Downward Facing Death (29 page)

“Because,” Annie said with impatience, as though Keeley were dim-witted for not understanding. “I didn't know then. It was only after Donald died, and I was moving our things from the town house, that I found the letters.” Annie's face twisted with grief and other, darker things. “Your dear Darla this, my darling Donald that. He had been in love with her, can you imagine? Even wanted to leave me for her.” There was the hint of a sob in Annie's voice, and in spite of herself, Keeley felt sorry for her. She knew what it felt like to be cheated on and lied to. So this was what her mother's infidelity had wrought.

“Annie, I'm sorry,” she said, surprised to find that for that at least, she genuinely did feel for the woman in front of her. “What my mother did to you was awful. But surely, it's in the past? She can't hurt you anymore.”
And her husband's dead too,
she thought.

Annie gave her a look of disdain, then laughed, a hard brittle sound that was so unlike her usual quiet chuckle, it filled Keeley with dread.

“It isn't your mother I'm concerned about, you silly girl,” Annie said, shaking her head at Keeley's apparent stupidity. “It's
you.
”

Keeley felt her stomach turn over, certain that whatever Annie was about to reveal, it would certainly be something she didn't want to know.

“You tried to burn down the shop to get at me,” she said in a flat voice. Annie nodded, looking triumphant.

“Clever girl. Well, not to get at you as such, that would be petty, but to stop you coming here, or at least make you go home. But no, you had to be a stubborn thing, didn't you? That's just like
her
as well.”

“But why?” With the inevitability of one watching a train wreck, Keeley knew she had to find out. Had to hear this out until the end.

“Because you're his. Donald's. His and your mother's dirty little secret.” Annie's face held a hatred so raw and deep that even if her revelation hadn't caused Keeley to collapse on her chair, legs shaking, that would have. “She spoke about you in the letters, about the ‘little love child.' Sickening.”

Keeley shook her head fiercely, to block out Annie's words even as they made an awful kind of sense. Annie, who had adored her husband, who couldn't have children of her own; it wasn't hard to imagine how she could hate Keeley enough to want to derail her plans. To keep her away from Belfrey.

“You sent me the letters. And the meat.” Keeley felt sick as she remembered the smell and feel of those pieces of rotting meat, and her initial assumption that they were the parts of a human. Annie, however, smiled as though proud of her own creativity.

“Yes. That was a stroke of luck, really. I hoped the letters would be enough to scare you away, but instead you started going round asking questions; just couldn't leave well enough alone, could you? I knew I needed something else. Then I was about to visit you one night and heard you talking to Ben.” Annie smirked. “Your so sad little tale about finding your father, and it putting you off meat for life. So I went home and cut up a good joint of ham I had and let it sit in the sun for a few days.”

Keeley glared at her. “That's just evil.”

Annie just shrugged, unperturbed.

“I tried to do more, just little things, to get you to go. Spread a few rumors about you being implicated in the murder, had a word in Ted Glover's ear, dropped hints about Ben visiting you, and even told Renee you had asked for the stall in the center because you didn't want to mix with all the meat-eaters. Of course, that backfired when it started to rain, but the weather's one thing no one can control, I suppose.” Her tone was almost conversational now, even though each new revelation cut Keeley like a butcher's knife.

“But you were so nice to me,” Keeley protested. “You were supportive, and gave me advice, and I'm renting out your cottage, for God's sake!”

Annie gave her a look of annoyance, then a melodramatic sigh that made Keeley want to punch her. Hard.

“Yes, and I absolutely hated it. I had to let you think I was your friend, didn't I, dear, so that you didn't suspect. When you made inquiries about the cottage, well, I thought someone up there was having a good old laugh at my expense, I can tell you. Then I thought that if I turned you down, you would only rent somewhere else, or even buy, and then I'd never get rid of you. So I thought to myself, at least with you here, I could keep an eye on you. I wasn't sure if you knew or not, you see.”

