Page 25 of Secrets of the Forgotten Heir

One of the covens, which specialised in elemental magic, had found ways to disrupt electromagnetic signals so that anything posted online inside the barrier couldn’t be viewed outside of it. Even if someone accidentally typed in the correct link, all they’d find would be a video of cute otters playing in the snow. From what I heard, the otter shifters were pretty mad about it but, hey, village safety came first.

I typed in Witchlight Cove followed by the date and finished up with the words ‘pasty contest’.

More than a dozen videos pinged up. The first one had a deliberately click-bait title about the contest ending in disaster; exactly the kind of thing I was looking for.

The video was three minutes long and started at the very beginning of the contest. The contestants were announced one by one and walked down to take their places. Mrs D was up first – and the old woman looked terrified; she certainly didn’t look like she was doing it for fun. In fact, she was so confounded by what was going on that she sat in the wrong seat and picked up one of the pasties straight away, like she was going to start eating then and there.

Claude nearly had a fit. He jumped in before she could take a bite, made her put the pasty down and move up to the place with her name on it. After her, Warren came in followed by the others. Claude gave his spiel about how this was the oldest pasty shop in the country and thanked everyone for coming while mentioning the cash prize at least a dozen times. It wasn’t until someone from the crowd called ‘Get on with it!’ that he finally huffed and moved across to the buzzer.

Was the heckler keen to get started because they didn’t want their poison or potion to wear off? It was possible.

When the buzzer sounded, the contestants threw themselves into the competition – literally, in one case.The woman on the end, a redhead about my age, tipped herself into the bowl. Okay, maybe Warrenhadn’tbeen the messiest one. It was hard to draw my eyes away from her – it was like watching a car crash – but she wasn’t my focus so I restarted the video and concentrated on Mrs D and Warren.

Ezra hadn’t been joking. Mrs D was funnelling those pasties into her mouth like a professional, but even so she wasn’t a patch on Warren. For every bite the old woman took, he had three – until he suddenly stopped.

The whites of his eyes bulged and he started rocking from side to side. A minute later, the pasties made their reappearance and that was when Mrs D started looking peaky, too. She lifted her gloved hand to her head and wiped her brow before she started retching. It was only when she was doubled over the bowl clutching her stomach that the other contestants finally looked up and stopped eating.

I paused the video; I didn’t need to see any more. It made sense that Warren would have had a stronger reaction given how many more pasties he’d eaten, but there was something that didn’t make sense.

I stood up from my desk, went to Yanni’s office and knocked on the door. ‘Everything alright?’ she asked. ‘You haven’t had a call already, have you? I didn’t hear anything.’

‘No, it’s not that. I wondered what time my lunch break would be.’

Her lips parted in surprise and I realised it sounded like I was trying to get out of the job before it had even started. ‘I wanted to pop out and see Mrs D,’ I added.

Relief flowed over Yanni’s face as she realised she hadn’t employed the world’s laziest person. ‘Oh, right. It’s supposed to be at half past one but I can be flexible. Mrs D left the hospital yesterday, though, and I’m sure she’s fine. They wouldn’t have let her go otherwise.’

‘That’s great news. Even so, I have a couple of questions for her.’

Yanni’s brow furrowed. ‘Anything you fancy sharing with the chief inspector?’ she asked.

Maybe it was the PI part of me, but I wasn’t ready to spill any ideas yet, not even with Yanni. Not when they could be so far off the mark. But I wasn’t a PI now; my job was answering calls in the police station and this was official police business. I was likely to get myself into a heap of trouble if she found out I was snooping into an official investigation. Besides, I already felt bad enough not telling her about the Eternal Flame. The last thing I wanted to do was add even more to my burden of guilt.

‘There was something in a video I watched,’ I said. ‘Mrs D sat in Warren’s seat first and picked up one of his pasties. I think that mighthave transferred the poison from the pasties to her glove. If she still has the glove, we could confirm it.’

‘That would explain why she got a smaller dose,’ Yanni mused. ‘Are you sure you want to talk to her about this?’

‘I think so. I mean, I work for the police now.’

Yanni arched an eyebrow. ‘Tentatively.’ She sounded a little amused. ‘But okay. Just let me know what you find out.’

‘Of course.’

This was it: my first bit of official police business while simultaneously helping out an old friend. Maybe this temp position wasn’t the worst. Even if I hadn’t actually answered the phone yet.

Chapter Sixteen

My lunch break wasn’t until half-past one, and before that I received three telephone calls. The first was a complaint about someone littering and ruining the village’s aesthetic. They hadn’t seen the culprit so there was pretty much nothing I – or Yanni – could do about it. I promptly filed my notes on that call into the bin: no need to add to the various paper piles. Efficiency is my middle name. Actually my middle name is Elizabeth, but Efficiency sounds cool and starts with the same letter.

The next call was from a mermaid who complained that someone kept sailing their yacht out to sea and disrupting her by playing music too loudly above the kelp forest. Given that Yanni had given me access to the police database, I did a quick search while the caller was still on the line. This complaint had been made before with a repeat comment in the response logs:There are no boundaries in the kelp forest.

‘Unfortunately,’I repeated, ‘there are no official boundaries in the water. Meaning they are within their rights to do that.’

‘That’s ridiculous! It’s practically my home!’

I felt for her, I really did, but I couldn’t see a way around it. ‘Sorry,’ I apologised. She rang off in a huff and I imagined her flipping her tail dramatically before swimming off in a swirl of indignation. I didn’t really blame her.

The final phone call was, as Yanni had already predicted, from Mr Margate complaining that the banshees had once again announced his imminent death. I told him how sorry I was and assured him we would prepare accordingly, though I didn’t know what preparations he expected us to do. Throw a farewell party? Order him a coffin in his favourite colour? I did neither of those things.

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