The Complete Kate Benedict Cozy British Mysteries

by Carrie Bedford

  After doing a slow circuit around the park, I sat at the end of a green wooden bench to retie my shoelaces. One broke off when I tugged on it too hard. I took the shoe off to re-lace it with what was left of the white cord. A young woman pushing a stroller and talking on a cell phone stopped in front of me. Positioning the stroller at the other end of the bench, she sank on to the wooden seat and lit a cigarette. Annoyed, I stared at her. I didn’t understand why anyone would use cigarettes around children. The dangers of second-hand smoke were well-known, but the woman, oblivious, carried on her conversation, taking deep drags and coughing occasionally.

  I worked faster on my shoe, anxious to get away from the smoke. A little girl climbed out of the stroller. She was about three, with blonde curls peeping out from a pink beret. Her pink raincoat matched her wellingtons and she clutched a small brown teddy bear. I didn’t think of myself as much of a maternal type but I smiled at the sweetness of all that pink. The mother didn’t seem very maternal either when she snapped at the child, who was climbing up on to her lap.

  “For goodness’ sake, Sophie, get down. You’re too heavy to sit on me.”

  In spite of the harsh words, Sophie remained where she was. I winced to see the smoke being blown into the child’s face. I slipped my shoe back on and stood up, just as Sophie dropped her teddy bear. She scrambled down to pick it up. Immediately, I saw that the air over her head was trembling. I sat back on the bench, trying not to stare. There was no doubt that the rippling air was there, shimmering over the pink beret and blonde hair. I glanced at the mother, but she wasn’t even looking at the child, focused instead on using her phone. I opened my mouth to say something but closed it again. I couldn’t tell her about the aura. The woman would think I was a lunatic.

  Sophie began singing to her little bear, swinging the toy from side to side in time to the song. She took a few steps away from the bench, across the asphalted trail and on to the grass on the other side. She turned to look at her mother, who seemed to either not notice or not care, and then she ran a few yards further.

  Alarmed, I spoke to the young woman. “Your little girl,” I said, pointing, but she waved my words away with an outstretched hand.

  “What? Sorry, somebody interrupted me,” she said, settling further back into the bench.

  I turned my attention back to the child, who was skipping towards the trees on the other side of the grass. She was moving fast for being so small. Deciding there was no point in waiting for the mother to make a move, I set off after Sophie. The girl had already reached the trees, where she disappeared for a moment between the dark trunks.

  To my left, I caught sight of a man in a jacket with a hood up over his head. He was also walking towards the trees. My mind filled with thoughts of pedophiles, I broke into a jog. Reaching the tree line, I saw Sophie still scampering ahead of me; any second now, she would cross his path. What would he do? Snatch her and run? I darted forward, aware of stabbing pains in my knees, and saw the little girl pass just a few yards in front of him. He didn’t even look at her, but kept walking, white earphone cables dangling from under his hood.

  Thunder rolled above us and a flash of lightning brightened the purple sky. Fat drops of water began to fall. Within seconds, rain cascaded through the trees, soaking my running shirt. Swollen black clouds hung so low that they seemed to be ensnared in the leafless branches. I wiped the rain from my eyes with a corner of my running shirt and then realized that the girl had disappeared from sight. Panicked, I ran in the direction where I had last seen her, my feet slipping on the wet grass. A glimpse of pink off to my right. I breathed again. Leaving the trees behind, I saw her on the other side of an expanse of lawn. In the lurid light of the storm, the grass looked black, like the surface of an angry sea.

  It took a minute for me to register the danger. Sophie was standing on the concrete rim of a boating pond, looking down into the water. On sunny days, kids brought remote-controlled boats and raced them around the pool, but today it was deserted. Green water churned under the torrential rain.

  “Sophie!” I shouted. “Get off the wall.”

