by Agatha Frost
She almost didn’t stop, but that little girl waiting at the window for her father was still buried deep inside. She stopped in the doorway and turned back to face him as he slowly stood up.
“I’m sorry,” he said, holding out his hands. “I own up to everything. I know I haven’t been the best dad, but I’m not about to let that happen again.”
“Good,” Julia said with a firm nod. “Because he deserves better. But it doesn’t change the past.”
“We can change the future,” he said. “It’s not too late for any of us.”
Julia nodded and half-smiled, wanting so desperately to believe that. She tried to imagine Sue seeing it the same way, but she would be surprised if Sue ever spoke to either of them ever again.
“I’m happy for you, Dad,” Julia said, bowing her head. “I do mean that.”
Julia walked out of the dining room and towards the open front door, where she could see Sue sobbing on the doorstep. She hurried along the marble tiles, her tiny heels echoing around the cavernous hall.
“Julia,” her father called again. “I should have told you this before, but I’ve had a tip-off from a friend about Timothy Edwards. I think you’ll want to speak to him. He lives in a small flat above Pretty Petals on Mulberry Lane.”
Julia didn’t turn around. She almost couldn’t believe her father was taking the moment to give her information on the case, even if she did make a mental note to remember exactly what he had said.
After closing the door, she slowly approached Sue, not wanting to startle her. She crouched down, wrapping her arm around her shoulders.
“That was supposed to be my news,” Sue cried as she smudged her mascara streaks across her cheek. “She couldn’t wait to jump in and ruin it. She ruins everything.”
“It’s just your hormones,” Julia said, hugging her close to her chest. “It doesn’t take anything away from your little lime.”
Sue nodded through the last of her staggered tears. Julia unclipped her handbag and wiped away the mascara with her white handkerchief. When her face was clean, Julia hooked her thumb under Sue’s chin and lifted her face up. They both smiled, and Julia knew they were both thinking the exact same thing: no matter what happened, they would always have each other.
“Let’s get out of here,” Julia whispered. “The Comfy Corner puts on a good carvery on Sundayså.”
Sue smiled through her sadness, the thought of food cheering her up. As they walked into the village, Julia stayed two steps behind, pulled her little recipe notebook out of her bag along with her small silver pen, and scribbled down ‘Timothy Edwards – Pretty Petals’. Out of all of the information she had learned at Sunday dinner, she knew that could prove to be the most useful.
10
Still full from the carvery, Julia walked through the village to Mulberry Lane after walking Sue home. It was a lovely summer day with a clear blue sky above and a nice cool breeze bringing in the scent of freshly cut grass.
Mulberry Lane was the oldest known street in Peridale, with its mushed together cottages and shops, made from golden Cotswold stone, dating back to the 1700s. Its boutique shops were usually buzzing with life, but as Julia turned the corner onto the winding street, it was eerily quiet. At the end of the lane stood the antique barn, where she had spent a lot of her childhood with her father before her mother’s death. If she had visited it since, she had no memory of it. She wondered what would happen to it now that Anthony was dead.
Keeping Anthony fresh in the forefront of her mind, she walked to Pretty Petals, the only florist in the village. After peering through the window at the beautiful display of coloured carnations in the window, she spotted a small, bright yellow door next to the shop. She pressed the buzzer on the intercom system and waited.
“Hu-hello?” a voice mumbled through the speaker system, barely audible. “Who’s there?”
“I’m Brian South’s daughter,” Julia said, hoping that was enough. “My name is Julia. I wanted to ask you a few questions about Anthony Kennedy.”
The intercom crackled again as though the man was pushing down on the button, but he didn’t say a word. Julia wondered if she had just approached the whole thing entirely wrong, until the yellow door clicked and unlocked.
The stairway up to the small flat above the shop was dank and musty. It smelled like it was in a good need of an open window and a can of air freshener. Julia pushed on the door, hoping she would be able to breathe freely, but the theme continued throughout the flat.
Julia squinted into the dark. Despite it being the middle of the day, the curtains were tightly drawn, and there were no lights turned on. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust. When she saw the figure sitting in an armchair, she jumped back a little, her fingers clenching around her bag strap.
“Timothy Edwards?” Julia whispered, taking a deep step forward. “My name is Julia. Julia South.”
The man reached out and clicked on a small lamp. Julia almost gasped but stopped herself. The man didn’t look well at all. He was pale, and sweaty, with purple circles suffocating his eyes, which were straining from the light. He went to speak, but he erupted into a coughing fit. Julia hurried forward, placing her hand on the man’s back, but he batted her away.
“I’m fine,” he insisted through his suddenly mauve face as he fought back another attack of coughing. “I’m f – f –”
Julia hurried across the tiny flat to the kitchenette lining the back wall. The counters were covered in Chinese takeaway containers and unwashed plates. The low hum of buzzing flies filled her ears, making her shudder. She opened the cupboard above the kettle, relieved to see a clean cup. She filled it with water from the tap and returned.
Timothy sipped the water. It appeared to ease him a little. He sat back in his chair and rested his thinning hair on the headrest. He looked completely exhausted from the fit of coughing. Julia perched on the edge of the cluttered sofa next to him. On closer inspection, he didn’t appear as old as she had first thought. He was in his late forties at the most.
