‘Hi Rosie, what do we have planned for the Windmill Café bake-off this morning?’ asked Mia, hanging up her crimson duffle coat and unfolding her apron – that day’s was embroidered with what Rosie thought were gentlemen’s moustaches but in fact turned out to be bats; at least the design was in keeping with the season.
‘I thought we’d make a few batches of date and walnut scones and peppermint and dark chocolate chip cookies. What do you think?’
Rosie met Mia’s eyes, and the smile disappeared from her face as she saw beads of tears sparkling along her friend’s lower lashes. ‘Mia, what’s wrong?’
‘Oh, nothing really.’
‘Mia, something’s happened. I can tell from your expression.’
‘It’s Mum. When I told her last night that it was me who found Rick she ordered me to stay at home today. She’s convinced there’s a serial killer stalking the area with a quiver full of arrows searching for his next victim. Nothing I could say would make her change her mind, but I admit I might have made it worse by telling her we’re almost certain it’s one of the people we’ve got staying in the lodges. She says the Windmill Café is turning into an adventure playground for crazy people and she doesn’t want me to help with the Autumn Leaves Hallowe’en party on Saturday.’
‘If you want to go home then it’s okay by me, you know that, don’t you?’
‘No way! Rosie, I don’t want to go home. I want to stay here with you and bake, bake, bake! But it means we’ve got to redouble our efforts to find out who did this or everyone might react like Mum and decide not to come to our party – and we can’t let that happen, not after all the work we’ve put in!’
‘Actually, I did wonder whether we should cancel the party.’
‘No! Rosie, you can’t do that! Please, let’s just give it another couple of days. We solved the poisoning mystery, didn’t we? We can do this too!’ Mia pleaded.
‘It’s Tuesday. Do you think we can do that by Friday? I’m not sure we can…’
‘Hi Mia. Hi Rosie. Oh, what a wonderful smell. Any chance of a quick coffee before we start baking up a storm?’ asked Brad, stamping his feet on the mat before entering the café kitchen. ‘I didn’t get much sleep last night and I feel like a runaway juggernaut hit me straight on. Emma, darling, you really need to see someone about your snoring!’
‘Pot and kettle, Brad, pot and kettle,’ giggled Emma, standing on her tiptoes to deposit a kiss on his lips. ‘Mmm, are these lemon drizzle cupcakes?’
Rosie took a few moments to scrutinize the young woman. Today’s outfit would not have looked out of place on an Olympic athlete; black Lycra leggings, vibrant green running vest, and a pair of very expensive trainers. Her hair had been styled with a smidgeon of gel, and she looked fresh and raring to go and her youthful vitality made Rosie feel exhausted. She gulped down a mouthful of her rich, dark coffee, closing her eyelids for a few second to savour the taste and to allow the aroma to spiral into her nostrils and the caffeine to do its work.
‘Hello, everyone. Steph said we were having a baking lesson this morning?’
‘Oh, hi Helen, yes, we are. How’s Rick?’
‘Complaining vociferously, but there’s nothing unusual there. Unfortunately, his operation has been postponed until tomorrow so you can imagine what he said about that. He was so rude to me on the phone this morning that I told I’m not going to visit him today and you know what he said? He said, good, he could do with some peace and quiet. So here I am, ready and willing to experiment with anything that has sugar and buttercream in it.’
‘Well, we’re glad you’re here. We’re just waiting for Phil and Steph to get here, but why don’t you put one of our Windmill Café aprons on and grab yourself a coffee?’
‘Thanks.’
Rosie couldn’t prevent her mind from scrolling back to the previous morning. The cookery class was the perfect opportunity to have a chat with Helen to see if she could persuade her to volunteer any information about who she had been meeting. Mia was right, if they didn’t sort this mess out quickly, people would choose not to come to their Autumn Leaves party – even though the incident had happened miles away from the Windmill Café – and that would be a tragedy.
By the time Phil and Steph had arrived and put on their peppermint aprons with the little white windmill logos, the sun had climbed over the treeline in the east and had gilded the terrace outside the French doors with a welcome glow. The curlews and the larks were well into their morning melody but the calm of the grounds belied the turmoil within Rosie’s heart. Maybe Mia’s mother was right and there was a murderer watching them from the woods.
Just as she always did in times of trouble, Rosie submerged herself in the rhythm of baking, of rubbing cubes of butter into flour, of adding milk a dribble at a time, of moulding the mixture into thick scones and baking them in the oven. The scent of warm sugar floated through the café and settled her emotions, so she embarked on an extra lesson on how to make the best shortcrust pastry for pies that they went on to fill with a compote of blackberry and apple and stewed pumpkin and cinnamon.
