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

just closed around the handle and I’m congratulating myself on escaping when I hear a male voice shout out behind me.
    “Lizzie! Is that you?”
    Double sugar! I don’t turn around. Instead, I ignore his yells to stop and push open the door, making a break for it. I know how persistent Adam can be when he wants something. What do I do now, though? I can’t go to Jack’s car; it would be too visible. If I duck into a nearby shop, I know Adam will check each one of them until he finds me. I spot a traditional London black cab just dropping off a fare at the curb a few feet away. Its engine rattles noisily as the passenger and driver sort out payment. I dash over and gratefully dive inside, slamming the door behind me. The taxi is pristine inside and smells, for some reason, of furniture polish.
    “Where to?” the driver, a man with a bald head and a beard, demands rather brusquely. “I was about to take a break, but I’ll never refuse a fare.”
    “To the end of the road,” I say.
    He glares at me via the driver’s mirror. “You what? You having a laugh, love?”
    “No.” I beam him what I hope is my most persuasive smile. “I just needed to get away from my ex, and getting in a cab seemed the only way to do it.” I shrug apologetically.
    He tuts, sighs and drives off, pulling the car over a few moments later when we reach the end of the street. According to the meter, the fare is one pound and ten pence. Over a pound just to go down the street? Seriously? I’d forgotten how expensive London cabs are. No matter, I push a ten pound note into his hands and tell him to keep the change. As the taxi roars away, I lurk behind a parked car to make sure I can’t see Adam anywhere. The coast seems to be clear. If he is investigating Cherry’s story though, does that mean there’s a very real chance he could turn up in Cumbria? I sincerely hope not. I’m fumbling for my phone in my bag to try and call Jack, worried about where he’s got to, when a hand claps down on my shoulder.

CHAPTER SIX
    “What were you doing in a taxi?” Jack asks, furrowing his brow.
    Now how do I answer that? I don’t want to tell him about just seeing Adam. “I was looking for you?” I reply, aware my tone is half-questioning, rather than an answer. “I thought you’d gone off after Terry so I hopped in a taxi to look for you.”
    “But you got out of the car and didn’t know I was here,” he reasons.
    True. Can I not get away with anything?
    There’s a snack shop behind him and, with an anxious glance down the street to make sure Adam isn’t heading in our direction, I try to distract Jack by pushing him into the store. “Let’s go in here and grab a sandwich. I’m starving.”
    I continue my distraction attempts by reading aloud every detail of the sandwiches listed on the blackboard behind the counter, and then debating the merits of each one.
    “You’re behaving very strangely,” he says, arms folded, as we wait in the queue.
    “Blame it on London and wedding organisational stress combined,” I say as I try to decide between a red cabbage and brie salad panini and a roasted Mediterranean ciabatta.
    “London, OK, I can understand that, with this being your first time here after what happened. But the wedding—we haven’t even got into any serious planning yet.”
    Thankfully, we reach the counter at that point and place our orders. With any luck, by the time we’ve finished these, Jack will have forgotten about my little impromptu cab ride. Fingers crossed.
    Back outside again, purchases in hand, Jack asks, “Shall we eat in the park?” He points to an open gate in some black railing.
    No, I don’t want to sit around in a London park. What I want, even more after seeing Adam in The Pear, is to do what we need to for this investigation and get out of here.
    “No, too cold. Let’s just eat in the car instead. But let’s move the car somewhere more scenic first,” I say, slamming the passenger door shut with