Black Cherry Betrayal (Claire's Candles Cozy Mystery Book 2)

by Agatha Frost

  “What was her final movement?” Alan asked.

  “Funny you should ask that.” He nodded at the bathroom as he swirled his hot chocolate around. “Jane drew her pension from the post office. I wanted to ask your wife if she noticed anything suspicious, but I have a feeling she won’t come out until I leave.”

  Harry drained the rest of his hot chocolate before slamming the cup down. He looked at the remainder of his salad sandwich but pushed the plate away before standing. The sudden movement of his stomach shook the table, rattling the lid of the teapot.

  “Ask her for me, will you, old chap?” Harry asked, slapping Alan heartily on the back. “If she says anything of interest, you know how to reach me.”

  Harry pulled ten pounds from his wallet and slotted it under his tray before leaving. He squeezed back into his tiny red car and performed the sloppiest three-point turn Claire had ever seen, almost reversing through the café window in the process. Claire had done something similar on her final of three attempts at trying to pass her driving test, although in her case, she’d reversed right into a bus stop.

  As though she could sense he had gone, Janet emerged from the bathroom in a cloud of floral perfume and sporting fresh coats of lipstick and mascara. As familiar as she found her mother’s signature fragrance, Claire would always associate it with the tragedy at the tearoom now.

  “I don’t say this to be cruel,” Janet said as she delicately resumed her place at the table, “but that’s the thinnest the two of you have ever looked.”

  Claire and Alan both grinned and laughed. Claire didn’t take offence; she owned a mirror and had eyes, although she was more comfortable with her body than her mother would ever care to accept. More than anything, the backhanded compliment made Claire smile because it meant her mother was back. She’d already seen more emotion from her in one morning than in the entire past month.

  “Ryan’s coming!” Janet’s eyes lit up as she leaned closer to the window. “I’m shocked every time I see him. He’s still that fat little thing in my head.”

  “Please don’t say that to him,” Claire said with a roll of her eyes.

  “Do you think I would?” She pursed her lips. “I was only saying, dear.”

  Ryan Tyler walked past the window, and his eyes went directly to Claire. He smiled and let out a relieved-looking sigh before hopping up the steps.

  “I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” he said, closing the door quietly behind him. “I heard about . . . what you found. Are you okay?”

  Ryan wore his usual loose vest and even looser shorts, both of which showed off an ample amount of his toned and freckled skin. Claire wouldn’t admit it, but like her mother, she still struggled to combine her memory of Ryan with the newer, fitter version before her.

  “Did you hear that, Claire?” Janet nodded at Claire and smiled. “He’s been looking for you. Why don’t you invite Ryan to sit with us?”

  Sensing her mother’s constant desire to matchmake every time a man under forty with a pulse entered the room, Claire took Ryan outside, away from prying eyes. Her mother had no idea how in love with Ryan Claire had been when they were teenagers.

  Neither did Ryan.

  He’d been living in Spain for seventeen years with his soon-to-be ex-wife and their two children and had only returned to Northash a little over a month ago. Claire wasn’t entirely sure how she felt about her former neighbour’s return. After all, other than Damon he was the only other man upon whom she’d ever bestowed a ‘best friend’ title, which he’d held from childhood until he left when they were eighteen. His ginger-fair skin had already lost its Spain-induced reddened hue and was back to the milky white she remembered, though freckles across his shoulders provided a little colour.

  They reached the top of the small side street, and the tearoom came back into view. A white tent had been erected to cover the shop front, and the floral display had been relocated to the bench across the road. People were still watching and laying flowers, even more than when she’d ventured into the café with her parents. There was also a fair few in the small beer garden in front of the pub, sipping pints of Hesketh Homebrew, unmistakable thanks to its dark colour.

  “How are you feeling?” Ryan asked. “Stupid question, I know.”

  “Strange,” Claire said, forcing a laugh.