“I’m Julia South,” she repeated.
“I know who you are,” he snapped as he slowly opened his eyes. “What do you want? I’m not well.”
“I can see that,” Julia said, edging forward and resting her hands on her knees. “I wouldn’t have bothered you if I would have known, but I need to ask you some questions about Anthony Kennedy.”
“What about him?” Timothy said with a small cough. “He’s dead.”
“I know. Somebody is trying to frame me, rather unsuccessfully, I might add, but I’d like to clear my name before the gossips keep running with the story.”
“Poisoned,” he said, which he followed with another bout of coughing. “Doesn’t surprise me.”
He attempted to laugh, but it was replaced with more coughing. He suddenly sat up, and the smell that wafted Julia’s way made her wonder when he had last showered. It reminded her strangely of garlic.
“My father told me you and Anthony weren’t on good terms.”
“I wasn’t always living here, you know,” he said, staring down at the floor. “I’m embarrassed. I had a nice cottage and a family until Anthony came along.”
“What did he do to you?”
Timothy met her eyes with a venomous gaze. She gulped, trying not to let the fear register on her face. She looked back to the door to the staircase leading back to the bright safety of Mulberry Lane, glad she had left it slightly open for an easy escape if needed.
“He conned me,” Timothy said. “What else? That’s what he did. I thought I was different, but I should have known.”
“Conned you how?”
“Nothing that man said was true,” he continued, his eyes glazing over as he stared at the large stack of copies of The Peridale Post on the table, the latest sporting the headline ‘COFFEE SHOP OWNER POISONED’. “He had this way about him. He sucked you in and made you believe whatever he wanted. He could sell ice to the Eskimos. Rinsed me for all I was worth. I inherite
d valuable antiques from my mother. He told me they weren’t worth the scrap money, but he offered me what he called was a good deal. Ha! The man didn’t know the meaning of the word. I trusted him, and then I lost everything. I lost my job, my wife, my kids, and for what? He’s not even here now. To top it off, he came back for the painting because he knew I was a desperate man. He knew I would accept pennies for it.”
“What painting?” Julia asked.
Timothy started coughing again, but this time it didn’t subside. He stood up, instantly clutching his head. He swayed on the spot for a second before opening his eyes and stumbling across his flat and into the bathroom. Julia flicked on a second lamp, relieved at a little more light. It only showed how truly filthy the place was. She stood up and looked down at the couch, which was covered in a variety of different stains and smelled like it had spent a year or two in a swamp. She picked up the top newspaper, ignoring the article written by Johnny Watson, which also included details of her arrest and the ill-fated protest meeting. She put it down on the couch and sat, tucking her dress underneath her. She glanced at the bathroom as the sound of a flushing toilet echoed through the flat. Turning back, Julia’s eyes landed on something that was sitting on top of the stack of newspapers that had been hiding under the most recent edition. It was a photo frame. She reached out and picked it up, glancing back at the bathroom as she did. The picture that looked up at her shocked her so much that her hand drifted up to her mouth.
Anthony Kennedy stared back at her with his glowing tan, yellow hair, open shirt, and pearly white teeth, with his arm around who appeared to be a much healthier, more youthful looking Timothy. Their heads were touching as Timothy reached out to take the photograph. She recognised Blackpool’s south pier in the background.
The bathroom door opened and Julia quickly attempted to place the photograph back where she had found it, but it was too late. Timothy hobbled over and snatched the frame from her hands, his eyes wide with rage.
“What do you think you’re doing?” he growled, clutching the frame close to his chest. “How dare you come into my flat and touch my things.”
“I didn’t mean to,” Julia mumbled. “I’m sorry. I should go.”
She stood up, but the sick man loomed over her, his face nothing more than a shadow with eyes. Her heart thumped in her chest as she tried to remember where the door was.
“You were more than just friends, weren’t you?” Julia asked, remembering what her father had told her. “You and Anthony were close in another way.”
The flicker of his lids confirmed all Julia needed to know. She knew the look all too well and had felt it her fair share of times over the last week; it was heartbreak.
“He used me,” Timothy croaked as he looked down at the picture. “He sensed my weakness. He used it against me, all to get to my antiques.”
“That’s awful,” Julia whispered, reaching out and resting her hand on his, the fear subsiding. “I’m so sorry he treated you like that.”
Timothy looked as though he was going to smile, but he coughed again. Julia decided she wasn’t going to ask where he had been on the night Anthony was murdered. She didn’t want to add insult to injury.
“You mentioned something about a painting?” Julia urged, nodding her head in hopes of encouraging him.
“It doesn’t matter now,” Timothy said, tossing the frame to the ground before collapsing into the chair. “It’s too late.”
Julia looked down at the frame. The glass had cracked right down the middle, separating the two. Just looking at Anthony’s face made Julia’s blood boil. She knew he was cold, but she didn’t think even he would prey on somebody’s emotions for his own financial gain.
“I should go,” Julia said, realising she wasn’t going to get anywhere with more questioning. “Are you sure you’re going to be okay?”