  My words were drowned out by the gusty wind and crash of rain. In slow motion, the stuffed bear slipped from Sophie’s fingers into the murky water. She leaned forward, hand outstretched. She seemed to slip, tried to catch her balance and disappeared from sight over the rim of the pond. I dashed towards her. Stepping up on to the low wall, I saw a pink outline under the surface. I reached down, but the water was deeper than I’d thought. I couldn’t get hold of her. I plunged in, feeling the cold water hit my skin with a shock like an electric current. When my feet touched bottom, the algae-filled water was over my head, and my eyes burned.

  Lunging towards Sophie, I tried to grab at her arm. She had drifted a few yards away, her pink raincoat rendered grey in the muddy, opaque water. I took several strokes towards her and reached down to gather her into my arms. Twice I tried to grab her and failed, my hands slipping on the plastic macintosh. Then, desperate, I caught hold of her hair to pull her towards me. Her body was limp, her eyes were closed, and blood was leaking from her head, trailing through the water like tendrils of black smoke.

  I held her face above the water and dog-paddled back to the rim. There, I shifted my grip on her, while scrabbling at the wall with my free hand. The side of the stone basin was slick with frothy green scum and I couldn’t get a firm hold. Scraping my arms and legs against the concrete, I finally managed to grab the slippery wall and push Sophie over the top of it. Then I clambered out, my breaths short and ragged, my chest burning. I scrambled to my feet, stripped off my shirt and wadded it against the wound on Sophie’s head. She must have hit the rim when she fell in. I felt for a pulse but there was nothing. Frantic, I started gentle chest compressions, trying to remember what I had learned in girl scouts about CPR.

  I shouted for help while I did the chest compressions, wondering how it was possible that I was in the middle of one of the busiest cities on Earth and yet so alone. At last, a man’s voice sounded close by.

  “I’m calling for an ambulance,” he said, striding towards me with a cell phone at his ear. It was the young man with the hooded jacket.

  I nodded and kept working. After what felt like an infinite span of time, the wail of an ambulance siren cut through the steady drumbeat of the rain. Sophie’s eyelids fluttered and my heart lifted. Thank God.

  “Is she your daughter?” the stranger asked, holding the shirt that was now red with blood tight against her wound. I shook my head.

  Before he could ask any more questions, a scream echoed over the pond. I glanced up to see Sophie’s mother running towards us, ungainly in her shiny padded coat and tight jeans.

  “Sophie, oh my God. What did you do?” she shouted at me.

  Then the grassy area was suddenly crowded with paramedics, calm, strong men in yellow jackets, with blankets and oxygen tanks. An ambulance parked a hundred yards away at the edge of the lawn, its blue light whirling.

  I stood up and moved away to give the paramedics room to work. Sophie’s mother screamed and yelled while I sank to my knees on the wet lawn, vomiting up foul green water. I couldn’t stop shaking. The child had been well and happy just ten minutes ago. Now she was fighting for her life.

  Images from the past flashed past my eyes. Visions of a tiny white casket, mourners in black, the smell of white carnations and blue hyacinths. So long ago, yet it felt like no time at all. This couldn’t be happening again.

  One of the paramedics came over, wrapped a blanket around me, took my pulse and listened to my chest. His face was close to mine and he smelled of peppermint and something herbal, eucalyptus maybe.

  “Good,” he said. “Pulse a little high but steady. No water in the lungs. But you should come in for a check-up at the hospital.”

  “No, I’m okay. Just look after the little girl.”

  “She’s in good hands,” he said. “And you did a terrific job.”

  Just as he walked away,
a uniformed police officer appeared, helped me to my feet and led me to the steps of the ambulance, where he asked a lot of questions about what had happened. I did my best to answer them, aware the whole time of the screams of Sophie’s mother.

  Finally, the officer thanked me and helped me into the back of a police car. He told the driver take me home. My legs were like pillars of lead. It took forever to climb the stairs to my apartment. I tore my soaked running pants and sports bra off, threw them with the blanket on the bathroom floor, and pulled on my robe.