  “You don’t have to do that with me, you know.” Ryan nudged her arm as they gravitated to one of the few empty benches, probably only free because it faced the opposite direction of the scene; Claire was glad of it. “We’re mates. I can handle real.”

  Claire knew he could. Out of everyone she’d ever called a friend, Ryan had always received the most ‘real’ version of her – minus, of course, the side that was once madly in love with him and the part still unsure of what that meant for them now he’d returned. The almost two-decade gap in their friendship had caused some strain, though. It wasn’t easy to switch that trust back on.

  “It was horrible,” she admitted. “But I think I’m more upset thinking about the circumstances than what I actually saw. She waited so long for retirement, and she was finally going off on her adventure.” She glanced back at the shop, her stomach churning. “How could someone do that to her?”

  “You think it was murder?”

  Claire quickly turned to face him.

  “You don’t?” she asked. “She was locked in the attic. Even if she’d dropped down dead up there, someone must have locked the door behind her.”

  “I hadn’t thought about it like that.” Ryan scratched at his red hair. “I closed the gym. Em came in. She had no idea what had happened until she saw the circus in the square.”

  Em, the daughter everyone had expected to take over the tearoom, had chosen a vastly different career than her late mother. A yoga instructor, she conducted her classes at the same gym where Ryan had been lucky enough to get a managing job when he moved back to the village.

  “Nobody called her?”

  “She doesn’t have a phone,” Ryan said with a sigh, as though this was a source of contention. “Doesn’t trust them. Makes it difficult to get hold of her, but you know what she’s like. Em is an acquired taste, to say the least.”

  “I’ve always liked her.”

  “I never said I hadn’t acquired it,” he said quickly. “I like her a lot, actually. She’s always the first to offer to watch the kids when I can’t find childcare for my late shifts. I just don’t remember her being so . . . alternative.”

  “People change.” She looked him up and down, still unable to fully comprehend his dramatic transformation despite having a month to get used to it. “You should know that.”

  “Speaking of which,” he said, leaning in with a dry smile, “I saw your mother mouth the word ‘fat’ as I was walking up. She never could help herself, could she?”

  “Oh, she’s ten times worse now.” Claire laughed, the sound strange in the quiet square; a couple of people glared in her direction, silencing her. “Do you know where Em is now? I think I should talk to her. It only feels right, considering I found her mother.”

  “She’s still at the gym,” he said, already standing. “Is it as bad as people are saying?”

  Claire thought about her father’s earlier remark, but she had a pretty good idea. Somehow, no version of the story, no matter how detailed the description, could capture the reality of living it.

  “Probably worse,” she replied, standing. “I know you’re closed, but do you mind if I go and talk to her?”

  “Half the people working out still hadn’t left when I came looking for you, so why not,” he said as they cut through the crowded square to Northash’s only gym. “I suspect they’re lingering for a breakdown that’s not going to happen.”

  “Why not?”

  “You’ll see.” Ryan yanked on the front door and nodded for Claire to go in.

  The gym’s streamlined interior was stark compared to the former library’s historical red brick frontage. Without the usual music
, pounding footsteps on the treadmills, and grunts from the weight section, the facility was less intimidating than Claire usually found it.

  Not that she was in a rush to sign up any time soon, much to her mother’s dismay.

  Janet had been tagging her in posts about the women-only classes at the gym since she found out Ryan worked there. Weight loss and a man with one bullet; Claire regretted ever teaching her mother how to use social media.

  The mood was less sombre than Claire had expected, but discomfort definitely hung in the air. The people, mainly women, slowly packing up their lockers were talking amongst themselves, all watching Em.

  Sitting cross-legged on a mat, Em faced the mirrored corner, eyes closed and hands gently clasped in her lap. Em, as well as her two reflections, carefully filled her lungs with air through wide nostrils. She held onto it in her chest for a couple of seconds before letting the steady stream flow through slightly pursed lips.

  “I think I’d feel more comfortable if she was crying,” Ryan whispered to Claire as they lingered by the glass reception desk. “What’s she doing?”

