The Dough Must Go On (Oxford Tearoom Mysteries ~ Book 9)

by H. Y. Hanna

  But who could have done such a thing?

  It had to have been someone close by, I decided. Someone backstage, probably, who could do the deed and then quickly return to their original position, before anyone missed them. And someone who knew enough about the competition to know that the container of deadly liquid nitrogen would be there, in the wings… which meant that it was likely to be one of the crew or the contestants. I thought of the various hopefuls that I’d seen nervously practising their act in the Waiting Area yesterday. It was ludicrous to think that any of them could be a murderer. But it was even more ridiculous to think that one of the crew might have murdered Lara. Why would they? Why would anyone want to kill the sultry singer?

  The memory of the fight I’d witnessed yesterday between Nicole and Lara flashed through my mind. I just couldn’t imagine the sweet, shy pianist as a murderer… but at the same time, I couldn’t help recalling the expression of bitter hatred on Nicole’s face as she’d flung herself at Lara. And she had certainly been livid at Lara’s unapologetic attitude towards seducing married men and breaking up families. But surely you didn’t kill someone just because you were disgusted by their morals?

  The door to the office opened, and my heart gave a little jump when I saw the tall, dark-haired man standing in the doorway. With his piercing blue eyes and broodingly handsome profile, Detective Inspector Devlin O’Connor was the kind of man who made women’s hearts jump everywhere. But there’s only one woman he has eyes for, I thought with an inward smile. Me.

  “Gemma.” Devlin crossed the room and enveloped me in a fierce hug. “Are you all right? I heard that you had a bad reaction to finding the body.”

  “I didn’t faint or anything,” I said indignantly, pushing away from him. “It was just a shock… not so much finding her dead, you know, but rather seeing the way her frozen face smashed—” I choked and stumbled, “—um… well, it wasn’t a pretty sight.”

  “I can imagine,” said Devlin, wincing. He led me to the chair by the desk, then leaned against the latter himself and crossed his arms. “Can you bear to talk about it for a bit though? I’m afraid I can’t avoid questioning you, since you’re the one who found the body.”

  “Sure. I’m fine now—honestly,” I said. “I’ve had a cup of tea and I’ve calmed down; put some distance between myself and the… the scene.”

  “Good.” Devlin gave me an encouraging smile and switched on a portable tape recorder. “So tell me exactly how you found her.”

  I told him, trying to make sure that I described every detail, although I wasn’t sure how helpful my rambling account was. Surely the Forensics team would be going over every inch of the crime scene? Still, I tried to give as full a description as I could. When I’d finished, I said:

  “I’ve been thinking—the murderer must have been someone backstage. I mean, I saw Lara only ten, maybe fifteen minutes max, before I found her body. She was standing in the middle of the Waiting Area and she was perfectly fine. I don’t think it was someone who came in from the outside—it had to be someone who was ‘on the spot’ already, so to speak. Someone who could sneak into the wings and shove Lara into the liquid nitrogen, then run back again to wherever they were before.”

  “Was Lara speaking to anyone when you saw her?”

  “No. She was checking her appearance in the mirror. She didn’t seem particularly friendly with any of the other contestants, in general.”

  Devlin raised his eyebrows. “Did you notice tensions?”

  I gave a sarcastic laugh. “That’s putting it mildly. Yesterday I walked in on her and one of the other contestants having a full-on hair-pulling, face-scratching match.”

  Devlin leaned forwards. “Really? Who was Lara fighting with?”

  “Nicole Flatley. She’s the girl who plays the piano. She and Lara were having an argument about ‘homewreckers’—you know, women who purposefully have affairs with married men. I gathered that Lara was one and quite proud of it. She was boasting about her conquests and Nicole totally lost it. She attacked Lara and things got really ugly. And you know what the worst thing was?” I asked with remembered indignation. “Some of the TV crew were in there filming them and making no effort to stop them! They only cared about getting titillating footage for the show. I had to step in myself to pull the two women apart.”

