Downward Facing Death (24 page)

Instead, when the door swung open and a man walked in, it was exactly whom she didn't want to see. As Ben walked to the bar, Keeley rummaged in her handbag, letting her hair fall over her face in an attempt to hide herself. At least, she noticed as she peeped through the layers of her fringe, he was alone.

“Keeley.” He said her name in a matter-of-fact tone as he pulled a chair out opposite her and sat down. Keeley pushed her hair back from her face and sat up, trying to look surprised to see him, as if she hadn't been deliberately trying to escape his notice. “I've been trying to call you.”

“I've been busy,” she said, not looking at him.

“I'm sorry.” She did look at him then, surprised at his words.

“This is the second time you've apologized to me this week,” she said, her voice deliberately light, although even she could hear the sharp edges. Ben seemed chagrined, a look that seemed at odds with his usual composure.

“I was abrupt with you the other day, on the phone. I didn't mean to be. Things are just … complicated.”

Keeley didn't respond, just held his gaze, wondering how much of that complication had to do with a certain glamorous mutual acquaintance. She thought of him and Raquel in his car, leaning into each other, and felt a stab of anger.

“What's complicated?”

“You're not going to make this easy for me, are you?” When she didn't answer, Ben sighed and leaned back in his chair, gazing around the room.

“It would help if I knew what ‘this' was,” she said, and then blurted out, unable to hold it back any longer, “Is this about Raquel?”

“Raquel?” Ben looked surprised, but also, she thought, there was a trace of guilt in his expression.

“I saw you in the car with her,” she said, and immediately cursed herself silently for even bringing it up. For a moment, Ben looked nonplussed; then his expression cleared. He shifted in his seat as he spoke so he was leaning toward her, glancing around to make sure they weren't being overheard.

“You think there's something going on,” he stated. He sounded amused, and Keeley glared at him.

“Isn't there? You seem so certain she has nothing to do with either the murders or the letters, yet she has repeatedly threatened me. You spoke about her as though you don't particularly like her, then I see the two of you as thick as thieves.”

Ben shook his head.

“You've got it all wrong.” He looked around again, then got up, walked around the table, and slid into the double seat next to Keeley. The small confines of the space meant they were very close, their thighs pushed up against each other. She raised her eyebrows at him.

“Listen,” he said quietly, an urgent tone to his voice, “I was talking to Raquel about her statement, because I, er, have to be careful what I put in the paperwork. I had to formally question her after those letters.”

Keeley felt confused.

“What do you mean?” she whispered. “Is her alibi fake? You said there was no way she could have done it—the murder, anyway.”

Ben's face said he felt conflicted, frowning so that a groove appeared between his dark brows as he seemed to struggle with how to or if he should answer her.

“There isn't. She was with someone that night, but that someone needs to be kept out of any paperwork. And no,” he said quickly, guessing at the thought that flitted across her mind, “it wasn't me.”

“Then why would you cover up for her?” Keeley snapped at him, feeling self-conscious. Although no one had turned to look at them or even paused in their conversation, she had felt a discernible interest in the air. The fact that they were huddled in the corner together only made them look more conspicuous. She remembered Gerald's gibe concerning her and Ben and winced, then took a long sip of her wine.

“I'm not covering up for her,” Ben snapped back, “the man in question is married. And also my superior.”

Keeley paused mid-gulp, then set her glass down on the table with care.

“You mean, the guy who you said was pressuring you to solve the case?”

“The very same. As you can imagine, he was none too pleased when I questioned her about these letters you've been getting.”

“Then why did you?”

Ben looked at her as though the answer were obvious. “Because you thought it might be her, and it was a logical assumption. I'm not going to skimp on my job just because the senior officer can't keep it in his pants.”

Keeley stifled a laugh at his words, then thought about the implications of what he had just told her. No wonder he was angry when she had gone barging in the diner with her accusations; he had probably gotten a good talking-to, thanks to her. And no wonder he was getting so frustrated on this case if the only feasible suspect was his superior's secret girlfriend. His married superior. She thought again about her parents, and Brett. Was she the only person who seemed to think fidelity a trait worth having?

“So did you have to doctor her statement?” she asked quietly, not wanting to think of Ben doing such a thing. To her relief, he shook his head firmly.

“No. She was never formally questioned about the night of Terry Smith's death; you were the first person to float that idea. No, what she wanted was for me to leave mention of her surgery out of her statement concerning the letters. I said the best I could do was to not specify the body part.”

Keeley couldn't help laughing out loud at that, and this time a few curious looks did turn their way. Ben smiled at her.

“Shall we get out of here? There are a few things I'd like to go over with you.” Although both his voice and expression were perfectly neutral, something about the way he said those words made her insides tighten. Keeley allowed her gaze to travel from his eyes down to the sensual lines of his mouth and back up again. She wondered if half a glass of wine had made her bold.

“Are you going to try to kiss me again?”

Those lips curved in a surprised smile.

“If I do, are we likely to get interrupted again?” Meaning Duane. He had been jealous, she thought, much as she had been over Raquel. She didn't want to focus too much on what that might signify, the fact that they both had such proprietary feelings toward one another, so she finished the last of her wine and then stood up.

“I hope not.”

They left the inn, her walking in front of him with his hand resting lightly on the small of her back, a gesture that felt both alien and yet familiar, as though it were perfectly natural for him to place his hands on her. As the cool evening air hit her, she felt quite giddy, and with the lightness came a wave of relief. About her father, about Ben and Raquel, and simply just for the fact that they were walking together, apparently at ease with each other, as if the tension between them had, if not dissolved, then at least changed.

If only the murderer could be caught, things would be looking up indeed.

