by Agatha Frost
“When was the last time you saw him?” Barker asked. “Before he turned up here.”
Percy thought for a moment as he nibbled on another gingernut.
“At least a decade,” Percy finally said. “After his last cruel trick on me, I swore never to see him again, and I kept that promise until the night before the wedding.”
“What did he do?” Barker asked, edging closer in.
Percy almost replied, but he stopped himself. Dot cleared her throat and shifted slightly in her seat.
“Ian told Percy he’d had an affair with Joyce,” Dot said firmly, squeezing Percy’s hand.
“Complete lies!” Percy’s jaw tightened under his aged skin. “Ian only said it after my Joyce was dead and buried. I never thought for a moment there was any truth in it, but he knew he’d planted a seed of doubt in my mind, and that was enough for him. He tried to ruin the memory of my beloved by attacking when she couldn’t defend herself. From that moment on, Ian Cropper was dead to me.”
“Why would anyone say such a horrible thing?” Julia asked.
“Other than to be cruel?” Percy forced a dry laugh. “Money, of course. Everything always came back to money with Ian. He never cared where he got it, and he would do anything to anyone to get it. Family meant nothing to him. He was selfish to the core. He wouldn’t even pretend that he was going to pay people back if they were foolish enough to hand their money over. He called them ‘investments’, but I don’t know anyone who saw a return on them. Even though I’d given him money to get him off my back before, that time, I refused him. I declined to listen to the hairbrained scheme he’d come up with to make his millions, which, of course, would certainly work this time.”
“How did he get away with it?” asked Barker.
“Oh, he didn’t always,” Percy replied. “He did a few spells in prison, but nothing longer than a few years here and there. He was good enough at covering his tracks that nothing serious ever stuck. Every time he ‘went away’, as the family called it, I’d pray he was out of my life for good. But he always came back.”
Julia sipped her tea and let Percy’s words sink in. She hadn’t known what to expect, but it hadn’t been anything quite so cruel.
“Well, if you didn’t kill him,” Barker mumbled through a mouthful of biscuit, “I’d guess someone in your family did. You can’t be the only one he’s had issues with.”
“We’ve all taken our turns with Ian,” Percy replied. “I didn’t even know he had two children until Tom and Helen came looking for me. Only Eugene seemed exempt from Ian’s tricks. They always had a soft spot for each other. Eugene is like that, though. It’s not in his character to give up on people.”
“Whoever wanted him dead must have hated him,” Dot said, almost to herself. “I can’t think of a worse way to go than having my head dunked in a vat of liquid nitrogen.”
“I’d wondered about that,” Barker admitted. “Why was it backstage?”
“That was my idea,” Percy replied, cheeks darkening. “When we were planning the wedding, Dot had so much under control, as expected, but I wanted to do something she hadn’t thought of. Something special. It wasn’t easy, but young Alfie helped me get on the computer and conduct some independent research. Weddings were a lot simpler in my day. Since we had already landed on such an extravagant theme, I wanted something magical. We came across a ‘cloud dancefloor’, so that’s what I decided on. Alfie helped me find a nearby company to supply the machines and the liquid nitrogen, which, when combined, would create the effect of clouds filling the village hall. We would have our final dance of the evening in the sky above the clouds. It would have been so perfect.”
“It was perfect,” Dot said, a smile curving her lips, “until the end, of course.”
“I hope you can forgive me, Dorothy.”
“There is nothing to forgive.” Dot moved even closer to Percy and twisted her body towards him. “I meant every word of my vows. I will stand proudly by your side through all of this, no matter what comes next. You would do the same for me.”
Percy broke down in tears and sank into Dot. Sensing the perfect time for leaving them to it, Julia stood, and Barker followed. They slipped out without goodbyes, giving the newly married couple some much needed time alone.
“I’ll come to the café and help you set up,” Barker offered as they climbed into Julia’s car. “We have our own elephant in the room to discuss.”