  “I hope you didn’t get hurt in the process.”

  “No, in fact, Nicole looked mortified. I think she got carried away in the heat of the moment and forgot herself.”

  “Did you see Lara getting into a fight with anyone else?”

  “I didn’t see that much of her, to tell you the truth—although I wouldn’t be surprised if she’d got into a fight with the crazy dog lady at some stage,” I added sourly. “That woman is waiting to pick a fight with anyone.”

  “Trish Bingham, you mean?”

  I nodded. “The one with the collie. Her dog’s lovely but she’s a right grumpy cow. I bumped into Skip by mistake while they were practising and she practically bit my head off. She was completely unreasonable! None of the other contestants seem to like her much either.”

  “But you don’t think there was any particular enmity between her and Lara?”

  “No, except… well, there’s something about Trish—she’s very intense, you know. I wondered if…” I trailed off.

  “Go on.”

  I gave an embarrassed laugh. “It’s probably a stupid idea.”

  “No, go on… I trust your instincts, Gemma.”

  “Well… I did wonder if… you see, Lara was one of the favourites to go through to the Finals. Only two semi-finalists can make it through to the next round and the twins have pretty much bagged the top spot. And I think Lara was expected to take second place, based on popularity ratings. But if she was removed—”

  “Then someone else would have a chance to step into that empty space and go through to compete for the prize,” finished Devlin. He rubbed his chin. “Hmm… that’s not a bad theory, Gemma. Certainly something worth following up. But couldn’t the other contestants be equally guilty of this?”

  “Only if they’re high up in the polls. I don’t think someone like Frank Ziegler, for instance, would have much chance. He’s the Yodelling Plumber,” I explained at Devlin’s blank look.

  “Oh… oh yes, of course. I should have known that,” said Devlin, looking annoyed with himself. “I only arrived a short while ago and it’s chaos out there. I haven’t had a chance to familiarise myself properly with all the players yet.” He shook his head and sighed. “But I can see that this is shaping up to be the longest list of suspects we have ever encountered. There are ten semi-finalists, including Lara, aren’t there? So if your theory is correct, nine of those could be suspects—”

  “Well, no, that’s what I was trying to explain to you. I don’t think they’re all equally likely. We can probably rule the twins out, since they’re not threatened by Lara, and anyway, they’re just ten-year-old little girls. And we can rule out Albert since he was on stage at the time of the murder. That leaves seven other contestants: Frank Ziegler the Yodelling Plumber, Cheryl the puppeteer, Nicole the pianist, Gaz the comedian, Tim the hip hop dancer, and Trish with her dog. Oh, and the Pussy Puffs.”

  “The what?”

  I grinned. “That’s what the Old Biddies call themselves—they’ve formed a ‘granny band’ with their friend, June Driscoll.”

  Devlin groaned. “Nooo… Don’t tell me those meddling old hens are mixed up in this too?”

  “They do have a legitimate reason to be involved this time—they’re one of the contestants.” I shook my head, chuckling. “I never thought they’d make it through the initial auditions, but can you believe it? Not only did they sail through, but they’ve been storming up the polls. The public love them.”

  Devlin shook his head, looking bewildered. “But… why would they want to enter a talent show?”

  “Oh, same as most people, really—they want the prize money. Or rather, June
does and she’s roped the Old Biddies into helping her.”

  “What does she want the money for?”

  I laughed. “You really don’t want to know.”

  Devlin sighed. “Okay. To get back to the case… So you’re saying we can probably rule out those at the bottom of the ratings poll, since they have very little chance of going through anyway, even if they were to remove Lara.”

  “Yes. Right. There are too many other contestants who are better than them, who are likely to go through first.”

  “Okay… so who are the next strongest contestants after Lara? The ones with the best chance of filling her shoes?”

  I frowned. “I guess that would be Trish and her dog, and the comedian, Gaz. They’re the top favourites after Lara. Oh and…” I hesitated. “The Old Biddies.”

