by Agatha Frost
It wasn’t Katie’s fault.
But Julia knew how it looked.
The story wrote itself.
The sales drop wasn’t enough to make her worry, but if people started talking about Julia ‘playing both sides,’ she dreaded to think of the effect the cold shoulder of the gossip squads who used her café as a watering hole would have.
She’d felt it before. The hardest time for her business had been when the now-closed Happy Bean chain coffee shop, still empty adjacent to her café on the green, stole her customers from her own doorstep. Just like James was trying to do in the name of folding Richie into the family business.
By one in the afternoon, while baking some simple cakes to fill the cabinets so Katie could focus on making drinks and taking orders, Julia heard the dreaded words.
“I saw him!” someone exclaimed in the café. “At the window above the post office!”
“I heard he tried to buy the post office from under Shilpa!” another woman cried. “She owns the flat above it, too. Maybe she’s accepted?”
“Who lives there now?”
There was a long pause.
Technically, nobody for the past six months, but Julia still had the keys. They’d come to an arrangement with Shilpa to pay reduced rent so Jessie could come back to the same place. It was cheaper than putting all her things into storage, and Shilpa wouldn’t have to wait for someone to rent it.
“I don’t know,” someone finally replied. “I could have sworn it was empty.”
Armed with a plate of sandwiches and a few cupcakes, Julia left through the back when the rush died. She hated how cautiously she peeked around the corner to make sure nobody was there. Still, she bobbed back and waited for a group of women to pass before ringing the buzzer.
“Yes?” he asked cautiously after her fourth buzz.
“It’s Julia,” she stated. “Can I come up?”
He buzzed, and the door clicked open. Instead of waiting for him to come greet her, she climbed the narrow staircase into the small flat. He appeared from the kitchen wearing only a towel around his waist. She didn’t mean to stare, but her eyes went straight to the red scars under his pecs and across his arms.
“I used to be a lot bigger,” he explained quickly, words slightly muffled as he used another towel to dry his hair. “Ended up bedridden for months after they chopped off all my skin, but it was worth it. Is that all for me?”
The first shred of vulnerability caught Julia so off-guard that no words came. Until now, he was nothing more than an arrogant man striding around in a suit, determined to make their lives difficult. That part hadn’t changed, but the same sensation Julia would get when she saw her teachers out of school in their casual clothes overwhelmed her. The shine of their authority dimmed enough to see them as an actual person.
“Thought you might be hungry,” she said, pushing the plate forward when she realised she was still clutching it close. “If you write me a list, I can pick some things up for you.”
He took the plate and set it on the round dining table on the line where the kitchen and living room met. His clothes were crumpled up next to the latest issue of The Peridale Post. Naturally, it was open on the page that spelled out the details that named him as the prime suspect. The article was already out of date; it claimed he was being held for questioning.
“They’re not using my tax money to feed prisoners,” he said, already halfway through the sandwich; she’d opted for a simple chicken, lettuce, and mayonnaise. “As first-time arrests go, I doubt I’ll be able to top it.”
James disappeared into Jessie’s bedroom, leaving Julia to scan the article. The facts about why James Jacobson, forty, resident of London, was in Peridale were there in black and white. Johnny squeezed in a whole paragraph about the library, and another about the plan to turn the manor into apartments. He pointed out that the decisions regarding both the sale of the library and the necessary planning permissions for the restaurant had come from the same council man before explaining how James had made his millions in property development.
“Nice to see journalism in these parts is as colourful as ever,” James said as he exited the bedroom. “Am I alright to borrow these? They’re all that’ll fit.”
James had opted for the combination of baggy jeans and one of Jessie’s favourite old black hoodies. Well, the jeans had been baggy on her; they fit James’s muscular frame like they’d been made for his body shape in the first place.
“They’re fine,” she said, closing the paper. “I’ll bring you some of Barker’s clothes. They’ll fit.”
“You know, I could sue your editor friend for defamation,” he muttered through the second half of the sandwich. “Subtext or not, I have great lawyers. Don’t think I didn’t catch that insinuation that I bribed the council.”
“Did you?”
“Is that how you think I must have done it?” He laughed somewhat darkly as he peeled the casing off a cupcake. “The truth really is so much more boring, isn’t it? These days, you don’t have to bribe councils if they’re making money out of it. How many years into austerity are we now? Councils up and down the country are offloading assets to fill in their budgetary gaps. I didn’t have to bribe anyone. Maybe if I had, it would have moved faster.”
“I hear protests slow things down.”
James grinned at Julia before he bit into the cupcake.
“You’re not the first lot I’ve encountered, you know,” he said, licking the buttercream off his lips. “Good, by the way. Where do you get these? Guarantee I know a cheaper supplier.”
“Made them myself this afternoon,” she said. “It’s not always about profit.”
“Isn’t it?” James arched a brow. “Look, I get it. I know these little villages. You’re close, and I’m the outsider coming in and taking over. But you’re not unique. You never win. I’m sorry to say that, but it’s the truth. Do you know how many libraries have closed in the last decade?”
Julia shook her head.
