Downward Facing Death (19 page)

“She wasn't too happy with me when I questioned her either,” Ben said with a grin. “She called me some very rude names, in fact.”

“So you don't think it's her, then?”

“I wouldn't rule her out on the letters, no. I'm sure you won't be surprised to hear that no fingerprints came back. But hopefully, if it was her, then being caught out will be enough to warn her off.”

Or hate me even more,
Keeley thought.

“Did she tell you why she was giving Terry money?”

Ben nodded, and as they caught each other's eyes, they laughed simultaneously.

“I can't believe she thinks no one knows. I would have thought it was obvious.” Ben said.

“Well, I didn't realize, and I'm a girl,” Keeley pointed out. Ben looked thoughtful, and not wanting him to be considering Raquel's breasts any more than he had to, she heard herself add, “Do you want to come in? I was just putting the kettle on.” She winced at the white lie. Ben gave her a wide smile and stepped inside, shutting the door after him. Acutely aware of his close proximity in the small porch, Keeley felt her body temperature rack up a notch or two and hurried into kitchen. She expected Ben to sit down in the lounge, but instead he followed her through, looking round with approval at her cottage. It was a traditional kitchen, with stone floors and big windows that let in a great deal of light, wooden beams overhead and another open hearth with a small log burner.

“That will come in handy in the winter,” Ben said. “They get cold, these old cottages. Very beautiful. Those flowers need watering,” he added. Indeed, the glorious bouquet Annie had left her was looking rather wilted. She added a little water into the heavy vase before getting on with making the tea, but reflected they would most likely be dead in a day or two.

“I'll have to replace them. Annie gave me them when I moved in, and the vase. She's been very kind.”

“Yes,” Ben smiled. “She's a nice woman. I always got on very well with Donald too. She was absolutely distraught when he died, poor woman.”

“What happened?”

“Had a sudden stroke. Completely unexpected, he was as fit as a fiddle. A bit like your—” He stopped abruptly, his eyes widening as he realized what he was about to say.

“It's okay.” Keeley gave a small shrug in spite of the wave of sadness that washed over her, “One nice thing about being back is hearing people talk about him.”

“Doesn't your mother ever talk about him? I suppose we all handle grief differently.”

Keeley shook her head cynically. “I don't think my mother has enough emotional depth for grief.”
In fact,
Keeley thought,
I don't think I've seen her cry once.

She carried the cups through and sat on the rug in front of the sofa, feeling as if she shouldn't sit too close to Ben. She had spent the last two days with his words chiming in her head, filling her with a strange, fluttery sort of hope, but now that he was here, she was beginning to feel like that shy schoolgirl again. Ben took his cup from her and sat down, not on the farthest side of the sofa as she expected him to, but the one nearest to her, so that she was effectively sitting at his feet. That wasn't right either, but she would look a little strange if she now got back up and sat next to him, so instead she scooted a little nearer the hearth on the pretext of placing her cup there. Another awkward silence descended.

“I saw Gerald in the Tavern today,” she said, searching for something to say. She was about to tell him of her plans for the food festival, when Ben put his cup down and looked at her, his face serious.

“I hope you haven't been asking questions again?”

“No, of course not. I said I wouldn't, didn't I?” She had been going to tell him about Jack's comment regarding the mayor's finances, along with her discovery of the button, but seeing that grim look on Ben's face decided Keeley against it. He would never believe she hadn't deliberately tried to uncover the information, and until she could definitely connect the button to the mayor, she had little concrete evidence to go on. Instead she told him briefly about the stall, and then lapsed again into quiet. What she really wanted to know was the details of this “crush,” she thought, but was far too embarrassed to bring it up and make it obvious his words had made an impression.

In the end, it was Ben who both broke the silence and brought up that very subject.

“About what I said the other night—I hope I didn't offend you?”

Keeley felt her heart rate increase, beating a tattoo in her chest. She shook her head. “When you mocked my attempt at sleuthing?” she asked with a laugh, although she knew exactly what he was referring to and felt her mouth go dry.

“No, the bit about my crush on you at school.”

