The Peridale Cafe Cozy Box Set 4 Read online

  “I’m in awe of you, Julia.” Brendan’s smile beamed. “How did you get so strong?”

  “Let’s just say there’s a reason Barker is my second husband.” Julia patted him on the shoulder. “Men like Tony are all bark, no bite. Like the coffee-slinger woman said, karma will get him eventually.”

  When the rest of the competitors had arrived with their cakes, Julia was glad to see that the ones who had overheard her altercation with Tony were in the minority. It also meant that a handful of people were going to miss out on her cupcakes thanks to her underestimation of the turnout, but at least most of them didn’t know how awful Tony was—although she was sure they would by the end of the afternoon.

  “I would like to welcome everyone to the first Peridale Bake Off!” Brendan announced, his voice magnified by a headset microphone. “The first of many, I hope! What a wonderful turnout! Did you all have fun baking your cakes for our judges?”

  Half of the crowd cheered. The other half grumbled.

  “I’m going to guess most of you already know Julia South-Brown?” Brendan motioned for Julia to join him, and, as earlier-directed, she stood on his right at the front of the tent. To her surprise, strong applause filled with cheers and whistles greeted her. “If you’ve been lucky enough to sample Julia’s baking, you’ll know why she is here, and if you haven’t, I strongly suggest you make it your priority to visit her café as soon as you can. Are you ready to judge, Julia?”

  “I am, Brendan,” Julia said into her own headset microphone. Her voice echoed around the tent, bouncing back at her. “Oh, dear. Is that what I sound like?”

  Laughter tittered through the watching crowd of familiar faces as Julia’s cheeks burned. Barker caught her attention from the edge of the tent where he was sat trying to contain Vinnie; he gave her two big thumbs up.

  “Of course, Julia can’t judge this competition alone. Our next judge needs no introduction.” Brendan paused as he gave Julia a knowing, sideways glance. “You know him best for his popular afternoon show on Cotswold Classic Radio, but today he’s the second half of your judging panel. Put your hands together for Tony Bridges!”

  Tony stepped forward and took his place on the other side of Brendan. To Julia’s surprise, the applause and cheers for Tony were quieter and more unsure than the greeting she’d received. From the less than impressed faces in the crowd, it seemed the word of Tony’s earlier outburst had already spread. Bev, the ex-wife, stood in the centre of the first table, fanning a yawn instead of clapping.

  “Are you ready, Tony?” Brendan asked, his lack of enthusiasm breaking through his fake smile.

  “I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else,” Tony said sarcastically. “Have you reminded everyone about my allergy?”

  “Ah yes,” Brendan said. “If you didn’t read the flyer or haven’t seen the two dozen signs around the tent, Tony is allergic to peanuts. I assume all of you have been kind enough not to include them in your cakes. If you have, I’m afraid you’ll have to withdraw from the competition.” Brendan waited for someone to come forward, but no one did. “Excellent. So, without further ado, let’s get this bake-off underway! Good luck and may the best baker win!”

  Beginning with the first table on the right-hand side meant Shilpa Patil, who worked in the post office next to Julia’s café, was the first to be judged. She was dressed in a beautiful yellow sari, complementing her bake, which appeared to be a plate of biscuits served with ice cream.

  “These are nankhatai,” Shilpa explained proudly. “They’re an Indian favourite, and I made them from my mother’s own recipe. They can be sweet or savoury, but of course, I went for sweet today.”

  “How lovely,” Julia said as she assessed the golden discs. “They look delightful. And the ice cream?”

  “Mango kulfi.” Shilpa produced two spoons from behind the bowl. “I made it myself. I think it pairs wonderfully with the nankhatai.”

  “I thought this was supposed to be a cake competition?” Tony muttered under his breath, apparently not caring that his words were being amplified around the tent by his microphone. “Definitely no peanuts in this?”

  “No.” Shilpa shook her head, her cheeks reddening as she took a step back from her bake.

