“You’d best come quick! Your cake just killed a girl!”
Valencia Veemer slammed the cake knife down on the ancient oak counter of the ‘Spellbinding Treats’ bakery and ran out after the man.
Sure enough, there was a young woman sprawled on the cobbles not breathing, a half-eaten fairy cake by her side.
She’d served her only minutes before. The girl had seemed edgy, nervous, but not everyone was comfortable with queuing, and she’d been queuing for a while. But how could one of her fairy cakes kill her?
“How do you explain this? She ate your cake and now she’s dead. Is this revenge for your father being packed off to Eddeland?” asked the tall, scrawny unkempt man whose clothes seemed to be made up of mismatched patches of leather and fabric.
His words stung. She’d tried so hard to fit in, to throw herself into the life of a witch. she didn’t want to turn her back on her father’s Viking roots but in these dangerous times she had to - or she’d lose her grandmother’s beloved bakery she’d inherited.
An inquisitive crowd of neck-craning residents was rapidly forming. They stepped closer, saw the body - and the cake then flinched away, clutching hands to their chests and shaking heads. Their eyes pierced right through Valencia, accusingly.
The controllers’ high-pitched whistles blared out. Someone had evidently informed them. What would they make of it? Would she be seen as a Viking sympathizer or a rogue witch?
She could lose everything even though it didn’t make sense.
“Valencia Veemer? You own this bakery?” asked a burly controller, red in the face and breathless.
“Yes. And she was in my shop. I remember serving her but…”
The crowd muttered and pointed. To them, Valencia was guilty, and no trial was needed.
“Is it a usual occurrence, people dying in the street after taking a bite of one of your cakes?” asked the controller, scraping furiously at his wax tablet with his blunt stylus.
“Of course not, it’s never happened before but…”
“There’s always a first time. Like what we have here. Do you employ genuine fairies to bake these fairy cakes?”
“Yes, of course. It’s a serious offence not to.”
“And they live here in the bakery?”
“Yes, in the back room. They’ll be sleeping right now.”
“Could they have… joined a protest group and… decided to spike the cakes?” he asked, raising his thick black eyebrows.
“No. They’re happy here. Generations of them have lived at this bakery. They’re more like family than staff,” said Valencia, confused by the line of questioning.
“Did you, or the fairies change the recipe in any way?”
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“No. That recipe has been passed down for generations in the Veemer family. I’d never change it - and neither would the fairies.”
“I see. You say she bought the cake then left with it?”
“No, I said she came into the shop. Eventually. It was a busy morning, so it took a while for her to get served. The thing is, she didn’t buy a cake… Or at least, she didn’t buy that cake - not from here she didn’t. She bought two iced dream buns and a chocolate stardust wish slice. She didn’t ask for a fairy cake. That cake isn’t one of mine,” Valencia said, confidently, pointing at the half-eaten cake alongside the body.
It was a delicate lilac color with tightly bubbled sponge and pleats of sweet fondant topping encased in a slightly darker lilac cake case with a symbol like a ‘Y’ on the underside.
The crowd jeered and lunged at Valencia. It was like someone had flicked a switch. They went from watching with interest - being inquisitive and horrified in equal measure to baying for her blood in mere seconds.
Valencia looked up towards the bakery. A controller was carrying several fairy cakes - just like the one on the cobbled street.
“That’s… impossible! We don’t sell those!” She said, trying to work out how they could have got inside her bakery.
“Well, forgive me Miss, but they sure look like this cake here which killed this young girl. You own the bakery; you admit she was served by you just before she died. It looks to me as someone put some kind of poison in that cake -enough to kill after just one bite and there were more of them in there,” said the controller, still scratching notes.
“That’s how it looks… but it’s not true. Someone’s obviously trying to frame me.”
More controllers arrived and stood between the angry mob and Valencia.
“You’ve got enemies, then?”
“No, well… No more than any other half-witch has,” Valencia said, quietly.
“I see. That complicates things.”
“Why does it?”
“The victim looks wealthy to me. It’s a strong motive. people don’t like wealthy people, do they, if they aren’t. It could be the key to this murder.”
“Don’t be ridiculous! I don’t even know the girl. I’ve never seen before today! Why would I kill a stranger for no reason?”
“People kill for less. Sometimes for fun but always to get rid of someone permanently,” he sniffed.
“I heal, I don’t kill. Think about it. My business is ruined. Who will trust my cakes won’t kill them now? Generations of family baking gone - in an instant. My businesses’ reputation has been murdered too, in cold blood. Why would I do that to myself and my business?”
“That’s all worth noting. Of course, it could be the fairies or an employee of yours but someone killed this girl and I intend to find out who it was.”
“I’ll help you in any way I can.”
“Good. But you best get inside the bakery and stay out of the way of folks for the time being. People don’t like paying to be poisoned. She bought that cake, bit it then dropped dead. Folks don’t like that kind of thing. They get fired up about it. Especially if the chief suspect happens to be a half-witch.”
His words rattled round in her head and punched her in the heart. That’s all people could see - the dead girl and the cake and they concluded it was a half-witch who’d sold it to her – and that was all they needed to know.
What would happen to her bakery now? What about the fairies? What would become of them if she lost the business?
She had to clear her name. The only way to do that was to find out who the real murderer was. It wouldn’t be easy. She needed to find out who the girl was, where she got that cake from, who poisoned it, how those other cakes got into her bakery and why anyone would want to kill the girl then frame her for it.
She’d start by searching the bakery for clues. It was the first point of contact she’d had with the girl just minutes before she was killed. Maybe retracing her footsteps would jog her memory.
If she didn’t solve the murder - and soon, the locals would find her guilty and dish out their own justice…
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