Keeley felt her cheeks catch fire and turned her face slightly, her hair falling forward in an attempt to cover it.

“Of course not. I was quite flattered, really.”

“It's just that you seemed to want to end the conversation all of a sudden.”

Keeley thought back to that moment.

“Not because of you. We were talking about past relationships, and it's a bit of a sore subject, I suppose.”

“Because of the guy who cheated on you?”

Keeley nodded, her face flaming again. Although she was coming to appreciate Ben's directness, apart from when he was accusing her of something, it could be a little disconcerting, to say the least.

“It was a long time ago,” she said, aiming for nonchalance.

“Still hurts, though, right?” When Keeley didn't answer, he added, “Tell me to be quiet if you want, I don't want you to think I'm interrogating you. You're just so, I don't know, intriguing. Elusive.”

Ben thought she was intriguing? Keeley pushed down the little jump of excitement in her belly.

“I was so gullible, really,” she began, feeling now that she wanted to talk, wanted to share something of herself with him. “I was eighteen, had never really had a proper boyfriend, and he came along and said all the right things. He was older than me, very handsome, and we were engaged within a year. I thought I had the fairy tale—even my mother was pleased.” And had made no secret of the fact that she was thoroughly disappointed in her daughter when she had failed to keep such a prize catch, she thought to herself with a touch of long-buried bitterness.

“Then he cheated on you.” Ben made it a statement, not a question. He shook his head, looking almost angry. “What an idiot.”

“I think he probably always was,” Keeley admitted, feeling the sting of betrayal even after so long, “and I just didn't want to see it. I was so grateful he even wanted to be with me.” Ben tutted in annoyance at her statement, but didn't say anything. Keeley sighed, wincing as she thought back to how weak and insecure she had been.

“It toughened me up,” she said, not sure if her attempt at a positive spin was for Ben's sake or her own, “and if we had stayed together and got married, I would probably be desperately unhappy right now. It always annoyed him that I wouldn't eat meat as well. Made eating out a little more difficult.”

“It wasn't because of him you got into the whole vegetarian thing?” Ben sounded genuinely interested, leaning forward on the edge of the seat so that the gap she had deliberately placed between them was traversed. Any physical awareness of his presence, however, was diminished by the memories that assailed her. One in particular that still, every so often when the nights were particularly long and lonely, haunted her dreams.

“No,” she said in a small voice, so that Ben had to lean even farther forward to hear her. “Not exactly. I met him at the gym, and found yoga through a friend of his, so I suppose I should thank him—Brett, his name was—for that, at least. But I stopped eating meat after my father died. It didn't become a conscious nutritional choice until later on.”

“Oh?” Ben gave a hesitant nod, as if wanting her to go on but not wanting her to say more than she wished. Keeley shifted uncomfortably.

“My father had a small abattoir out the back of our house on the High Street,” she began, closing her eyes against the visual images that took shape before them, “as there wasn't much room outside the shop, you know. Sometimes the local farmers would bring animals, to, you know…”

“That couldn't have been nice to grow up with.”

“Well, it was just normal, really. And he took pride in being very humane in his methods. Anyway, when he had his heart attack, he was in there, preparing a pig carcass.”

Ben grimaced. “Did your mother really need to tell you that?”

Keeley shook her head, her mother being, for once, blameless.

“She didn't need to. It was me that found him.”

Ben sucked his breath in sharply. Keeley went on, her voice sounding far away even to her own ears, as though it were someone else who was relaying events. Describing how she had seen her father lying on the floor, his face waxy and unreal looking, as though it were a puppet made to look like her father. How the pig carcass lay next to him on the floor. How she had looked from one to the other, her brain struggling to process what was happening.

Then she had screamed.

“I haven't touched meat since. About a year after he died, I came out of my shell a bit, started college, got into my fitness, and, of course, met Brett.”

“You were vulnerable,” Ben said, sounding as though he spoke through gritted teeth, “and he took advantage of that.”

