Parties,

Pavlova & Poison

A Just Desserts Club Mystery

Daisy James

Copyright

© Daisy James 2025

Edited by Laura McCallen

Cover Design by GetCovers.com

***

Daisy James asserts her right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work. All rights reserved.

This book is copyright material. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this ebook on screen. No part of this text may be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system in any form or by any means without the express written permission of Daisy James. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be direct infringement of the author’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

This novel is a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities, is entirely coincidental.

ISBN: 978-1-914304-49-1

Dedication

To my amazing family for all their help and support, and for taste-testing the recipes – I know it was hard work, but someone had to do it!

Prologue

The Great Sweeting Gazette

Parties, Pavlova & Popstars

Monday 28th June

Reporter: Dan Forrester

It may have escaped your notice but this Sunday afternoon sees the return of Little Sweeting’s much-loved summer garden party, held in the perfectly manicured gardens of the Waddling Duck Café. As we’ve come to expect from this must-attend celebration of all-things sweet and sugary, I am reliably informed that once again there will be a sumptuous afternoon tea to enjoy, consisting of cucumber sandwiches – provided by the wonderful ladies of the Little Sweeting WI – along with a selection of our world-famous Devonshire scones with lashings of clotted cream and home-made strawberry jam baked by our very own baker extraordinaire, Debs Marlowe.

However, I am delighted to announced that the most exciting part of this year’s extravaganza is that the lilac-coloured ribbon will be cut at precisely 2pm by popstar-in-the-making Sasha Richards, who has just signed a very exciting record deal with Mountside Records. Perhaps she’ll be persuaded to give us a special preview of the fabulous music her many fans are clamouring to hear.

So what are you waiting for? Dust off your sunhat and espadrilles and grab a ticket from any of the delightfully colourful shops on the village’s high street and join us for the party of the year!

The Great Sweeting Gazette

Parties, Pavlova & Poison

Monday 5th July

Reporter: Dan Forrester

It is with a heavy heart that instead of furnishing you with an effusive report of Little Sweeting’s annual summer garden party, where we were gifted with wall-to-wall sunshine and a cornucopia of delectable cakes and desserts, I find myself with the task of bringing you the devastating news that the guest of honour, Sasha Richards, was found dead in her luxury lodge shortly after closing the proceedings.

Needless to say, the whole community is in shock, mourning the loss of a talented musician who was on the precipice of achieving her dream after recently signing a much-anticipated recording contract. The cause of Miss Richards’ untimely demise is as yet unknown, but this intrepid reporter has had his ear to the ground, and I can confirm there have already been mutterings of potential food poisoning.

As those who read my column regularly know, I’ve never been one to cast aspersions until the facts have been gathered, but it would be remiss of me if I didn’t point out that for the first time in over three decades, the garden party was not catered by Debs Marlowe - our beloved café proprietor who was swept off her feet by an Antipodean visitor to our shores - but by new-to-the-business Charlotte Chadwick who stepped in at the last minute to hold the fort at the Waddling Duck Café so that Debs could join her fiancé in Melbourne.

As expected in circumstances such as these, the police are investigating, and as soon as there are any further developments, I will bring them to you straight away. In the meantime, Sasha’s family and friends have asked for their privacy to be respected at this difficult time.

Chapter One

South Kensington, London

Midsummer Night

‘Hurry up, Lottie, we’re going to be late.’

‘Sorry, sorry, just give me a minute. I promised Henry I’d pop round with a batch of fig and walnut scones before I leave.’

Hannah rolled her eyes. ‘Isn’t it enough that you’ve spent every spare minute completely restyling your neighbour’s kitchen for his Midsummer Night’s dinner party like it was one of your foodie photoshoots without doing the catering, too?’

‘It’s just a few scones, Han.’

‘And a Victoria sponge cake, and an apricot pavlova, and a chocolate fudge cake.’

‘You know I love baking; it’s my happy place.’

‘So you keep telling me, which is why I don’t understand how you ended up at art school instead of catering college!’

‘I love art, too.’ Lottie smiled as she put the finishing touches to the china cake stand she’d loaded with fresh-from-the-oven scones, adding tiny pots of clotted cream and home-made strawberry jam. ‘And I especially love photography; I can’t believe how lucky I am that for the last few months I’ve got to work alongside an award-winning celebrity chef – with his own TV show – making sure his amazing recipes zing from the pages of his new cookery book!’

‘It’s not luck, Lottie, it’s talent. You graduated top of your class! Claude Devereaux is lucky to have you on his team, although judging by the way he behaves you wouldn’t know it. I don’t know how you can work with the guy; he’s a complete pain in the—’

‘He’s a perfectionist, that’s all, which is the reason he’s been shortlisted for tonight’s Annual Culinary Creativity Awards.’ Seeing the look on her best friend’s face warned Lottie that it wasn’t the right time to confide in her that she and Claude had been dating for the last few months, although most of the dates they’d been on had focussed more on their concept for that evening’s prestigious artistic food styling competition than intimate dinners and romantic weekends away. ‘Okay, I’ll be back in a jiff.’

‘No chatting; when Henry starts, he never stops! The ceremony starts in thirty minutes and we have to get to the other side of London. Oh God, look at your hair! It looks like you’ve just stuck your finger in an electric socket, and you need to put a little more foundation and mascara on; believe me, those TV cameras are so unforgiving. Look, why don’t I deliver the scones?’

‘But—’

‘I know you, Lottie, when you get round there you’ll start tweaking the lettuce leaves, or waving around your precious blow torch to add a little colour and texture to the meringues, or discussing world-shattering breakthroughs in the ancient art of napkin-folding. Henry is seventy next month; I can assure you that he’s hosted his fair share of successful dinner parties.’

Before Lottie could respond, Hannah had snatched up the cake stand – one of thirty she had amassed over the years for use in her various food styling and photography assignments – and disappeared through the front door. She heaved a sigh, then glanced at herself in the hall mirror, smoothing her palms down the sides of the short emerald cocktail dress she had bought especially for the ceremony. It was a little too sparkly for her taste, but she was keen to show Claude that she could “glam-up” when necessary, and at least it didn’t clash with her halo of copper-coloured curls.

To please Hannah, she added another slick of dark brown mascara and nude lipstick, then finished her preparations with a splash of her favourite perfume – the same one her father used to present to her mother for her birthday – and she found herself swallowing down on a sudden uptick of emotion. Tonight was a night for celebration, not for lingering on the painful events of the past.

‘Okay, Henry sends his love, and he said that if you don’t win the judges have no taste.’

‘He always says that.’

‘Ready?’

‘Absolutely.’

Lottie grabbed her evening bag – peacock green silk embroidered with gold thread she’d found in a quirky vintage clothing shop – and slid into the back seat of the waiting taxi next to Hannah. Claude Devereaux had won several awards over the course of his illustrious career – both as a restaurateur and a TV chef and cookery book writer – but this was the first time he had been shortlisted for the coveted culinary creativity award, which celebrated a dish’s artistic presentation.

A mixture of excitement and anxiety swirled through Lottie’s veins as she contemplated the evening ahead and how Claude would react if they didn’t secure the prize for the captivating tableau of deliciousness they had spent weeks designing and then creating, using every tip and trick that Lottie had in her food stylist’s armoury. However, as she had no control over the judges’ decision, she knew the best thing to do was to put it out of her mind and just enjoy the night.

‘I’m really looking forward to seeing what the other shortlisted chefs have created. When we went to set up our entry this morning, all the individual areas were concealed behind a swathe of black cloth, so I have no idea what we’re going to be up against. It was a challenging brief, but I think Claude’s design fulfilled all—’

‘You mean your design.’

‘Well, I…’

‘Come off it, Lott, the recipe might be Claude’s – and if the award was for taste and flavour, then okay, he should be taking centre-stage, just as he always does – but it isn’t, it’s for styling, and that’s all been down to you. You came up with the “Magical Midsummer Night’s Dream Picnic” theme. You sourced the furniture, the lanterns, and the garlands of fairy lights. You chose the fabrics, the crockery, the cutlery, and the glassware. You even managed to persuade Fergus to let you borrow his precious fog machine to add a “mystical ambience” to the design! The only thing you didn’t choose was that hideous bright-pink butterfly—’

‘It’s not hideous.’

Hannah stared at Lottie, her eyebrows raised.

‘Okay, okay, it’s hideous.’

‘The colour is just so jarring when the rest of the space has been meticulously staged to look like a whimsical forest clearing where fairies and nymphs might come to mischievously frolic, which I have to admit is the perfect backdrop to the dish Claude has chosen to enter in the contest this year. Why he thinks that a gigantic pink butterfly with ping-pong balls on its head goes with the woodland theme is beyond me. It’s bizarre and ugly and spoils the whole aesthetic; I don’t know why the rest of the team agreed to it.’

‘Claude is the boss.’

‘Well, he might be a Michel Roux in the realm of culinary alchemy, but he’s no Monet or Cezanne when it comes to showcasing the no-doubt mouthwatering dishes he creates. Doesn’t he know that we eat with our eyes first, then with our mouth?’

Lottie wanted to defend Claude and his choice of centrepiece for their entry, but she had to agree with Hannah that the weirdly shaped Barbie-pink butterfly that he’d commissioned – using a company that was not on their list of approved prop suppliers because of its questionable practices in obtaining their raw materials – did not sit well with the rest of the design. She had tried to negotiate a change to the eye-scorching centrepiece but had received one of his famous glares for her temerity in questioning his vision. At least he’d allowed her to retain the bamboo hanging egg chair with the taupe and cream cushions made from organic cotton that she adored.

‘And what about the interview he gave to the competition sponsors’ PR agency? You watched it; he never once mentioned your – or anyone else’s – name, and he made it sound as if he’d come up with the whole concept himself.’

Lottie smiled at Hannah’s indignation. Her friend did have a point; the “Magical Midsummer Night’s Dream Picnic” idea was very similar – except for the lurid pink butterfly with the ridiculous out-of-proportion antennae – if not identical to the one she had spent a whole term working on while studying for her degree.

She had been surprised when Claude had accepted her ideas for the competition’s brief so quickly, but timescales for the initial written submissions had been tight and it would have been difficult to create something so detailed from scratch. She had been over the moon when they received the confirmation that the Claude Devereaux team was one of only five shortlisted from over a hundred entries, but it would have been nice to have been credited in some way for her contribution.

‘Yay! We’re here!’ cried Hannah.

The taxi drew to a standstill outside the Royal Grantchester Hotel where Lottie had spent all day re-creating the backdrop and the table upon which the dishes Claude had prepared that afternoon would be presented, before being shooed away – along with the exhausted food stylists who were working with the other four finalists – so that the judges could spend some time assessing the entries and deciding on the winner.

She followed Hannah inside the impressive Victorian building and up a carpeted flight of stairs to the vast ballroom where that evening’s ceremony would take place, hosted by a celebrity chef who was famous for his multiple TV cookery shows filmed from around the Mediterranean, as well as his outrageous choice of attire that would be more at home in the French Royal Court.

Together, they made their way to one of the many linen-bedecked tables where Claude and a coterie of friends – including several very glamourous women – had already made a start on the Champagne. Lottie saw one of the women – who was wearing a gown from that year’s Stella McCartney collection and a necklace that probably cost more than Lottie’s monthly salary – cast her eyes over her sparkly emerald dress and she flushed when she saw her perfectly outlined lip curl upwards in derision.

‘Ah, there you are, Lottie. Late as usual. Do you have my notes?’

‘Oh, yes, yes, sorry.’

To her surprise, and dismay, there wasn’t a flicker of warmth in Claude’s pale silver eyes. She knew they’d agreed to keep their blossoming relationship to themselves for the time being, not wanting to attract workplace gossip, but why should that prevent him from at least being civil? She rummaged in her handbag and produced a handful of colour-coded index cards that recorded the details of where they’d sourced every item used in their design and passed them to Claude with a broad smile, hoping for one in return. She watched him scan the cards, then slip them into his jacket pocket without a word of thanks, an action that caused Hannah to tut loudly at his rudeness.

But Lottie knew a lot was riding on the award and he was probably just nervous. The chef who was crowned the winner would not only receive a cheque for seventy thousand pounds, but also a nationwide advertising campaign to raise their profile, which would coincide with the launch of his upcoming cookery book. Something Lottie knew was much needed, as sales of his previous offering had been sluggish. She hoped that once the evening was over – whatever the outcome – they could spend more time together, and that their conversation would move on from work to something more personal, including announcing to the world that they were dating.

No sooner had she and Hannah slid into their seats than Jonti Farrington-Arquette took to the podium that had been stationed on a raised dais in the middle of the vast ballroom that housed the five shortlisted entries, still shrouded in their black cotton fabric. She couldn’t fail to hear the tinkle of laughter float around the auditorium at their compere’s choice of outfit for the evening – gold brocade jacket with fringed epaulets, open-necked shirt with lace cuffs showcasing a generous amount of curly dark chest hair, and a pair of Kermit green winklepickers.

‘Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, and welcome to the tenth Annual Culinary Creativity Awards, generously sponsored by Fairbrother Food & Wine. Every year the calibre of the entries increases and this year is no exception, and my fellow judges and I found it difficult to choose the top five. But choose we did, and it is with great pleasure that I can now unveil the finalists.’

Jonti beamed into the camera, his teeth so white that Lottie wished she’d brought her sunglasses, then swivelled on his heels and strode to each booth in turn, pulling on a long silk tassel that caused the black cloth to drop and reveal the presentations. Appreciative oohs and aahs issued forth from the packed audience that included not only the competition’s participants and their teams, but also food journalists, bloggers, vloggers and, of course, the sponsor company’s executives.

Lottie craned her neck to scrutinise the displays of their competitors; every one different, every one featuring a highly creative theme that used pattern, texture, colour and judicious lighting to enhance the dishes the respective chefs had chosen to showcase their talents. One entry had surrounded their display with hand-painted silk screens depicting the ingredients contained in the central dish. Another had gone for an Ancient Rome theme for their Italian-inspired recipe, with white plaster columns and faux marble statues, and another had chosen to decorate their exhibit with a profusion of multi-coloured streamers and a huge cardboard backdrop of a fairground carousel.

All had merit; all would be worthy winners.

Lottie’s heart pounded painfully against her ribcage and, without thinking, she reached out to slip her hand into Claude’s, shocked and more than a little hurt when he shoved her hand away, his eyes fixed immovably on the entries in front of them. She could see from the tightness of his jawline that he was as anxious as she was, and a swoop of sympathy rolled through her chest, despite his rejection of her gesture. She sent a smile across the table to the woman in the Stella McCartney dress who had witnessed the interaction but received nothing but a blank stare in return.

‘Okay, before I open the golden envelope and reveal who will be taking home this coveted crystal trophy and a cheque for seventy-thousand-pounds, I’d like to ask our five finalists to come onto the stage and take their places in front of their competition entry.’

To a blast of jolly music and a smattering of applause, Lottie watched Claude and his fellow culinary competitors make their way towards their respective designs, whilst several members of the venue’s staff took up their positions around the stage, armed with the biggest confetti canons she had ever seen.

‘So, without further ado, I can announce that the winner is…’

The music stopped and silence filled the room. Everyone held their breath whilst Jonti took his time tearing open the envelope, removing the gilt-edged card and scanning the words, milking his moment in the spotlight before looking back at the audience.

‘Maxwell Campbell-Smythe! Congratulations, Max, darling!’

The confetti canons popped, and a flourish of golden confetti filled the room as whoops of delight erupted from the Campbell-Smythe camp, all of whom rushed onto the stage to join in the celebrations. After hugs and handshakes all round, Max made his way to the podium to receive the trophy and delivered an eloquent speech about how important presentation is in the arena of high-end food preparation, and that while culinary creativity was essential when deciding what to include in a dish, so too was artistic creativity when serving that dish to a patron.

As Lottie listened to him thank a long list of people who had inspired his culinary journey – from his kindergarten teacher to his great-aunt Maria who was apparently a renowned cookery book writer in Spain – she tried to catch Claude’s eye to send him her silent commiserations.

She knew he would be devastated, and whilst she had never expected to win, she knew that he had, and she was desperate to give him a sympathetic hug and suggest that they leave the party for a quiet dinner à deux. She knew they had only been dating for a short time, but she felt a connection with him, as though he was the person she was meant to be with, despite his reluctance to sing her praises or even acknowledge her contribution.

However, for whatever reason, he steadfastly avoided her gaze.

‘Okay, everyone!’ declared Jonti, reclaiming the microphone from a reluctant Max. ‘Time for photographs and interviews, if you please. Chefs, if you’d all like to gather in your respective areas so our journalists can come to you.’

A cacophony of animated chatter and scrapping chairs ricocheted around the room as everyone abandoned their seats at the tables and made a beeline for Max Campbell-Smythe and the winning entry, cameras raised, bulbs flashing, random questions called out to various members of his entourage. Lottie joined the rest of their team, every one of them trying but failing to conceal their despondency, as they made their way to their design and waited for the inevitable sympathetic words along with the other runners-up.

‘Never mind, Claude, darling,’ said the blonde-haired woman in the designer dress, leaning forward to place a kiss on his cheek, leaving a perfect imprint of her lipstick. ‘Better luck next time.’

‘Thank you, Chantelle.’

And then it happened.

Claude took a step away from the gathering, exhaled a ragged sigh, and dropped into the hanging egg chair. As Lottie watched on in horror, the bamboo cracked and he promptly fell through the middle of the seat, the momentum thrusting his legs into the air as his bottom dangled a few inches from the ground, his knees pressing against his chin, the chair swaying from left to right like a clock’s pendulum.

Gasps of shock rippled around the room, before morphing into muffled – and not so muffled – laughter as he tried in vain to extricate himself from the wooden slats that held his buttocks and thighs in a vice-like grip. The more he struggled, the tighter the hold and the more comedic the situation became, causing him to break into a sweat and his face to turn the colour of boiled beetroot.

While Hannah and Chantelle hung back, clearly enjoying the show, Lottie rushed forward to offer Claude her assistance, but when her eyes met his, she froze, shaken to the core by the anger she saw smouldering there.

‘Oops!’ laughed Jonti, the next person on the scene. ‘Here, let me help you.’

It took three people ten long minutes to drag Claude free of the sabre-toothed hanging chair, to much amusement and a barrage of witty comments about the perils of choosing unusual props for food styling assignments, every second of which was captured on film as those present took the opportunity to record the mortifyingly embarrassing debacle for posterity and share it far and wide across their social media platforms.

Chapter Two

‘Oh Claude, I’m so sorry. I have no idea how that could have happened.’

‘Really?’

‘What do you mean?’ asked Lottie, flustered and upset by the change in Claude’s attitude towards her.

Once released from his brief imprisonment, Claude took her hand in a steely grip and steered her none too gently towards the rear of the ballroom, a false smile plastered on his lips as various competitors and guests stopped him to express their commiserations before he politely, but firmly, excused himself and continued to lead her to an alcove hidden behind a heavy, red velvet curtain.

Lottie briefly entertained the thought that maybe he would use the opportunity to apologise for his weird behaviour that evening, and maybe go on to seal it with a passionate kiss, until she realised that his earlier anger had not abated, but instead turned into unbridled fury.

‘Okay, spill.’

‘I… I don’t understand what—’

‘Oh, don’t play the innocent with me, Lottie. I know you were involved in setting up that little charade to humiliate me in front of everyone. Well, I hope you’re happy that you succeeded. You know, jealousy is a particularly ugly trait, and I didn’t think you were that sort of person, but I’ve learned a valuable lesson about not judging a book by its cover.’

‘Claude,’ Lottie’s heart beat painfully as her head spun with confusion. ‘Stop, please. I really have no idea what you’re talking about.’

She reached out to touch his arm, but he pulled away, just as he had before at the table, accusation written boldly across his face. Her stomach performed an uncomfortable somersault of dread.

‘Chantelle told me you’d found out about us.’

‘Found out about…’

‘I’m sorry I didn’t talk to you about it earlier, but that’s no excuse for sabotaging…’

The realisation was sudden, like a mule’s kick to the solar plexus. She felt lightheaded, unsure about which of Claude’s statements she should challenge first.

‘You and Chantelle are…’

‘Yes, yes, yes.’ Claude tossed his floppy blonde fringe from his eyes and over his forehead in a practiced gesture and then began to pace backwards and forwards in front of her, completely oblivious to the effect his bombshell revelation had had on her. She could feel tears welling in her eyes, but she gritted her teeth. She was determined to hang on to her emotions long enough to gather the facts about what was going on, otherwise she knew she would regret it. ‘We’re a couple.’

‘How long… how long have you been a couple?’

‘What? Oh, about six months,’ he said distractedly, clearly unable to do the maths, which meant that he’d not only cheated on Lottie, but on Chantelle as well, although the sensible part of her brain reminded her that every single one of their dates – their late-night dinners at a selection of small and intimate restaurants around the capital, their trips to the theatre and the opera – had all ended with separate taxis home.

However, that didn’t mean she hadn’t hoped that would change as soon as their relationship was out in the open, but she was hit by another thunderbolt as she realised Claude’s reason for keeping their affair secret had nothing to do with “workplace gossip” and everything to do with the fact he was seeing someone else, a fact she was finding difficult to process. Whilst she couldn’t say she was in love with Claude, she had certainly been travelling down that road.

‘Claude, I—’

‘Do you know what this little… this little farce will do to my reputation? Do you? I don’t mind telling you that I’m considering discussing the consequences with my lawyers.’

‘Your lawyers?’ Lottie gasped.

Suddenly, through the mist of her misery of learning that she meant nothing to Claude, and her suspicions that whilst she had been hoping their time together was the beginning of something special, she realised that he had been viewing it as a way of keeping her on board with the competition entry just as Hannah had suspected. Then she remembered the other part of his accusation and a surge of indignation burgeoned.

‘Are you seriously suggesting that you think I sabotaged our competition entry? I can’t believe you would think that. I’ve worked eighteen-hour days to deliver a concept that both you and your team can be proud of. Why on earth would I do anything to sabotage that? Why?’

She turned to face Claude, her hand on her hip, her eyes flashing with challenge, but Claude wasn’t interested in what she had to say. In fact, she wasn’t sure whether he had even heard her.

‘Not only is your food styling sub-standard and unworthy of inclusion in my cookery books or on my website, but you are clearly completely unable to source props that can withstand the lightest of use. I trusted you, Lottie, and you’ve let me, and everyone in my team, down and so you leave me with no alternative but to say that your services are no longer required. You’re fired!’

‘Wh… at?’

‘You’re fired, and I don’t want to see you in my kitchen again. I’ll get someone to pack up your personal belongings, and I’ll pay you for the work you’ve done so far, which I think is more than generous. Envy is a terrible trait, Lottie. I should have known that you were no different to all the other food stylists I’ve employed over the years – a frustrated chef who can’t boil an egg and so takes their disappointment out on those of us who have the talent they don’t. Oh, and don’t bother to ask for a reference because I won’t give you one, professional or personal.’

And with that Claude stormed away from her, his shoulders stiff, radiating barely concealed rage until he disappeared from view – and her life – through the doors to the lobby where the drinks, and the conversation, were still flowing.

‘Lottie? Is everything okay?’ Hannah asked, appearing at her side.

‘Mmm?’

‘Are you okay? Come on, you look like you need a drink.’

Hannah grabbed Lottie’s hand and pulled her towards the bar at the back of the ballroom where she ordered a couple of brandies from the rather handsome barman who looked like he was having the evening off from playing the romantic lead in the next big romcom. Lottie drained her glass in one gulp, grimacing as the liquid scorched her throat, then relaxing as the alcohol did its job, seeping into her veins and providing a modicum of calm in a tumultuous world so she could start to untangle what she’d just discovered. It was only then that the realisation finally hit her.

‘Claude just fired me.’

‘Oh my God! Why?’

‘He thinks I sabotaged the hanging chair to make him look like a fool.’

‘That’s crazy. Why would you do that?’

Lottie held Hannah’s gaze and, perceptive as usual, she saw the understanding finally dawn.

‘Oh Lottie.’

‘I thought… I thought…’

Hannah ordered another round of drinks from the barman, then gently led Lottie to a vacant table next to the winning competition entry where the floor was still covered in strips of shiny gold paper.

‘I take it you didn’t know about Claude and Chantelle?’

Lottie stared at Hannah, heat flushing into her cheeks.

‘You did?’

‘Yes, but she’s supposed to be getting engaged to some Italian count or something, so they’ve been keeping things on the down-low until she finds the “right time” to break things off with him.’

‘Oh God, I’m a complete idiot.’

‘You’re not. And Claude has no right to fire you. I’m going over there and I’m going to tell him—’

‘No, please don’t, Han.’

‘Did you sabotage that chair?’

‘No, of course not.’

‘Then he’s completely out of order and someone needs to give him a—’

‘Han, please, after what just happened there’s no way I can continue to work with him, or any other chef for that matter, celebrity or otherwise.’

‘But you love your job!’

‘I do – I did – but can you imagine what it’ll be like when potential clients put two-and-two together and realise that it’s me whose face is splashed all over social media as the food stylist who embarrassed the famous TV chef Claude Devereaux? Do you think they’ll want to risk their reputation by hiring my services? No, I think it’ll be best all round if I look for another way to utilise my photography skills.’

Lottie couldn’t hang onto her emotions any longer. Hot tears trickled down her cheeks as she thought of leaving the industry, and those involved in it, that she’d grown to love over the last ten years.

‘Come on,’ Hannah said softly. ‘Let’s get you home.’

***

The next hour passed in a blur as Lottie submitted to Hannah’s directions, saying goodnight to everyone – the team she’d worked with over the last three months unaware that it was actually goodbye – posing for a quick selfie with Jonti, who had clearly consumed more than his fair share of the free-flowing Champagne, then jumping in a taxi, the winking lights of London flashing past the windows like a necklace of amber jewels. They finally drew up at their front door just as Henry was bidding a fond farewell to the last of his dinner party guests, an auburn-haired woman clutching a Tupperware box of leftovers as though her life depended on it.

‘Lottie, Hannah! Well, did you win the grand prize?’

Henry ambled towards them his face wreathed in smiles until he saw their expressions and immediately understood their response.

‘I told you those judges were a bunch of buffoons! Come on, I’ve got a bottle of Claret that needs finishing off.’

‘Oh, I’m…’ Lottie began, not really in the mood to make polite conversation, even if it was with Henry whom she usually loved spending time with. However, Henry clearly wasn’t taking no for an answer and had already disappeared down his garden path and through his cheery scarlet front door, so she didn’t have a choice.

With Hannah by her side, she followed him into his newly extended kitchen/diner/conservatory that she’d helped to stage for that evening’s dinner party, which was now a jumble of cutlery and crockery, salad bowls and serving dishes, crystal glasses and wine bottles, and cushions strewn across the floor. It looked like Henry had hosted a platoon of energetic toddlers who had spent the night playing hide-and-seek, not a gathering of his laid-back gardening friends from the local allotments. And yet, the place oozed an ambience of cosiness and calm; like a real home filled with warmth and love.

Henry handed Lottie and Hannah a glass of red wine each and raised his glass in a toast.

‘To the best food stylist in the whole of London! Cheers!’

‘Cheers!’

Henry took a sip from his glass before continuing. ‘Sometimes, it’s just not your time; there’ll be many more opportunities for you to shine, my dear.’

‘I don’t know about that,’ Lottie mumbled.

‘What does that mean?’ asked Henry.

Lottie exchanged a glance with Hannah.

‘What’s happened?’

She saw the worry in Henry’s tired eyes and her heart gave a nip of guilt. She knew he took just as much interest in the progress of her career since she’d moved in next door as she did in the legendary monthly dinner parties he gave for the members of the numerous social enterprises he belonged to.

‘Claude fired her,’ Hannah said quietly.

‘He what? Why?’

Hannah provided him with a brief synopsis of the evening, leaving out the bit about the ill-advised dinner dates and theatre trips. Henry reached out to take Lottie’s hand into his and gave it a gentle squeeze, his sharp blue eyes reading the situation perfectly, just as Hannah had done. She really should work on her acting skills.

‘I’m sorry this happened, Lottie. What are you going to do?’

‘I don’t know.’ She sighed, her thoughts becoming scrambled again, and yet not enough to eradicate the feeling of panic that had started to agitate deep inside her abdomen as she began to contemplate how she would pay her share of the rent until she landed a new job.

‘Well, I might have an idea.’

‘What kind of an idea?’ said Hannah, replenishing their glasses with the wine that Lottie thought tasted like liquid sunshine.

‘Give me a moment, will you?’

Not without effort, Henry pushed himself up from the sofa that Lottie had decorated with burnt orange mohair throws and saffron-coloured cushions to match the wallpaper Henry’s late wife had chosen for the chimney breast and which he refused to update, and left the room. Seconds later, she heard a mumbled conversation taking place in the hallway and she realised he was making a telephone call.

‘What’s going on?’ she whispered.

Hannah shrugged. ‘Not a clue, but whatever it is, I think we should humour him.’

‘I think we should make a start on the washing up,’ said Lottie as she stood, the familiar itch to clean – which she had managed to suppress for the last year or so – returning with a vengeance because the evening’s events had awakened her anxiety demons.

‘No, no, no, my dears, leave the washing up. I have a much more interesting proposal for you,’ said Henry, grinning from ear-to-ear as he appeared in the doorway, placing his hand on Lottie’s shoulders and guiding her back to her seat next to Hannah on the sofa.

‘A proposal? What kind of a proposal?’

‘I’ve just spoken to my sister, Debs. Remember, I told you she owns a café and glamping site down in Devon, just outside Sidmouth, in a picturesque village called Little Sweeting?’

Lottie smiled, her heart ballooning at the affection she saw in Henry’s eyes whenever he spoke about his younger sister whom he’d helped to raise after the untimely death of their mother – a loss that had bonded her and Henry from the moment they’d met. Grief had a way of doing that, of providing an instant understanding that the emotions it induced weren’t linear, but part of a complex and meandering journey that could move backwards – and sideways – as well as forwards.

‘Of course I do, but isn’t she selling the place?’

‘She was, but…’

Lottie saw a glint of mischief appear in Henry’s eyes.

‘But what?’

‘Do you also remember why she’s selling her beloved little café?’

Despite her despondency at the predicament she had unexpectedly found herself in, Lottie’s spirits edged upwards a notch when she thought of the story Henry had recounted to her a couple of months ago. Completely out of the blue, Debs had met and fallen in love with a holidaymaker who had flown over to the UK from his home in Melbourne to search for his British ancestors. He’d booked into one of the luxury wooden lodges on Debs’ glamping site for six weeks, and they’d struck up a conversation, then a friendship, over a few of her famous Devonshire cream teas which, to everyone’s surprise, had culminated in a marriage proposal and a request that she accompany him to Australia for a life filled with sunshine and second chances.

It was a heart-warming story and had reaffirmed Lottie’s view that life was a series of opportunities that sometimes required the traveller to put aside their fear of the what-ifs and instead take a leap of faith into the unknown. However, after accepting Brian’s proposal, Debs had struggled to find a buyer for her business, and the last time she and Henry had spoken about his sister, it seemed as though she would have to wave her new beau off back to Melbourne without her, which Henry had been most upset about. But Henry was now beaming, so it looked like there could be a happy ending after all.

Lottie had to admit to being surprised that the café hadn’t been snapped up immediately, especially when Henry had shown her the estate agent’s photographs of the property with lilac paintwork and a pair of lollipop lavender bushes stationed at the front door. The place screamed “welcome, come on in”, as did the other retail establishments that dotted the high street of Little Sweeting, their own facades decorated in a variety of pastel colours – from sky-blue to peppermint, from pale lemon to sugar-pink – and many sporting a colour-coordinated floral wreath on their front doors.

The village was chocolate-box pretty, but cute though Debs’ café looked, it was the name of the establishment that had caused Lottie to smile and wish she had the funds to buy it herself.

‘Has Debs found a buyer?’

‘No.’

‘Oh, I thought…’

‘But she’s found someone to take over the reins so she can fly out to Australia with Brian at the weekend.’

‘Well, that’s great news. Who’s the lucky person?’

‘You.’

Lottie opened her mouth, then closed it before opening it again, her jaw hanging loose in astonishment at Henry’s completely off-the-wall suggestion.

‘Well, what do you say?’

‘I… I can’t run a glamping site!’

‘Oh, the glamping site runs itself. It’s the café that needs someone to nurture its soul.’

‘Nurture its soul?’ Hannah laughed. ‘Sounds like it’s a member of the family!’

‘Actually, it is. It belonged to my grandmother, then my mother and her sister – before my mother passed away – and now it’s Debs’. It’s tiny, just seven or eight tables, but I can assure you that the Waddling Duck Café serves the best cream teas in the whole of Devon, and you, Charlotte Chadwick, are the perfect person to hold the fort until a new custodian comes along. I haven’t said this before, but you remind me of Debs. Your scones, your cakes, your tarts, they’re just like hers, delicious and light as air!’

‘And it’s the perfect place for you to work out what direction you want your future to go,’ Hannah added, her eyes shining. ‘Whether it’s taking another food stylist assignment, or switching to fashion photography, or maybe doing something completely different, like launching your own mobile desserts business, which has my vote. Oh, Lottie, you’ve got to do this.’

Lottie stared at Hannah and Henry, her mind rotating through her options. She could mope around the flat, feeling sorry for herself, applying for unsuitable jobs just so she wouldn’t go stir crazy battling her anxiety monsters, or she could escape the turmoil of her life in London and spend the next few weeks in a gorgeous part of the world where she could take her time deciding which path to take.

‘But I don’t know the first thing about managing a café.’

‘Don’t worry. Cleo, that’s Debs’ wonderful part-time waitress, she knows the ropes, so she’ll be able to help you out until you find your feet, which I know won’t take very long. So, is that a yes?’

Lottie hadn’t realised that a smile was tugging at her lips. What did she have to lose?

‘Okay, it’s a yes.’

‘Fantastic. I’ll let Debs know the good news and tell her she’d better get packing. Thank you so much for doing this, Lottie. Oh, and there’s one other thing.’

‘What’s that?’

‘The Little Sweeting summer garden party.’

‘What about it?’

‘Debs organises one every year. It’s held on the lawn between the café and the glamping site.’

‘O… kay.’

‘And this year there’s some kind of celebrity singer coming to open it.’

‘O… kay.’

‘And it’s next Sunday.’

Chapter Three

The Waddling Duck Café, Little Sweeting, Devon

One week later

‘Hurry up, Lottie, they need you outside to cut the ribbon!’

‘But I thought our resident pop star had that honour?’

‘It seems Sasha Richards is far too busy scattering her celebrity stardust.’ Cleo giggled. ‘Did you see the way Ethan was hanging on her every word? Yesterday he had no idea who she was, and now he’s acting like he’s her number one fan! Come on, someone needs to declare Little Sweeting’s thirty-first summer garden party open or there’ll be a riot!’

‘Okay, if you’re sure you don’t want to do it. You’ve put in a lot more work than I have – those Stilton and grape scones are to die for, by the way, not to mention the chocolate fudge muffins!’

‘And you made the strawberry shortbread, the mini apricot pavlovas, and the jugs of home-made lemonade with the sprigs of lemon mint that Kit grew himself in the garden at the back of his florist’s shop especially for this occasion!’

Lottie smiled. She had only been in Little Sweeting for a short time and yet she had been welcomed with open arms and offers of help from what felt like everyone who owned a business in the village, and beyond.

From Kit at the peppermint-painted florist’s shop across the road who brought her a posy of beautiful white roses, to Hazel with hair that matched the sugar-pink façade of her beauty salon next door – who came with a voucher for her choice of treatment – and Christina who owned the wedding boutique opposite the village pub, the Crow’s Nest, they had all made a point of dropping into the café to have a chat over a coffee and a slice of lemon drizzle cake and to wish her well in her new endeavour. She’d even had a visit from the vicar Reverand Reynolds and his wife, Anthea.

‘Okay, then why don’t we do it together?’

‘Agreed! Oh, and you’d better have your best smile ready. When Dan Forrester from one of Devonshire’s finest local newspapers, The Great Sweeting Gazette, heard that Sasha and her friends were staying in our luxury lodges, and that she had agreed to be guest of honour at the garden party, he jumped in his little red MG and drove up here like Lewis Hamilton’s older brother.’

Lottie hobbled in Cleo’s wake across the sweeping lawn at the rear of the Waddling Duck Café. She wished she had stuck to her usual preference of putting practicality over sartorial elegance and worn her ballet flats instead of the ivory stilettos with four-inch heels she’d worn for the ill-fated awards ceremony the previous week. The heels sunk into the ground with every step she took and made her look like one of the café’s namesakes.

‘I’m loving the belted tea dress, Lottie. That peach-and-cream floral pattern really compliments your hair.’

‘Nothing compliments my hair! It’s the hirsute equivalent of jazz hands.’

‘Don’t say that. I know lots of people who would love to have your flowing Titian curls. Right. Ready to perform today’s starring role?’ Cleo handed Lottie a pair of scissors and pointed to where Dan was lurking like a pugnacious paparazzo. ‘Smile for the camera!’

Lottie forced a smile onto her lips whilst simultaneously cursing her spur-of-the-moment decision – which she’d put down to the shock of Claude’s disloyalty and the influence of Henry’s fine Claret – to swap London for rural Devon and become the new host, and organiser, of the village’s much-anticipated garden party. And far from “running itself”, as Henry had asserted, managing the glamping site as well as the café had proved to be a mammoth task, and she had been battling her rising stress levels all week.

Not for the first time did she wish she’d stuck to styling photoshoots for ungrateful celebrity chefs, although, of course, that hadn’t been an option, and she swallowed down the sharp stab of pain that invaded her heart when she was reminded that Claude had not even had the decency to return any of her calls, or even respond to the voicemail she’d left telling him she’d relocated to Devon. However, as her mum had always told her, there was no use crying over spilt milk, or in her case, a broken hanging egg chair.

‘Lottie, can you look like you’re enjoying yourself, please?’ Dan asked from behind the lens.

‘Sorry.’

When Dan had eventually declared himself satisfied with his snapshots, Lottie picked up the mobile microphone and tentatively tapped the end with her fingertips, producing a screech of bounce-back which caused every single garden party guest to pause in their conversation and swivel round to stare at her and Cleo. She ignored the sudden pirouette of nerves and cleared her throat, determined to channel her inner Jonti Farrington-Arquette.

‘Hello everyone, and a warm welcome to the Waddling Duck Café. It’s lovely to see you all, and I hope you’ll enjoy the delicious afternoon tea we’ve laid on for you, and that you’ll indulge in a few glasses of the café’s very own speciality punch made by the wonderful Cleo Williams. So, without further ado, it gives us both great pleasure to declare the Little Sweeting summer garden party… open!’

Lottie grabbed Cleo’s hand and together they snipped the lilac ribbon to a smattering of appreciative applause, followed by an almost indecent stampede across the lawn towards the linen-bedecked tables that held the pretty three-tiered cake-stands and china cups and saucers.

The whole place looked exactly like any other garden party that was probably taking place in lots of villages up and down the country on a warm afternoon at the beginning of July. Triangles of pastel-coloured bunting and paper butterflies fluttered in the hedges, whilst wooden planters and terracotta pots, crammed with geraniums, had been dotted around the gardens. Tiny hand-crafted windmills in the café’s signature lilac colours rotated serenely in the breeze to add to the picturesque scene.

‘I hope there are enough sandwiches to go round,’ said Lottie as she performed a quick sweep of the garden. ‘Do you think I should make a few more of the salmon and cucumber? What about another batch of the cherry and almond scones? I could slice up a peppermint-and-rose Battenburg? Or what if I pop a tray of cranberry cookies in the oven? Oh, and didn’t you want to showcase your new lavender-frosted madeleines?’

‘Stop fretting, Lottie. Everything’s perfect!’ Cleo assured her.

But Lottie didn’t share Cleo’s optimism. Life had a way of dropping bombshells at the least opportune moments – the events of the previous week had shown her that, as well as over fifty thousand people who had viewed the YouTube video of Claude’s unfortunate circus-esque performance to date. She hadn’t admitted this to anyone, but she had sometimes felt like she was one of those characters from a comic book who walked around with a raincloud dangling over her head whilst everyone else basked in glorious sunshine.

Although, to be fair, it did look like her luck had started to change at last.

She adored the quirky café with its white-washed walls, lilac-painted window frames and front door, and the wooden window boxes that Henry’s sister Debs had planted with lavender and decorated with lilac ribbons that fluttered in the breeze.

Since arriving in Little Sweeting – sadly, the day after a joyous Debs had left for her new adventure in Australia, which meant she hadn’t been able to ask her any of the questions she and Hannah had determined essential for a newbie café manager to know the answers to – she had been caught up in a frenzy of activity, of people dropping by to introduce themselves and offering their advice and support. She had especially clicked with Rory from the art gallery and photography studio next door to the Crow’s Nest, and she hoped she’d be able to find time in her busy schedule to spend a few hours with him, discussing his inspiration for the stunning watercolours that were on display in the window.

The meteorological gods were playing their part, too. Temperatures had soared during the week, and that day’s sunrise had brought another clear blue sky and the barest whisper of a breeze; perfect for an early summer garden party, but not so ideal if you worked in a kitchen, and a tiny one at that. Bijoux was overstating it! After spending the morning baking up a storm, she knew her cheeks were glowing – not an attractive sight alongside her amber curls.

‘Do you think it would be rude to ask Sasha Richards for her autograph?’ asked Cleo, biting into a cucumber sandwich, her pinkie finger sticking out at a right-angle.

Lottie smiled at her new friend, without whom she would probably have hightailed it back to London within minutes of flicking through the level-arch file Debs had left for her “leisurely perusal”. With her chocolate-brown waves held back by an Alice band of daisies, and clad in a flared summer cotton jumpsuit, Cleo looked every inch a 1960s flower child – despite the fact that she hadn’t even been born then. As slender as a shop mannequin, she seemed to bound through life with a smile on her face and a song in her heart.

Cleo’s talents were many; not only was she famous for the lightness of her cheese scones, but she also designed her own wide selection of aprons, modelling a different one every day, mostly made from fabric she bought from market stalls. Only that morning, as they prepared to whip up a batch of the mini-Victoria sponge cakes for the garden party, Lottie had been forced to perform a double-take when Cleo tied her apron strings around her midriff – only heaving a sigh of relief when she worked out that the pattern was, in fact, links of sausages and not something altogether more risqué.

‘Maybe you should wait until later when everyone’s finished eating, the wine is flowing, and the vibe is more relaxed?’ said Lottie.

‘Good idea. Oh, hello there, vicar. Are you having fun?’

‘I am indeed, Cleo, thank you.’ The vicar smiled, smoothing his palm across his comb-over before turning his attention to Lottie. ‘The table linen and the floral arrangements are absolutely wonderful, my dear. I particularly like what you’ve done with the bamboo chairs. Very creative, I must say. In fact, the whole afternoon is an absolute triumph!’

‘Thank you,’ said Lottie, a warm feeling rushing through her veins. ‘I didn’t want to let anyone down, so I made sure I followed Debs’ instructions to the letter, but I couldn’t resist adding a few of my own styling touches.’

‘Well, it certainly looks like you’ve settled in.’

‘I have. Everyone’s been so kind and welcoming, but tell me one thing – is it always so warm here? I did hope we’d have sunshine for the garden party, but this heat is bordering on tropical!’

‘Best be careful, my dear! If the weather gods hear you criticising them, they may decide to take their revenge. We don’t want a wash-out like we had at the church fête last month, do we, Cleo?’

‘Definitely not! I had visions of Debs’ holiday lodges floating out of the field like miniature houseboats on a tidal wave!’

As Reverend Reynolds strolled away in search of a cup of camomile tea, Lottie glanced over Cleo’s shoulder at the upmarket glamping site – bordered by the Waddling Duck Café and Hazel’s hairdressers and beauty salon, Tangles & Tresses, on one side and the river on the other side –  where six luxury lodges, along with a gorgeous shepherd’s hut painted pale lilac and cream, could be hired by discerning holidaymakers who craved a taste of the English countryside but refused to ditch the luxury lifestyle. Each lodge had been crafted from the best Scandinavian pine to produce a hi-spec home-away-from-home, equipped with SMEG appliances, Gaggia coffee machines, thousand-thread-count sheets and fluffy white Christy towels.

