover made and it’ll be time to boil.”
With careful hands, they wrapped the top of the basin with parchment and tinfoil tying a string around the rim to create a delicate handle to lower and lift the pudding bowl out of the steaming water. Team Polly held their breath as Mr. O’Grady slowly lowered the dish down into the steamer and put on the lid.
“Start the timer, Martha,” Polly said. “We can have a sit, now.”
All four of the members of the team looked up at the digital scoreboard on the gymnasium wall to see the timer ticking away. They’d done it and there were two and a half hours left, giving them the perfect amount of time to bring the pudding out of the water, let it sit and be ready for the presentation.
Over at the Monmouth Pudding table, there appeared to be a slight hiccup in the proceedings. One of Harriet’s people dropped a dish of raspberries. The pretty crimson berries rolled off in every direction. Polly’s team watched the tragedy unfold, actually hoping Harriet had backup bins of berries.
The audience, in hushed whispers, watched anxiously to see how Berry’s Bakers would handle the misstep. A frantic search of the coolers and a joyful cry from one of Harriet’s team members followed. He triumphantly held up a pint-size bin of raspberries. At least fifty people took a collective sigh of relief at the find.
“They’re putting it in the oven,” Mr. O’Grady said softly. “They look pretty done in, if you ask me.”
“Don’t underestimate Harriet,” Polly warned. “She’s an artist and can handle pressure.”
Everyone stood up and milled about. This was the time to chat with the audience and talk to the television crew. Martha had her own entourage: Johns, Donna Waters and Sergeant Endicott.
“How is the woman who was stabbed?” Martha asked.
“She’s doing fine, thank God. She was a mother of two teenagers who go to school here,” Donna said softly.
Martha, nodding, said, “I’m so relieved she’s going to be okay. I’ll be glad when this is done today. It’s like walking on egg shells. I’m terrified someone’s going to get hurt again.”
“We checked every purse and bag. The audience was clean and I don’t believe the killer is here today,” Johns said firmly.
The clock ticked down, and, finally, it was time for the puddings to be put on display for the judges to see and taste. Lana, Alistair, Agosto and Mrs. Purcell discussed among themselves the merits of both entries. Lots of head shaking or nodding by these four caused a high level of nervous tension at the team tables. The judges re-tasted the puddings and wrote down their scores. Agosto tallied the marks.
With a great air of dignity, Agosto scaled the stairs on the gym’s stage for the final time. He carried with him a card with the winner’s name. More than three hundred sets of eyes watched the card dangle first in his hand, then laid upon the podium, and finally turned up to be read.
“I would like to take the time to ask our audience to please applaud the efforts of these two extraordinary teams.”
Wild and enthusiastic applause followed his request with people calling ‘good show’ and ‘bravo’ until Agosto raised his hand along with a dignified smile to quiet the highly expectant crowd.
“It is with great pleasure, we give you the first ever recipient of the Marsden-Lacey Pudding and Pie Bake-Off Award: The…Dough Nuts!”
Everyone jumped to their feet, clapping and calling out their congratulations.
Cameras flashed, the television crew moved in for a close-up of Polly, Martha, Helen and Mr. O’Grady hugging each other, even zooming in on a tear or two in the girls’ eyes. Harriet came over to Polly and offered her hand, but Polly gave her a strong hug instead. They laughed.
“It’s about time you won one, Polly,” Harriet chided good-naturedly. “How about helping me at the Bake Shoppe a couple of days a week?”
“Well, my brewing still takes up a good deal of my time and since this competition, I’ve let my business lag,” Polly said graciously.
Martha’s protection was constant with Johns, at any given time, only about one foot behind her. Helen came over and said, “We’re free to go, but need to be back here for the Christmas parade next Saturday. We’re the honorees, so we’ll be riding on the Pudding Float. Won’t that be a hoot?”
“Are we in the pudding?” Martha asked merrily.
“We’re sitting on top of a huge Christmas pudding and are supposed to wear all red. They want us to look like berries or something ludicrous like that,” Helen added.
The girls decided to go find Polly and Mr. O’Grady to tell them they were going home. Johns and Sergeant Endicott went with them. Soon, they found their two other team members standing within a group of locals. Mr. O’Grady was carrying the prized pudding. Most of the crowd were the regulars from The Traveller’s Inn, Marsden-Lacey’s favorite watering hole.
“That’s a real beauty of a pudding, O’Grady. You might bring it along to the pub for the celebratory shindig. I can’t believe you won,” Grimsy, the town gossip/pot-stirrer was saying and shaking his head from side to side. “I’m surprised they let Polly finish the competition.”
“Why wouldn’t they, Ed?” O’Grady asked. “What have you heard or been saying?”
“Well, Polly’s one of the suspects in her daughter-in-law’s murder, isn’t she?” Grimsy put forward, his eyes twinkling a bit with mischief.
“Why, Polly Johns wouldn’t kill anyone or anything and you know it!” Martha said, putting her hands on her hips in a gesture of indignation.
“That’s fine coming from you,” Grimsy came back, “
the other major suspect.”
Martha’s color warmed. She pursed her lips and walked up to Grimsy, who was about eye level with her.
“I didn’t kill Saundra Johns,” she said applying emphasis to each word.
Grimsy looked around at the locals who averted their eyes or put their hands in and out of their pockets.
“I’m only saying what everyone else is thinking,” he said with honesty. “Both you and Polly had pretty good reasons to snuff her. You wanted Johns for yourself and Polly hated her.”
Johns stepped in between Martha, Polly, and Grimsy.
“Ed, I know you’re teasing, but you’re getting two high tempered women upset with you. Let’s all go to The Traveller’s and have a pint. It’s time for celebrating.”
Martha never saw it coming. Right between her and Johns came a brown missile. Somehow, it missed her head and Johns’ shoulder to land right in Grimsy’s face nearly knocking him off balance with its sheer weight. It dropped to the floor with a thud but left a fairly good-sized chunk of itself behind. Grimsy's tongue came out to lick his lips.
“Pretty good, Polly.”
“Nobody calls me a criminal, Ed Grimsy! That goes for the rest of you, too.” Polly was like a mad wet hen with her own indignation. “Everybody, look at Ed,” she demanded.
The entire group of locals turned to look at Grimsy pulling bits of brown cake from his face and eating it.
“If you really believed Martha or I were poisoners, would you be eating that pudding?” she drilled.
Grimsy continued his ingestion of the yummy dessert.
“Nah, I know you’re no murderer, Polly Johns,” Grimsy conceded, “but you’re a damn fine cook. The proof’s in the pudding!”
Everyone burst into laughter and a few slapped Grimsy on the back as they made their way out into the cool winter air. It was time for celebration, good friends and a well-deserved pint at The Traveller’s Inn.
Chapter 30
MARTHA, HELEN AND ALL THREE of Martha’s four-legged furry people had slept at Polly and Johns’ house the previous evening. It had been a rowdy, fun-loving time at The Traveller’s Inn and it took Johns driving the three celebrators home to make sure they arrived safely.
Pudding, Poison & Pie (A Marsden-Lacey Cozy Mystery Book 3) Page 16