Everyone was laughing and having fun, and surprisingly Phil turned out to be a maestro at making pastry, beaming when everyone declared his efforts to be melt-in-the-mouth delicious, unlike Emma’s soggy-bottomed attempts. Spirits were high as they turned their attention to the peppermint cookies, and Rosie found herself sharing a countertop with Helen, remembering her intention to engage her in innocent chatter. She briefly wished that Matt was at her side to guide her, but she grabbed her confidence by the scruff of the neck and launched in.
‘So, have you and Rick been married long?’
‘Two years – actually I’m Rick’s third wife and I’m beginning to empathize with the other two.’
Rosie saw a tightening of Helen’s jawline when she gritted her teeth and narrowed her eyes, no doubt recalling her phone conversation with Rick that morning. The man really did seem to have a talent for rubbing people up the wrong way. Helen paused in her task of rolling a ball of cookie dough, flicked her long mane of hair over her shoulder, and fixed her heavily mascaraed eyes on Rosie.
‘Maybe it was one of his exes who shot him – I wouldn’t blame them. Rick probably drove them to the edge of their sanity after years of boring them rigid with his never-ending garbage about mystical beasts, ghost-hunting and ley-lines.’
‘I take it you don’t share his interest in the Myth Seekers Society?’ laughed Rosie.
‘Are you kidding me? A bunch of middle-aged men sitting around talking about fairy stories? No, I don’t share Rick’s crazy obsession. You know, I’m surprised he hasn’t got around to introducing compulsory costumes yet – wizard cloaks, pointed hats, magical staffs with special powers, or even insisting everyone grows matching Gandalf beards, although it’s possible that Phil may have started on his attempt.’
Rosie cast a swift glance in Phil’s direction and giggled. Helen joined in and it was quite a few seconds before they calmed down, after which she knew their mutual merriment had formed a friendship and she felt emboldened to ask the next question as she rolled out her shortcrust pastry.
‘Do you and Rick have children?’
For a moment, from the expression on Helen’s face, Rosie thought she had gone too far, that Helen was going to snap that it was none of her damn business and storm out of the café. However, as she continued to watch, Helen’s shoulders slumped and a veil of sadness floated across her attractive face. When she finally spoke, her voice was strained, as though it was being forced through a sieve.
‘Sadly not. I want children but Rick refuses to even discuss the subject. Nothing I say or do seems to change his mind. If he’d told me that before we got married I might have reconsidered our engagement. I don’t know, but one thing I do know is that I want a child in my life more than anything. I’m thirty-nine now and my time’s running out.’
‘Does Rick have children from his previous relationships?’
‘He has a child from his first marriage, but he split up with his wife a few months after the birth. He’s never had any contact. I’m not even sure whether it was a girl or a boy. It’s really sad. I’ve tried to persuade him to reconsider, but of course he refuses. His excuse is that he’s too busy. He’s a senior partner at Featherstone & Garner in Manchester, one of the city’s largest accountant practices, and when he’s not at work he’s chasing spectres around the world.’
‘I’m sorry, Helen. It must be a difficult time for you at the moment.’
Silence descended whilst they finished their bakes and slid them into the oven. The café filled with mouth-watering aromas and a swirl of animated conversation about more light-hearted subjects until the products of their labour were cooling on the wire racks, ready for the best part – the tasting.
‘Helen? Phil, Brad and Emma are going over to the pub in Willerby for a drink. Do you want to go with them?’ asked Steph, appearing at their counter, wiping her hands on a tea towels and removing her apron.
‘Sounds exactly what I need, thanks Steph.’
‘I’m staying here. I’ve got a bit of a migraine coming on from all the worry.’
‘Oh, I’ll stay with you if you want me to,’ offered Helen.
‘No, you go and have a drink. It’ll do you good and I’ll be fine.’
‘Okay, see you later.’
‘Bye, darling,’ said Phil, kissing his wife on the cheek.
Rosie watched them leave with Mia bringing up the rear carrying a huge Tupperware box destined for the vicarage. She turned back to Steph and saw her face was flushed a deep shade of crimson as she dabbed a scrap of handkerchief at her eyes.
‘Steph, what’s the matter? Are you okay?’
‘Not really.’
‘Come over here and sit down. I know how distressing all this has been. Why don’t I make us a pot of tea and we can have one of those lovely scones?’
‘Thanks, Rosie’
Rosie busied herself with the kettle and the tea pot, racking her brain for an indication as to why Steph was so upset, but she couldn’t come up with anything. She carried the tray to the coffee table next to one of the café’s plump white leather sofas and handed Steph a mug of sweetened tea, the ubiquitous balm of choice for the distressed the world over.
‘Is everything okay?’
‘I’ve got to tell someone or I think I’ll go crazy. I’m not sure what it means, if anything, but … well, I saw Helen sneak out of her lodge late on Sunday night. There, I’ve said it.’ Steph leaned back on the sofa and let out a long sigh of relief. ‘I went to bed at eleven, as usual, but I couldn’t sleep because Phil was away at the Ultimate Adventures camp so I got up to make myself a hot chocolate and took it out onto the veranda to look at the stars. That was when I saw Helen take the Porsche and drive towards Willerby, not first thing in the morning as she wants everyone to believe.’