“I let him, I suppose. But if I hadn't met him then, I might not have ended up doing what I'm doing, and this is definitely the right path for me. I started studying nutrition when I realized I was never going to eat meat again and couldn't survive on cheese sandwiches for the rest of my life.” She smiled, but Ben looked at her seriously.

“It must mean a lot to you, then, that this café is a success here.”

Keeley frowned. She hadn't consciously connected the two, but perhaps Ben was right. After all, she could have carried on her teaching practice and even opened a café anywhere, using any profits from the sale of the shop. In taking it over, coming back to Belfrey, maybe what she was really attempting to do was lay the ghosts of her father's death to rest.

Instead, she seemed to have created a few more. She thought of Terry Smith, whose body would have been left to burn if the killer hadn't been interrupted, again like so much meat. Apparently without even anyone to mourn his passing.

Ben reached for her hand, which was swallowed by the size of his palm. His fingers brushed hers, and she stared at their joined hands, thinking with a strange detachment how strong and brown his forearms were, how rough his palms. Worker's hands, rather than a detective's.

There was a strange hush in the room, as if even the night air held its breath, and Ben was looking at her so intently, Keeley found herself holding hers too.

Whatever he had wanted to say was forgotten as a sound like the crunching of gravel came through the open window and broke the silence. A sound like someone was outside. Ben dropped her hand and jumped up, cursing, and went to the window, then to the front door when he obviously saw nothing. He came back in, shaking his head, while Keeley sat frozen in the same spot, unsure what had just passed between them but feeling that something had, something new.

“Probably a cat or something. Even I'm jumping at shadows now. I hope you're locking all your windows and doors at night?”

Keeley nodded. Ben sat back down, but angled a little away from her now, making no attempt to retake her hand. Her palm seemed to burn where he had touched it. Feeling suddenly self-conscious, she sat on it.

“I'm sorry,” he said, not meeting her eyes. “I didn't mean to bring up so painful a subject.”

“It felt good to talk about it,” Keeley said honestly. Although what she knew of Ben wouldn't prompt her to describe him as someone who would make a likely confidant, she had indeed felt strangely comfortable sharing such an intimate memory with him. It must make him a good detective, she thought, if it was an effect he routinely had on people.

“Would you like another drink?” She stood up, and Ben stood up with her, putting them close enough that she had to tip her head back a little to look up at him.

“No. Not another drink, no,” he said obliquely. Keeley frowned, trying to decipher his response, when he stepped forward and made it easy for her.

He kissed her.

It wasn't a soft kiss either. No gentle brushing of his lips against hers, no hesitancy in his touch. He pulled her against him, lifting her up onto his toes, and kissed her with enough force, it stole her breath.
I should stop this,
she thought, then realized she was kissing him back with just as much urgency, and that her hips were pushing forward into his body, her back arching against his hands, as though her body had a will and an intention all of its own, and that intention was an exact opposite to the one her thoughts had just expressed.

Ben buried a hand in her hair, giving a slight tug on the nape of her neck that resulted in a low moan from deep in her throat, a spontaneous sound that would have embarrassed her had she had any coherent thoughts left. Her body felt on fire in his arms, a pool of liquid heat gathering low in her belly. Her own hands were coiled around his neck, pulling him to her as fiercely as he gripped her.

It was Ben who broke the kiss first, though he didn't let go of his hold on her but stared into her eyes. His own burned with such an obvious desire, it scared and excited her all at the same time.

“I have wanted to do that since I walked into the Tavern and saw you last week,” he murmured, his voice low, and dropped his gaze back to her lips. This time, their mouths met more slowly, more sensuously, exploring the feel and taste each of other. The change in pace, however, did nothing to slow down her heartbeat, or the waves of desire that crashed into her. Every nerve ending on her body felt alive, and Keeley was suddenly aware of exactly how long it had been since a man held her like this. Scratch that—a man had
never
held her like this. She had to stop and get ahold of herself, she knew, before she pulled him down onto the rug and threw caution to the wind, but her body seemed to be oblivious to any sense of reason. Judging by the way Ben held on to her arm, one hand now clutching at her buttocks, drawing her into him, he was thinking—or rather not thinking—in much the same way.