Downward Facing Death (18 page)

The glamorous daughter who was now glaring at Keeley, her anger banking its fires again.

“No, and you're not going to tell them, do you hear me?”

“Of course not.” Keeley felt offended. “I told Ben about the money only because, well, it looked suspicious.” She wasn't entirely convinced the other girl wasn't behind the letters either.

“Suspicious!” Raquel hissed. “Says you, turning up the day after he was killed, and in your shop. You're probably making it up about the letters to get some attention. I suppose it's the only way you can.” Raquel looked her up and down with a deliberately disdainful look. Keeley felt her own temper flare white-hot, remembering each and every one of Raquel's put-downs and malicious gibes over their formative years.

“How dare you!”

At that, Raquel stepped forward, closing the remaining gap between them, and pointed at Keeley.

“I had nothing to do with it, do you hear me? But if you tell anyone about this, I'll kill
you,
Keeley Carpenter.”

With that, Raquel spun on her heel and stormed out, her stilettos striking the stairs with even more force than they had coming up. After a pause, during which Keeley stared at the door after her, the workmen resumed their hammering and banging. She hoped they weren't local, or the truth about Raquel's impressive physique would be all round the town by teatime.

Keeley raised a hand to her head, let out a slow breath, and bent down to pick up her roller and resume her painting, trying to make sense of that strange interlude. The whole day was turning out to be the one of the most bizarre she had ever experienced, and that was saying something, given the events of the past two weeks.

Even so, alibi or no alibi, Keeley was far from convinced that Raquel should be ruled out as a suspect. Her threats certainly didn't feel idle.

*   *   *

A few hours later, her shoulders and arms in need of a good stretch after a morning's painting, Keeley once again braved the Tavern for a bite to eat. Although there were plenty of other, nicer places to eat along the High Street, she felt drawn to the Tavern, knowing her father used to drink there.

Thankfully, Jack was alone this time, apart from Bambi, who waved his tail and gave an enthusiastic woof when he saw Keeley walk in. Tom wasn't in his usual spot, the bar being attended by an older woman with meaty forearms who leaned over the counter, looking bored. The Glovers were nowhere to be seen, for which she gave a loud sigh of relief. Jack nodded at her, and remembering Diana Glover's words about Jack giving Ted a talking-to for being rude to Keeley, she gave him a warm smile.

“Do you want a drink, Jack?”

He looked pleased. “Aye, I'll have a whisky and Coke, duck.”

Keeley ordered their drinks from the sullen-looking barmaid and went to sit with Jack, scratching Bambi under the chin. The dog lolled his huge head to one side and looked at her through half-closed eyes with an expression of bliss. If only humans were so easily pleased.

“Everything going all right with the shop, then?”

“The café, yes.” Keeley couldn't help correcting him, now that her vision for the place was finally coming together. “The work should be done on it by early next week; I've got the kitchen fitters in today.”

Jack gave her a sage nod and took a slow drag on his pipe. It was hard to judge what Jack thought about anything, Keeley mused. Unless he chose to make his views plain, he was somewhat inscrutable. She got the impression that a lot more went on behind that closed countenance than people perhaps gave him credit for.

“It must be strange for you to see it being done up, after you worked there so long.” It often slipped her mind that Jack had taken on the butcher's business for a while after her father's death.

Jack just shrugged, obviously not in a nostalgic mood.

“Things change.” He took a long swig of his whisky. Keeley surveyed the menu and decided on the vegetable lasagna—the only vegetarian dish they offered. It had to be better than the sandwiches.

As she went back to the bar to place her order, the door to the Tavern swung open, letting some much-needed light and air into the dingy interior, and the mayor came in, a smile on his face that grew a little fixed as his eyes lingered on Keeley. Then he beamed and waved at her, as if only just remembering who she was. To her surprise, he pulled up a chair to sit with her and Jack, and the old man greeted him amiably. Keeley went back over and sat down, and Bambi looked at Gerald and gave a little growl low in his throat before edging closer to Keeley and putting his great head in her lap, looking at the mayor as if to warn him away. Keeley gave him a rub behind the ears, confused.