Keeley shook her head as the full implications of Annie's words sank in. Her father wasn't really her father? Generous, kind George Carpenter, whom she had looked up to and tried to emulate her entire life, wasn't really her flesh and blood at all. She wondered if he had known, had realized he had been raising a little cuckoo in the nest. A wave of desolation washed over her.

Annie was still talking, either not noticing or not caring about the impact of her words on Keeley. She suspected the latter.

“I couldn't let it get out, could I? Donald was a well-respected man. He was just weak, easily tempted, and once that trollop got her claws in, well, what do you expect? He was only a man.” Annie gave a sad smile, as if masculinity were a valid justification for all sorts of wrongdoing.

“So Terry Smith was blackmailing you,” Keeley said flatly. That was the crux of the matter, the reason her café had become a crime scene. Annie jerked her chin in confirmation.

“Yes. Nasty, horrible little man. He used to do odd jobs for people, you see, as well as the betting, no doubt so he could go through people's things. I asked him to help me clear the attic after Donald's death, and he must have seen the letters before I did.” Annie paused, her expression far away, and Keeley risked a glance around her toward the back door, thinking she might just make it. But was the back door locked, and where was the key? Her mind, already burdened with more than it could bear, drew a complete blank.

“He didn't say anything right away,” Annie went on. “He bided his time. Then a few months ago, one of his regulars at the betting shop, a young man who works at the letting agents, let it be known that Darla was leasing the shop over to you. That's when he came to me and started asking for money. He knew I wouldn't want everyone to know, to look down on me. That I couldn't give my Donald a child, but that bitch could.” Annie's face twisted again with such pure fury, Keeley felt genuinely scared. For the first time, she understood that she might in fact be in mortal danger. Not wanting to risk making a run for it, she looked around for something she could use as a weapon, at the same time trying to keep Annie talking.

“So you killed him.”

“Well, that wasn't my original intention. In a way, it was an accident.”

“Oh?” In spite of her fear, Keeley couldn't help but be interested in what had happened on that night.

“I couldn't find a way of stopping you coming here, with your silly little café, dragging it all up again. I thought if I got rid of your business, well, there would be nothing to bring you back here, or that it might scare you off. But Terry saw me going to the shop, even though I checked and thought the street was deserted. Horrible snoop.” She gave her assessment of Terry with a pursed mouth and look of disapproval, as though a spot of evening loitering were far more amoral than attempting to burn down someone's property, in an attempt to hide a dead man's transgressions.

“He followed me,” Annie went on, “sneering at me in that way of his. Offered to help me, as long as I paid him, of course. I knew I had no choice, and he was already leeching more money from me than I could afford. All of our savings were going.”

“So you killed him.” Keeley resisted the temptation to shake her head in disgust, not wanting to antagonize the woman. If Annie would just move out of the way, she might be able to make a dash for the door. Her eyes alighted on the vase of flowers on the windowsill, wondering if she could reach it. It was heavy, she knew, and would make a suitable defensive weapon. Annie's eyes followed her own and Keeley tensed, ready for some kind of attack, but Annie had misread her intentions. Her landlady gave a sly smile.

“Yes, that's right. I lured him upstairs, so we could talk without being seen, not really knowing what to do. I had vague ideas of pushing him out of the window, I suppose. Then I saw the vase the last tenant had left. Pretty, isn't it? I asked Terry to go downstairs and fetch the gasoline—he thought it better to start upstairs, you see—and hit him with it. He didn't die, not straightaway. He struggled, grabbed at me. I had to hit him a few times.” She recounted the killing in an almost singsong voice, and Keeley saw, very clearly, that Annie was nothing short of severely mentally disturbed. If not an outright psychopath. How could she have been living in such close proximity to such madness, even evil, and never have noticed? Had even seen the woman as a friend, a mother figure? Keeley felt sick, right down to her toes.

“I didn't know what to do with the vase. I had to get rid of it, but I didn't want it found. It was so funny, seeing you coo over it and the flowers when you moved in.” She gave a little giggle, and Keeley felt her nausea replaced with a wave of white-hot fury. She stood up, her limbs shaking, her breath catching in her throat.