Given that Barker had never offered to help set up before, she knew he wouldn’t be able to do much. Still, she didn’t argue. For the sake of continuing their early morning conversation, she drove quickly to the café.
An even bigger crowd had gathered in front of the church, and Julia knew a significant number of them would make their way to her café the second she turned the lights on. They snuck in through the back door and didn’t venture further than the dim kitchen.
“I know what I want to do,” Barker said with a shaky smile. “It was still just an idea last night. After interviewing Percy, I know I’ve made the right decision.”
Julia waited for Barker to reveal his plans, but he only continued smiling nervously. She nodded her encouragement.
“I always dreamed of being a mystery novelist,” he began, his voice breathy and trembling. “Somehow, I ended up solving them before writing them. I still love writing, and I’m sure I’ll revisit that path, but … I’ve missed piecing together mysteries off the page.”
“So, you’ll try getting your old DI job back?” Julia prompted when Barker grew quiet.
“Not quite,” he said, his eyes shining with purpose. “I’m going to become a private investigator.”
6
As predicted, the café was packed from the moment Julia opened the front door. Her connection to the Cropper family, now both legal and familial, would have been enough to make the gossips rabid. That Julia had discovered Ian’s body had them all practically foaming at the mouth.
“I heard he was completely frozen like a block of ice from the neck up,” said Amy Clark, the church organist.
“I heard his head cracked clean off,” added Shilpa Patil, the post office owner.
“Is it true, Julia?”
“Tell us what happened, Julia.”
“Was it as horrific as they’re saying, Julia?”
“How’s Dot holding up?”
“Are they going to get a divorce?”
“I heard Percy fled the scene.”
The speculation persisted on a continuous loop, with the accusations and assumptions growing with every passing hour. Despite Julia’s best efforts to downplay her involvement, there was no getting around the villagers and their insatiable appetite for a side of juicy gossip with their tea and cakes. By lunchtime, Julia began doubting the sanity of her lifelong dream of owning a café since she wasn’t much of a gossip.
Even with Jessie’s help serving the customers and deflecting the questions Julia had already answered a dozen times, Julia was overwhelmed. When Jessie ordered her to take a half-hour break in the kitchen's safety, Julia jumped to obey. Once upon a time, she would have foregone a break and continued right up until she flipped the sign to ‘SORRY, WE’RE CLOSED!’ Now that she was with child, she and Jessie had put in place an unspoken agreement: she wouldn’t skip breaks, no matter how busy the café became. Guilt about leaving Jessie to the bloodthirsty mob ate at her, but it was nice to take the weight off her feet.
She made a chicken salad from the kitchen’s stock, and Jessie brought through a cup of hot peppermint tea. While Julia nibbled on her lunch and waited for her tea to cool, she eavesdropped on the same questions she had faced all day. With Julia out of sight, the villagers began bravely revealing their honest opinions.
“I heard Percy punched his brother at the Comfy Corner.”
“I heard they haven’t spoken for years.”
“Percy is guilty.”
“He has to be.”
“Yes, he has to be.”
For J
ulia, the case was far from closed. She believed Percy’s version of events without question. She was a good judge of character, and even though that judgement was wrong sometimes, she was certain Percy had told them the truth. Hearing the villagers, people she considered her friends, condemning him made her want to dive through the beaded curtain in his defence. Running a popular café gave Julia’s voice weight in the community. The power provided by her role as a community figurehead had come as a surprise. If she said something with enough authority, people rarely questioned her – to her face, at least. But that was when people wanted baking or cooking advice. If she tried too hard to steer people away from Percy’s guilt, she could cause more harm than good.
Instead, she tuned out and focussed on Barker’s sudden desire to change his profession. When he had first revealed that he wanted to quit his well-paying job as the village’s Detective Inspector, a position now held by his friend, John Christie, Julia hadn’t been shocked. She had watched him write most of his first novel on a typewriter in their dining room. She had witnessed him growing disillusioned with the official world of policing, something he would rant about for hours on end after long shifts.
