Downward Facing Death (13 page)

It had occurred to her too, thinking about local dishes and appetites, that she was going to need a good selection of hearty dishes if she was going to tempt the locals in, especially the older residents of Belfrey such as Jack Tibbons, a pie-and-potatoes man if ever she saw one. Smoothies, wraps, and salads weren't going to cut it. But hearty stews with plenty of root vegetables, warming curries and casseroles, and traditional desserts, those might just do the trick. Although with it coming up to summer, she would need to think about lighter recipes too, perhaps some pasta dishes and omelets, and various summer fruit puddings. Perhaps she should have seasonal menus made up, rather than a standard “one size fits all.”

Thinking about food made her feel both happier and hungry, and she was soon humming to herself as she chopped an aubergine in preparation for one of her staple meals, vegetable moussaka. She would make a good amount, she thought, and then she could take some round to Annie to sample, and save some for Megan too.

The knocking at her door was so loud, Keeley nearly sliced through her own finger, instead just nicking it slightly so that a tiny bead of blood bubbled up. Pressing her finger to her lips and sucking on the wound, Keeley went to the front door, a little nervous. Whoever it was didn't sound happy. She opened it just a few inches, even though she immediately felt cross with herself for feeling so apprehensive. Whoever had written her that letter, no doubt this was exactly the feeling they wished to instill in her. In defiance of her own fear, she then flung the door open, causing the man who stood there to step back rather than have the oak door hit him in the face.

“Oh! Ben, I'm sorry.” Keeley felt a smile spring immediately to her face at the sight of him, before she arranged her face into one of wary curiosity, an image of Raquel fawning over him at Mario's coming unbidden to her mind. Even so, his unexpected visit made her hopeful.

“Have you found out anything about the café? Or the letter?” She stood away from the door as she spoke, motioning for him to come inside, but Ben shook his head and stayed where he was. Only then did Keeley notice how serious his face was, his mouth set in that grim line she recognized from her first day back in Belfrey. When he informed her that her café had so nearly been burned down. Keeley put a hand to her mouth.

“Has something else happened?”

“No,” he said, his voice curt, “but it will if you continue going around the town asking questions like you did today. What on earth did you think you were doing?” Although he didn't raise his voice, fury was coming off him in waves. Keeley felt shocked. Yesterday he had seemed so attentive, had relaxed in her company for the first time, and now he was ruder than ever.

“I don't know what you mean,” she said, although of course, that wasn't strictly true. “I did talk to a few people about the man who was killed, but I don't see how it could cause any harm.”

“Don't you.” The way he said it, it was more a statement than a question, and so Keeley made no answer, but folded her arms and waited for him to speak.

“It could cause plenty of harm, Keeley, in fact, you could seriously impede an ongoing murder investigation, not to mention ruffle feathers in the community you claim you want to settle into. Like I said—and I would appreciate an answer—what on earth did you think you were doing?”

Chastened but also angry, Keeley wrapped her arms tighter around herself; whether to ward him off or contain her own hurt at his manner toward her, she wasn't sure.

“I was curious. The man was killed at my shop, the same one someone tried to burn down, possibly the same someone who sent me that letter. Are you so surprised that I would want to know more about him?”

“No. But I would have thought your safety came before your curiosity. I don't remember you being foolish, Keeley.”

No,
thought Keeley,
you barely remember me at all.
And how dare he call her foolish? “If I'm in danger,” she pointed out, trying to keep her voice level, though she was gritting her teeth at his words, “then that's already true. I don't see how a natural curiosity about things makes it any more acute.”

Ben made a sound that was almost a snort. His derision was evident.

“Natural curiosity? Is that what you call it? You practically accused Raquel of being the culprit.”

“I did no such thing,” Keeley snapped, praying she wasn't blushing, because this was exactly what she suspected had happened. Then the implication of his words washed over her. It was Raquel who had complained to him, who else? Reinforcing her hints that she and Ben were close, or at least friendly. Why else would she raise it with the local detective, who might otherwise think it suspicious? Keeley glared at Ben, angry that he either couldn't or didn't want to see Raquel's obvious manipulation.