“And Bambi? Was that you too?” When Annie didn't answer, only responded with a sly smirk, Keeley remembered what it was that had niggled at her before. Something Megan had said. “It was you he was barking at, wasn't it? Just like he barked that night. He remembered you.”

“Yes,” Annie looked annoyed. “I never did like that dog. Great smelly thing. As soon as I knew it was barking at me, I knew it was only a matter of time before it happened again and Jack put two and two together. I was lucky that yesterday the High Street was crowded enough that no one would have realized just what he was barking at. So I bought a piece of meat from the one of the stalls—everybody was buying that delicious ham on the bone—and mixed up some of the painkillers the doctor gives me. I get a touch of arthritis in my left shoulder at times, you see, but it's not bothered me for a while now. So luckily, there was plenty left.”

In spite of Annie's continuing speech, given in that awful lilting tone of voice as though they were discussing mundane matters, the atmosphere had perceptibly changed. The woman had visibly tensed, her eyes tracking Keeley's every glance ad flinch. Waiting for her to make a move. Her soft, plump frame had become a solid barrier to Keeley's escape, and she had no doubt that the woman would attack her if she tried to leave. But she wasn't going to stand there and wait for Annie to decide that she too needed dealing with.

Keeley made a feint to the left, then darted to the right and dashed for the back door, relying on the fact that though Annie may be a great deal stronger than she looked, Keeley was both younger and faster.

Not, however, fast enough to get through a locked door. Cursing, Keeley scrabbled for the key that hung from the nearby hook on the wall, and her fingers had just closed around the metal when her head was yanked viciously backwards. Annie had grabbed her hair with such force that Keeley felt a sickening wrench in her neck. She tried to twist away, which only increased the pull on her scalp, then aimed an elbow into Annie's side just as the woman banged her head against the door. Keeley nearly fell, the pain in her head was so excruciating, but she heard Annie's sharp exhalation behind her and felt her grip loosen and knew her elbow had been well placed. She dragged herself round, her hands instinctively raised into fists, only to see Annie clutching at her side and looking at Keeley in pained accusation.

“Really, dear, you would hit an old lady like myself?” In spite of the sheer ludicrousness of the comment, Keeley couldn't help but hesitate, lowering her hands at the sight of the woman feebly clutching herself.

Then Annie slammed her into the door. Howling with pain and rage, Keeley kicked out, landing a blow on the woman's shin that caused her to stumble. She shoved her as hard as she could, sending her tumbling to the floor, and ran, back through the cottage to the front door, which she knew was unlocked. It also seemed a mile away, though in reality it was just a few feet, and her legs felt like lead. She had reached the porch when she heard Annie behind her, and in spite of herself glanced back over her shoulder, to see the woman close behind her, charging into the living room. Her face was so twisted with rage, she was almost unrecognizable, and she held the vase in both hands high over her head. Her heart thundering against her ribs, Keeley grabbed the door handle, her palms so clammy that they all but slipped off it, and flung the door open just as the vase crashed into the wall centimeters from her head, Annie having flung herself forward wildly in an attempt to prevent her getting out of the cottage.

She stumbled outside and straight into a shocked Ben, Annie screaming in fury behind her.

“It was her—she killed Terry!” she managed to gasp, just as Annie again raised the vase and swung out, so caught up in her rage that she barely seemed to register Ben's presence.

Ben thrust Keeley to one side and out of harm's way, just as she screamed for him to look out; then he tackled Annie, barreling her back into the house. His attack caused her to drop the vase, which landed with a loud thud and then rolled, coming to a stop at Keeley's feet. She looked down as though in a daze, noticing almost dispassionately that it had finally begun to crack down one side, and there was a large chip at the rim.

Ben came back out of the house with Annie, holding her arms behind her in a way that rendered her helpless, the woman now looking confused and sobbing softly. Ben looked grim, but also bewildered; then, as he turned his face to Keeley, his expression changed to one of concern.

“Are you all right?”

Keeley nodded and pointed to the vase at her feet.