Downward Facing Death

by MICHELLE KELLY,

Duane. Keeley turned to find him so close, she nearly bumped into him. He had crept up on her like a cat. Flustered, she stepped back, then blinked to see him half naked, clad in only a tiny pair of Lycra underpants, his perfectly honed torso on show. Surely he didn’t teach his gym classes like that? The housewives of Belfrey would have heart attacks on the spot.

  “I’m on break, I was just having a sunbed,” he explained with a slow smile that indicated he took Keeley’s appraisal as evidence that she liked what she saw.

  “I see. Yes, it went really well. I’m really grateful to you for getting me this opportunity.” Which was true, Keeley thought, aware that by avoiding him, she may well have seemed ungrateful.

  “Thankful enough to let me take you to dinner?” He flashed his perfect white teeth at her in a smile that struck her as rather sharklike. Keeley hesitated, unsure what to say. She was grateful, and a little guilty she hadn’t expressed that sooner, and she didn’t want to offend him. Not just for altruistic reasons either, but also because he had been her link to getting classes at the center and she didn’t want to jeopardize that relationship. Neither did she want to lead him on or give him the wrong idea.

  “That would be lovely, and Megan too? I’m so glad we’ve become friends.” That, she thought, should do the trick, and judging by the way Duane’s smile dimmed and then became even brighter like a lightbulb flickering, he had taken her point. Friends only.

  “Sure, sounds great. Well, I’d better be off before I waste precious tanning time,” he said, and walked off with a slightly effeminate sway that had Keeley suppressing a giggle as she made her own way out into the sunshine. The warmth on her skin brought back all the good feelings of the class, including optimism about her success here. Picking up some more classes and becoming known to the regulars at the leisure center would be a great way of finding customers for the café, not least because her emphasis on a healthy lifestyle would by default appeal to those who regularly attended classes.

  There was also no denying that the morning had given her plenty to mull over in light of recent events. Ben’s warning to stay out of the investigation had both frightened and annoyed her, and she had taken his comments to heart, but it had only briefly dampened her curiosity. As Ben had pointed out, the café should be her main concern, but it was precisely because it was her main concern that she wanted the murderer caught. If, as Ben suggested, the attack was in some way related to a personal grudge against her, then couldn’t he see that she was naturally invested in the outcome of the murder investigation? For the first time, she acknowledged her anger toward whoever had done this: murdered a man, set fire to not just business premises but also her family business, and then possibly carried on by taunting her with that letter. She had every right to ask questions, she thought in annoyance. Particularly when Ben himself wasn’t giving her any answers.

  There was also the matter of the information about Raquel giving Terry money. That was vital information, and she really should have shared it, assuming, of course, that the police didn’t already know. But she had held it back, partly out of spite because Ben seemed to have more than a professional interest in Raquel. For all she knew, Ben might even attempt to cover up for the owner of the diner, although that didn’t feel right to her; she got the impression Ben was fundamentally honest, even brutally so, where his job was concerned.

  Then there was the mayor’s strange reaction to the mention of Terry Smith, and Ted Glover’s hostility toward her. Not to mention the reaction of his wife. If he truly was a violent man, then bopping Terry Smith over the head with something wouldn’t be so out of character. These were only impressions, however, feelings that may well be wrong, and no doubt Ben would just think she was being fanciful. The information about Raquel, though—that was different. Hadn’t Ben said most crimes were money related, in the end?

  Money related. That brought her back to her theory that Terry may have been blackmailing Raquel. Given the unsavory opinions she had heard about the deceased, the idea of him blackmailing the diner’s owner over some grubby little secret seemed in keeping with his character. She wondered if she should mention her theory to Ben, then thought that the possibility of blackmail had most likely already occurred to him. But he might not know about Raquel, and the money she had given Terry. Whatever her feelings toward Ben and Raquel or the possibility that indeed there was a Ben and Raquel, it was information she had a duty to share. She rummaged in her bag for her phone and tried to call Ben, but there was no answer. When his deep voice came on, asking her to leave a message, she found herself tongue-tied, cutting off the call rather than speaking. She would ring him later.