“That's not the way I heard it. And I'd appreciate it if it didn't happen again.”

His words were clipped and measured, dropping between them like stones, and Keeley sighed. It probably wasn't a good idea to mention her theories about multiple culprits, or that she thought the town mayor himself had something to hide. As for the money Tom had seen changing hands, if Ben was so friendly with Raquel, he could find out for himself, she thought with more than a touch of spite.

“Duly noted, Detective Constable,” she said with no small touch of sarcasm, “I see freedom of speech is alive and well in Belfrey.”

Ben shook his head at her in seeming exasperation, the way someone might to a disobedient child.

“Just concentrate on doing your own job, Keeley, haven't you got enough to worry about? And let me do mine.”

Keeley nodded, just once, unwilling to show that she indeed felt like a naughty child caught in the act. Her indignation slipped away as quick as it had come, leaving her feeling contrite. It must be difficult enough for him and his colleagues without her blundering around, making things worse. She wanted to say sorry, but Ben had already turned away. He got into his car and drove off without looking at her again, and Keeley went back into her house, shoulders drooping, still unsure whether she should feel angry or remorseful. She went back into the kitchen and picked the knife back up only to find her finger was still bleeding. Looking down, she saw she had smeared her top with blood where she had folded her arms. The sight of it made her think both of Terry Smith and her father with his carcasses, and she swept the food off the counter, her appetite having wholly disappeared.

 

Chapter Nine

Belfrey Leisure Center was both bigger and better equipped than Keeley had been expecting. It was a thoroughly modern building, with a plush reception dotted with palm trees and relaxing Muzak filtered through that didn't disguise the whirr of exercise machines in the adjacent gymnasium. A pretty receptionist of indeterminate age greeted Keeley and handed her the relevant paperwork to sign. Keeley would hire the room for a fixed fee and keep the individual payments from those who attended. As she was taking over someone else's class, she didn't have to worry about finding participants, only keeping them.

The receptionist showed her to a small studio with the typical mirrored walls and air-conditioning that was too cold for comfort.

“Could I have the temperature up?” Keeley was sure her tone had been nothing but polite, yet the girl pouted at her as if she had demanded something outrageous, and walked off with a curl of her heavily glossed lips that didn't really answer the request one way or the other. Keeley was about to go after her, to explain that a cold room was hardly conducive to helping the muscles and joints warm up, and she wasn't teaching such a strenuous class that her clients would be glad of the chill. A man's laugh rang out, then said something she didn't catch, but was still loud enough that she recognized Duane. Not quite ready to face him after dismissing him the other night, she stayed in the room, turning her back to the doorway and making a fuss of arranging her yoga mat.

By the time she looked up, three ladies had come into the room and were hovering at the back of the class. Smiling, Keeley straightened up and went over to introduce herself, taking a note of their names and any ailments or injuries she needed to know about, as well as collecting her fee. Keeley had always felt uncomfortable asking for the money, something she knew she needed to get over pretty quick if she was going to make a success of things. Back in Manhattan, she had had little choice but to charge exorbitant prices, but had made herself feel better about the commercialization of the practice by teaching a free class every Saturday at a youth center downtown. It had touched her the way the teenagers, typically disaffected, had seemed so grateful for her time. She had always been “too soft” according to Darla, “just like your father.” Indeed, George Carpenter had been known for his generosity, for extending credit to his poorer customers and slipping an extra sausage or dollop of mince to a mother with more mouths to feed than she could cope with. Keeley thought that was something to be proud of.

More women trickled in, mostly middle-aged or over, but none she recognized, although one thin, birdlike woman with thinning dark hair looked familiar. After going through her introductions, it was time to begin. Keeley was on her yoga mat facing the class when one last woman came rushing in, with a loud apology and a beaming smile. When she saw it was Maggie, the local gossip who had tried to question her at the inn along with her friend, Keeley's smile wavered. She hoped the woman wasn't about to continue her line of questioning.