“It’s all about paperwork now,” he would say. “And how are we supposed to do our jobs with all the budget cuts?”
With a lucrative book deal luring him away from the world of bureaucracy, trading solving mysteries for writing them made perfect sense. Julia didn’t know a single person in Peridale, or maybe even the world, who wouldn’t run towards their childhood dream if it appeared within touching distance. The politics of the publishing world had proven even more complicated than those of policing … and Barker’s dream became a confused nightmare he wanted only to awaken from.
Private investigating, on the other hand, had come out of the blue. Jessie had once jokingly suggested Barker become a trench-coat-wearing, chain-smoking PI who hid in the shadows and worked for the people. Julia had passed the suggestion onto Barker, complete with Jessie’s joking delivery, and though she had seen a glimmer of interest in his eyes, the joke had spurred no discussion until now, two months later.
Naturally, Julia had wanted to ask Barker questions until sunset, but their conversation was cut short by Jessie arriving at work ten minutes early instead of ten minutes late, like usual.
“We’ll talk about it when you’re finished,” he had said when Jessie’s key rattled in the door. “If you don’t want me to chase this, I won’t.”
While Julia appreciated that Barker was including her opinion in his decision-making – a novelty compared to her first marriage – she didn’t enjoy having that power. Maybe some wives would kill to have so much control over the careers of their husbands, but Julia wasn’t one of them. All she wanted was for Barker to be happy and healthy.
And safe, too, which was the only niggle in her mind. She had worried far less about Barker when the most dangerous parts of his career had included papercuts, a ruined sleep schedule, and the risk of caffeine overdose. During his DI days, her worries had been constant and dark. Ironic, of course, given her reputation as an amateur sleuth, but she couldn’t change those feelings.
As a PI, officials wouldn’t breathe down Barker’s neck. He could do whatever he wanted, within the law, taking the cases that interested him and passing on the ones that didn’t. Of course, the sword had two edges, and while the personal nature of his investigating might be a blessing, not having back up at the click of his fingers, or call over the radio, worried her. Like everyone else, he would have to call the police, at risk of remaining in dangerous situations until operators could get police cars to his location.
Chewing the final mouthful of her salad, Julia knew this thinking was purely hypothetical, especially since she would never try to steer Barker away from a new challenge – especially one that excited him in ways she hadn’t seen in ages. She imagined him hiding from Katie and Vinnie in the cottage bedroom, biting his nails and worrying about her decision.
Julia already knew what she would say when she saw him later.
He would never stand in her way.
She would not stand in his.
“Julia?” Jessie’s voice broke through her thoughts. “A man’s asking to see you. He’s not taking no for an answer.”
A glance at the clock revealed she still had ten minutes left to rest, but even the shorter break had recharged her enough to face her customers. After downing the last of her lukewarm tea, she applied her friendliest smile and pushed through the beads separating the kitchen from the café. The chatter had died down slightly, but the café was still full. Johnny Watson, the editor of The Peridale Post and one of Julia’s closest and oldest friends, greeted her at the counter with a sheepish smile. As usual, he had his camera around his neck and a notepad and pen already in hand.
“I already know your answer,” Johnny started, his pale cheeks flushing deep maroon, “but, I don’t suppose you could help an old friend with an eyewitness quote?”
“You can put me down as a firm ‘no comment,’” Julia replied curtly. “There were at least one hundred people at the wedding, Johnny. You can get a quote from plenty of them.”
“But you’re the only one who saw him.” Johnny fiddled with his thick-rimmed glasses. “Is it true that his head snapped off his neck?”
“How do these rumours even start?” Julia muttered under her breath. “No, Johnny. That’s not true, and no, you can’t quote me on that.”