“Eight hundred,” he said. “They’re now restaurants, gyms, bars, shops – all places now actually being used. You can’t stop progress, Julia. That’s all I am. Progress.”
“Did you reach out to the council, or did they reach out to you?”
He smirked.
“That’s what I thought,” she said, sighing. “Too good an opportunity to pass up?”
“Exactly.”
“You might want to stay away from the window to keep the angry mob at bay.” She pushed herself upright. “They already think you’re trying to buy the post office too.”
“I tried,” he muttered through a bite of Bakewell tart. “I thought I had her for a moment, but she turned me down.”
He spoke about trying to snatch Shilpa’s livelihood out from underneath her so casually. At least Julia now understood her friend’s recent mood.
“I know what impression you have of me.”
“Do you?” Julia lingered by the top of the stairs. “The impression I have is only based on what you’ve put out there for me to observe.”
“Which is?”
“Arrogance?”
James laughed.
“See,” she said. “You think everything has a price tag on it.”
“It does.”
“For you.” She forced her breath to steady. “Capitalist with a capital C.”
“Says the woman who owns a café.”
“Those were your son’s words, not mine.”
“Then I’ve raised a champagne socialist.” He laughed again. “Just from looking at you, I assume you were born and raised here? Of course you were. Peridale girl to the core.”
“What do you know about Peridale girls?”
His continued laughter gave her new insight into Evelyn’s reaction at the garden party. Julia winced, wondering at the spin his arrogance had put on the conversation.
“Since you have me figured out,” he said, leaning back and putting his hands in the hoodie’s pockets, “tell me
about myself. Where was I raised?”
“I don’t know.” Julia had never given it much thought. “London?”
“With a silver spoon in my mouth? Surrounded by nannies?”
“Probably.”
“And I inherited all my money like my son will mine?”
“You said it.”
“Wrong.” James clenched his jaw and stared at Julia from across the table. “I grew up not far from—”
Another buzz at the door sent James down to answer it; clearly, he was at home in Jessie’s clothes. Moments later, beige-clad Ruth appeared, clutching leather files and a bag from Vicky’s coffee van on Mulberry Lane to her chest.
“Hello, again,” Ruth said in Julia’s direction. “I can come back later?”
“No, it’s alright,” he said, collapsing into the chair and offering the living area to Ruth. “Get everything set up. I’ll be with you in a second. I was just explaining to Julia here that I wasn’t born with the silver spoon in my mouth.”
“Far from it,” said Ruth, uttering a laugh similar to her son’s.
“Fern Moore,” he said. “You know it?”
Julia nodded. Everyone in Peridale knew Fern Moore. They shared a postcode with the estate, though most people in Peridale distanced themselves from the council-owned blocks of flats at all costs. If Katie’s reputation was in the toilet, Fern Moore’s was in the sewer.
“It was almost new,” he said, looking into nothingness just like his son had looked out through the B&B’s window. “And even then, it was ready for tearing down. Growing up somewhere like that, in the shadow of a place ripped from the front of a chocolate box like this, lights a fire under your behind. I had nothing. I built myself from nothing. I’d go shoplifting down the arcade and return to the estate to sell what I got away with. They never caught me. I reinvested the profits, buying cheap whatever I could then sell on. VHS tapes, razors, perfume, magazines, you name it. Eventually, I’d put enough aside for a new life somewhere else. London is just where I ended up.”
“I went to London too,” Julia said. “I lived there for years.”
“A lot of us country folk do,” he said with a wink. “Dreams of making it somewhere huge, eh?”
“Followed my heart.”
“What led you back?”
“Divorce.”
“Similar reasons, then.” James and his mother shared a knowing smile. “Look, I know it doesn’t help my case, so I didn’t tell the police, but I’d contacted my lawyer to file for divorce. I was on my way up north to view a potential property after that meeting, and roadworks rerouted me through the Cotswolds. I don’t get out here much, so I was surprised when I saw the sign for Fern Moore. I’d thought of the place from time to time, but I’d escaped. I’d never come back, but knowing I was so close, I felt the pull towards home.”
“It’s changed a bit since then, I imagine.”
“Probably, but I never got there. The roadworks had their way, and I ended up somewhere I didn’t recognise. My phone had no signal. I ended up going down Peridale Manor’s driveway. I remembered that place. How could you not? Huge thing like that. Never thought I’d see it up for sale. When I learned how much they were asking for it, it was too good to turn down.”
“Fits right into your portfolio,” Ruth pointed out without looking up from the paperwork she was spreading around. “Are we getting on with this? There’s a lot to figure out.”
“And the divorce?” Julia pushed.
“Pending.”
“Did Mindy know?”
“What do you think?” He looked amused. “I’ve been getting my ducks in order so she can’t take me to the cleaners in divorce court. I planned on letting her know after these purchases were out of the way and we were back home. I never expected this to happen, did I?”
Julia didn’t know what she’d been expecting. She did know, however, that she was picking up on a distinct lack of remorse in James’s voice as he talked about his wife. He hadn’t even referred to her condition. Soon-to-be-ex-wife or not, Mindy was still the mother of his son. Didn’t that count for something?