  Julia picked up one of the nankhatai and scooped a small amount of the mango kulfi on top. She took a bite, making sure to smile at Shilpa as she did. The biscuit was sweet, reminding Julia of traditional Scottish shortbread. The mango kulfi was thick and refreshing, and Shilpa had been correct about it pairing nicely with the biscuit.

  “I love it,” Julia said after swallowing the mouthful. “You’ll have to give me the recipe!”

  “Tony?” Brendan prompted. “Thoughts?”

  “It’s a biscuit with ice cream,” Tony mumbled through his mouthful. “It’s nothing special.”

  Julia bit her tongue. The microphone stopped her from saying what she really wanted to. She smiled at Shilpa and nodded to let her know she’d done an excellent job.

  Amy Clark was next up with her take on a lemon cheesecake. Any hope Julia had of Tony being anything other than himself was immediately crushed. After a tiny bite of Amy’s cheesecake, he spat it out into a napkin. Julia took a bite, and while it was a little on the sour side, it wasn’t worth spitting.

  “Bloody hell!” Tony cried after glugging from a water bottle. “How many lemons did you squeeze into that thing?”

  “Three,” Amy muttered, stepping back as she fiddled with her baby blue cardigan. “I thought it tasted nice.”

  “It does, Amy,” Julia interjected before Tony could crush the poor woman any more. “You’ve done a great job, and you’re on the right track, but maybe next time stick to a single lemon? It will make it even better.”

  Julia’s compassion appeared to ease Amy’s nerves. Julia pushed Tony toward the next cake before he could upset Amy any more than he already had. Unluckily for the villagers of Peridale, things weren’t to get any better. He called Malcolm Johnson’s floral-inspired sponge cake “disgusting”, Roxy Carter’s brownies “far too rich”, and Evelyn Wood’s cinnamon coffee cake “revolting”; Evelyn claimed to have “foreseen such comments” in her morning tea leaves. When they made their way to Bev’s red velvet cake, Julia couldn’t see how things could get much worse.

  “I made your favourite, Tony,” Bev said with a bite in her voice as she pushed the cake forward. “You always did like my red velvet cake.”

  “You’re unbelievable, woman.” Tony rolled his eyes as he dug his fork into a pre-cut slice. “I can’t believe I was married to you for so long.”

  “The feeling is mutual, my dear.” Bev folded her arms as she watched Tony lift the fork up to his mouth. “Try not to choke.”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised if you’d poisoned the thing,” Tony said before cramming the fork into his mouth. “I wouldn’t put it past you.”

  “Don’t flatter yourself.”

  Julia broke off a small piece of the cake and put it into her mouth. Her first impression was that the cake was light and fluffy and tasted of chocolate as it should, but she detected something different within the flavour. She recognised it, but she couldn’t immediately put her finger on it. As she swallowed the cake, it came to her where she had tasted the flavour combination before. It reminded her of a chocolate bar Jessie had bought from an American import online shop. Jessie had loved it, but it’d been too sweet for Julia’s tastes. When she remembered what the chocolate bar had been stuffed with, her heart skipped a beat as she turned to Tony.

  Even if she hadn’t remembered what the flavour was, it was evident from the red and clammy appearance of Tony’s face what they had just consumed. He clung to the edge of the table and stared dead ahead at Bev. He tried to say something, but his breaths were shallow and strained.

  “Tony?” Camila cried as she hurried over. “My precious Tony! What is wrong?”

  “I think he’s going into anaphylactic shock,” Julia stated as she rested her hands on his shoulders. �
�There were peanuts in the cake. Where’s his EpiPen?”

  Camila stared at her husband, and then at Bev. Tears collected along her thick lash line.

  “Camila, the EpiPen?” Julia cried. “There’s no time for this!”

  Camila nodded and hurried to the pile of bags at the front. She scrambled through her handbag while a deadly and suffocating silence dropped over the tent. Brendan hurried over with a chair for Tony to sit in. Julia attempted to steer Tony into the chair, but he stumbled back and missed the chair, landing with a thud on the ground.

  “Call an ambulance,” Julia said to Brendan. “Tell them to be quick. Camila? EpiPen?”

