The Windmill Café. Poppy Blake

jackpot when Mia had walked into the café 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 down to the fact that her mother, Sarah, one of Carole’s best friends, was a food tech teacher at the local High School. Rosie had loved the alcohol-infused nights they’d spent together putting the world to rights with that trio of oestrogen solace – chocolate, wine and gossip.

      Was all this progress at an end? Would the café be forced to shut its doors because of her? She hadn’t heard anything further from Dr Bairstow, and 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 flat, she was finding it difficult not to allow the anxiety demons free rein. Where would she go next? And would she get another job in the catering industry if she was forced to leave under a cloud?

      Rosie pulled on a new pair of jeans and her musings continued to meander around her brain. Inevitably, her thoughts drifted to Matt and how she had felt comfortable enough in his company to share the tragic details of her past relationship fiasco with him the previous day. Then, for some reason known only to her subconscious, she found herself imagining what he would look like without the black T-shirt that moulded his body like a second skin.

      Okay, Rosie, she chastised herself, get a grip!

      She tossed her hair brush 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 for the great outdoors and a penchant for flying through the air on a zip wire. Even before he knew the results of Suki’s tests, he had stood loyally by her side and come up with a practical solution to absolve her of guilt.

      In a strange twist of fate, Matt had happened on one of the interests she had hoped to pursue in happier times before her childhood had imploded. Whilst she had loved her mother dearly, she had always been a Daddy’s Girl. She had not only shared her father’s passion for gardening, but also his obsession with detective novels, their favourites being the stories written by that grand dame of murder mysteries, Agatha Christie. She had read every one of her books before the age of fourteen and had loved discussing the twists and turns with him, 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 courtroom dramas, discovering John Grisham whose stories had sealed her dream to qualify as a lawyer. Sadly, she had been forced to shelve her best-laid plans in the face of overwhelming upheaval which had a detrimental effect on her exam results. Reading Law at university was no longer an option and she had been guided by a sympathetic personal tutor to her second passion, food, or more precisely, baking. In any case, passion or not, it was a talent she’d had no alternative but to hone if what was left of her devastated family were to eat.

      Now she couldn’t wait to take her place right there next to Matt, eager to ask questions, to weigh up the answers against the facts and discover the reasons why Suki became so ill so quickly. The irony was, at the moment, she seemed to be the suspect and not the protagonist sleuth! She would have given her 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 kitchen knives and rolling pin running through her mind. She rolled her eyes at her foolishness.

      ‘Hi, Matt. Come in.’

      ‘Actually, I thought you might want to take a walk over to Suki’s lodge. I’ve just seen Dr Bairstow’s Range Rover arrive in the car park. I think he’s got the results of her blood tests.’

      Rosie’s spirits took a nosedive and her stomach felt as though she had plunged from the top of a rollercoaster down to the bottom. Nevertheless, the sooner she knew what had caused Suki’s illness the better, even if she was to blame. She nodded and went to snatch her jacket from the coat stand, careful to lock the door behind her. As they made their way across the field to the lodges, apprehension clouded her thoughts and she struggled to make conversation but she knew Matt understood the reason for her silence.

      Matt’s rap on the door was answered by a white-faced William. Every eye in the room turned to see who had arrived, but no one objected to their presence. With tremendous effort, Rosie forced herself to ignore the nerves tingling at her fingertips and to concentrate on what the doctor was saying to Suki and Felix. If she was going to be leaving Willerby, then she needed to understand the reasons why.

      ‘So, the test results are conclusive – Suki was poisoned. However, it is extremely unlikely that the cause was linked to any of the food or drink served at the Windmill Café summer garden party.’

      It took a few moments for what Dr Bairstow had said to sink in. When it did, Rosie 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 more work than he had bargained for. Inevitably, the conclusion raised a disturbing question.

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

      ‘I’m sorry to say that it looks like that’s the case,’ said Dr Bairstow.

      The terror written across Suki’s expression turned Rosie’s stomach and for a brief moment she actually wanted the results of the test to have confirmed food poisoning. Whilst that conclusion would have been devastating for her, and for the future of the Windmill Café, these things happened in the catering industry. Yes, she would have lost her job, and Graham would have lost a great deal of money, but in all likelihood the business would probably have recovered from the ashes of its devastation. But now it looked like Matt’s suspicions had come to fruition. Someone had wanted to hurt Suki – or worse – and a slither of fear meandered down her 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. Suki, Jess, and Nadia 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. Felix stood next to the French doors leading to the veranda, his arms folded across his chest, staring out at the bucolic beauty of the Windmill Café’s grounds. He lit a cigarette and it seemed no one had the heart or the energy to challenge him.

      Rosie was glad she was holding Matt’s hand as question after question coiled through her brain as if on a ribbon of tickertape. What if they hadn’t found Suki when they did? How had the poison been administered? Who would do such a dreadful thing? And more to the point, why?

      ‘Dr Bairstow, I noticed you removed a champagne bottle from the lodge,’ said Matt, his voice sounding far too loud in the wood-panelled room. ‘I assume that’s because you believed it was the last thing Suki consumed and intended to check out the contents?’

      ‘I have had the bottle checked…’

      ‘Does that mean there was something in the champagne?’ interrupted Lucas, running his fingers through his quiff which, despite all the recent turmoil, remained fixed in place at his forehead. Rosie did notice, however, that his eyes were rimmed with red and his previous boyish energy had melted away.

      ‘So, does that mean that guy was poisoned too?’ asked Nadia, flicking her eyes at Suki.

      ‘What guy?’ demanded Felix, 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, Nadia? Suki? What’s she talking about?’

      Felix abandoned his place at the window and strode over to where