Downward Facing Death (20 page)

The loud knock at the door made Keeley jump, jolting her back to reality and out of Ben's arms. She stared at the door, disoriented, and made no attempt to cut in when Ben, his composure regained while she still stood gaping, went into the porch and opened the front door authoritatively.

“Is Keeley there?” asked a hesitant and evidently curious female voice. Megan. Keeley hurried to the door, breathing a sigh of relief until she saw Duane standing next to her, a bunch of flowers in his hand. Ben and Duane were staring at each other, a not-so-subtle display of machismo that Keeley found alarming rather than flattering. It was, of course, Duane who dropped his eyes first, but there was the hint of a smirk in his eyes as he turned to Keeley and held out the flowers.

“For you, beautiful lady,” he said in a voice so dripping with charm, she could spread it on toast. The corner of Ben's mouth curled just slightly with a hint of contempt, then his face became carefully blank, his expression betraying nothing as he turned to look at Keeley.

“I'll be going, then, Ms. Carpenter. Be sure to lock up securely. If you're alone tonight.” He said the last in a flat, neutral tone, but there was a definite hint of something in his eyes. Disappointment, perhaps. He left, leaving Keeley staring after him, her mouth feeling swollen from their kiss, wanting to call him back but reluctant to do so in front of her visitors, who were both staring at her curiously, and in Duane's case with a definite touch of jealousy. Keeley ushered them in, flustered.

As soon as they were inside, Keeley thanked Duane for the bouquet, but Megan interrupted her with a loud tut directed at her cousin.

“The flowers are from me, Keeley; I gave them to Duane to hold when I knocked the door. I wanted to say sorry for yesterday, I understood only after thinking about it afterward how much of an imposition it was.”

“It's fine, honestly,” Keeley said, trying not to glare at Duane for having deliberately misled Ben as she took the flowers from him and went into the kitchen. She may as well replace the wilted bunch with these fresh ones, she thought, and began emptying out Annie's vase. Megan followed her in, Duane staying in the lounge.

“Why was DC Taylor here?” Megan asked, her brow furrowing. “Have they found out who it was yet? The High Street is getting very jumpy about it all, you know. The Derby City paper covered the murder yesterday, and with it coming up to the food festival, I think the worry is that fewer people will come.”

“I would have thought there would be more, out of curiosity,” Keeley said as she arranged the flowers and sat the vase back onto the window ledge. Although she had neatly sidestepped Megan's inquiry about Ben, she wasn't about to let it go that easily.

“I hope he doesn't still think you had something to do with it?”

Keeley felt her face go hot as she thought of herself and Ben kissing by the fire.

“No, I really don't think he does,” she said in as noncommittal a tone as she could manage. Which wasn't so convincing as she might have liked, judging by the way Megan's frown eased and a sudden understanding showed in her eyes.

“Ah, you like him,” she said, her voice low. “So that's why Duane acted so weird about the flowers.”

Keeley smiled. For all her talk about auras and psychic impressions, it seemed Megan's grasp of good old-fashioned body language and male pride wasn't quite so far reaching. Then she thought about Megan's statement. Did she like Ben Taylor? “Like” seemed a woefully inadequate word for the unrest he stirred in her. She had had various different reactions to the man since arriving in Belfrey, some of them far from positive, but they were all powerful. As she followed Megan into the lounge after they had both cooed appropriately over the flowers, Keeley looked at Duane standing near the fire, looking awkward, right in the spot where she and Ben had been kissing, and wondered how she could ever have even contemplated dating the gym instructor. “Like” was about as strong as her opinion of Duane was ever likely to be.

The three of them made small talk, with Megan intermittently repeating her apology and Keeley hastening each time to once again forgive her, but her attention was elsewhere. Her mouth still felt warm and tender from the touch of Ben's, so much so, it seemed to her that Megan and Duane must be blind not to see it. Part of her was disappointed their impromptu visit had interrupted their clinch, but a larger part of her was glad. Because she'd never been the type to jump into bed with a man at whim, the strength of her reaction to Ben and the knowledge that she had been a breath away from losing all sensibility made her nervous. Yet also, strangely reckless. She found she wanted to see him again, very badly and as quickly as possible, for reasons that had nothing to do with recent murder cases or arson attempts or even anonymous letters. Keeley wasn't sure that Ben the detective was someone she could ever be comfortable around, but Ben the man, that was turning out to be a very different prospect.