“The mayor here isn't a fan of dogs,” Jack said, “and Bambi picks up on it, you see. Dogs don't like it when they sense nerves.”

She wasn't the only one to think there was a nervous edge to the mayor, then, who was now dragging his seat farther round the table, putting more distance between himself and the dog.

“All ready for the food festival?” Jack asked. Keeley leaned forward, remembering Annie's advice. She had meant to find out today about booking a stall, but what with Megan's chanting and Raquel's confessions, it had completely slipped her mind.

The mayor was nodding, a touch of pride in his voice as he spoke. “Oh yes, most definitely. It will be up the High Street as usual, and as we've got extra stalls, there will be some in the community center also. We've got some extras too—workshops for the kiddies, that sort of thing.”

“Mr. Mayor?” Keeley cut in, feeling a little silly at her use of his role but feeling she should acknowledge it. “Is it you that's in charge of organization? Only I was wondering if it would be too late to get myself a stall.”

“What a lovely idea!” Gerald exclaimed after a moment's hesitation. “It's a little late to apply, but I do believe there are one or two spaces. It's organized by the local farmers and the church ladies mostly, but I'm sure I can pull a few strings to get you a spot. I'll do it this afternoon, in fact. And do call me Gerald.”

“Thank you.” It was a start, Keeley thought, to making the Yoga Café an integral part of the High Street. The people of Belfrey may take a while to accept outsiders, but she also knew that once you were “in,” you were “in.” She wondered if it wouldn't be too late to have a template of the shop sign made, just as a cardboard display for the stall. She would have to hope all her new utensils and pots and pans arrived on time too. Paper plates and cups would do for eating off, and they could always go into the recycling bin to save waste.

“What do you think, Jack?” she asked, turning to the older man, who was still puffing away silently on his pipe. “A vegetarian stall at the food festival.”

Jack gave one of his trademark shrugs.

“Hardly my sort of thing, lass. Some folks might like it, I suppose.”

Keeley felt deflated, but soldiered on. “I was speaking to Diana Glover on Saturday, she came to my yoga class. I was thinking I could have some eggs and milk off her to use in my dishes. It might appease Ted, anyway.”

Jack didn't answer, just puffed away on his pipe, looking deep in thought. Gerald, on the other hand, seemed to think it was a great idea, nodding at Keeley so hard, his extra chins wobbled.

“Yes, that's a fantastic idea. Community spirit, that's what the food festival is all about.”

“We could do with some of that,” Jack said, “after Terry going and getting himself killed.”

An odd choice of phrase, Keeley thought, as if Terry Smith had had a foolish accident, or was somehow implicit in his own murder.

“Well, let's not talk about that unpleasantness,” Gerald said quickly with a sidelong glance at Keeley. “I'm sure Miss Carpenter here has had quite enough.”

In a flash, Keeley recalled exactly where she had seen the gold button before. She had thought Gerald's manner, and his reaction to the murder, odd the first time she had met him, in Megan's shop.

When he had been wearing a cardigan with flashy gold buttons, exactly like the one she had found lodged in the wall above her café. Had one of them been missing? She tried to recall, her heart beating a tattoo in her chest, while she kept her face neutral, not wanting the mayor to sense there was anything amiss. Instead she gave Gerald a happy smile as though she were grateful for his apparent concern.

“I heard you were going on holiday not long after the Festival,” Jack said, changing the subject.

“Yes, to Australia to visit my brother and his wife for a few weeks. A holiday is long overdue, I'm afraid. I only hope Belfrey can tick along without me!” He gave an overloud laugh that neither Keeley nor Jack returned. Jack was tapping his pipe on the table, gazing at it intently.

“It's blocked,” he announced to no one in particular, then said, still glaring at his pipe, “That will cost you a pretty penny won't it, Gerald?”

Gerald looked less happy. Almost flustered, in fact.

“Very reasonable rates, actually. Very reasonable.” Gerald drank his pint in one long swallow and stood, smiling at both Keeley and Jack without looking directly at either of them.

