Raspberry Lemonade and Ruin: A cozy murder mystery full of twists (Peridale Cafe Cozy Mystery Book 23)

by Agatha Frost

  James maintained eye contact to an intimidating level, his pricked-up lips always ready to let everyone know what he really thought of them. Richie had the same lips, but they didn’t turn up in the same way.

  He exuded sadness.

  “How’s your mum doing?”

  “She’s stable,” he said, unfocused gaze drifting off to nothingness. “They say the surgeries were successful, but she’s still not come around.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” she said, sipping the tea Evelyn had set down next to her. “It can’t have been easy being so close to her when it happened.”

  “The first bullet ripped right past my head,” he said, motioning to his left side. “I felt it before I even heard the bang. We started running. Everyone was running, but then my mum . . . she stopped holding my hand. I’d only gone out to give her my jacket for the rain. I know how long they spent on her hair.”

  Tears leaked from the corners of his eyes. Julia reached into her pocket, produced a packet of tissues, and offered him one. After a moment’s consideration, he accepted with shaky fingers.

  “Thank goodness that bullet missed you,” Julia said, pocketing the tissues. “I’m going to ask something that might be difficult to answer, so take a second to think about it if you need to.” She took a steadying breath. “Do you have any idea why someone would want to murder your mother?”

  Richie’s eyes went glassy as he took her up on the offer to think.

  Julia used this opportunity to check on her gran. She had no idea what they were saying to each other, but they were deep in conversation, and Dot was scribbling furiously in a pad. Julia looked down for her own pad before remembering she’d left it in her handbag, currently dangling off the pram in the hallway at home.

  “The police said my dad thinks the person who shot my mum was someone connected to the building he’s trying to buy for his restau—” He stopped midsentence and, clenching his eyes, corrected, “My restaurant.”

  The amendment could have sounded boastful, but it didn’t. He spoke the words like he’d made a mistake he’d been told to correct before.

  “I didn’t know it was to be your restaurant,” she said after taking another sip of tea. “Running a restaurant at your age is ambitious.”

  “My experience is in bar work.” He frowned slightly. “My father said they’re transferrable skills. He’s been looking for a way to fold me into his business for a while, and I guess this is it.”

  “And what do you want?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You don’t sound particularly enthusiastic about it.”

  “That obvious?” He offered her a smile for the first time. “I did suggest that, if he was insisting, he could let me open a bar, at least. He didn’t agree. But he knows best. And it might not happen, after all.”

  That, he did sound relieved about.

  “Richie, do you think your father shot your mother?”

  “I-I don’t know.”

  She’d expected a flat-out ‘no.’

  “What kind of relationship did they have?”

  “Normal?” He shifted in his seat. “They’re always pretty busy with their own stuff. Dad has a hundred and one companies to run, and my mother has . . . her life.”

  “Which consists of?”

  “Shopping, mainly.” His smile turned distinctly embarrassed. “They’re Capitalists with capital Cs.”

  “Says the man about to own a restaurant.”

  “I was content living my own life.” The smile vanished. “Had a nice flat, was starting to make friends. Paid my own way working in a bar. Then, Dad turned up, full of apologies. He’d got it all wrong, apparently, and he wanted a second chance to put things right. Before I knew it, we were sitting in design and planning meetings with the—”

  “Richie?” A deep voice cut him off. He and Julia turned in their seats. “You ready?”

  Ed loomed over them. He looked down at her, his lashes, brows, and eyes so dark they cast an almost complete shadow against his perfect bone structure.

  “Edward Masters,” Dot said, joining Julia after Richie followed Ed out of the sitting room. “Thirty-one. Mindy’s full-time stylist, and he has been for eighteen months. He’s done makeup for several publications, including . . .” She paused and flipped to the next page. “Vogue, Tatler, Harper’s Bazaar, and . . . well, the list goes on and on, and then it keeps going. He was quite forthcoming. Award-winning. Has ‘almost a quarter-million’ followers. He thinks very highly of himself, but at least we know he’s qualified for what he was employed to do.”