  Instead, she went home and took her moussaka from the fridge, ready to take round to her landlady’s. Annie had been kind to her, and she wanted an opinion on her cooking. After Ben’s visit, she had finally resumed her cooking, but neither her heart nor stomach was in it, and so the moussaka remained uneaten.

  Annie lived farther up the hill than she had realized, and by the time she knocked her door, her hamstrings and calves were aching. The other woman’s plump, friendly face was a welcome sight. She sat down gratefully in Annie’s small kitchen while her landlady cooed delightedly over the moussaka and poured Keeley a cup of freshly brewed tea. Although she usually went for herbal, today she thought a cup of strong English breakfast with its kick of caffeine was just what she needed. She looked around the room, noticing a large, framed picture of a man who must be Annie’s late husband hanging above the mantelpiece. He looked oddly familiar, but then, so did many of the residents in Belfrey. Strange, how she had grown up around these people yet they still felt like strangers on her return.

  “This smells divine,” Annie said as she dished up them each a plate of moussaka after quickly warming it up. It did smell good, Keeley had to admit, as the aroma drifted through the kitchenette. Annie’s house was a small stone bungalow with just three rooms. Picturesque but tiny.

  “Didn’t you ever want to stay on at Rose Cottage?” Keeley wondered. Annie shook her head sadly.

  “Not after my husband’s death. We lived there not long after we married, you see, before we moved to one of the bigger houses near the Water Gardens. Then afterwards, well, it was the memories, you know. Plus it’s a steady income and too big for a woman on her own.”

  “I’m a woman on my own,” Keeley pointed out. Annie gave her a merry wink that made Keeley laugh, then blush as her landlady said, “But perhaps not for too long? You’re a young woman; who knows but you could end up with a young man taking up some of the space.”

  “I doubt it,” Keeley muttered. It had been a while since she had had a relationship with any man. She had thrown herself into work in New York, and although she had dated a little, she had used the excuse of being too busy to ever get into anything serious.

  “First love, was it?” Annie asked, her face creased with sympathy. Keeley looked at her, startled.

  “The way you said that, I’m guessing there’s a bit of heartbreak there?” Annie patted her hand across the table. “Men can be fickle, especially when they’re young.”

  Keeley looked away. That first heartbreak was something she would rather not think about now; it made her feel young and gullible. Although in a way, she supposed it had made her who she was now, having gone traveling initially as a way to escape the pain. She said as much to Annie, and the woman nodded.

  “God works in mysterious ways,” she said, the well-worn saying sounding somehow more profound the way she voiced it.

  “My mother always said we make our own future.”

  “That too.”

  They dug into Keeley’s moussaka in comfortable silence, Keeley feeling at peace in the little house. Rose Cottage had much the same atmosphere, which must emanate from Annie herself. Or at least it had until her own arrival. She debated whether to tell her landlady about the poison pen letter, but didn’t want to worry her. She hoped that her theory that the author of the letter and the murderer were the same p
erson wasn’t accurate. A mean-spirited local resident she could handle; a murderer was a whole different proposition. Instead she told Annie about her run-in with the Glovers, and the way Ted’s wife had flinched when talking about her husband’s temper. Annie pursed her lips together, looking disapproving.

  “I’ve often wondered about that man. He was a thug, you know, in his youth. Don’t expect he’s changed much now either. God only knows what poor Diana puts up with behind closed doors. I wouldn’t take his comments to heart, dear, you were most likely the first person he saw that was an easy target for his temper.”

  Keeley smiled, though she didn’t find Annie’s words all that comforting. She didn’t want to be seen as an “easy target,” not after all the years of learning to be more confident and at peace with herself, taking her destiny—not to mention her body—in her own hands. She had thought Lardypants Carpenter dead and buried. Keeley pushed her moussaka away in a wave of self-pity, then looked up to see Annie, eyeing her astutely.

  “Not been the easiest homecoming for you, has it, duck?”

