The Complete Kate Benedict Cozy British Mysteries

by Carrie Bedford

  “I’ll bring food and we can have dinner together?” he offered.

  Happy, I threw the lasagna in the bin and ran around, tidying up.

  The sound of the doorbell was jarring in the silence of the apartment. I glanced at the clock. It was only six, even though the rain-soaked darkness made it seem much later. When I opened the front door, Josh wrapped his arms around me. I leaned into him, feeling the dampness of his coat through my thin silk shirt.

  “I’ve been really worried about you,” he said, taking off his coat, which was dripping water that pooled into dark spots on the beige carpet. With the image of the bloodstains on Rebecca’s carpet flashing in front of my eyes, I took a step back.

  “Are you okay?” Josh asked.

  “Not really. A lot has happened.”

  “Why don’t you sit while I heat up this food and make us some drinks.”

  We moved to the kitchen, Josh pulling out a counter stool for me to sit on before turning his attention to a bottle of white wine. He handed me a glass.

  “I’m sorry about your nephew. How’s he doing?”

  I’d told Josh some of the story by text. Now I filled in the details of Aidan’s appendicitis and surgery. “He’s going to be fine, but it was frightening for a while.”

  I left Aidan’s aura out of the story. There was no need to bring it up and risk spoiling the newfound harmony between us.

  “Any updates on Rebecca?” Josh asked. “I thought the funeral would have been sooner.”

  “It was delayed because of the autopsy. The police think it was murder.”

  A look of shock crossed Josh’s face. “Murder? But who and how? I thought it was an accident?”

  I told him about my own suspicions, the autopsy findings, and my meeting with Clarke. Josh put his hand over mine and held it there while I talked. I didn’t say anything about Clarke’s concerns for my safety.

  When I finished, we sat in silence for a while. I heard the clock ticking in the living room and the muted sound of traffic from the street below.

  “Kate, I need to apologize to you,” Josh said. “I got mad about the glass panels, which was really stupid of me. I know you weren’t going around me to Alan.” He sighed. “It’s no excuse, but I’ve been running on fumes for more than a month now. Alan’s working me really hard. Not just me, but Laura and Jim too. I get the feeling there’s something going on that we don’t know about.”

  “Something wrong at the top, do you think?”

  “I’m not sure. I’ll tell you if I learn anything.”

  He paused, took a sip of wine. “How’s Nick doing?”

  “I don’t know. I make excuses to check in on him by sending him messages. So far, so good, but I haven’t seen him for a week. I need to do that soon to check if the aura is any stronger. That reminds me. I saw Gary a few days ago.”

  I told Josh about Gary’s hostility and his apparent jealousy of Nick’s friendship with Rebecca.

  “Do you think he could have killed Rebecca?” Josh asked.

  “I don’t know. I can’t imagine anyone killing her, Gary or anyone else. Who could do that?”

  I stifled a yawn. It wasn’t late, but I was exhausted. Josh began to clean up, rinsing plates and wiping down the counter. Then he put the kettle on.

  “Chamomile tea?”

  Reminded of Sister Chiara, I thought I should tell him about my meeting with her, but it seemed like more words than my brain could handle. I said yes to the tea. I’d tell him about the nun another time.

  “How about I sleep on the sofa tonight?” he asked.

  He held up his hand when I opened my mouth to object. “I won’t be in your way. I just want to be sure you’re all right. This isn’t a good time for you to be alone. I’ll let myself out in the morning.”

  I had to admit to myself that I wanted the company. At the same time, I was nervous, not ready to jump into bed with Josh, and I wasn’t sure if that’s what he’d really meant.

  As if divining my thoughts, he put down the teapot and came to take my hands in his. “Genuine offer. No strings attached,” he said. “I’m used to sleeping on sofas, and I’ll sleep better knowing that you’re close by. Okay?”