Johnny scribbled regardless. “I’ll put you down as ‘an anonymous source’. Can’t blame a guy for trying, can you? Might as well order a coffee while I’m here.”
Jessie nudged Julia in the ribs and nodded at the table closest to the counter where a man Julia didn’t recognise flicked through a dog-eared issue of Cotswold Life, most of his face hidden from view.
“I didn’t mean him.” Jessie nodded at Johnny. “I told him he’d have to wait until you were finished. I meant that guy reading the mag. He’s some American dude.”
“An American?” Julia echoed, a brow arching as she assessed the little she could see of the man behind the magazine. “In Peridale?”
“Maybe he’s a tourist?” Johnny suggested.
“He sounded like the police to me,” Jessie offered. “Go on. Find out what the guy wants.”
Jessie gave Julia a small push in the American’s direction, not that she needed it. Her curiosity was piqued enough to send her to the other side of the counter. He turned another page, giving her a flash of his face. Her breath caught in her throat; he was incredibly handsome.
The American had a deep golden tan, dazzling blue eyes, dark lashes, and a full head of slightly salted dark hair, with matching stubble covering his strong jaw and solid, dimpled chin. He wore a formal jacket in dark charcoal-grey over a crisp white shirt, absent of a tie and open at the collar. Confidence radiated from the way he leaned into the chair, legs spread, taking up more space than he needed, like a man unwinding in his home after a long day at work.
The American did not fit Peridale whatsoever.
“D’you want to take a picture, ma’am?” the American drawled, eyes not leaving the magazine as he flicked to the next page. “It would last longer.”
Despite the sarcasm, his voice held an unmistakable warmth, helped by what sounded like a Southern accent. Between his voice and his impressive looks, he looked like he had been plucked from the set of a Hollywood film.
“You asked to see me?” Julia asked in a voice devoid of its usual confident edge. “I’m Julia.”
The American closed the magazine carefully and gave Julia a quick once over. He met her gaze and smiled crookedly, revealing another dimple in his left cheek. He sat up slightly, and heat rose in her cheeks. She loved and adored her husband, but George Clooney had been her secret 90s schoolgirl obsession, and the American could easily have passed for his slightly younger brother.
“You knew Mister Ian Cropper,” he stated; it was not a question. “I have some questions I need answ
ered. Please, sit down.”
Julia took the chair across from him, ignoring that he had commanded her to sit in her own café. When her bottom touched the slightly cold seat, the remaining chatter silenced, and all eyes turned to her table. If gossiping was Peridale’s gold-medal-winning hobby, eavesdropping ran a close silver.
“Are you the police?” Julia asked after taking a second to compose herself.
“I’m…” The American clasped his hands and leaned forward. “I’m a friend, or I should say I was a friend of Ian’s before his tragic and untimely death.”
Though his words claimed friendship, his eyes said something altogether different; they held not a shred of grief.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” Julia offered out of politeness, in case she had misread the man’s expression. “I’m afraid I didn’t know Ian. I only met him once while he was alive.”
“You’re not the woman who found him?”
“I am,” Julia said with a reluctant nod, feeling the gossips surrounding her salivating for more details. “But I didn’t know him. He was my gran’s fiancé’s brother. Well, they’re married now. It was their wedding and—”
The American held up his hand. “Let me get this straight, ma’am. You didn’t know Ian?”
“Not in the slightest.”
Any semblance of friendliness melted from the American’s face, taking with it some of his beauty. He stood, buttoned his jacket, and headed for the door without another word. When the door slammed behind him, the gossiping erupted immediately.
Julia resumed her place behind the counter, her mind racing with questions.
“I didn’t even get his name.”
7
Julia spent the rest of the day pondering the American stranger. His blatant lie about being a friend of Ian’s made her all the more intrigued about his genuine connection to the deceased. Why was he asking questions about a man he claimed was his friend? Even if he hadn’t been lying, she couldn’t imagine Ian having kind and honest friends, not with what she knew about him.