  “I just thought it would be more … seamless. But then, I don’t suppose anyone expects a murder. It’s almost like a bad omen.”

  The sun dipped behind a cloud as she spoke, causing the stone walls to seem suddenly closer and darker. Keeley shook her head angrily at her own fanciful images. She was seeing shadows everywhere.

  “Well, it’s not the usual run of things, I admit, but you shouldn’t let it overshadow your plans. Have you thought of taking part in the food festival? That might help you establish yourself as part of the local community, and get some promotion for your café. Why, you’ll be opening just a few days later, won’t you?”

  That was, Keeley thought, such a good idea, she wondered why it didn’t occur to her the day before, when it had first been mentioned. But no, she knew why. The Belfrey Food Festival showcased traditional foods from the region, and although she had been gone ten years, she couldn’t imagine it would have evolved to cover vegetarian and yoga-inspired foods in the meantime.

  “Nonsense,” Annie said briskly, “there were all sorts of things there last year, including a massive Polish stall and even a workshop for making your own sushi. Granted, it’s still mostly pies and cheeses, but serve up good hearty food like this here—” she motioned to her now empty plate of moussaka, “—and you can’t go far wrong.”

  Keeley looked out the window, mulling over the idea. The sun was shining again, and she saw the tail of a rabbit flicker for a second in the undergrowth. Rabbits were lucky, weren’t they? It could work, she thought, especially if she used some local produce in her recipes. Why hadn’t she thought of that before? Even the Glovers couldn’t complain if she offered to use their eggs and dairy in her food. It could even be a regular thing. It wouldn’t be cost-effective to use only produce she could buy from local farmers, but she could perhaps offer “specials” or breakfast omelets made with local organic milk and eggs that she could collect herself in the morning. In that way, the café could become a vital part of local trade. Musing over the possibilities, Keeley could feel herself getting excited, and she got up and gave Annie an impulsive hug, causing the older woman to turn pink in pleased embarrassment. She said her good-byes and hurried down the hill to Rose Cottage, fizzing with the excitement of new ideas.

  Half an hour later, she had a notebook full of new recipes, including some specifically for the food festival, such as a spicy root curry and a twist on the traditional summer fruit pudding—and, of course, the moussaka—and had finalized the spring–summer menus to go to the printer. On Monday, in just three days’ time, the kitchen contractors and decorators would arrive. The revamp of the premises would also go a long way, she couldn’t help thinking, to exorcising the shade of Terry Smith.

  After a light tea, she settled down on the sofa to read a book, but found her eyelids drooping before she had made much headway on the first chapter. Keeley dozed off with the evening sun warm on her face and the sound of birds singing outside.

  They were silent when she woke with a start. A different sound had woken her, but one that she couldn’t quite place in her sleep-fuddled state. It had grown cold now and was creeping toward darkness, and her neck ached where it had been resting at a funny angle on the settee. Keeley sat up and stretched, her ears straining to locate the strange noise that had woken her, but there was no noise save the distant drone of a car at the bottom of the hill. She wondered if it had been the church bells, which rang out around six o’clock for evening prayers and, being only a few roads away, could be easily heard by everyone on Bakers Hill. But a glance at the clock showed it was well past that; nearly half past seven, in fact. She had been asleep for nearly four hours.

  Wondering if it was something outside, she opened the back door and surveyed the back garden, but heard nothing. She chided herself for being so nervous as she padded back through the house, but nevertheless, the sense of something ominous remained with her. As she opened the porch door with a view to checking out the front, a part of her knew exactly what she would find even as her mind registered the clattering sound that had awoken her as having been that of the letterbox.

  The white envelope looked innocently up at her. There was no name on the front this time, but then it scarcely needed one. Please, Keeley prayed even as she knew it was futile, be a leaflet or something. But as she picked it up, a single white sheet of paper slid easily into her hand, the single line of black letters staring out at her accusingly.

  BITCH. STOP SNOOPING, OR YOU’LL END UP JUST LIKE HIM.

  Keeley raised a hand to her mouth, her fingers trembling. The warning, coming as it did after Ben’s admonition of her the night before, rang in her ears as though the letters themselves could speak.