She saw Megan looking at her with a strange expression on her face.

“Is it a bad time, Keeley? I should have called first.”

Keeley flushed. “No, of course not, it's just been a funny few days, that's all.”

“Right,” Megan looked uncertain, and Keeley hoped she wasn't going to start apologizing again. “Well, perhaps we had better get off.” She glanced at Duane, who unusually for him had said very little. Now he looked at Keeley hopefully.

“I might pop in the Baker's Inn for a drink, after I've dropped Meg home. Do you want to join me?”

He looked so keen that Keeley felt like she was kicking a puppy as she said a polite no.

“I need to be at the café early, the decorators are coming. But I'll see you Sunday at the center perhaps?”

Duane nodded, giving her his trademark dazzling smile, though it seemed a little forced. He barely looked at her as she showed them out, although Megan gave her another incense-scented hug and waved warmly as they went down the hill. Hopefully Duane would get the message this time; although his persistence was flattering, it was also a little embarrassing for them both. She guessed Duane wasn't used to being turned down by any woman, and hoped he wasn't the type to turn sulky. He was, after all, sort of a friend, and she was having enough trouble making them in Belfrey as it was.

What was Ben? The thought nagged at her as she went round locking up, double-checking everything just to be absolutely sure she could feel safe in her bed that night. Not that she was expecting to get much sleep. Not with the memory of Ben's mouth on hers, of his hands on her hair, and other parts of her. What was Ben? She couldn't call him a “friend.” Less than a day ago, she would have placed him in a much lesser category, physical attraction notwithstanding. Now, in the space of an hour, he had become something else, something more, which was she was almost afraid to put a name to.

 

DIRGA
—THREE-PART BREATH

This
pranayama
is nourishing, calming, and relaxing. It will bring the blood pressure down, making it perfect for grounding oneself after an unexpected romantic moment.

Method

• Close your eyes and consciously relax the face and body.

• Take a few deep, slow breaths through the nose.

• As you inhale, let your belly fill up with air like a balloon. As you exhale, let it return to normal.

• Continue these “belly breaths” for five inhalations and exhalations.

• Inhale deeply, drawing breath into the belly; then pause.

• Inhale a little more, feeling the breath fill your rib cage.

• Inhale a little more, feeling the breath fill your chest and heart, up to your throat.

• Exhale part of the breath, emptying your chest.

• Exhale part of the breath, emptying your rib cage.

• Exhale the rest of the breath, emptying your belly.

• Continue for ten breaths.

You can perform this breath while lying on your back for extra relaxation. Try it before bed to aid restful sleep.

 

Chapter Thirteen

The next morning, Keeley was still asking herself the same question, even as she let in the decorators, made various phone calls to the wholesalers and the sign installers and furniture company, who seemed to be in some confusion over the new delivery date. Usually on the patient side—or at least she tried to be—Keeley felt agitated and angsty. More so as the morning wore on and there was no word from Ben.

She replayed the kiss in her mind over and over, and the strangely intimate conversation that had somehow prompted it. As though by letting him into that hidden part of her psyche, she had issued him an invitation. On some level, she felt that was exactly what she had done. An invitation to exactly what, that was the part she hoped Ben hadn't misinterpreted. She wasn't a roll-by-the fireside type of girl, but kissing him in that way, only to be interrupted by a flower-wielding Duane, well, it didn't look good. She wondered if Ben hadn't called because of that, assuming Keeley was involved with the fitness instructor in spite of her earlier dismissal of him. That little face-off in her doorway had reminded her of the male-dominance displays she'd seen on wildlife programs, pheromones and testosterone heavy in the air.

Or he could just be busy with work. Or not really that interested, the kiss having been a spur-of-the-moment impulse he later regretted. The suspense, Keeley thought, was just as sweaty-palm-inducing as any involvement in local murder cases.