  “Meditating, by the looks of it,” Claire whispered back. “Maybe she’s in shock?”

  One of the women watching, a stranger to Claire, broke away from the group at the lockers and walked over to Em’s yoga corner of the gym. Bag low to the ground, she approached slowly, but her footsteps were loud enough that Em opened her eyes. She smiled, revealing no muscle tension anywhere in her face. It shouldn’t have been possible for anyone to produce such a smile after news so devastating, but there it was. The woman said something to Em, and that beatific smile widened. She rested a hand on Em’s shoulder and looked like she was about to say more but she left the gym.

  Em seemed prepared to continue meditating, but in the mirror, her eyes locked on Claire’s with such intensity that Claire jolted slightly. Em, exceptionally limber for her fifty years, bounced up and quickly rolled her mat. Unlike everyone else in the gym clad in tight-fitting polyester blends meant to compress muscles or wick sweat – whatever that meant – Em wore a loose, dark brown tunic with light, orange-tie-dyed cotton bottoms. The sleeves of the tunic were short enough to show that the tattoos starting at her fingertips went all the way up, not stopping until they crept up her neck. Her grey hair, which Claire remembered as being incredibly long and blonde, was buzzcut to her scalp.

  “Claire, angel!” Em rushed over with the yoga mat under her arm. “I hoped we would see each other soon. How are you?”

  Em cupped Claire’s face between her palms, her skin warm and soft. She looked at Claire as though she were the one who had just lost a parent, not the other way around.

  “I think I’m supposed to ask you that,” she replied as Em stroked her cheek tenderly.

  “You saw her.” The sympathy in Em’s smile deepened. “I wish I could take that image away from you. It’s too great a burden for anyone to carry.”

  “I think you might be in shock, Em,” Ryan said as he pulled a sports drink from the fridge. “Have this. The electrolytes might help.”

  “You know I don’t put anything processed in my body,” she replied, shaking her head gently. “I appreciate the kind gesture, though, sweet Ryan.” She paused, gazing at them both. “I know my reaction might seem peculiar to you, but I can assure you I am processing the information. Death is, of course, a part of life. We can’t all live forever in these bodies, as much as we like to believe we can.” She inhaled deeply, letting go of Claire’s face to grab her hand. “Can we have a moment alone?”

  Ryan busied himself in the free weights area of the gym as Em led Claire into her yoga corner, where the bright mats provided the only colour in the otherwise sterile gym.

  “This might seem an odd request,” Em started, her voice soft, eyes fixed on Claire. “And if it’s too much to ask, you can say no.”

  “Anything.”

  “Would you come with me to visit my grandmother?” she asked carefully, her eyes faltering to the ground for a split second. “We’ve never seen eye to eye, but she’ll expect me there, and I know she’ll have questions. I asked the inspector to spare me the details. Since you have a first-hand account, would you accompany me?”

  “Of course,” Claire replied at once. “If it’ll help, of course.”

  “Then, we shall go now.” Em led Claire towards the front door, still holding her hand. “But I must caution you not to take anything my grandmother might say to heart.”

  “Who’s your grandmother?”

  “Opal Jones,” Em replied, her tone apologetic as she pulled open the front door. “She lives at Starfall House.”

  “Oh.”

  Chapter Four

  The whispering sea of familiar faces parted around Em and Claire as they walked through the crowded square, still hand in hand.

  Em moved with grace, nodding and returning the sympathetic smiles of the villagers. For years, people had derided her both behind her back and to her face over her alternative appearance. Today, people looked on with only grief in their stares.

  “You’re shaking like a leaf,” Em whispered, giving Claire’s hand a gentle squeeze when they broke through the crowd. “Just a few more steps. Remember to breathe.”

  Claire let out the tight breath she’d been keeping locked in her lungs. They passed by the bench of floral tributes. Em’s eyes drifted down, and the corners of her mouth pricked up, but she didn’t linger. They crossed the road diagonally, neither of them looking toward the white tent outside the tearoom.