“It’s just a cold,” he said before coughing again. “I can’t get the taste of metal out of my mouth. Don’t mind if I don’t show you out.”
Julia stepped over the broken frame and towards the door. She turned back at the same moment Timothy flicked off the lamps, sending himself into darkness once more. She didn’t know the man, but it broke her heart to leave another human being in such a state. This was something not even one of her cakes could fix.
Julia pulled her notepad and pen out of her handbag as she made her way down the stairs. When she opened the door, she was glad to inhale the fresh country air again. It took her eyes a second to adjust, but the moment they did, she was scribbling down every detail Timothy had told her.
“Julia?” a familiar voice called out.
When she saw Barker walking down the street towards her, her heart skipped a beat. She smiled, never gladder than she was right then to hear Barker say her name. All she wanted to do was run into his arms, but she restrained herself.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, pocketing the notepad.
“I could ask you the same question,” he said as he looked sternly down at her bag as she clipped it shut. “Somebody called about a hanging flower basket that’s been stolen, so I thought I’d check it out.”
“A hanging basket?”
“Sentimental value,” Barker said quickly with a shrug. “Or so they say. I’m glad I’ve bumped into you. There was something I wanted to tell you.”
“Oh?” Julia replied quickly, barely able to contain her smile.
“It’s about the case.”
“Oh,” she said, the smile vanishing. “Here to arrest me?”
“The opposite, actually,” Barker said as he stuffed his hands into his trouser pockets and rocked back on his heels. “You’ve officially been dropped as a suspect. You’ll probably get a call tomorrow to confirm, so just act surprised.”
“Why?” Julia asked, crossing her arms. “Has somebody been arrested?”
“I’m not at liberty to say.”
“It’s not your case.”
“It’s still an active case, though,” he said, holding back the usual grin he gave her whenever she questioned his authority. “Since an arrest would be public record, I can tell you that you won’t find anything if you go looking.”
“Why have they dropped me?” she asked again, curious to know what vital piece of information had ruled her out of the running.
“I shouldn’t be telling you this,” he said, glancing over his shoulder to make sure they were alone. “The toxicology report came back. It showed that the arsenic that killed Anthony had built up in his system over a long period of time. The theory is that he was given small doses, little and often. Not enough to kill him in one go, but enough to be eventually fatal. It just so happened that his body gave in on that night, and whoever had been doing the poisoning had been keeping a watchful eye on him.”
“And they tried to pin it on me because of the rivalry,” Julia said. “Quite clever.”
“My guess is whoever killed Anthony started doing it long before he found a fingernail in one of your cakes,” he said reassuringly. “You were just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“What are the symptoms of arsenic poisoning?” Julia asked.
“You don’t think you’ve been poisoned, do you?”
“I feel fine.”
“Good,” Barker said, a genuine smile warming his lips. “I worried you might have been targeted as collateral damage. The symptoms are wide and varied, depending on how long the poisoning has been going on. It can remain undetected at first, but when somebody is succumbing to the toxin, they’ll start sweating out of control, get stomach cramps, headaches, dizziness, vomiting, excess saliva, and a weird metallic taste in their mouth. The most peculiar one is that they might smell of garlic, which I almost couldn’t believe when I heard.”
Barker chuckled, but Julia wasn’t laughing. She mouthed the word ‘garlic’ to herself as she turned back to Timothy’s door. Her heart stopped in her chest as she thought about the man she had just left alone in his dark flat. Julia hurried over to the d
oor and pressed the buzzer over and over. When he didn’t answer, she banged hard with her fists.
“We need to get in,” Julia said. “I was visiting Timothy to ask about Anthony. They were having a love affair, which resulted in Anthony conning the man out of his valuables.”
“So?” Barker asked, his brows creased low over his eyes.
“He had those symptoms!” she cried, her fists beating on the wood. “He said he had the taste of metal in his mouth! He thinks he has a cold, but he looked like he was on death’s door.”
Barker’s eyes suddenly widened. He pushed Julia to the side. Before she knew what was happening, Barker’s body collided with the door, and it burst open with one swift bang. Julia scrambled after Barker as he ran up the stairs. He opened the door to the dark flat and felt on the wall for the light switch. By the time he had flicked on the light, Julia was right behind him.
“Don’t look,” Barker said, holding out his arm.
She stepped to the side, her mouth drying in an instant. Timothy was slumped in his chair, the photograph from the frame resting on his chest. There was no doubt that the man was dead.
Without bothering about anything that had happened, she buried her face into Barker’s chest.
11
Julia barely slept a wink. She couldn’t shake Timothy’s pain from her thoughts, no matter how many times she tossed and turned. Just like Maggie, he had been deceived by Anthony’s lies, but the bubble had burst for Timothy, which seemed to have taken a much worse effect on him than Maggie.
When she crawled out of bed on Monday morning ready to start another week at her café, her mind was filled with questions. Who had poisoned Timothy, and why? What did he know that could have led the police to the murderer if they had asked the right questions?
Julia skipped breakfast and sent Jessie to open up the café alone, deciding it was time she stopped avoiding her problems and talked to the one person who might actually be able to give her some answers to what was going on.