Downward Facing Death (14 page)

“Dreadful woman, isn't she? You're right not to tell that one anything.”

“There's nothing to tell,” Keeley mumbled, aware she was being less than honest, and having never been a comfortable liar.

“Anyway, I wasn't sure it was the same Keeley, but Maggie just confirmed it, so that's something, I suppose. I wanted to apologize for my husband?”

“Your husband?” Keeley echoed her words, confused.

“Yes, I understand he was quite rude to you in the Tavern yesterday? I heard Jack giving him a bit of gip about it this morning. Very fond of your father, Jack was.”

Clarity dawned. Her husband must be one of the Glover brothers. Ted, most likely, as he had been more openly hostile than the other. Keeley felt sorry for Diana even though, for all she knew, Ted Glover could be a pussycat behind closed doors. Looking at the woman, though, who even after an hour of yoga had a twitchy, anxious air about her, Keeley doubted it.

“Oh, don't worry, it's not your fault, and I suppose I should have expected a few raised eyebrows.” Keeley downplayed the fact that Mr. Glover seemed convinced she was solely responsible for the difficulties the farming industry had faced in the past few years. As if she were setting up shop on purpose to annoy him. Some people were like that, she knew from experience, in thinking that everything was a personal slight, from economic recession to inopportune weather.

“Well, as long as he didn't upset you. He doesn't mean it, you know, he's just quick to anger, and the farm's not doing so well as it has been. He doesn't mean it,” she said again, and her hand twitched up near her face as though to ward off a blow. Seeing the movement, Keeley felt sick, and reached out a hand to the woman before realizing what she was doing. Diana stepped back, hoisting her gym bag up onto her shoulder to create a barrier between them and hurrying off with a mumbled good-bye and her eyes averted. Keeley watched her go, resisting the urge to call her back and offer her some words of comfort. There was nothing she could say, and there might not be any need to say anything at all, but that involuntary movement had instinctively struck her as the sign of a woman who was scared of her husband.

Keeley was engrossed in thought as she walked back to the reception, and so nearly jumped out of her skin when she heard a male voice close behind her.

“So how did it go?”

Duane. Keeley turned to find him so close, she nearly bumped into him. He had crept up on her like a cat. Flustered, she stepped back, then blinked to see him half naked, clad in only a tiny pair of Lycra underpants, his perfectly honed torso on show. Surely he didn't teach his gym classes like that? The housewives of Belfrey would have heart attacks on the spot.

“I'm on break, I was just having a sunbed,” he explained with a slow smile that indicated he took Keeley's appraisal as evidence that she liked what she saw.

“I see. Yes, it went really well. I'm really grateful to you for getting me this opportunity.” Which was true, Keeley thought, aware that by avoiding him, she may well have seemed ungrateful.

“Thankful enough to let me take you to dinner?” He flashed his perfect white teeth at her in a smile that struck her as rather sharklike. Keeley hesitated, unsure what to say. She
was
grateful, and a little guilty she hadn't expressed that sooner, and she didn't want to offend him. Not just for altruistic reasons either, but also because he had been her link to getting classes at the center and she didn't want to jeopardize that relationship. Neither did she want to lead him on or give him the wrong idea.

“That would be lovely, and Megan too? I'm so glad we've become friends.” That, she thought, should do the trick, and judging by the way Duane's smile dimmed and then became even brighter like a lightbulb flickering, he had taken her point. Friends only.

“Sure, sounds great. Well, I'd better be off before I waste precious tanning time,” he said, and walked off with a slightly effeminate sway that had Keeley suppressing a giggle as she made her own way out into the sunshine. The warmth on her skin brought back all the good feelings of the class, including optimism about her success here. Picking up some more classes and becoming known to the regulars at the leisure center would be a great way of finding customers for the café, not least because her emphasis on a healthy lifestyle would by default appeal to those who regularly attended classes.