She sighed. How wonderful it would be to live in one of those wooden cabins, to be able to relax in the outdoor spa after a long, hard day in the café, gazing up at the stars with a glass of Prosecco in one hand and a glossy cookery book in the other.

But she couldn’t complain; she loved the tiny apartment above the café that came with the position of café manager, baker, waitress, and reluctant washer-upper because for reasons only known to herself, Debs had refused to install a dishwasher. From the studio’s kitchen sink, she had an uninterrupted view of a patchwork of fields and woodland, stitched together with verdant hedgerows, with the popular outward-bounds centre, where Cleo’s friends Ethan and Matt worked, in the distance.

Then, if she spun around one-hundred-and-eighty degrees, she could feast her eyes on the colourful shops on Little Sweeting’s high street – Kit’s florist’s shop, with the dog groomer’s to the left, painted in a jaunty burnt orange, and Rory’s smart navy-blue gallery and the Crow’s Nest pub to the right. At the end of the street was a well-maintained village green, complete with a weeping willow protecting the duck pond, and if she stood onto her tiptoes and squinted her eyes, she could just about catch a glimpse of the sea in the distance, its surface sparkling with a sheen of iridescent pearls.

When she had left London, she had never in her wildest dreams thought she would be fortunate enough to end up in a place as beautiful as Little Sweeting. The apartment was the ideal retreat for a heart-broken ex-food stylist who had left behind all the hurt and recriminations in the hope of getting her life back on track in a tiny village on the south coast of Devon. She sent up a quick missive of thanks to her guardian angel for returning to duty in the nick of time.

‘So, Cleo…’ Lottie grinned, helping herself to a cheese and tomato sandwich. ‘Which of old Mrs Faversham’s suggestions for a sun-filled afternoon did you try out in the end? Did you dance naked under a silver moon with marigolds in your hair? Or maybe you decided to go with rustling up one of her herbal recipes as a peace offering to the “rain nymphs”? Both are ridiculous if you ask me.’

‘Well, whatever your opinion of the dark arts, her magic seems to have worked! Come on, let’s grab Matt and Ethan before they disappear. Maybe we can persuade them to help us with the tidying up and then we can all go for a celebratory drink at the Crow’s Nest afterwards. Don’t think I haven’t noticed how well you and Matt were getting on when he came over to help us set up the tables yesterday,’ Cleo added, an impish glint in her eye. ‘Just say if the two of you would rather be alone.’

Lottie rolled her eyes. Whilst she was grateful for Cleo’s easy acceptance of a new arrival in her friendship group, if she thought she was setting her up with the local Action Man, she would be sorely disappointed.

Lottie had had it with love.

Chapter Four

‘Hey, Lottie, great party!’ Ethan declared, hoovering up the left-over desserts like he was on a gastronomic safari. ‘Did I mention that you make the most amazing cakes? In fact, don’t tell her I said this, but I think they might be better than Debs’.’

‘Oh, but Lottie is a woman of many talents, Ethan,’ said Cleo, casting a surreptitious glance in Matt’s direction to make sure he was listening whilst she listed her new friend’s numerous attributes. ‘Not only is she a brilliant baker, she’s also a fabulous café manager, a demon organiser, and don’t forget she used to be a super-talented stylist in London. She’s been nominated for lots of awards and was even commissioned to stage photoshoots for several mega-famous TV stars.’

‘Well, I wouldn’t go so far as to…’

Lottie paused, uncertain about what to say. She didn’t want to embarrass Cleo by correcting her in front of an audience – and anyway, maybe Cleo counted Claude Devereaux in her definition of “mega-famous TV stars”. Thankfully, she was saved from having to decide by the arrival of the real-life celebrity in their midst who was clutching a bottle of Champagne as if her life depended on it.

‘Hi, everyone! Lottie, this is the best garden party I’ve been to in years. I’m thrilled to have been invited. I’m sorry I got side-tracked and wasn’t around to cut the ribbon earlier. I really must start honing my rapid extraction skills as well as my networking skills!’

‘Thanks, Sasha, that’s very kind of you. I had a lot of help though, from Cleo, from the vicar’s wife Anthea, and the ladies from the Little Sweeting WI did help with the sandwiches. Can I introduce you to Matt and Ethan? They run Extreme Quests, the outward-bounds centre in the village.’

‘Hi there!’

Sasha tossed her long blonde hair over her shoulder and held out her slender fingers to an awestruck Ethan, before turning her attention to Matt, her gold-flecked manicure glistening in the sunshine, her glossy pink lips parted to reveal a perfect Californian smile.

‘I hope you and your friends are enjoying yourselves in Little Sweeting,’ said Matt as he reached out to take Sasha’s proffered palm.

‘Oh, we are! It’s a fantastic start to a week away from my frazzled work schedule. When my boyfriend Dylan suggested a luxury countryside break before the onslaught of all the hard work of a recording contract, well, let me tell you, I leapt at the chance. The lodges are absolutely gorgeous, but next time I’m going to insist on staying in that little shepherd’s hut. It’s so cute! Anyway, excuse me, got to circulate!’

Lottie watched Sasha make her way to the terrace at the rear of the café where her friends lounged on the lilac and cream painted benches, drinking Champagne straight from the bottle, laughing raucously, and generally enjoying the sunshine and relaxation.

‘So, Lottie, I notice we still haven’t seen you over at Extreme Quests yet. What’s the matter? Allergic to mud?’ Matt laughed, cute dimples appearing in his cheeks.

With muscular shoulders and toned biceps from his daily involvement in the activities on offer at his outward-bounds centre, Matt possessed that healthy outdoors kind of charm that attracted admirers and Lottie understood why Cleo considered him to be perfect dating material. His spiky hair, the colour of honey, had been teased into surfer-dude tufts with a smidgeon of gel, but, when she took the time to look more closely, she could see a shadow of sadness lurking behind his dark blue eyes and she wondered briefly what had caused it. She had meant to ask Cleo about Matt’s relationship history but hadn’t had the courage for fear her friend would interpret her questions as romantic interest. However, there was no way she was going to let him believe the reason she hadn’t visited Extreme Quests was because she was some kind of pristine princess, even if it was true.

‘Actually, I’m quite capable of getting down and dirty with the best of them.’

Lottie cringed when she realised what she had said, and heat whooshed into her cheeks at the amusement she saw flicker across Matt’s expression.

‘So, you’re a stylist as well as a holiday site manager, are you?’ said Ethan, oblivious to Lottie’s discomfort. ‘Did you make all these fabulously frothy lilac and white decorations for the garden party?’

‘I did.’

‘And all the pots and planters,’ Cleo added proudly. ‘Lottie’s a staging maestro!’

A curl of pleasure meandered through Lottie’s veins at receiving a second accolade in ten minutes. She had loved all-things art-related since childhood; at the tender age of ten she was already collecting images she’d cut out of her mother’s old cookery magazines and creating vignettes with them before taking snaps with her ancient Pentax camera, instead of joining her friends on the hockey pitch or netball courts.

However, she had never intended to make a career out of it.

While her sister Georgia had dreamed of becoming a famous actress, Lottie had preferred to spend her time chatting with her father – usually in his beloved greenhouse – about their shared passion for detective novels; their favourites being the stories written by that grand dame of murder mysteries, Agatha Christie. She had read every one of the author’s books before the age of fourteen and had loved discussing the plot’s twists and turns, especially enjoying their competitions to be the first to identify the culprit.

In fact, her interest in solving puzzles had fuelled her early ambitions to follow in her father’s footsteps into the legal profession, albeit not into commercial law like him, but criminal defence. She had moved on from Agatha Christie to become fascinated with court room dramas, discovering John Grisham whose stories had sealed her dream to qualify as a lawyer.

Sadly, that wasn’t to be, and she’d been forced to shelve her best-laid plans in the face of the overwhelming upheaval after her father’s death that had a detrimental effect on her exam results. As reading law at university was no longer an option, she had been guided by a sympathetic personal tutor towards her second passion, art and design, as well as indulging in her love of baking as a way of distracting herself from what was going on in her life, which had the knock-on effect of ensuring her devastated family got to eat.

And now it looked like her second-choice career was no longer an option either.

She was upset that her job as a food stylist-to-the-stars had morphed into a nightmare so quickly, but since arriving in Little Sweeting with not much more than a suitcase to her name, the Waddling Duck Café had gently unwrapped the mantle of misery from her shoulders, and the warmth of the people she had encountered had helped to plaster over the cracks in her heart. She was so grateful to have been gifted the opportunity to get her life back on track that she intended to work hard to make a success of not only the garden party and the café, but the holiday site as well.

Maybe dreams could change?

Maybe Debs would reconsider her decision to sell, and Lottie could pursue her love of baking, just as Hannah had suggested?

‘Ah, now I understand your “getting down and dirty” comment!’ Matt grinned, a flicker of mischief appearing in his eyes. ‘If you’re interested in botanicals, perhaps you can let Ethan take you on a guided walk through the grounds of Extreme Quests. There’s lots of flora and fauna, though I don’t think you’ll find anything suitable for your table decorations or planters.’

‘Sounds like a great idea,’ said Lottie, thinking it was a much better proposition than going all Tarzanesque on a zip wire through the treetop canopy. ‘I might take you up on that, Ethan.’

‘No problem. You might be the go-to girl for posh flower arrangements, but I’m your man when it comes to wildflowers. Wildflowers can be just as beautiful as any others, but you need to be careful what you touch. Some are toxic, not just to animals, but to humans, too. Laburnum, foxgloves, oleander, belladonna… ingesting just a small amount could kill you.’

‘Is that true?’ Cleo’s eyes widened and she ran her palms up and down her forearms to eradicate the goosebumps that had appeared.

‘Deadly!’

Unlike Matt who had stuck to his work attire of figure-hugging black jeans and matching EQ logo-ed tee shirt, Ethan looked positively jaunty sporting a pair of smart navy trousers and a lime green polo shirt which accentuated the colour of his eyes – a prophetic choice as it didn’t clash with his hair which was the colour of a fox’s tail. He looked like he had just stepped from the deck of his luxury yacht.

‘Gosh, I had no idea you could die from touching flowers! Lottie, what if I’ve inadvertently included one of those wildflowers in our table arrangements? Oh my God, our garden party guests are going to die in agony, and it’ll be all my fault!’ Cleo panicked.

Lottie laughed. ‘Don’t worry, I think we’re safe, Cleo.’

‘God, where’s the Prosecco? I need a top-up!’

Cleo rushed off to the makeshift wine bar, with a chuckling Ethan lolloping in her wake, and Lottie and Matt sauntered after them. Sasha was there, too, ordering yet another bottle of chilled Champagne.

‘Lottie, my sister Jess has suggested I perform a few songs later. Do you mind?’

‘Wow, awesome!’ declared Ethan, nodding emphatically in Lottie’s direction.

‘That would be wonderful, Sasha, but do you really want to sing? I thought you were here to relax?’ Lottie asked.

‘I am, but it’s been such a beautiful afternoon, I thought I’d practice a couple of the songs I’m a bit rusty on before I go into the recording studio next week. Do you mind if I use the terrace outside the cafe?’

‘Of course not. Do you need me to do anything?’

‘Actually, yes. I don’t suppose you have any honey in the café’s kitchen, do you?’

‘Honey? Yes, I think so. Why?’

‘I use it to make my throat spray with a few drops of peppermint oil. I can’t sing without it, and I seem to have run out.’

‘No problem at all.’

Lottie led Sasha into the café and through the door into the kitchen. Having successfully catered for a party of over forty ravenous villagers, she was proud that she had directed the whole operation with flawless efficiency. She cast a quick glance around the room and, as she had expected, the place was pristine, and she allowed herself a sigh of relief.

The marble countertops had been cleared of all culinary debris, polished until they sparkled, and the sharp bite of ammonia stung her nostrils. Cleo had accused her of practically bathing in the stuff but since being forced to leave London in such humiliating circumstances, she knew she had reverted to the strange kind of comfort she had always found in maintaining scrupulous hygiene standards.

‘Ergh, what’s with the intense chlorine smell?’

Sasha’s exclamation took Lottie by surprise and a surge of warmth travelled from her chest up into her neck and glowed at her cheeks. However, the last thing she wanted to do was talk to Sasha about recent events and her resumed struggle with the cleanliness demons, how making sure that everything was so clean it squeaked was the only thing that gave her the peace of mind she craved. So, to cover her embarrassment, she strode quickly to the cupboard above the fridge and removed a jar of Jarrah honey.

‘Is this what you’re looking for?’

‘Perfect! Thank you, Lottie, you’re an absolute lifesaver. My throat is so sore from all the talking I’ve done this afternoon. I take a lot of stick from Dylan and Amber, but I can’t even think about singing without a bottle of my special spray in my pocket. It’s sort of like my good luck charm. See you later. Eight o’clock on the terrace. Don’t be late!’

Lottie watched Sasha flick her hair over her shoulder and meander back towards her friends, clutching the jar of honey as if it contained the elixir of youth. For some unfathomable reason, a spasm of sympathy shot into Lottie’s heart, and she took a moment to contemplate the five people who had taken over the luxury lodges at the Waddling Duck Café’s holiday site.

Dylan, Sasha’s boyfriend, was still conspicuous by his absence despite being expected for the ribbon-cutting ceremony, and whilst the others were certainly all fascinating characters, she had little in common with any of them. Sasha, and her best friend Amber, clearly had more of an affinity with the contents of a drinks cabinet than an interest in food styling, flower-arranging, or baking, and she made a mental note to hide her emergency bottle of Gordon’s just in case.

She liked Jess, Sasha’s younger sister, but despite being twenty-one, she acted like an immature teenager rather than an independent adult. She seemed to float along in a world of her own, happy to follow in her boyfriend Leo’s wake like an excitable puppy on its first walk on the beach. Lottie had already had to fight to keep Leo out of the café’s kitchen. The first thing he had told her when they’d checked in at the lodges was that one day, in the not too distant future, he hoped to be the proud owner of a Michelin star, if not two. The guy seemed to have modelled his entire life, as well as his physical appearance, on becoming the next version of the Naked Chef, right down to his accent – strange, because Leo had also told her he was from Cornwall, not Essex.

Finally, her eyes came to rest on William, Sasha’s tall, dark and handsome music manager, who also happened to be Amber’s boyfriend. He stood a little apart from the group, as if watching a bunch of toddlers enjoying an afternoon cavorting in the playground. Lottie was grateful that there was at least one sensible person in their group otherwise she suspected the whole party could quite easily descend into disarray – something she wasn’t good at coping with.

Chapter Five

After saying her goodbyes to everyone who had attended her first Little Sweeting summer garden party, Lottie grabbed a roll of black bin bags, handed one each to Matt, Ethan and Cleo and together they began the tedious task of stuffing them with litter. With the extra help, the tidying up didn’t take as long as she had expected, and by six o’clock a casual onlooker would never have known there had been a party at the Waddling Duck Café that afternoon.

She made a fresh pitcher of home-made lemonade and took a seat next to Cleo at one of the wooden tables on the terrace for a well-deserved rest, whilst Ethan went off in search of a bucket of ice in which to store his beers.

‘So, are you pleased to be back from your trek around the world?’ Lottie asked Cleo, enjoying the sensation of the cold, sharp, citrusy nectar trickling down her throat.

‘Having a gap year is a fantastic experience. I’ve seen some amazing sights, but there is nothing quite like being at home. Mum and Dad are ecstatic that I made it back in one piece. Mum’s got me helping with the flowers in the church, as well as baking all this stuff for the Rev’s homeless charity, and Dad’s roped me in with the gardening and tending the greenhouse. I don’t mind, though. I’m still writing my travel blog and, of course, I was loving working with Debs, and now you, here in the café over the summer. Did Matt tell you he’s offered me a part-time job as a zip wire instructor when the season ends in October? Can’t wait to start the training with Little Sweeting’s very own answer to Bear Grylls. And Ethan’s promised to take me windsurfing and wild camping.’

‘You can definitely count me out of those very special experiences,’ Lottie shuddered. ‘What’s so enjoyable about getting cold, wet and muddy?’

‘Oh, wild camping is lots of fun! Actually, Ethan and I were talking about trying it out in the Great Sweeting woods next weekend. We’ll be foraging for all our food and water and sleeping under the stars. Why don’t you come along?’

‘Gosh, I’ll take a raincheck on that if you don’t mind!’ She laughed as Matt and Ethan joined them on the terrace.

‘Lottie, do you mind if I make myself a coffee? Ethan couldn’t find any ice and I don’t think I could stomach another bottle of warm beer. Want one?’ Matt asked.

Before Lottie could offer to do it herself, Matt had marched into the café kitchen and flicked the switch on the kettle. He spooned freshly-ground coffee into a cafetière with the careless abandon of a three-year-old in a sand pit, sending a generous scattering of the granules across the marble bench top.

Where only moments before soothing orderliness had reigned supreme, there was now a plethora of culinary chaos. Lottie’s desperation to create order that had always lurked just beneath the surface – even when she was content with her life in London – reared its ugly head, and her fingertips tingled with the effort it took not to rush over to the sink and grab a cloth to start wiping away the mess. She chanced a quick glance at Matt from beneath her eyelashes and saw him raise his brows in enquiry.

‘You okay?’

‘I’m fine, thanks,’ she improvised. ‘Just tired. I hadn’t realised just how exhausting it would be to manage the Waddling Duck Café as well as the holiday site, but I’m enjoying every minute of it.’

‘So, does that mean you’re too busy to come over to the centre for a flight on the zip wire?’ Matt’s eyes crinkled with his familiar mischief, nudging her flagging spirits northwards. On the two occasions so far that she’d joined Cleo for a drink at the Crow’s Nest, he and Ethan had spent the evening trying to persuade her to spend the next day with them at the outward-bounds centre and she admired their persistence with a lost cause.

‘I’d rather stick my hand in a meat grinder!’ She laughed, trying her hardest not to let her eyes drift back to the spilled coffee.

‘Not a lover of heights, then?’

Matt was right, indoor pursuits had always been more her thing, like studying new photography techniques, scouring the internet for the latest tips and tricks in food styling, and then cooking up a storm so she could try them out. But now she was settling into her new life in the country, far away from the city life and urban sprawl she had left behind in London, there was no reason why she shouldn’t introduce a few changes, start enjoying a new, more rural lifestyle. Wasn’t life all about trying new things? Should she give the zip wire a go? A shiver of trepidation shot down her spine just thinking about it. Maybe she could begin with something a little closer to the ground.

‘What else do you have at Extreme Quests apart from the zip wire?’

‘Lots of things. We’ve got the climbing wall, there’s the quad bike safaris, you could try paintballing, field archery, hover-carting, wild camping, and then there’s my personal favourite – the woodland obstacle course – although that’s best enjoyed after we’ve had some rain. Which one floats your boat then?’

Lottie gulped. Each activity sounded worse than the last, and the thought of having to choose between them caused her head to spin. What on earth was hover-carting? There was only one way to find out and with all-action-hero Matt at her side whilst she gave them a go, she suspected she’d be able to conquer anything – except the zip wire.

She sat up straight and pushed her shoulders back, met Matt’s gaze and said, ‘I think I might give the archery a go.’

‘That’s great, Lottie.’ Matt grinned broadly, his whole face lighting up with pleasure at recruiting a potential convert. ‘A fitting choice. Has anyone ever told you that you bear more than a striking resemblance to that Disney character in Brave? Same unruly hair, same scattering of freckles across the bridge of your nose, same determined tilt of the chin.’

Lottie knew exactly who Matt was referring to. She had often been told she resembled Merida, but only because of her hair, not because she possessed a penchant for using a bow and arrow when things got tough – although she had often craved a soupçon of the character’s courage to get her through the difficult times.

‘Yes, quite a few people actually.’

‘Okay, then it’s decided, field archery, it is. I’ll sort it out for one night next week after we close so that we can have the course to ourselves. Don’t look so terrified. I know you’re going to love it!’

She smiled at Matt’s evident delight that she had agreed to ditch her doubts and launch herself into something new. For a reason she couldn’t put her finger on, each time she had found herself in his company she felt more alive, more willing to take chances, to step outside her narrow comfort zone and into the excitement of the unknown. She wondered how he did it. Claude had certainly never made her feel like that. Quite the opposite, in fact.

‘I think “love it” might be going a bit far.’

‘Why do you say that? How do you know until you’ve tried?’ Matt’s voice had softened as he searched her eyes for a clue as to why she was so scared of trying something different.

Lottie felt her cheeks glow under his scrutiny. How could she explain to the super-confident Matt that after what had happened with Claude, and his parting comments about her “substandard” stylist skills – which had cut her to the core and still rotated through her mind on a continual ticker-tape of mortification – her self-esteem had crashed to an all-time low?

‘Come on,’ she said, avoiding Matt’s questions. ‘Let’s take our coffees outside onto the terrace and enjoy the last of the sunshine.’

Chapter Six

‘Hi, guys, mind if we join you on the terrace?’ asked Sasha, a couple of bottles of Prosecco poking out from beneath each arm.

‘Of course not.’

Lottie smiled as her holiday lodge guests made their way to the adjacent table. Sasha and Jess were giggling and teasing Leo about his peach-coloured jumper, a replica of the one Jamie Oliver wore on the cover of his current cookery book. Amber, her auburn bob slightly dishevelled, was encouraging William to open another bottle of Prosecco rosé from the crate of twelve they had brought with them. There was still no sign of Dylan, Sasha’s errant boyfriend, and Lottie wondered what had happened to make him so late.

‘Looks like they’ve been drinking all afternoon,’ Matt whispered.

Cleo rolled her eyes, but Ethan decided to take advantage of the situation.

‘Hey, Sasha, congratulations on scoring a recording contract. I’m really looking forward to hearing you sing tonight! It’ll be a fabulous treat and a great way to round off a very enjoyable day,’ said Ethan, tipping his head back to drink from his bottle of beer, trying to appear nonchalant despite the fact his cheeks were flushed. He was clearly in awe of Sasha and her glamorous friends.

‘Thanks! I’m stoked, but it’s no overnight success story, you know. I’ve worked my guts out for this. Since graduating from music school in Sheffield, I’ve sung in some of the most decrepit and flea-ridden bars and social clubs in the country. That’s where I met Amber and William – at uni, I mean, not in the flea-ridden bars – and Amber has been my best friend ever since, haven’t you, darling?’

‘Certainly have.’ Amber nodded, tucking her hair behind her ears. She was smiling but Lottie detected a faint cloud of petulance pass over the woman’s polished features, before she tossed back the contents of her glass and held it out to Leo for a refill. ‘Ergh, it’s far too warm.’

‘Why don’t I put a couple of bottles in the freezer for you?’ asked Lottie.

‘Great idea. Thanks, Lottie.’ Sasha smiled.

After a quick trip to the kitchen Lottie returned with two silver ice buckets, one for each table. But before she had the chance to plunge the remaining bottles of Prosecco into the floating ice cubes, a blast of laughter exploded into the air. Leo had stumbled backwards against the table, dislodging one of the buckets and drenching Amber with freezing cold water.

‘Stupid idiot, Leo! Look what you’ve done! You’ve completely ruined my dress!’ she screamed, holding the soaking fabric away from her chest in an effort to prevent the icy water seeping onto her skin.

‘Sorry, Amber. I’m not used to drinking this much Champagne in the afternoon.’

‘Prosecco, Leo. It’s Prosecco, not Champagne, you philistine!’

‘Oh, come on, Amber,’ soothed Sasha. ‘It was an accident. Look, why don’t you go over to my lodge to get changed? You can even borrow one of my stage outfits if you like. I’ve brought a couple with me – help yourself.’

‘Well, are you coming with me?’ Amber asked William, her hands on her hips, eyebrows raised, clearly mollified by Sasha’s generous offer.

‘Not just yet. Why don’t you get changed and come back outside? Show off the dress to us all?’

Amber tossed another venomous glare in the direction of Leo and stormed off towards Sasha’s lodge.

Lottie watched in silent fascination as the domestic drama unfolded in front of her. She felt as though she, Cleo, Ethan and Matt were sitting in the stalls at an open-air theatre whilst the actors performed a short sketch solely for their benefit, especially when Sasha flicked her blonde hair over her shoulder, removed her silver compact and reapplied a coat of frosty pink lipstick, beaming round at her adoring audience – mainly Ethan and Jess. Lottie had to admit that Sasha did look every inch the singing star. Perhaps her scarlet, off-the-shoulder dress and leopard print stilettos were a little too theatrical for the terrace of a Devonshire café, but it was the perfect outfit for a celebrity-in-the-making.

When Lottie had checked the group into their lodges the previous day, Jess had boasted continuously about the recording contract Sasha had just signed after years on the circuit in Ibiza’s cosmopolitan bars. She had warmed to Jess straight away; a free-spirit, a sprite of a girl, with no real comprehension of her sister’s success, and she clearly inhabited an alternate stratosphere. She was sweet and fun, but kind of vacant and scatter-brained. Lottie quickly chastised herself for her less-than-kind thought. There was nothing wrong with being forgetful – not everyone craved extreme orderliness in their lives like she did.

‘Will Amber be okay? She didn’t look very happy about being drenched in water,’ said Lottie, concerned that William hadn’t followed her to their lodge as she had so clearly wanted him to.

‘Oh, don’t worry. She’ll be fine,’ said William, a flicker of irritation floating across his expression. ‘But it doesn’t help when Leo starts teasing her.’

‘Did you see the look on her face when the water hit her?’ Leo laughed. ‘Ah, I wish I’d had my phone ready. That would have been some ice bucket challenge for my Instagram page – seeing the uptight cow brought down a peg or two.’

‘You promised you’d make an effort to be kind to Amber while we’re here, Leo,’ Sasha reprimanded him. ‘You know how she’s feeling at the moment.’

‘So what? If she can’t be happy for her best friend’s good fortune and insists on indulging in a childish spurt of jealousy, how is that my fault?’

‘Stop it, Leo,’ interjected William, a sharp warning tone creeping into his voice.

Once again, that strangest of feelings swept over Lottie – as though she was invisible, a mere incidental onlooker. She saw Leo flash his eyes at William, clearly considering some scathing retort, but at the last minute he made the decision to change the subject, although Lottie wasn’t sure it was to safer ground.

‘Anyway, where’s Dylan got to, Sasha? I thought you said he would be here in time for the garden party. Must have been some reunion session with the lads in Bristol last night. Always did say Dylan knows how to party. Not this old-ladies-who-lunch-style of bash we’ve just been subjected to. Sorry, Lottie, but excuse me if I left my tiara and pearls behind in Ibiza!’

Lottie opened her mouth to respond but had no idea what to say so she closed it again, ending up looking like a gobsmacked goldfish. She caught Matt’s eye and he smirked at her, shaking his head at their new friends’ antics as Leo snaked his arm round Jess’s slim waist, drew her towards him and dropped a kiss on her lips.

‘Had a little par-tay ourselves last night though, didn’t we, honey?’

‘We did!’ Jess giggled, leaning backwards so she could coil her arms around his neck.

‘But hey, Lottie, Cleo, I must congratulate you both on earning your crowns as Queens of Culinary Excellence! I don’t know who made those scones, but they were a-maz-ing! And you’ve got to give me the recipe for those mini apricot pavlovas. De-lic-ious. I poked my head in the door of the café this morning and I saw you both beavering away. You don’t know how lucky you are to have such great facilities – the Waddling Duck Café’s kitchen is like a real professional chef’s laboratory compared to the pokey crevice where I’m expected to perform my culinary magic for a discerning crowd of inebriated tourists.’

Leo shoved the sleeves of his sweater up to his elbows and curled his upper lip in disgust at his perceived misfortune before continuing.

‘It’s usually roast chicken and chips with a side order of coleslaw thrown in, and there’s always a constant litany of complaints. Hard work and talent count for nothing in the restaurants of San Antonio. Any monkey can heat up a beef curry in the microwave or fry a basket of scampi. That is not what I spent three years at catering college for.’

‘Chill, Leo,’ said Jess, trailing her fingers through his blond quiff whilst her own hair, woven with brightly coloured beads, rippled in the late afternoon breeze. ‘You’re a fabulous chef. It’s just a matter of time before your genius is discovered – then you’ll get your own restaurant where you can do whatever you like, I just know it. I reckon you’re absolutely on the verge of getting your big break like Sasha has. In the meantime, you just need to keep studying hard for that lobotomy!’

A very unladylike snort erupted to Lottie’s left as Cleo spluttered into her glass of Prosecco. She didn’t dare look in her friend’s direction in case she succumbed to a fit of giggling, too, but instead looked on in surprise at the swift change in Leo’s demeanour towards his girlfriend.

‘It’s botany, you idiot. Not lobotomy.’

Leo shoved Jess’s arm away, scraped back his chair and stalked off towards their lodge.

‘So, erm, Sasha, where was your last gig?’ Matt asked in an effort to lighten the mood.

‘Amber and I had a residency in a bar in San Antonio throughout the summer season and this year Will decided to come over from Majorca where his family live to join us, didn’t you, Will?’

‘I did.’ William smiled as he turned towards Lottie to explain. ‘I play bass guitar in a rock band, but I also get to act as their manager, for my sins. I handle all the bookings and I also do all the paperwork. It was a contact of mine who had actually come to see me play who spotted Sasha singing and put us in touch with a guy at Mountside Records. They loved her voice, and the rest, as they say, is history.’

‘So, you were instrumental in delivering Sasha’s big break?’ asked Lottie, understanding a little better why Amber seemed so prickly. It would stretch anyone’s friendship to see their boyfriend arrange their best friend’s route to stardom whilst your own career floundered in obscurity. She watched Sasha grab one of the bottles of fizz from the ice bucket and take a swig.

‘That’s right.’ Sasha sighed, wiping dribbles of liquid from her chin with the back of her hand. ‘Will was the catalyst to my new-found fame and potential fortune, much to Amber’s annoyance. He persuaded the guy from Mountside to offer her a gig as a backing singer, but she threw it back at him in disgust. It’s one of the reasons we’re here, actually – as an apology. I thought that if we spent some quality time together, doing something completely different, she would come round. To be honest, it was my boyfriend Dylan’s idea to come down to Devon – although I’m not sure he’s going to be my boyfriend for much longer. The selfish idiot promised me faithfully that he’d be here to help me cut the ribbon for the garden party. But, as you can see…’ She swung the bottle in a wide arc, spilling some of the contents on the terrace. ‘No sign of him.’

Lottie completely understood Sasha’s irritation; Dylan’s absence had been the reason she and Cleo had become honorary ribbon-cutters instead of their celebrity guest – not that she minded.

‘Why hasn’t Dylan arrived yet, Sash? Has he called you to say he’ll be late?’ asked Jess.

‘No, of course not. He’s the most inconsiderate moron this side of the M25.’

Sasha’s eyes suddenly came to rest on Ethan as though she was seeing him for the first time. His jaw gaped and Lottie had the distinct impression that a little drool escaped from his lips. She watched him self-consciously clamp his mouth shut, slide his hands into his pockets, and scuff his loafers in the grass, raising his shoulders and elbows towards his ears in feigned disinterest.

‘Hey, did you know Ethan plays in a band, Sasha?’ said Cleo with a mischievous glint in her eye. ‘He’s really good, too – had a very successful gig last month in our local pub. He adores all kinds of music, so I bet you have heaps in common. Perhaps you should get together to discuss the quirks of the industry sometime?’

‘Oh, I think I can do better than that!’

As Lottie, Matt and Cleo watched on in amusement, Sasha drained the remaining contents of the bottle she was holding in one go. Steadying herself, she bent down to remove her stilettos, linked her arm through Ethan’s and began to steer him towards the lodges in the field behind the Waddling Duck Café.

‘Ethan and I are going to compare musical notes and put a bit of the theory into practice,’ Sasha shouted over her shoulder.

‘Hey, Sasha,’ Leo called, a smile splitting his cheeks when he passed them on the footpath as he made his way back to the group. ‘I hope you haven’t forgotten that you promised to sing for us before we go out for dinner tonight!’

‘Of course not! I’ll get ready and see you back here on the terrace in an hour!’ Sasha giggled as she stumbled through the gate, clinging onto Ethan’s arm to remain upright just as Amber appeared on the veranda of her lodge and performed a rather comedic double-take.

Ethan turned his head for a final look at his friends, his face a mixture of jubilation, trepidation and fear.

Chapter Seven

‘Do you think we should rescue him?’ asked Cleo, her forehead creased with anxiety as she swung her gaze from Lottie to Matt and back to Lottie again.

‘I’m not sure…’ Lottie started.

‘Don’t look so worried, Lottie. I’m sure your friend will be quite safe.’ Jess laughed.

‘What’s Sasha doing?’ Amber demanded when she arrived on the terrace, noticing William’s eyes were still trained on the door of the lodge through which Sasha and Ethan had disappeared a few minutes earlier. ‘And was that Ethan she’s with?’

‘Yes, he’s Sasha’s chosen suitor for a surreptitious interlude of summer delight. Love is in the air…’ Jess began to sing before descending into a fit of giggles. She slipped her hand into Leo’s and stood onto her tiptoes to deposit a kiss on his nose.

Amber rolled her eyes at their public display of affection before turning her attention back to William. ‘What are you looking so glum about? It’s me who got the soaking, not precious Sasha. Dylan should be here by now. If she gets caught it’s her own fault.’

Lottie glanced at William whose expression morphed from apprehension to abject anguish. Again, she experienced the weirdest of feelings – of floating above the ground, looking down on their guests’ interactions instead of being a part of them – and she was shocked when she saw Amber pinch William on the arm to jolt him out of his reverie.

‘I agree,’ said Leo, taking a long glug from a bottle of beer, all trace of his previous bad mood gone. ‘Dylan has had his fun, now it’s Sasha’s turn to have hers. Hey, Amber, why don’t you ask if you can do a number with Sasha tonight?’

‘Because we’re supposed to be relaxing and having fun.’

‘The two things aren’t mutually exclusive, Amber,’ said William, rearranging his facial features into something akin to sympathy. ‘But I’m sure Sasha won’t mind if you want to perform a duet together. I see you helped yourself to one of her most expensive dresses. You know she was planning to wear that herself tonight.’

‘She said I could choose anything I like, and I like this one. This dark blue enhances my colouring much better than Sasha’s, don’t you think?’ She twisted her hips in the sequin-bedecked sheath dress and patted her re-styled bob.

‘You’re gorgeous, darling,’ confirmed Jess, her ruby nose stud glinting in the sun as she swayed to the fragmented chords of pop music spilling from the café’s open windows.

‘Well, I reckon we should snatch a few more bottles of bubbly and grab a front row seat over on the terrace,’ suggested Leo. ‘I know Sasha’s picking up the tab for the drinks today, but it’ll be a drop in the ocean when she hits the big time, won’t it, Will?’

‘Shut up,’ William snapped. ‘Let’s not forget that we wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for Sasha’s generosity. Why don’t you stop dreaming of becoming the next Jamie Oliver and get real? I’m off for a shower. See you in half an hour.’

‘William? William…’ Amber called after him.

‘Stay and have some of this fizz with us, Amber,’ said Leo, slumping down on the grass and dislodging the cork into the flower beds with a cry of “whoop”.

‘Mmm, it’s delicious.’ Jess laid her head on Leo’s shoulder. ‘Don’t worry, Leo. I think you’re going to be even better than Jamie Oliver. Much more handsome, anyway. When Sasha is famous, she’ll eat in your restaurant, bring all of her celebrity friends—’

‘Oh, give it a rest, Jess, and pass the bottle,’ snapped Amber. ‘Might as well make the most of the freebies whilst we’re stuck in this dull backwater of a place. Sooner we’re back in San Antonio the better. There’re loads of luxury spa retreats in Ibiza, so why did Dylan insist on us coming here? Oh, to think I could be soaking up the sunshine on your Uncle Ken’s yacht, working on my tan with a selection of cocktails on tap!’

‘Actually, you couldn’t. Uncle Ken and Aunt Martha have taken The Cortia over to Sardinia for the week to meet up with Bart and Juliette for their daughter’s wedding, or was it for their engagement? Or it could have been the birth of their first baby. Oh, I don’t know. Anyway, they’re not at their villa so that’s why Sasha agreed to Dylan’s suggestion to come over here.’

‘Where is the idiot, anyway?’

‘You know Dylan. Once he’s in a session…’

‘I can’t be the only one who’s noticed, but I think he’s started to drink much more since he lost his role in that soap opera and didn’t even get through the first round of auditions for the Renault ad. I bet his earnings from acting haven’t even kept him in toothpaste this year. But if you ask me, it’s more like the pot calling the kettle! Did you see the way Sasha was putting away the Prosecco earlier? And dragging that guy she’s just met off to her lodge? She’s only doing it to get back at Dylan and make him toe the line.’

‘But Dylan won’t know, will he, Amber? We’re not spilling on Sasha. She’s the most fabulous sister in the whole wide world, and she’s your best friend, too,’ Jess reminded Amber, her voice soft and dreamy as she cuddled into Leo’s arms. ‘Dylan is just jealous of Sasha’s talent, always has been. Even more so now she’s going to be a famous pop star whilst he’s still waiting for his starring role in a Hollywood blockbuster. But he loves showing off at our villa, and down at the harbour on Uncle Ken’s yacht, so he’s not about to give that up, is he? And she lets him run around all the beach resorts in her shiny new Z4.’

‘Did you hear what kind of car he’s rented for the week here in Devon? Only a Jaguar XJS convertible. Hope he lets me take it for a spin. Are you sure you can’t persuade Big Sis to shell out for a car for you, Jess?’ said Leo, nibbling at Jess’s neck.

‘Eeuww. Get a room you two,’ Amber scoffed.

Lottie heard a crunch on the pathway behind her and turned round, expecting to see William. However, the footsteps did not belong to William, but to Dylan. She had never been fond of getting caught in the crossfire of verbal fireworks, and, seeing the look on Amber’s face, she decided it was time she, Matt and Cleo left their guests to their own devices before the impromptu mini-concert started at eight. She got up and collected the empty lemonade pitcher and glasses to take back to the café, wash in hot soapy water, and put away in their allocated space.

‘Come on, Cleo. We’d better get—’ she began, but Dylan interrupted.

‘Hi, guys. Where’s Sasha?’

‘Where’ve you been Dylan?’ Amber demanded. ‘The garden party finished over two hours ago – it’s almost eight o’clock. You were supposed to be here at two p.m. sharp to cut the ribbon with Sasha.’

‘Can’t blame me for giving it a miss, can you? The lads persuaded me to go to this new wine bar in Clifton, which is a little more exciting than this genteel granny’s outing.’

Lottie sank back down in her seat. It was obvious there was no way she was going to persuade Cleo and Matt to miss out on the live entertainment. She saw Dylan flash his camera-ready smile at his three friends, displaying no ill-effects of an afternoon on the booze. His bleached-blonde hair looked as though he had just vacated Hazel’s hairdresser’s chair – neatly cropped and sporting a touch of gel. His designer jeans hugged his buttocks like a second skin and his multi-striped shirt opened at the neck to reveal just a hint of golden chest hair.

‘Hang on a minute.’ Dylan jogged back across the lawn to the car park and grabbed a box of craft ale from the boot of a scarlet Jaguar XJS.

‘Is that Dylan?’ asked William, re-joining them and taking a seat next to Amber.

‘Yes, and it looks like he’s brought another crate of beer with him so he can top up his alcohol levels to get through the evening,’ said Leo. ‘Look at him. How did he even manage to steer that beautiful vehicle on these winding country roads without ending up in a ditch somewhere? Dylan always was a lucky sod.’

‘Someone needs to tell him that his drinking is out of control,’ said William as Dylan lurched back towards them, staggering under the weight of the bottles.

‘Not just Dylan with a problem though, is it?’ said Amber. ‘It’s Sasha, too. You saw her at the party – but that’s the first time I’ve seen her hook up with a stranger. By the way, Jess says we have a gossip embargo. No spilling the juicy secret to Dylan and standing back to watch the explosion.’

‘Hey, William, my friend.’ Dylan grasped William’s palm and patted him on the back. ‘What’s the word on the high-rolling manager’s circuit?’

‘You’re drunk, Dylan.’

‘I think I’ll make a cafetière of coffee,’ declared Lottie, anxious to escape the soap opera. She signalled for Cleo to follow her but Cleo shook her head, her eyes as wide as saucers. Even Matt stayed glued to his seat!

‘Sasha’s promised to perform a couple of songs before we go out for dinner tonight.’

‘Oh, goody!’ said Dylan, unable to keep the sarcasm from his voice. ‘Can’t wait for that unexpected treat. Yes, coffee with a wee dram should see me through one of Sasha’s gigs. I thought we were here to chill out, not to be subjected to another “I love Sasha fest”.’

***

Lottie carried a tray of mugs and two huge cafetières of industrial-strength coffee outside and poured one for everyone, before nipping back to the café for a plate of nibbles in the hope that would help to soak up the alcohol. The sun was sinking towards the horizon, sending a kaleidoscope of salmon and indigo streamers across the sky on what had turned out to be one of the most exhilarating and exhausting days of her life – and it wasn’t over yet.

The early evening air had retained its warmth, and the aroma of freshly mown grass and crushed lavender excavated painful childhood memories that Lottie had fought hard to banish into the crevices of her mind and had not examined for a while, nor was she about to now. She checked her watch. It was eight fifteen and there was still no sign of Sasha getting ready to entertain them with a tune.

‘Where do you think she is?’ Cleo murmured.

‘Relax. Stars always take ages to polish their shine!’ said Matt, reclining in his seat with his ankle hooked over his thigh. ‘And she did have rather a lot to drink this afternoon. She’s probably sleeping it off.’

‘Well, I’m not sitting here like a faithful lapdog!’ Dylan announced, tipping the final dregs of coffee into his mouth. ‘If Sasha insists on dragging out her microphone, the least she can do is be on time.’

‘You’ve got to be kidding me! How can you say that when you’ve just arrived over six hours late?’ said William. ‘Look, I’ll go and—’

‘No, you won’t!’ said Amber, pushing William back down into his seat. She obviously hadn’t forgiven him for his lack of support in the ice bucket incident. ‘I will.’ She made her way to the edge of the terrace but stopped next to the door of the café where Lottie, Matt and Cleo were sitting. She glanced back over her shoulder at William, clearly hesitant about disturbing Sasha on her own and regretting her refusal of his assistance. She recovered well though, and smiled at Lottie and Cleo. ‘Would you mind coming with me?’

‘Oh, I—’ Lottie began, feeling slightly awkward.

However, Cleo had no such scruples and immediately jumped from her chair. ‘Sure. Happy to help, aren’t we, Lottie?’

‘Erm, yes, yes, of course we are.’

Lottie pushed herself up from the bench and followed Cleo and Amber to the edge of the terrace before stopping to glance over her shoulder at Matt, sending him a silence request to come with them. Matt rolled his eyes, jumped from his seat, and together the foursome made their way across the field to Sasha’s lodge. They paused on the wide wooden veranda, Lottie exchanging an anxious glance with Cleo, fearful of what they could be interrupting after the afternoon shenanigans they’d witnessed… and the potential fall-out it could produce.

‘Don’t you think we should knock?’ asked Matt.

Amber shot a quick look at Lottie and Cleo, clearly also uncomfortable about disturbing her friend’s beauty nap.

‘What are you all waiting for?’ William demanded, elbowing Amber to one side as he joined them. He strode to the door of the lodge and knocked. ‘Sasha? Come on. Have you forgotten that you promised to sing for us on the terrace before we go out for dinner tonight? Everyone’s waiting for you – including Dylan! Sasha?’

Silence.

Lottie met Cleo’s eyes. If Ethan was still in there, surely he would have opened the door to shoo them away. William knocked again, this time jiggling the handle and pounding on the door.

‘Sasha, wake up!’

Matt stepped forward, lines appearing in his forehead. ‘Is there a duplicate key, Lottie?’

‘I think so, but—’

‘Can you fetch it?’

Lottie’s stomach lurched at the tone of Matt’s voice and the genuine concern etched in his eyes. For what seemed an interminable few seconds, her feet felt like they were encased in concrete, and she couldn’t move.

‘I’ll go,’ said Cleo, sprinting off towards the café where they kept the spare keys.

William was now frantically banging his fist on the sturdy, panelled door. ‘Sasha!’

‘What’s going on?’ asked Jess, joining them. ‘Will?’

‘We can’t wake Sasha. Cleo has gone for the spare key.’