  “I cannot find it!” she cried, panting through her tears. “It was in my bag this morning! It’s not here!”

  Julia dropped to Tony’s side and attempted to open his mouth to allow air through. His skin was scorching to the touch, and splotchy hives were making their way up his swelling neck. He stared up at Julia, his gaze desperate as he suffocated on his own breath. It crossed her mind that this was the first genuine human emotion she had seen in those pale eyes all afternoon.

  “Does someone know how to help him?” Julia called out. “Anyone?”

  No one came forward from the shocked crowd. Julia looked back at Tony, but the wheezing had stopped; the life had drained from his eyes.

  “I think he just died,” Brendan whispered to Julia.

  Chapter Four

  Despite no longer being a DI, Barker resurrected his former authority and ordered everyone to stay in the tent. The competitors all gathered near the tea and coffee station at the back, none of them daring to utter a word. Barker allowed Percy to leave to whisk Vinnie away to Dot’s cottage across the green before the baby realised what was happening around him. Barker spent the unbearable minutes until the police and ambulance arrived attempting to revive Tony. Julia admired his resolve, but nothing could bring the man back.

  Camila stood in the corner, staring at her husband, as Barker tried his best. She didn’t cry or wail, she simply stood in stoic silence; Julia would have felt less uncomfortable if Camila had cried, if only to have filled the deafening silence with something other than Barker’s frustrated pants.

  Bev, the baker of the killer cake, remained behind her red velvet and stared at her dead ex-husband, mouth agape. Tears silently steamed from her unblinking eyes while her entire body remained as solid as a rock.

  The assistant, Oliver, sat hunched in one of the chairs, staring at the ground, with his hands clasped against the side of his head; he was far too young to have witnessed such a thing.

  It was almost a relief when Julia heard the sirens even though she knew it was too late. Two paramedics rushed in and took Barker’s place. They attempted their work for ten minutes, but they pronounced Tony Bridges dead at 3:37pm. The announcement caused Camila to drop to the ground with a cry. The crowd gasped, and one of the paramedics rushed over. Oliver stood and began pacing like an animal in a cage, and the waiting crowd at the back broke their silence, their whispering anything but quiet.

  “Once again, another death and Julia South just happens to be in the middle of it all,” DI John Christie said, appearing behind Julia and making her jump.

  “It’s Julia South-Brown now.”

  “Ah, that’s right. I wasn’t invited to the wedding, was I?” DI Christie dropped his smug expression for a moment and looked seriously at Julia. “Let’s cut to it. Barker says the woman whose cake killed the fella is his ex-wife?”

  “That’s correct.”

  “And they were all warned about his allergy?”

  “Multiple times.”

  “And there’s all these damn signs.”

  “Tony got his assistant to put those out.” Julia glanced at Oliver, who was still pacing. “Poor kid.”

  “Poor Tony.” DI Christie sucked air through his teeth. “Shame. My wife loves his radio show. She would have loved it if I’d got an autograph.”

  “More serious things are happening right now.”

  “I know. My wife’s night is going to be ruined when I tell her he’s been murdered. I’m the one who has to live with her.”

  Julia ignored his crass attempt at humour. “You’re treating this as a murder already?”

  “Scorned woman poisons allergic ex-husband with a peanut cake?” DI Christie leaned into Julia’s ear. “I’d say it’s a done deal. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t muck up one of my cases for once, okay? Congrats on the wedding.”

  DI Christie muttered something into his radio before taking a step forward and clapping his hands together.

  “Can everyone settle down!” Christie cried, pausing for the whispering to die down fully. “I know you’ve all been through a lot, but I’m shutting this site down and treating it as a crime scene. You’re all going to be questioned one by one. Julia, can I use your café to hold them?” DI Christie turned to Julia, and she offered an unsure nod. “Excellent. You’ll all follow one of my officers across the green to the café, and if I catch any of you running off, I’ll personally see to it that the book is thrown at you. If you ask nicely, I’m sure Mrs South-Brown wouldn’t mind sticking the kettle on while you all wait your turn. Now, which one of you is Bev? I’d like to speak to you myself.”

