Murder At The Bake Off (Celebrity Mysteries 3) (14 page)

Jack chips in. “She’s right, Petula. You need to stall until we locate this Geraldine and find out what’s going on. I’m going to issue a description of Marvin to all volunteers, festival managements and security. We need all eyes to be on the lookout for him. In the meantime, stay right here. Do not set foot on that stage.”

The organiser appears. “Ms. Musgrove! Everyone is waiting for you. It’s time.”

Suddenly, Petula clutches at her stomach. Panic engulfs me. Has she eaten something since we arrived? Has Marvin got to her already? Has she been poisoned too?

“What is it?” Jack demands, instantly at her side and helping her into a chair. Turning to the organiser, he yells, “Get the paramedics in here now!”

A stricken expression on her face, the organiser dashes out of the marquee in search of the medics.

“Don’t worry,” Petula says with a wink, sitting up once the organiser has gone. “I’m play-acting. I’m totally fine. I just thought it would buy us a bit more time.”

Oh, that is a wicked stunt to pull. My nerves are in tatters.

“Good thinking.” Jack nods his approval. “You might be known for your baking, but I’d say your acting is pretty good, too.”

“So what now?” Maggie asks. “There’s a crowd of people waiting out there to see Petula.”

“No one is going up on that stage yet,” Jack says. “I don’t care how restless the natives get.” He calls up a number on his phone and swiftly issues a description of Marvin, instructing that the details be passed around the team immediately.

The tent flap opens again and the paramedics rush in. They stop when they don’t spot a person in obvious need of their expertise. Petula promptly clutches at her stomach again, and they race to her side.

Jack instructs the marquee entrance to be shut down, saying no more people are to be allowed inside and that they should use the excuse that the marquee has reached its full capacity according to fire regulations.

“What now?” I ask in a whisper, stepping close to Jack, just as he takes a call.

While he’s still listening to the other person on the phone, he tilts his head towards the door. We make our escape, leaving the paramedics to attend to Petula, who can’t seem to put her finger on what the problem is, testing the patience and knowledge of the efficient and professional medics.

Outside, it’s still busy. I know the whole cooking and baking thing has enjoyed something of a resurgence in interest lately, but I didn’t expect the place to be invaded.

“One of the security guys has spotted Geraldine,” Jack says, ending the call. “He’s got a colleague keeping her chatting, some nonsense about checking her ticket, until we get there.”

We make our way through the crowd, seemingly trying to go in the opposite direction to everybody else. It’s like attempting to swim upstream. After what seems like an age, we reach the spot where Geraldine is standing, talking to two men in security uniforms. She’s shifting from one foot to the other. Either she’s cold (which is a distinct possibility in this weather), or she’s even more anxious for some reason. Given that her could-be-a-murderer boss is on his way here, that’s entirely feasible, too.

“Thanks, guys,” Jack says. “We’ll take things from here.”

“What do you want?” Geraldine asks, her eyes flitting from me to Jack.

“Just a little chat.” Jack takes her arm and gently guides her towards the back of one of the other marquees. “About your boss.”

She swallows but says nothing, remaining tight-lipped.

“Do you want another murder on your hands?” Jack asks, his voice serious and his gaze intimidating.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she says, staring off into the distance, determinedly not looking at either of us.

“Why did Marvin send you to the Roseby, Geraldine?” I ask her softly.

“I knew there had to be a reason,” she says so quietly I almost don’t catch the words.

“A reason for what?” Jack demands.

I shoot him a be-patient look.

“I usually get all the crummy jobs nobody else wants to do. When he said he was sending me to stay at a place like the Roseby, I couldn’t believe my luck. I had an idea there would be a catch, but I ignored that irritating voice in my head and decided to make the most of it and enjoy myself there. What else could I do? Refuse to go? No, not if I wanted to keep my job. And I do, despite the fact I get the stuff everybody else is too important to do. The job pays really well, you see, and I need the money. I’ve got debts and student loans, and living in London isn’t cheap, even a manky bedsit sets you back a fortune every month.”

“I know,” I say encouragingly. “Tell me about it. I used to live in London, too. It was a few years ago now, though, so prices are probably even crazier these days.”

Finally, she looks at me. I seize the opportunity to keep her talking. “What did Marvin have you do when you were at the Roseby?”

“It was so weird,” she replies. “He had me photographing loads of things. Like hallways and where security cameras where and even stupid room service trays.”

“Do you know why he had you doing those things?” Jack demands.

She lowers her gaze again.

I place a hand on her shoulder. “It’s OK, Geraldine, you’re not the one in trouble. Just tell us as much as you know. It’s Marvin who we’re after, here. Not you.”