  In the kitchen, I put the kettle on and stared, mesmerized, at the steam rising from the spout. It looked like the moving air over Sophie. It had been there, clear and distinct over her little pink beret. What did it mean? After I’d showered and dressed, I drank a cup of tea, leaning against the counter, watching my hand shake as I lifted the china mug to my lips. I wasn’t sure I should drive to Oxford, but I also knew I had to go. Leo was already concerned about me. If I didn’t turn up, he’d be at my door in a few hours.

  5

  “Hi everyone!” I called as I let myself into my brother’s house, a red brick, semi-detached on the outskirts of Oxford. I’d made good time on the drive up from London, in light of Saturday afternoon traffic.

  “Hi Aunt Kate.”

  Aidan and Gabe were leaning over the coffee table with remotes in hand, concentrating closely on whatever computer game they were playing. Their blonde heads were almost touching, and their long legs were splayed out in identical blue jeans and Converse sneakers so it was hard to tell which limbs belonged to which boy. I continued on to the kitchen where I could hear the clink of dishes.

  “Kate!” Leo straightened up from loading the dishwasher. He leaned forward to give me a peck on the cheek. He was six inches taller than me, his lean body clad in a black t-shirt and skinny jeans. His dark brown hair was thick and glossy, and he had the same blue eyes and long dark lashes as me. Everyone said we looked like twins.

  “What do you have there?” he asked, eyeing the bags I was carrying.

  “Dinner,” I said, pushing a pile of plates to one side and unloading everything on to the counter. “I thought we could go Italian. I brought prosciutto, Parmesan, those little stuffed peppers you like, and olives. Bread of course, and a bottle of Brunello…” I stopped when I saw Leo’s expression.

  “What?”

  “I promised the boys we would have fish and chips tonight,” he said.

  “They can have fish and chips any night.”

  “No, they can’t because I won’t let them,” said Leo firmly. “It’s a treat because it’s Saturday and first day of their half-term break.”

  “Well, let the boys have fish and chips. We’ll eat this. All the more for us.”

  Leo nodded. “All right. You open the wine while I run to the chippie to pick up our order. I’ll be just ten minutes.”

  I put plates and cutlery out on the kitchen island, retrieved two dirty wineglasses from the dishwasher, washed and dried them. There were no napkins to be found, so I folded pieces of kitchen towel into triangles and laid them by the two plates. I opened the wine, poured a little of the deep red liquid into each glass, then took a sip. It tasted of sun and warm earth. I rotated my shoulders, trying to roll the tension of the morning away. I wanted to check in to make sure Sophie was recovering but didn’t know which hospital she’d been taken to. I didn’t even know her second name.

  In the living room, the boys were shrieking in excitement and I wondered how Leo managed to stay so calm. He was a great Dad, single since his wife ran off with the realtor who had sold them this house two years ago. He was a math professor at Oxford University. Somehow, he managed to juggle his teaching with ferrying the boys to and from school, sports clubs and music lessons. I knew that cleaning and laundry came pretty far down the to-do list; the house had a faint odor of cooking fat and sweaty socks.

  “What are you doing, Katie?” Leo came in with two white carrier bags. The smell of fish and malt vinegar filled up the kitchen.

  I jumped. “Just straightening things a little.”

  “You were arranging the mugs so the handles all point in the same direction,” he said accusingly, looking at the shelf holding the offending crockery.

  “Well, it makes it easier to get them down that way.”

  “Here, help me dish this up. The boys can eat out of the paper. It’ll save washing up later.”

  I realized that Leo had ordered enough for all four of us and felt a pang of guilt. It had never struck me to ask whether he would have preferred to eat fish and chips. We gave the boys their food, although I winced at the thought of what havoc the greasy meal would wreak on the sofa. Then Leo and I settled on the stools at the kitchen island.

  “Cheers.” Leo clinked his glass against mine. He looked serious. “Are you all right?” he asked. “You seem a bit jumpy.”

  I told him about the near-drowning in the park that morning. “The little girl will be all right,” I said, “but it was scary.”

  “Goodness, Katie. That’s rough. Good for you for saving her.”

  He paused, took a sip of wine. “I’ve been worried about you ever since Dad called. How are you feeling? Dad said your legs were pretty banged up. It can’t have helped to be jumping in and out of ponds like you did this morning.”