Ripples of anxiety surged through Lottie’s veins as myriad possibilities spun through her mind, each one more dreadful than the next. She’d only been in Little Sweeting for a week and already there was a worrying incident to deal with. Was it her? Did she attract havoc and disharmony? Within minutes, Cleo was back, clasping a brass ring of dangling keys, pausing on the wooden steps of the lodge as she fumbled to select the correct one.

Dylan appeared beside the group and snatched them from her. ‘I’ll take those. If anyone’s going to intrude on Sasha’s privacy, then it’s going to be me. And if she wants to have a snooze before we go out for dinner then surely that’s her prerogative. Stop gawping!’

Matt moved to let Dylan past, but William held his ground.

‘We just want to make sure Sasha is okay.’

Dylan opened his mouth to deliver an angry retort, but the look on William’s face prevented him from continuing. Instead, he slotted the heavy iron key into the lock and turned, a loud thud telling the gathering that the key on the inside of the door had dropped to the floor.

‘Sasha, darling, I’m back. Sorry about being so late, but you know how the guys get when… Oh my God! Sasha!’

Chapter Eight

Lottie closed the space from the steps to the front door of the lodge in record time and pressed into the room behind Dylan, William and Matt. To her horror, she saw Sasha sprawled on her king-sized bed, her arms flung wide, her body motionless, her eyes staring unseeingly at the ceiling. It was a sight that would remain seared in her mind’s eye for a long time.

‘Sasha!’

Jess pushed past Dylan and shot to her sister’s side, sliding her hand into hers.

‘Wake up, Sash! Please, wake up!’

But there was no response.

‘Sash, talk to me! Talk to me!’

Jess’ voice was so high-pitched it bordered on the hysterical and Matt was the first to galvanise himself into action. He pulled out his phone, called for an ambulance, then strode to where Jess was now cradling Sasha’s head to her chest, rocking backwards and forwards while emitting a heart-rending whimper of an injured animal. Tears rolled down her cheeks, her eyes wild with confusion, helplessness, and abject terror.

William, his face the colour of overworked putty was the next to break out of his shock-induced trance and rushed to join Jess on the bed next to Sasha, gently taking Sasha’s wrist and checking for a pulse while everyone in the room held their breath.

‘Is she… is she…?’ Amber began, unable to finish her question.

When William nodded, his eyes filled with excruciating pain, Jess exhaled such a piercing scream that the bubble of disbelief that seemed to have enveloped the lodge burst, and everyone gasped out loud in horror.

‘No, you’re wrong!’

Having finally been shaken from his torpor, Dylan shoved William roughly out of the way and bent over the bed to check Sasha’s pulse for himself. He remained there, holding Sasha’s limp wrist aloft for what to Lottie felt like hours, as though through the sheer force of his will, Sasha would recover consciousness and announce to the gathering around her bed that she was perfectly fine.

However, that didn’t happen.

Jess was now sobbing uncontrollably, her fingers trembling as she combed the damp tendrils of hair away from her sister’s cheeks and forehead. As Lottie watched on, her heart aching at the unfolding tragedy, she noticed that Sasha’s face held an unusual waxy quality, her eyes protruded slightly from their sockets, and there was a faint tinge of blue around her lips.

‘I think we should…’ said Amber, stepping forward and gently closing Sasha’s eyes.

Silence rolled around the room as everyone struggled to come to terms with what their eyes were telling them to believe. Lottie’s thoughts ricocheted around her head and, as hard as she tried, she couldn’t put them into any kind of order that would help her to understand what was going on. With considerable effort, she managed to avert her gaze from the distressing scene in front of her and take in her surroundings.

Even in such traumatic circumstances, she had to fight to staunch the familiar compulsion to start tidying up. Apart from the wardrobe that was crammed to bursting with an assortment of glittering cocktail dresses more suitable to Las Vegas than the South Devon coast, there was a jumble of toiletries, and a huge purse of cosmetics tossed on the dressing table. Foundation, blusher, eyeliner and lipsticks were scattered over the glass top, as well as a hairbrush, heated tongs and a glass bottle containing a pale golden-brown liquid – probably her precious throat spray. Sasha had clearly been in the middle of fixing her makeup and preparing for her approaching performance when she became ill.

‘What do you…’ began Leo, his voice little more than a whisper. ‘What do you think happened?’

‘Well, I think it’s obvious, don’t you?’ snarled Dylan, spinning round to face the Leo.

‘What do you mean?’

Dylan shot a venomous look in Lottie’s direction. ‘It’s food poisoning.’

Lottie’s stomach curdled. ‘Oh, I—’

‘We don’t know that,’ said Matt, the voice of calm amidst all the hysteria. ‘The paramedics are on their way. I think we should leave it to—’

‘What else can it be? Sash had a full medical before she signed her recording contract last month and she was given a clean bill of health. I want the café closed down immediately! And instead of standing there gawping, I suggest you start calling everyone else who had the misfortune to attend your summer garden party to make sure they’re not lying dead in their beds after eating the substandard food you served to them! I hope your hygiene certificates are in order because I’m calling the environmental health guys first thing in the morning, and I’m calling the police now!’

‘The police!?’

Lottie felt a movement at her elbow and turned to look at Cleo. She was so pale she looked like she’d just rolled off a pathologist’s slab. Her lips were moving but Lottie couldn’t hear what she was saying so she tipped her head towards her.

‘Cleo?’

‘Oh my God, Lottie! Have we really just poisoned our first celebrity guest?!’

Before Lottie could think of a suitable reply, Cleo’s legs gave way, and she crumpled into Lottie’s waiting arms. With Matt’s help, she settled her friend on the sofa in the lodge’s lounge area, loosening the buttons at the neck of her bright orange jumpsuit and wafting her face with a magazine. A few seconds later, Cleo started to come round, her kind, chestnut eyes wide with anxiety.

‘I’m sorry…’

‘Shush. Just take it easy. We’ve all had a terrible shock.’

Satisfied that Cleo was going to be okay, Lottie returned with Matt to the bedroom where Dylan was now sitting on the bed with Jess – who was still clutching her sister’s lifeless body to her chest – her eyes now glazed and blank, her tears paused as shock started to set in. Amber and William moved forward to try to encourage her to release Sasha into Dylan’s arms, but she refused, shaking her head vigorously and holding on even tighter.

‘What are you two still doing here?’ said Dylan, his eyes flashing.

‘We—’

‘Did you call the other guests?’

‘Not yet,’ said Matt, taking hold of Lottie’s hand.

‘Then I suggest you make a start. We don’t want you here, especially her and her waitress friend. Please leave.’

Lottie’s heart contracted painfully. She felt as though she’d been caught up in a whirlwind and deposited into a nightmare. She’d never been faced with such a situation – thankfully – and had no idea what to do or how to respond, but she could see from Dylan, and everyone else’s expression, that they held her accountable for what had happened and realised that she needed to do as they asked.

‘I’m so sorry—’

‘Leave!’

Dylan rose from the bed, his jaw tight, his fists clenched by his side, and took a step towards Lottie and Matt. William and Leo moved towards him simultaneously, placing their hands on his chest to stop him in his tracks. Fortunately, the paramedics chose that moment to arrive and immediately rushed to where Cleo was lying on the sofa, crouching down and firing a barrage of questions at her.

When Lottie saw Dylan’s thunderous face, she thought he was about to explode, and she was grateful when Willliam took charge of the situation and directed them into the bedroom to tend to Sasha, and Jess who was now almost catatonic in her grief.

‘Sorry about Dylan,’ said William, who seemed to have lost six inches from his height over the last thirty minutes, his shoulders hunched under the weight of unbearable pain. ‘It’s the shock talking, but I agree with him. You need to call the other guests as quickly as possible. Find out if anyone else has reported any similar… symptoms. I’d be grateful if you could keep us updated with what you discover, please.’

Matt nodded, shook William’s proffered hand, then guided Lottie from the bedroom and back to the sofa where Cleo was now sitting up, her hair a tangled mess, her eyes wide with distress. Together, Lottie and Matt helped her to her feet and led her, on still-shaky legs, out of the lodge and back to the café, where they settled her onto one of the overstuffed sofas and wrapped one of the lilac blankets around her knees.

‘I’d better make a start on the phone calls.’

‘I’ll put the kettle on.’

Matt strode out to the terrace at the rear of the café, his phone already pressed to his ear, and, after checking on Cleo again, Lottie made her way to the kitchen. As she waited for the kettle to boil, she stared out of the window, watching the final gasps of the evening sun send a kaleidoscope of colour through Debs’ collection of dreamcatchers and onto the counter tops. She felt as though the pretty dancing lights were a slap in the face after the way the day had ended.

Sasha was dead!

Lottie couldn’t hold her emotions in check any longer and an avalanche of pain flowed through her veins. Was she responsible? Were the other garden party guests, at that very moment, also suffering the same consequences as Sasha? And how had it happened? Had she inadvertently added a deadly ingredient to one of her desserts? The apricot pavlovas? The strawberry shortcake? The Devonshire scones? Had she been lax with her safety and hygiene routines? Was there something, anything, she could have done to avoid this terrible situation happening?

Obviously, the café would have to close, if not permanently, then temporarily while a thorough investigation was carried out, not only by the environmental inspectors, but by the police, too. How would that effect Debs’ hoped-for sale? Who in their right mind would want to buy a café where ordering a coffee and indulging in a fruit-filled pavlova meant you’d be taking your life in your hands? And what if they had to close the glamping site as well? That would inevitably have an impact on the sale price. Did that mean Debs would be facing financial difficulty, maybe even bankruptcy, because of Lottie?

What was she going to do?

All the hard work she and Cleo – and the rest of the village’s shop owners – had put into making that year’s Waddling Duck Café garden party a success had backfired spectacularly. Obviously, if the café and the lodges were closed, her services were no longer required. Where would she go? Was she destined to be a nomad, lurching from one trauma to the next? Had she been a fool to think that she had at last found a place amongst friends where she could be happy?

Why did life always have to drop grenades in her path?

First her beloved Dad, then the debacle with Claude, and now not only had she destroyed the reputation of the Waddling Duck Café – a stalwart of the local community for over three decades – but had very possibly been responsible for the death of one of their guests!

Chapter Nine

Hot tears gathered along Lottie’s lashes, and she would have succumbed to a bout of weeping if she had been alone, or with just Cleo to share her anguish, but she didn’t want to crumble into a hot sobbing mess in front of Matt who seemed to exude an air of practicality in the face of adversity.

So, she inhaled a long, slow breath, grabbed the huge brown teapot from its designated resting place in the cupboard above the sink – along with three china mugs, hand-painted with the café’s lilac and white logo – placed everything on a tray, and carried it into the café.

‘Okay, a mug of sweet tea will…’

Lottie stopped, not surprised to see that Cleo had fallen asleep, curled into a tight ball like a new-born kitten, the blanket pulled up around her chin. She slumped onto the adjacent sofa and poured herself a mug of tea, added milk and two heaped teaspoons of sugar, then gulped down several mouthfuls in the hope it would help her to make sense of the events of the last couple of hours, and if not, then at least stop the trembling that seemed to have overtaken her.

She could hear Matt talking in a low voice to Reverend Reynolds’s wife, Anthea, explaining as succinctly as he could what had happened and asking her to activate the Little Sweeting grapevine to see if anyone else had fallen victim to a potentially lethal food poisoning bug.

‘We’re at the café… Yes, Lottie has made us a pot of tea… and it looks like Cleo has fallen asleep… No, no, that’s really not…. Well, if you think… Yes, I will… Okay, I’ll tell her. Thanks, Anthea, you’re a godsend. See you in a few minutes, then.’ Matt cut the call, then sauntered back into the café. ‘Do you mind if I make myself a coffee? I know tea is the traditional drink at times like this, but I prefer coffee; strong, black, no sugar.’

‘No problem, I’ll just—’

‘You know, Lottie, this kitchen is so clean it could be pressed into service by the local heart surgeon. If you ask me, there’s no way any of the food you and Cleo made for the garden party could have been contaminated with even a microscopic germ. You saw how much Sasha and her friends had to drink this afternoon. It was probably something to do with that.’

‘Do you think so?’ she said, handing Matt a mug of black coffee, a tiny seed of hope nestling in her chest.

‘I do.’

‘What did Anthea say? Has anyone else… has anyone else suffered a similar reaction?’

‘She said that she and the Rev are both fine, as are Hazel and Kit who were also at the vicarage sipping cocktails and enjoying a good old gossip about the garden party when I called her just now. She was horrified when I told her about Sasha, and I regret to inform you that… well, they’re on their way over to the café to offer their “unwavering and loyal” support.’

Lottie tried to smile, grateful for their thoughtfulness, but she knew it didn’t meet her eyes. Uncontrolled emotions continued to churn through her body causing her to feel lightheaded and nauseous. She was ashamed to admit that she craved the indulgence of a session with the antibacterial spray, that she had an almost overwhelming urge to grab a cloth and start scrubbing the already immaculate kitchen countertops to wash away the non-existent bacteria that could have been responsible for Sasha’s demise.

She surreptitiously pushed her hands underneath her thighs and started the counting exercises that her sister had taught her when her compulsion to clean was at its peak after their father’s passing. An image of Georgia floated into her mind, her corkscrew curls flying high in the summer breeze as she threw back her head in laughter. She would have given everything she owned to have her sitting beside her right now, holding her hand and telling her everything would be okay.

It was a few minutes before she realised that Matt had made his mug of coffee and was watching her closely, clearly troubled by her discomfort, but he said nothing, for which she was grateful.

‘Matt, I—’

The inappropriately jolly tinkle of the café’s door chimes interrupted their conversation and announced the arrival of Anthea, Hazel and Kit who dashed over to Lottie and engulfed her in a group hug. The disturbance caused Cleo to awake from her slumber and she immediately jumped from her seat to join in, pulling a reluctant Matt into the spontaneous embrace, too.

‘Darling! What’s happened is just too awful for words!’ declared Kit, tears gathering at the corners of his eyes as he gave Lottie an extra tight squeeze before flinging his arms around Cleo to do the same. He had changed out of the peppermint and turquoise floral shirt with fluted cuffs that he’d worn for that afternoon’s party and was wearing an equally eye-catching jade-green waistcoat with fringe edging. Cleanshaven, he smelled like a bouquet of the flowers he arranged and sold for a living. ‘And the mere suggestion that you or Cleo have anything to do with it is simply outrageous!’

‘Thanks, Kit.’

‘Kit’s right,’ said Anthea, taking a seat next to Cleo on the sofa, and proceeding to pour everyone a mug of tea from the pot, adding milk and sugar before she passed them round. Even if Lottie hadn’t known she was the local vicar’s wife, she would have guessed that she was in some way involved in delivering empathy and support in the most traumatic of situations. ‘We need to wait and see what the authorities have to say before anyone starts making unfounded accusations.’

‘I agree,’ said Hazel, running her fingers through her pink spiky hair, her eyes filled with concern as she took a sip of her sweetened tea. ‘Unfortunately, the village grapevine is twanging with gossip, and I’m afraid most of the comments are that the café must be to blame. Sorry guys.’

‘Did anyone mention anything about whether…’

Cleo paused, clearly not wanting to continue for fear of what the answer might be. Anthea reached out and drew Cleo’s hand into hers, giving it a supportive squeeze before sending Hazel a warning glance and receiving a shoulder shrug in return.

‘Between us, we’ve called and messaged almost everyone who attended the party this afternoon, and no one has reported experiencing any ill-effects whatsoever. In fact, the people Gordon and I spoke to were very complimentary about the food – some of which, don’t forget, was prepared by the ladies from the Little Sweeting WI – and one young couple even made enquiries about the availability of outside catering for an upcoming wedding at the church next month.’

Lottie saw Matt grimace when he heard Anthea mention the word “wedding”, and when no one asked him to explain his reaction, she filed it away for future exploration when the current crisis was over, although she had no idea when that would be, or indeed whether she would even get the chance.

A sudden burst of flashing blue lights caused everyone to swing their gaze to the bay window where a procession of police cars and vans zipped past the café before turning left into the glamping site and making their way to the lodge that Sasha had shared with Dylan.

‘Oh, no…’ murmured Lottie, her heart performing a painful somersault.

‘This is not your fault, Lottie,’ said Matt, his voice firm.

‘Yes, but…’

‘Matt’s right,’ said Cleo, pushing herself up straight in her seat, her face taking on a determined expression in her attempt to support her friend. ‘Anyone who’s stepped foot in the café’s kitchen since you arrived to take over from Debs will know that there’s no way the food we served at the garden party could be to blame for what happened to Sasha. I wish I could think of a way to prove that, to find some sort of evidence that would stop people spreading these hurtful rumours like we’re some sort of criminals.’

‘Criminals? Cleo, I…’

Lottie stopped as an idea burst into her head like an exploding firework. It was something her father had said to her years ago when they were sitting in his beloved greenhouse analysing one of their favourite murder mystery novels and discussing how the amateur sleuth had managed to conduct their enquiries without the help of a partner, a colleague, a friend or any kind of sidekick. They had each come up with an alternative scenario for what they would have done had they found themselves in a similar situation, and she had loved what her father had suggested.

Was this an opportunity to put his suggestion into practice?

She glanced around the café, taking in the faces of her new friends who were staring back at her as though she had lost the plot. Maybe she had, because she could hear her father’s voice, as clear as day, telling her to go for it. What did she have to lose? Anything was better than sitting around, moping and feeling sorry for herself. If they wanted to “find some sort of evidence” to prove that the café – and by extension, herself and Cleo – wasn’t to blame for what had happened to Sasha, then they needed to go out there and find it.

‘Lottie? Are you… okay?’ asked Cleo, casting a worried look at Anthea and Hazel.

‘I’m fine. In fact, I’m more than fine.’

‘But you look… kind of weird.’

A smile tugged at Lottie’s lips as a surge of optimism rushed through her veins.

‘I’ve had an idea.’

‘What kind of idea?’ asked Matt, scooting to the edge of his seat, his interest clearly piqued which gave Lottie a further boost of confidence. She would need an ally if she was to persuade her friends to get on board with what she was about to suggest.

‘Well, I’m sure that none of you wants to see the Waddling Duck Café close its doors. Cleo has told me dozens of times that people come from miles around for one of Debs’ chocolate fondant roulades, not to mention her cherry and almond drop scones. This wonderful cosy place, with its lilac paintwork and fluffy cream cushions, is as integral a part of the Little Sweeting community as the Crow’s Nest pub and St Andrew’s Church. And the lodges help to bring much needed business to the shops in the village. In fact, Hector over at the bookshop was telling me just the other day that the majority of his in-person sales are to the people who are holidaying here.’

‘So…?’

‘So what?’

Kit rolled his eyes in exasperation. ‘What’s your idea?’

‘Ah, yes.’ Lottie experienced a sudden nip of doubt, so she rushed on before she changed her mind and chose the sitting around and moping option instead of taking action. ‘Okay, so, the more I think about it, the more I have to agree with Cleo that what happened to Sasha is unlikely to have been caused by eating our fabulous cakes or desserts. I can’t be one hundred per cent certain of course, but from what I saw, Sasha didn’t eat anything, she just consumed several bottles of Champagne, which I would add she’d brought with her. So, if that’s true, it means there must be something else going on here.’

‘Like what?’ asked Matt.

‘That’s what we need to find out. Instead of sitting here, dwelling on a whole host of negative scenarios, we should do something positive, something proactive.’ Lottie inhaled a breath. ‘I think we should investigate what happened to Sasha ourselves. We could organise a kind of amateur sleuthing team and do what Cleo suggested; gather evidence by looking for clues, asking a few questions, interviewing a couple of people—’

‘Organise a stake out?’ said Kit, his brown eyes sparkling.

‘I’m not sure we need to go that far,’ said Lottie, although she was relieved that she had at least one person willing to join her in her crazy scheme. ‘Well, what do you think?’

‘I’m in!’ declared Kit, a broad grin on his face. ‘Sadly, I don’t think I’ll be able to produce the twirly moustache within the requisite timescale, but it’ll be the perfect excuse to model the fabulous green Tweed deerstalker that my aunt Marge bought me for Christmas last year. Oh, Anthea, you’d look absolutely amazing in one of your apricot cashmere twin sets à la Miss Marple, and Hazel, you’d totally rock the Stephanie Plum vibe in those cute leather trousers you treated yourself to when we were in Exeter for Pheobe’s thirtieth last month. Cleo, darling, I trust you’ll be joining us in our intrepid investigations?’

‘Absolutely! I can’t wait to get started!’

‘Matt?’

Lottie turned to look at Matt whose face was a picture of disbelief, but he rallied well.

‘I’m happy to help in any way I can. I agree with Lottie, what affects the café affects the whole community, including the outward-bounds centre, and I’m not going to sit back and let that happen. I bet Dan Forrester is already sharpening his pencil, keen to whip up suspicion and sensationalise what I’m sure will turn out to be simply a tragic accident.’

‘Thanks, everyone,’ murmured Lottie, tears prickling at her eyes.

‘Great!’ announced Kit, enthusiasm zinging from every pore in his body. ‘Okay, so now we’ve got our membership list sorted, all that remains for us to deal with is the most important task of all.’

‘What’s that?’ asked Anthea, who looked a little shellshocked by the swift switch in proceedings from supporting a pair of friends in need to becoming a founding member of the local sleuthing club. ‘Surely you’re not suggesting we grab our scruffy raincoats and head out to look for clues now?’

‘No, I wasn’t… although…’

‘What were you suggesting, Kit?’ asked Hazel, clearly keen to divert the conversation to safer ground before Anthea changed her mind and made a run for it back to the safety of the vicarage.

‘What are we going to call our new enterprise? I vote for Sweeting’s Sensational Sleuths.’

‘What about The Waddling Duck Detectives?’ contributed Cleo.

‘Ooo, I like that one,’ said Kit before turning to look at Lottie.. ‘This was your idea, Lottie, what do you think?’

Lottie smiled, and this time it was genuine.

‘I’ve already thought of a name.’

‘You have?’ said Matt, his lips twitching at the corners as he held her gaze. ‘What?’

‘I think we should call ourselves the Just Desserts Club. It’s perfect, don’t you think?’

Chapter Ten

‘The Just Desserts Club?’ said Kit, wrinkling his nose in confusion.

‘Yes, get it?’ said Lottie, relief flooding her body now that she knew everyone – including Matt who she’d thought would pooh-pooh the idea from the outset – was on board. ‘We make amazing desserts here at the Waddling Duck Café – which, by the way, Cleo, we’ll need plenty more of to sustain us in our strenuous detecting exploits – but also, our club’s raison d’être will be to ensure that, if there is foul play here, the person, or people, who are responsible get their “just desserts”. I won’t stand by while Cleo and I are unjustly accused by Sasha’s friends of causing her premature demise!’

‘Oh my God, Lottie, that’s totally inspired!’ Kit’s eyes shone as he leaned back in his chair and clapped his hands with delight, the collection of silver bangles jangling at his wrist.. ‘The Just Desserts Club it is, then! Gosh, I can hardly believe that I am a founding member of Little Sweeting’s very first amateur sleuthing club! Do you think we should recruit a few more members? I know for a fact that Pheobe at the dog grooming salon would jump at the chance to join us, and we could use the canine talents of her cute chocolate-brown labradoodle, Coco, to sniff out clues that we mere humans could miss.’

‘Oh, oh, and we could ask Rose from the dance studio,’ said Cleo, joining in with the recruitment drive. ‘And maybe Fliss from the stables over in Great Sweeting can…’

Lottie found herself tuning out. Even though this had been her idea, she had the strangest sensation that none of it was real, that she’d been cast as an extra in a film and her movements were those of an actor performing the tasks and speaking the words assigned to her by the director. To give herself time to adjust to the speed in which her suggestion seemed to be morphing into a potentially community-wide initiative, she leaned forward in her seat and topped up her tea from the big brown teapot, taking a sip of the over-sweetened drink in the hope it would calm the turmoil that had started to swirl around in her brain.

What had she done?

Perhaps she should have taken a moment to think things through before voicing her proposal to form a sleuthing club that was taken straight from the pages of the murder mystery novels she’d been obsessed with since childhood. Nancy Drew, Jane Marple, Hercule Poirot, Jules Maigret, Inspector Morse, they had all become like friends as she sat next to her father, racing through the pages until the culprit was unveiled – often whilst in the drawing room of a Georgian manor house.

But this wasn’t fiction, it was real life!

However, despite everything she’d been bombarded with that day, she had to admit that her spirits had soared at the thought of heading out there and doing something practical, and she could hear her dad’s voice ringing joyfully in her ears as he congratulated her on her decision. What did she have to lose? She hadn’t done anything wrong; as Cleo – and Matt – had said, her kitchen was spotless, and so far, no one else had been taken ill after eating the sandwiches, cakes and desserts that she and Cleo had made.

Her instinct told her that there was something else at play in the hitherto blissfully peaceful Devonshire village, and if that was true, then the sooner they found out what that was, the sooner the café could re-open its door to the good people of Little Sweeting and beyond. However, while she was grateful for the support of her friends to help her do that, the thought of involving the whole village and their respective dogs, and maybe even their horses, filled her with horror.

‘Guys, guys! I think for the time being, it would be best if we kept the club’s membership to the six of us. Let’s see how things go, and if we need any additional… skills, then we can meet up and discuss who to ask before we approach them. After all, we don’t want to spook the perpetrator into committing another heinous crime, do we?’

‘Lottie’s got a point,’ said Anthea, tucking the sides of her neat silver bob behind her ears, clearly just as uncomfortable about involving the wider community in their outlandish scheme as Lottie was. ‘We also need to be extremely circumspect in everything we do. We don’t want to cause any offence.’

‘I agree,’ Hazel confirmed.

‘Me too,’ said Cleo, whose cheeks had paled at the suggestion of another “heinous crime”.

‘Okay, okay, we’ll pause the recruitment drive for now,’ said Kit, reluctantly.

‘Thanks, guys.’

Lottie swung her gaze towards Matt who was staring at the group as though they’d all gone completely crazy. However, before he could respond to what Lottie had proposed, his phone started to buzz and after muttering his apologies, he headed out of the door at the rear of the café so he could take his call in private.

‘Okay, so where should we start?’ asked Kit, settling back in his seat and crossing his legs neatly at the ankle. Lottie wondered if he had been a model before becoming the village’s floristry maestro.

‘Well, I need to get back to the vicarage or Gordon will be sending out a search party,’ said Anthea, smoothing the creases from her patterned tea dress as she prepared to leave. ‘I’ll call Harriet from the WI and ask her to make a list of all the ingredients they used in the sandwiches and whether any of them could have become contaminated. I doubt it though, in a previous life, Harriet was a food safety inspector for Farnworth Foods.’

‘I’m going to head over to the Crow’s Nest,’ said Hazel, gathering up her canvas handbag which was so large Lottie assumed she must use it to carry her hairdressing supplies. ‘I want to ask Archie if he noticed anything… out of the ordinary this afternoon. As an ex-army guy, he doesn’t miss much.’

‘Oh, that’s a fabulous idea,’ said Kit, his eyes sparkling at the mention of Archie who Lottie had to admit was one of the most attractive men she’d met in a long time, and that included Claude. ‘I’ll come with you. Maybe we could make an exception and invite him to join our club?’

Lottie gave him what she hoped was a stern stare.

‘I take it that’s a “no”? Spoilsport!’ Kit pretended to huff.

Hazel ignored him. ‘Also, I know for a fact that my neighbour Jodie is working behind the bar tonight, and her sister Nessa is a paramedic, so I’ll try to get what information I can from her about what they think could have caused Sasha’s death. Sad though it sounds, I’m really hoping it turns out to be natural causes, which means no one can even start to point the finger at Lottie or Cleo, or anyone else for that matter.’

‘Okay,’ said Lottie. ‘Let’s reconvene back here midweek to share what we’ve found out.’

‘Erm,’ Cleo began, the disappointment written clearly across her face. ‘What are we going to do?’

‘We’ve got the most important job of all.’

‘Really? What’s that?’

‘We need to head over to the lodge—’

‘And look for clues!’ finished Cleo.

‘That wasn’t what I was going to say,’ said Lottie, trying hard not to roll her eyes at her friend’s enthusiasm. ‘Although… that’s not actually a bad idea. I was going to say that we – and Matt if he’s up for it – should try to talk to Sasha’s friends. It’s natural that we’d want to know what the police have said, and what the group are planning to do. I mean, are they going to head back to Ibiza, or have they been told not to leave Little Sweeting until they know why Sasha passed away? I think the latter’s the most likely, so we can reassure them that they are welcome to stay on in the lodges for as long as is necessary, that kind of thing.’

‘And find out if anyone has a motive!’

‘Kit!’ exclaimed Anthea.

‘What? If Lottie didn’t poison Sasha, then someone else did.’

‘It’s more than likely to be some kind of accident, not a murder!’

‘How do you know that?’

‘I…’

‘He’s right, Anthea,’ said Hazel.

‘Okay, if the opportunity presents itself, we’ll do a little—’

‘Interrogation,’ Kit helpfully supplied.

‘I’d prefer it if we called it fact finding, Kit,’ said Anthea, making her way to the café’s door. ‘Remember what I said about being circumspect? All we are doing is clearing Lottie and Cleo’s names and safeguarding the reputation of the Waddling Duck Café, for all our sakes. Nothing sinister is going on here; Sasha either passed away from an undiagnosed illness, or she consumed something that she was unknowingly allergic to. Right-e-oh, I’ll see you all later!’

When the first three members of the newly formed Just Desserts Club had left the café, Lottie glanced at Cleo who was starting to look just as overwhelmed as Anthea had. However, while she was anxious about the advisability of approaching any of Sasha’s friends – especially Dylan – and start asking them questions, she also didn’t want to sit in the café and allow her demons free reign.

‘Are you okay?’

‘Yes, I’m fine. It’s just that while the Just Desserts Club sounds exciting in theory, in practice, it is a little bit… daunting. But I’m totally on board. I love this café, I’ve had some of the best times of my life here, and I intend to do everything I can to stop it from closing.’

‘Me too. Come on, let’s go and find Matt.’

Lottie left the café with Cleo hot on her heels. They found Matt striding backwards and forwards outside Sasha and Dylan’s lodge – where Lottie was horrified to see a ribbon of black and yellow crime scene tape fluttering in the breeze – winding up his telephone conversation.

‘That was Marcus Bairstow. Ethan and I play rugby with him sometimes, but he’s also the local doctor who happens to be on call today, and he’s assured me that so far he’s not had a single call-out, nor have his paramedic colleagues been asked to attend any other incidents, minor or serious. He’s as certain as he can be that this is an isolated incident, and he’s promised to let me know as soon as he is able what caused Sasha’s death.’

‘Do you think…’ Cleo paused, flashing a quick look at the lodge’s windows. ‘I’m probably way out of line here, but do you think Sasha could have taken something to… erm… well… to give her confidence a bit of a boost for the show she was going to put on for us tonight, and maybe she just accidentally took a bit too much?’

‘Actually, Sasha doesn’t… didn’t do drugs,’ came a small, tremulous voice from the veranda of the adjacent lodge.

Cleo’s face flooded with heat. ‘Oh, I didn’t mean… I wasn’t implying…’

‘It’s okay,’ said Jess, moving out of her hiding place and slumping down on the bottom step like a lost waif, her eyes bloodshot from shedding copious tears over her sister’s sudden and unexpected passing. ‘Lots of people in the music industry use some form of performance enhancement, I know that, but not Sash. She’s… was totally clean.’

‘But maybe she just…’ persisted Cleo, as Lottie took a seat next to Jess.

‘No, she wouldn’t. She just wouldn’t. I know her. Sasha didn’t do any drugs. Not even paracetamol.’

‘Well, hopefully the police will be able to throw more light on what’s caused her… illness,’ said Matt, clearly unwilling to use the word “death” in front of Jess. ‘Have you contacted your parents to let them know what’s happened?’

‘Our parents passed away in a helicopter crash when I was ten. There’s only me and Sasha – and our uncle and aunt. They’re on their yacht in Sardinia at the moment. Oh God, Auntie Martha’s going to be completely devastated,’ Jess squeaked, crumpling into Lottie’s arms, her delicate shoulders heaving, her long wavy hair falling over her face. ‘They’ve… they’ve taken her away. They’ve taken my beautiful, kind, caring sister away with them in the ambulance. They wouldn’t let me go with her – or Dylan – so she’s all alone, alone in a cold, dark room at the hospital.’

‘Jess, there you are. Are you… Oh, it’s you,’ said Leo, hooking his arm around Jess’ shoulders and glaring at Lottie and Cleo in turn, clearly still of the opinion that they had something to do with poisoning Sasha. ‘What are you doing hanging around here? Didn’t Dylan ask you to leave us alone?’

Lottie swallowed down hard on an upswing of distress.

‘Yes, sorry, we just wanted to offer our condolences—’

‘You’re joking, right?’

‘I…’

Matt caught Lottie’s eye and gestured for her and Cleo to follow him, and they made their way back to the terrace behind the café. Lottie dropped down onto a seat at one of the wooden picnic benches, which in the daytime was usually crammed with ravenous customers. Cleo slid into a seat opposite her and Matt perched on the table, a faint whiff of his cologne floating on the warm evening air.

‘I didn’t want to say anything in front of Leo, or Jess,’ said Matt, drawing his hand backwards and forwards across his chin. ‘And I know it’s too early to speculate, but I really don’t think this is a case of accidental food poisoning. If Sasha did eat something that was contaminated, it usually takes a while for the effects to show, and it’s rarely fatal. Usually the sufferer develops stomach cramps, then they may experience a headache, or a bout of vomiting or diarrhoea and there was no evidence that that had happened to Sasha. So, there must be another explanation.’

‘Such as?’ asked Lottie

Matt’s forehead creased into parallel lines as he worked through his theory. ‘Why don’t you tell me what you know about Sasha Richards? Who she is, why she’s here, everything.’

‘I don’t know much more than you, really.’

For a moment, Lottie felt flustered, her mind suddenly washed clean under the intensity of Matt’s questions. Clearly he was taking his membership of their newly formed Just Desserts Club seriously and was employing what she knew was the first rule of investigating; gathering relevant information. She selected a strand of hair, twisting it rhythmically between her fingers, as she scoured her sluggish brain for a place to start.

‘Okay, so, she’s here with her sister Jess and a group of friends to celebrate the recent signing of her recording contract. She’s been singing in bars in Majorca and Ibiza since she left music school, and this is… was her big break. She was so excited; they all were.’

‘What else? Who booked the lodges?’

‘That was Sasha’s boyfriend, Dylan – apparently one of his friends came here last summer and loved it. Dylan persuaded Sasha to come as it would be her last chance to relax before the music business “stole her life” – his words, not mine. He even called me during the week to ask us to order in a certain brand of Champagne because it’s Sasha’s favourite.’

‘And did Dylan pay for the lodges, too?’

‘No. Sasha paid for everything on her credit card when she checked in. She wanted to treat her friends to celebrate landing her recording contract.’

‘So, if it’s not drugs or a reaction to overindulgence of alcohol, what else could it be?’ asked Cleo, scrunching up her nose in thought. ‘Some sort of allergy to an ingredient in the food, like Anthea said? Or… maybe…’

‘What?’

‘Maybe someone put something in her food?’

‘But who would do that?’ asked Lottie, horrified by the suggestion.

‘A deranged fan or a jealous love rival?’

‘I don’t think that’s—’

‘Look, there’s Dylan,’ said Matt, jumping up from the bench and striding towards Sasha’s boyfriend who was sauntering towards the car park, taking the opportunity to snatch a quick cigarette, oblivious to their presence.

‘What did the police say?’ Matt asked as they reached his side.

‘Exactly what I thought they’d say,’ said Dylan, his manner more subdued than earlier which was understandable given the circumstances. ‘Some kind of poisoning, but at this stage they’re unable to pinpoint exactly what made her so ill, so quickly, so they wouldn’t comment any further until they knew more.’

‘So it’s definitely something Sasha ate or drank?’ Lottie asked quietly.

‘Yes. The… the people from forensics are finishing up in the lodge, and they’ve promised to get the samples over to the lab immediately so they can narrow down the possible cause. In the meantime, we’ve been told to stay here, but obviously I can’t…’ Dylan indicated the tape around the lodge he’d previously shared with Sasha.

‘You can stay in the shepherd’s hut, if you like?’

‘Thanks. I—’

A flicker of movement from his right caused Dylan to pause and everyone turned to see two figures dressed in white Tyvek suits emerge from Sasha’s lodge, lock the door behind them, and descend the wooden steps before making their way to the café’s car park.

Lottie noticed that one of them was carrying several large plastic bags containing the Champagne bottle that Sasha had taken back to her lodge with her, two used glasses, and a variety of other smaller bottles. She experienced a mule’s kick to her stomach when she saw the throat spray bottle was amongst them, followed by a wave of nausea as she realised the implications. What if the cause of Sasha’s illness had been the honey she had given her from the café kitchen?

The sight of the besuited forensics team – and the contents of their evidence bags – caused Dylan’s mood to change as though someone had flicked a switch. He whipped out his phone from the back pocket of his designer jeans and dialled a number.

‘Hello? Is that the environmental health department? No? Well, put me through to them. Why not? Yes, my name is Dylan Dawson, and I want to report a lethal case of food poisoning. Am I speaking to the right person? I don’t want to have to repeat myself.’

‘Oh God…’ Lottie murmured.

‘I really don’t understand why you can’t send someone down here to inspect the establishment that caused the outbreak immediately. We could have an epidemic on our hands! How would it look when it’s reported in the local press that a concerned member of the public reported the matter and the council did nothing? Of course I know what time it is. How is that relevant? I demand that you… hello? Hello? Imbecile!’

Lottie saw a flash of anger sweep across Dylan’s expression, and she thought he was going to launch into another tirade about the Waddling Duck being germ-ridden and an unacceptable health hazard, but when he caught Matt’s eye, he thought better of it. Without saying anything further, he stowed his phone in his pocket and marched off towards the shepherd’s hut.

‘You know,’ muttered Cleo, her eyes narrowed as they followed his retreating figure. ‘I wouldn’t put it past him to have poisoned Sasha himself!’

‘What do you mean?’ Lottie asked, shocked by her friend’s suggestion.

‘Well, apart from his total lack of grief, or empathy for how Sasha must have suffered before she died – clearly preferring to concentrate on apportioning blame and calling in the authorities rather than consoling his girlfriend’s sister – what if he arrived earlier than we thought at the garden party and saw Sasha disappearing with Ethan in tow?’

‘Cleo, you really do have an over-active imagination—’ Matt began.

‘No, Matt, hang on a minute. Cleo might have a point. Except, I don’t think it would be Sasha that Dylan would poison – it would be Ethan. Oh my God!’ Lottie’s hand flew to her mouth. ‘Ethan! With everything that’s been going on, we’ve completely forgotten about him. Where is he? He was probably the last person to see her alive! Has anyone told him what’s going on?’

The three friends exchanged glances and shook their heads.

‘We’ve got to find him!’ Lottie exclaimed. ‘Come on! Hurry!’

Chapter Eleven

‘We can’t just go haring off,’ said Matt when they arrived in the café’s car park. ‘We have no idea where to start looking. He could be anywhere!’

‘Well, I’m calling him right now!’

Cleo scrambled around in her bag for her phone and selected Ethan’s number. Lottie stared at her, fingers crossed in her pockets, praying for Ethan to answer with his usual chirpy greeting. But her personal deliverer of good news was off-duty – sadly not a rarity these days – and Cleo’s call went to voicemail.

‘Ethan, it’s Cleo. Call me back as soon as you get this message. It’s urgent!’

‘We should at least go round to his house,’ said Lottie. ‘What if he’s lying on the floor in agony, unable to reach for the phone to call the doctor, or… or…?’

The very thought of Ethan suffering the same outcome as Sasha caused a spasm of pain to slice through Lottie’s abdomen. Was the reason he wasn’t answering his phone because… because it was too late?

‘Come on. Let’s try his flat first,’ said Matt, the anxiety clear in his voice.

They all jumped into the mud-caked SUV sporting the purple EQ logo and Matt skidded away from the Waddling Duck’s car park, sending a scattering of gravel and dust in their wake like confetti at a wedding. No one spoke during the few minutes it took to drive to the post office at the far end of the village, above which Ethan rented a studio apartment not dissimilar to the one Lottie was living in above the café.

Lottie spent the whole journey fighting her runaway thoughts that insisted on racing down myriad disturbing avenues of possibility, and when they arrived at the post office Matt was the first to leap from his seat. Together, they rushed through the gate that led to Ethan’s bright blue front door, a few metres to the right of the post office’s entrance, the density of the summer foliage on either side of the pathway drowning all ambient noise. Even the birds seemed to have taken a break from their nightly choir practice.

Peace prevailed and the summer breeze caressed Lottie’s skin like a lover’s whisper. For a few blissful seconds she felt as though there was no stomach-churning conundrum to unravel, and they were just paying a friendly visit to Ethan to chat about his day at Extreme Quests. Sadly, her pleasant reverie was rudely interrupted when Matt began hammering on Ethan’s front door.

‘Ethan? Ethan?’

Lottie stepped back to look at the upstairs window, but there was no sign of life.

‘Ethan?’ called Cleo through the letterbox, her face almost translucent in the amber light of the streetlamps.

Lottie hadn’t known Ethan for long, but, just as with Matt, she had connected with him straight away. She would never forgive herself if anything had happened to him and it turned out she was responsible. Anxiety was tearing at her mind so much that if they didn’t find him alive and well in the next few minutes, she would be looking at her sanity in the rear-view mirror.

Despite her determination to be proactive, to face the situation she’d found herself in head-on, all she felt like doing now was opening her mouth and screaming, screaming until her voice cracked. However, she knew that wouldn’t help anyone, least of all Ethan. She had to be brave and hang on to her emotions until they had the answer to the cause of Sasha’s poisoning – only then could she indulge in a falling-to-pieces scenario.

Matt gave up pounding on the front door and sprinted round to the rear of the property, leaping over the white picket fence like an Olympic hurdler. Lottie and Cleo followed him, managing to negotiate the fence in a much clumsier fashion, and coming to a halt in front of Ethan’s back door.

‘Do you think he’s…’ Cleo began, hugging her arms to her chest.

Lottie slid her arm around her new friend’s shoulders as Matt searched beneath the collection of ceramic flowerpots on the doorstep for a key.

‘Got it!’

Lottie followed Matt and Cleo up the steep staircase to Ethan’s flat, but a cursory glance told her immediately that Ethan wasn’t home. To her surprise, it wasn’t the typical bachelor pad she’d been expecting – practical, functional, devoid of any real personality – but filled with gem-coloured cushions, throws and vibrant watercolour paintings hanging on the walls. She itched to adjust the furnishings, to straighten the picture above the mantelpiece that had been knocked a little off-centre, to wipe the dribbles of ash from the hearth, to clear the benches of the detritus of Ethan’s breakfast, but she managed to rein in her errant impulses.

Cleo whimpered. ‘What are we going to do?’ It was suddenly all too much for her and she burst into tears.

Lottie dragged her into a hug, and with relief allowed the tears to fall down her own cheeks, too. Over Cleo’s shoulder she watched as Matt rubbed his palm across his bristly jawline, his dark blue eyes sombre, his brain working overtime.

‘I’m going to ring a couple of Ethan’s friends from the band. Maybe he’s with them, boasting about his dalliance with a soon-to-be famous rock musician.’ He ran down the stairs into the back garden to make the calls.

‘Where do you think he is, Lottie?’ Cleo asked.

‘I have no idea, but I’m sure he’ll be okay wherever he is.’

‘I’m going to ring Doctor Bairstow to see if he’s had any more call-outs.’

Cleo tried to extricate her mobile from her handbag, but her fingers were shaking so much that she lost her grip, and the phone tumbled to the floor. Lottie bent down to retrieve it for her and again, a feeling of light-headedness almost engulfed her, forcing her to slump onto Ethan’s surprisingly chintzy sofa and wait for the moment to pass.

She needed to make a concerted effort to staunch the anxiety that was starting to infiltrate her every thought and ignore the fact that if the Waddling Duck Café closed she would have no choice but to return to London and start looking for a job. She sighed; so much for escaping the distressing incidents of the last few weeks as she’d hoped – it seemed that dark grey raincloud had followed her down to Devon.