When she speaks again, it’s obvious she’s holding back tears by the strain in her voice. “He did it, didn’t he? He killed Cherry Bakewell.”

“We think he might have, yes,” I say, squeezing her shoulders comfortingly.

“Or he paid somebody to do it after he’d got you to scope out the place, ready for the killer to swoop in and finish off his dirty work,” Jack adds. “Do you know if he contacted anybody unusual in the past month? Someone you’d never heard him have dealings with before? Do you handle the finances for him? Has he paid any large sums of money to an unfamiliar company or person?”

I give Jack another “back off with all the questions” look. He’s the expert here, and he’s good at his job, but he can be a bit brusque when he’s eager for answers. Geraldine is clearly terrified at what her boss has landed her in.

“Take your time. Have a good think,” I say to her.

“I don’t deal with the money for him, but I do make travel arrangements and bookings. I booked a man into the Roseby for two nights. I remember because I thought it was strange. His name was Dirk Fisher. The booking was for the night before Chery died and the night after.”

Bingo.
This has to have something to do with the murder and could be our link between Marvin and Cherry’s death. I turn to Jack. “Do you know of this guy? Recognise his name?”

Jack shakes his head. “I’ll get him checked out. Could be an alias, though. I’ll ask the Roseby to confirm the booking and see if he did stay for those two nights or not. They should be able to give us a description or maybe have got him on CCTV, though if he knew where all the cameras were thanks to Geraldine’s pre-visit research, he probably managed to avoid getting his face on any of them.”

“There’s something else,” she adds. “My boss phoned me five minutes ago. He’s on his way here. He said he wanted to see Petula about something private. You don’t think he’s going to strike again, do you?”

“Not on my watch he’s not,” Jack says. “We’ll have eyes on him from the second he arrives and we’ll lie in wait, hidden in Petula’s dressing room for him. If we can get Petula to lead him on enough for him to confess what he’s been up to, then we’ve got him.”

“Isn’t that a bit risky?”  Geraldine asks tentatively.

“Don’t worry,” I reassure her. “We know what we’re doing.”

“Tell me his car registration number so I can pass it on to the parking guys and the people manning the entrance to the festival. I also need you to let me know if he contacts you again,” Jack says to Geraldine, who nods solemnly. “Right, I’m going to talk to the security guys and have everyone on the lookout for Marvin. Lizzie, can you take Geraldine to Petula’s dressing room? Update Petula on the situation and see if she’s willing to play along in trying to trap Marvin. Keep me in the loop.”

“No problem,” I say, slipping an arm through one of Geraldine’s, partly to reassure her and partly to ensure she stays by my side and doesn’t go running off to tell her boss what’s going on. I don’t think she will, as I’m guessing she wants this all resolved as much as we do, but employee loyalty could cloud the issue. I’m not taking any chances.

Jack leans down and kisses me quickly on the lips. “Be careful!”

“I always am,” I say, smiling sweetly.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

When we reach Petula, she’s dismissed the paramedics, saying she feels heaps better now. We did spot them lurking not far away outside the marquee, so either they’re extremely diligent or aren’t convinced by her protestations that she’s feeling OK. I quickly inform her of the plan Jack has hatched, and she nods enthusiastically.

“I do love a bit of excitement,” she says. “Of course I’ll do it. Cherry was a good friend. I want to see whoever took her life behind bars; their own life restricted to a prison cell.”

Just as she says the words, my phone buzzes with a text at the same time as Geraldine gets a call. I check my phone. It’s Jack saying that Marvin has arrived. We all quiet down as Geraldine answers her phone.

“Yes. Oh, that’s good,” she says, her eyes wide and face worried.

It must be Marvin on the other end of her phone. Has to be.

“Yes, actually, I’m with Petula right this moment. Yes, I mentioned you wanted a chat with her, and she says she’s looking forward to it. If you come round to the back of the main marquee, there’s a restricted access area. Tell the security woman on the door who you are, and they’ll direct you to Petula’s dressing room. Five minutes? OK. I’ll let her know, sir.”

Petula claps her hands together. “Action time!”

“Where’s Jack though? He needs to be here, preferably with the local police, to hear Marvin’s big confession. Well, hopefully his big confession,” I say, worried where he’s got to.

I text Jack, asking where he is, and get an immediate ‘on my way’ in response. Phew. This plan will work. Geraldine and I scuttle behind some stage props and duck down to hide in preparation for the big showdown. Via a conveniently placed eye hole in a giant wooden bunny, which I assume has some role to play in the festival, I can see what’s going on, but Marvin cannot see me.