‘Really? Do you have any idea why?’
‘Well, the first thing I thought was that she was missing Rick just as much as I was missing Phil and that she’d gone to join him at the ridiculous wild camping expedition. God, I couldn’t think of anything worse! Rick told us all that we were here for a week of sightseeing and relaxation and the lodges looked so lovely on the internet that I agreed to tag along with Phil, but as usual, Rick had a totally different agenda. I knew there’d be some myth to track down, or some dark, dank dell to explore.’
‘Well, as you know, Mia and I were at the camp and Helen didn’t arrive.’
‘I know.’
‘So, where do you think she went?’ asked Rosie, her brain cracking up as she tried to join the dots.
‘I … you’re going to think I’m awful, but it’s been whirling around my head ever since I heard about Rick’s accident.’
‘What has?’
‘Helen could have driven to Garside Priory, shot Rick in the leg, then driven back to the village without anyone ever knowing she’d left her lodge.’
‘Erm, well, yes, I suppose she could, but she didn’t come back to her lodge, did she? She wasn’t here when we all arrived back yesterday morning. Of course, everyone thought she’d gone out early in the morning, not the night before. And what makes you think she would do something like that anyway?’
‘Well, there are a couple of reasons, one of which you know already. I’m sorry, but I overheard your discussion with Helen earlier. I know about her desperation to have a child and Rick’s abject refusal to entertain the idea. Cruel, if you ask me. He should have made his views on the subject clear before they got married, don’t you think? Or it could be the same old chestnut – Rick’s very wealthy, you know.’
‘You think Helen tried to kill her husband for his money?’
‘A tempting proposition, and one I have to admit I’ve considered on many occasions, but I would never have the courage to follow it through!’ announced Helen, who had appeared at the French doors and overheard the last sentence.
‘Oh my God! I’m so sorry, Helen. What must you think? I…’
‘It’s okay, Steph.’
Helen came into the café and sat down opposite Rosie who could feel her face glowing with mortification. She took a long draught of her tea and let it dribble slowly down her throat to allow time for her heart rate to return to something approaching normal.
‘Helen, I’m so sorry…’
‘You’re only saying out loud what other people are thinking, Steph. But let me tell you something. If I had decided to shoot Rick with a bow and arrow, I wouldn’t have missed, but more importantly, I actually have a rock-solid alibi.’
‘You do?’ whispered Steph, at last able to meet Helen’s eyes.
Rosie knew exactly who Helen’s alibi was, and the pieces were starting to fall into place. She hoped Helen was about to confess the details of her rendezvous with the handsome silver-haired stranger so she and Matt could at least strike one person from their list of suspects.
‘I do, but if I tell you, can it remain confidential between us, please?’
‘Well, I’m not sure…’ began Rosie.
‘Oh, and of course, I’ll be completely honest with the police when they get around to questioning me. It’s just – I hope that won’t be until after Rick’s operation. He’s a bastard but I don’t want him to find out before he goes under anaesthetic. I would never forgive myself if anything happened to him.’
‘Okay, our lips are sealed,’ said Steph, fully recovered and sitting on the edge of her seat like an eager puppy waiting for a treat.
‘I was with a friend in a B&B in Willerby.’
‘A friend?’
‘A male friend.’
‘Oh.’
‘His name’s Tim Latimer and he’s a partner at Featherstone & Garner.’
‘A colleague of your husband’s?’
‘Yes.’ Helen lowered her lashes briefly to study her perfect manicure before meeting Rosie and Steph’s gaze head-on, a look of defiance burning in her eyes.
‘You’re having an affair?’
‘Yes.’
‘Oh.’
‘We’ve been seeing each other for six months. Tim’s the complete opposite to Rick. He’s actually interested in me as a person; he buys me flowers and chocolates, takes me to art galleries and the theatre when Rick’s off on one of his jaunts. I feel like a real woman when I’m with him. Tim and I want to be together and I’m going to ask Rick for a divorce.’
Helen couldn’t hang on to her emotions any longer and they spilled over in a deluge of tears. She leaned forward and covered her face with her hands as Rosie rushed into the kitchen to fetch a box of tissues and an extra cup.
‘Thank you.’ Helen accepted a tissue and a mug of strong, sugared tea. ‘I don’t love Rick anymore, but I didn’t shoot him. I’ve spoken to Tim and he’s quite happy for me to give the police his details so they can confirm I was with him from midnight on Sunday night until ten-thirty on Monday morning – if you found Rick at eight o’clock on Monday morning then we both have alibis.’
Rosie contemplated Helen for a few seconds before grasping her hands and giving them a squeeze. Helen had a difficult few weeks ahead of her but Rosie found herself hoping that her new friend would find happiness with the gentleman waiting for her at the B&B in Willerby. And maybe the child she so patently longed for.