“I must be off. See you soon, the two of you. Keeley, I'll let you know about the stall, splendid idea.” And he was gone. Keeley looked at Jack, who was puffing on his now unblocked pipe. The button felt as though it were burning a hole in her back pocket.

“That was a bit strange, don't you think?”

“What's that, lass?”

“The way he rushed off then. As soon as you mentioned his holiday.”

Jack sat back in his chair, eyeing Keeley as though he were weighing her up. Bambi gave her a palm a little lick, a seal of approval, Keeley thought, as Jack then leaned over the table and spoke in a quiet tone.

“He was in here a few weeks ago, had a bit too much to drink and was all but crying into his pint. A sorry sight, lass. Said he was in financial difficulties. Then he clammed up and rushed off. Just like then, in fact.”

Keeley mulled that over, along with her surprise that a usually stoic Jack had repeated that bit of information to her.

“He must be doing better now, then, if he's off to Australia. Or maybe you made him feel guilty about spending the money.”
Or maybe,
Keeley's newly awakened inner sleuth reared her head,
he's not planning on coming back.

Maybe he had a secret too. One more serious than a bit of cosmetic surgery. One that he had been paying to keep quiet—hence the financial difficulty. Pieces of information came together in Keeley's mind like a kaleidoscope, an image that would come into focus if she could just find the right way of looking at it. A little spark of excitement flared inside her, her curiosity sharpened. Gerald had cornered Terry and killed him in the flat—but why there? A thought struck her, one that would explain why her café had come into play at all. Perhaps Gerald had been planning some kind of secret liaison there, and Terry had followed him? Of course, that raised the possibility of another person who knew the truth about what had happened that night.

The author of the poison pen letters?

Keeley felt her mouth go dry with a mixture of excitement and fear. She felt sure she was on to something.

Debating whether she should attempt to question Gerald, she reflected that as she had already incurred the possibly murderous wrath of Raquel, she didn't need to go making an enemy of the mayor as well.

Plus, she had promised Ben.

Nevertheless, the little button nagged at her all the way home, and later that night when she took it out of her pocket and placed it on the dresser next to her bed, it seemed to wink at her in the lamplight, as though daring her to find out its secrets.

 

Chapter Twelve

Keeley didn't see Ben until the following night. After a long day of painting, not to mention her confrontation with Raquel, Keeley felt physically and mentally drained and slept like a baby for the first time in a long time, oblivious to any patrolling cars keeping a watchful eye. She had woken up feeling refreshed, threw herself into a rejuvenating yoga flow, and caught the bus to the café, where she spent another productive day. The upstairs apartment was nearly finished, the kitchen had been installed, and the decorators had begun downstairs. Watching her mental picture of her business emerge before her eyes made her feel almost maternal, as though she were watching the dream she had been incubating finally being birthed. She put all thoughts about Gerald and his mysterious money worries to one side and had thankfully had no more visits from Raquel. All in all, it had been a good day, and late evening found her curled up on the sofa in front of her favorite cookery program.

The sharp rap on the door made her look up, at first startled, then with annoyance as she realized it was indeed the knocker she had heard and not the rattle of the letterbox delivering another ominous missive.

When she opened the door and saw Ben, she wished she had stopped to check her hair or apply a little gloss. Dressed as he was in casual blue jeans and a long-sleeved tee, his hair slightly rumpled and with a five o'clock shadow, she couldn't deny how delicious he looked.

“Hey,” she said, feeling suddenly shy.

“Hey, yourself.” He looked awkward for a second before regaining his usual composure. “I just thought I would stop by in person tonight, to check on you. I know you were a bit shook up the other night.”

“I'm fine. Everything's been quiet ever since.”

“Good, I'm glad.”

They stood in silence for a moment, Keeley wondering whether she should invite him in, or if it would seem inappropriate now he was obviously off duty, before they both went to speak at once. Giving a little laugh, Ben waved his hand to indicate she should go first.

“I was just going to say that Raquel came to see me. She didn't look too happy.”