  A wave of reckless anger came over her then, and she unbolted the front door and stepped out, the paper clutched in her hand. She looked up and down the road, but saw no one.

  “Why don’t you come and say it to my face!” There was no reply other than the hoot of an owl, echoing back at her. Suddenly realizing she was very alone, she retreated into the cottage, slamming and locking the door behind her, then lowered herself onto the sofa slowly, staring at the paper in her hand. She felt very acutely that this was no mean joke; whoever was doing this hated her with a passion so tangible, it seemed to seep from the paper and between her fingers.

  Regardless of how she felt about him, or that he would likely say “I told you so,” Keeley knew what she needed to do, whether she wanted to or not. She reached for her phone and dialed Ben’s number with quivering fingers.

  UIJAYI—OCEAN BREATH

  Also known as “the breath of victory.” Enhances mental clarity and focus, and can fortify courage. Is also often used in conjunction with a flowing yoga practice.

  Method

  • Close the mouth and breathe through the nostrils. Inhale and exhale fully.

  • On your next inhale, constrict the throat slightly. (Imagine you are trying to close it.) The inhalation should make a hissing sound coming from the back of your throat.

  • Exhale normally through the nostrils.

  • Repeat.

  • Continue.

  If you’re not sure you are creating the noise correctly, think Darth Vader, and try to emulate the sound he makes on your inhalation.

  Chapter Ten

  Whether Ben privately thought I told you so or not, he didn’t say so to Keeley, but was at the cottage within the half hour, and after looking at the letter, his face betrayed nothing but concern.

  “Did you not see or hear anyone, or anything at all?”

  “I was asleep. I think it was the letterbox that woke me up.”

  Ben dashed out then, leaving her looking after him rather bemused, until she heard his voice across the road and realized he was questioning her neighbors. He came back twenty minutes later, looking grim.

  “What is it?”

  “Nothing. Nobody saw anything. Old Mr. Crocker across
the way heard a car coming up and down the hill, but didn’t look out the window.”

  “I heard a car,” Keeley said, remembering that distant drone, “but I don’t know if it was too far away. I mean, it sounded like it was in the next street. If the letterbox woke me up, surely I would have heard a car pulling off.”

  “You would think. But sleep can play tricks on your perception.”

  He sat down next to Keeley, who hadn’t moved the entire time he was asking questions and still had the letter clutched in her hands. Taking it off her with a pair of tweezers, Ben placed it into a Baggie that lay on the arm of the sofa. He put it with the message facing down and out of sight—deliberately, Keeley thought.

  “Have you been asking any more questions today?” He sounded weary rather than accusing. Keeley shook her head with vehemence, her hair flying round her shoulders.

  “No. Honest.” She gave him a brief account of her day, particularly any conversations with Belfrey residents, though she found herself omitting the part where Duane had attempted to ask her out for dinner.

  “Okay. I’m sorry to keep repeating myself, Keeley, but are you absolutely sure you can’t think of anyone in Belfrey who would have reason to target you like this?”

  “No, no one. Well…” She hesitated, wondering whether now was the time to share her information about Raquel. Ben gave her a curt nod, urging her to go on. “Raquel doesn’t like me very much. She’s been almost threatening, ever since I first bumped into her.”

  Ben didn’t look surprised; neither did he jump to the other girl’s defense, as Keeley had expected. “I’ll talk to her tomorrow. It doesn’t seem like her style, to be honest, but I know she can be very catty.”

  That’s the understatement of the century, Keeley thought. “I’m guessing it was her that complained about my snooping,” she said, the carefully blank expression that came over Ben’s face confirming it even though he didn’t answer. She took a deep breath, deciding now was the time to share both her information and fears regarding Raquel, whether Ben liked it or not. “I was asking her questions because I thought she might know something. You see—” she went on, ready to relay Tom’s information, but was silenced by Ben’s lifting a hand to her, the way one would hush a small child. Keeley bristled immediately, but fell silent nonetheless.