There was also no denying that the morning had given her plenty to mull over in light of recent events. Ben's warning to stay out of the investigation had both frightened and annoyed her, and she had taken his comments to heart, but it had only briefly dampened her curiosity. As Ben had pointed out, the café should be her main concern, but it was precisely because it was her main concern that she wanted the murderer caught. If, as Ben suggested, the attack was in some way related to a personal grudge against her, then couldn't he see that she was naturally invested in the outcome of the murder investigation? For the first time, she acknowledged her anger toward whoever had done this: murdered a man, set fire to not just business premises but also her family business, and then possibly carried on by taunting her with that letter. She had every right to ask questions, she thought in annoyance. Particularly when Ben himself wasn't giving her any answers.

There was also the matter of the information about Raquel giving Terry money. That was vital information, and she really should have shared it, assuming, of course, that the police didn't already know. But she had held it back, partly out of spite because Ben seemed to have more than a professional interest in Raquel. For all she knew, Ben might even attempt to cover up for the owner of the diner, although that didn't feel right to her; she got the impression Ben was fundamentally honest, even brutally so, where his job was concerned.

Then there was the mayor's strange reaction to the mention of Terry Smith, and Ted Glover's hostility toward her. Not to mention the reaction of his wife. If he truly was a violent man, then bopping Terry Smith over the head with something wouldn't be so out of character. These were only impressions, however, feelings that may well be wrong, and no doubt Ben would just think she was being fanciful. The information about Raquel, though—that was different. Hadn't Ben said most crimes were money related, in the end?

Money related. That brought her back to her theory that Terry may have been blackmailing Raquel. Given the unsavory opinions she had heard about the deceased, the idea of him blackmailing the diner's owner over some grubby little secret seemed in keeping with his character. She wondered if she should mention her theory to Ben, then thought that the possibility of blackmail had most likely already occurred to him. But he might not know about Raquel, and the money she had given Terry. Whatever her feelings toward Ben and Raquel or the possibility that indeed there was a
Ben and Raquel,
it was information she had a duty to share. She rummaged in her bag for her phone and tried to call Ben, but there was no answer. When his deep voice came on, asking her to leave a message, she found herself tongue-tied, cutting off the call rather than speaking. She would ring him later.

Instead, she went home and took her moussaka from the fridge, ready to take round to her landlady's. Annie had been kind to her, and she wanted an opinion on her cooking. After Ben's visit, she had finally resumed her cooking, but neither her heart nor stomach was in it, and so the moussaka remained uneaten.

Annie lived farther up the hill than she had realized, and by the time she knocked her door, her hamstrings and calves were aching. The other woman's plump, friendly face was a welcome sight. She sat down gratefully in Annie's small kitchen while her landlady cooed delightedly over the moussaka and poured Keeley a cup of freshly brewed tea. Although she usually went for herbal, today she thought a cup of strong English breakfast with its kick of caffeine was just what she needed. She looked around the room, noticing a large, framed picture of a man who must be Annie's late husband hanging above the mantelpiece. He looked oddly familiar, but then, so did many of the residents in Belfrey. Strange, how she had grown up around these people yet they still felt like strangers on her return.

“This smells divine,” Annie said as she dished up them each a plate of moussaka after quickly warming it up. It did smell good, Keeley had to admit, as the aroma drifted through the kitchenette. Annie's house was a small stone bungalow with just three rooms. Picturesque but tiny.

“Didn't you ever want to stay on at Rose Cottage?” Keeley wondered. Annie shook her head sadly.

“Not after my husband's death. We lived there not long after we married, you see, before we moved to one of the bigger houses near the Water Gardens. Then afterwards, well, it was the memories, you know. Plus it's a steady income and too big for a woman on her own.”

“I'm a woman on my own,” Keeley pointed out. Annie gave her a merry wink that made Keeley laugh, then blush as her landlady said, “But perhaps not for too long? You're a young woman; who knows but you could end up with a young man taking up some of the space.”

“I doubt it,” Keeley muttered. It had been a while since she had had a relationship with any man. She had thrown herself into work in New York, and although she had dated a little, she had used the excuse of being too busy to ever get into anything serious.

