Downward Facing Death

by MICHELLE KELLY,

  “It was a long time ago,” she said, aiming for nonchalance.

  “Still hurts, though, right?” When Keeley didn’t answer, he added, “Tell me to be quiet if you want, I don’t want you to think I’m interrogating you. You’re just so, I don’t know, intriguing. Elusive.”

  Ben thought she was intriguing? Keeley pushed down the little jump of excitement in her belly.

  “I was so gullible, really,” she began, feeling now that she wanted to talk, wanted to share something of herself with him. “I was eighteen, had never really had a proper boyfriend, and he came along and said all the right things. He was older than me, very handsome, and we were engaged within a year. I thought I had the fairy tale—even my mother was pleased.” And had made no secret of the fact that she was thoroughly disappointed in her daughter when she had failed to keep such a prize catch, she thought to herself with a touch of long-buried bitterness.

  “Then he cheated on you.” Ben made it a statement, not a question. He shook his head, looking almost angry. “What an idiot.”

  “I think he probably always was,” Keeley admitted, feeling the sting of betrayal even after so long, “and I just didn’t want to see it. I was so grateful he even wanted to be with me.” Ben tutted in annoyance at her statement, but didn’t say anything. Keeley sighed, wincing as she thought back to how weak and insecure she had been.

  “It toughened me up,” she said, not sure if her attempt at a positive spin was for Ben’s sake or her own, “and if we had stayed together and got married, I would probably be desperately unhappy right now. It always annoyed him that I wouldn’t eat meat as well. Made eating out a little more difficult.”

  “It wasn’t because of him you got into the whole vegetarian thing?” Ben sounded genuinely interested, leaning forward on the edge of the seat so that the gap she had deliberately placed between them was traversed. Any physical awareness of his presence, however, was diminished by the memories that assailed her. One in particular that still, every so often when the nights were particularly long and lonely, haunted her dreams.

  “No,” she said in a small voice, so that Ben had to lean even farther forward to hear her. “Not exactly. I met him at the gym, and found yoga through a friend of his, so I suppose I should thank him—Brett, his name was—for that, at least. But I stopped eating meat after my father died. It didn’t become a conscious nutritional choice until later on.”

  “Oh?” Ben gave a hesitant nod, as if wanting her to go on but not wanting her to say more than she wished. Keeley shifted uncomfortably.

  “My father had a small abattoir out the back of our house on the High Street,” she began, closing her eyes against the visual images that took shape before them, “as there wasn’t much room outside the shop, you know. Sometimes the local farmers would bring animals, to, you know…”

  “That couldn’t have been nice to grow up with.”

  “Well, it was just normal, really. And he took pride in being very humane in his methods. Anyway, when he had his heart attack, he was in there, preparing a pig carcass.”

  Ben grimaced. “Did your mother really need to tell you that?”

  Keeley shook her head, her mother being, for once, blameless.

  “She didn’t need to. It was me that found him.”

  Ben sucked his breath in sharply. Keeley went on, her voice sounding far away even to her own ears, as though it were someone else who was relaying events. Describing how she had seen her father lying on the floor, his face waxy and unreal looking, as though it were a puppet made to look like her father. How the pig carcass lay next to him on the floor. How she had looked from one to the other, her brain struggling to process what was happening.

  Then she had screamed.

  “I haven’t touched meat since. About a year after he died, I came out of my shell a bit, started college, got into my fitness, and, of course, met Brett.”

  “You were vulnerable,” Ben said, sounding as though he spoke through gritted teeth, “and he took advantage of that.”

  “I let him, I suppose. But if I hadn’t met him then, I might not have ended up doing what I’m doing, and this is definitely the right path for me. I started studying nutrition when I realized I was never going to eat meat again and couldn’t survive on cheese sandwiches for the rest of my life.” She smiled, but Ben looked at her seriously.

  “It must mean a lot to you, then, that this café is a success here.”

