A cozy English village, a baking contest…and Murder!
I can remember a time when I baked for fun. I loved dreaming up new recipes, trying different combinations of flavors. Sharing my creations with friends and family.
Now? I have nightmares where the TV cameras are on me and I’m baking naked. Or I open my oven and my cake pans are empty. You don’t need to be Freud to figure out I’m freaking out. This week on The Great British Baking Contest could be my last. I am one bad bake away from being waved good-bye.
Sure, I’d get my weekends back, but I’d lose the excitement of being part of a popular reality show, of spending time with the other bakers who’ve become my friends, and, most important, of having time to snoop around Broomewode Hall for secrets about my origins.
When a heated argument breaks out in Broomewode village pub, I put it down to nerves. Until someone winds up dead.
How am I supposed to concentrate on European Bakes when I’m in the middle of a murder investigation?
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