Image description: The YeastEnders village of Walnutford, with baked-goods characters gathered in Almond Square outside The Queen Victoria Sponge.
Dotty Crumble’s suitcase was still sitting beside the door of The Queen Victoria Sponge.
Dot Crumble was staring at her granddaughter.
Dotty was staring at the floor.
Peggy Cherry Bakewell was staring at both of them.
Pat Bap was eating a biscuit.
“Well?” said Dot.
Dotty looked up.
“Can we talk somewhere private?”
Pat stopped chewing.
Peggy looked offended.
“This is a pub. Nothing’s private.”
“Especially with her here,” said Dot, nodding towards Pat.
Pat swallowed.
“I can keep a secret.”
Dot raised an eyebrow.
“Since when?”
Before Pat could answer, the pub door opened.
Rye-vita walked in.
There was mud on her shoes and flour on the sleeve of her crumb-dusted coat.
Peggy immediately stepped out from behind the bar.
“You.”
Rye-vita stopped.
“Me.”
“I’ve got a question.”
“I suspected you might.”
“Are you a council food inspector?”
Rye-vita glanced at Pat Bap.
Pat smiled and waved.
“Hello.”
Rye-vita sighed.
“No.”
Peggy’s cherry nearly lifted off her head.
“I knew it!”
“Course you did,” said Dot.
Phil the Pudding appeared from the kitchen.
“What’s going on?”
“She’s not a food inspector.”
“I am an inspector,” said Rye-vita. “Just not the sort you thought.”
Peggy folded her arms.
“Start talking.”
Rye-vita looked around the pub.
“Perhaps we should do this somewhere quieter.”
Dot nodded towards Peggy.
“Good luck with that.”
Rye-vita removed the scrap of paper she’d found at the old flour mill and placed it on the bar.
“I work privately. Businesses, suppliers, insurers, occasionally local authorities. They call me when something doesn’t add up.”
Peggy looked at the dark mark stamped onto the paper.
“And what’s not adding up in Walnutford?”
“Deliveries.”
Rye-vita opened her crumb notebook.
“For several months, I’ve been following unusual flour shipments. Different towns, different businesses, different names on the paperwork. But the same mark keeps appearing.”
Phil leaned closer.
“The one on those sacks?”
“Yes.”
Peggy glanced towards the mysterious flour sacks.
“So why come here pretending to inspect my pub?”
“Because I didn’t know who I could trust.”
Peggy looked outraged.
“You thought it might be me?”
“I considered everyone.”
“Charming.”
“I’ve stayed alive by being suspicious.”
Dot nodded approvingly.
“Finally, someone sensible.”
Rye-vita continued.
“The trail went quiet two weeks ago. Then I heard about trouble in Walnutford. Arguments between businesses, damaged property, unusual deliveries.”
Peggy frowned.
“That could describe most Tuesdays.”
“Exactly.”
Pat Bap leaned across the bar.
“So what did you find at the mill?”
“Fresh tyre tracks. Recently used storage space. Torn sacks carrying the same mark.”
Rye-vita tapped the scrap of paper.
“Whatever I’ve been following has reached Walnutford.”
The pub fell quiet.
Then Dotty spoke.
“Gran?”
Dot turned.
Dotty’s face had changed.
“What is it, love?”
“I think I need to tell you why I’m here.”
Dot took her granddaughter’s hand.
“Go on.”
Dotty swallowed.
“It’s Dad.”
Dot’s expression hardened.
“What about him?”
“He’s back.”
For the first time all morning, Dot Crumble said nothing.
Peggy looked between them.
“Who’s her dad?”
Dot sighed.
“Sticky Nick.”
Rye-vita’s head snapped around.
“What did you say?”
Dot looked at her.
“Sticky Nick. My son.”
Phil blinked.
“Sticky Nick is your son?”
Dot gave him a look.
“I do have a life outside this pub, Phil.”
Dotty gripped the handle of her suitcase.
“I haven’t seen Dad properly for ages. Then three nights ago he turned up.”
“Where?” asked Dot.
“At my flat.”
“What did he want?”
“He wouldn’t say. He just kept asking questions.”
Rye-vita stepped closer.
“What sort of questions?”
“About Walnutford. About the Queen Vic. About Gran.”
Dot’s face tightened.
Dotty continued.
“Then yesterday I found him going through my things. When I asked what he was looking for, he told me to stay out of it.”
Peggy frowned.
“So you came here?”
Dotty nodded.
“I didn’t know where else to go.”
Dot squeezed her hand.
“You did right.”
Rye-vita was already flicking through her crumb notebook.
Peggy noticed.
“What?”
Rye-vita didn’t answer.
“Rye-vita.”
She stopped at a page.
There, among a collection of names and notes, was one entry heavily circled.
Peggy leaned forward.
“You know him.”
Rye-vita slowly closed the notebook.
“I know the name.”
Dot stood.
“From where?”
Rye-vita looked at the mysterious flour sacks.
Then at Dotty.
Then at Dot.
“Sticky Nick’s name came up twice during my investigation.”
Dot’s voice became very quiet.
“Doing what?”
“I don’t know yet.”
Peggy put both hands on the bar.
“But you think he’s involved.”
Rye-vita hesitated.
“I think we’ve got a problem.”
Outside, rain began to fall across Almond Square.
Dot pulled Dotty closer.
And somewhere beyond Crumble Lane, beside the abandoned flour mill, a shadowy figure stepped from behind the old storage building.
He watched Walnutford in the distance.
Then he smiled.