  Keeley frowned. She hadn’t consciously connected the two, but perhaps Ben was right. After all, she could have carried on her teaching practice and even opened a café anywhere, using any profits from the sale of the shop. In taking it over, coming back to Belfrey, maybe what she was really attempting to do was lay the ghosts of her father’s death to rest.

  Instead, she seemed to have created a few more. She thought of Terry Smith, whose body would have been left to burn if the killer hadn’t been interrupted, again like so much meat. Apparently without even anyone to mourn his passing.

  Ben reached for her hand, which was swallowed by the size of his palm. His fingers brushed hers, and she stared at their joined hands, thinking with a strange detachment how strong and brown his forearms were, how rough his palms. Worker’s hands, rather than a detective’s.

  There was a strange hush in the room, as if even the night air held its breath, and Ben was looking at her so intently, Keeley found herself holding hers too.

  Whatever he had wanted to say was forgotten as a sound like the crunching of gravel came through the open window and broke the silence. A sound like someone was outside. Ben dropped her hand and jumped up, cursing, and went to the window, then to the front door when he obviously saw nothing. He came back in, shaking his head, while Keeley sat frozen in the same spot, unsure what had just passed between them but feeling that something had, something new.

  “Probably a cat or something. Even I’m jumping at shadows now. I hope you’re locking all your windows and doors at night?”

  Keeley nodded. Ben sat back down, but angled a little away from her now, making no attempt to retake her hand. Her palm seemed to burn where he had touched it. Feeling suddenly self-conscious, she sat on it.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, not meeting her eyes. “I didn’t mean to bring up so painful a subject.”

  “It felt good to talk about it,” Keeley said honestly. Although what she knew of Ben wouldn’t prompt her to describe him as someone who would make a likely confidant, she had indeed felt strangely comfortable sharing such an intimate memory with him. It must make him a good detective, she thought, if it was an effect he routinely had on people.

  “Would you like another drink?” She stood up, and Ben stood up with her, putting them close enough that she had to tip her head back a little to look up at him.

  “No. Not another drink, no,” he said obliquely. Keeley frowned, trying to decipher his response, when he stepped forward and made it easy for her.

  He kissed her.

  It wasn’t a soft kiss either. No gentle brushing of his lips against hers, no hesitancy in his touch. He pulled her against him, lifting her up onto his toes, and kissed her with enough force, it stole her breath. I should stop this, she thought, then realized she was kissing him back with just as much urgency, and that her hips were pushing forward into his body, her back arching against his hands, as though her body had a will and an intention all of its own, and that intention was an exact opposite to the one her thoughts had just expressed.

  Ben buried a hand in her hair, giving a slight tug on the nape of her neck that resulted in a low moan from deep in her throat, a spontaneous sound that would have embarrassed her had she had any coherent thoughts left. Her body felt on fire in his arms, a pool of liquid heat gathering low in her belly. Her own hands were coiled around his neck, pulling him to her as fiercely as he gripped her.

  It was Ben who broke the kiss first, though he didn’t let go of his hold on her but stared into her eyes. His own burned with such an obvious desi
re, it scared and excited her all at the same time.

  “I have wanted to do that since I walked into the Tavern and saw you last week,” he murmured, his voice low, and dropped his gaze back to her lips. This time, their mouths met more slowly, more sensuously, exploring the feel and taste each of other. The change in pace, however, did nothing to slow down her heartbeat, or the waves of desire that crashed into her. Every nerve ending on her body felt alive, and Keeley was suddenly aware of exactly how long it had been since a man held her like this. Scratch that—a man had never held her like this. She had to stop and get ahold of herself, she knew, before she pulled him down onto the rug and threw caution to the wind, but her body seemed to be oblivious to any sense of reason. Judging by the way Ben held on to her arm, one hand now clutching at her buttocks, drawing her into him, he was thinking—or rather not thinking—in much the same way.

  The loud knock at the door made Keeley jump, jolting her back to reality and out of Ben’s arms. She stared at the door, disoriented, and made no attempt to cut in when Ben, his composure regained while she still stood gaping, went into the porch and opened the front door authoritatively.