“Look, I know you’re only helping so I’m available to buy the manor,” James continued. “You have my word that I’ll follow through as soon as I’m free to do so. Wellington Heights is a great idea; you can’t deny it.”
It was true she couldn’t deny it, but she wasn’t in the mood to agree with him.
“I’m surprised you don’t want to live there.”
“Too big for me,” he explained. “Besides, I spent the first half of my life wanting to live anywhere but around here. As soon as you prove my innocence, everything will be signed, and I’ll be out of your hair.”
“You’ve hired my husband,” she reminded him.
“The DI said you’re the real brains,” said James as he and his mother looked her up and down. “You know, I read your husband’s book when it first came out. Saw him on telly and thought it was interesting that someone had written a murder mystery based around here. Rather enjoyed it. If you’re as good a team as he wrote in that book, you’ll figure it out.”
“A work of fiction.”
“Everything I’ve seen of you so far leads me to believe not,” he said, his smile leaning softer than she’d seen it. “Find the crazy local who shot my wife.”
“And what makes you so sure it’s a local?”
“Because I’ve made enemies around here,” he said, his smile finally vanishing. “I’ve done the market research. People are interested in the restaurant, but there’s always others kicking up a stink. Getting to me through my wife makes sense.”
“As simple as that?”
“You tell me once you figure it out.”
James sat next to Ruth on the sofa, and suddenly she felt she’d outstayed her welcome, despite who the flat belonged to. She picked up the plate of crusts and cupcakes cases and crossed to the stairs, pausing on the top step.
“Why were you in the forest when you found the gun?” she asked.
“I was checking the property line of my new asset,” he said without looking up from the documents he was sifting through. “When you have as much money as I do, you often buy things without fully exploring every nook and cranny. I turned back when I heard the shots, and that’s when I found the gun.”
“Can you prove it?”
“Probably not.”
She’d thought as much.
By the time she reached the bottom step, a dark thought had formed. What if it was all an act? A well-constructed charade?
Shoot his wife.
Claim to find the murder weapon.
Be found innocent of murder.
Absurd though it was, considering he’d reached out to Barker, it was hard to deny how many more fingers pointed at James today than ever before. A bullet was certainly quicker than being ‘rinsed in divorce court.’
The café had quietened enough that Julia suspected she’d find the library in a similar state. She hadn’t known how long the uptick in business would last, but at almost four in the afternoon, they’d had a busy run of it.
As she arrived at the library, a police car pulled away from the kerb. DI Christie nodded at her from the passenger seat, but Neil didn’t seem to see her from the back.
“He’s not been arrested,” Barker said, appearing at the front door. “They’re taking him in for questioning.”
“He looks broken.”
“I don’t think it’s that,” he said, nodding at the police car. He pointed up. “The estate agents left after putting it up.”
Without the police car drawing her attention, she’d certainly have noticed the giant ‘FOR SALE’ sign jutting from the wall that hadn’t been there earlier. The council had used the same company as the manor.
“Then today might really have been our final song.”
Barker pulled Julia into a hug. Over his shoulder, she noticed that all the people left in the library were Peridale’s Ears. Somehow, the mood was even more somb
re than it had been on the night of the storm.
“We need to talk,” Julia said, pulling away from the hug.
“About what?”
“How sure we are of James’s innocence.”
10
“So,” Katie called over the noise of the nail drill, “are you going anywhere nice on your holidays?”
“I-I’m sorry?” Leah shouted back.
“Holidays? I suppose you’re saving it for the honeymoon?”
Leah smiled and nodded in a way that made Katie wish the dining room chair would swallow her up. They both wanted to be anywhere but in Katie’s kitchen, but still they continued to smile as Katie drilled away Leah’s old set of acrylic nails. She reached the final nail, wishing Leah had another two hands she could work on. When she finished, she turned the radio up even louder, but it was no match for the five men at the door.
“I’m really sorry about that.”
“You don’t have to explain.”
“They don’t usually come this late in the evening.”
“Really, it’s fine.” Leah pulled her hands away and retrieved her purse. “You know what, I’ve just remembered I have a venue viewing with Johnny, and I was thinking of giving my nails a break.” She pulled out a twenty-pound note, the usual price, and then a second. “A tip.”
Far too embarrassed to reach for it, Katie let the money sit on the table as Leah packed up her things. They’d spent a couple of pleasant minutes talking about Leah’s upcoming autumn wedding to Johnny. Leah had apologised for Johnny’s recent headline, but there was no awkwardness between them until the first man turned up.
“Please don’t tell Julia.”
“I won’t,” Leah assured her. She paused. “Listen, Katie, it’s none of my business, but maybe you should talk to her. She might be able to help?”
“With the amount those men want to leave us alone, I don’t think anyone around here can help.” Katie checked the time and joined Leah in getting ready to go. “Besides, Julia’s done enough for us. Don’t worry, though. I’ve come up with a Plan B.” She unlocked the door. “Well, more like a Plan D, but it might just help. We’ll have to go out through the back.”