“Keeley, dear! How are you?” Maggie cooed. Keeley gave her a brief smile and waved toward the pile of mats.

“You're only just in time, Maggie. Grab a mat; we're about to start.” Maggie's face fell, her beady little eyes looking mean without that wide smile, but she did as she was asked without trying to start a conversation, for which Keeley was grateful. Small mercies, and all that. She turned to face the class, who were watching her with expectant faces, and took a deep breath.

“Okay, ladies. If you can stand tall, with your feet hip-width apart, and raise your arms over your head like this.…”

Keeley led the women—and it was all women, she noticed, not one man had attended, although the class was open to all—through a set of modified Sun Salutations as a warm-up. Sun Salutations were a series of linked poses, with the movement linked to the breath, which warmed up the body and were designed to complement any form of yoga practice, from the slowest and most relaxing to the most challenging. After the third round, she taught the class a form of breathing that also linked with the movement, and made a slight whooshing sound on the exhale. By the time they were on their ninth Sun Salutation, the class was moving and breathing in unison, the sound of their breath like the roar of the ocean, but coming from a distance. Like when you go on holiday and you first hear the sea, usually right after you taste its tang on the air. Even Maggie was joining in wholeheartedly, and Keeley allowed herself a bubble of pride that rose up in her stomach and bobbed in her throat. She had missed this.

As she took the class through a series of simple standing postures, then down on the mat for more reclining stretches, she moved around the class, helping each woman individually. Learning who had a stiffness in the hips or a tight shoulder, who got short of breath easily or found it hard to slow down. Keeley thought back to Ben's words the previous night.
You do your job.
This was her job, or one of them, and she felt like she was somewhere she belonged for the first time since she had set foot in Belfrey and been confronted with the horrible news.

As the class wound down, finishing with some abdominal work and rejuvenating poses, Keeley was feeling as serene as a goddess. Even without the smiles and praise of the class, she knew it had gone well. She was feeling so much happier that even when Maggie approached as she was rolling up her mat, Keeley gave her a genuine grin.

“That was wonderful,” Maggie enthused. “I can't wait until next week.”

“Thank you. Me neither.” Behind Maggie, she noticed that the wiry little woman who had seemed familiar was hovering, rubbing her hands together in a nervous gesture.

“Can I help? Diana, isn't it?”

Diana nodded, and without taking her eyes from Keeley's, her head gave an almost imperceptible jerk toward Maggie. Obviously, she didn't want to talk in front of her. Maggie, however, clearly wasn't ready to leave now that she had Keeley alone.

“So how is everything? Has there been any word on the murder yet? Surely they must know something by now?” Presumably, “they” indicated Ben and his colleagues at Amber Valley Police Department. Keeley saw Diana turn her gaze to Maggie, curious now, and immediately felt irritated. Now no doubt the whole class would soon know who their new yoga instructor was, and the little haven she had just found would be well and truly interrupted.

“Not as far as I know,” Keeley said, her voice cool, hoping that Maggie would get the hint. She saw that predatory gleam in the woman's eyes again and for an uncomfortable moment wondered if that was how she had appeared to Raquel the day beforehand. She hoped not.

“To be honest, Maggie,” she said, deciding the best course of action was to be blunt, “I'd rather not talk about it.” The woman looked annoyed, though her voice was honey-lined with contrition.

“Of course you don't, you poor dear. Are you finding it awfully hard to cope?” Maggie's words dripped sympathy. Laced with arsenic. For now, no doubt all of Belfrey would soon be hearing that the killing had rendered her a nervous wreck.

“I'm fine, Maggie, honestly. I'll look forward to seeing you next week.” She gave the woman a smile as insincere as her own, relieved when she gave a soft little snort and turned away, knowing when she was being dismissed.
I'll pay for that,
Keeley thought. But at least she was gone for now. She turned her attention back to Diana, who looked at the door Maggie had just left by and shook her head.