  “Is Keeley there?” asked a hesitant and evidently curious female voice. Megan. Keeley hurried to the door, breathing a sigh of relief until she saw Duane standing next to her, a bunch of flowers in his hand. Ben and Duane were staring at each other, a not-so-subtle display of machismo that Keeley found alarming rather than flattering. It was, of course, Duane who dropped his eyes first, but there was the hint of a smirk in his eyes as he turned to Keeley and held out the flowers.

  “For you, beautiful lady,” he said in a voice so dripping with charm, she could spread it on toast. The corner of Ben’s mouth curled just slightly with a hint of contempt, then his face became carefully blank, his expression betraying nothing as he turned to look at Keeley.

  “I’ll be going, then, Ms. Carpenter. Be sure to lock up securely. If you’re alone tonight.” He said the last in a flat, neutral tone, but there was a definite hint of something in his eyes. Disappointment, perhaps. He left, leaving Keeley staring after him, her mouth feeling swollen from their kiss, wanting to call him back but reluctant to do so in front of her visitors, who were both staring at her curiously, and in Duane’s case with a definite touch of jealousy. Keeley ushered them in, flustered.

  As soon as they were inside, Keeley thanked Duane for the bouquet, but Megan interrupted her with a loud tut directed at her cousin.

  “The flowers are from me, Keeley; I gave them to Duane to hold when I knocked the door. I wanted to say sorry for yesterday, I understood only after thinking about it afterward how much of an imposition it was.”

  “It’s fine, honestly,” Keeley said, trying not to glare at Duane for having deliberately misled Ben as she took the flowers from him and went into the kitchen. She may as well replace the wilted bunch with these fresh ones, she thought, and began emptying out Annie’s vase. Megan followed her in, Duane staying in the lounge.

  “Why was DC Taylor here?” Megan asked, her brow furrowing. “Have they found out who it was yet? The High Street is getting very jumpy about it all, you know. The Derby City paper covered the murder yesterday, and with it coming up to the food festival, I think the worry is that fewer people will come.”

  “I would have thought there would be more, out of curiosity,” Keeley said as she arranged the flowers and sat the vase back onto the window ledge. Although she had neatly sidestepped Megan’s inquiry about Ben, she wasn’t about to let it go that easily.

  “I hope he doesn’t still think you had something to do with it?”

  Keeley felt her face go hot as she thought of herself and Ben kissing by the fire.

  “No, I really don’t think he does,” she said in as noncommittal a tone as she could manage. Which wasn’t so convincing as she might have liked, judging by the way Megan’s frown eased and a sudden understanding showed in her eyes.

  “Ah, you like him,” she said, her voice low. “So that’s why Duane acted so weird about the flowers.”

  Keeley smiled. For all her talk about auras and psychic impressions, it seemed Megan’s grasp of good old-fashioned body language and male pride wasn’t quite so far reaching. Then she thought about Megan’s statement. Did she like Ben Taylor? “Like” seemed a woefully inadequate word for the unrest he stirred in her. She had had various different reactions to the man since arriving in Belfrey, some of them far from positive, but they were all powerful. As she followed Megan into the lounge after they had both cooed appropriately over the flowers, Keeley looked at Duane standing near the fire, looking awkward, right in the spot where she and Ben had been kissing, and wondered how she could ever have even contemplated dating the gym instructor. “Like” was about as strong as her opinion of Duane was ever likely to be.

  The three of them made small talk, with Megan intermittently repeating her apology and Keeley hastening each time to once again forgive her, but her attention was elsewhere. Her mouth still felt warm and tender from the touch of Ben’s, so much so, it seemed to her that Megan and Duane must be blind not to see it. Part of her was disappointed their impromptu visit had interrupted their clinch, but a larger part of her was glad. Because she’d never been the type to jump into bed with a man at whim, the strength of her reaction to Ben and the knowledge that she had been a breath away from losing all sensibility made her nervous. Yet also, strangely reckless. She found she wanted to see him again, very badly and as quickly as possible, for reasons that had nothing to do with recent murder cases or arson attempts or even anonymous letters. Keeley wasn’t sure that Ben the detective was someone she could ever be comfortable around, but Ben the man, that was turning out to be a very different prospect.