  “I’m fine. Everything is healing quickly and no harm was done today, apart from to my nerves.”

  I tore a piece of bread in half, the white fibers stretching and breaking under the assault.

  “What did Dad tell you about the accident?” I asked.

  Leo looked at me over the rim of his glass. “Just that you had a bump on the head and seemed a little confused about what had happened. He sounded rattled, to be honest. It must have scared him to see you hurt like that, especially after Mum… Well, you know.”

  I took a gulp of wine. I’d had all week to think about what had happened and still didn’t understand it. Was I going to tell Leo the truth or the anodyne version I’d stuck to with everyone else? I’d always confided in him, looked up to him when we were kids, shared with him my dream of becoming an architect. But he wouldn’t want to hear this.

  And then there was that strange moving air that I could see.

  “Dad says the police are trying to trace the car, but that you didn’t get a plate number, so he doubts they’ll find anything.” Leo paused. “Katie? What are you thinking about? You’ve got that million miles away look on your face.”

  Of course they wouldn’t find anything, I thought.

  Leo began eating with enthusiasm, apparently forgiving me for depriving him of his fish and chips.

  “So until that happened, how do you think Dad was doing? Is he okay?”

  I’d gone for the weekend to keep Dad company for his birthday, and ended up staying until Tuesday because of my accident. I knew Dad enjoyed seeing me. Or he had until the day after the accident. Things hadn’t gone so well after that.

  “Dad’s okay. He’s gardening and writing, and hanging out with Paolo.” I paused and took a sip of wine. “And Francesca’s spending a lot of time there. I think she has a crush on him.”

  Leo put his glass down. “You’re not serious.”

  “Yes, really. Either Dad is totally oblivious or he’s keen on her as well. She’s been there cooking for him and now she’s eating with him too. She calls him ‘Feeleep’.”

  “It could be worse, I suppose,” said Leo. “I like Francesca. She’s been very nice to us all since we were kids.”

  He was right. My parents had first bought the villa as a vacation home and, whenever we visited, our neighbor Francesca would open the house up, air it out, and stock the fridge with food and milk. She always left treats, lollipops for the kids and biscotti for Mum and Dad. In the last few years, she’d lost both her son and her husband and now lived alone in a rambling villa close to my father’s.

  “I like her too, but it’s too soon. Dad’s lonely, I know, but he shouldn’t hurry into ano
ther relationship.”

  “He’s sensible enough not to move too fast. But some people, men anyway, need a partner. They’re just not cut out for living alone.”

  “Not like you,” I said. But don’t you miss Marie sometimes? Or think about finding someone new?”

  He picked up his wineglass again. “I never miss Marie. And there is someone, actually. Her name’s Olivia. I’d like you to meet her next time you’re here. She’s a psychology professor at the university. I think you’ll like her.”

  Surprised, thrilled that Leo was finally showing some interest in dating, I nodded enthusiastically and was about to launch an inquisition when the phone rang.

  “Aidan, get that, will you?” Leo called. There was no movement in the living room. When the ringing continued, Leo pushed his stool back, the feet scraping on the tile. I heard him pick up the phone in the hallway, followed by a murmur of voices. He came back to the kitchen looking shaken, reached for his glass and took a swallow of wine.

  “That was Dad,” he said.

  “Is something wrong?” I felt my heart rate rocket.

  “Francesca’s dead.”

  I gripped the edge of the counter with one hand to steady myself. “What?”

  “She had a stroke, probably yesterday evening, and her body was discovered a few hours ago. Dad’s upset. She’d invited him over for dinner last night but he’d planned on playing chess with Paolo. Now he thinks that maybe she would have survived the stroke if he’d been there. They say the first hour is critical.”

  “Shit.” I felt queasy. Francesca dead, so suddenly.

  “The funeral will be next week some time,” continued Leo. “I told Dad I’d fly over with the boys. It’s half-term, so they’ll be out of school.”

  There was something flickering at the edges of my brain, a memory of something that had happened with Francesca.