  I nodded, emotion clogging my throat. Clinging to him, I felt the smoothness of his shirt against my cheek. Then we were kissing, tentatively at first, but with increasing urgency. Pleasure collided with anxiety. I wasn’t ready for this yet. I needed to keep my mind clear to solve the aura dilemma, to work out how to look after Nick. Still, I loved the feeling of Josh’s mouth on mine, the firmness of his body against my fingers. Abandoning my normal circumspection, I took his hand and led him to the bedroom. The aura hallucinations made me feel vulnerable and out of control. So what? That didn’t mean I had to put my entire life on hold.

  I woke up a few times during the night to assure myself that Josh was still there. He was, his body curled around mine. In the soft glow from a streetlight, his hair looked black against the white pillow. He slept peacefully. I wondered if he was dreaming.

  He must have got up while I slept because I woke to a gentle shake and a cup of tea on the bedside table. It was still dark, but it was that grey thin darkness that heralds the arrival of the day.

  “I have to run home for a clean shirt,” he said. “I didn’t want to leave without saying anything. I’ll see you at the office.”

  When I heard the front door close, I grabbed the pillow Josh had slept on, holding it against my chest while I thought about what had happened. Deciding that I felt ridiculously happy, I got up, took a shower and dressed, getting ready in record time. I wanted to be early to work.

  When I reached my desk, I found a note telling me to go see Alan as soon as I arrived. Dread knotted my stomach. I knew my repeated absences had infuriated him; this final one had probably pushed him over the edge. So I dawdled, walking slowly along the corridors, hoping to see Josh, to perhaps enlist his support. There was no sign of him.

  Alan kept the meeting brief, expressed his frustration and anger in colorful terms and recommended I take a month’s unpaid leave to get myself sorted out.

  “I’d be justified in terminating you,” he said. “But I’m holding out hope that you can clean up your act and come back as a productive member of the team. Do a handover with Laura, who will be taking over your part of the project. Then get out of here before I change my mind and fire you.”

  I left, having not uttered a single word. Even though I’d expected it, I was stunned. I bolted back to my office, avoiding any contact with other employees. After texting Josh to let him know and asking him to come over straight after work, I packed a few things in my briefcase. When I walked out the front door, I felt unhooked, like a boat come adrift from its dock.

  I crossed the road to avoid a construction site, where men in orange vests wielded jackhammers. Barricades protected deep holes in the ground and the smell of old asphalt and gas made my nostrils burn. It seemed that London was in a constant state of repair, hardly surprising, given how long it had been standing. With nothing better to do for the day, I decided to walk home, detouring here and there to pass some of the City’s ancient buildings and monuments to remind myself of why I’d wanted to become an architect. I paused outside St. Bartholomews, the oldest church in the City. Built in the twelfth century, it had survived centuries of natural and human interventions, with some parts obliterated, and other features, like the Tudor gatehouse, added hundreds of years later. Admiring the Romanesque flint and stone walls, I thought of how resilient the old building was. It made me feel better. I could endure this temporary hiatus in my career. Lengthening my stride, I continued my journey through the narrow roads and alleyways of the old city, which gradually gave way to twentieth-century rows of shops and flats.

  Back at my apartment, I cleaned the kitchen to the sound of the morning news on the television. The day stretched out in front of me like an interminable desert landscape. Josh was at work, Leo was teaching, Inspector Clarke was investiga
ting. Even my retired father was probably busy writing his book. Paolo was treating patients, and I supposed that Sister Chiara was praying or gardening.

  When my cell phone rang, I grabbed it, hoping it would be Alan to tell me he’d changed his mind. It was Inspector Clarke. He told me, with ill-concealed irritation, that the computer technician who worked on facial composite images was back at work. He had booked a time with Nick to create a sketch of the man thought to be Rebecca’s boyfriend.

  “Can you come in to take a look at it tomorrow morning?” Clarke asked. “I’m sorry to ask. I know you’ll have to get to work. You can come early. Would eight be all right?”

  I said yes, not wanting to tell him about my enforced medical leave. When he rang off, I sat, absorbing the silence. Being unemployed, even temporarily, felt awful. I answered on the first ring when my phone trilled again.

  “Kate, it’s Jack. A little bird told me that you’re not at work today. What’s the problem?”

  “Alan put me on leave for a month.”

