A Rolling Scone by Nancy Warren

Author:Nancy Warren [Warren, Nancy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781928145721
Publisher: Ambleside Publishing
Published: 2020-05-20T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter 12

The sun had disappeared behind the clouds. No birds were singing, and the air itself was still, almost static. I couldn’t help but feel that it, too, was in mourning for Eileen.

Even on a dismal afternoon, if anything could sooth me, it was nature. Usually baking would have the same effect. I could forget about anything if I got busy making marzipan or gently melting chunks of dark chocolate in a bain-marie. But now, even just the thought of having to make a showstopper cake tomorrow was more than I could bear.

I couldn’t banish Eileen’s last words from my head. They buzzed in my busy mind, niggling away without letting up. Letter. Frog. Keys. Must. So sorry. I let myself linger on these words, arranging them and then rearranging them. Must. Frog. So sorry. Keys. Letter. What had she meant?

I hoped Gerry was back in my room. Even though he could be annoying, Gerry’s new spirit status meant that he was an excellent listener, and it wasn’t exactly like he had loads of other stuff to do. Maybe he could help me crack the code.

“Poppy? Did you catch what I just said?”

I snapped out of my reverie to find that Elspeth had joined Jonathon and I at the entrance to the pub. I hadn’t even noticed us walking through the door; I guess I’d been on autopilot. But now, here was Elspeth’s familiar face before me: kind gray eyes, elegant nose, high cheekbones so perfectly powdered. Unlike Jonathon, with his mucky shirt, she looked every bit as pristine as she had hours earlier. But instead of her usual calm expression, worry was etched across her forehead.

“I said that I’ve just heard about Eileen Poole. I was on my way back to the inn when I saw the ambulance and that lovely Benedict Champney. He told me what happened. It’s awfully sad. I’m so sorry you had to witness that, Poppy. It hasn’t been your day, has it?”

I put Gateau down, and she scampered back outdoors. I guess she needed some cat time.

The three of us walked into the pub, and Jonathon went to the bar to order three coffees. I asked for mine to be black and as strong as Eve could make it, and resisted asking for it also to be dosed with a slug of bourbon. Even if we all were part of the same coven, Jonathon and Elspeth still felt a bit like my witchy parents.

At five p.m., the pub was quiet. The staff was preparing for the Saturday-night dinner rush, setting up tables with cutlery and glasses, placing reserved signs, a time and a name written across their black slate surface in white chalk. I caught Eve’s eye at the bar. She raised her brows in concern. Jonathon must be midway through explaining what had happened to Eileen. I mouthed back that I was okay. She nodded, giving me a look to say, “We’ll talk later.”

Jonathon came back with the coffees—a frothy cappuccino for Elspeth, a latte for himself.

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