Free Murder At The Bake Off (Celebrity Mysteries 3) by Zanna Mackenzie Page B

armour is gazing thoughtfully out over the babbling stream.
    “Did you see that sign?” he asks, bringing me back to cold, hard reality.
    “What sign?” I shiver. It’s chilly anyway, and standing next to the gushing water of the stream is making me feel even cooler. I should have remembered to grab my jacket when I got out of the car.
    “Off to one side in the bakery, near the pay desk and counter,” he explains. “The bakery runs workshops on the premises. There’s one tomorrow. According to the promo materials, Maggie herself is teaching it.”
    “What? Tomorrow? She must have cancelled it surely, in the circumstances.”
    “It didn’t say it was cancelled. I thought you could book yourself on it. It would be a great way to get to see what Maggie’s like, maybe ask some questions but without it being related to the investigation. You’d just be another baking masterclass patron. What do you say? You’re always saying how your baking isn’t as good as you’d like it to be.”
    I shoot him an irritated look, though he’s right. I’ve said that myself quite a few times since we first met.
    “Lizzie?” he prompts. “What do you think?”
    “But the workshop is tomorrow,” I protest. “I have to get home tonight. There’s the farm to take care off, my fruit and veg customer deliveries, my shift at the village store and—”
    “Would you do this workshop if I took care of all that other stuff?” he asks, eyebrows raised questioningly.
    “What?” I tilt my head. “You’re going to sort the farm, my deliveries and cover my work at the store? Even you can’t do all of that from down here in the Cotswolds.”
    Jack shakes his head. “No, but I know some people who can. Just tell me you’ll agree to this, and I’ll sort everything else.”
    I chew on my bottom lip as I debate. A tiny part of me is excited at the prospect of getting cake instruction from the queen of baking’s daughter. It could help me with the Delamere Baking Competition. That’s if I have time to attempt more baking and can come up with a cake worthy of entering the contest in time.
    “Come on, Lizzie,” Jack says, pulling me close and nuzzling my neck. I sink happily into the warmth of him and the deliciously familiar smell of his aftershave. “I’ll owe you big time and will do anything you want me to when we get back home. You name it, I’ll do it.”
    Hmm. Now that is a tempting offer. “OK,” I say, making my tone of voice sound far more reluctant than I actually feel at the prospect of this expert baking opportunity and my fiancé’s delicious promise. “I’ll do it.”
    Jack steps back and rubs his hands together delightedly. “Brilliant. Time’s getting on, so you’d best go enrol.”
    I hurry across the road, back towards Bakewells , and am horrified to see that the woman who was behind the counter earlier is now closing window blinds, and, by the look of things, is about to lock the front door.
    In fact, by the time I get there she has locked the door. Wonderful. I knock and wave, and she mouths back, “Sorry, we’re closed.”
    “It’s urgent!” I yell through the door. “Please. It will just take one moment. Honestly.”
    She sighs but walks over to unlock. Yay!
    “Yes?” she asks crisply.
    “I want to book onto the workshop tomorrow please,” I reply.
    “You’re lucky—there’s one space left.” She beckons me inside and locks the door again behind me. “I’ve cashed up for the night, so money and card payments will be a complete pain. I don’t suppose you can pay by cheque? I can put that through the till for tomorrow.”
    By cheque? Seriously? Hardly anybody pays by cheque these days. I scramble around in my bag, and miracle of miracles find my unused new cheque book lurking at the bottom. I wave it excitedly in the air. “How much is the workshop?”
    “Ninety five pounds,” she replies. “Make it payable to Maggie Bakewell.”
    Ninety five pounds? Wow. Baking workshops are