  “And his relationship with Mindy?” Julia pushed, watching Ed and Richie walk down the street outside the B&B. “The threat?”

  “Claims it was an innocent conversation about her using another stylist for her recent highlights, and that’s why, and I quote, ‘Her hair looks like a bale of dry hay.’”

  “‘I’ll tell him, and you know I will,’” Julia repeated. “Tell him what?”

  “To keep his hands off his client?” Dot flipped the page. How many notes had she taken? “Claims it was jovial in nature, and that’s just how they talk to each other.” She flipped to another page. “He also called you nosey, and claims you were following him at the garden party.”

  “I was hardly following him.”

  “I’m just reporting the facts.”

  “Anything else?”

  “He thinks I’m wearing the most stylish outfit he’s seen since he arrived in this village.” She pushed up the beret. “He is qualified.”

  “I meant more about the case.”

  “Doesn’t seem to like James.” Dot returned to her notes. “Well, that’s the impression I got. He made out like they had no relationship, and that he only knew Mindy in one breath, but then called James an idiot in the next. When I asked, he wouldn’t go into why.”

  “And Richie?”

  “Weren’t you just interviewing him?”

  “Ed didn’t mention him?”

  “Should he have?”

  “I’ve just seen them together a few times, that’s all.” She peered down the street. They’d taken seats in front of the pub. “They seem to be friendly.”

  “Enjoying a pint while Mindy fights for her life?” Dot arched a brow that disappeared into the shadow of her hat. “As much as I appreciate his compliments, I feel he was dancing around the subject. The notes are all there for you to go over.”

  Now that their two suspects had left, they found Barker in the garden behind the B&B. He’d taken a seat in a swinging egg chair and was entertaining a ginger cat, though the feline didn’t stick around when they approached.

  “Ruth wasn’t here,” he said, pushing himself up. “I thought I’d leave you to it since you had them both talking.”

  “Plenty of notes to go over.” Dot wafted her pad. “And no incidents to report. Best behaviour, as promised.”

  Barker thanked her with a smile before taking the pad. He scanned through a couple of pages, nodding his approval of her detail.

  “Now, something in exchange,” Dot said, clasping her hands together tightly at her middle. “The library needs something of you, Barker. Or, should I say, your name.”

  “Why don’t I like this already?” Barker pocketed the pad. “Go on.”

  “While Percy and I were filling out the rest of the letters at the choir rehearsal, we tried to think of local celebrities we might be able to use. Most of the ones we could come up with were either dead or far too old to be disturbed, so we went online.”

  “And?”

  “You’re one of our village’s most famous alumni,” she said, stiffening. “I did point out that you weren’t born here. But your book was set in Peridale, and it was a best-seller.”

  “Dot, if you’re about to ask me to publish another—”

  “No, no.” Dot shook her head. “Like I said, I just need your name. Come out of retirement for one day. A single book signing at the library. The busiest I’ve ever seen tha
t library was on the day of your book launch. Petitions and letters only do so much. We need to keep showing the council that there’s life in that library yet. And, to be honest, we could do with some good press right now.”

  Barker chewed the inside of his cheek. It was a lot to ask, but she couldn’t answer for him when he looked to her as though wanting nothing more.

  “At least think about it?”

  “Fine,” he said. “I’ll think about it. If I say yes – and it’s a big if – when were you thinking?”

  “As soon as possible,” she said. “Tomorrow?”

  “Tomorrow?”

  “We don’t know how long our second chance will last.”

  And with that, they all went their separate ways.

  Once Julia saw her dad, who’d barely had time to start watching Goodfellas, out and checked on Olivia, who had barely moved, she joined Barker at the bottom of their garden, under the recently installed twinkling lights snaking through the trees above.

  Barker finished typing something on his phone before releasing a puff of air. He opened his arm to her, and she sank into his warmth.