She handed Cleo her phone, but her friend shook her head.

‘Can you call him? I can’t think straight.’

Lottie nodded. Even though she was barely able to string two words together herself, she knew Cleo was suffering a great deal more than she was. She’d known Ethan, and Matt, for years, and was hoping to work with them at the outward-bounds centre in the autumn.

‘Hello, Doctor Bairstow, it’s Lottie Chadwick here, Matt’s friend, from the Waddling Duck Café. I just wondered whether there was any news on new cases of food poisoning?’

‘Hi, Lottie, please, call me Marcus. No, there’re no further developments to report. Since I spoke to Matt, I’ve called a couple of pals who were with you this afternoon and they all told me that not only are they fit and well, but they thoroughly enjoyed the garden party and are hoping that you’ll organise something similar for Hallowe’en or at Christmas. I’ve also spoken to my colleague in Great Sweeting, Doctor Mullins, and he’s having a very quiet evening, too – no call-outs. I’m cautiously optimistic that the cause of Sasha’s death did not originate in the Waddling Duck Café’s food. I intend to press the lab technicians for a swift response on the test results so I can completely put your mind at rest.’

‘Thank you, Doctor… Marcus, that’s very kind of you. Could I ask you one final question? Have you heard anything from Ethan Armstrong at all? It’s just, erm, well, he left the garden party with Sasha. We saw them go back to her lodge, but he wasn’t there when Dylan found Sasha, so we’re worried about him. He could have eaten or drank whatever Sasha did – we’re having trouble contacting him and he’s not at home.’

‘I’m sorry. I haven’t had any calls about Ethan. Have you asked Sasha’s friends what happened to him?’

‘No.’

‘Then, I think that’s your next conversation. If I can help any further, please let me know.’

‘Thank you.’ Lottie cut the call and turned to Cleo who had been following the conversation. ‘We need to speak to William or Amber. Come on.’

‘But what if they’re with Dylan?’

‘We’ll work something out.’ Lottie ran down the stairs and joined Matt in the garden. ‘Any news?’

‘No one’s seen him.’

‘I’ve just spoken to Doctor Bairstow… Marcus. He hasn’t heard from Ethan either, but thankfully there’s been no more cases of food poisoning reported, either here or over in Great Sweeting. He suggests we speak to Sasha’s friends to see if they’ve seen him.’

‘Okay. Let’s go.’

Before they had even got back to the SUV Matt’s mobile burst into life. Lottie watched on, her heart pounding, sending up a fervent request that the director of positive outcomes was back from her vacation.

‘Okay, thanks for letting me know. We’ll be right there.’

‘Well?’

‘Found him.’

‘Thank God,’ Lottie and Cleo muttered in unison.

‘Is he okay?’ Lottie added.

‘Well, he isn’t writhing in agony from a severe dose of food poisoning, if that’s what you mean. However, he’s devastated about what has happened to Sasha.’

‘So, where is he?’

‘He’s at the vicarage with the Rev and Anthea. He wanted to go straight back to the lodge to talk to Dylan, but bearing in mind Dylan’s temper, all three of us thought it would be best if he stayed where he was.’

‘Good call,’ murmured Cleo.

‘Oh God!’ Lottie exclaimed as something else occurred to her. ‘I completely forgot. I should call Debs in Melbourne to let her know what’s going on.’

‘I know it’s not my decision, but why don’t you wait until the morning?’ said Matt, climbing into the driver’s seat. ‘Any explanation is going to be easier on her ears when you know for certain what caused Sasha’s death. It goes without saying that if it turns out to be a food poisoning scare, the café’s reputation would take a hit, but we can’t rule out the possibility that Sasha took something herself. “Singer Takes Accidental Overdose”, well, no news there, is there?’

‘Okay, you’re probably right. I’ll call Debs in the morning. Let’s talk to Ethan and find out what on earth happened when he went back to the lodge with Sasha.’

Lottie was still worried about what was going to happen with the café, but keeping busy by talking to the people involved and trying to piece together exactly what had happened that afternoon at the garden party with two of her fellow Just Desserts Club members, made her feel better, more in control of events, rather than simply succumbing to the feelings of disorientation and panic.

As they made their way to the vicarage, a number of theories ricocheted around her brain: could Sasha have taken an overdose? From what Jess had said, it didn’t seem likely. And if it wasn’t accidental food poisoning, as Doctor Bairstow seemed to think, all that was left was that Sasha had been targeted by a person or persons unknown, as Kit had suggested.

But who?

And more to the point, why?

Chapter Twelve

St Andrew’s handsome sandstone vicarage crouched beneath a canopy of trees, a battalion of arboreal obelisks embroidered with cobwebs and draped with necklaces of glossy ivy. With rectangles of soft ivory light winking at its bay windows, the building took on the resemblance of a stone-hewn sailing ship moored against a backdrop of rippling leaves that undulated to the waltz of the wind. A solitary coil of silver smoke trailed from the chimney and merged with the night sky.

‘Oh, before we head inside, guys,’ said Cleo as she hooked her fringed handbag over her shoulder. ‘I’ve just had a WhatsApp message from Anthea to say that she wants to keep her membership of our Just Desserts Club from the Rev for the time being. She’s not sure how he’ll react to the vicar’s wife joining Little Sweeting’s very first private investigating enterprise.’

‘No problem.’

Lottie leapt from the passenger seat of Matt’s SUV and sprinted up the stone steps to the impressive front door that Anthea had chosen to paint a cheery red, closely followed by Cleo. She raised her hand to press the doorbell but paused. Why wasn’t Matt with them? She turned to look over her shoulder and, through the windscreen, saw him slumped over the steering wheel gazing at the entrance to the church on their right.

‘What’s wrong with Matt?’

‘Oh my God! With all the worry about Ethan, I completely forgot!’ exclaimed Cleo, her eyes filled with contrition and sympathy. ‘This must be the first time he’s been back to St Andrew’s since…’

Cleo interrupted her explanation to rush back down the steps to talk to him through the driver’s window. Lottie wanted to follow her, but the expression on Matt’s face caused her to hesitate. He was obviously undergoing some kind of internal emotional struggle, shaking his head and making regretful gestures to Cleo. Whatever had happened at the church, or maybe at the vicarage, to prevent him from rushing inside to talk to his friend must have been traumatic.

Lottie suddenly wanted to know the details, wanted to offer her support just as Matt was doing for her. That dark haunted look she had seen earlier was now clearly etched in his eyes, so she knew she hadn’t imagined it. Had he lost someone close to him and the church held distressing memories? If so, she wondered who.

Cleo continued with her persuasion, but Matt refused to budge, slamming the gearstick into reverse and zooming back down the driveway, leaving Cleo staring after him, concern creasing her forehead.

‘Matt’s asked us to meet him at the Crow’s Nest.’

‘But, why? I don’t understand…’

However, Cleo had pressed the doorbell, and Reverend Reynolds answered their summons immediately. He smiled in welcome and led them into the kitchen, the real heart of the home, where they found Ethan huddled at the scrubbed pine table, his fingers laced through the handle of a mug containing something strong. He didn’t look up when they joined him but continued to stare morosely into the bottom of his cup as if searching for answers in its depths.

‘Ethan?’

‘I didn’t do anything, Cleo! Nothing! Nothing at all. We just chatted about music for less than five minutes and then I left.’

‘I know, I know,’ Cleo soothed.

Lottie loitered at the kitchen door, unsure whether Ethan would prefer to talk to Cleo without her listening in. Just as with Matt, she felt a kind of affinity with Ethan, as though they were on the same wavelength from the moment they met, and she loved his quirky sense of humour and tendency towards comedic exuberance when he’d had a couple of beers. However, she also knew he was a softy at heart who would do anything for his friends, and it was clear that the shock of hearing about what had happened to Sasha had upset him tremendously.

‘Unless I can assist, I’ll leave you in peace,’ said Reverend Reynolds. ‘Anthea and I will be in the drawing room if you need anything.’

‘Thank you, Reverend, but Matt’s waiting for us at the Crow’s Nest.’ Cleo sighed, giving Gordon Reynolds a meaningful glance that conveyed everything to the vicar and Ethan and nothing whatsoever to Lottie. ‘Ethan? Are you up to joining us?’

Ethan raised his eyes to Cleo’s and nodded. He grabbed his denim jacket and followed them along the passageway to the front door, his whole body slumped like a puppet clipped of its strings. They bade goodnight to the sympathetic vicar, sent a cryptic glance in Anthea’s direction and made their way down the gravel drive back to the entrance gate.

‘What’s going on, Cleo? Why wouldn’t Matt…’

‘Later, Lottie.’

‘Oh, okay.’

Lottie fell back a couple of paces behind Cleo and Ethan, startled at the way her enquiry had been closed down. Cleo’s reaction reminded her that she was a newcomer to the village, and she had been probing for details about Matt’s personal life, which perhaps he would want to keep to himself. She understood, but it made her feel like she was back in the school playground, excluded from the whispered gossip that she had always thought was about her after her self-confidence had dipped when she’d lost her father. But this definitely wasn’t about her, so she ignored the nip of hurt Cleo’s words had inadvertently caused and strode forward to re-join her and Ethan.

The Crow’s Nest was situated at the opposite end of the high street to the vicarage. Its white-washed façade glowed with golden light from two iron lanterns, which also illuminated the large letters proclaiming its name. Cleo pushed open the heavy oak door and guided them towards the back room. Immediately, Lottie was enveloped in a warm, welcoming hug. The buzz of chatter, interspersed with the occasional burst of laughter, rippling against the background tune of a classic Beatles track. A faint aroma of yeasty beer, mingled with baked dough from the huge pizza the customers sitting next to the fireplace were in the process of devouring, met her nostrils and she relaxed a little.

When they arrived in the snug, Lottie was surprised to see Matt looking almost as morose as Ethan. She ached to ask what was going on, but the priority was to talk to Ethan who had slumped down on the banquette next to his friend.

‘Hey, Matt. Sorry about holing up at the vicarage…’ Ethan started.

‘Don’t worry about it,’ said Matt, visibly dragging his mood out of the doldrums to concentrate on the task in hand. He flicked a glance in Lottie’s direction, and she was gratified to see that the earlier sadness had been replaced by a hint of seriousness in his deep blue eyes.

‘Listen, Ethan, what happened to Sasha is heartbreaking, but no one is suggesting you had anything whatsoever to do with it. However, Sasha’s boyfriend Dylan has arrived, and he’s got it into his head that Lottie is to blame for making Sasha sick, that the food she and Cleo served at the party was in some way contaminated. The police are investigating, of course, and they’ve taken away a Champagne bottle, a couple of glasses and a selection of other items that were in the lodge. Dylan has called in the authorities and until the cause of Sasha’s death is confirmed, the café will have to remain closed, and the sale put on hold.’

Matt paused to glance at Lottie and Cleo, and they both nodded their approval.

‘Okay. Now, as anyone who’s been in the café’s kitchen recently knows, there’s no way Sasha’s illness could be down to careless food preparation, so we thought – and when I say “we”, I mean Lottie, Cleo and I, along with Kit, Hazel, and Anthea—’

‘Otherwise known as the Just Desserts Club,’ interjected Cleo proudly.

‘We thought we could help to speed up the process of clearing the café’s name by investigating the real cause of what happened this afternoon ourselves. So that means you have to tell us exactly what happened between you and Sasha when you went back to her lodge. No matter how intimate or embarrassing. If you would rather Cleo and Lottie left—’

‘No! Honestly, Matt, there’s no need. Nothing happened. I swear to you; she was absolutely fine when I left her. Is it true what Anthea told me? That you think someone may have poisoned her, like deliberately?’

‘It’s a possibility, but Marcus Bairstow says we should wait for the results of her blood test before we start speculating.’

‘But how? Why?’

‘All we know is that Sasha must have become unwell at some point after you left. We don’t know how or why. But,’ Matt softened his voice and held his friend’s gaze for a beat, ‘it does seem you were the last person to have… well… to have seen her alive. You have to help us understand what happened after you left the party together.’

As Lottie waited for Ethan to explain, she was visited by a whoosh of sympathy. Matt and Ethan should have been enjoying a well-deserved pint after a long week at the outward-bounds centre and a stint volunteering at the Waddling Duck Café’s garden party. She suspected they had been the first to put their names on the list when Debs was looking for volunteers to help with the organising and setting up of the tables and the clearing up afterwards.

‘Really, Matt, I promise you, there’s nothing to tell. You saw what Sasha was like. She must have downed at least two bottles of Prosecco before we were even introduced. She was drunk, or so I thought. I was as surprised as everyone else when she dragged me off to the lodge like that. She’s gorgeous, and it was great to meet someone who loves music just as much as I do. I’m not sure what I expected to happen when we got back to her lodge. I’m not even sure anything would have happened. I’d only had a cup of tea and a couple of warm beers, so I was in full command of my senses, and, call me old-fashioned, but I prefer my date to know what she’s doing.’

‘What do you mean “she was drunk, or so I thought”?’ Matt pressed.

‘When we arrived at her lodge, we chatted about music for a few seconds, then Sasha disappeared into the bathroom. I stood at the window in the lounge. I just couldn’t get my head around what was going on. I was struggling with my conscience as to what to do next when she emerged, fully clothed and as sober as my aunt Helga.’

‘What? But we all watched her swallow the entire contents of a bottle of Prosecco,’ Lottie said. ‘How could she have been sober?’

‘I don’t know how, she just was. She offered to open a bottle of Moet she had brought with her, but I declined. Hate the stuff. I’m a beer and whiskey man, you know I am.’ His eyes sought Matt’s, silently pleading for his support. ‘Anyway, panic had started to set in. I mean, she was on the verge of becoming a famous singer and who am I? No. I didn’t want to get involved in anything like that. I swear I was about to make my excuses and leave when she apologised.’

‘For what?’

‘For the scene she had created on the lawn. She told me she’d had to make it look like she’d scored with a handsome guy. Had to make someone jealous. Teach them a lesson, like. Well, I was so relieved I didn’t have to explain my change of heart that it didn’t even occur to me to be offended at being used as some kind of pawn in whatever game she was playing.’

‘Then what happened?’

‘She pecked me on the cheek and ushered me out sharpish. It was only as I walked down the back steps of the lodge that the shame and embarrassment at being unceremoniously dumped set in. All I wanted was a decent slug of whiskey to obliterate the humiliation, so I sneaked out of the side gate and headed home. I called in at the flat for a bottle of Jack and then went down to the office at the outward-bounds centre where I knew I wouldn’t be disturbed. The next thing I knew, the Rev and Anthea were hammering on the door like the world had come to an end. Apparently, Anthea had tried to call me, something about being missing from a meeting – is that the Just Desserts Club you mentioned? Anyway, when I didn’t answer she was worried about me, so they came to find me.’

‘What time did you get to the flat?’

‘No idea. Probably just before seven o’clock. I bumped into Anthea when I was walking across the village green on my way home. She asked if I was okay, I mumbled something about being fine, but she didn’t look convinced.’

‘So, you must have left Sasha at just after six thirty. It only takes ten minutes to walk to from the top of the holiday site to the village green, and then another five or so to the post office. When you were with Sasha, did she complain about feeling unwell; headache, nausea, stomach cramps?’

‘No, nothing like that.’

‘And did either of you eat or drink anything?’

‘No. Look, I know what people might be thinking – that I put something in her drink, but I swear to you I didn’t. I told you; she was fine when I left. She even locked the door behind me. I heard the click. Matt, what’s going to happen? Will the police arrest me?’

‘Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that. We won’t know for sure whether or not it was an accident until they get the results of the blood tests back.’

When Ethan took a sip from his pint of Guinness, Lottie saw that his hands were trembling. His familiar healthy complexion was tinged with grey, dark smudges had appeared beneath his eyes, and he continually rubbed his hand across the back of his neck.

Despite her own catalogue of anxiety, Lottie’s heart ached for him. ‘Look, it’s late. I think we should all get some sleep and meet up again in the morning.’

Matt nodded his agreement, running his fingers through his fringe so that it stuck up in random tufts, but his grave expression spoke of his concern as he asked, ‘Is it okay if I take the sofa at yours, Eth?’

Lottie saw the look of gratitude Ethan sent to his best friend and colleague and she smiled at Matt’s kindness. Matt might look like a no-nonsense man-of-action-and-practicality on the outside – not to mention the added attraction of his toned physique and soft, come-to-bed eyes – but on the inside, he was obviously a loyal and supportive friend who was worried about Ethan’s wellbeing after such a dreadful shock.

Matt had seen Lottie’s appraisal of him and she quickly averted her gaze, but not before she saw him smirk. She rolled her eyes but couldn’t prevent a rush of heat flushing into her cheeks, nor the fizzle of something she hadn’t expected in her chest. She was surprised at the strength of her reaction.

Was she attracted to Matt Wilson?

Chapter Thirteen

The next day Lottie spent every minute from the time she woke up, scrubbing the café from top-to-bottom, then washing, rinsing, and washing again all the cutlery, crockery and glassware they’d used at the garden party, more for something to do with her hands than her fear there might be an errant molecule of poison lingering on their surfaces.

By the time four o’clock came around her feet were screaming their objection to the unexpected onslaught, yet despite her tiredness and the worrying events of the previous day, she was much less anxious. That’s what working in the café alongside Cleo, and chatting about anything and everything, did to her and she sent up her daily missive of gratitude to her director of fate – or more precisely Henry – for sending her to Little Sweeting, even if her stay at the village proved to be shorter than she would have liked.

After shooing a clearly reluctant but exhausted Cleo home, she locked the door and turned round to survey the room. The café, with its French doors opening onto the terrace beyond, still exuded an aroma of warm buttered scones, along with the fragrance of the sweet peas she had arranged for the tables – before everything had changed – and a faint soupçon of Flash. She made herself a mug of Earl Grey tea, helped herself to one of the mini kiwi and lime pavlovas she and Cleo had made in their sparklingly clean kitchen that afternoon for personal consumption only, and took it to the plump sofa in the bay window that overlooked the village’s picturesque high street.

From her vantage point, she could see Kit’s florist’s shop – Blossoms & Bouquets – its peppermint green façade shining in the late afternoon sunshine. The window display was the perfect advert for his creative skills with a stunning arrangement of jolly yellow sunflowers interspersed with bright blue lupins in the shape of a clock. She switched her gaze to the dog groomers next door to the florist’s, The Pooch Parlour, run by Pheobe who often stopped by the café for a macchiato and a cinnamon bun before she opened her doors to the canine-loving community. Lottie loved dogs and had told Pheobe that if she was ever in need of additional dog-walking assistance, then she was available, and was thrilled when Pheobe had suggested they met on the village green the following Tuesday when she would introduce her to Coco.

Then there was the bookshop on the other side of the ancient stone bridge where the now-retired Professor Hector Harrison ran his emporium of bibliographic excellence that catered for every conceivable literary taste from picture books to Manga, horror to romcom. Everyone, without exception, had made her feel welcome and a valued member of the tight-kinit community, which made her feel even worse about what had happened.

When she had left London with her heart cracked into multiple pieces, she had never dared to hope that she could make her life somewhere else, or that the new life she pursued could be as contented – until recent events, of course. She would even go as far as to admit that, despite the fact that she had barely just arrived, she was happier in Little Sweeting than she had been in the metropolis. The only thing she regretted was that she could no longer share a cup of tea and home-made ginger snap with Hannah and Henry.

She had toyed with the idea of calling Hannah when she woke up that morning, of pouring out the whole story to her sympathetic ear and asking for her advice, but she had refrained at the last minute. She knew Hannah would worry about her and maybe even jump on the next train down to Devon and she didn’t want her to do that, she had her own life to pursue. And as she had agreed to Matt’s suggestion not to speak to Debs until they had heard more from either the police or Doctor Bairstow, she had decided not to call Henry either as she knew for a fact he would pick up on any hesitation in her voice when he asked her how the garden party had gone.

Satisfied that the café and its kitchen were squeaky clean, and still relishing the delicate tang of fresh disinfectant in her nostrils, she climbed the stairs to the tiny studio apartment upstairs that Debs had generously said she could use rent-free. Then, something else occurred to her. Whilst she was on the subject of self-reflection, perhaps another thing she should work on was her obsession with orderliness. Would the world really fall apart if her tee-shirts weren’t folded in the same way or the café’s spice jars weren’t stored in alphabetical order or didn’t have their labels facing the front?

She stripped and stepped into the shower, lathering her body and hair in beautiful, clean soapy bubbles using the Jo Malone toiletries Georgia had bought her for her birthday.

Bliss!

Whilst she performed a valiant attempt to tame her curls, a crystal-clear image of her younger sister sprang into her mind. Georgia had championed every tiny footstep of her success, from graduating art school, to landing her first food stylist assignment, to creating twists on the humble fruit scone – she had even started to hint that it was time Lottie made more of an effort to date but she had skilfully deflected her gentle persuasion. Thankfully, her sister knew nothing about her disastrous affair with Claude.

Setting up and providing the catering for the Waddling Duck Café’s summer garden party had been a milestone, though. She had proved to herself that she could smile and laugh and live life to the full like everyone else, and she was heartbroken that it had ended in such a terrible way.

As Lottie brushed her teeth, Cleo popped into her mind and a wide smile stretched her lips. She knew she had hit the friendship jackpot when Cleo had walked into the café, introduced herself and strapped on one of her outrageous aprons, ready to bake up a storm. At the ripe old age of twenty-three, she was a natural baker, but that was probably also partly down to the fact that her mother, Denise, was a food technology teacher at the local High School. Lottie had loved the evening Cleo had arranged to introduce her to her coterie of friends on the night she had arrived, which they’d spent together putting the world to rights with that trio of solace – chocolate, wine and gossip.

Was all this progress at an end?

Were the friendships she’d made in the short time she’d been there about to be extinguished by a flick of fate, forcing her to either return to London with her tail between her legs or, worse, move on to somewhere new and start all over again?

And worse than all of that, had she been the catalyst to destroying the business that had been in Debs’ – and Henry’s – family for three generations? Even if the closure turned out to be temporary, she knew that gossip spreads like burgundy wine on a cream carpet, and potential patrons might think that there was no smoke without fire, which was bound to have a negative impact on the sale price.

Lottie groaned. She had been grateful for the hustle and bustle of the day because it had kept the churning trepidation at bay. However, now she was alone in her studio, she was finding it difficult not to allow the anxiety demons to start circling. It seemed that she had not only burnt her bridges in the food styling arena, but in the catering industry, too. Who would want to employ her when they discovered that after only ten days in the post, she had managed to poison one of her customers, and a potential pop star to boot?

Lottie pulled on a fresh pair of jeans and her musings continued to meander around her brain. Inevitably, her thoughts drifted to Matt and how comfortable she felt in his company, as though she had known him for years, not just a few days. Then, for some reason known only to her subconscious, she found herself imagining what he would look like without the black tee shirt that moulded his body like a second skin.

Okay, Lottie, she chastised herself, time to get a grip!

She tossed her hairbrush onto the glass shelf beneath the mirror and selected a powder-blue tank top from her carefully co-ordinated wardrobe. Matt was much more than the local Bear Grylls, with an affinity with the great outdoors and a penchant for flying through the air on a zip wire. Even before he knew the results of Sasha’s tests, he had stood loyally by her side and, maybe against his better judgement, had agreed to become a founding member of the Just Desserts Club in order to absolve her, and Cleo, of any suggestion of culpability as quickly as possible.

Lottie smiled. She couldn’t wait to take her place alongside her fellow Just Dessert Club friends, and she could feel the almost-forgotten tug of excitement she’d experienced when unravelling a mystery in one of the novels she had loved to read before her life had imploded. The irony was, this time, she seemed to be the suspect and not the fictional protagonist sleuth! She would have given Debs’ precious Gaggia coffee machine to know what her beloved father would have said about that…

A sharp knock on the door of the café made her jump. She secured her hair with a gem-encrusted comb, squared her shoulders, and trotted down the stairs, with the precise whereabouts of the café’s frying pan and rolling pin running through her mind. She rolled her eyes at her foolishness.

‘Oh, Matt, it’s just you.’

‘Gosh, don’t sound so enthusiastic.’

‘No, I… sorry, sorry, come in.’

‘Actually, I thought you might want to take a walk over to Jess and Leo’s lodge. I’ve just had a message from Marcus to say he’s on his way over to see them. I think the local police might have asked him to let them know the results of the lab tests; he is trained in delivering… news of this kind.’

‘Oh, I…’

Lottie’s spirits took a sudden, unexpected nose-dive, and her stomach felt as though she had plunged from the top of a roller-coaster down to the bottom. Nevertheless, the sooner she knew what had caused Sasha’s death the better, even if she was to blame. She nodded and went to snatch her jacket from the coat stand, but apprehension – and terror – clouded her thoughts and her hands shook so much that she struggled to lock the café behind them. All of her energy seeped from her body as uninvited reminders of what had happened in her life over the last few weeks began to crowd into her brain.

‘Is everything okay, Lottie?’

‘Yes, yes, I’m…’

She saw Matt watching her closely, and when she met his vivid blue eyes, there was a gentleness there that melted her reserve. Suddenly she wanted to open up to him about the reasons why her self-esteem had been at rock bottom when she’d arrived in Little Sweeting. She felt as though she could say anything to him, and he wouldn’t judge her, especially now that she seemed to have been pulled into another drama that was destined to ruin her life.

‘Actually, no, I’m not.’

Matt indicated one of the tables on the café’s terrace and she took a seat opposite him, wondering where to start before deciding just to launch in. Her parents had taught her that it was good to talk, and that honesty was always the best policy.

‘The reason my confidence is battered is because it turned out that my…’ She paused, unsure how to describe Claude. ‘My ex was only with me because he needed my food styling skills for a prestigious competition, then, when we didn’t win as he had expected to, he told me I was useless, that my design was substandard, and not only fired me, but dumped me, too. That’s why I came down to Devon; to get away for a while and decide whether I want to continue working in the industry or move on to something new.’

‘It sounds like your ex is a fool.’

Lottie saw Matt’s jaw had tightened and was grateful he was on her side. However, meandering through the memory maze caused the familiar feelings of worthlessness to rear their obnoxious heads, and the muscles in her stomach contracted painfully. Yet, with Hannah’s, and more recently Cleo’s, constant cheerleading ringing in her ears she had come to understand that Claude’s dismissive behaviour towards her was more to do with his inferiority rather than hers. As Hannah had repeatedly told her, what Claude had done was reprehensible whichever way you looked at it, and this gave her the courage to continue with her story.

Maybe if she gave her demons wings, they would fly away!

‘That’s not all. Just before I came down here, I found out that for the whole time we were together, Claude was actually dating someone else. It seems, as is often the case, I was the last to know but even looking back and scouring my memory I can honestly say that I had no idea; there were no warning signs whatsoever, although I admit that I was more into him than he was me. She, Chantelle, was at the awards ceremony and when I saw the way she looked at me, I should have guessed, but I didn’t, and I feel like such an idiot. I don’t know if she knew about me, but that doesn’t matter, I wouldn’t have agreed to a date if I’d known he was involved with someone else. Anyway, it’s over now and I’ve learned my lesson to never, never be stupid enough to date a client because the consequences of a break-up are devastating – twice over.’

Lottie dashed away a solitary tear in irritation. What had happened was in the past and she had moved on, but she was still working on her forgiveness skills.

‘Lottie, I’m so sorry.’

Matt reached across the table to squeeze her hand and an intense burst of his woody, almost peppery, aftershave made the corners of her lips curl upwards despite her sadness.

‘Thanks,’ she muttered, grateful to see the genuine empathy in his eyes

‘You probably won’t believe this, but I know exactly how you feel.’

‘Really?’ She attempted a weak smile. ‘Did your choice of furniture supplier cause your ex-partner to end up suspended two feet from the ground in a faulty hanging egg chair with their knees in their face and their feet waving in the air in front of over two hundred people, with the whole debacle being recorded and broadcast online?’

Heat whooshed through her body as she relived what she knew would be seared onto the back of her eyelids for all eternity. When she’d called home the following morning and sobbed out the whole sorry saga – minus the bit about thinking she and Claude were an item – she’d been met with maternal sympathy from her mum, and furious indignation from Georgia. Her sister had even suggested that she should take legal advice on whether Claude could fire her in such a despicable way, and it had taken Lottie over an hour to talk her out of hoping on a train to London and storming Claude’s office in Pimlico to tell him what she thought of him. Heaven knows what she would have done if she’d known they’d been dating and he’d cheated on her!

When Lottie eventually reconnected to the present, she felt lighter, cleansed somehow, of the residue of gloom that had resided in her heart since leaving her life in the capital. She sought Matt’s eyes, wanting to thank him for listening, and was shocked to the core when she saw the ragged torment scrawled across his attractive features.

However, before she could ask him about it, he’d shoved back his chair and was striding across the lawn, and when she caught up with him the anguish had vanished from his face, and she wondered if she had imagined it. However, she knew she hadn’t, that there were things hidden deep within Matt’s soul that he clearly wasn’t ready to divulge, and she had to respect that.

And anyway, she had just seen Marcus Bairstow disappear into Jess and Leo’s lodge.

Chapter Fourteen

Lottie was about to head towards the lodge next door to Sasha’s when she felt Matt’s hand on her arm. She turned towards him, thinking he’d changed his mind about confiding in her, but that wasn’t why he’d reached out to stop her in her tracks.

‘What the…?’

Lottie followed Matt’s gaze to a neatly clipped privet hedge that marked the boundary between the café’s terrace and garden, and the glamping site where the four lodges and the shepherd’s hut were located. At first, she couldn’t see anything, but then she caught a flash of pink and relaxed, smiling when she also heard the familiar jangle of silver bangles.

‘Hazel! Kit! What are you doing here?’ asked Lottie.

‘Isn’t that obvious?’ said Kit, emerging from the foliage brushing down the sleeves of his black trench coat. He would have looked just like the typical incarnation of an undercover detective, except there was a sprig of privet leaves sprouting from his matching fedora, and he was wearing a pair of binoculars around his neck on a chunky silver chain, like an oversized medallion.

‘No, I—’

‘We’re looking for clues,’ said Hazel, struggling to extricate herself from the hedge. ‘Apparently, the first forty-eight hours after a crime, sorry, “incident”, is the most important period in any investigation, and Kit and I didn’t want to waste the opportunity to find the one piece of evidence that could go on to solve this case before the police have even tied their shoelaces.’

Like Kit, Hazel had thrown herself into her new role and had taken the opportunity to showcase the new black leather trousers she’d recently purchased. While her bomber jacket was also black – and her tennis shoes more practical than Kit’s orange winklepickers with stacked heels – her vibrant pink hair meant she could probably be seen from the other side of the village.

Inconspicuous they were not.

Clearly, they had a lot to learn about the art of disguise and camouflage.

‘And?’ asked Matt, his mouth twitching, causing dimples to bracket his lips.

‘And what?’ said Kit, removing his hat and discarding the leaves.

‘Did you find anything?’

‘Sadly not,’ said Hazel, obviously disheartened that she hadn’t stumbled on a discarded bottle marked with a skull and crossbones within seconds of arriving on site. ‘But there’s a huge area to search, and Anthea couldn’t join us because she’s helping the Rev to host a Scrabble & Scriptures night at the vicarage this evening. I did mention our “assignment” to Tina at the bridal boutique – oh, don’t worry, I told her it was a litter-picking exercise after the garden party – but she’d just had an emergency call-out.’

‘An emergency call-out? From a bridal boutique?’

‘Yes, one of her brides was modelling her wedding gown for her great aunt Susan at her care home this afternoon and one of the residents inadvertently spilt her hot chocolate on the intricate, hand-crafted lace train. There’s talk of having to cancel the wedding!’

Kit sucked in a breath. ‘Ouch!’

‘Actually, while we’re on the subject, Kit and I were chatting earlier and… I know you said we should keep things… low-profile, but we think we might need to add a few more… select names to our Just Desserts Club membership list. Any detective agency worth its salt needs a variety of skills it can call upon when necessary, so, if it’s okay with you, Lottie, in addition to Tina, we’d like to invite Hector from Hector’s House of Books to join us; he could be a really useful asset. What he doesn’t know about the sewage systems in Ancient Rome isn’t worth knowing.’

‘Do you think we’ll have much call for that sort of information?’ asked Matt, clearly trying to keep a straight face.

‘Who knows. But if we don’t, then he does own a bookshop that’s literally crammed to the rafters with tomes on every subject under the sun and he’s probably read most of them! So, now that Kit and I have satisfactorily explained why we were loitering in a privet hedge, can I ask you what you’re doing here? Lottie?’

‘Oh, yes, we’re just on our way—’ Lottie almost yelped out loud when she felt her foot being squashed beneath Matt’s Dr Martens boot, but she understood immediately why he’d done it, so she quickly switched tack. ‘We’re on our way for an evening stroll… to clear our heads after everything that’s happened over the last few days. It’s a beautiful summer’s evening, don’t you think?’

She thought she might have overdone the jollity when she saw Hazel’s eyes narrow slightly before glancing across at Matt, who smiled innocently and nodded in agreement. Fortunately, Hazel didn’t press them any further, but Lottie realised with a groan that that was because she and Kit clearly thought they were on a secret romantic assignation, and not because they too were on the investigating trail.

She wasn’t sure which she would have preferred.

Lottie watched Hazel and Kit head back towards the café, chatting in low tones, their search for clues forgotten now they were in possession of the knowledge that there was a budding new romance to gossip about. She suspected the Little Sweeting grapevine would be humming with speculation within the next ten minutes, but she had other things to worry about than what people were saying about her dating situation. However, she realised that might not be the case for Matt; while she knew Ethan was unattached, she knew nothing about Matt’s current relationship status.

‘Matt, I’m so sorry, I just said the first thing that came into my head. I—’

‘It’s fine.’

‘Why did you—’

‘Did you see the two of them?’ Matt smiled. ‘Kit had a pair of the biggest binoculars I’ve ever seen slung around his neck, and I’m sure I saw a magnifying glass poking out of his trench coat pocket! Don’t get me wrong, I love their enthusiasm and I’m glad they’re on board, but can you imagine what would happen if we turned up at Jess and Leo’s lodge with them in tow? Would you let us in? We can deliver a full de-brief at the next meeting. Come on.’

Matt strode to the lodge where Jess and Leo were staying. and his confident rap on the door was answered quickly by a white-faced William who invited them in without any objection. Every head in the room turned to see who had arrived, and Lottie saw Dylan’s expression darken. However, when he went to push himself up from his seat, Jess reached out to stop him, murmuring ‘it’s fine’, and after a brief second of hesitation, he sank back down onto the sofa and made do with simply glaring at them to make his displeasure at their presence known.

With tremendous effort, Lottie forced herself to ignore the turmoil swirling through her body and went to stand next to the breakfast bar, leaning forward so she could concentrate on what Doctor Bairstow was in the process of saying to Sasha’s family and friends. If she was going to be leaving Little Sweeting in disgrace, then she needed to understand the reasons why.

‘So, the test results are conclusive – Sasha ingested a touch of something noxious. However, it is extremely unlikely that the cause was linked to any of the food or drink served at the garden party.’

It took a few moments for what Marcus Bairstow had said to sink in. When it did, Lottie experienced such a surge of relief that she grabbed hold of Matt’s hand to prevent herself from collapsing in a heap on the floor – she didn’t want to give the doctor any more work than he had bargained for. Inevitably, the conclusion raised a disturbing question.

‘Do you mean… are you saying… that someone actually targeted Sasha? That they put something in her food or her drink at the party?’ Jess gasped, her eyes widening in shock.

‘I’m sorry to say that can’t be ruled out,’ said Doctor Bairstow.

The terror written across Jess’ expression turned Lottie’s stomach, and for a brief moment she actually wanted the results of the tests to have confirmed food poisoning. Whilst that conclusion would have been devastating for her, and for the future of the Waddling Duck Café, these things did occasionally happen in the hospitality and catering industry.

Yes, she would have been banished from the village in disgrace, and yes, Debs would probably lose a chunk of money on any potential sale and Henry would be mortified for having recommended her, but in all likelihood the business would probably have recovered from the ashes of its devastation. But now it looked like Matt, Cleo and the rest of the Just Desserts Club’s suspicions had come to fruition.

Someone had wanted to hurt Sasha.

A slither of fear meandered down Lottie’s spine causing the hackles at her hairline to rise. For several interminable minutes, no one spoke, and silence rolled into every corner of the lodge. No one wanted to be the one to burst the bubble of calm-before-the-storm, as if by doing so the evil that may be loitering in their midst would be invited in.

Jess and Amber sat huddled together on the leather sofa, their hands clutching the mugs of coffee they had been drinking when the doctor arrived to deliver the dreadful news. Dylan stood and walked to the French doors leading to the veranda, his arms folded across his chest, staring out at the bucolic beauty of the glamping site’s grounds and the woodland in the distance. He lit a cigarette, and it seemed no one had the heart or the energy to challenge him about smoking indoors.

Lottie was glad she was still holding Matt’s hand as a battalion of questions coiled through her brain as if on a ribbon of tickertape. What was the “noxious” substance Marcus Bairstow had referred to? Where had it come from? How had it been administered? Who on earth would do such a dreadful thing? And more to the point, why?

‘Marc… Doctor Bairstow, I noticed the police removed an empty Champagne bottle from Sasha’s lodge,’ said Matt, his voice sounding far too loud in the wood panelled room. ‘I assume that’s because they believed it was the last thing Sasha consumed and intended to check out the contents?’

‘Yes, they have had the bottle checked—’

‘Does that mean there was something in the Champagne?’ Leo interrupted, running his fingers threw his quiff, which, despite all the recent turmoil, remained fixed in place at his forehead. Lottie did notice, however, that his eyes were rimmed with red, and his previous boyish energy had vanished.

‘We’ve—’

‘And what about the guy Sasha was with?’ blurted Amber, flicking her gaze towards Dylan before looking back at the doctor. ‘Is he… was he poisoned, too?’

‘What guy?’ Dylan demanded, drawing in a long drag of nicotine and allowing the smoke to escape from his lips in a mist of grey vapour. ‘What are you talking about, Amber?’

Dylan abandoned his place at the window and strode over to where Amber sat, his hands on his hips, glaring down at her. Amber stared back at him, unwilling to say anything further. If her face could have bleached any whiter, it did.

‘What guy?! Tell me!’

‘Well, if you’d been here when you promised, you would know what I am talking about and maybe none of this would have happened,’ Amber snapped. ‘If you cared about Sasha, really cared about her, instead of just her fame and potential fortune, you would have been at the garden party with us instead of getting plastered with your friends in Bristol. If you had been here, Sasha would never have flounced off with that outward-bounds guy and we could all have been spared this nightmare!’

‘What outward-bounds guy? Will, what’s Amber wittering on about?’ Dylan’s face was a mask of confusion as he swung his eyes to William, then back to Amber. Finally he bellowed, ‘Will someone just tell me what’s going on?’

It seemed Leo was the only one prepared to put him out of his misery. ‘One of the guys from the outward-bounds centre in the village was at the garden party – Ethan something or other. Doesn’t he work with you, Matt? Anyway, Sasha took a bit of a shine to him, that’s all.’

‘That’s all? That’s all? So why did Amber think he might have been poisoned if Sasha had?’

Now everyone in the room squirmed. Even Leo looked uncomfortable.

‘Will? Leo?’

‘Sorry, mate, I—’ Leo began.

‘It’s okay,’ Jess said softly, raising her eyes to meet Dylan’s squarely. ‘Dylan, you weren’t here. Sasha knew you’d be getting drunk with the lads instead of supporting her, and she was angry with you. She tried her best to put a smile on her face and pretend it didn’t matter, but it did. She’d had a couple of bottles of Prosecco in quick succession and I suppose she decided to whip up the gossip mill. So she… she invited Ethan back to her lodge to have a drink and talk music together.’

‘She went back to our lodge with some random stranger?’

‘Dylan, Sasha gets to decide who she spends her time with, not you,’ said Amber, her green eyes flashing. ‘And if she—’

‘What’s the matter with you, Amber?! If Sasha was poisoned deliberately – and it looks like she was – the person most likely to be responsible is this Ethan guy. I want him found and I want him arrested. Now! I’m calling the police.’

‘Before you do that, Dylan, perhaps you would permit me to finish answering Matt’s question,’ said Doctor Bairstow, his demeanour calm and measured. ‘Whilst the lab found no trace of any poisonous substance in the Champagne bottle or the glasses, they did detect traces of a foreign substance in the bottle containing Sasha’s throat spray.’

A gasp of disbelief reverberated around the room.

‘Oh, my God! I knew it,’ Dylan cried. ‘Sasha and her stupid throat spray. I knew that it would make her sick one day. Why on earth she persisted in using it all the time is beyond me. She should have ditched it when I told her to! There was no reason whatsoever why she couldn’t have just gone on stage and belted out her songs without relying on contaminated comforters made from dodgy stuff she bought from the internet.’

‘So that’s what… what caused her death?’ asked William, his voice tight.

‘It’s too early to say. The lab has promised to expedite their efforts to identify the precise ingredient and its possible origin, and as soon as I have that information, I’ll call you. In the meantime, perhaps we should all refrain from making unfounded accusations which don’t help anyone and only serve to intensify an already stressful situation.’

‘We will,’ said William, stepping forward, his hand outstretched. ‘Thank you for taking the time to come over here in person to inform us about the results.’

‘No problem. I’ll see myself out. Oh, and Lottie, as food poisoning has now been ruled out, you are free to re-open the café whenever you wish.’

‘Thank you, Doctor Bairstow.’

Marcus Bairstow retrieved his medical bag, nodded to Matt, and left.

‘Dylan, I think you need to apologise to Matt,’ said William.

‘What for?’

‘For labelling his friend Ethan a criminal.’

Dylan flashed his eyes at Matt and muttered something that was definitely not an apology under his breath before turning to Jess who was clutching her forearms to her stomach. ‘Jess? Are you okay?’

‘I… do you think we’re safe?’ she asked, reaching out to grip Amber’s hand.

‘Safe? What do you mean?’ asked Dylan.

‘What if Sasha didn’t buy “dodgy stuff” off the internet? What if there’s a… murderer around? Someone who was at the garden party? What if they try again? What if I’m next on their list? Oh my God, I can’t stay here!’

Lottie saw that Jess’s face was suffused with genuine panic. From the moment they’d arrived, she’d had the appearance of a traumatised waif who was hanging onto her sanity by her fingernails. Her eyes were sunken, her lips were dry, and her skin was so pale it looked almost translucent.

‘You’ll be fine, Jess darling,’ Amber soothed, but not before sending a worried glance in William’s direction. ‘There’s no reason to suspect this was anything other than an unfortunate accident. And, anyway, you have Leo to take care of you.’

‘Oh my God! I’m definitely going to die!’ Jess wailed.

Chapter Fifteen

The next morning dawned overcast, and it seemed the run of glorious summer sunshine had ended. Heavy, bulbous clouds sporting bruised underbellies drifted in from the sea and grazed the canopy of trees in whose depths Extreme Quests was located, the weather reflecting Lottie’s mood.

When she’d got back to her studio the previous night it had been after midnight and, for the first time since arriving at the Waddling Duck Café, she hadn’t felt the insistent pull to give the surfaces one last wipe down with the antibacterial spray before she retired to bed – she had been just too exhausted. However, her tiredness was nothing compared to her relief that the café had been exonerated and would live to serve its customers freshly baked scones topped with clotted cream followed by home-made raspberry jam – the Devon way – for another day. She had drifted off to sleep as soon as her head had hit the pillow.

Nevertheless, she had woken up at three in the morning with a jolt of alarm. Within minutes her body was covered in a hot sweat of panic as a kaleidoscope of new worries rampaged through her head.

How could she have forgotten?

Hadn’t Sasha sourced the contents of her throat spray – well, the Jarrah honey at least – from her own store cupboard in the café? Should she tell Matt? How would he react when she told him that, far from being exonerated by the lab’s findings, the spotlight of suspicion was about to focus even more brightly on her when she confessed that Sasha had not acquired a contaminated batch of her spray from the internet as Dylan had assumed.

Lottie proceeded to toss and turn until her alarm clock told her it was seven a.m., then padded down the staircase to survey the café’s kitchen, fingering her mobile phone as she considered whether to call Matt and confess to a new twist in the ongoing saga. She rummaged in the cupboard and found a second jar of the Jarrah honey. She scrutinised the label and, whilst she was certain that the local delicatessen would never sell contaminated honey, there was only one way to find out. She unscrewed the lid and before she could think too much about what she was doing, she tasted the honey and waited.