  “I think we can probably cross a bunch of geriatric pop-star wannabes off our list of suspects. And Trish you’ve already told me about. But what about this Gaz fellow?”

  I thought of Gaz, with his warm friendly personality and endearing smile. I just couldn’t imagine him being a murderer.

  “I don’t know,” I said. “He seems like a genuinely nice guy, you know? And he’s so confident and charismatic…”

  “Just because someone is likable doesn’t mean that they can’t be a killer too,” said Devlin. “Some of the most famous murderers were charming monsters.”

  “I suppose…” I chewed my lip. “We’re really just randomly guessing here. Haven’t you picked up any leads from the crime scene?”

  “Have a heart, Gemma—the Forensics team only arrived a short while before I did. They’ve only had time for the most cursory examination. Oh, my constable did find this by the body though.” Devlin reached into his pocket and pulled out a clear plastic wallet. Inside, I could see a crumpled piece of paper. As he handed it to me, I saw that there were a few words typed across it:

  “If you want to win the competition, I could help you. Meet me by the cauldron during the magician’s act.”

  I drew a sharp breath. “This is from the killer—this is how he enticed Lara there!”

  “Or she,” Devlin reminded me. “There is no evidence to suggest that the writer of that note was male or female. But yes, it looks like the whole thing was set up, which means that it wasn’t accidental manslaughter but pre-meditated murder.” He stood up and came around the table, pulling me gently up as well. “I’ll get a police car to take you home. I would come by later and see you, but I don’t know how late I’m going to be—I could be here most of the night—”

  “It’s okay,” I said. “I’ll be fine. Honestly. I don’t need a police escort—I’d rather cycle. A bit of fresh air would do me good. And besides, my mother is still with the other judges—I can’t leave without seeing her. And—bugger!” I gasped. “Muesli! I completely forgot about her!”

  “Muesli?” Devlin looked puzzled.

  “Yes, I left her in her cat carrier—I didn’t want to lug it around when I was looking for Cheryl. She’s never going to forgive me!”

  Without waiting for Devlin to reply, I rushed from the office and out into the Waiting Area. I was relieved to see Muesli’s cage still standing on the trestle table where I’d left her and even more relieved to find my little cat safely inside, albeit in a very grumpy mood.

  “MEEEEEORRW!” she said reproachfully as I bent to pick her up.

  “Sorry, sweetie,” I said, sticking a finger through the bars.

  She rubbed her chin against the tip of my finger and, after a few moments, began purring. I smiled to myself. The nicest thing about animals was that they were so quick to forgive and forget. I sighed and looked up at the sombre faces around me, then repressed a shudder as a stretcher covered by a sheet was carried past me. Maybe if humans were better at “forgive and forget”, the paramedics wouldn’t have been carrying out the body of a woman who had been brutally murdered…

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  “Would you like a seat by the window? You get lovely views of the village High Street from there.” I smiled at the two girls who had just entered my tearoom and gestured towards a table beside the large mullioned windows.

  “Er… yeah, sure…” The girls exchanged looks, then one of them came forwards, her eyes gleaming. “By the way, are you the girl who found the body?”

  Oh no, not another one of these.

  In the two days since Lara had been found dead, frozen by liquid nitrogen, all activity on FPTC had been put on hold while the murder investigation got under way. And with no full-time catering job, I had decided to reopen the tearoom. Not that I had really needed to—Monty Gibbs had generously offered to continue paying my daily catering fee during the delay—but I found that I couldn’t sit idly at home either. It wasn’t as if it was a real holiday: we were all waiting on tenterhooks for the police to either make an arrest or, at the very least, allow us back into the concert hall. And so we woke up every morning, expecting the call to return, and went to bed every night thinking it had to come tomorrow… which meant that we were all jumpy and distracted.