“I heard you questioned Gerald Buxby,” she said, wondering if he was still so keen to let her in on some of the details of the case. She had gotten the impression, when he told her about Raquel and the senior police officer, that it had been a relief for him to talk about it. No wonder he felt under pressure.

“Where did you hear that?” he said, instantly suspicious. She had obviously misjudged his level of openness. She decided to come clean, at least partly.

“Someone mentioned the mayor had been in some financial trouble.”

“Someone,” Ben said flatly, although to her relief, he didn't ask her who that “someone” was.

“Yes, and I went round to pick up the license form for the food festival, and he seemed very agitated. I asked him what was wrong, and he said you had been questioning him.” Her explanation rang false even to her own ears. Ben stopped walking, his hand falling away from her back where it had still been resting, and he turned to face her.

“You were doing it again, weren't you?”

When Keeley didn't answer, trying her best to look as though she had no idea what he was talking about, Ben carried on walking, though at a markedly quicker pace.

“You're angry,” she stated. He gave a little snort and carried on walking, so quick, she had to almost jog to keep up with him.

“Ben—” She reached out to touch his arm and was startled when he stopped and abruptly whirled around.

“You are so infuriating!” He was glaring at her now.

“I'm sorry, I just—” she began, but had no time to finish before Ben pulled her toward him and was kissing her again, crushing his mouth to hers. Keeley froze, startled and confused, then found her body and mouth responding to his of their own volition.

When he broke away, he looked calmer; almost resigned. He stroked her cheek with the back of his hand, then picked up a tendril of her hair and curled it around his fingers.

“You are the most stubborn, inquisitive woman I have ever met,” he said, somehow managing to make the words sound like a compliment.

“Should I say thank you?” she teased. Ben shook his head at her; then he looped his arm through hers and they carried on walking, this time at a more manageable pace. Keeley touched her fingers to her lips, barely able to believe what had just happened. Or what it might mean. They walked to the bottom of Bakers Hill in silence; then Ben started to speak, as if the intimate interlude had never occurred.

“I suppose you were thinking that Gerald was a victim of Terry's blackmailing tactics, hence the money difficulties?”

“It seemed to make sense,” she said tentatively, hoping he wasn't going to get angry with her again.

“Well, you were right. He left a paper trail, paid him straight out of his own bank account, so once I finally managed to get my hands on Terry's financial statements, it was all there in black-and-white.”

Keeley felt a stirring of excitement. “So you think it was him?”

“No. Aside from the fact that he would have to be very silly indeed to murder a man when there was evidence to show what was going on, he was attending a public function over in Bakewell at the time of the murder. Very public, lots of witnesses.”

Keeley felt deflated. Another dead end. Then she had a thought.

“What about the housekeeper?”

“Edna?” Ben sounded bemused.

“It's possible,” she said defensively, remembering the malice in the old woman's face when she had confronted her. “She seems very protective of him. My mother said she's had a thing for him for years.”

“Did she?” Ben sounded as though he was considering the idea.

“Was that why Terry was blackmailing him? Some sort of affair?” It seemed to be the theme of the moment. Ben shook his head.

“No. I can't go into too much detail, but it was to do with misappropriation of public funds during his first year as mayor. Nothing terribly exciting, but Gerald takes his reputation very seriously. He has quite the gambling problem, apparently, hence his association with Terry Smith.”

“How did that man find out these things about people?” Keeley wondered.

“Seems he had a knack for wheedling secrets out of people, especially over a few drinks. Raquel came across him while she was up in Manchester; he was up there betting on the dogs.”

Keeley thought about that. It didn't seem right, that one apparently unlikable man should be able to possess people's secrets, but then if that man was the sort to chase up every throwaway comment, every suspicious look … She gave a little shudder. She had never known him, but the more she discovered about him, the harder it was to have much sympathy for the man, to remember that he was the victim, not the villain.

Of course, that meant anyone, in theory, could have killed him. Not some evil, ruthless murderer but a normal person driven to desperate measures. Somehow Keeley found that idea more disconcerting than the image of a depraved killer lurking in the shadows.

Once again, she had to ask herself, just where did she fit into all this? What was the link between her, the café or her father's shop, a blackmailer with no friends, and his killer? She leaned into Ben, as much for reassurance as to her immediate safety as out of attraction, although the fizz of pleasure that went through her when his arm tightened around her and his hand stroked her hip felt anything but safe. Still, he carried on talking about the murder as though it were quite natural for them to walk together this way.

“It still seems we're on the right track with the killer being one of the blackmail victims,” he said. Keeley felt he was including her in that “we” rather than just referring to the police force, and linked her hand through his. “Why's that?”

“He was depositing regular large amounts into his account. There's no other explanation for the money. So we can assume it was another victim of his, one paying in cash. Therefore not leaving a paper trail.”

“The killer.”

Ben nodded. They were nearly at Keeley's door now, and his pace slowed.

“It seems likely.”

When they paused outside her door, it felt as if the very evening was observing them, the shadows themselves watching to see their next move. Keeley was on the verge of asking him to come in, without even pretending it had anything to do with the case, when he leaned down and kissed her again.

This time he kissed her with tenderness rather than urgency, his lips slowly exploring her own, before stepping away, though he kept an arm loosely around her. Keeley wanted to invite him in then, very badly, but didn't want to seem too forward, or risk him saying no, or let down her own carefully guarded defenses, so she stood mute, until Ben made the decision for her.

“I should go, I suppose. We've both got an early start.” He made no move to go. Keeley nodded. “You should,” she agreed, not moving an inch herself. Finally they moved toward each other at the same moment and shared a lingering kiss, until Ben detached himself with obvious reluctance and began to make his way down the hill. Keeley watched him go until he merged with the shadows, then let herself in, locking up as usual and doing a last-minute check that everything was ready for the morning. She was as prepared as she would ever be, she decided.