And waited.

And waited.

Thankfully nothing happened.

After thirty minutes, she hadn’t felt any ill-effects whatsoever and she concluded, with not a little relief, that it must have been one of the other ingredients in Sasha’s throat spray that was the culprit. She let out a long, ragged sigh, and she had just decided to re-open the café to the public when she was jerked out of her contemplation of what to include on the menu by a loud knock on the French doors.

‘Hello? Is it okay to come in? I wasn’t sure whether the café would be open yet. If I’m disturbing you, I can come back later?’ Amber said as Lottie opened the door.

‘No, no, of course you’re not disturbing me. How are you feeling today?’

‘Heartbroken, miserable, and I’m ashamed to say, a little irritated.’

‘Irritated? Why?’

‘Dylan is driving us all crazy. I just need to get away from him for a few hours. I’m afraid he’s still fixated with involving the authorities, and all William and Leo want to do is leave, even though the police haven’t given us permission to do that yet. I want to stay until Doctor Bairstow gets back to us about what kind of “foreign substance” was in Sasha’s spray, so I’ve told the guys that they can do whatever they like but I’m not going anywhere. Actually Lottie, I wanted to ask you and Cleo a favour.’

‘Of course, ask away.’

‘Would you be up for giving me and Jess a lesson in how to make a batch of those delicious Stilton and grape scones we had at the garden party? And, if we have time, maybe we could also bake some of your pineapple and coconut cookies or mini apricot pavlovas?’

Lottie stared at Amber, totally surprised at her request. Surely the last thing she would want to do after what had happened to her best friend was indulge in a full-blown bake-a-thon.

‘Are you sure?’

‘What Lottie actually means is that she and Cleo would be delighted to showcase a few of the Waddling Duck Café’s signature bakes,’ Matt said with a laugh, appearing on the doorstep of the café waving a handful of white confectionery bags in the air. ‘I thought you’d appreciate breakfast. Why don’t you stick the kettle on while I give Cleo a call to see if she can start her shift a little earlier?’

‘Oh, erm, yes, thank you, Matt. We’d better get started right away though because I’m planning to re-open the café at lunchtime.’

‘Great! I’ll pay you for your time and all the extra ingredients.’

‘Oh, no, that won’t be—’

‘I want to. I’m thinking, with your permission of course, of having a cake sale in the car park for Little Sweeting’s drama and dance school that Anthea told me and Sasha about at the garden party on Sunday. Sort of…’ Amber paused to gulp down on a sharp uptick of emotion. ‘Sort of in honour of Sasha and everything she achieved in the music and dance industry before she was so cruelly taken from us. What do you think?’

‘I think it’s a lovely idea.’

Lottie smiled and led Amber into the kitchen, her spirits soaring as they invariably did whenever she was about to treat herself to a morning of unbridled culinary fun. Scones, cookies, and meringues were amongst the simplest of recipes to create and she knew the kitchen was cleaner than it had ever been.

What could go wrong?

‘I’ll leave these croissants here and catch up with you later,’ Matt said, leaning forward to deposit a friendly farewell kiss on Lottie’s cheek. ‘Have fun!’

His gesture was so unexpected she drew back in surprise and stumbled into the work bench. Matt laughed, shook his head, and strode from the terrace as her face flooded with heat once again. What was going on? Then she realised that Matt was clearly just as relieved that she had been absolved of any blame for what had happened at the garden party as she had been before her worries over the honey had reared their head.

‘He’s gorgeous. You are a very lucky girl!’ Amber smiled, standing next to Lottie with her hands on her slender hips as she surveyed Matt’s retreating figure.

‘Oh, no, we’re not… I mean, Matt and I are just friends.’

‘Didn’t look like it from where I was standing!’ Jess said as she joined them with Leo in tow. Although her eyes were still puffy, Lottie was pleased to see that she’d regained a little colour in her cheeks, and she was clearly making an effort to distract herself by keeping busy instead of sitting in her lodge staring at the walls and sinking further and further into despair. ‘Amber’s right, he’s gorgeous, with a sort of “surfer-dude-meets-Bear-Grylls kind of vibe. If I didn’t have my Leo to keep me warm at night, you’d have to fight me off with your spatula, Lottie!’

Lottie was shocked to discover how flustered she was at their teasing. She was surprised that others had noticed the mounting chemistry between her and Matt. Although she had denied it, she had to admit they were right – there was a definite buzz of electricity in the air whenever Matt Wilson was in the vicinity.

But hadn’t she declared herself finished with all romantic relationships? Didn’t they all end in disaster one way or another? Even though she had moved on from Claude, she could still recall the sharpness of the pain she had endured when he’d told her about Chantelle, and there was no way she was going there again.

‘Okay,’ said Lottie, tying the strings of her apron around her waist. ‘Everyone help themselves to one of our Waddling Duck Café aprons and we’ll get started on the Stilton and grape scones Amber has requested.’

‘Scones? A five-year-old could make a batch of scones with their eyes closed!’

‘Not everyone is a trained chef like you, Leo,’ said Amber, glaring him.

‘Someone’s grouchy this morning.’

Leo pulled a face as he sprinkled flour through a sieve into a silver bowl from a great height. A good handful fell onto the floor and Lottie almost had a coronary. It took all of her willpower not to crouch down and wipe it up straight away. She wasn’t sure she was cut out to be a cookery teacher and she kept checking her watch, hoping that Cleo would arrive before she accidentally-on-purpose attacked Leo with the rolling pin for leaving snail-trails of caster sugar on her precious kitchen units.

‘When you make scones, it’s essential to ensure all the ingredients are cold and that you don’t overwork the mixture,’ said Lottie, adding a generous portion of crumbled Stilton into her bowl.

‘Hey, Jess, do you think I could persuade my boss to offer a selection of fruit and savoury scones to his customers?’ said Leo.

‘I don’t think San Antonio is ready for scones,’ said Jess, tossing her hair over her shoulder. ‘But maybe the pineapple and coconut cookies could work, especially if we lace them with a generous tot of Caribbean rum.’

‘I don’t know why you still work in that fleapit of a place,’ said Amber.

‘Needs must, Amber, needs must. We haven’t all got a private income to rely on,’ Leo said, glancing across at Jess from beneath his eyelashes.

Even in the humidity of the café kitchen, with the oven on full blast as their scones produced the most delicious smell of melting cheese, Leo’s blond quiff stayed rigidly in place. He had pushed the sleeves of his shirt up to his elbows to reveal a scattering of fair hairs across his forearms. Lottie couldn’t help but smile when she realised that, in the right light and a fair wind, Leo really could be mistaken for his hero, Jamie Oliver.

‘Hi, everyone. I hope I haven’t missed out on all the fun?’

‘Hi, Cleo.’ Lottie gave her friend a hug of welcome before whispering in her ear, ‘Am I glad you’re here. I just need you to channel some of your mum’s fabulous cookery presentation skills and I think we’ll be fine.’

‘No problem, you can definitely count on me.’

Cleo grabbed one of her signature aprons from a drawer – today’s was made from the same fabric as the green wide-legged culottes she was wearing – and fastened the strings around her waist. She looked like an advertisement for an over-decorated Christmas tree.

‘Okay, everyone, Cleo is going to talk you through the recipe for the pineapple and coconut cookies whilst I make a start on the tidying up.’

Lottie surveyed the kitchen and cringed. Goosebumps rippled around her body as she struggled with an almost overwhelming urge to shove every one of the guests out of the room so she could get on with washing down all the surfaces with soapy water. She knew she was being unreasonable and that it was something she should get professional help with – but what was the point when she also knew exactly where her problem stemmed from and why it had raised its ugly head recently?

‘Mmm, this chocolate is delicious!’ Jess declared, shoving a handful of white chocolate buttons into her cheeks and pulling a comical face at Leo like an over-stuffed hamster.

‘You’re not supposed to eat the ingredients before the cookies are even baked!’ admonished Leo.

‘You talking to me?’ Jess said in a gangster-type voice before bursting into hysterical laughter and sending splinters of chocolate everywhere.

Lottie turned her back and busied herself with filling a bucket with scalding hot water and adding her best friend – a generous slug of disinfectant. Her chest felt as though it was going to burst as she tried to keep a lid on her churning emotions. Why, oh why, had she agreed to give Amber and her messy friends a cookery lesson?

‘Wow, these scones look amazing!’ said Amber, running the tip of her tongue across her lips. ‘Is it okay if we sample our masterpieces, Lottie?’

‘Of course. There’s butter or clotted cream in the fridge for the scones.’

***

The kitchen filled with the most delicious fragrance of warm caramel as the cookies were removed from the oven and transferred to a wire rack to cool. Lottie made a cafetière of coffee and everyone headed outside to the terrace to indulge in the products of their labour, their mood lifted slightly as they chatted about what they had created that morning. Lottie relaxed, relieved that the tutorial was over and she had her precious kitchen back under her control.

‘Ah, so this is where you’ve all disappeared to?’ said Dylan, snatching up a cookie and taking a bite.

‘I see you’ve changed your mind and you’re happy to eat at the Waddling Duck Café, now?’ Amber observed wryly, watching Dylan’s expression.

Clearly Dylan hadn’t thought his actions through properly because he stopped in his tracks, his mouth full of warm cookie, his eyes widened with surprise. Lottie suspected that he was in the process of considering the etiquette of spitting out the offending biscuit and reluctantly thinking better of it. He swallowed and paused as everyone waited for his verdict. It was apparent from the look on Dylan’s face that he was expecting to keel over in agony.

‘Well?’ Amber demanded.

‘They’re very… erm, well, nice.’

‘Nice? Is that the best you can do?’

‘Delicious, amazing, magnificent! What do you want me to say, Amb?’

Amber shook her head instead of answering Dylan’s question.

‘Anyway, I’ve been busy, too.’

‘Doing what?’ asked Leo, spreading his fourth scone with a thick layer of butter.

‘Making enquiries.’

‘Enquiries? What sort of enquiries?’

‘I’ve finally managed to speak to the environmental health guys responsible for this area and they’ve promised to come over as soon as the lab tells us what kind of substance they found in Sasha’s spray.’

‘You’ve done what?’ Jess cried, shooting an apologetic glance in Lottie and Cleo’s direction. ‘Why? Why would you do that? Didn’t you hear what Doctor Bairstow said yesterday? The café, and Lottie and Cleo, have been totally absolved of any blame!’

‘Yes, but—’

‘And the reason we’ve just spent the whole morning baking is so that we can raise money for the local music and dance school, and maybe later we can think about organising some kind of scholarship in Sasha’s name. How can we have a bake-sale when you’ve arranged for a bunch of inspectors to come swarming all over the place? I want you to cancel them right away.’

Dylan held Jess’ gaze for a moment, clearly wanting to argue with her, but realising he had an audience who were likely to maul him to pieces if he tried, so he spun on his hand-made Italian leather loafers and left the café.

‘Dylan really is an absolute… oh, God, who’s this ringing?’ Jess scrambled around in her bright pink raffia handbag for her phone, checking the caller ID before swiping her finger across the screen.

‘Hello, Doctor Bairstow? Yes, thanks for calling. So, what did the lab say?’

Chapter Sixteen

Lottie noticed that Jess’ face was devoid of its usual colour, again, and that she was fiddling with her hair, wrapping a coil around her thumb and index finger in agitation. It was obvious that Doctor Bairstow wasn’t imparting good news and her stomach lurched like a penny down a well as she wondered what new horror he had delivered. She didn’t have to wait too long for the hammer to fall.

‘Oh my God, Oh my God! Oh my God!’

Jess dropped down on one of the café’s overstuffed sofas and burst into tears.

‘What’s happened?’ asked Amber as she rushed over to curl her arm around Jess’ shoulders. ‘What did Doctor Bairstow say?’

‘The lab has identified the “foreign substance” that was found in Sasha’s throat spray. It was something called… something called aconitine, which – when taken orally, even in small doses – can cause multiple organ failure and… death.’

Lottie stared mutely at Jess, her jaw loose, her brain sending out synapses like fireworks as she tried to comprehend what Doctor Bairstow’s findings meant. How on earth had something as obscure as aconitine got into Sasha’s throat spray? Far from matters at the café improving, they were getting worse, much worse.

‘What the hell is aconitine?’ Dylan demanded, reappearing at the French doors along with a cloud of cigarette smoke, and taking a seat on the other side of Jess. He reached into his pocket and handed her a bunch of tissues to dry her tears, the tremble in his hands belying his genuine concern.

‘Doctor Bairstow hadn’t heard of it, either, so he asked a colleague about it then did some research on the internet. He found this case a couple of years ago – a gardener found dead in his garden and doctors couldn’t find out why. It was eventually discovered to be aconitine poisoning from a plant called “monkshood” – apparently one of the deadliest flowers in the plant kingdom. He said he’d email me the case and photographs of the plant, although I’m not sure I want him to.’

‘But how could Sasha have come into contact with monkshood?’ asked Lottie, her brain starting to clear as she wrestled with the implications of this new turn of events.

‘I have no idea. Doctor Bairstow says the discovery means the authorities are sending over a team of specialists to investigate some time tomorrow. Lottie, I’m so sorry, but you’ll have to keep the café closed until they’ve given the place the all-clear and we’ve been asked to stay here until it’s over just in case they want to ask us any questions.’

‘That’s no problem. I’ll do whatever the authorities want; close the café, close the glamping site, anything. I want to get to the bottom of this as much as anyone.’

‘But if it was in Sasha’s throat spray,’ said Cleo, speaking for the first time since Jess’ phone call from Marcus Bairstow. ‘It’s unlikely anyone else came into contact with that, don’t you think?’

Jess’ eyes widened as if realising something for the first time, and her face bleached further. Her tears returned with a vengeance and her voice rose up an octave to squeak level.

‘Oh my God, you’re right! How did the aconitine poison get in her throat spray bottle? Did someone put it there? Does that mean someone definitely wanted to… wanted to kill Sasha after all?’ Jess crumbled into huge wracking sobs, and she rocked backwards and forwards in Leo’s arms as Dylan and Amber looked on in mute desperation and horror.

A roll of nausea swept through Lottie as she tried to comprehend what Jess had just said. If her suspicions turned out to be right, who could have done such a terrible thing? And more to the point, why? Could it have been a mistake, a miscalculation? Had they merely wanted to damage Sasha’s voice so she couldn’t sing for them that evening or was it something darker from the outset? And why use such an unusual method? If Sasha had been poisoned with a common household product like bleach, then that would have been a different story, but whatever Dylan thought of her café, she was one hundred percent certain that there was no monkshood stored in her kitchen cupboards!

Then an agonising bolt of electricity shot through her heart – could it have been in the honey she gave to Sasha after all? But no, the jar had been sealed when she’d handed it over, she’d checked. So how could it have got there? Maybe it was from a rogue batch, and the honey she’d sampled was from a different batch? It was no good, Lottie couldn’t hang onto her emotions any longer and tears gathered along her lashes. She had to say something.

‘I think I might know what it could be.’

Everyone in the room swung their gaze towards Lottie and she could feel her heart pounding against her ribcage.

‘What do you mean?’ asked Dylan.

‘After Sasha offered to stage her impromptu concert, she realised she’d run out of the honey she uses in her throat spray, so she asked me if I had any. I… I gave her a jar from the kitchen cupboard, so maybe…’

‘Oh my God!’ Dylan was out of his seat and standing in front of her within seconds. ‘I told you this place is a death trap! It’s just as well the doctor’s informed the authorities and the café is going to be shut down for the foreseeable future! I can’t believe you came here to bake cookies this morning, Amber! What’s wrong with you? I’m going back to the lodge to make sure no one touches that jar of honey before the inspectors arrive and I’ll insist that they test it right away.’

Dylan stormed out of the café, shoving a recently arrived William roughly out of his way, and the others followed him.

‘Hey, guys, what’s going on?’ William called after them. ‘Amber?’

However, no one responded, and William was left standing on the café’s terrace staring after them, his face a picture of pure desolation, dark circles beneath his eyes, his skin a greyish colour, and his previously clean-shaven chin sporting a smattering of bristles. Of course, as Sasha’s business manager, he had just lost a client who was about to embark on a sparkling new episode in her music career, but Lottie had the distinct impression that it was more than that.

She would have liked to have spent a few quiet minutes exploring the possible reasons behind such acute devastation, which seemed to pulsate from William’s very core, but she had much more pressing things on her mind and reluctantly decided to shelve her analysis of his uncharacteristically distraught presentation until later.

‘Cleo, can you help me to make a “Closed” sign for the front door, please?’

‘Sure.’

When they had finished hanging a hand-made sign on the front door of the café and a second on the entrance to the car park, Lottie gathered a basket of things to take upstairs to her studio flat. She didn’t want to interrupt the investigation once it started, and she certainly had no intention of watching whilst they tore the little café apart.

A cauldron of dread churned in her stomach, but she knew that was nothing compared to how Sasha’s friends must be feeling, especially Jess. The poor girl had lost her beloved sister and now she’d been told that there was the added possibility that someone had targeted her! Oh God, she thought, what if the assailant was still lurking around in the holiday site? She dropped her basket and ran to the bathroom.

‘Lottie? Are you okay?’ Cleo called through the door, her voice tight with anxiety.

‘Erm…’

‘Look, I want you to come and stay with me. That way the inspectors can do what they want without you having to be here. Why don’t you go upstairs, pack a bag, and we’ll leave them to it? No arguments.’

Lottie peered round the door at her friend and the sympathy on her face nearly sent her into another deluge of tears, but she managed to hang on.

‘Cleo, I would love to do that, but with Debs out of the country, the café’s my responsibility. I need to stay here.’

‘Well, nothing will be happening until tomorrow, so how about we get away for a few hours.’

‘Okay.’

Lottie gave Cleo a weak smile of gratitude, slung a few random items into her handbag and locked the café before joining Cleo who was waiting next to her little cream-coloured Fiat 500 in the car park. She couldn’t wait to escape. If she stayed, all she would be able to think about was the inspectors combing through her kitchen, moving everything from its allocated space, testing every nook and cranny – no matter how certain she was that they wouldn’t find a speck of dirt or molecule of germs anywhere, she was still terrified of their impending visit.

‘I’ve been thinking,’ Cleo mused as she steered round the narrow roads towards the converted barn she shared with her parents. ‘It could be nothing, but…’

‘What?’

‘Well, no, nothing…’

‘Cleo?’

‘It’s just Sasha told me that she and Amber went for a walk through the woods on Sunday morning before the party. Could she have accidentally touched or brushed against the petals of one of these monkshood flowers?’

‘It’s not touching that causes… you know. It’s ingesting.’

‘Well, I know exactly who we should ask about poisonous plants.’

‘Who?’

‘Ethan.’

‘Why Ethan?’

‘Don’t you remember he told you at the garden party that whilst you might be the go-to girl for creating upmarket flower arrangements for your foodie photoshoots, he was the man when it came to wildflowers? Why don’t we take a detour over to the outward-bounds centre and ask him what he knows? We can talk to Matt about the inspection too. I can’t wait to see his face when we tell him that the Just Desserts Club’s super-sleuthing skills are back in demand. Unlike you, I’m super-confident the inspectors won’t find anything wrong with that honey you gave Sasha – it came from Adriano’s delicatessen for goodness sake! No, if you want my opinion, Jess was spot on. Someone put something in her spray. What we need to find out is who.’

‘I think you’re right,’ Lottie agreed reluctantly. ‘And it has to be someone who knew that Sasha uses her spray before every concert not just to help her voice but because it calms her stage nerves. I could be wrong, but I reckon that substance was put in her bottle and whoever is responsible didn’t expect her to use it here in Little Sweeting but when she got back home to Ibiza. And if I’m right, the only people on the list who could have done that are the people in her party, the people she calls her friends. If we want to save the café, then the Just Desserts Club need to get on the trail of who did it.’

‘And why!’

‘Yes, and why.’

A surge of optimism sliced through Lottie’s veins. Instead of her previous go-to reaction of running away from misfortunes life threw at her, she was choosing to take a more positive stance, and it felt good to be doing something to salvage the café’s reputation, as well as her own, alongside her new friends who had come to her aid not just willingly, but enthusiastically. Like them, she was absolutely determined to do everything she could to unmask the person responsible.

And there would be the added benefit of making her father proud.

Chapter Seventeen

As they drove through the residential side of the village, Lottie rolled down the window of Cleo’s little Fiat to marvel at the beauty of the landscaped gardens. Lawns had been meticulously trimmed; rectangles of green velvet rippling in the breeze like liquid luck, some strewn with the tiny white dots of daisies, some as perfect as bowling greens.

In every garden, the herbaceous borders burst with white geraniums, hyacinth and delphinium, vivid with early summer bounty. A parade of pansies and petunias, marigolds and alyssum skirted the flower beds, flanked by sturdy rhododendron bushes, magnolias and wooden arches clad in clematis, all in full flower. Birdsong echoed through the tangled branches of the oak and horse chestnut trees to the accompaniment of the languid drone of a solitary lawn mower.

A waft of fragrance floated through the open car window. For Lottie, the sweet aroma of honeysuckle and gardenia flowers was the scent of summer more than any other floral bouquet. She wished with all of her heart that she could retreat to a shady bench amongst the blooms, with one of her favourite cookery books, and lose herself in another world.

‘It’s really pretty, isn’t it?’ said Cleo, sending a smile in Lottie’s direction. ‘Little Sweeting has won best village in the Britain in Bloom competition quite a few times. Hey, your flower arrangements at the garden party were amazing, have you ever thought of entering any competitions? You’d get my vote!’

‘Thanks, Cleo. Actually, I’ve won a couple of prizes for my floral skills already.’

‘You have? Why’ve you kept that a secret? Is it because Anthea might co-opt you onto the church rota?’

Lottie laughed, but the familiar feeling of discomfort started to rotate around her abdomen. Look what had happened the last time she’d dared to showcase her design skills to the general public. But then, the entry had been a team effort, with segments of the concept created by different people – such as the hideous pink butterfly that Claude had insisted on including – so she couldn’t, and shouldn’t, allow herself to take the blame for them not winning the grand prize. And anyway, hadn’t they been one of the five finalists out of over a hundred entries? That surely was something to be celebrated.

‘Of course not. I’m proud of my achievements, it’s just that… well… most of the chefs I worked with tended to be sparse on delivering praise – especially to the food stylists – so I just got used to not singing about them from the rooftops, that’s all.’

‘Even Claude?’

Lottie smiled ‘Especially Claude.’

‘That man has a lot to answer for!’

‘True. You know, I’ll never forget the look of complete incredulity on his face when I styled a Christmas recipe for him and the food journalist who was waiting to interview him afterwards name-checked me as having the flair needed to elevate a mundane dish of soup – it was a particularly complex bouillabaisse that had taken him hours to make – into a work of art. We had a huge row on the way home, but from that day onwards, I got a taste for entering my work into competitions; not just food staging competitions but floral display competitions, too. To be honest, I think I won more floral design competitions.’

‘So what kind of things did you win in the floral design competitions?’ Cleo laughed. ‘A lorry load of manure?’

‘Not quite, but you’re not too far off. I’ve won a few garden forks, a lawn mower – very useful when I lived in a tiny flat in central London. Oh, and let’s not forget the year’s supply of slug pellets. But my favourite prize was a VIP trip for two to the spa at The Langham for a design I created for a Thai chef using silk screens painted with images of the recipes’ ingredients. Of course, Claude thought it was “twee” and not worthy of the accolade. He refused to come with me, so I took my sister, Georgie. That should have been my first clue that he couldn’t come with me because he had someone else in his life.’

‘Lottie, I’m so sorry you had to go through that.’

The image of Claude and Chantelle together floated across her vision, but after the initial pang of regret for the way their relationship ended, she felt surprisingly unmoved by his absence from her life. It was as though their time together had been a dream, something that had happened to someone else, and whilst she missed her life in London, especially Hannah, she didn’t miss Claude.

Did that mean she had misjudged her feelings for him? But before she could dissect that question any further, they had crunched into the car park of the outward-bounds activity centre.

Matt answered the door of the huge wooden cabin that housed Extreme Quests’ reception area and office with an apple clenched between his teeth and surprise etched on his face. The smell of fried bacon drifted to Lottie’s nostrils reminding her stomach that in the early morning baking frenzy – and what had happened afterwards – she had forgotten to eat breakfast and lunch.

‘Come in. Want a coffee?’

Perceptive as usual, thought Lottie. A small smile tugged at her lips as she and Cleo followed Matt into the tiny kitchen at the back of the cabin.

‘So, to what do I owe the honour? Why aren’t you at the café? I thought you’d been given the all-clear to open today.’

Whilst Cleo explained the reasons for their visit to Matt, Lottie glanced around the room and the desperation to create order that always lurked just beneath the surface was almost overwhelming. The whole room was a maelstrom of chaos. It was probably larger than the kitchen she worked in at the café, but because of the jumble of discarded cartons, packaging and plastic bottles on every available surface, it looked a lot smaller. The only space on the workbenches was an area next to the coffee machine where Matt was preparing their drinks. Every wall held either a noticeboard pinned with myriad flyers, or a whiteboard scrawled with instructions and schedules. If this was what the kitchen looked like, she would hate to see the state of the centre’s office.

She slid into a chair at the pine table opposite Matt and gave him a smile, but she knew it didn’t meet her eyes. Uncontrolled emotions churned through her body causing her to feel woozy as her mind meandered from the anxiety of the inspectors’ imminent visit to the irresistible urge to start tidying up and scrubbing down the countertops. She surreptitiously pushed her hands under her bottom and silently started counting backwards from one hundred, matching each number with a long exhalation of breath.

She knew Matt was watching her and she had never been more relieved when she heard the crunch of tyres on gravel outside the kitchen window signalling that Ethan had arrived for his shift.

‘I think I’ll go and say hi to Ethan.’

Lottie couldn’t get out of her seat fast enough and almost sprinted into the car park to wait for Ethan to unload the boot of his ancient air-force blue Land Rover and transport a huge box of ropes and crampons into the storage hut next to the reception.

‘Hi, Lottie! Didn’t expect to see you down here. Have you come to take a flight on the zip wire?’

‘Good grief, no, thank you!’

A shiver flashed down her spine at the thought of climbing up the rickety rope ladder she could see dangling in the trees to her right. She squinted into the canopy of leaves overhead and could just about make out the wooden platform from where she assumed EQ’s clients hurtled themselves into oblivion – willingly. She would rather spend an hour in Matt’s kitchen!

‘Perhaps something else, then? What about rock-climbing?’ Ethan smiled, his open, friendly face nudging her spirits northwards. He had been through a nightmare over the last few days, but his sweet temperament was still as upbeat as it usually was.

Lottie resolved to learn from Ethan’s example, so she pushed her shoulders back and inhaled a deep confidence-inducing breath. Maybe now was the time to learn something new? She cast another glance at the zip wire and cringed. She had been so focused on the sky-high obstacle course that she hadn’t realised that Matt and Cleo had joined them.

‘Cleo’s brought me up to speed with what’s happened, and while I was perhaps a little reticent before, I think your Just Desserts Club is a great idea and I’m all in now. The inspectors could take a while to locate the source of the aconitate, so it makes sense to ask a few questions ourselves, find out more about Sasha’s friends’ backgrounds. However, while I’ve got you here, you might as well check out one of our activities. It’s the perfect way to take your mind off what’s going on at the café,’ said Matt.

‘Hang on, did you just say aconitate?’ asked Ethan, his eyes suddenly taking on a hunted look. ‘No way!’

Cleo quickly filled Ethan in about the results of the tests on Sasha’s throat spray, and the impending visit of the environmental health inspectors to the Waddling Duck Café. ‘And we were wondering if you could tell us anything about monkshood?’

Ethan’s mouth gaped. ‘How could Sasha have got something like that in her throat spray? I’m almost certain monkshood, or “aconitum napellus”, doesn’t even grow in the woodlands around here. I’ve heard of it in other parts of the country but never here. It does have beautiful, deep blue-purple petals that resemble a monk’s hood, hence the name, but it is also known as devil’s helmet because it’s so toxic.’ Ethan ran his palms over his forearms; the copper-coloured hairs had risen into goosebumps. ‘Are you absolutely sure that’s what Doctor Bairstow told Jess?’

‘Yes.’

‘Well, I think that’s put me off suggesting wildflower tours alongside the clay-pigeon shooting.’

‘Are there any other poisonous plants scattered around the woodland?’ Lottie asked, keen to delay the moment when Matt handed her a safety helmet and hi-vis vest. ‘There must be a few?’

‘Oh, yes, there are several. There are the ones everyone’s familiar with – laburnum, yew, foxgloves, even convallaria majalis, more commonly known as lily-of-the-valley. We have all those in the West Country. Got to be careful with flowering plants – they’re not just innocuous baubles to brighten up your garden. Rhubarb leaves are toxic and used to make rat poison and don’t forget the daffodils – ubiquitous around here in the spring. The flowers are harmless, but the bulbs and stems can cause severe stomach upsets. However, the most common plant that everyone knows is toxic is the Deadly Nightshade – atropa belladonna – the whole thing is lethal.’

‘What about other rare species?’

Lottie knew about some of the flowers she used to create her floral displays for her food staging assignments, but she realised that her knowledge of more toxic plants was not as detailed as perhaps it should be. On the other hand, Ethan seemed to be an enthusiast, and she tried not to think about what his interest in horticulture might mean as he warmed to his subject.

‘There’s been a recent escalation in gardeners growing wildflowers. TV programmes have encouraged people to sow wildflower seeds to encourage bees and wild animals into their gardens, so there’s been a resurgence of plants we had thought were extinct. Now I come to think about it, there was a case a couple of years ago at Souter Lighthouse on the North East coast where the corncockle – agrostemma githago – was found. Every part of the plant is filled with glycoside githagin and agrostemmic acid, just a brush of the petals can cause severe stomach cramps, vomiting, diarrhoea, dizziness and, in extreme cases, death.’

Ethan was on a roll as his audience listened in fascination. He reminded Lottie of one of her old chemistry teachers who was so passionate about his subject that his cheeks used to glow when he regaled them with interesting science-related snippets.

‘With modern farming methods and excessive use of chemical pesticides it was thought the corncockle had been wiped out, but it was once very common in the nineteenth century. In the Souter case, the experts thought it was possible that a seed had blown in from a garden where someone had cultivated the plant or, my own personal opinion, that it had lain dormant in the soil until the ground was disturbed by an unfortunate gardener.’

‘Ethan, I really think it’s a great idea to offer tours of the woodlands around here,’ said Cleo, her eyes sparkling with vicarious pride. ‘In fact, why don’t you take me for a stroll around the site now? I’d love to hear more.’

Lottie watched Cleo link her arm through Ethan’s and the pair sauntered off through the trees. She turned to smile at Matt, but his eyes were glinting with mischief.

‘Right, Miss Chadwick, it’s time to fulfil your promise to give field archery a go. Don’t look so terrified. I know you’re going to love it!’ Matt strode into the storeroom behind the office and came back with an armful of equipment. ‘Here, put this on.’

Lottie took a flat piece of leather with three elastic fastenings from Matt and turned it over in her hand. She had no idea what to do with it. Not wanting to look like a complete idiot, she watched from beneath her eyelashes as he yanked his own protective arm brace onto the inside of his forearm and then copied him.

‘Okay, here’s your quiver. We’ll start with six arrows each, I think.’

As Matt leaned forward to fasten the quiver securely around her waist, Lottie caught a whiff of his sandalwood cologne and smiled. Perhaps she was going to enjoy this activity if it meant being in such close contact with Action Man himself, she thought, until Matt produced the bow from its wooden case and her jaw gaped.

‘Is that a long bow?’

‘No. This is a recurve bow – see how the riser is moulded to the shape of your left hand? You balance the bow on the arch between your left thumb and index finger like this. The arrow is then placed on this rest and the nock at the end is clicked into the string like this. Make sure you’re wearing your finger guard when you draw the string back, with the arrow between your first two fingers and your elbow and forearm horizontal to your cheek. Unbreakable rule number one – never draw the string unless you are aiming for a target. Ready to give it a go?’

‘Erm…’

Lottie fumbled as she tried to take the bow from Matt’s hand. If it wasn’t for Matt’s swift reactions the whole thing would have tumbled to the ground.

‘Sorry.’

‘Here, let me demonstrate.’

To Lottie’s surprise, Matt moved behind her and pulled her spine into his abdomen so that she made contact with the rock-hard muscles of his torso. He then slid his left arm under hers cupped her hand holding up the bow, draped his right arm over her shoulder and guided her fingers into the right position on the string. She could feel his warm breath tickling her right cheek and she was relieved that he couldn’t see her face when he placed his chin on her shoulder and whispered, ‘Pull the string back only as far as the corner of your lips before releasing the arrow.’

When Matt stepped back to allow her to aim at the first target – fastened to a tree trunk less than twenty metres away – she thought her whole body would crumple like a discarded rag doll. However, she managed to stay upright and released the arrow, watching in dismay as it flew straight past the target and imbedded in a branch to her left. Lottie’s heart leapt into her mouth as a bird gave flight with a loud shriek of objection to having his dinner interrupted.

‘Great first attempt.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes. Now stand next to me and watch my stance. Your left arm should be stretched out at right angles to your body when balancing the bow, your right elbow should be raised and parallel, your head turned ninety degrees to your left. Look through the sight, line it up to the centre of the target and aim for the gold.’

Matt drew the string of his bow to his chin, lowered the arrow to the target and released the string. The arrow flew straight into the centre of the straw boss, and he allowed the bow to see-saw forward on his thumb. Lottie was deeply impressed by the elegance of the whole movement, not to mention the accuracy of the shot.

‘Okay. Let’s move on.’

Lottie almost cantered to the next target in the woodland in anticipation of another demonstration from Matt. He had been right – this was the perfect way to relax after the earlier trauma at the café.

‘Why don’t you take up your stance while I watch?’

Lottie tried to remember how Matt had held his bow. ‘Like this?’

‘Looks great. But try looking straight ahead first to get your posture right, then turning your head to the left, raising your bow in a smooth, uninterrupted movement, positioning the sight on the target…’

‘But where is the target?’

Matt smiled. ‘Right there.’

‘But that’s a… Oh, I get it.’

As Lottie squinted through the shadowy light, she could just about make out the silhouette of an over-large grey squirrel. On closer scrutiny, she realised it was made from straw and had a target attached to its tail. She took a steadying breath, followed Matt’s instructions to the letter, and fired off her next arrow.

‘Yay!’ cried Lottie, as the arrow struck the target and a surge of exhilaration whipped around her body.

‘Congratulations, you made your first hit. I think you might be a natural.’

‘That felt amazing! I really didn’t think I would be able to do anything like this. It’s obviously all down to my amazing instructor! I bet everyone loves shooting in the woods with you.’

Lottie’s cheeks glowed with embarrassment as she realised the ragged, tormented look she had seen on his face as he’d argued with Cleo outside the vicarage had returned.

‘Well, not everyone.’

‘What do you mean?’

Lottie desperately wanted Matt to open up about his past, to confide in her about what had happened at St Andrew’s Church to cause such heartache. Her own soul-baring to him the previous day had perforated her sadness about the situation with Claude and she could now say, hand on heart, that she could work towards viewing her relationship with him – if she could even call it that – as a mere blip on the landscape of her life, and she wanted to offer the same opportunity to Matt.

She spotted an upturned tree trunk and sat, making it clear she was offering a listening ear if Matt wanted to avail himself of it. He hesitated for a moment before joining her, clasping his hands between his thighs and lowering his head to study the ground at his feet.

‘I know you must have thought my reaction that night at the vicarage was strange. I also know that Cleo won’t have told you what was behind it because she and Ethan are such loyal friends. The truth is that I can’t face even being in the vicinity of St Andrew’s, so it’s easier to simply avoid the place altogether. Anthea and Gordon were so kind, so sympathetic, helpful and practical, and I’m grateful for everything they did to ease the hurt, but I never want to set foot in Anthea’s cosy kitchen again.’

Matt was silent for so long, lost in the labyrinth of painful memories, that Lottie thought he’d forgotten she was there. She wanted to ask him to explain, but she knew she had to let him find the right words in his own time. If she had thought this was going to be a straightforward archery shoot, a chance to simply deflect the anxiety over what was happening at the café, then she had got much more than she had bargained for.

And yet she was glad they had this chance to spend time together. Sitting there, beneath the rippling canopy of leaves, she felt closer to Matt, as though he was more than just a friend intent on exposing her ineptitude for outdoor activities and she wanted to offer whatever solace she could to remedy his sorrow.

‘What happened, Matt?’

‘My fiancée, Victoria, walked out on me.’

‘And she told you whilst you were at the vicarage?’

‘No, she didn’t have the courage to do anything so straightforward. She just didn’t show up.’

‘Show up?’

‘At the church. She left me standing at the altar in St Andrew’s. Sent her father to deliver the bombshell. Anthea and the Rev were awesome. It was as though they’d been through similar situations hundreds of times. I know I was in shock. They put the vicarage at our disposal and my whole family rallied around to smooth over the after-effects, but the worst thing was that I had no idea why Victoria had done it. Not an inkling that anything was wrong.’

‘Matt, I’m so sorry…’

Lottie’s heart performed a somersault of anguish on Matt’s behalf as she pictured him standing next to his best man waiting for his bride to walk down the aisle but instead seeing her father approach alone. She couldn’t conceive of how devastating that must have been and Matt’s experience certainly put what had happened with Claude into perspective. She held Matt’s gaze as he fought the returning memories of that painful episode in his life before offering her a rueful smile. Unsurprisingly his response was as pragmatic as she had expected.

‘Actually, I’ve come to terms with what happened; view it as a positive really. We were clearly not right for each other, but I just wish Victoria had had the guts to tell me before everyone had invested their hard-earned cash in their wedding outfits and taken their seats in the pews! My Aunt Florence saved up for months to buy her hat, and my cousin used her precious few days annual leave to come down from Scotland for our wedding. She’s engaged to a Spanish guy now, and they spend three months every year on his yacht in the Mediterranean. It was over a year ago, but I still can’t face going back to the vicarage.’

‘Matt, I’m—’

‘Right, enough of the emotional interlude. Want to continue with the shoot? I promise to steer clear of making you my unwilling personalised therapy service from now on!’ Matt joked a little unconvincingly. ‘Thanks, though. It’s good to talk, and where better than surrounded by members of the woodland community who won’t judge you for your frailties or repeat your words in gossip?’

Lottie took the hint, but something had shifted in their relationship, something intangible that caused a warm, fuzzy feeling at the base of her stomach to glow like an ember of hope, hope that when the current ordeal was over, perhaps there would be something much more pleasurable they could apply their fledgling investigation skills to.

‘Agreed. Okay, Legolas, brace yourself. I think archery could just be my new favourite past-time. Where’s the next target?’

Lottie followed Matt around the field archery course and by the time they had finished she was getting the hang of how to hold the bow and had scored two hits out of the six. Matt had coached her calmly and attentively, as well as regaled her with several anecdotes about previous groups who had booked the course, one of which had insisted on having photographs of their company’s board of directors pinned to the targets.

Chapter Eighteen

When they arrived back at Extreme Quests’ reception area, Matt guided her to one of the leather armchairs and promised her a coffee to thaw her frozen fingers. She tried not to think about the jumble of washing up in the sink she had seen earlier, nor the cleanliness of the EQ logo’d mug he offered to her with a smile. She took a sip and sighed. Coffee really did solve a great many of life’s problems.

‘So, now that the fun bit of the day is over, we need to apply all our efforts to finding out who could have put aconitine in Sasha’s throat spray. It has to be someone who knows all about the toxicity of wildflowers and their effects.’

‘Surely you don’t think Ethan—’

‘No, absolutely not! I believe what he told us in the Crow’s Nest about what happened at the lodge that night. But don’t you think it was curious the way Sasha lured Ethan there, sobered up, and evicted him almost immediately. If she just wanted to make Dylan jealous it was a despicable thing to do.’

‘And anyway, Dylan wasn’t even at the party.’

Lottie bit into one of the chocolate biscuits Matt had put on a plate, holding her hand under her chin to catch the crumbs, then licking them from her palm with the tip of her tongue.

‘Little Miss Clean and Tidy strikes again!’ Matt smirked before his expression became serious again. ‘Dylan was bound to find out about Ethan from one of their friends, though – Amber probably. She’s got envy scrawled across her forehead in capital letters.’

‘But why send Ethan away so quickly? Surely she could have let him down gently. Shared a glass of Champagne with him as compensation for humiliating him. No wonder he slunk out the back way and decided to hide out here. My guess is she snagged that bottle of Champagne because she was expecting someone. Who though? Do you think it could just have been that Dylan called or texted to let her know he was on his way?’

‘Possibly.’

‘What? You think it could be someone else? Who?’

‘I’m not sure.’

‘There’s only William, her best friend’s boyfriend, or Leo, her sister’s. You’re not seriously suggesting she was having an affair with one of them, are you?’

‘I’m not suggesting anything.’

‘Well, who else is there?’ Lottie raked her brain until her eyes widened. ‘The only other person she spoke to on Sunday afternoon was Dan Forrester, the reporter from the Great Sweeting Gazette. Oh, and there was the Rev. You don’t think…?’

Matt spluttered into his coffee, sending a shower of droplets into the air.

‘Oh my God! Did you just say that? I suggest you stop right there with your deductions, Lottie, before you give me a heart attack! Anyway, all this is pure speculation.’

But Lottie couldn’t get the incident out of her mind. The conundrum continued to coil around her brain on an eternal loop until she thought she would go stir crazy.

‘Who would want to hurt Sasha? I didn’t know her very well, I admit, but she seemed lovely. She really looked after her sister, and she let Amber have the pick of her designer dresses after the ice bucket incident without hesitation. Heavens, Sasha even paid for everyone to stay in the lodges. It’s not cheap so she was generous as well. She paid for all the Champagne and Prosecco for the party, and she made a decent contribution to the Waddling Duck’s garden party charities.’

‘Her parents were quite wealthy, though,’ added Matt, stroking his chin in thought.

‘How do you know that?’

‘A quick search of the internet threw up all the information. They died in a helicopter crash ten years ago. Their money was put into trust for their two daughters until they reached the age of twenty-five. Sasha was twenty-six so she’d already got control of her half share, and she was one of the trustees for Jess’ share, which she can use for her sister’s maintenance, education and welfare. I bet it was also Sasha’s money that was paying for their villa rental in Ibiza, but their uncle and aunt are rich, too. Apparently, the cash is from a family business set up by the two Richards brothers – Bill and Ken. Ken Richards has been running things, with his wife Martha as company secretary, since his brother and sister-in-law’s death. That information I gleaned from Companies House.’

‘Oh my God! Step aside Sherlock Holmes, there’s a new kid on the block!’

Lottie saw Matt flash her a brief look of vacillation as he struggled with whether to utter his next sentence. From his expression, she wondered if he was going to talk about his ex-fiancée again but was shocked when he inhaled a deep breath and revealed something even more personal.

‘Actually, you’ve hit the nail on the head. You might not believe it, but it was my childhood dream to become a police detective, but unfortunately life had other plans. I used to love solving all kinds of brainteasers and was an avid viewer of all the TV detective series. When I was eleven, my dad let me help him design the obstacle course here at Extreme Quests. We argued because I wanted it to be not only a physical challenge, but also a test of the participant’s mental agility by using complicated puzzles to unlock each hurdle; it’s still one of our most popular activities.’

‘So why didn’t you join the police service?’

Matt swallowed down the dregs of his coffee and paused, fiddling with the handle of his empty mug, his eyes glazed as his memories scooted back to the reasons for his change of career direction. Their frank conversation during the archery shoot had introduced a carousel of emotions Lottie hadn’t been expecting. Coupled with what was going on with Sasha, she thought her head would explode from sensation overload. Eventually, Matt banged his mug back to the table, clearly regretting his sudden openness, and forced a wide smile onto his lips.

‘Now it looks like there’s a real-life whodunnit for us to crack right here in Little Sweeting! There’s no need to worry about the arrival of the environmental health inspectors tomorrow, because between us we’ll have the mystery of Sasha Richards’s poisoning solved before they’ve had time to fill out their documents in triplicate.’