Unfortunately, when the tent flap does open, the man standing before us isn’t Jack.

Sugar.

“Marvin, dear,” Petula says, getting to her feet and hugging him, then giving him a quick peck on each cheek. “Lovely to see you again. It’s been far too long.”

He smiles, and I have to stifle a shudder. This guy is all smarmy and creepy. Did he kill Cherry? Did he get somebody else to do it on his instructions?

“So, what did you want to see me about?” Petula asks, guiding Marvin towards a spare chair. “Not, of course, that it isn’t always a pleasure to see you anyway, whatever the reason.”

He smirks as he takes a seat. “For ages I’ve been trying to coax you into becoming one of the stars at my agency. You always refused, though, saying there was only room for one baking queen there and Cherry already had that spot.” He pauses, spreading his hands wide. “Well, now that’s no longer the case. You’ve got what you wanted. The spot is open and ready for you to step into.”

Petula wrinkles her nose. “Isn’t that rather in bad taste, Marvin? Darling Cherry has only been gone a day or so.”

“Never let the grass grow under your feet,” he says, crossing his legs and folding his hands in his lap, repeatedly linking and unlinking his fingers. “That’s my motto.”

I can’t help thinking this guy isn’t quite all there. Don’t lots of murderers turn out to be some kind of sociopaths or psychopaths? There’s certainly something leaning towards the manic shining in Marvin’s eyes at the moment.

“But you and Cherry were involved,” she says, sitting next to him, frowning. “She told me about your proposal and how she turned it down. A rejection can hit a man hard and make him terribly angry and bitter, but even so, you must be distraught at her untimely death.”

I shoot a glance at Geraldine to make sure she’s OK and not hyperventilating or anything.

Where is Jack? What’s he playing at?

“So, I’ve had the paperwork all drawn up. I’ve even got a pen with me,” Marvin ignores Petula’s attempt to get him to talk about Cherry’s death and instead presses on. “No excuses now, Petula. Sign with me, and we’ll go to amazing places together. I’ll boost your career, and you can boost my income. I think we’d be so good together.” He wiggles his eyebrows at her. “What are you waiting for?”

“I can’t make a decision as important as this in a split second,” Petula says, stalling for time.

Come on, Jack, I chant silently. We need the police here for this.

Marvin’s smile vanishes. He reaches into his jacket, pulling out a sheaf of papers and a pen. “I gave you what you wanted. Now sign the damn papers.”

“What do you mean when you say you gave me what
I
wanted?”

“I got Cherry out of the equation,” he snaps. “She was no use to me now. Turned down my proposal. I only wanted her for the money, anyway. Plus, her popularity with the public was on the wane, so my income as her agent would have suffered eventually. Your star, however, is on the rise. The public adore you. Now it’s your turn to benefit from my show business expertise. Sign the papers.”

Petula gets to her feet, backing away from Marvin, terror in her eyes. “When you say you got Cherry out of the equation, you don’t mean…” Her hands flutter to her mouth. “You didn’t…kill her?”

A malevolent look flashes across his face. “
I
didn’t, no.”

“Why do I get the feeling the key word in that sentence is I?” Petula asks, her voice low, her body now backed up against the wall of the marquee.

Marvin lets out a laugh worthy of an evil pantomime villain.

“You had her killed!” Petula shouts.

“Keep your voice down, stupid.” In two strides he’s across the marquee and gripping Petula’s arm. “It wasn’t the first time I’d arranged to bump off a client who had passed their use to me. Plus, her death means a resurgence in the sales of her books and DVDs, which I’ll get a cut from. Now, if you don’t sign those bloody contracts, you’ll be next.”

“Like I’m about to sign up with a murderer!” Petula exclaims, wrenching her arm free.

“I hate to break it to you, but you don’t have any choice, my love,” Marvin sneers at her. He shoves a pen into her hand. “Now, sign.”

“No,” she says quietly, shaking her head, a fierce expression on her face. “I won’t sign. You killed Cherry. She was my friend and an amazing woman.”

“I didn’t kill her. I got somebody else to do that. Dirk’s an old acquaintance of mine. Poison is his speciality. Less messy, he says. I’m inclined to agree, but there are other ways to do away with someone.” He reaches into his jacket again, and this time it’s a knife he produces, flicking it open. The blade glints in the light from the bare lightbulb illuminating the makeshift dressing room. Stepping forward, he waves it perilously close to Petula’s face. “Now, sign. I’m not going to tell you again.”

Oh, hell. This guy is not just a murderer, he’s seriously unhinged.