  “You might want to try Neil’s phone again,” he said, pulling her in. “For one day only, Barker Brown will be signing books at Peridale’s library. Tomorrow.”

  8

  After a simple dinner of frozen cottage pies warmed up in the oven, Barker and Julia compiled Dot’s notes on Ed with everything Julia had found out from Richie. Once added to everything else, their information amounted to very little, but there were two obvious threads to start pulling on.

  Marriage and money.

  Tempting though it was to theorise outcomes until the early hours, they took Olivia’s so-far-undisturbed sleep as an opportunity for an early night.

  Or Julia did, at least.

  She awoke the next morning to the sound of the baby monitor. She’d grown used to waking to Olivia’s cries before her daily 7:00 a.m. alarm, but Olivia wasn’t crying. She was laughing, and it sounded as though Barker was blowing raspberries on her tummy. Olivia loved that.

  Rolling over, Julia lingered in the bliss of listening to Barker baby talking and prompting Olivia to say ‘Da-da!’. She didn’t intend to fall asleep again, but when her regular alarm went off, she jolted awake.

  The baby monitor had gone silent. She found them in the kitchen. Olivia was entrenched in her highchair at the end of the breakfast bar while Barker fed her breakfast. Julia kissed them both on the head before plodding to the kettle where she opted for a coffee instead of her usual peppermint and liquorice tea. She had a feeling she’d need the caffeine today.

  “I’ve been up for hours,” Barker explained when she joined him. “Can’t help but feel I’ve made a terrible mistake agreeing to this.”

  “Still a few hours left to cancel.”

  She was done assuring people their life events would turn out fine.

  “What if no one shows up?” he asked, scraping the last of the porridge oats into Olivia’s waiting mouth. “And even if they do, it might not make any difference.”

  Most probably wouldn’t, her gut said.

  “You never know what the day will bring,” she said.

  Or the morning, for that matter.

  Julia had only just dressed for the day when a knock came at the door. She left the bedroom, hair still wet from her shower, half expecting to see Katie like on the morning of the garden party.

  Instead, Ruth stood outside. Once again, she wore head-to-toe beige. Julia welcomed her in with a smile, which she returned.

  “Sorry to turn up so early and unannounced,” she said, stepping into the hallway, clutching the straps of her shoulder bag. “I’ve just come from the station, and I thought I’d give you an update. I don’t know how much James is allowed to use the phone right now.”

  “Very little,” Barker said, offering Ruth the sitting room. “We were hoping to talk to you yesterday, actually, so this works out.”

  “I can’t stay,” she said, remaining by the door. “And Evelyn said you were asking after me. Between us, as nice as she is, I wasn’t in the mood for another nut-roast with a side of tarot cards. I asked some of the other guests, and they recommended I try the food at Mary and Todd’s.”

  “Did you enjoy it?” Julia asked.

  “Very much so.”

  Julia almost made a comment about how worried Mary and Todd were about a new restaurant opening across the street from The Comfy Corner, but she bit her tongue.

  “Your visit to the station?” Barker prompted.

  “Right.” Ruth nodded, gathering her thoughts. “The DI seems confident they’re going to have charges to bring before the forty-eight hours are up. I really just wanted to know if you’d found anything that might prevent that.”

  “We’re working on a few things,” Barker said, this time motioning for Ruth to follow him into the dining room. “It would help if I could ask you those questions now.”

  Ruth hesitated but followed him. She peered into the kitchen at Olivia, cheerfully slapping the table of her highchair out of time but in the spirit of the bubbly song playing on the kitchen radio. Once Ruth entered the dining room, Barker closed the door, and Julia didn’t intrude.

  Instead, she began baking something for the signing. Nobody had asked her, and she didn’t know how many people would turn up, but she was glad to have a task. By the time Ruth headed for the front door, Julia was loading the last of four muffin trays into the oven.

  “Did she talk?”