‘Back to the Just Desserts Club sleuthing, eh?’ Lottie grinned, relieved to see the return of Matt’s inherent upbeat enthusiasm, even if he hadn’t answered her question about joining the police force. ‘So, my question, DI Wilson, is if someone did poison Sasha, why did they do it? Was it for her money?’

‘It usually is. Money or love.’

‘Well, I’m going to plump for the love angle.’

‘Okay, so what’s your theory?’ Matt smiled, clearly enjoying her enthusiasm for mystery solving.

‘Well, I really don’t want to think it’s one of Sasha’s friends – that’s just too awful to contemplate. So, could it be someone from Sasha’s past, someone who’s been stalking her for years, following the ups-and-downs of her music career, convinced that the lyrics of her songs are directed at him and his unswerving love for her? Maybe he’s recently made his affections public, and he’s been waiting for his chance to punish her for rejecting his advances. She’s been living in Ibiza so he’s been biding his time until she came back to the UK and when he found out she’d be in Devon cutting the ribbon at a summer garden party, he took matters into his own hands and… and…’

‘Are you saying Debs’ publicity campaign for her café’s garden party stretched out to the whole country?’

‘I, well, I… maybe he lives in Devon!’ Lottie tried not to be too offended that her over-inflated theory had been punctured by Matt’s injection of common sense and then smiled. ‘Okay, who’s top of your list of suspects, then?’

Lottie had been so focussed on her conversation with Matt that she hadn’t noticed that Cleo and Ethan had appeared on the threshold and were listening to their discussion.

‘If you want my opinion, I’d start with that William guy,’ Ethan declared, his face filled with animation at being able to make his contribution to their speculations. ‘I might not be the most perceptive of people, but something was obviously going on between him and Sasha. Even if he had nothing to do with the poisoning – even if it turns out it was some sort of an accident – as Sasha’s manager he should have been taste-testing everything, and I mean everything, that she eats or drinks! If he’s not guilty of anything else, he’s guilty of negligence at the very least!’

‘And he did leave the party early to take a shower!’ added Cleo, plonking herself down on the sofa next to Lottie.

‘So, what are we waiting for?’ Ethan strode towards the door, eager to seek his revenge, his eyes blazing with indignation. ‘Let’s nail the guy! He set me up and I’m not letting him get away with it. I could have been arrested, spent the night in the cells, or worse, I could have been charged with murder!’

‘I don’t blame you for being angry, Eth, but it’s probably best if you stay away from the café and the holiday lodges for the time being,’ Matt said calmly.

‘Why?’

‘Let’s just say, Dylan Dawson is not overjoyed about the fact you went back to Sasha’s lodge with her.’

‘Ah, yes, her elusive boyfriend. Where was he, anyway?’

‘That’s what I’d like to know,’ said Cleo.

‘Actually, if I had to put my money on someone having something to hide, it would not have been William,’ Lottie mused. ‘He’s the most straightforward person amongst all of them. And why would he work so hard to get Sasha a record deal if he intended to slip a dose of something deadly in her throat spray? It doesn’t make any sense. If he loses his star performer, he loses everything. But Matt’s right, the perpetrator has to be one of Sasha’s friends – someone who knew she relied heavily on her throat spray and chose that as their way to deliver the substance. All we have to do is find out who and why.’

‘Yeah, that’s all!’ Ethan laughed without humour.

‘Hang on, my phone’s ringing.’ Matt stood and extricated his mobile from the pocket of his jeans. ‘Hi, Anthea.’ He paused, his eyes resting on Lottie, the sides of his lips twitching as he listened to the vicar’s wife.

‘Anthea…’ Another pause.

‘Listen, Anthea…’ She was clearly in full flow.

‘Yes, it’s true. It seems Sasha was poisoned, but it wasn’t…

‘No, Anthea…

‘Stop! No one suspects the WI’s egg-and-cress sandwiches with horseradish sauce, or their red pepper quiches, or your Victoria sponge cakes.’ Then Matt laughed. ‘It’s okay, Anthea, I know why you’re hesitating – it wasn’t my mother’s home-made vegan sausage rolls either!’

Chapter Nineteen

They left a very disgruntled Ethan behind at Extreme Quests with promises to meet him later in the Crow’s Nest to relay every detail they managed to uncover. Lottie had agreed with Matt that if they were going to take their investigations seriously the first thing they needed to do was dig deeper into Sasha’s friends’ background and they needed their fellow Just Desserts Club members to help them do that.

Butterflies were having a disco in her stomach on the drive back to the café as she wondered if the inspectors might have turned up early, but when the car park came into view, she saw with relief that the only vehicles there belonged to their guests.

‘Hey, is that Will?’ asked Cleo, pointing through the windscreen of Matt’s SUV.

‘Perfect,’ said Matt, swinging the steering wheel towards the parking space next to William’s dark green MG. ‘Never look a gift horse in the mouth, as my mum’s so fond of saying! Looks like we’ve got our first interviewee.’

Lottie understood what Matt had in mind. She jumped down from the passenger seat and strolled over to where Sasha’s business manager was loitering, his forehead creased into parallel lines. She saw him shoot an impatient glance towards the veranda of the lodge he shared with Amber, the expression etched on his handsome features making it obvious they’d had a row.

‘Hi, Will. Are you on your way out somewhere?’ said Lottie.

‘Not really, just needed to get out for some fresh air. Our lodge has suddenly become a little… claustrophobic.’

‘Well, it looks like it’s about to rain. Fancy joining us for a coffee on the terrace? We’ve still got some of the cheese scones left from earlier.’

‘Great.’

Matt and William settled down at one of the café’s outdoor tables whilst Lottie helped Cleo assemble a tray of coffee. She added a bottle of French brandy she’d found in the cupboard under the sink and assumed that Debs wouldn’t be needing it anytime soon. She loathed the taste, but from the way the men slung it into their coffee mugs she knew she had made the right decision.

She took a seat next to Matt, her stomach churning with rampaging nerves. She wished they’d waited until she’d had time to ring round the other Just Desserts Club members so that they were all there, asking questions, providing safety in numbers. But she couldn’t chicken out now, not when the future of the Waddling Duck Café was at stake. She longed to talk to her father, to ask his advice on what she needed to do in order to elicit the right information in such circumstances. How she wished this was simply another one of the murder mystery parties they used to drag her mother and Georgia to at Christmas, where she had fun pitching her mind against his in an effort to be the first to solve the fictional crime and steal the prize.

However, this was real life.

And yet, weren’t the principles the same? They had to narrow down the suspects and one of the ways to do that was by seeking out possible motives, which meant delving into their backgrounds.

‘Will, would it be okay if we asked you a few questions? We really want to find out how this dreadful incident could have happened as soon as possible.’

‘Do you think I don’t? When I get my hands on the person who did this, well, let’s just say you wouldn’t want to be in the vicinity!’

Lottie watched William lean forward and rest his forearms on his thighs, his back arched to the sky. When he raised his head, she noticed the dark smudges beneath his eyes and how untidy his collar-length hair was from the way he dragged his fingers through the waves as he struggled to put his brain into gear to answer her question.

‘Ask away! What do you want to know?’

‘Well, we thought if we could gather as much information as possible, it might help us to understand how such an unusual substance could have found its way into Sasha’s throat spray, who put it there and why. So, can I ask you, whose idea was it to come to Devon?’

William knocked back his coffee and refilled his empty mug with neat brandy before levelling his eyes at Lottie and heaving a long, ragged sigh.

‘Sasha wanted to have one last big get-together with the people she loves before things got manic. She and Jess spent some of their childhood playing on the beaches down here and Dylan knew about this place. Sasha thought it sounded perfect and insisted on paying for everyone to come for the week. Bill and Angela left her financially secure, and she wanted to share it with her family and friends. She’s… she was an amazing woman!’

There was now no doubt in Lottie’s mind that Ethan had been right – there had definitely been more than a business relationship between William and Sasha.

‘How long have you and Amber known Sasha? You were clearly very close.’

‘We all met at university. We took the same music degree course in Sheffield. It was my second degree. I’d already fulfilled my parents’ dreams by graduating from Oxford and I thought it was about time I started focussing on my own ambitions. We kept in touch after uni, though. Not only did we have our love of music in common, but I live in Artà, in Majorca, with my parents – they run a tennis academy there – and Sasha’s uncle and aunt also live there for half the year. Kenneth Richards is Sasha and Jess’s paternal uncle. He pays the rent on their villa when Sasha and Amber are working in the resorts for the summer. So, whenever they come out, we get together. I can usually manage to pull a few favours and get them a couple of gigs in one of the bars for the summer season in Majorca, but this year they got bookings in Ibiza.’

‘So how did you and Amber get together?’ Lottie pressed, starting to feel more confident in her role as examiner-in-chief, keen to know more about the state of their relationship and only a little uncomfortable that it was really none of her business.

‘Been together since Christmas. I sort of fell into managing both Amber’s and Sasha’s music careers, even when they were back in the UK. My first degree is in law and business studies. I handle my parents’ tennis academy business, too. My family all adore Sasha and Jess – welcomed them both into our lives, especially as their own parents aren’t around. Jess even stays with them sometimes in the holidays. She’s studying for an English Lit degree – says she wants to be a children’s author and illustrator, but my brother, Antonio, thinks she has the potential to make a great tennis player if she’d put a bit more effort in. Or she did until she met Leo. Pain in the butt, he is. Talks about nothing else except becoming a famous chef and living the “celebrity lifestyle”. I know I shouldn’t say this, but if you want my opinion, he’s only with Jess for her cash.’

Lottie wondered if it was the desire to find the person responsible for Sasha’s death or the alcohol that was loosening William’s tongue. Should she persuade him to go back to his lodge in case he regretted his honesty the next morning? Would that be the right thing to do? It seemed her initial opinion of William was the right one – he was one of the most straightforward and candid people she had met. However, before she could say anything, Matt had snatched the enquiry baton from her hands.

‘You mean the Richards family trust fund?’

‘Yes. Jess isn’t due to inherit her share for a few years, but Sasha had hers so she spoilt Jess. Of course, why shouldn’t she? She’s her little sister and she lost her parents when she was only eleven. Jess is hopeless when it comes to finances, well, anything that requires a cogent thought process, actually. Sasha was really worried about what will happen when Jess turns twenty-five and she inherits her share of the trust fund capital.’

‘So what’s your theory on what happened?’

William paused, his eyes resting on Matt.

‘Well, didn’t we all see her drag your friend off to her lodge?’

Matt ignored the implication. ‘And you didn’t see her again until we found her in her lodge?’

‘No.’

‘Are you sure?’

William stared at Matt for what seemed like an eternity, clasping and unclasping his hands, indecision enveloping his expression and demeanour. Then, to Lottie’s astonishment, he burst into tears.

‘Will? What’s the matter? What’s going on?’ said Lottie, reaching out to give his arm a supportive squeeze, dismayed that their questions had caused him such distress.

‘I…’ William began, then his shoulders dropped as he changed his mind and clearly decided to favour truth over deflection. ‘Okay, I did go to see Sasha in her lodge. I’m so sorry, the charade at the party was a cover. Sasha and I, well, we’re… we were in love. She planned on telling Dylan as soon as he arrived from Bristol. I was going to break it off with Amber when we left here so she could go to her parents in Oxford if she wanted, instead of back with Sasha and Jess to Ibiza. The bottle of Champagne she snagged on the way to the lodge was for us to celebrate.’

‘Well, I don’t think Ethan’s going to be in a hurry to forgive you when he hears that confession,’ Cleo muttered, her eyes flashing with heated loyalty. ‘You could have saved him a great deal of anguish if you’d spoken up earlier.’

‘I’m sorry about what we put your friend through, I really am. I will make sure I apologise to him when I see him. I’ve been attracted to Sasha since I met her at uni, but there was always some guy lurking around, so I never made a move. Sasha came over to Artà without Jess at the beginning of March and we spent an idyllic two weeks together playing tennis and taking the bikes to the beach. We didn’t mean it to happen, but we fell in love. Then she was spotted by a contact of mine from Mountside Records and the recording deal followed. I couldn’t dump Amber right after that and take up with Sasha. How would that have looked? I’m not that cruel, even though the offer of a contract came weeks after we got together. We wanted to celebrate in secret because Amber was crushed.’

‘And did you celebrate?’ asked Lottie.

‘Yes, Sasha cracked open the Moet and we toasted our future together, made a few plans. I swear she was the happiest I’ve ever seen her when I left the lodge. At last, the world was smiling on her and she deserved it after everything she’d been through. She was beautiful, a talented performer, a wonderful friend, and a fabulous sister to Jess.’ William drew in a steadying breath, his characteristic equilibrium restored, yet his eyes retained an anxious look. ‘Do you really think someone poisoned Sasha?’

‘I’m not sure. Maybe they just meant to incapacitate her so she couldn’t sing for us on the terrace that night and miscalculated the substance they used to do that.’

For the first time since they had bumped into William in the car park, Lottie saw his features relax a little and his face morphed into the attractive and athletic man that Sasha had fallen in love with on the sun-filled tennis courts of Majorca. She watched him drain the contents of his mug and push himself to his feet a little unsteadily – after all, he had consumed almost a mug full of Cognac.

‘Can I ask you one last question?’ asked Lottie. ‘What time did you leave Sasha’s lodge?’

‘I watched Ethan leave and I went straight in. We were together for about thirty minutes, then I left so she could get some rest before getting changed for the promised gig and our dinner afterwards.’

‘Did anyone see you leave?’

‘I shouldn’t think so. We were keeping our relationship secret.’

‘Did you see anyone, anyone at all, loitering around?’

‘No. I went back to my lodge for a quick shower and then joined you all on the terrace. Dylan had just arrived and was letting his mouth go. I think he was drunk. Sasha should have ditched the idiot a long time ago.’

William must have had enough of the interrogation spotlight because he purposefully strode towards the café’s neatly cultivated garden before turning back to the threesome sitting on the benches, their eyes fixed on his agonised expression. ‘I hope you find out who did this. For Sasha’s sake.’ And then he was gone.

‘Well, I think we can strike Will from our list of suspects,’ said Cleo, twirling a strand of her hair around her finger. ‘Which leaves us with four people – Dylan, Amber, Jess and Leo. Who’s next on our hit list? Dylan? Can’t say I like the guy, and if it’s true that he was just about to be dumped…’

‘He wouldn’t try to poison Sasha just because she was going to dump him – that’s crazy,’ spluttered Matt.

‘This whole situation is crazy!’

Lottie stared at the flowers along the garden borders dancing a jig in the warm summer breeze. Twilight was beginning to send fissures of scarlet and mauve through the sky and the starlings had embarked on an evening sonata which gave the deserted terrace a rather sombre feel.

‘I’m exhausted. I think we should call it a day,’ Cleo declared. ‘Are you sure I can’t talk you into coming to stay with me, Lottie?’

‘Thanks, but I think I’ll be fine here. I’ll see you tomorrow.’

After thanking Matt for the archery lesson, Lottie turned to encircle Cleo in an appreciative hug. The short time she had spent in Little Sweeting had taught her that there was no greater magic than the acceptance and support of friends. She couldn’t prevent herself from running her eyes over Matt’s retreating figure as he made his way back to his SUV in the Waddling Duck Café car park. Every inch of his physique rippled with muscular strength and a fizzle of interest shot through her veins, spreading into her fingertips like pins and needles.

‘Matt does ooze a certain rugged charisma, doesn’t he?’ Cleo mused, coming to stand next to Lottie to swell the members of the Matt Wilson Appreciation Society.

‘Mmm, maybe.’

After waving Cleo off home, Lottie went back inside, making doubly sure to lock the door behind her. She cast her eyes around the café, a place that should, under happier circumstances, have reverberated with the clatter and chatter of culinary activity and animated conversation. Silence wrapped its insidious fingers around the room in a way that was somehow hypnotic and served to calm her anxieties. She washed their coffee mugs slowly in a sink full of hot soapy water and put them back in their allocated places, then sprayed the benches with disinfectant.

She then climbed the stairs to her studio, her bones weighed down with a heavy lethargy, and slumped onto the sofa. She couldn’t stop her brain from spinning with a merry-go-round of emotions and a migraine threatened, so she grabbed one of her favourite cookery books – The Great British Baking Bazaar – and began leafing through the glossy pages.

Both her parents had adored books, but their favoured genres occupied opposite ends of the reading spectrum; her mum devoured historical romances, while her father preferred gardening books and, of course, any murder mystery he could get his hands on, although Golden Age mysteries were his favourite. Lottie remembered the first time she was allowed to choose her own book from the local library in the Hampshire village where she grew up, and her mother had told her the story that every one of the precious tomes contained a tiny fragment of the author’s heart so Lottie had to treat them with respect and reverence, irrespective of her personal preference as to subject matter.

In the dark days after her father’s death, her mother’s love of reading was one of the few things that had helped to pull her through. Lottie too had relied on the stories she read to transport her to another place, far away from the clutches of reality, but recently, with the lilac-painted Waddling Duck Café in her life and Cleo by her side, she had let her reading habit slip.

She decided to curl up in bed with one of her father’s tattered old gardening books that accompanied her everywhere. Yet, despite her determination to sink into a good book, Lottie slipped into the oblivion of sleep within seconds of her head hitting her silk pillowcase.

Chapter Twenty

Lottie awoke early the next day feeling refreshed and ready to attack the day ahead. As the summer sunshine splashed its rays through the windows causing dust eddies to bounce across the room on beams of light, she felt her creative juices flowing. For once, it was not the usual tingle in her fingers to grab the nearest dishcloth and disinfectant spray, but an unscratchable urge to delve her hands into a bowl of flour. Baking had become her solace in the place of styling food and beverage items, and she loved every single stage of it, not just the cleaning up.

For some reason, her thoughts lingered briefly on Claude.

Of course, during the first few weeks of their liaison, she had been suffused with the golden glow of their blossoming attraction, with an intensifying hope that they had something special, which had helped to chase away her past anxieties and in turn had heightened her passion for artistic activities. Their increased closeness and her mounting desire to create beautiful photographs had served to diminish her obsession with mildew, mould and rust; she had felt happy, liberated, and fresh ideas had sparked on a daily basis. Slowly but surely, she had managed to suppress her battle with the hygiene beasts, but despite her new contentedness she knew they were still lurking in the darkest most grime-ridden corners of her mind, biding their time until they could once again feed on the tasty morsels of her emotional wellbeing.

Claude’s cheating had awakened her demons, but their presence in her life was not his responsibility; that was all down to her and her reluctance to face her issues of loss and grief and get the support she so clearly needed. Her sister mentioned counselling almost every time they spoke, but so far she had resisted, preferring the prescription of keeping busy so as not to dwell on the matter – which she now had to accept clearly hadn’t worked.

However, she couldn’t deny that there had been several positives to come of their break-up and the loss of her assignment; she was now free to seek fulfilment in a different version of her dreams with the same passion, hope and expectation she’d had for the food styling business until Claude had burst her bubble.

Since arriving in Little Sweeting, her enthusiasm for creating new and unusual recipes and testing them on more than her enthusiastic neighbour had blasted forth and she loved it. With Cleo’s calm encouragement, she had been able to turn the page of her autobiography and start to write a new story for her future, and maybe that would, at last, include getting the help she needed to banish the shadowy spectres that stalked her wellbeing once and for all.

Suddenly, she experienced an intense craving to speak to her sister, to hear her news, to listen to her sensible words of advice. She had told her mum and Georgia that she had temporarily moved to Devon to manage a café and holiday site for Henry’s sister, and she had sent several upbeat messages along with photographs of the stunning scenery. However, she hadn’t actually spoken to either of them yet for fear they would ask questions she wasn’t ready to answer.

‘Hi, Georgie. How’re things?’

‘Fabulous. I’ve just been offered a part in a costume drama that’s being filmed down here in Hampshire next month. It’s only a small role but it should be fun, and I’ll get to meet Darcie Fowler who’s playing the lead! How’re you getting on at that cute little lilac-coloured café? Any hunky guys on the horizon? Oh, how did the garden party go at the weekend? At least you had good weather for it!’

Lottie waited for her sister to draw breath. She had always been the more gossipy sister as they’d grown up. Instead of the turmoil of their teenage years causing Georgia to retreat into her shell, Lottie thought it had made her fearless, unafraid of speaking out, of trying something new or putting herself in difficult situations. After all, as her sister repeatedly said, what was the worst that could happen? Georgia’s self-confidence had stood her in good stead as she made her way through drama school and onto the stage at the local theatre, and then into small TV roles. Lottie was certain that her sister’s star was ascending and that it was only a matter of time before she got a lead actor role in a Hollywood blockbuster.

‘Well, if you count one of your guests being found dead in her lodge and you being accused of poisoning her as a successful outcome, then the garden party went swimmingly.’

‘Dead? What are you talking about?’

Lottie immediately regretted telling Georgia about the disastrous ending to what had been such a wonderful day. She decided to give her the sanitised version of events for fear of having her indignant sister rush to her side and stand guard against any further attacks or unwarranted accusations.

‘Sadly, one of the guests had an adverse reaction to something in her throat spray. The police are investigating, and I’m expecting a visit from the food inspectors at some point to do a sweep of the café, but it was probably some kind of freak accident with the most devastating of consequences.’

‘Oh my God, Lottie, that’s awful, truly awful. Were any of the other guests affected?’

‘No, no one else.’

‘And you’re okay?’

‘I’m fine.’

‘Are you sure? I could come down—’

‘No, please, that really isn’t necessary. I know how busy you are, and I have Cleo.’

‘Don’t the health and safety authorities realise that there is no way any malicious germ could survive after an encounter with Charlotte Louise Chadwick and her faithful antibacterial spray?’

‘Clearly not.’

Lottie prayed that her sister wouldn’t start asking her a long list of questions as she had never been good at keeping the truth from her, and there was no way she was going to tell her about their newly formed Just Desserts Club – she definitely wouldn’t be able to keep her away then! She cast around in her tangled web of thoughts for a change of subject, but Georgia beat her to it.

‘So, does Debs know what’s happened?’

‘Erm… no, not yet. Cleo and I thought it would be best to wait until we had all the details about the cause of Sasha’s death, so we could reassure her that it was totally unconnected to the café.’

‘Yes, that’s probably wise. There’s not much she can do from Australia. Actually, I’d had an idea about that but now might not be the right time to raise it.’

‘What idea?’

‘I thought – as everything seemed to be going so well down there in Little Sweeting – you could maybe ask Debs if she’d reconsider her decision to sell the café and let you rent it from her instead. You could provide her with a steady income whilst she decides whether she’s going to settle in Melbourne with her new partner. It’s a win-win situation, really. It’ll give her the peace of mind that if things don’t work out over there, and I’m not saying they won’t, but if things don’t work out there’ll be something for her to come back to. What do you think?’

With everything else that was swirling around in her mind, she didn’t have the bandwidth to give serious consideration to what Georgia had suggested. ‘Maybe. I’ll think about it.’

‘Great, so tell me, did you make those apricot pavlova nests for the party? What about the raspberry and white chocolate roulades? Oh, I really wish I could have been there.’

Lottie spent the next ten minutes chatting about the Waddling Duck Café’s summer party to her sister, almost convincing herself that it had been a total success. She asked for details of the costume drama Georgia was in the middle of rehearsing for and about the progress of the rock musical her husband Seb was working on. Her mood started to lift as it always did when they spent time chatting, right up until the inevitable question was asked.

‘And are you really expecting me to believe that there’s not one hot-blooded male in the whole of Little Sweeting?’

‘Well, I…’

‘Oooo, there is! Spill the details, Lottie. Come on, please, Seb is about as romantic as a wet fish at the moment. It’s this blasted musical he’s got himself involved in, it’s eating up every spare bit of his time and more. Actually, I was thinking of coming down to Devon and bunking up with you in that cute little attic studio of yours for a few days until opening night or I think I might just go crazy.’

Panic spread through Lottie’s chest. The last thing she wanted was for Georgia to discover what was really going on and put on her metaphorical deerstalker. She had to deflect her suggestion without upsetting her, or her sister would soon be organising her wedding to the first unattached guy she set her eyes on – suitable or otherwise – which was one of the reasons she hadn’t confided in her about her relationship with Claude.

‘Matt and I are just friends…’

‘Does he work at the café?’

‘No. He owns an outward-bounds centre in the village…’

‘Ah, so he’s a real-life hunk? He must be if he spends his days scrambling over obstacle courses, riding quad bikes and flying along zip wires! Has he invited you to go yomping with him yet? Or skinny dipping?’

‘No, Georgie, he has not. As I said, we’re just friends.’

‘Friends can turn into lovers, you know, Lottie.’

Lottie managed to deflect her sister’s cross-examination to the subject of their mother and her recent penchant for synchronised swimming and they ended the conversation with promises to speak again at the weekend. After they had said their goodbyes, she toyed with her phone for a few minutes, wondering whether she should bite the bullet and call Debs to bring her up to speed with what was happening at the café.

But what would be the point?

Debs couldn’t do very much about it from ten thousand miles away and she really didn’t want to worry her when she was probably enjoying the first throes of living in a new country with a new man in her life. Lottie suspected that running the café and the glamping business had taken up most of her time, with minimal opportunities for holidays or weekend breaks, and Debs deserved to have this chance to make the best start possible in her new life without feeling guilty about what was going on back in the UK, or worse, hopping on the next plane home.

Perhaps she should call Hannah instead?

She missed her best friend hugely, but she knew she was busy working long hours at the fashion house she’d landed an internship at after sending out her CV to over a hundred businesses with even the loosest connection to the rag trade that she’d wanted to be part of since the moment she could hold a pair of scissors.

Hannah had promised to make the trip down to Devon as soon as her schedule allowed, but Lottie knew that wouldn’t be for weeks as Hannah was often expected to work weekends and was rarely able to take annual leave, although there was the compensation of regular jaunts to the fashion capitals of the world such as Milan, Paris and more recently, Berlin. Whilst she would love to spend the next hour or so gossiping about her new life in Devon, like with Debs, she really didn’t want to upset Hannah, or risk the possibility that she would share what was going on with Henry who would probably worry about her too, as well as feel it was his duty to inform his sister about the impending visit from the environmental health inspectors – something she was certain had never happened during Debs’ watch.

No, it was best if she kept her worries to herself until she knew more about what had happened, and keep her fingers firmly crossed that neither Hannah, Henry nor Debs called before the culprit had been unveiled.

Her spirits dipped and she suddenly craved a dose of friendly company, unable to admit to herself that what she really wanted to do was escape the imminent arrival of the environmental health inspectors, so she decided to head across the road to the florist’s shop, a place where she knew she would receive a warm welcome.

As soon as she pushed open the door of Blossoms & Bouquets – which, of course, sported the freshest, most exuberant door wreath of the village with white carnations, dahlias, and thick green glossy foliage tied together with peppermint ribbons – she felt instantly calmer. The waft of floral fragrance, with a noticeable top note of ground coffee beans, floated into her nostrils and soothed her ragged emotions, and to make things even better, Kit wasn’t alone. In fact, it looked like she’d inadvertently stumbled on an ad hoc Just Desserts Club meeting.

‘Ah, there you are Lottie,’ said Hazel, from her perch on one of the cream damask chaise longues at the back of the shop that Kit used to discuss his clients’ floral requirements. That morning, she had taken her love affair with pink to the extreme and was wearing a voluminous kaftan-like blouse in cerise and a pair of candy pink and white stripped trousers with straw wedges. ‘Okay, we can start now.’

‘I’m sorry, I didn’t—’

‘I’ve set up a new group chat on WhatsApp. Didn’t you get the message I sent?’

‘No—’

‘Well, you’re here now,’ said Kit, slipping his arm around Lottie’s shoulders and guiding her into a seat on the matching chaise longue next to a smiling Anthea who reached out to give her hand a squeeze of welcome. ‘How are you holding up, Lottie, darling? It must be a hugely stressful time for you. Let me fetch you a coffee and then we’ll get our meeting underway.’

Kit disappeared into the room at the back of the shop and reappeared with a frothy cappuccino in a themed peppermint-and-cream china cup and saucer, then plonked himself down next to a sixty-something man who Lottie hadn’t seen before.

‘Oh, sorry, sorry, you two haven’t met, have you?’ said Kit, jumping back up from his seat like an energetic Tigger, the silver bangles around his wrist jangling a merry tune as he performed a very theatrical introduction. ‘Lottie, I’d like you to meet Professor Hector Harrison, esteemed proprietor of the magnificent Hector’s House of Books, a veritable bibliographic paradise we are honoured to have in our glorious little village.’

‘Hello, Hector, it’s—’

‘Hector, may I present Lottie Chadwick, the newest member of our community, purveyor of sweet treats and all-round good egg who stepped into the breach to allow our loved-up friend Debs to take a hugely courageous step and head off into the unknown with her darling beau, Brian.’

‘It’s good to meet you, Lottie,’ said Hector, his brown eyes crinkling at the corners. ‘And I’d like to say to you all, how honoured I am to be co-opted into your Sleuthing Society, although I should confess that when Hazel approached me, I assumed the Just Desserts Club was, well, a club that focussed on… just desserts. For the record, I am rather partial to a slice of apple pie with home-made custard.’

Hector laughed, a rich, melodious sound and Lottie warmed to him immediately. As every moment of her spare time since arriving in Little Sweeting had been taken up with running the café and preparing for the garden party, she hadn’t had time to visit the bookshop, but she resolved to put that right as soon as possible.

She took in Hector’s brown Tweed suit, complete with matching waistcoat, and his quirky burgundy bow tie that was no doubt chosen to co-ordinate with the frontage of his bookshop and had to smother a giggle when she saw a pipe protruding from the breast pocket of his jacket instead of the expected paisley handkerchief. He had the appearance of a beloved teddy bear, but Lottie could see that beneath that soft, kindly, bookish exterior was a fiercely intelligent mind that missed nothing.

‘Okay, so we’re gathered here today…’ began Hazel.

‘Oh my God!’ Kit gasped. ‘Are we getting married?’

‘Kit,’ said Anthea, trying not to smile. ‘Let’s allow Hazel get on with it or we’ll be here all day, and I promised Gordon I’d bake a batch of fruit scones for him to take to the residential care home over in Great Sweeting this afternoon. Hazel, you were going to tell us about your trip to see Archie at the Crow’s Nest, and whether you and Kit found any clues when you searched the glamping site.’

‘Unfortunately, our interview with Archie was fruitless,’ said Hazel, clearly irritated that he hadn’t regaled them with a barrage of gossip about who in the village could have had a vendetta against Sasha Richards.

‘And your clue-finding expedition?’

‘It was a bust, too,’ said Kit, slumping back into his seat, forgetting it was a chaise longue and tumbling to the floor in an inelegant heap before bouncing back up, brushing dust from the lace-edged cuff of his shirt. ‘Oops! Can I get anyone another coffee?’

Everyone shook their heads, clearly keen to get on with the meeting.

‘So, Lottie, your turn,’ said Hazel, her eyes boring into hers. ‘What have you and Cleo found out? Anthea has already told us that she spoke to Matt yesterday and he told her that food poisoning had been ruled out, and you were told you could re-open the café, so then what happened?’

Lottie told them about the unusual poison that had been found in Sasha’s throat spray, and that as she had given her a jar of honey from the café’s kitchen, she was expecting a visit from the health inspectors. She also told them about what they’d found out about Sasha and Jess’ family, and the trust fund that had been left to them by their parents.

‘That’s a sad story,’ said Anthea.

‘Yes, yes, it is,’ said Hazel, keen to continue. ‘Have you spoken to anyone else in the party?’

Lottie hesitated, unsure whether she should disclose what William had told them. He and Sasha had been careful to keep their relationship a secret, so should she really be contemplating revealing the information to the four people sitting on the edge of their seats in front of her, their eyes wide with interest?

‘I’m not—’

‘I’d like to assure you, Lottie, that as confirmed members of the Just Desserts Club we have all agreed to abide by an unbearable promise not to speak of our investigations or discoveries outside of our group. Whatever you say will go no further. Also, unless we have the full picture, every detail no matter how small, then we can’t hope to make any progress, don’t you agree, Hector?’

‘I do.’

Lottie relented. Hazel was right, and she was desperate to get to the bottom of what was going on because, although she hadn’t voiced her fears out loud to anyone, there was a niggling feeling in her stomach that there was the possibility that whoever was behind what happened to Sasha might strike again. So, she told them about William and Sasha being a couple and intending to break things off with their respective partners after the party.

‘Wow, so it’s Amber?’ said Kit, his eyes shining triumphantly. ‘I knew it would be her! I just had this feeling! Call it intuition, call it clairvoyance, call it what you will! Looks like we’ve cracked the case, guys! Spurned lovers is the oldest motive in the book!’

‘In that case it could also be Dylan,’ said Hazel, a smile playing at her lips.

‘Oh, no, no, no, I reckon if Dylan had found out, he’d have targeted William, not Sasha. What do you think, Hector?’

‘There’s no evidence it’s either of them,’ said Hector, removing his pipe from his pocket and polishing it with a monogrammed handkerchief. ‘We must strive not to jump to conclusions that can’t be substantiated by the evidence we have uncovered. It’s a relief that we know the cause of death, but we still don’t know how the poison go into the throat spray, only that someone put it there and intended Sasha to become ill, which – assuming William was in love with Sasha as he stated – means we still have four suspects on our list.’

‘Ergh,’ muttered Kit, clearly deflated.

‘But Kit does have a point about motive, though,’ said Hazel, keen to bolster his spirits. ‘I think the next stage of our Party & Poison investigation is to talk to the remaining members of the glamping group. We know William’s story, but what about the others? What’s their story? So, I have an idea. We should divide and conquer.’

‘What do you have in mind?’ said Kit, scooting to the edge of his seat as his sleuthing spirit returned.

‘I’ll head back to the vicarage with Anthea, and we’ll make two batches of scones; one for the Rev to take to the care home, and one for us to take over to the lodges when we thoughtfully turn up to enquire as to Sasha’s family and friends’ wellbeing after such a heartbreaking event, offering them a warm scone and a sympathetic ear for anything they feel the urge to confess.’

‘Family and friends?’ said Kit, his jaw loosening in surprise. ‘You can’t think Jess had anything to do with this. She’s Sasha’s sister!’

‘If we’re going to take this seriously, we need to be thorough, don’t you think?’

‘Yes, I suppose so,’ Kit mumbled, clearly not convinced.

‘Okay, let’s go!’ said Hazel, collecting her over-sized canvas bag and hooking the twisted rope handles over her shoulder.

‘Hang on, Hazel,’ said Kit, indicating Lottie and Hector before patting himself on the chest. ‘What are we going to do?’

‘You and Hector have businesses to run.’

‘And you don’t?’ said Kit, clearly put out.

‘It’s Wednesday. We’re closed.’

‘In the afternoon! It’s nine thirty!’

‘Desperate times call for desperate measures.’

Hazel hooked her arm through an apologetic Anthea’s arm and vanished from the florist’s shop leaving a disgruntled Kit behind. Lottie decided it would be a good idea to follow in the women’s footsteps, although like Kit, she too was a little offended that she hadn’t been included in the morning’s bake-o-thon at the vicarage.

Maybe they thought her baking was to blame after all?

Chapter Twenty One

When Lottie emerged from Blossoms & Bouquets, she felt as though she had been inside for hours until she checked her watch and saw it was barely ten a.m. There was still no sign of the health and safety inspectors, nor had she had the promised text that they were on their way, and – not wanting to return to the café where she knew her anxiety sprites would have a field day – she decided to make her second trip in two days to Extreme Quests where she knew she’d find the distraction she needed.

The centre’s car park was already full of gleaming 4X4’s and mud-splattered vans belonging to the people who were crowding the wooden reception area eager to make a start on that day’s schedule of activities. She grabbed a seat on one of the sofas and waited for Ethan to process everyone and send them in the right direction.

‘Why don’t you come through to the kitchen, Lottie, and I’ll make you a brew?’ said Ethan, dropping his black EQ fleece on the kitchen table and adding to the mountain of chaos already there. She could feel the familiar craving for order beginning its insidious coil around her veins, moving ever upwards until, with huge effort, she forced it from her mind.

‘I don’t think you’ve ever made me a cup of tea before! I’m looking forward to this.’

‘Don’t worry, I’ll taste it first and you can wait to see if I keel over and die before you risk taking a sip. I won’t be offended. And I don’t know about you, but I’m starving – want to take your life in your hands and share an omelette with me, too?’

Lottie laughed. ‘You make the tea, Ethan, and I’ll rustle up the omelettes.’

Once again, the task of feeding others came to her rescue. She threw herself into making the fluffiest omelettes possible, whisking the eggs until her hands ached, hunching over the stove and the heavy cast-iron frying pan, her eyes smarting from the fragrant steam. The aroma of fresh, herb-filled omelettes served to encourage Matt from his office. She rummaged in the fridge and tossed together a salad; a combination of lettuce, tomatoes and carrot strips fashioned into broad ribbons, with a “secret recipe” vinaigrette that Henry swore was better than the one he bought from Harrods, and they all dug in.

‘You make a mean omelette, you know, Lottie. But this salad is… well, different.’

Lottie giggled when she saw Ethan sniff, and then inspect, the ingredients of the salad before raising a forkful into his mouth. What was he expecting to see? Curled purple petals nestling between the rocket and the radicchio? But still, she noticed that he waited until Matt had taken a mouthful before devouring his.

Watching them relish every mouthful gave Lottie pause for thought.

Maybe she should think more positively about the imminent arrival of the inspectors that day, view the recent upsetting turn of events as part of the patchwork of living life to the full, an event stitched into the rhythm of her life which added to what she would become. However, she knew for sure that any philosophical acceptance of the possibility she could once again find herself with no job and no income by the weekend was not only down to her affinity with food preparation, but to the man who sat opposite her scraping his plate of the last morsel.

‘You know, I’ve been thinking. It’s a particularly nasty thing to do, don’t you think?’ Matt mused, taking a sip of the thick, dark tea Ethan had produced. ‘Lacing Sasha’s throat spray with something that would ensure a frightening and painful death. It’s as though someone wanted her to really suffer.’

‘But why would they do that? She was lovely,’ said Lottie, sitting back in her chair and swinging her gaze from Matt to Ethan and back again, delighted that she was able to progress the Just Desserts Club investigation after all. ‘She was kind to her sister – even though Jess is a bit flighty. We know William adored her. And she paid for a week’s break in luxury lodges with outdoor spas just because she wanted everyone to have fun. She was generous, popular, well-liked, excited about her future and on the brink of something special. Can it really be one of her friends who did this to her and not an unbalanced fan or spurned admirer who followed Sasha here?’

‘I’m sure of it, and that person clearly used the spray because they wanted her next live performance to be adversely affected – which leads me to believe it was someone who was envious of her success. What they didn’t foresee was that Sasha would offer to sing whilst on holiday in the glorious Devon countryside.’

‘What do you mean? Oh!’ Ethan picked up on Matt’s train of thought. ‘Yes! Sasha had been offered a lucrative recording contract – jealousy. And what if Amber knew about William and Sasha’s affair as well – sorry, Lottie, Matt told me about your conversation with William yesterday – but she was biding her time, planning her revenge?’

‘It’s a theory.’

‘And delivering it via a dose of what could be mistaken for food poisoning,’ added Lottie, the cogs in her brain cranking into action. ‘It’s not like a blow to the head, is it? In fact, the person didn’t even have to be around when Sasha administered her throat spray.’

‘Mmm, that’s an interesting point. I think you may be on to something there,’ Matt said thoughtfully.

The tinkle of a brass bell reverberated through to the kitchen and interrupted their deductions.

‘I’ll go,’ said Matt, leaping from his chair and striding from the room.

Lottie couldn’t stop her eyes from roaming over Matt’s attractive physique, and the memory of his firm hands as he’d guided her own on the archery bow the previous day sprang into her mind. She could still feel the warmth of his body moulded perfectly next to hers and smell the faint whiff of his aftershave on her jacket.

‘Ethan? Can you come out here, please?’ Matt called.

Ethan shoved a whole chocolate biscuit into his mouth and shrugged his shoulders at Lottie. When the kitchen door swung open, Lottie saw who Matt was talking to and her stomach gave a sharp nip of surprise.

‘I needed to get away from everyone, so I thought I’d come over here,’ Amber explained, her expression almost pleading for their understanding and acceptance. ‘Please tell me there’s something I can join in with to get rid of all this pent-up energy. If I don’t do something soon, I think I might explode!’

‘Come on, I’ll take you over to the climbing wall,’ said Matt. ‘Ethan, can you hold the fort here, please?’

‘Sure, no problem.’

Lottie was about to replenish her mug of tea and spend the next thirty minutes checking her messages, when she realised that this would be the perfect opportunity to ask Amber a few questions, even if it meant taking part in an activity that gave her goosebumps. If she truly wanted to get to the bottom of what was going on at the glamping site, then she needed to be prepared to put herself in uncomfortable positions, although she would have preferred it if that wasn’t dangling by a rope ten metres from the ground.

‘Hi Amber, do you mind if I join you?’

‘Oh, Lottie, hi. No, I don’t mind at all. In fact, I’d appreciate the company.’

Amber flicked the sides of her auburn bob behind her ears and attempted a smile. Lottie could see how agitated she was, her hands constantly restless, her eyes jumping from one thing to another, and a spasm of sympathy shot through her veins, coupled with a generous helping of apprehension for what she was about to endure in the name of amateur sleuthing. She didn’t recall Miss Marple or Jessica Fletcher ever subjecting themselves to the inelegant rigour of a climbing wall lesson! But it was too late now.

‘Here, take these.’

Matt handed each of them a purple EQ fleece and they followed him to the storeroom to collect the safety equipment before tramping through to a small clearing at the rear of the office where the climbing wall was situated. Lottie tipped her chin upwards to look at the top and it was so high she almost fell over backwards.

‘Looks daunting, doesn’t it?’ said Amber, vocalising Lottie precise thoughts.

‘Terrifying!’

‘Do you think it’s too late for us to back out?’

‘Erm…’

Lottie glanced at Matt who was busy emptying a huge rucksack of gear. ‘Sorry, girls, I’ve forgotten your elbow guards. Be back in a minute,’ and he sprinted off back to the storeroom.

Now that she and Amber were alone, Lottie experienced a brief stab of indecision. She hadn’t yet had the opportunity to work out how she was going to broach the subject of Sasha’s chance to shoot for stardom, but, assuming that Amber was more likely to open up and talk about such personal matters while Matt wasn’t around, she decided to just launch straight in.

‘So, how did you feel about Sasha’s record deal?’

Amber stared at her for a moment and Lottie thought she was going to tell her to mind her own business, but instead her shoulders slumped. She indicated a wooden bench fashioned from what looked like a railway sleeper and started to fiddle with the numerous chains at her neck, her eyes fixed on an indeterminate point in the canopy of trees above their heads.

‘Sasha was my best friend and I was happy for her. She’d worked so hard for her big break – we both had. The music business is a tough industry to make any progress in. If you’d seen some of the places we were booked to perform in, you’d appreciate how much a recording deal meant to Sasha. Sure, I would be lying if I said I didn’t wish it had been me – who wouldn’t? But I wasn’t jealous, I really wasn’t. If I’m brutally honest, she was a much better vocalist than I am. And even if I was jealous, I would never have hurt her! What would be the point of that? The contract doesn’t transfer to me in the event of her sudden unavailability or anything like that!’

Amber’s face flushed with indignation as she re-tucked her copper-streaked bob behind her ears. Her outfit that day was a lemon, scoop-necked tee shirt embroidered with sunflowers and tight black designer jeans. Lottie knew that Amber relished displaying her impressive cleavage and had shaped her wardrobe to reflect that – but in the middle of a deserted patch of woodland, she looked out-of-place and out-of-sorts and Lottie felt sorry for her.

‘Okay, we’re ready to go now,’ Matt announced, re-appearing in the clearing and handing out the elbow guards.

‘You know, I think I might have been a little hasty when I said I wanted to do something to take my mind off things,’ Amber said.

‘Nothing worthwhile is ever easy,’ said Matt, his blond hair standing up in tufts, looking like he’d just left his surfboard behind in the storeroom.