  Gibbs had been convinced that it would only be a short interruption and that we’d be back filming the rest of the show soon, but I had to admit, I hadn’t shared his optimism. Having had some experience of how murder investigations work, I knew that they were long, drawn-out affairs and—unlike what was portrayed on TV—never wrapped up in under one hour, no matter how good the detective. So I decided that, rather than sitting at home trying to ignore the gruesome flashbacks, I’d be better off reopening the tearoom and trying to return to normal business.

  It had seemed like a good idea initially. In fact, I’d been pleasantly surprised to find a long queue outside the tearoom on the first morning and a warm glow had filled me. Everyone must have really missed the Little Stables while it was temporarily closed! But when the doors opened and the customers began pouring in, I quickly realised that it was not the wonderful baking that had made my tearoom so popular. It was me. Or rather, my part in the exciting murder drama that was gripping the nation almost as much as the original show.

  “So was she, like, really frozen?”

  “What did you think when you saw the body?”

  “Oh my God, were you terrified?”

  “Who do you think murdered her?”

  “Oh yes, some tea and scones, please… and by the way, you’re not the girl who discovered the body, are you?”

  I suppose I shouldn’t really have minded. After all, they were usually ordering food and drink as well, and giving business to the tearoom. Still, I found myself clenching my teeth tighter and tighter each time someone asked:

  “By the way, are you the girl who discovered the body?”

  Now I took a deep breath and released it slowly as I faced the two girls giggling and whispering in front of me. They looked about sixteen and were only behaving like typical teenagers; I knew I shouldn’t take my irritation out on them.

  Keeping a pleasant expression on my face, I said: “Yes, that’s right. I found Lara King.”

  “No way!” one of the girls shrieked. “Did she look like a human ice lolly?”

  I felt my jaw tightening and hastily made an effort to unclench my teeth. “No, not really. Now, if you’ll follow me to the table—”

  “Oh… uh… actually, we’ve just remembered—we’ve got to get back home. Can’t stay for tea after all. Sorry!”

  Giggling, they turned and dashed out of the tearoom. I resisted the urge to let out a frustrated howl, conscious that there were still other customers at the tables around me. Instead, I took another deep breath and returned to the counter.

  “More snoopy free-loaders, huh?” said Cassie sympathetically, eyeing my face.

  “I don’t know what’s wrong with people!” I said through clenched teeth. “They’re treating it like some kind of circus freak show. For heaven’s sake, a woman was murdered!”

  “Well, I have to say, she doesn’t sound like she was a very nice woman,” said Cass
ie. “Have you read the things being said about her in the tabloids? They’ve been interviewing loads of people who knew Lara and no one has had a nice thing to say about her. They all said she was a selfish cow—didn’t give a stuff about anyone else, didn’t care whose feelings she hurt—as long as she got what she wanted.”

  “Yeah, I got that impression from the argument I overheard between her and Nicole.”

  “Ah, the man-eater thing? There was a lot of that in the press too. Loads of women coming forwards saying Lara made a move on their husbands and wrecked their marriage—”

  “But I don’t understand… How come all this is only coming out now?” I said, frowning. “I mean, Stuart Hollande told me that Lara had been in the papers more than any other contestant. There was a lot of media attention on her. Surely, they would have dug up all this before?”

  Cassie shrugged. “You know what it’s like. She was the nation’s darling before this—one of the lead favourites to win the contest—and nobody wants to be the partypooper. It’s like you being the only person to stand up and say something negative about a popular girl at school. People would probably accuse you of jealousy or trying to sabotage her out of spite. But now it’s different. Now it’s a murder investigation and the police are asking for any reason why somebody might have wanted to kill Lara. So now people feel justified in badmouthing her as much as they like.”

  Before I could reply, the air was split by a shrill scream. Cassie and I both whirled around. It had come from the kitchen. The only person in there was our baking chef, Dora. Exchanging a concerned look, we dashed into the kitchen together. There, we found Dora standing on a chair by the wooden table in the centre of the room, clutching her skirts in one hand and a rolling pin in the other.

  “Where is it? Where is it? Can you see it?” she asked hysterically.