  “Oh.” He nodded, barely suppressing a grin. “She talked.”

  “Ruth is almost certain that Ed and Mindy were having an affair,” Julia said quietly. “According to her, James was already gearing up to divorce Mindy. She hinted that he wasn’t happy about how much of his money she was spending.”

  “People like that are always penny pinching,” Dot whispered, clutching her brooch as she leaned in. “But that makes more sense than Ed’s story about Mindy’s dodgy highlights. What was it he said? ‘I’ll tell him.’ Tell James about the affair?”

  “I thought the same thing.” Julia glanced around the library. “Barker too.”

  “I did think it was strange that she had a stylist follow her everywhere like she’s some star. Turns out she was getting more out of their alone time than garish makeup and gigantic hair.”

  “‘I’ll tell him,’” Julia repeated. “If Mindy had said that, it would make sense as a motive. Ed could have shot Mindy to stop her from telling James, saving Ed from having to deal with the fallout. But Ed saying it? If he wanted to out their affair, why would he shoot Mindy?”

  “She could have called it off?” suggested Dot. “Scorned lover?”

  “He doesn’t strike me as the type.”

  “Me neither.”

  They paused to think just as Percy re-joined them in the kid’s corner. After he handed them both cups of coffee, he let Pearl and Dottie drag him back to their colouring books.

  “Did she say anything else?” Dot asked.

  “She thinks this place is a great investment opportunity,” Julia said, rising from the low, child-friendly chair. “Can’t seem to understand all the fuss about keeping it as a library.”

  “The apple never falls far from the tree. Shame they’re not here now to see how packed the place is.”

  Leaving Dot and Percy to look after the kids, Julia ventured to the front of the library, where all the action was.

  Barker’s fears of an empty library had proved to be unfounded from the moment they arrived. A small queue of people clutching his one and only book were already waiting along the front of the library. A few people even cheered when he climbed out of the car. The crowd wasn’t as huge as at the book launch, but there were enough people that Johnny and his camera kept busy.

  One thing was the same, though.

  The smile on Barker’s face as he signed books and talked to the people who’d enjoyed his work. Though he’d only published one novel before the pressures
of publishing politics pushed him in a different direction, he was clearly in his element.

  “Do you want to know something, Julia?” said Evelyn as she joined her in watching Barker at his signing table. “I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve read this book, and it seems I’m not the only one.”

  Evelyn turned over the cover of a well-worn original hard copy of The Girl in the Basement.

  “You must think me so morbid” – Evelyn helped herself to a muffin – “to keep reading a novel based on my daughter’s murder in this very village, but he . . . he handled it so sympathetically. Astrid loved murder mysteries, and – this probably is morbid –I think she’d have loved that something like this came of her unfortunate ending.”

  Memories of the day Julia had discovered Astrid’s body in the once-hidden cellar that was now Barker’s office had never left her. In the book, Barker had himself and Julia solving the murder, mirroring real life. He’d taken plenty of artistic liberties – namely, giving himself the credit for figuring out Julia’s solution – but it had been accurate enough.

  “Barker spent all morning worrying no one would show up,” said Julia, picking up a muffin. “We had blueberry muffins at the first launch.”

  “I remember how delicious they were.”

  “You can thank Jessie for that,” she said, smiling at the memory. “Or rather, the shop she bought them from. My oven broke, and we had no time to rustle up anything else.”

  “The things we do to keep the plates spinning.” Evelyn laughed. “Where have Jessie’s adventures taken her these days?”

  “India.”

  “Oh, to be in India again!” Evelyn clutched her crystals. “I do miss it out there, but some things are worth sticking around for.”

  Evelyn smiled across the library as her eyes landed on her grandson, Mark. One of the great things to come of solving Astrid’s murder had been the discovery of the child she’d had in secret before her death, giving Evelyn a grandson she’d never known she had. Julia hadn’t seen him for a while, but he’d shed his teenage softness.