  “How do you stay so calm?” Claire asked.

  “I’m focussing on the love I feel in the air,” she replied with another squeeze of her hand. “You cannot love without grief, and you cannot grieve without love. Love is grief, and grief is love. As sad as we are right now, it’s brought everyone together, which is truly a joyous thing.”

  “I suppose that’s one way of looking at it,” Claire replied, peeping back at the crowd one last time, unable to feel anything resembling joy emanating from the sad eyes still following them.

  They made their way along the row to the post office on the corner. Seeing it closed was the strangest of all. Janet ran the post office, and she didn’t even close the doors when her own father died; she hadn’t hesitated to make the decision this morning.

  When they turned the corner, the road sloped upwards ahead of them. Built in a basin believed to have been caused by an ice-age glacier once upon a time, the land in Northash inclined away from the village square in every direction. Some of the tilted roads were gentle enough that the ascent was gradual. The road leading to her parents’ cul-de-sac was one of these. The real slope of the hill started halfway through the farm behind them and reached all the way up to the factory.

  Park Lane, however, sloped away from the square on an immediate incline, swallowing up the sidewall of the post office as they passed it. A new row of shops started, far enough from the opening of the square that people never considered them part of it.

  Perhaps this explained why they’d stayed open.

  First came a tiny corner-shop version of a supermarket chain. Next to that stood Smith and Smith Estate Agents, then Watson Solicitors, and Blooming Lovely Florists completed the steep and staggered row.

  The mini-roundabout in the road in front of them was a constant source of contentious conversation in the village. Even with all her failed driving tests, Claire understood the simple rule of giving way to the right, but according to the annoyed gossip she’d heard, at least half the villagers didn’t. In the downwards direction, one of the roads off the roundabout went back towards the square but turned off to a concealed car park.

  The upwards direction steepened even more into a single-lane road with an incredibly narrow path. A tall, ivy-covered stone wall closed it in on one side. On the other, large cottages built on the highest point of the hill loomed. Even during the brightest days, the road was entirely cast in shadow.

  The leftmost turn off the roundabout passed by The
Park Inn Pub, the second of Northash’s two pubs. While it was much nicer to look at than The Hesketh Arms, the homebrew didn’t compare, the food was basic, and the prices were geared more to tourists than locals. Those tourists usually came to Northash for two reasons: shopping in the vast number of locally-owned speciality shops, and visiting Starfall Park, the grand, gated entrance of which stood just past the pub.

  Despite the gloomy mood in the square, people were coming and going from the park as though nothing had happened – old couples on walks, young couples with prams, single people with dogs, teenagers who should have been at school but weren’t. Starfall Park attracted everyone to its gates.

  As the road that continued on past Starfall Park eventually connected to a more prominent main road that ultimately linked up with a motorway junction, most tourists arrived from that direction. When the road in front of the park had cars stacked on either side, most parked on the already narrow pavement to some degree, everyone knew sightseers were around.

  Locals, on the other hand, rarely bothered venturing past The Park Inn. The quieter side entrance to the park was Northash’s best-kept secret. Without needing to discuss it, Claire and Em headed that way.

  As they passed Smith and Smith Estate Agents, the door opened, and a woman appeared, pulling on her coat as she looked back into the shop, laughing at something someone had just said. The sound cut through the silence like a recently sharpened blade through warm butter. She turned, stopping dead as the door slammed behind her.

  “Oh,” she said, the smile vanishing the instant before her cheeks filled with so much blood they turned almost purple. “Emma. I – I’m sorry to hear about . . . you know . . .”

  The air immediately turned icily awkward, forcing Claire to feign interest in the rentals and sale properties available in the village and surrounding area. Just a quick glance at some of the prices confirmed she couldn’t afford to rent somewhere. She’d thought she’d struck gold finding a shop with a flat; could she ever live there now?