After nearly dropping the hammer on her foot while hanging pictures in the studio apartment above the flat, missing her little toe by a hairsbreadth, Keeley gave in. It was around lunchtime; he had to take a break from work at some point. She would call him.

Ben answered on the third ring. He had her number, she knew, because other times she had called, he answered saying her name, but this morning there was a pause when he answered, a slight clearing of the throat, and then a neutral “DC Taylor.” Keeley felt her insides flip at the sound of his voice.

“Ben?” Her voice came out high-pitched, more of a squeal than the sultry purr she had been aiming for. Ben was immediately concerned.

“Keeley, what is it? Have you got another letter?”

“No,” Keeley made a conscious effort to talk more calmly, “everything's fine.”

“Okay.” He sounded relieved; then there was a uncomfortable pause as Keeley desperately sought for something to say. She should have rehearsed this first, she thought, but whatever she had been expecting from Ben, it wasn't this utter normality. As if nothing had happened. She felt her tummy sink and leaned against the wall with one hand. There was an expectant silence on the other end of the line.

“I was calling about last night,” she said. There was a pause, a small inhalation of breath, but when he spoke, his voice was neutral. Worse than that. It was distant.

“What about last night?”

Keeley closed her eyes in distress. He was being deliberately obtuse, and there could be only one reason for that: he regretted the kiss. Almost hoping it was because of Duane, she steeled herself and went on.

“Duane came round with Megan, you know. She brought those flowers for me.”

“Is this going somewhere?” Ben sounded annoyed. “Because I really do have a lot to do today.” Disappointment hit Keeley like a ton of bricks, coupled with a tinge of humiliation. Closing her eyes against the onslaught of feelings, she said in a tight voice, “Of course. I'm sorry.”

“Okay.” Ben put the phone down without even the courtesy of a good-bye. Keeley crouched down on the floor, feeling nauseated even as she tried to tell herself not to be so silly. That it was just a kiss. That it clearly meant nothing to him, and so it should mean less than nothing to her.

Pulling herself together, she got up and finished hanging her pictures. The upstairs apartment looked just as she wanted it, fresh and inviting, but she found it hard to muster up any enthusiasm after Ben's dismissal. She tried not to read too much into his manner, but the taste of rejection was bitter in her mouth. When the phone rang, her heart jumped in her chest, only to sink again when the call display showed it was merely her landlady.

“I saw Renee, that's the minister's wife, this morning, and she asked me to let you know they've got a stall for you next week at the food festival.” Annie's warm voice, sounding pleased with herself, vibrated through the speaker. Keeley forced a smile, even though the older woman couldn't see her.

“That's brilliant, Annie. Thank you.”

“Not at all. Let me know if you need any help preparing anything. Oh, and you need to fill out some sort of vendor license for the day. Renee said she would drop a form off, but if you're on the High Street, Mr. Buxby should have some too, if he's around.”

“I will. Thank you.” Her attempt to inject some cheeriness into her tone obviously fell flat, as her landlady asked her, after a pause, “Are you all right, dear? You sound a little upset.”

Keeley hastened to reassure her, blaming the fact she was up to her ears with getting the café straight, and rang off before her friend could question her further. In truth, she could do with someone to talk to about Ben, another female, but it didn't seem appropriate to discuss last night with the older widow. There was Megan, but Keeley was sure she would try to brew her up a love potion or similar. With a pang, she realized how much she missed her old friends and resolved to phone Carly when she got home.

Slipping her phone back into her pocket, she felt it jingle against the gold button, which she had picked up that morning, and thought again about Annie's comments. Mr. Buxby was, of course, Gerald. Who had apparently been having financial problems until recently, and now was not. Because Terry Smith had been killed and he couldn't blackmail him anymore? Because he had been the one to make sure of that? Leaving a vital clue behind in the process? What with thinking about Ben's kiss, she had all but forgotten about the button and that she had meant to tell him about Jack's little bit of gossip, until he had frowned on her for asking questions.