  “That seems harsh,” Jack said. The line wasn’t very clear. His voice faded in and out. “I’m on the train back from Edinburgh,” he said. “Sorry about the signal. Listen, come into the office tomorrow. I can smooth things over with Alan. He often jumps before he looks, you know. We need all hands on deck right now. Lots going on.”

  “It’s my own fault,” I felt compelled to confess. “I’ve been out of the office a lot. It’s hard to blame Alan for being upset with me.”

  “Are you ill? What’s the problem with all the time off?”

  I contemplated telling Jack about the aura sightings. I trusted him. Ever since I joined the company, he’d been very good to me. He deserved to know the reasons why I’d been out so much.

  “I’m not ill, but I have been having some issues,” I began. “Hallucinations, I suppose you could call them. That, and all the time, of course, around the investigation into Rebecca’s death. I’ve spent a lot of time with the police.”

  “Rebecca Williams?” he asked, sounding as though he was in a tunnel. “Why are you involved in the investigation?”

  “We were friends. I’ve been able to help the police with some details, and…”

  The line went dead. Thirty seconds later, the phone rang.

  “I’ll probably lose you again,” Jack said. “Will you come into the office in the morning? We can chat then. I’ll square it with Alan for you to come back to work. I’ll be in at eight thirty. Let’s talk then.”

  “All right, as long as you’re sure Alan won’t try to throw me out. He wasn’t very happy today. Oh, and there is one thing. I need to go to the police station at eight tomorrow, just to look at a sketch. I’ll come straight to the office afterwards, but it may be a little later than eight thirty. I promised Inspector Clarke I’d go in.”

  The train must be fording a river, judging by the gurgling and whooshing noises on the line. I heard a muffled ‘okay’ before the call died. I felt better for having talked with Jack. I knew he could persuade Alan to let me come back. Alan could be aggressive and strident, but Jack seemed to get what he wanted most of the time.

  My feelings of rejection alleviated by Jack’s call, I embarked on a thorough clean out of my closet and the kitchen cupboards. When everything was shipshape and orderly, I decided to go shopping for a special dinner for Josh. Checking my watch, I realized I could beat the commute rush if I left at once. A high quality supermarket was just a couple of Tube stops away; I always enjoyed exploring the aisles of organic food and fresh produce there.

  An hour later, with two full bags in hand, I headed home. It was on the escalator going back up to street level that I began to feel uneasy. Without the usual crush of commuters, the Tube station was so quiet that I could hear the rhythmic pulse of the machinery that moved the escalators. Perhaps it was the calm that heightened my other senses; the faint prickle on the back of my neck as though someone had stroked a finger across my skin. Turning quickly, I saw a young couple a few steps below me, entwined and oblivious to all but each other. Behind them, a man in a dark wool coat rested his fingers lightly on the moving handrail and appeared to be reading the advertisements on the walls. His studied absorption in the posters seemed artificial but, although I watched him for a while, he didn’t turn his head to look at me. I must be imagining things.

  I passed through the turnstiles in the windswept entry hall and took the exit on to the high street, pulling my scarf tighter around my neck against the sudden blast of cold. There were plenty of pedestrians about, and the shops were busy. I stopped to look in the window of a shoe store, eyeing a pair of brown leather boots I’d been thinking of buying. In the glass, I saw the man from the escalator walk past me. I turned my head to watch him. He was quite tall, broad-shouldered, with sandy hair. He was moving slowly. Now I was sure he was following me. I reached for my cell phone, dialed Inspector Clarke’s number, and heard a recorded voice, telling me to leave a message.

  In the time it took me to listen to it, my heart rate had slowed and my breathing had returned to normal. The man in the overcoat had disappeared into the crowds, so I left a short message for Inspector Clarke, asking him to call me back when he had time.

  Walking home, I decided I was overreacting. Still, when I reached my building, I stopped and looked around before opening the front door, then slipped inside and pushed the door closed behind me. With no sounds to reassure me that anyone else was home in the downstairs apartment, my heart thudded against my ribs as I climbed the stairs. The dark shadows at the end of the hallways were suddenly full of imaginary assailants. I almost ran up the last flight of stairs, grocery bags in one hand, keys at the ready. Once I was in my apartment, I did a quick tour of the rooms, even swishing the shower curtain back in the bathroom. I’d always had a vague fear of what might lurk in a curtained-off bath, probably from watching Psycho so many times.