  She saw Megan looking at her with a strange expression on her face.

  “Is it a bad time, Keeley? I should have called first.”

  Keeley flushed. “No, of course not, it’s just been a funny few days, that’s all.”

  “Right,” Megan looked uncertain, and Keeley hoped she wasn’t going to start apologizing again. “Well, perhaps we had better get off.” She glanced at Duane, who unusually for him had said very little. Now he looked at Keeley hopefully.

  “I might pop in the Baker’s Inn for a drink, after I’ve dropped Meg home. Do you want to join me?”

  He looked so keen that Keeley felt like she was kicking a puppy as she said a polite no.

  “I need to be at the café early, the decorators are coming. But I’ll see you Sunday at the center perhaps?”

  Duane nodded, giving her his trademark dazzling smile, though it seemed a little forced. He barely looked at her as she showed them out, although Megan gave her another incense-scented hug and waved warmly as they went down the hill. Hopefully Duane would get the message this time; although his persistence was flattering, it was also a little embarrassing for them both. She guessed Duane wasn’t used to being turned down by any woman, and hoped he wasn’t the type to turn sulky. He was, after all, sort of a friend, and she was having enough trouble making them in Belfrey as it was.

  What was Ben? The thought nagged at her as she went round locking up, double-checking everything just to be absolutely sure she could feel safe in her bed that night. Not that she was expecting to get much sleep. Not with the memory of Ben’s mouth on hers, of his hands on her hair, and other parts of her. What was Ben? She couldn’t call him a “friend.” Less than a day ago, she would have placed him in a much lesser category, physical attraction notwithstanding. Now, in the space of an hour, he had become something else, something more, which was she was almost afraid to put a name to.

  DIRGA—THREE-PART BREATH

  This pranayama is nourishing, calming, and relaxing. It will bring the blood pressure down, making it perfect for grounding oneself after an unexpected romantic moment.

  Method

  • Close your eyes and consciously relax the face and body.

  • Take a few deep, slow breaths through the nos
e.

  • As you inhale, let your belly fill up with air like a balloon. As you exhale, let it return to normal.

  • Continue these “belly breaths” for five inhalations and exhalations.

  • Inhale deeply, drawing breath into the belly; then pause.

  • Inhale a little more, feeling the breath fill your rib cage.

  • Inhale a little more, feeling the breath fill your chest and heart, up to your throat.

  • Exhale part of the breath, emptying your chest.

  • Exhale part of the breath, emptying your rib cage.

  • Exhale the rest of the breath, emptying your belly.

  • Continue for ten breaths.

  You can perform this breath while lying on your back for extra relaxation. Try it before bed to aid restful sleep.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The next morning, Keeley was still asking herself the same question, even as she let in the decorators, made various phone calls to the wholesalers and the sign installers and furniture company, who seemed to be in some confusion over the new delivery date. Usually on the patient side—or at least she tried to be—Keeley felt agitated and angsty. More so as the morning wore on and there was no word from Ben.

  She replayed the kiss in her mind over and over, and the strangely intimate conversation that had somehow prompted it. As though by letting him into that hidden part of her psyche, she had issued him an invitation. On some level, she felt that was exactly what she had done. An invitation to exactly what, that was the part she hoped Ben hadn’t misinterpreted. She wasn’t a roll-by-the fireside type of girl, but kissing him in that way, only to be interrupted by a flower-wielding Duane, well, it didn’t look good. She wondered if Ben hadn’t called because of that, assuming Keeley was involved with the fitness instructor in spite of her earlier dismissal of him. That little face-off in her doorway had reminded her of the male-dominance displays she’d seen on wildlife programs, pheromones and testosterone heavy in the air.