‘That’s exactly what Sasha used to say before we went on stage. We both suffer from nerves before a gig; Sasha more often than me, to be honest. She was always coming out with crazy mantras, and she would stick rigorously to her pre-show rituals – if she couldn’t find her throat spray, all hell would break loose. Performers often have little routines before they go on stage – you know the sort of thing; if she has three squirts before a concert it’ll go well; if she forgot, or she’d ran out, or only sprayed twice, it would be a complete disaster and we’d never get a repeat booking. Actually, looking at this climbing wall, I could do with a couple of squirts of the magic stuff myself!’

‘Me, too,’ Lottie murmured.

Suddenly Amber’s eyes narrowed at Matt and Lottie. ‘I know what people are thinking – that I was so jealous of Sasha’s record deal I put something in her spray so she couldn’t sing for everyone on Sunday night. That’s what you think, too, isn’t it?’

‘Well, you did go to Sasha’s lodge to change into one of her dresses, so you did have access to…’ Matt began.

‘We all went to Sasha’s lodge before the party – except for that idiot of a boyfriend of hers. Trust him to be in the clear. If I had to pick a person responsible for this, it would be Dylan!’

Amber ripped off her helmet and knee guards and flung them to the ground, ready to take flight until Lottie asked softly, ‘I take it you knew about William and Sasha?’

Amber’s indignant demeanour deflated as if a needle had been stabbed in a balloon. She crumpled back onto the bench, twisting one of the chains at her throat. A variety of emotions floated across her expression in quick succession – shock, outrage, misery, acquiescence.

‘Yes, I knew,’ she whispered, tears trickling down her cheeks.

‘And had you spoken to either of them about your suspicions?’ asked Lottie, taking a seat beside Amber. She reached for her hand and was unsurprised to find her fingers were trembling and freezing cold.

‘No. To be honest, I was hoping it would fizzle out, but if anything, they seemed to grow closer. I knew William was going to dump me. Actually, I was surprised he didn’t do it before we came down here to Devon.’

‘How did you feel about your best friend and your boyfriend being in a relationship?’

‘Matt!’

Lottie recognised the hurt in Amber’s eyes and her heart squeezed with empathy. After what had happened with Claude and Chantelle she understood exactly how Amber felt. Taking a few moments to shove her emotions back into their box, Amber’s habitual spark emerged from the shadows of her obvious pain, and she met Matt’s gaze with a challenge.

‘How do you think I felt? Angry, worthless, sad. I loved him. I still do. But I did not poison my best friend! If you want to know who did, maybe you should look at the other person scorned! I’m not staying here any longer to be accused of something I had nothing to do with!’ Amber stalked from the clearing, every muscle in her body clenched in anger.

‘Matt, couldn’t you have been a little more… diplomatic?’

‘Lottie, someone put something deadly in Sasha’s throat spray, and that same person couldn’t have cared less about the effect their actions would have on the people who live and work in the village. And before you say anything else, think about it. Amber not only had the opportunity to tamper with the bottle when she changed her outfit, but also a reason for wanting to harm Sasha, even if she only intended to deliver a dose of discomfort so she couldn’t sing that night. And there’s not only the motive of professional jealousy, which, I might add, was instigated by William, but Sasha had also stolen Amber’s boyfriend whom she’s just confessed she still loves.’

Lottie watched Matt stride off towards his office to catch up with Amber.

Would she have spiked Chantelle’s drink if she had been presented with the opportunity? The thought was outrageous, and anyway, it was Claude she held responsible for the termination of their relationship, not Chantelle. Matt was way off course. She had seen the genuine affection in Amber’s eyes when she spoke of her best friend and her flourishing music career, and she knew Amber was another suspect they could strike from the list.

They were running out of options and if they didn’t find out the truth soon, Lottie suspected the finger of accusation may very well swing back in her direction, especially when Dylan discovered she had some knowledge of flowers from her days as a food stylist, not to mention the interest she’d shared with her father in horticulture.

However, before she could dwell on that scenario, her mobile sprang into life, and she knew she had much more pressing matters to deal with. The environmental health inspectors had arrived at the Waddling Duck Café.

Chapter Twenty Two

‘Thanks for coming with me, Matt. I owe you.’

Anxiety gnawed at Lottie’s abdomen as they headed back to the café. She had known the inspectors would be arriving at some point that day, but it didn’t make the fact any easier to accept. When they pulled into the car park at the rear of the café, her heart lurched as she saw not only Dr Bairstow’s Range Rover, but a shiny black 4X4 with blacked-out windows in one of the other spaces. Lottie knew she was being ridiculous, but she had never seen a more ominous-looking vehicle.

‘Are you sure I shouldn’t call Debs?’ said Lottie, suddenly hit by the seriousness of the situation. ‘If it was me, I would definitely want to know, even if it meant I had to fly back from Australia.’

‘You might be right, but let’s just wait to see what the inspectors have to say so we can give her as much information about everything that’s going on as possible. Anyone who has ever enjoyed a meal prepared in the café’s kitchen will have been left in no doubt how pristine the place is. I really don’t think there’s anything to worry about as far as the café is concerned. We know the cause of Sasha’s illness was someone spiking her throat spray, which was probably carried out before the guests even arrived in Devon. All you have to do is meet the inspectors, answer every question they ask, and they’ll move on to another business more deserving of their time and expertise.’

‘Thanks, Matt.’

A surge of confidence washed over Lottie. With Matt at her side, she felt like she could conquer anything. Look at how she’d handled her very first attempt at field archery under his careful instruction! Although… there was a great deal more at stake this time. She jumped down from the passenger seat of his EQ SUV and strode across to the café with purpose, keys in her hand.

It was early afternoon, and the sky was strewn with bruised clouds threatening a repeat of the earlier rain that had left a slick coating of moisture on the lawns and puddles dotted across the café’s terrace. Lottie unlocked the French doors and pushed them open wide to allow as much light and air into the premises as possible before the inspectors appeared.

As she always did when she was nervous, she pulled on a pair of rubber gloves, grabbed a bottle of disinfectant spray and started scrubbing every surface from top to bottom, inside and out. She also took comfort in the fact that whilst she wasn’t responsible for the cleaning of the lodges – Debs continued to employ a local business to do that – she had personally checked each lodge before Sasha’s party had arrived and they were spotless. Matt was right, she should have more self-belief.

‘Okay, I’ve just been over to Sasha and Dylan’s lodge. Marcus is there with the two environmental health inspectors,’ said Matt, arriving in the café’s kitchen and snatching up a slice of cherry flapjack. ‘I’ve told them we’ll be waiting for them in the café whenever they’re ready. I hope they’ve brought their gas masks because this place stinks of bleach!’

The inspectors’ imminent arrival chased away her earlier spurt of confidence and apprehension swirled around Lottie’s body whipping her breath from her lungs. She needed something to do with her hands but there was nothing left for her to clean. She gave Matt a weak smile, not wanting to give him the impression that she was anything less than certain of the outcome of the investigation. Sadly, she would never be worthy of an Oscar in the Best Actress category and she knew her fake bravado hadn’t fooled him.

‘Lottie, I know how stressful this is for you, but I really don’t think—’

‘Are you open? I could murder a cup of tea!’

Doctor Bairstow’s ruggedly handsome face appeared at the French doors. His shoulders were so broad and muscular that Lottie was surprised his presence didn’t block out all the natural light. Her spirits edged up a notch when she saw he was smiling as he rubbed his palm over his bristly beard, not to mention the fact that he was happy to accept a cup of tea from her.

‘No problem. Take a seat, Doctor Bairstow…’

‘Marcus, please. Dylan’s still talking to the environmental health guys, although talking might not be the most appropriate word; arguing, or maybe venting, might be a better choice. He’s not happy because the lab has finished testing each of the ingredients contained in the throat spray that was found in the lodge separately, and I’ve been authorised to inform you that they found no trace of any harmful substances in any of them, including the honey you gave Sasha from the café’s kitchen, Lottie. So, they now know that the poison that caused Sasha’s death was in the bottle itself before she filled it.’

‘Does that mean the café is in the clear?’ asked Lottie, so overwhelmed with relief that she struggled to prevent tears from forming along her lashes.

‘Yes, but the inspectors will still want to take a look around before they leave, just as a formality, and to prevent Dylan from making a formal complaint to their head of department. However, it means that the police will want to interview everyone again as it’s now clear that someone targeted Sasha, someone who knew about and had access to her throat spray, which by my calculation could only be a list of five people.’

Lottie exchanged a glance with Matt, who shook his head slightly, making it clear he didn’t want them to divulge the fact that they were several steps ahead of the doctor. She put down a pot of Earl Grey tea and a slice of flapjack in front of Marcus.

‘Ah, Lottie, you’re a lifesaver. Would you believe that this is the first food to pass my lips since yesterday lunchtime? My partner is on holiday with his family in Provence and I’ve been on call for the last week without a break. Mmm, this flapjack is delicious. Could I take a couple of slices away with me?’

‘Of course, and they’re on the house.’

‘Do you think you’ll reopen the café later this afternoon?’

‘No,’ Matt interjected before Lottie could even decide what she intended to do. ‘I think Lottie and Cleo deserve a day off to recharge their batteries. And a trip to the beach is calling our names.’

‘Well, have fun, guys, and thanks again for the flapjack, Lottie.’

‘It’s me who should be thanking you, Doctor… Marcus.’

‘No thanks necessary. All in a day’s work. Catch you later.’

Matt and Lottie waved the doctor off just as the inspectors arrived. Lottie listened to their introductions and the explanation of what they were about to do, assured them that she was well aware of the four “C’s” of food safety – Cleaning, Cooking, Cross-contamination and Chilling – and exited the kitchen, and the café, so they could get on with their work without her getting in their way. To her relief, the inspection was over in less than an hour, and they informed her that they’d found nothing untoward; in fact, her kitchen was one of the cleanest they’d encountered.

After thanking them and watching the sinister black van crunch out of the car park, she was about to head back into the café when Dylan arrived on the terrace.

‘Ah, Lottie, I was wondering if you could rustle me up an omelette?’ he asked, flashing his incongruously white teeth, his perfectly shaped eyebrows raised in question.

‘Actually, the café is closed,’ Matt snapped, in case Lottie was thinking of wavering. ‘And I would have thought the first thing you should be saying to Lottie, and to Cleo when you see her, is how sorry you are for throwing around unsubstantiated accusations that could have forced the Waddling Duck Café to close for good – or at the very least damage its reputation beyond repair – as well as force Lottie to return to London before she had the chance to realise how wonderful Devon is.’

‘It goes without saying that I’m completely filled with remorse,’ Dylan replied, not looking at all contrite despite supposedly being an accomplished actor.

Lottie took a couple of moments to consider the man lounging against the countertop in her kitchen. Dylan Dawson was handsome, there was no denying it; over six feet tall with well-honed muscles, light blond hair that had been enhanced by well-placed highlights, and of course that toothpaste-ad smile. Yes, he was attractive in a plastic kind of a way, but boy did he know it. His pale pink shirt had been immaculately pressed, not a crease dared to invade its crispness, and his tan was clearly genuine having spent most of the summer at Sasha’s villa in Ibiza. He gave the impression of someone totally relaxed in his own skin, arrogant almost.

She met Dylan’s eyes and saw that his irises were such a perfect shade of turquoise they reminded her of the Mediterranean Sea when the midday sun sparkled on the surface of the waves. Clean-shaven, his well-chiselled jawline could have been sculpted by a maestro of design. He exuded a faint hint of floral cologne, and he had even managed to erase his native Mancunian accent to speak in the rounded tones of a BBC news reporter. But it was his smile that brought Lottie back down to earth. She wouldn’t want to be standing next to him in ultraviolet light. She would need to wear her sunglasses or run the risk being blinded.

‘Sorry, Dylan. Matt and I were just on our way out…’ Lottie paused. While the beach was calling her loud and clear, she couldn’t allow her desire to feel the sand between her toes to cause them to miss out on the opportunity to further their investigation. Who knew when they would get another chance to speak to Dylan, especially when he was standing in her kitchen supposedly filled with remorse for unjustifiably calling in the food inspectors. ‘But I’m happy to whip you up an omelette before we go. Would you like a coffee, too?’

‘Please, and a slice of that flapjack, if you don’t mind.’

‘Okay, I’ll just—’

‘Actually, I happen to make a mean omelette,’ said Matt, striding towards the fridge. ‘Lottie, why don’t you grab a couple of coffees and take a seat with Dylan in the café? It’s more comfortable in there, and I’ll bring the food through when its ready.’

Lottie was grateful that Matt had obviously read her mind about wanting to talk to Dylan while he was in a more amenable mood, so she poured two mugs of coffee and directed Dylan out of the kitchen and towards the table in the café’s bay window. This time she knew exactly how to open her “conversation” with Dylan so that he wouldn’t think she was interrogating him.

‘So, Dylan, I hear you’re an actor?’

‘I am. Actually, I’ve just finished filming a role as a playboy aristocrat in the next series of a costume drama, Fountains Abbey. Have you seen it?’

‘No, I’m afraid not.’

‘It’s set in the Scottish Highlands. I play a—’

‘And how long had you and Sasha been together?’

‘Oh, yes, well, let me see. I met Sasha, William and Amber at Sheffield University about five years ago, but Sasha and I didn’t get together as a couple until January this year. We bumped into each other at a New Year’s Eve wrap party for a TV detective series I’d been in, and we’ve been together ever since.’

‘Did you live together?’

‘I moved into Sasha’s flat in Kensington in February. She went out to Majorca at the end of March to stay with William’s parents and to sort out a villa to rent in Ibiza for the summer. I followed a couple of weeks later – with Jess in tow. You’ve seen what she’s like, probably would have ended up in a harem in the Middle East if I hadn’t been with her. William and Amber also rented a place in San Antonio, but it wasn’t a patch on Sasha’s – much to Amber’s disgust. She was always round at our place, lazing by the pool, eating our food, drinking our booze. Should have seen her face when William announced he’d got Sasha a recording contract. I was expecting a cat fight.’

Given his earlier attitude towards her, Lottie was surprised that Dylan wasn’t in the slightest bit reticent about answering her somewhat intrusive questions. But then, he was clearly one of those people who relished every possible opportunity to talk about themselves and their star-studded careers, and she felt emboldened to continue.

‘How did you feel when Sasha was offered the recording deal?’

‘Well, we had a fabulous celebration at Sasha’s favourite restaurant in Santa Eulalia. We drank so much Champagne that night I don’t remember the details to be honest. Of course, I was ecstatic that she’d finally achieved her dream. So ecstatic, in fact, I proposed.’

‘You proposed!’ Lottie gasped, sloshing the coffee she had been in the process of drinking onto the table and, for once, ignoring the splatters.

‘Yes. I loved her. She loved me. Why not?’

‘But?’

For the first time, Lottie saw Dylan’s polished exterior slip. His forehead wrinkled, his eyes narrowed, and his incongruous movie-star teeth were subjected to an onslaught of grinding.

‘She turned me down. It was that idiot, William Morgan! Would you believe that he advised her not to jeopardise her one shot at fame and fortune by getting engaged on the spur of the moment. He told her to take her time to think it through, to maybe postpone any engagement until the new album was in the bag. But then there would be the promotion, the live tours…’ Dylan’s upper lip curled, and his stare held an intensity bordering on hatred.

‘How did you manage your acting career while you and Sasha were in Ibiza?’ asked Lottie.

‘Well, the summer months are often a quiet time in my profession. I’ve had a couple of supporting actor roles, but it’s a difficult business to make a decent living out of, especially when you don’t have a trust fund or Mummy and Daddy’s tennis academy to fall back on. Some of us have to work our butts off just to stay afloat.’

‘So, you were envious of Sasha’s success when your own career was on a lull, and of her friendship with William,’ concluded Matt, as he placed Dylan’s omelette down on the table in front of him before taking a seat next to Lottie.

‘I wasn’t envious! I was delighted for her. I asked her to marry me, for God’s sake!’

‘Could that be because you didn’t want to lose her once she got sucked into the maelstrom of a singing career? Or were you afraid she would gallop off into the sunset leaving you behind in her slipstream?’

‘Of course not. What are you suggesting? Hey, what is this? Some sort of an interrogation?’ The scorch of Dylan’s glare could ignite paper as he shoved his untouched omelette away and scraped back his chair, intending to storm out of the café.

However, Matt wasn’t going to give up. ‘Look, Dylan, Marcus Bairstow has told us that the police are on their way to interview you all again. This is serious – someone planned to kill, Sasha! Lottie and I simply want to do everything we can to help solve the mystery before… before something else happens. It’s in everyone’s interests, don’t you think? You were Sasha’s boyfriend – you’ll be on their list of suspects; probably at the top!’

Dylan was clearly gobsmacked at what Matt had just said. Obviously that possibility had not even occurred to him. Lottie saw alarm stalk across his face, and it was obvious that Matt had pierced his carefully crafted armour of arrogance. She grabbed the plate of flapjacks and slid it across the table towards Dylan, hoping to calm the situation with an injection of sugar.

‘Was it your idea to book the lodges here in Little Sweeting?’ Lottie asked after a few moments.

‘Yes. What’s that got to do with anything?’ Dylan’s face had taken on a sullen, almost petulant look and the tremble of his hands belied a nicotine addict denied his regular fix. ‘Actually, if you want to know, I thought coming here would be the perfect opportunity to change Sasha’s mind about the engagement – away from all the excitement of the music scene and the distractions of San Antonio.’

‘But you spent most of the weekend on a pub crawl with your friends in Bristol,’ Matt reminded him. ‘That’s not the behaviour of a man who wants to romance his girlfriend into accepting a marriage proposal.’

‘Can’t a guy have a night off? Look, I know where you’re going with this, and I don’t blame you. I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions about the standard of the food at the garden party, or made a fuss about the honey you gave Sasha for her stupid throat spray. I’m sorry, okay? And if you think I had anything to do with spiking that stuff, then you’re way off base. I adored Sasha, and so did my family, especially my sister. Maya was hoping to become the sister-in-law of a famous pop star – you know, free concert tickets, backstage passes, autographs, boasting rights.’

‘So what’s your theory on how the poison got in the throat spray bottle?’ asked Lottie.

‘It must have been some sort of accident. Using the spray was like an obsession for Sasha. It was like, if she didn’t have her throat spray with her, plus a couple of back-ups in her bag, she just couldn’t go on stage. Ridiculous, but it usually worked to calm her nerves. I have no idea how that weird flower poison got into the bottle. She sterilised them religiously.’

‘Did Sasha ever use anything else before a performance?’

‘Never. And to be honest she wasn’t much of a drinker either. When I heard about her downing a couple of bottles of Prosecco and taking a bottle of Moet off to the lodge with that guy, I couldn’t believe it, but now I’ve had a chance to think things through I understand why Sasha did that.’

‘You do?’

‘Sure. I promised to come down to Devon for the garden party as soon as I was sober enough to drive. I was late. I missed the party. She was angry. She wanted to teach me a lesson, so she made a show of copping off with some random stranger. I’m one hundred per cent sure nothing happened and that she ditched him as soon as they were out of sight of that gossipmonger, Amber. Sasha and I were destined to be together. If only that moron William hadn’t stuck his size nines in, we’d have been engaged and I wouldn’t have had to persuade her to come to this boring backwater of a place and we’d still be relaxing on our sun-loungers soaking up the Spanish rays.’

‘So if someone told you that Sasha was having an affair you wouldn’t believe them?’ Matt asked casually.

Dylan’s eyes widened and locked onto Matt’s gaze. Two red spots appeared on his cheeks and his mouth gaped as he held his coffee mug at his lips.

‘Absolutely not!’

But Dylan couldn’t engage his acting skills to disguise his emotions for much longer after his outburst. His face drained of all colour leaving a hard, leathery expression that Lottie found discomforting. Beads of perspiration collected on his upper lip and at his temples. As he raised his fingertips to wipe away the moisture, his hand shook, and barely restrained anger exuded from every pore of his body.

To Lottie’s intense relief, Matt accepted that he had gone too far with his last question. If he had been a character in one of her father’s favourite American detective novels, this was the part where the investigator got beaten up for his troubles and she certainly didn’t want to be the one to have to separate the two of them.

‘Sorry, Dylan, I understand how difficult all this has been for you,’ said Lottie in what she hoped was a soft, conciliatory tone.  ‘I’m sure you’ll want to get back to your friends now. And please accept my condolences for your loss.’

Dylan ignored Lottie and continued to glare at Matt for a few seconds more, his fists curled into tight balls, but he eventually stood from the table, tossed down a twenty-pound note for the omelette he hadn’t eaten, and strode from the café without another word.

‘I thought he was going to hit you. Why did you have to ask him that?’

‘Like Amber, Dylan knows William and Sasha were having an affair. I’d put money on it, which gives him a motive for putting something in her spray, don’t you think?’

‘If you want my honest opinion, I don’t think Dylan is the culprit. He had too much to lose, not just Sasha, but he’s genuinely star-struck by his own acting career and I don’t think he would jeopardise that for anything.’ Lottie paused; the scorch of anger she had seen in Dylan’s eyes had rattled her, and the reality of what they were doing hit her like a runaway express train. What were they thinking? There was a murderer in their midst! ‘Matt, you’re not Jack Reacher, and I’m not Stephanie Plum. It was okay setting up the Just Desserts Club when we were trying to save the café after a suspected food poisoning incident, but now that the police are involved, I think we should leave the investigating to them, don’t you? Anyway, didn’t you promise me a trip to the beach?’

Chapter Twenty Three

Matt parked his SUV in the car park overlooking one of the best beaches on the south Devon coast. The day still held some of its warmth and a mild breeze toyed with the leaves on the trees. A wide crescent of golden sand swept eastwards, but it was the expanse of sparkling blue sea that whipped Lottie’s breath away. Most families had returned home for the day, leaving only a smattering of water sports enthusiasts and the occasional dog walker to claim the sands as their own. Having lived in London for several years, the scene spread out before her looked like paradise.

‘You are so lucky to have spent your childhood here, Matt.’ Lottie sighed, drinking it all in.

‘I know. We used to come down to the beach every day after school. My brother Tom and I even had a small boat until the idiot managed to sink it during some charade when he was celebrating the end of his exams! Come on!’ Matt grabbed her hand and together they jogged towards the sea, kicking up sand in their wake.

‘Hang on!’

Lottie paused in her sprint to remove her shoes, laughing as her hair flew into the air like a wild Medusa on steroids before slapping her in the face. With the smell of the sea in her nostrils and the sand between her toes, she felt as if all of her recent woes had melted into oblivion and the only thing that mattered was enjoying that precise moment.

A surge of contentment invaded her body and the person she had to thank for that was standing right by her side with a mischievous glint in his eyes. Her heart performed a swift somersault and she parted her lips to say something, to thank him for his friendship, but she was reluctant to break the spell that Matt seemed to have cast over them on the idyllic beach. Then she saw his dimples deepen, his dark blue eyes widen, and she knew immediately what he had in mind.

‘No!’

‘Yes!’

Matt grasped her hand firmly in his and dragged her towards the waves.

‘Matt!’

‘Having fun?’

Despite her reluctance to be splashed with freezing cold water, she had to admit that she couldn’t remember the last time she’d had so much fun. Matt seemed to possess a talent for squeezing every ounce of enjoyment out of every occasion.

‘Argh!’

Lottie entered the sea at full pelt and droplets of cold water splashed up her naked legs and onto her forearms. She let go of Matt’s hand and reached down into the waves, scooped up a handful of water and tossed it in Matt’s direction, scoring a direct hit. The shock on his face at her antics made her giggle.

‘Okay, Miss Chadwick, if that’s how you want to play it, you’d better watch out!’

Within seconds she too was soaked to the skin. She tried to run away from the onslaught of freezing water, but she was no match for Matt who had probably played more water games than she had baked cupcakes. Her tee-shirt clung to her chest and her hair was a straggly mess, yet she didn’t care. Sartorial elegance didn’t matter one iota to Matt – another reason to love him!

What?

Lottie paused in her escape towards the beach. What had she just said to herself?

The brief hesitation cost her dearly because before she knew what was happening, Matt lunged at her from behind and she tumbled with him onto the shell-covered beach, landing on her bottom with an ungainly bump, her legs flying in the air. Matt fell on top of her, his hands either side of her head, staring down into her eyes, his mouth inches from hers, his breath coming in spurts from the exertion of catching up with her.

Lottie felt as though that moment stretched on forever as they each waited for the other to react. The surrounding world seemed to recede from view, and she could feel sparks of electricity fizzing between them. An avalanche of emotions tumbled through her, but before she could assemble them into any kind of order, Matt broke away, his lips moving towards her cheek.

‘You’re shivering. Come on. I’ve got a couple of beach towels in the SUV.’

The last thing Lottie wanted to do was break out of their personal beachside bubble, but Matt was right, she had started to shake and whilst she would have liked to say it was because of his proximity, she was acutely aware of goosebumps tingling all over her skin. Matt pushed himself up to standing and offered her his hand. She took it with a smile and they dashed back to the car park, laughing as she tried to put on her shoes whilst she ran – not an easy task.

Back at the car, Matt wrapped her in a huge bright purple towel and settled her in the passenger seat, turning the heater on full blast. Within minutes she felt better, but her hair had other ideas and morphed into its habitual imitation of a copper-coloured candyfloss. She ran her fingers through its bulk, which only made it worse, so she gave up. To her surprise, she suddenly felt awkward. She knew Matt was watching her, waiting for her to say something about what had just happened but for some reason her mind had gone completely blank. She hadn’t expected their trip to the beach to end that way.

Was she ready to get close to someone again?

But Matt wasn’t Claude. She remembered that his relationship history was probably even more distressing than her own. He had been ready to marry his soulmate when Victoria had ditched him in the worst possible, and most public, of ways. She had no way of knowing what was going through his own head as he stared out of the windscreen at the view beyond.

And what a view it was!

The sky had turned a glorious shade of pink, tinged with ripples of tangerine and salmon where the sea met the land. The undulating cliffs took on a bleached white colour with sprigs of coarse grasses poking out like a giant’s ear hair. Lottie glanced across at Matt, but his eyes remained fixed on the horizon, his arms draped over the steering wheel, his expression tense. His lips had tightened, and his Adam’s apple trembled at his throat as he struggled to rein in his emotions.

‘My dad loved it here. He used to bring Mum to this precise spot when they were dating. He used to say, “how can anyone not fall in love when they look at that view”. He passed away ten years ago, and I still miss him every single day, but I know he’d hate it if I allowed my grief to prevent me from grabbing the chance to enjoy every single minute of what life has to offer. How do you know what you can achieve unless you take a leap into the unknown? We might fall flat on our faces – and heaven knows I’ve done that a few times – but we might just get to soar.’

‘Your father sounds like an amazingly perceptive man, Matt.’

‘He was the most fantastic guy you could ever wish to meet. I reckon he managed to squeeze two lifetimes into his forty-eight years. He completed the three peaks challenge five times, he cycled the Coast-to-Coast multiple times and hiked the Pennine Way, but the thing he loved the most was rock climbing. You name it – Snowdonia, the Lake District, the Scottish Highlands, the Pyrenees, the Alps – he just had to climb the highest peak. It was more than a weekend hobby for him, it was a kind of obsession; as though the mountain was a vengeful monster standing in his way and he couldn’t rest until he’d tamed it.’

Matt paused, as though preparing himself to deliver the most difficult of words.

‘But there was one monster he couldn’t tame – the Eiger. He knew the dangers but insisted on tackling it anyway. There’s a reason it’s called The Murder Wall – everyone in his climbing party perished after a heavy rockfall wiped them from its surface. I was twenty-one when the accident happened, waiting for my degree results before taking up my place at Hendon. Mum couldn’t be expected to run the outward-bounds centre on her own though, could she? So, along with Ethan – who’d just failed all of his A levels because of his parents’ divorce – I stepped into my dad’s very large boots with trepidation and took on the responsibility of managing Extreme Quests. I hope I’ve done enough over the last decade to make him proud.’

Lottie gulped down her emotions, reaching over to squeeze Matt’s hand as she, too, was bombarded by painful memories. She was surprised that their stories had so many similarities.

‘You know, I felt so guilty when he died. It wasn’t my fault, of course, I know that, but with the benefit of hindsight I realised how hurt he must have been when I told him I wanted to pursue a career in the police service instead of joining him at EQ. After all, he’d built the business up single-handedly so that he could hand it over to his sons. And I do love it! I love that every day is different, that I can spend most of my time in the great outdoors, close to nature, and that I get to work with a great bunch of people. Dad was right – I would have hated to be cooped up in an office, filling in paperwork, battling with bureaucracy and struggling with the networking that’s required to climb the career ladder. I really wish I could tell him.’

‘Matt, you can’t blame yourself for what happened. I know that.’

Matt had no reason to suspect, but she knew exactly how he was feeling. She wanted to confide in him about her own teenage dreams, that unlike him she had wanted to follow in her father’s footsteps by training as a criminal defence lawyer. She wanted to tell him about her own father, but she wasn’t sure if she was ready to embark on that journey.

‘Dad set up EQ so he could share his enthusiasm for outdoor pursuits with other people and he liked nothing more than convincing the most reluctant of clients that they could do anything if they were only prepared to put in a little bit of effort. But he always said that his proudest achievement was raising his family.’

Tears gathered along Lottie’s lower lashes as she saw the sadness in Matt’s eyes, but her breath was coming in shortened spurts as she contemplated opening up her own heart. She might have been able to paper over the cracks the loss of her father had caused, but she had not yet been able to decorate them with her choice of pastel-coloured paint. Yet Matt had talked about his father tackling monsters; maybe it was time she started to tackle some of her own and sitting there next to Matt she felt so calm, so comfortable in his presence, that she knew she could say anything and he would completely understand.

She clenched her fists and inhaled a deep, fortifying breath. When she eventually spoke, her voice sounded alien to her ears, as though someone else was speaking the words, recounting a story somehow. But then that was exactly what it was, her own story.

‘My dad died when I was fourteen,’ she began. ‘It was a huge shock, so unexpected that it sent our world into turmoil. Mum was so devastated she couldn’t function for weeks, and my sister and I were cared for by our aunt. The doctors told us it was a heart attack, brought on by the stress caused by his job as a commercial litigation solicitor. He had always worked long hours, sometimes even all night; we just thought that was normal. Whenever he did have some spare time, though, he would spend it devouring detective novels, hunting out new authors to share with me so we could have a reading race to guess whodunnit. Dad’s other hobby was his garden, which he used to get away from the pressures of work. I inherited my love of plants and flowers from him. It’s… it’s where he died. I… I… found him collapsed in the greenhouse where he’d been tending his tomato plants. I’ll never be able to erase that image from my memory.’

Lottie exhaled and allowed her tears to flow down her cheeks and the memories of that painful time to bombard her. She had thought her life had ended that day when she had watched the paramedics take her father away in the ambulance. She had begged to be allowed to go with him and her mother, but she and Georgia had been ushered into a neighbour’s house until their aunt arrived to collect them. It had been the worst two hours of her life.

‘Lottie, I’m so, so sorry.’

Matt slipped his palm into hers and gave it a gentle squeeze. The gesture gave her the courage to continue. Now that she had started, she wanted to finish the story, to excavate every last morsel of pain from her soul and propel it out into the open where it could start to live and hopefully grow old and less vibrant.

‘Mum struggled to come to terms with her grief, but no one knew how bad things had become until the house was repossessed and we had to move to a tiny flat above a bakery in another part of Hampshire. Georgie and I had to change schools, so we lost all our friends and our support network. I was fifteen, still mourning Dad and trying to bolster Mum’s spirits and make sure Georgie was fed.’

Lottie wasn’t surprised to find that her recollections of that agonising time were still as sharp as if they had occurred yesterday. She remembered with absolute clarity the heavy physical ache that had lodged in her chest like a block of concrete, refusing to budge no matter how hard she tried.

‘I didn’t fail my exams, but I didn’t get the grades I needed to continue with my dream of becoming a lawyer. I was fortunate that one of the teachers at my new school took pity on me and guided me towards my second love – art and design. The owner of the bakery downstairs from our flat gave me a Saturday job and I learned everything there was to know about creating stunning cakes from her. I think my obsession with hygiene was born around this time. It was my way of putting some order into my otherwise chaotic life. If we couldn’t do anything else, at least we could have a clean and tidy home, and there was plenty of food on the table, even if it was leftovers from the bakery.’

‘Lottie, I can’t begin to imagine how difficult this was for you.’

‘I didn’t think about it at the time. I just knew I had to get on with things. I went to the local college to study for my A levels – which I loved – and life took on a different kind of normality. Mum started to emerge from her melancholy and joined a support group for bereaved spouses who introduced her to a swimming club, which she loves. They even went on a “club trip” to Austria in April so they could swim in one of the lakes. Georgie made new friends at school and our little family chugged along like any other – trying its best to make sure everything worked out. I got into university to study art and design, where I met my best friend Hannah, and when we graduated, we rented a place in London together so she could pursue her dream of becoming a world-famous fashion designer and I could pursue my dream of becoming an award-winning food stylist for celebrity chefs. That didn’t work out either, as you know.’

Lottie hadn’t realised it but whilst she had been baring her soul, the sun had exhaled its last breath and dipped behind the horizon. Dusk washed the scene in a shadowy filter, but it was still beautiful. She felt exhausted, as though every scrap of energy had seeped from her veins and left her totally depleted. However, she also felt a huge sense of relief – that by recounting her history to a sympathetic listener she had halved her burden. The fact that she had left nothing out, had even admitted that her problem with cleanliness had stemmed from the loss of her father rather than any relationship issues, had answered her own questions.

She swivelled in her seat to face Matt, his hand still firmly clamped in hers. She smiled and a swathe of gratitude washed over her. Whilst she wouldn’t say she was euphoric, she felt buoyant, as though an ancient curse had been lifted, and she knew that from now on her only way was forward.

‘Thank you, Matt.’

‘What for?’

‘For this. For listening to me. For holding my hand and letting me talk. For not judging me.’

‘Lottie, it’s absolutely my pleasure. But please don’t forget that you’ve done the same for me. Relationships are a two-way street. We give and we take without the need of gratitude.’

Chapter Twenty Four

St Andrew’s Church was the focal point of village life in Little Sweeting. The whole community revolved around the church hall, and the door to the vicarage was always open to anyone who required the sage advice of its occupants. Apart from the pretty high street with its pastel-coloured shops, the village was home to several rows of old stone cottages with honeysuckle and clematis weaving their way around their doors and neatly moved lawns. Streetlamps cast their amber light over the bucolic scene, enhancing the golden aura that seemed to encircle the buildings.

As they drove past the Crow’s Nest, Lottie saw that the car park was crammed with a jumble of assorted vehicles and the cycle rack overflowed as testament to the quality of the beer on offer, and she couldn’t help smiling when she spotted the silver bowl on the pub’s worn stone doorstep offering a drink of water to any thirsty hound that passed that way. Matt parked at the side of the road and together they headed towards the church’s quaint lychgate which led into the churchyard.

‘Are you sure about this?’

Lottie scrutinised Matt’s expression carefully. When Anthea had called her to say that when she and Hazel had turned up at the lodges with a basket of their fresh-from-the-oven scones, Jess had asked if she could come back to the vicarage with them so she could talk to Lottie and Matt in private, she had been unsure about the advisability of meeting her there. She didn’t want to force Matt to do anything that would cause him distress, even if she was keen to find out what Jess wanted to say and why she had to leave her lodge to do so.

‘I’m sure.’

‘We could ask Jess to meet us at the pub?’

‘How can I expect bravery from others if I’m not prepared to fight my own monsters?’

Matt smiled at her and reached out to unfasten the wooden gate. Lottie hooked her arm through his and together they navigated the winding pathway towards the vicarage. Weeds and grass sprouted like wiry whiskers from between the cracks and the overhanging beech trees provided an arboreal tunnel to the front door, its cheery facade welcoming them with a burst of fragrance from the pale pink roses draped across the lintel.

It was the perfect sanctuary for Jess, away from the turmoil of the last few days. Lottie also knew that, just like Jess, Anthea and Gordon Reynolds were no strangers to heartache. She had heard from Cleo that they had lost their youngest daughter, Kate, to meningitis when she was only seven years old and they bore their grief with dignity, coupled with a staunch belief in hope and the healing power of love. Knowing their story had made Lottie realise that she wasn’t the only person on whom fate had unceremoniously dumped its load of anguish and pain – that particular party was peopled by even the most undeserving of gatecrashers.

Matt knocked on the door and Lottie felt a lurch of pleasure when Anthea’s cheerful face appeared, welcoming them in. A pleasant aroma – a fusion of warm caramel, wax furniture polish and kindness – emanated from the house.

‘Hello, Lottie, hello Matt. It’s good to see you both. Come in, come in. Jess is in the lounge, but you’ll have to excuse me from my Just Desserts Club responsibilities. My daughter, Grace, is arriving with her boyfriend tonight. They’re planning to go midnight hiking and they want to stock up on carbs.’ Anthea rolled her eyes in mock irritation. ‘You’d think they were climbing Kilimanjaro the amount of equipment they need to take with them to scramble through the heather. Gordon is busy brushing up on his obligatory health and safety lecture about the dangers of camping in the wild. I don’t have the heart to tell him about the quality of the accommodation the two of them stayed in whilst travelling last summer means that they’re quite used to roughing it.’

‘I don’t envy them at all.’ Lottie laughed. ‘I’d say I’m more into rambling than scrambling! Wish them luck from me.’

‘Will do. Tea? And maybe a slice of my coffee and walnut cake?’

‘Count me in!’ Matt beamed, seemingly completely relaxed for his first visit to Anthea’s kitchen since he’d availed himself of her services as a jilted groom.

‘Coming right up.’

Lottie pushed open the door into the lounge and to her surprise, Jess rushed forward to greet her with a hug.

‘Thanks for coming. I’m sorry to ask you to come to the vicarage, but now that the police are getting involved, I’ll admit to being more than a little scared.’

‘It’s no problem.’

Lottie settled herself down on Anthea’s flowery sofa and Matt took a leather armchair next to the fireplace, currently devoid of flames. The living room had clearly not yet been released from the embrace of the eighties craze for all things country chic. Soft furnishings were obviously Anthea’s domain, and she had been given a free hand to indulge her creative urges, probably to diminish the impact of the dreary portraits of Gordon’s scowling clerical predecessors, which lined the walls of the hallway.

Every available surface boasted evidence of Anthea’s obsession with ceramics and a vividly swirled purple carpet and pink velvet curtains completed the look. Yet, to Lottie, the entire house felt as though it had been draped in a mantle of comfort and compassion, embroidered with a seam of faith in the power of kindness and a cup of sweetened tea.

‘Oh, hello, Barnie.’

The dog bypassed Matt and made a bee-line for Lottie who bent down to fondle the ears of the lively Lhasa Apso bundle of white fur.

‘Tea and cake,’ Anthea announced with a breezy smile, before putting a tray down on the coffee table and then leaving them to their discussions. ‘Come on, Barnie, our friends need a bit of peace and quiet.’

‘Thanks, Anthea,’ said Jess, a wobble in her voice.

‘So, what did you want to talk to us about?’ asked Matt, grabbing a plate and a slice of the still-warm coffee and walnut cake topped with a generous swirl of buttercream and a sprinkle of crushed walnuts.

‘I talked to Dylan this afternoon and he seems to think you’re looking into how that weird stuff got into my sister’s throat spray.’

‘Oh, yes, well, we just wanted to—’ Lottie began, feeling like a village busybody.

‘No, sorry, don’t get me wrong. I want you to ask questions and if you find anything out, I want you to tell me about it straight away. I think that whoever did put something in Sasha’s spray didn’t mean… didn’t mean for her to die, they just wanted to either stop her from performing at the garden party, or perhaps when she did try to sing, her voice would be awful. What I don’t know is who – and I’ve thought and thought and thought about it, and the only conclusion I can come to is that it’s one of three people; Dylan, Amber or William.’

‘So you’re not counting Leo then?’

‘It can’t be Leo. Why would he do that?’

‘Why would anyone?’

Jess stared at her for a moment before saying in a soft voice, ‘I suppose you’re right.’

Lottie smiled at Jess who looked like an undernourished waif as she hunched against the chintzy cushions of the sofa, twisting a strand of her bead-bedecked hair between her fingers. She wore distressed jeans cut off at the knee and a peasant-style blouse with brightly coloured tassels along the hem and looked as though she hadn’t slept for weeks, which added to Lottie’s impression that she looked just like a schoolgirl.

‘I think you’re right, though,’ said Lottie. ‘Apart from Sasha’s friends, no one else at the party had any idea that she relied on her throat spray before performing.’

‘But I don’t understand. Who would want to do such a terrible thing? Everyone adored Sash. She was the kindest, the most caring person…’ Jess’s voice rasped, and she attempted to clear her throat. ‘Oh, Lottie, I miss her so much, all I seem to do is cry, but I know that’s not what Sash would want me to do. She’d want me to be brave, to live my life to the full, to have adventures for both of us. However, I also know that she would want me to find out who did this to her, and that’s what I intend to do, but do you really think someone was actually trying to kill her?’

‘I don’t know the answer to that,’ said Lottie, taking hold of the young woman’s hand.

‘But why would they want to hurt her? It doesn’t make any sense.’

‘Can you tell us about Sasha’s relationship with Dylan?’ asked Matt.

‘Oh, that was fizzling out even before we decamped to Ibiza.’ Jess’s pale blue eyes took on a wary expression and Lottie knew immediately that she had known about William. ‘But Dylan wouldn’t do anything to harm her!’

‘Do you think he realised things were cooling?’

‘You know, don’t you?’ said Jess, fiddling with the handle of her mug before releasing a long, agony-filled sigh. ‘Sash was seeing Will. She felt guilty about Amber, of course, but she loved Will. She went out to his parents’ tennis academy at the beginning of March and that’s when she realised that she had feelings for him. If you ask me, Will has always loved Sash, but it was the “ping” moment for her. She should have broken it off with Dylan straight away, but she refused. She didn’t want to hurt Amber. She was so conflicted. Like I said, she was a good person, and she was the best sister anyone could ask for.’

Jess’s voice cracked and she crumpled into Lottie’s arms. It was several minutes before she raised her head, blew her nose on a tissue from the box that Anthea had thoughtfully provided, and was able to continue.

‘Sash has always adored music, you know, from the very first moment she bashed a pan with a wooden spoon. She believed that music is the source of true happiness, that the songs she wrote could offer meaning to those who give them the opportunity to live. She wanted to devote her time to sharing her gift with others in the hope that the pleasure she felt when she sang would also fill her listener’s heart with joy – those are her words not mine.’

‘Do you mind telling us a bit about your family’s trust fund?’ asked Matt.

‘I don’t know much about it, I’m afraid. Sash handled all our finances with Uncle Ken – Dad’s older brother. The money we inherited from our parents was put in trust until we reach twenty-five. Sash had just got control of her share. She used some of it to update her wardrobe, bought some decent sound equipment, and had a few voice coaching sessions. She wasn’t a big spender. That’s my forte. I’ve been spoiled, I know. I’m… I was a huge responsibility for Sash, but she never complained. She wanted me to get a job when I finished uni, learn the value of earning my own money, but I just wanted to party. I realise how juvenile I’ve been, and so as soon as we get back to London, I’m going to look for an internship at one of the big publishers, but I’m not leaving Devon until I find out what’s going on.’

Chapter Twenty Five

Darkness cloaked the rooftops of Little Sweeting when Matt and Lottie finally left the vicarage. Matt stretched his shoulders and rubbed his thumb and finger over the bridge of his nose in an effort to relieve the tension that had built up there.

‘So, how was it? Your first visit back to the vicarage?’ asked Lottie, gently

‘Not as bad as I expected.’

‘It never is. Come on. It’s been a long day. I’ll treat you to a drink at the Crow’s Nest.’

The pub had emptied of the hordes who had descended for their evening meal. Only the local stalwarts remained, hunched over their pint as though expecting it to deliver the answers to all life’s questions, and becoming saddened when it didn’t.

‘Hi, you two,’ said Cleo plonking herself down next to Lottie in the pub’s cosy snug. ‘Ethan’s at the bar getting the drinks in. Don’t worry, mine’s a Coke. I heard from the grapevine that the café will be back up and running tomorrow and I want to be at my best. I’m itching to get stuck in to baking again and I’ve got a few new recipes I want to try out. Oh, Lottie, it’s such a relief to know that our beautiful Waddling Duck Café had nothing to do with what happened. Do you think we should leave the investigations up to the police now?’