  Bev didn’t look up from Tony, but all eyes shot to her, revealing her identity to the DI. He walked over and said something that made her eyes finally shift. The next thing he said made her shake her head and stumble back into the table behind her. Christie sighed and motioned for his officers to join him. When Bev realised what was happening, she tried to escape, but the officers were clever and had approached from either side of the table.

  “No!” she screamed as the officers tried to calm her down. “No! I didn’t! I wouldn’t! I—I—You can’t prove anything!”

  “Cuff her, boys,” Christie ordered. “We’ve got ourselves a wriggler.”

  Bev screamed her innocence as the officers dragged her out. Shortly afterwards, more officers turned up to lead the witnesses away and secure the tent. While they were being led out in a single-file line, Dot hurried over to Julia.

  “If you get a chance dear, give Percy’s cake a try. It really is very—”

  “Gran!”

  “Just a small bite won’t—”

  “Not the time.”

  “Righty-o, dear. I’ll see you later!”

  Julia gave the café keys to Barker. Instead of joining the line marching to her café, she moved toward Oliver, who had stopped pacing and was now staring into space. Julia rested her hands on his shoulders and directed him into one of the empty chairs at the edge of the tent. Julia gently rubbed his back, the way she did when Jessie wasn’t feeling so well.

  “It’s okay to be in shock,” she said quietly to him.

  “Am I going to get in trouble?” He looked up at Julia with teary eyes.

  “Why would you get in trouble?”

  “Because I let Mr Bridges die.” His voice cracked, and he dropped his head into his hands. “I should have done something to help.”

  “There was nothing you could have done.” She continued to rub his back gently as he sobbed into his hands.

  She stayed with Oliver until Christie snapped for her to join him by the red velvet cake. A forensics officer took photographs of it.

  “I heard you tasted this, too?” he nodded at the two forks on the table. “Notice anything peculiar about the cake?”

  “It tasted like a red velvet cake at first.”

  “And that’s peculiar?”

  “Because it didn’t immediately taste of peanuts, which tells me they probably weren’t baked into the cake.”

  “Do you think that’s important?”

  “It could be.” Julia shook her head from side to side. “There were also no peanut chunks, so it was likely peanut oil.”

  “Peanut oil, but not baked into the sponge?” Christie arched a brow. “How can you be so sure?”

  “Because, Detective, if enough pean
ut oil to kill a man had been baked into that cake, it wouldn’t be standing up like it is now.” Julia pointed her finger at the air bubbles in the light and fluffy sponge. “The oil was added after the cake was baked. Take my word for it, or don’t.”

  “But why would she add it after?”

  “Am I under arrest, Detective?”

  “No.”

  “Then I assume I’m free to go. I’d like to make sure my café is being looked after.”

  Julia didn’t wait for DI Christie to say otherwise. She lifted Oliver up, guiding him across the snowy green and into her café. She imagined that Christie was bad-mouthing her to every officer who would listen, but she didn’t mind. She had helped Christie out enough times to know he must secretly respect her on some level.

  Once Oliver was comfortable in a chair, Julia grabbed her phone from her pocket and scrolled straight to Jessie’s number. She pushed the phone to her ear and tapped her foot against the floor. For the first time that morning, Jessie picked up.

  “Hello?” Jessie said.

  “Jessie! Where are you?”

  “Right here.” Jessie’s voice on the speaker merged with one right behind her.

  Julia spun around. Jessie had just entered the café, her phone still to her ear. They both hung up at the same time. Julia’s emotions at seeing her daughter ranged from angry to elated. She wanted to shout at her for ignoring her all morning, but she couldn’t resist pulling her into a tight hug.

  “What’s happened?” Jessie asked as Julia squeezed her tight. “You’re crushing my ribs!”

  “I’m sorry.” Julia let go and held her at arm’s length. “A man died. Where have you been?”

  “A man?” Jessie scrunched up her face. “Who?”

  “Don’t avoid my question.”

  “What question?”

  “Where have you been?”

  Jessie looked around the packed café as though wanting someone to help her.