  Certain that I was alone and that no one had followed me, I chided myself for being a coward. I was still trying to decide whether I was making too much of the man in the black coat when my phone rang. “Aunt Kate? It’s Aidan.”

  “Aidan, sweetheart, it’s so good to hear your voice. How are you feeling?”

  “Hungry. I’m still on IV fluids and ice chips, but tomorrow they’re going to let me have some real food. And they might let me go home by Friday, which would be brilliant because I want to watch the Chelsea match on television. It’s really boring here.”

  I leaned against the kitchen counter listening to Aidan recount his memories of coming out of surgery, the details of the hospital routine, and the loud snoring noises emanating from the other patient in his room. He said his school friends had made a huge card for him and sent it with a bunch of balloons.

  “And Dad keeps coming in and staring at me like he’s never seen me before. Can you tell him to stop doing that? It’s creepy.”

  I laughed. “No, I don’t think I can. You had us all very scared there for a while, kiddo. Your dad’s just happy that you’re alive and well.”

  “Dad said things could have been pretty bad if it wasn’t for you, Aunt Kate. That you were the one that got the ambulance to come. So thanks for doing that. Lucky you got me this cell phone, huh?”

  “Yes, that was lucky.”

  “OK, I have to go. The nurse is here to change my IV. Will you come and visit soon? Maybe this weekend?”

  “Of course. I can’t wait to see you. Maybe we can watch the soccer together. Love you.”

  “Yeah, bye.”

  I stared at the blank screen on my phone for a full minute after Aidan hung up, reliving the terror I’d felt when I saw the aura, the panicked trip to the emergency room, and the overwhelming relief when Aidan came out of surgery and the aura was gone.

  After unpacking the groceries, which kept me occupied for all of two minutes, I set about preparing dinner. The cell phone rang again; this time it was Inspector Clarke.

  “Kate. Are you all right?” There was a sharp edge of ur
gency in his voice. I felt guilty about alarming him.

  “Yes, I’m fine. I thought I was being followed, but now I’m not so sure.”

  Clarke made me describe the man and said he’d look into it.

  “For now, keep your door locked.”

  “Of course. Is there anything new?” I asked. “Any leads on who Rebecca’s boyfriend might be?”

  “Nothing concrete. We found wire transfers into Rebecca’s bank account at the beginning of each year for sums that would cover six months’ rent. So that explains how the boyfriend was paying for the apartment. But the remitting bank is based in Switzerland and we don’t have a name for the account holder. I’m working on it but it could take days – if not weeks. It’s well nigh impossible to deal with the Swiss when it comes to disclosing information on bank accounts.”

  “Do you think he’s deliberately obscuring the trail of money?” I asked. “To hide something?” This was a lot more elaborate than I’d imagined.

  “Possibly. It could be some rich guy who’s paying for the rent out of untaxed money. My people are working on it.” He paused. “You’re sure you’re okay? You sounded a little rattled when you left that voicemail.”

  “I’m fine. I panicked. Maybe I’ll see you in the morning when I come in to look at the identikit picture.”

  “Maybe. It depends on how much murder and mayhem the night brings. If I don’t see you, be sure to call me. I’m hoping you will recognize the man in the sketch.”

  I promised I’d call.

  Thinking about Rebecca and the boyfriend, I went to find the drawing of Rebecca’s room that I had kept and stored in a drawer in the kitchen, I stared at it for ten minutes while I made and drank some tea. Nothing new jumped out at me. I just kept running through the same scenario in my head. Rebecca and her boyfriend had argued, he’d held her by the wrists, trying to reason with her, and then, angry, had pushed her away. She’d fallen on to the glass table, and lay bleeding on the shards of glass. Then what? With frightening lack of compassion, the boyfriend had waited for her to die, ignoring her effort to pull herself up, not helping her, not calling for an ambulance. And then he’d added the props of the wineglass and wine bottle in an attempt to provide a reason for her fall.