“First love, was it?” Annie asked, her face creased with sympathy. Keeley looked at her, startled.

“The way you said that, I'm guessing there's a bit of heartbreak there?” Annie patted her hand across the table. “Men can be fickle, especially when they're young.”

Keeley looked away. That first heartbreak was something she would rather not think about now; it made her feel young and gullible. Although in a way, she supposed it had made her who she was now, having gone traveling initially as a way to escape the pain. She said as much to Annie, and the woman nodded.

“God works in mysterious ways,” she said, the well-worn saying sounding somehow more profound the way she voiced it.

“My mother always said we make our own future.”

“That too.”

They dug into Keeley's moussaka in comfortable silence, Keeley feeling at peace in the little house. Rose Cottage had much the same atmosphere, which must emanate from Annie herself. Or at least it had until her own arrival. She debated whether to tell her landlady about the poison pen letter, but didn't want to worry her. She hoped that her theory that the author of the letter and the murderer were the same person wasn't accurate. A mean-spirited local resident she could handle; a murderer was a whole different proposition. Instead she told Annie about her run-in with the Glovers, and the way Ted's wife had flinched when talking about her husband's temper. Annie pursed her lips together, looking disapproving.

“I've often wondered about that man. He was a thug, you know, in his youth. Don't expect he's changed much now either. God only knows what poor Diana puts up with behind closed doors. I wouldn't take his comments to heart, dear, you were most likely the first person he saw that was an easy target for his temper.”

Keeley smiled, though she didn't find Annie's words all that comforting. She didn't want to be seen as an “easy target,” not after all the years of learning to be more confident and at peace with herself, taking her destiny—not to mention her body—in her own hands. She had thought Lardypants Carpenter dead and buried. Keeley pushed her moussaka away in a wave of self-pity, then looked up to see Annie, eyeing her astutely.

“Not been the easiest homecoming for you, has it, duck?”

“I just thought it would be more … seamless. But then, I don't suppose anyone expects a murder. It's almost like a bad omen.”

The sun dipped behind a cloud as she spoke, causing the stone walls to seem suddenly closer and darker. Keeley shook her head angrily at her own fanciful images. She was seeing shadows everywhere.

“Well, it's not the usual run of things, I admit, but you shouldn't let it overshadow your plans. Have you thought of taking part in the food festival? That might help you establish yourself as part of the local community, and get some promotion for your café. Why, you'll be opening just a few days later, won't you?”

That was, Keeley thought, such a good idea, she wondered why it didn't occur to her the day before, when it had first been mentioned. But no, she knew why. The Belfrey Food Festival showcased traditional foods from the region, and although she had been gone ten years, she couldn't imagine it would have evolved to cover vegetarian and yoga-inspired foods in the meantime.

“Nonsense,” Annie said briskly, “there were all sorts of things there last year, including a massive Polish stall and even a workshop for making your own sushi. Granted, it's still mostly pies and cheeses, but serve up good hearty food like this here—” she motioned to her now empty plate of moussaka, “—and you can't go far wrong.”

Keeley looked out the window, mulling over the idea. The sun was shining again, and she saw the tail of a rabbit flicker for a second in the undergrowth. Rabbits were lucky, weren't they? It could work, she thought, especially if she used some local produce in her recipes. Why hadn't she thought of that before? Even the Glovers couldn't complain if she offered to use their eggs and dairy in her food. It could even be a regular thing. It wouldn't be cost-effective to use only produce she could buy from local farmers, but she could perhaps offer “specials” or breakfast omelets made with local organic milk and eggs that she could collect herself in the morning. In that way, the café could become a vital part of local trade. Musing over the possibilities, Keeley could feel herself getting excited, and she got up and gave Annie an impulsive hug, causing the older woman to turn pink in pleased embarrassment. She said her good-byes and hurried down the hill to Rose Cottage, fizzing with the excitement of new ideas.