‘Maybe,’ said Matt.

‘No way!’ Lottie exclaimed, shocked at Matt’s swift acquiescence to the disbanding of the Just Desserts Club. ‘Whoever did this to Sasha, did it to the Waddling Duck Café, too, and I intend to stick it out to the end and the person responsible gets… well, gets their just desserts! We might as well finish what we started – despite the fact that it looks like we’ve ruled out everyone we’ve spoken to so far and we’ve only got Leo left to talk to.’

‘Yes, but like Jess said, it’s unlikely to be him,’ said Matt.

‘My money’s still on Amber – hell hath no fury and all that,’ said Cleo.

‘Or the guy spurned,’ Ethan mumbled, setting down the drinks and taking a long draught of his pint of Guinness.

‘Cleo, I don’t think it’s Amber,’ said Lottie.

‘Why not?’

‘Because she had ample opportunity to slip something into Sasha’s throat spray, or anything else for that matter, when they were singing together in Ibiza. She’s also known about the record deal and the affair for weeks, so why wait until now? And don’t you think she would steer clear of something as obvious as putting an irritant in the spray bottle? She would have known that the spotlight would fall on her immediately.’

Lottie sipped the red wine Ethan had bought her as she fought her way through the forest of contradictory thoughts that were cluttering her mind.

‘What about Dylan?’ Ethan asked. ‘My money’s on him.’

‘I’ve crossed him off the list, too.’

‘I agree,’ said Matt, talking a glug of his beer and licking away the froth on the top of his lip with the tip of his tongue. ‘He’d just proposed to Sasha, so he obviously wanted a future with her. And he craves the limelight so much I don’t think he would do anything to jeopardise his chance of being the other half of a celebrity couple. It’s his dream come true; he told us as much when we spoke to him. If Dylan was going to attack anyone, I think it would be William, don’t you?’

‘Okay, so it looks like we’ve exhausted the “love” angle as a motive,’ said Lottie reluctantly, recalling her wager with Matt early on in their investigation. ‘I suppose we need to turn our attention to the “money” angle now.’

‘I think you’re right, but I have no idea how to do that.’

‘Should we convene another Just Desserts Club meeting at the café tomorrow?’ asked Cleo. ‘Maybe Hector knows about things like that, and if he doesn’t, I’m sure he’ll know someone we can ask, like one of his retired law professor colleagues, or a solicitor friend or something.’

‘Cleo! That’s a great idea!’ Lottie cried.

‘It is?’ Cleo beamed.

‘And we don’t need to wait until tomorrow.’

Lottie hesitated, unsure whether to reveal the details of her difficult past to her new friends, but she didn’t want to sully their friendship with a lie, or by twisting the truth; there’d been too much of that already. Everyone had issues to deal with, trauma to overcome, and she was no different. Nevertheless, she decided to deliver her suggestion in as matter-of-fact a way as possible.

‘When our family home was repossessed, Dad’s brother, Uncle Martyn, did our conveyancing for free, and because he knew I was interested in qualifying as a solicitor, he invited me into his office to show me how the process worked. I remember he carried out a couple of searches before we bought the flat we moved into, which revealed information about the vendor’s financial background. I could give him a call and ask if he’s got any advice.’

‘Good shout,’ said Ethan, raising his glass to her in acknowledgement of what she had revealed.

‘Absolutely,’ said Matt, smiling. ‘I’ll try to do some digging, too.’

‘Well, there’s no time like the present!’

Lottie grabbed her phone and made her way outside to the dimly lit courtyard at the rear of the pub. She searched her contacts for her uncle’s number and waited for him to answer. She was disappointed when her call went to voicemail, but she decided to leave him a very precise message about what she was looking for.

Like herself, Martyn had always been a very practical person, able to slice through the jumble of irrelevant information and arrive at the nub of the matter with the least amount of fuss. She briefly wondered if her tendency towards orderliness could be genetic rather than psychological, but she had enough to contend with at the moment without embarking on a random course of self-diagnosis.

‘…So, can you email me anything that’s thrown up, please?’ she finished before terminating the call.

As she did so, a sharp stab of homesickness took her by surprise. She made a pact to visit her Uncle Martyn and Aunt Bea in their cosy thatched cottage in Cornwall just as soon as the current crisis was over. She knew both of them would be fascinated to hear what had been going on in what on the face of it should be a sleepy little village on the other side of the border.

She allowed herself a quick smile; when her aunt found out she was managing a café in Devon that was famous for its cream teas, she anticipated engaging in the habitual tussle over whether it was best to put strawberry jam or clotted cream onto a scone first. The thought of her aunt and uncle had raised her spirits and she made her way back into the pub, the warm air and convivial atmosphere hitting her like a blast from an errant hairdryer.

‘So, what did he say?’ asked Cleo, scooting to edge of her seat.

‘He didn’t pick up. I left a voicemail, though.’

‘Oooo, this is just like an episode of Midsomer Murders. Hey, do you think there will be a TV show called The Just Desserts Club Mysteries one day? I wonder who’d play my character? Do you think they’d give us roles as extras? I’d love that!’

Lottie smiled when she saw Matt roll his eyes at Cleo before becoming serious again.

‘You know, if this was a murder mystery show, the intrepid detective – whether amateur or professional – would make sure they spoke to everyone on their list of suspects. We’ve talked to Dylan, William, Amber and Jess – and even Ethan, sorry, Ethan – which means we need to have a conversation with Leo.’

‘But why would Leo want to prevent Sasha from singing?’ asked Matt.

‘No idea, but we should try and have a chat with him, just to complete the picture.’

‘Okay, that’s enough sleuthing for one night,’ said Cleo, finishing the last dribble of her Coke. ‘While you were over at the vicarage interviewing suspects, Ethan and I have been chatting to Grace and Josh. Did Anthea tell you they’re going wild camping tonight? I’ve been trying to persuade Ethan that we should join them. Oh, and Lottie, you should see Grace’s engagement ring. It’s amazing. They’re getting married at St Andrew’s on Christmas Eve – how romantic is that?’

Cleo flashed a quick look at Ethan, but he was oblivious to the cryptic message. Lottie smiled, happy that there was perhaps another budding romance in their midst even if one of the protagonists didn’t know it yet. Cleo deserved her fairy tale ending and she truly hoped Ethan would wake up and at least ask her for a date.

‘Maybe you should start dating again, Lottie?’

Despite having prepared herself for that very question from Cleo, it still hit Lottie with unexpected force. She felt warmth spread into her cheeks and she didn’t dare meet Matt’s eyes, although she could feel them on her from where he stood at the bar. Yes, she and Matt had shared a brief moment on the beach, but that didn’t mean they were writing the next epic love story, or even the prologue.

‘Mmm.. maybe.’

Lottie saw Ethan roll his eyes at the turn in conversation and he quickly excused himself to help Matt with the next round of drinks. However, she had an inkling that Cleo might just have sown a seed in the shadowy crevices of Ethan’s mind where it would lay dormant until she could coax it into the light when the conditions became more favourable. She smiled whilst simultaneously scouring her brain for a change of subject, terrified that Cleo would continue with the dating line of enquiry and unearth the details of her and Matt’s afternoon on the beach. Fortunately, Matt arrived back with a tray of drinks just in time.

‘Where’s Ethan disappeared off to? I’ve just seen him head out to the car park.’

Lottie laughed. ‘I think he might have needed a breath of fresh air.’

‘Okay,’ said Matt, looking from Lottie to Cleo and back again. ‘What’s going on?’

‘I think we can safely assume that it will be a few weeks before Ethan is happy to start dating again. He’s still getting over the shock of what happened with Sasha, but when he does, I reckon there might be a queue!’

‘And guess who’s going to be first in line?’ said Cleo.

‘He’s a lucky guy.’ Matt smiled. ‘Come on, Detective Constable Chadwick. Let’s finish these drinks and I’ll walk you back to the café. It’s been one of the longest day’s since… erm… since I can remember.’

Lottie knew what he had been about to say but was pleased to note that the moment passed swiftly with no accompanying flash of sadness. If Matt was starting to refer to what had happened between him and Victoria in general conversation, then it could only be a good sign. She too felt that as soon as she and Cleo got the chance to go out for a few well-deserved cocktails in Sidmouth or Blossomwood Bay, she would be able to talk to her friend about her past, and to rake over the embers of her pain until they no longer glowed with such intensity.

They exchanged farewells and Lottie and Matt left the pub via the back door, crossing the road towards the vicarage. A few moments later, Lottie caught his arm and pulled him back into the shadows of the kissing gate.

‘Mmm, an assignation under the kissing gate?’

Lottie wished she had thought of that quip, but it was something else.

‘Isn’t that Leo? What’s he doing hanging around the vicarage this late? You don’t think he’s spying on Jess, do you?’

Matt followed Lottie’s eye line and as they watched on from their vantage point, Leo took out his phone and engaged in an animated call.

‘Why would he want to spy on her? He’s probably on chauffeur duty like me, but it’s something we can ask him about it when we talk to him.’ Matt grinned as they resumed their stroll towards the café. ‘You’re enjoying this amateur sleuthing club thing, aren’t you?’

‘It brings back all the best memories of the time I spent with my dad. I wish he was here so I could ask him for his ideas on what’s happened at the lodges, and to share my theories with him. I bet he would have had The Just Desserts Club Mysteries; The Puzzle of the Poisoned Throat Spray solved in five seconds flat.’

Chapter Twenty Six

An insistent buzzing noise drew Lottie from her dream-filled slumber. Until the events at the garden party on Sunday, sleep had no longer been the elusive, yet necessary oblivion from her demons. Working in the café, being on her feet all day, rushing around the tables, had ensured an uninterrupted eight hours of sleep and she had woken feeling refreshed and excited about the day ahead. She was grateful for her cosy new home above the Waddling Duck Café – her sojourn in its comfortable confines had set her on the path to recovery from the heartbreak the Claude Devereaux debacle had caused much quicker than she could have ever anticipated.

She prized open her eyelids and raised her head, surprised to find her pillow was unusually hard and warm. When she lifted her palm to pat it into shape, the recollection hit her square in the face – she had persuaded Matt to come up to her flat for a nightcap and she must have fallen asleep on the sofa next to him.

Cautiously she glanced downwards, relief surging through her body when she saw that she was still wearing her very crumpled tee shirt from the day before. She needed time to explore her feelings about her blossoming friendship with Matt before taking their relationship any further. However, from the way her heart fluttered with interest when she raised her eyes to his face – surfer-dude handsome in repose – she suspected her deliberations might not take very long at all.

The buzzing sound stopped, and she belatedly realised it had been her phone ringing. She checked the screen to see who was calling her so early in the morning, but the caller ID had been blocked. Oh, well, if it was important, they would ring back.

She decided to leave Matt to sleep and jumped into the shower.

Under the cascade of hot water, Lottie took the opportunity to continue the chase of every implausible theory for what had happened through the labyrinths of her mind. She had received a text from Jess the previous night, thanking her and Matt for coming to talk to her at the vicarage, and informing Lottie that she’d heard from the police who’d told her that they were free to leave Devon, but had to remain in London instead of heading back to Majorca or Ibiza. However, Jess had gone on to say that she had no intention of leaving the glamping site until she found out who was responsible for spiking her sister’s throat spray and asked if it was okay for her to stay on at her lodge.

But who knew how long that would be?

Why couldn’t they have solved the mystery so the group of bereaved friends could be on their way home, vacating their lodges for the next set of guests who were arriving the following day.

And there was another thing piling on the pressure for Lottie – she really couldn’t put off calling Debs any longer. Not having met her, she had no idea how she would react at her recalcitrance. Would she be upset, anxious, angry? Would she blame Lottie? Would she ask, or demand, that Lottie packed her bags and left? At the very least she would be worried about whether the glamping site would be able to overcome the scandal of what had been confirmed as an intentional poisoning of one of its guests.

Also, she was deeply grateful to Matt for giving up so much of his valuable time to delve into the mystery but if he didn’t get back to running his own business that might suffer too, and she couldn’t allow that to happen. She had only just met him, but after the week they’d had she felt as though she had known him forever. In fact, she would even go as far as to say that whenever she was in Matt’s company she felt more alive than she had ever felt with Claude, or any of her previous boyfriends; that the world around her existed in glorious technicolour rather than tinted sepia.

She dressed quickly, dried her hair, and forced a smile onto her lips as she filled the kettle for her first coffee of the day. As she waited for the water to boil, she stared out of the window, watching the dawn roll over the horizon spreading cerulean and ivory light over the wide expanse of the Devonshire countryside. The sunrise seemed to be even more beautiful that day – probably because she knew it might be her last chance to enjoy it in such a picturesque location – and she wondered why she hadn’t made more of an effort to witness the uplifting spectacle every morning.

‘Mmm, that coffee smells good.’

Lottie handed Matt a mug of the fragrant brew and leaned back against the countertop, hugging her own between her palms, her heart giving a nip of pleasure as she took a moment to appreciate the man standing in front of her, his untidy hair and unshaved jawline doing nothing to detract from his attractiveness. She felt heat surge into her cheeks when he saw the effect his proximity was having on her, and to cover her embarrassment she glanced again at her phone to see that she had received a text from the unknown caller.

Her curiosity piqued, she scanned the missive quickly.

‘It’s a text from my uncle Martyn. He says he’s sent me an email.’

This time her racing heart had nothing to do with Matt breathing over her shoulder as she opened the email her uncle had sent her a few moments ago from his solicitors’ practice in Falmouth. She scanned the contents and then clicked to open the first of two attachments labelled “Financial Search”. One of the names on the document leapt out at her.

‘It looks like you were right all along, Matt! Sasha was targeted for her money – which means the perpetrator didn’t just want to prevent Sasha from singing, they wanted to… wanted to… kill her! Oh my God!’

Even though this conclusion had always been a possibility, the fact that it was now a certainty sent a spasm of shock through Lottie’s chest, so strong it squashed the air from her lungs. She gasped for breath and had to grip the back of a chair until she was able to crumple into its seat at her kitchen table. Her fingers trembled on the handle of her mug and a wave of nausea threatened to overwhelm her. A tumble of “what ifs” crashed through her mind as she fought to bring the thump of her heartbeat under control.

‘Hang on, Lottie. Just because a person is unfortunate enough to have been made bankrupt doesn’t mean they would plot to harm someone for their money.’

‘True, but now take a look at this.’ She showed Matt the second attachment. ‘Look at the second line on the certificate – see the qualification?’

Had Lottie not been so overwhelmed by what she saw, she would have smiled at the thoroughness of her uncle’s attempt to obtain every piece of information available on her chosen subject – especially as it looked like he’d been working on his factual excavations well into the early hours, if not all night. No wonder he had been so popular with the criminal fraternity of Cornwall for the last thirty-five years.

‘I see it… Oh, do you think… that’s why they chose that particular toxin?’

‘Of course, and they would have known that the effects would be instantaneous. I can’t believe it, I really can’t.’

‘Lottie, what your uncle has discovered is very convincing, but you do know it’s pure speculation, don’t you? It’s not hard evidence that links anyone to what happened to Sasha on Sunday evening.’

Lottie’s bubble of excitement burst and her elation at what she had uncovered vanished. Matt had the decency to look contrite; after all, the new information they had gleaned meant they could still continue to pursue their suspicions in the knowledge they were on the right track.

‘Look, I’ve got a friend who runs a rock-climbing school in Ibiza. Why don’t I ask him to make a few subtle enquiries? See if he stumbles on anything interesting? In the meantime, I think we should ask your uncle to send the information to the police and wait to see what they say, then we’ll decide what we should do next.’

‘But that could take weeks.’

Matt paused. ‘You’re right, it could.’

‘And it’s really not fair to have this hanging over the café and the glamping site all that time.’

‘Okay, let’s go over to Sidmouth and tell the police what we’ve found out.’

‘But what about the café? We’re supposed to be reopening at eleven o’clock.’

‘Right, I’ll go to Sidmouth, and you stay at the café and carry on as normal. Cleo will be here soon, but maybe it’ll be best if you don’t say anything to her or the other members of the Just Desserts Club until we know what the police want to do. And whatever happens, don’t let anyone leave the lodges. I know Jess intends to stay on, but that doesn’t mean the rest of them will. Do whatever’s necessary – offer them brunch on the house, or suggest another of those impromptu baking sessions, just make sure they don’t go until I get back. Okay?’

‘Yes, no problem.’

Lottie suddenly had a vision of herself grappling with the culprit as they tried to escape from her clutches and make their getaway, forcing her to chase after them, whisk in one hand, spatula in the other, until she wrestled them to the ground in the car park, tying their hands with a length of bunting and accepting the appreciative applause of Cleo and the rest of the Just Desserts Club. But then reality invaded her make-believe crime-thriller drama, and her stomach began to churn with fear.

‘You will come straight back, won’t you?’

But Matt was already halfway to the car park, his ear fixed firmly to his phone as he called his friend in Ibiza. Lottie watched him go, enjoying the whiff of his aftershave that still lingered in the air and had accompanied her to sleep the previous night.

Would the information her uncle had uncovered be enough for the police to hot foot it over to Little Sweeting to arrest the person who had attacked Sasha in such a despicable way? She hoped so because if everything could be neatly tied up before she called Debs, she might just be able to save her a whole lot of worry, not to mention persuade her to put the sale of the café on hold for the summer.

And now that Matt Wilson was in her life, there was nothing she wanted more.

Chapter Twenty Seven

It was nine thirty, and the birds were well into the second rendition of their daily overture, celebrating the warmth of the summer morning. The breeze had chased the earlier clouds away and the clear blue sky promised that the next few hours would be filled with sunshine.

To keep herself from descending into a torrent of panic, Lottie had decided to do what she did best and bake. By the time Cleo arrived for her shift, she had already made a batch of red velvet cupcakes, a trayful of cranberry and white chocolate scones, two dozen apricot and almond mini pavlovas, and a huge jug of home-made lemonade.

‘Is there something wrong, Lottie?’ Cleo asked.

‘What makes you say that?’

‘You’ve just sprinkled black pepper instead of nutmeg on top of those cupcakes.’

‘Oops, sorry.’

Lottie swallowed down on her anxiety and fixed a cheerful smile on her face, but she knew she wasn’t fooling Cleo. She had never been top of the class when it came to acting skills and anyway, Cleo was nothing if not astute when reading people’s emotions. Today her friend had turned up for work in a pair of white dungarees, cut off at the knee, and a pale lilac tee shirt to match the café’s signature colours. Her apron, however, spoilt the whole outfit because it was festooned with kittens in orange bows cavorting amongst yellow sunflowers.

‘I wasn’t going to say anything until we—’

‘Hi Lottie, hi Cleo,’ Jess mumbled, appearing on the threshold, her face pale, her eyes red from crying. ‘Matt called me and told us to come down to the café at ten.’

‘Ordered us, you mean!’ Dylan said angrily. ‘I don’t know who he thinks he is, but—’

‘Leave it, Dylan,’ Amber snapped, pushing past him to join Jess in the café.

Lottie realised that Matt must have shared what he had found out from his friend in Ibiza with Jess, and yet she was still shocked at her appearance. Gone was the happy-go-lucky young girl who’d arrived at the lodge to have a good time; today she looked like a hunted animal, exhausted from the chase, her demeanour shrunken as she huddled on one of the café’s white leather sofas, refusing to look anyone in the eye.

A stab of intense sympathy shot through Lottie as her memory zoomed back to the day she had been told her beloved father had died after she’d found him collapsed whilst tending his plants. For days, no, weeks, afterwards every single action she was required to perform was a huge chore, and simply walking to school was like wading through treacle, every thought clouded in a mist of confusion. She knew this was how Jess was feeling and that she was only holding herself together by the force of her will.

‘How long is this going to take?’ asked Leo, dropping down onto one of the hard-backed chairs, his ankle resting on his knee, hands behind his head as though he didn’t have a care in the world, sending a confident wink across to Jess who ignored him. ‘Mmm, these cookies are delicious. Want one, Amber?’

Amber ignored him, too, and chose a seat on the sofa opposite Jess, watching as William sat next to Jess instead of her, the space between them a chasm of bitterness and resentment. Devoid of the heavy makeup she usually preferred, Amber’s face was pinched and gaunt, exhibiting none of the confidence of previous days, and for the first time she had concealed her cleavage beneath what appeared to be one of William’s cashmere sweaters.

William leaned forward in his seat, his forearms resting on his thighs, his gaze fixed on an indeterminate point through the café’s window. Only Dylan remained standing, leaning against the wall next to the French doors, his hands thrust into the pockets of his jeans, a guarded look in his eyes as, like everyone else in the room, he studiously avoided making eye contact with anyone.

Lottie could feel the electricity crackle through the air and the hairs at the back of her neck began to prickle. Cleo’s eyes had widened as she sought to understand what was going on, and when it finally dawned on her, she led Lottie to the remaining sofa and urged her to sit down.

‘Where’s Matt?’ Cleo whispered. ‘Why isn’t he here?’

‘I don’t know.’

Lottie took a sip of her lemonade, just so she had something to do with her hands. A flicker of movement outside the window caught her eye and she squinted into the bleaching sunlight to see what it was. She couldn’t see anything but heard a faint crunch of tyres on the gravel car park and realised it must have been the glint of reflected sunlight from a car windscreen.

Someone had arrived in the Waddling Duck’s car park. She hoped it wasn’t a customer who had missed, or ignored, the signs – which they had thankfully forgotten to remove – announcing that they would be closed until the following day. However, no one appeared, and it slipped from her mind when Matt finally appeared at the doorway with Ethan at his side.

‘Thank you all for staying,’ said Matt, glancing around the café. ‘I asked you all to come over to the café because I thought you would want to know who spiked Sasha’s throat spray and why. However, before I go any further, because of what we’ve uncovered, there’s someone else that needs to be here while we speak to you.’

Matt stepped out of the café onto the terrace and signalled to whoever was waiting to be invited in. Lottie had no idea who she expected to appear but was shocked, and then relieved, when two uniformed police officers moved into view and took up position at the French doors – their bulk blocking the sunlight from streaming in through the glass and casting a wide shadow over the room – along with a plain-clothed police detective wearing a smart navy-blue suit who Lottie had seen before outside one of the lodges.

‘Oh my God!’ Amber gasped, her hand flying to her lips. ‘Why are the police here again?’

‘It’s okay, Amber, I’m sure there’s nothing to worry about,’ said William, shooting up from his seat. ‘Look, what exactly is going on?’

‘Please, if everyone could sit down,’ said Matt, directing his request at William, his tone inviting no argument. ‘I’m sure you’d all like to get this over with as quickly as possible.’

‘I really don’t see why we should—’ William began.

‘It’s okay, Will. Please, just let Matt say what he has to say,’ said Jess. ‘Matt?’

All eyes swung to Matt, but to Lottie’s surprise, Matt wasn’t looking at Jess, but at her, and it took her a few moments to realise why. She felt her stomach muscles tighten with apprehension and was about to shake her head to refuse his unspoken invitation when an image of her father’s smiling face floated across her mind. So, after a brief wobble when everyone switched their gaze towards her, she inhaled a breath and stepped forward to accept the revelation baton from Matt.

‘We were all devastated when Sasha passed away so unexpectedly following the café’s summer garden party, and we assumed it was the result of a severe bout of food poisoning – but all was not as it seemed. Earlier on in the afternoon, Sasha had offered to perform a couple of songs for everyone before going out for dinner. To ensure she wasn’t disturbed in her lodge whilst she got ready, she grabbed Ethan and made a show of taking him back with her along with a bottle of Champagne. A little afternoon delight, I think was how Jess described it at the time, or perhaps it was a ploy to make Dylan jealous. But that wasn’t the case because after only five minutes, Ethan was swiftly dispatched on his way because Sasha was expecting someone else.’

Lottie watched Ethan redden from his throat to the roots of his spiky ginger hair – she knew it would be a while, no matter how persuasive Cleo was, before he got back on the dating horse. She switched her scrutiny to William who had lowered his head into his hands, bracing himself for the imminent confirmation of his affair with Sasha.

‘The person Sasha was expecting was Will, who knew exactly why Sasha had made such a fuss of the way she left the garden party. It was a signal for him to wait five minutes before making his own excuses and slipping away to her lodge. I think everyone knows by now that they were having an affair – had been for months – and were planning to come clean about their relationship at the end of their holiday here in Devon to allow their respective partners the opportunity to go home to their families – Dylan to Bristol, Amber to Oxford. They shared the bottle of Champagne and then Will left to allow Sasha to get ready for her performance.’

Amber stood from her seat on the settee, turned toward William and swung her palm across his cheek, then burst into tears. Lottie saw one of the uniformed officers take a step forward and was relieved when Cleo slid her arm around Amber’s shoulders, guided her back into her seat, and slipped her hand into hers, giving it a supportive squeeze. After a few moments of silence, the police detective signalled for Lottie to continue.

‘So, did Will substitute the throat spray and wait for the inevitable?’

Willian stared at her for a few seconds, then shook his head slowly, his sadness palpable. ‘I loved Sasha. She was my soulmate, and I was hers. We wanted to spend those few precious moments before Dylan arrived finalising what we were going to say to him and Amber to let them down as gently and calmly as possible. We also talked about our future together in Majorca. We even spent a couple of minutes looking at villas on the internet near to my parents’ tennis academy! For God’s sake, how can you even think I had anything to do with what happened to Sasha? I absolutely adored her!’

Everyone in the café held their breath as they awaited Lottie’s pronouncement on William’s fate.

‘I know, and I’m sorry your plans were spoiled.’ Lottie paused as an audible sigh of relief rippled through the room then continued her commentary. ‘So, Amber watches Will leave the party, ostensibly to go to the bathroom; but let’s assume for a moment she knows exactly where he’s heading. She’s known about the affair for a while and hoped that it would fizzle out when Sasha’s career took off. Surely a successful singer would ditch her inexperienced manager as soon as the accolades and the serious money started to roll in? Was that what you were hoping for, Amber?’

Amber nodded, unable to raise her eyes to meet Lottie’s or Will’s gaze.

‘In fact, unbeknown to Amber, Will had been in love with Sasha since university,’ said Lottie, starting to settle into the role of narrator. ‘Were your suspicions of their affair, and your jealousy of Sasha’s jettisoning career, enough for you to consider spiking Sasha’s throat spray so she would be prevented from singing, not just at the garden party, but, if your experiment worked, at subsequent events? I’m sure something like that may have crossed your mind. Would Will come back to you if Sasha lost her record deal? Would you be able to kick-start your career with Sasha out of the picture?’

All eyes, even those of the besuited detective, swung in unison to where Amber slouched, her knees drawn to her chest, tears rolling down her cheeks as she waited for Lottie to answer her own questions.

‘No. I don’t think so,’ she finally said.

Once again, a collective whoosh of breath was exhaled into the room.

Lottie paused again, compassion for both Will and Amber swirling through her veins. Maybe it was the rising temperature, maybe it was the sizzling energy in the room, but she suddenly had the rather disconcerting sensation that she had been transported to the drawing room of a 1920s murder mystery where the astute private detective held their audience in thrall as they revealed each possible theory and then discarded them one-by-one.

She could feel everyone’s eyes on her as they waited with bated breath for her to continue, like laser beams scorching into her very soul, and she craved a moment to calm her churning emotions. She sent a signal to Matt, indicating that he should continue with the denouement whilst she concentrated on collecting her thoughts, and her heart softened when she saw his appreciation of her gesture in his bright blue eyes.

She knew how much this opportunity to explain their enquiries meant to him, knew that had circumstances been different, then perhaps he could have been the police detective waiting in the wings to arrest the perpetrator. As he moved forward to face the group, she saw them switch their gaze from her to Matt, and then across to Dylan, clearly of the opinion that he was next in the firing line.

But Matt had other plans.

‘When Doctor Bairstow informed us of the presence of the toxic substance in Sasha’s throat spray, everyone was stumped. How could it have got there? Was it an accident or had one of the ingredients been tampered with? I have to admit it was an ingenious method of delivering an irritant to a professional singer. When we got the news that the substance was unusual – an extraction from a plant known as “devil’s helmet” or “monkshood” – we realised that only a horticulturalist or avid gardener would have known how to source it.’

Matt left that avenue of exploration dangling in the air for the moment. A mumble of conversation began to ripple through the gathering as everyone began to glance around the room, considering and discarding each one of their friends as potential experts in the plant kingdom until their eyes came to rest on Lottie. She had never been so grateful when Matt continued speaking, his voice strong and confident.

‘Was that person Dylan?’ Matt paused as everyone swung their gaze back to where Dylan was standing. ‘But how could it be? He was nowhere to be seen at the garden party, despite the promises he’d made to Sasha, because he was drinking with his friends in Bristol. He didn’t arrive until minutes before we discovered Sasha on her bed in her lodge. But was that true? What was to stop him arriving earlier and instead of joining the party going straight to the lodge, finding Sasha with Will and deciding to teach her a lesson by placing an irritant in her throat spray?’

‘Now look here. I don’t have to stay and listen to this slanderous drivel—’

‘But I would rather you did,’ said the police detective, indicating the uniformed officers who were guarding the exit.

Dylan took one look at the men’s bulky physiques and relented.

‘You can sit down, Dylan. I know you didn’t do it,’ added Matt.

‘But there’s no one left,’ muttered Jess, her mouth covered by a scrunched-up tissue as she gulped down on the tears that she was unable to stem. ‘You’re not seriously suggesting that me, or Leo, would do something to hurt Sasha? She was my sister! The only family I have left. Without Sasha, I have no one!’

Lottie saw Matt shoot a glance at the taller of the two policemen who had removed a pair of handcuffs from his belt and took up a stance with his arms folded across his chest, his feet apart, and her stomach gave an uncomfortable lurch of trepidation.

Jess’ eyes widened in shock, her already pale features blanched to the colour and consistency of overworked putty.

‘You… you think it’s me? You think I poisoned Sasha?’ she cried. ‘Oh my God, why?’

‘Money?’ suggested Dylan.

‘You have no idea what you’re talking about! I don’t care about the stupid trust fund!’ she screamed. ‘I never have. Sasha always gave me everything I need. I don’t even know how much there is.’

‘There’s twenty million pounds,’ said Matt, and the whole room erupted into chaos.

‘Please, ladies and gentlemen!’ growled the detective inspector. ‘Quiet! Quiet!’

Silence was restored immediately as everyone sank back into their seats and waited for the next pronouncement to be made.

‘It’s okay, Jess,’ said Matt, softly. ‘I know you didn’t spike Sasha’s spray. Leo did.’

Chapter Twenty Eight

This time the noise level reached a crescendo of outrage. The two police officers moved in unison as Leo launched out of his seat and made for the door, wrestling him to the floor as he screamed and kicked like a trout denied water until he was handcuffed.

‘Leo, tell them it’s not true! Tell them!’ Jess wailed, rocking to and fro in William’s arms.

‘I’m sorry, Jess, but I think Leo has been planning every detail of this unfortunate incident for months,’ said Matt, who looked anything but happy about the explanation he was in the process of delivering. ‘I’ve spoken to a friend of mine in Ibiza who alerted the police over there, and they found a tin of suspicious compounds in the kitchen of the restaurant where Leo works. I told you earlier that Lottie and I suspected that only a horticulturalist or avid gardener would have the requisite knowledge to do such a thing, but Leo is a chef with a keen interest in botany. It would have been the easiest thing in the world to research a fast-acting poison, source it, and introduce it into one of Sasha’s throat spray bottles.’

A gasp of horror rippled around the room.

‘Everyone knew that Sasha took her spray with her wherever she went – even when she wasn’t performing – as a kind of talisman. This visit to the UK was an ideal opportunity to put his plan into action because it had to be done before she took up her recording obligations otherwise the easy access to her personal belongings would be considerably curtailed.’

‘Oh, my God!’ Jess screamed. ‘You murdered my sister! You…’

William and Cleo reached out at the same time to drag Jess back down onto the sofa between them, whispering soothing words and telling her to let Matt finish his explanation and then they would never have to see Leo again.

‘At the garden party, if you recall, Leo made sure he was always in plain sight of everyone from the moment Sasha left with Ethan. He must have thought he’d won the lottery when she decided to take a complete stranger back to her lodge – Ethan was bound to be the first person suspicion would fall on and that proved to be the case. However, I suspect his original intention had been to leak Sasha’s affair with William to throw suspicion onto Dylan.’

‘But why? Why would you do such a thing, Leo?’ asked William, his upper lip curled in revulsion as he stared at Leo, hooking his arm around Jess’ shoulders before turning back towards Matt. ‘You’ve covered the how and the who, but what about the why?’

‘Well, it’s that old cliché of money. Ever since Dylan accused Lottie of poisoning the whole village with her baking, we’ve been trying to unravel what happened. When we found out someone had targeted Sasha, we thought if we found out why, then we would find out who. You probably don’t know this, but Leo was made bankrupt last year owing in excess of a hundred thousand pounds.’

‘Leo? Is that true?’ said Jess.

‘I’m not saying anything.’

‘He’d been bailed out several times by his mother, but he had bled her dry. Records show that she was forced to sell her home last year and has left the UK to live with her sister in Oregan. That’s why Leo took a job as a chef in a small tourist restaurant in San Antonio – so he could escape his debts and receive his wages in cash. But it seems he fell in with a bunch of gamblers at the restaurant, didn’t you? How much do you owe them?’

Leo made no attempt to answer; his eyes were trained on Jess.

‘Jess, please—’

‘Shut up, Leo, just shut up,’ William seethed, fighting to contain his temper.

‘You wanted our parents’ money, did you?’ Jess shouted, struggling to free herself from William’s restraint. She stood in front of Leo, disgust written boldly across her face. ‘You thought that if Sasha was dead, I’d be able to just hand over the cash to you? Were you intending to hang around until I turned twenty-five? That’s more than four years away!’

‘Jess, I had to. Those guys were threatening to shatter my kneecaps unless I came up with the funds to—’

‘Will you take him away, officer? I can’t bear to look at him any longer,’ said Jess, a grim expression on her face as she watched the two police officers lead Leo, still trying to explain his actions to Jess, from the café.

Lottie glanced at Cleo who gave her a quick smile before jumping up from the sofa and rushing over to hug Ethan. She watched William, and then Dylan, move forward to offer their palms to first her, followed by Matt and the detective, thanking them for their assistance, before leaving the café to discuss what had happened and where they went from there. She was relieved there seemed to be no animosity between the two men and she hoped that, after everything that had happened that week, they could find a way of maintaining their friendship.

Finally, she met Matt’s gaze, and she experienced a pirouette of satisfaction when she saw the elation and pride written across his handsome face. And maybe there was something else there, too, in the twinkle of his eyes. Excitement joined the dance as she anticipated spending the next few days, or even weeks, dissecting every twist and turn of their investigation with the rest of the Just Desserts Club members whom she knew would be upset they had missed the denouement, but would want to hear every detail, no matter how small.

Could this be the start of a new chapter in her life?

She hoped so.

‘I don’t know how to thank you, Lottie, and Matt and Cleo,’ said Jess, pausing on the terrace as Amber followed the men outside to their cars for their trip back to the airport and their flight home to their villa in Ibiza. ‘I dread to think what might have happened if you hadn’t been around to solve the puzzle. Maybe… maybe I’d be joining my beautiful, kind, talented sister, who I know will be up there, with our beloved parents, singing her heart out.’

‘Oh, no, I—’

‘I want you to know that I’ll be spreading the word about the gorgeous lodges you have here, and if I’m ever in the neighbourhood again, I’ll be popping in for a sumptuous cream tea, which will have to include your delicious apricot pavlovas.’

Jess hugged Lottie, then Cleo, and walked away, her shoulders straight, her head held high, every inch the celebrated children’s author Lottie had no doubt she would one day become.

Chapter Twenty Nine

‘So, Lottie, what did Debs say when you told her about all the excitement?’ asked Ethan as he sipped his pint of Guinness in the Crow’s Nest later that night. ‘I assume your job is safe? After all, you and Matt have not only restored the Waddling Duck’s reputation – and therefore saved the business from almost certain collapse – but also quite probably helped to save someone’s life!’

‘Debs was astonished,’ said Lottie, smiling when she thought of the café’s proprietor who had been in the middle of a beach barbeque when she’d spoken to her. ‘And she’s really upset she won’t get to join us if the Just Desserts Club’s services are ever needed again. However, she’s loving her new life in Australia, and her relationship with Brian is going from strength to strength. Would you believe they went surfing last week? And yes, my job here is safe for the time being, thankfully, at least until there’s an interested buyer.’

‘Don’t worry, Ethan, Lottie’s not going anywhere.’ Cleo smiled. ‘The Waddling Duck Café is lucky to have Lottie at the helm, in fact, it wouldn’t be the same without her. What about you, Matt? Have you considered ditching the outward-bounds business for life as a private investigator?’

‘Well, if Lottie’s going to be sticking around here, I might just have to consider that!’ Matt smirked, his eyes alive with mischief. ‘Do you make a habit of attracting chaos wherever you go?’

‘Hey, that’s not fair! How was anything that happened my fault?’

‘How can you say that, Matt? Chaos is the last word I would use when describing Lottie,’ Ethan grinned. ‘She’s a demon organiser. In fact, I’ve asked her to come over to our office at EQ’s headquarters to see if she can help us to implement some sort of filing system before our bookkeeper combusts with exasperation.’

‘And did you agree?’ asked Matt, his lips twitching with amusement.

‘Well…’

‘I’ll let you do it on one condition.’

‘Hey, Lottie is doing you a favour!’ said Cleo indignantly.

‘Is it a deal?’ Matt pressed.

‘Okay.’ Lottie laughed. ‘What’s the condition?’

‘That you come with me and Ethan on EQ’s next wild camping expedition.’

‘Oh, I…’ That had been the last thing she had expected Matt to suggest, but from the way he was looking at her she knew she couldn’t refuse. The more time she got to spend with Matt Wilson the better, and if that meant she had to develop an interest in outdoor sports then so be it. She would just have to stock up on antibacterial handwash and ask the weather gods to send wall-to-wall sunshine. ‘Okay.’

‘Lottie, do you know what you’re letting yourself in for?’ asked Cleo, her jaw dropping in incredulity.

‘Not really, but shouldn’t we be prepared to try everything before we discard it?’

‘Who are you and what have you done to my friend Lottie Chadwick?’ Cleo laughed before her face grew serious. ‘You do know what wild camping is, don’t you? There’s no tent, you collect your water from a stream, and you have to carry everything you need for a night under the stars on your back!’

‘Ergh!’

‘No changing your mind now!’ Ethan chuckled, tossing back the remainder of his pint. ‘Anyway, I’m sure you’ll have lots of fun. After all, there’s bound to be someone who’s prepared to share their bodily warmth with you so you don’t freeze to death.’

Lottie was gratified to see the colour seep into Matt’s cheeks as Ethan stalked to the bar to replenish their drinks. She met his gaze, and her heart ballooned at her good fortune to be able to call Matt her friend, and the possibility that he could be more than that loitered tantalisingly in the future.

‘Okay, I want to propose a toast,’ Ethan announced when he returned, handing round their glasses. ‘To the Just Desserts Club – Little Sweeting’s new crime-busting team!’

‘To the Just Desserts Club!’

Lottie laughed. ‘Cheers!’

To be continued…

Did you enjoy reading Parties, Pavlova & Poison? If so, perhaps you’d like to find out what’s next for the members of the Just Desserts Club in Retreats, Roulades & Revenge, when Lottie and her friends find themselves swapping ice-cold Prosecco and clotted cream scones for spiced pumpkin lattes, gingerbread roulade, and gooey chocolate brownies. As the Autumn mist rolls in, there’s an incident at Extreme Quests that could spell the end of the village’s favourite outward-bounds centre.

Here’s the link:

UK: https://www.amazon.co.uk/ ebook/dp/B0F27WGN99

US: https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B0F27WGN99

A note from Daisy

Thank you so much for reading Parties, Pavlova & Poison. I really hope you’ve enjoyed spending time with Lottie and Matt, Cleo and Ethan, and all the other members of the Just Desserts Club at the gorgeous Waddling Duck Café.

I’ve had a fabulous time writing this book – which, as my regular readers will know, is a bit of a departure from my usual stories – but setting it in a gorgeous village café means I was still able to research all the wonderful cakes and biscuits that Lottie and Cleo serve to their customers and try out some of the recipes for myself. I would love to hear your comments. Do you have a favourite Devonshire treat?

If you have enjoyed your trip to Little Sweeting, I’d really love it if you’d consider leaving a short review – one line is fine! I truly appreciate every single one, as well as every blog post and every comment and Like on my Facebook and Instagram pages. Your reviews and encouraging comments are why I keep writing (as well as getting to taste-test all the foodie treats that my characters create – only in the interests of authenticity, you understand).

Much love,

Daisy

XXX

Acknowledgements

First and foremost, I’d like to say a huge thank you to my amazing editor, Laura McCallen, whose skilful guidance and eagle eye has made this first book in the brand-new Just Desserts Club mystery series all the more vibrant and polished.

The writing community continues to be a source of inspiration and support for me, and I thank each and every one of them – authors, bloggers, designers, social media gurus – for their kind words and encouragement.

And finally, a massive thank you to all my amazing readers who have stuck with me on this sometimes turbulent journey! I have you in my mind and in my heart all the time I’m sitting at my keyboard, trying to write the best story I can, hoping that I’m doing you proud.

Recipe

Lottie’s Mini Apricot Pavlovas

Ingredients:

For the meringues:

4 large egg whites

200g caster sugar

2 tsp cornflour

half tsp vanilla extract

1 tsp white wine vinegar

Pinch salt

For the filling:

18 apricots, destoned & quartered

2 tbsp runny honey

150g of double cream

Method:

Heat oven to 180°C/Fan 160°/Gas mark4

Using a hand-held mixer, whisk the egg whites until they form soft peaks, then add the caster sugar a spoon at a time, add the cornflour in the same way, then drizzle in the vinegar and whisk again.

Line two baking trays with greaseproof paper, create 10-12 mini meringues nests, using the back of a spoon to create neat swirls and an indentation in the middle for the fruit.

Bake in the oven on a low shelf, turning the temperature down to 120°C/100°C/Gas mark 1, for 30 minutes, then turn off the oven and leave the meringues inside to cool for another 30 minutes. Remove and cool further on a wire rack.

Place the apricots in a large pan with the honey and 4/5tbsp of water and simmer gently until slightly jammy in consistency. If desired, add a teaspoon of crushed thyme or lavender. Cool completely.

Before serving, whisk the double cream until thick, place a generous dollop in each nest, arrange the apricots artistically, and drizzle with honey.

Enjoy!

Also by Daisy James

The Just Desserts Club Mysteries

Parties, Pavlova & Poison

Retreats, Roulade & Revenge

Christmas, Cupcakes & Catastrophe

Dog Shows, Doughnuts & Disaster

The Blossomwood Bay series

Tilly’s Tuscan Teashop

Freya’s French Farmhouse

Holly’s Hawaiian Holiday

Suzie’s Santorini Summer

Rachel’s Riviera Retreat

Poppy’s Parisian Patisserie

Chloe’s Cornish Christmas

Beckie’s Boathouse Bistro

The Hummingbird Hotel series

Escape to the Hummingbird Hotel

Summer at the Hummingbird Hotel

Snowflakes at the Hummingbird Hotel

Spring Blooms at the Hummingbird Hotel

Sunny Days at the Hummingbird Hotel

Confetti at the Hummingbird Hotel

The Cornish Confetti Agency series

The Cornish Confetti Agency

Summertime at the Cornish Confetti Agency

Christmas at the Cornish Confetti Agency

Tropical Skies at the Cornish Confetti Agency

Tuscan Dreams at the Cornish Confetti Agency

A Summer Wedding at the Cornish Confetti Agency

The Living the Dream series

The Runaway Bridesmaid

The Perfect Summer Wedding

The Good Karma Café

The Secret Summer Escape

The Tuscan Dreams series

Wedding Bells at Villa Limoncello

Summer Dreams at Villa Limoncello

Christmas Secrets at Villa Limoncello

The Paradise Cookery School series

Sunshine and Secrets

Confetti and Confusion

Mistletoe and Mystery

Standalones:

The Summerhouse of Happiness

Christmas at the Dancing Duck

Sunshine After the Rain

There’s Something About Cornwall

Lucie’s Vintage Cupcake Company