by Agatha Frost
“I stepped on a screw the night we found Anthony,” Julia said, glancing back to the counter where she had stepped on the sharp object. “They were trying to steal the painting, but something interrupted them.”
“Your café alarm,” Jessie mumbled, still clutching the ice to her hand. “It spooked them.”
“They’ve been waiting until the scent died down so they could come back for it,” Julia said with a nod as she stared at Sue’s red nail polish. “Jessie, do you still have that picture of the sugar on your phone.”
Jessie nodded and pulled her phone out of her jeans, wincing as she did. Julia unlocked it and opened the gallery. She was surprised to see that the most recent picture was a selfie of Jessie and Billy smiling up at the camera. Julia suppressed a little grin as her heart fluttered. She glanced at Jessie who didn’t seem to remember the picture was there. Julia flicked through to the picture of the sugar sachets. Julia flicked through to the picture of the sugar. She zoomed in on the blurry red writing, and then at Sue’s nails.
“I know who killed Anthony Kennedy,” she whispered as she pocketed Jessie’s phone. “Sue, take Jessie to the hospital. Dad, you’re coming with me.”
Thankfully for Julia, nobody argued. She hurried back over to her own café, quickly flipped the sign from ‘OPEN’ to ‘CLOSED’, before jumping into her father’s car.
“How did you know the painting was in the café?” Julia asked as they sped across the village.
“I didn’t,” he said with a knowing smile. “That part was by accident. But I remembered why I knew the name Edwards. Oh, Julia, you’re not going to believe this one.”
14
For the third time that day, Julia found herself at Rosemary Kennedy’s cottage. When they pulled up outside, the van was gone, and the front door was closed. She peered through the window into the sitting room. Gareth was sitting on the couch, a laptop on his knee.
“How do we get inside?” Julia asked. “We can’t just knock on the door after turning up earlier and then leaving.”
“Why not?” her dad asked, already getting out of the car. “It’s not like we don’t know them.”
Julia scratched at her legs, remembering the nettle stings from earlier in the day. The sun was starting to wane in the sky, but the long summer night was far from over. She hoped to have put an end to the whole sorry affair by the time the sun drifted past the horizon.
Giving up on trying to think of an excuse, and half wishing she had had the foresight to bake a cake to bring if only to have something to hold, she got out of the car and followed her father down the garden path.
He pressed the doorbell, her heart pounding in her chest. She wondered if she had pieced things together correctly, knowing that if she hadn’t, she was about to embarrass herself. She thought back to the painting in Happy Bean, still not able to believe it had been sitting under everyone’s noses the whole time.
Gareth answered the door, his laptop in his hands. He barely looked up from it as he grunted. Julia guessed he was asking what they wanted and why they were there. Living with Jessie had given her plenty of practise translating ‘teenager’ to ‘adult English’.
“Is your mother home?” Brian asked, his voiced commanding authority.
“No,” he said, snapping his laptop shut and looking up at them. “She’s gone out with Barb.”
Julia and her father glanced awkwardly at each other, but to their surprise, Gareth doubled back into the cottage leaving the door open. Not wanting to question the invitation, they stepped inside, closing the door behind them.
They followed Gareth through to the kitchen, where Yelena was slicing a loaf of tiger bread into small slices. She looked up and smiled before continuing with her work. Gareth put his laptop on the counter and yanked open the fridge. He grabbed a carton of orange juice and drank directly from the spout. Julia inhaled deeply, stopping herself from correcting him like she would Jessie.
“I don’t know when they’re coming back,” Gareth said as he wiped his mouth. “Could be ages.”
“They’ve gone to get food,” Yelena said with a sweet smile. “Barb is cooking as a thank you to Rosemary.”
Gareth looked at the nurse out of the corner of his eyes before tossing the carton into the fridge. He scooped up his laptop and walked through to the conservatory, sitting in one of the wicker chairs so that he was just in view.
“He looks just like his father,” Brian whispered as they stared around the blindingly white and clean kitchen. “Got his attitude too.”
“He’s not so bad,” Yelena said, glancing at the conservatory. “Hormones. I remember my son at that age.”
“You have a son?” Julia asked, not knowing why the information surprised her.
“Two back in Ukraine,” Yelena said with a nod. “They are with my mother.”
She pulled her phone from her pocket and flicked to a picture of a teenager with his arm around a toddler, both with dark hair like their mother. They were beaming up at the camera with pure and innocent smiles.
“They’re beautiful,” Julia said, ignoring the usual pang she got whenever she saw a young baby. “You must miss them.”
“I send money home. I do this for them.”
Julia nodded her understanding as Yelena resumed slicing the bread. When she was done, she looked through the cupboards until she found the one with the plates. She scooped up the slices and displayed them neatly in the middle of the kitchen island.
Much to Julia’s relief, the front door opened and Rosemary and Barb returned with shopping bags. They walked into the kitchen, both of them staring curiously at Julia and Brian, although they appeared to be trying their best to hide it behind smiles.
“I think I left my phone here,” Brian said quickly before tapping his empty pocket. “Have you seen it?”
“I don’t think so,” Rosemary said as she put the bags on the counter. “I can have a look around if you like?”
Brian patted down his jacket, rolling his eyes and laughing as he pulled his phone from his inside pocket.
“What am I like?” he asked, blushing a little as he glanced at Julia. “I must be getting old.”
Barb climbed up onto one of the stools at the island, her long hair back in the signature bun it had been in when Julia had first met her. She exhaled heavily and rested her head against her hand. It looked like she had endured a long and stressful day.
“Did you get everything moved okay?” Julia asked.
“I wouldn’t recommend that company, let’s just say that,” Barb said through pursed lips. “Wouldn’t know how to be gentle if they tried. You’d think I wasn’t paying them.”
“Can I invite you to stay for dinner?” Rosemary asked airily, making it more than obvious she wanted them to refuse and was just trying to be polite.
“Yes,” Brian said quickly before Julia could answer. “That would be lovely. Thanks, Rosemary. It’ll give us a real chance to catch up.”
Julia tried her best to smile, but she looked at her father and widened her eyes. He gave her a look that read ‘just go along with it’, so she didn’t question him, she just hoped he knew what he was doing.
Julia ate her dinner of beef casserole uneasily, wondering if it was possible to taste arsenic in food. She used more bread than she usually would, hoping it would soak up the poison if it had been slipped in while cooking.
“What made you want to work at Happy Bean?” Julia asked Gareth when they had finished eating at the kitchen island and were now sipping their drinks in awkward silence. “I thought you were at college?”
Gareth shrugged, glancing awkwardly at his mother. She smiled across the table as she tucked her neat grey curls behind her ears before sipping her wine, not taking her eyes away from her son.
“Money,” Gareth mumbled with a shrug.
“Anthony didn’t leave us a lot,” Rosemary explained. “He wasn’t the best businessman when it came down to it.”
There was a murmur of agreement, wh
ich explained to Julia why Anthony’s murderer was so desperate to get their hands on the painting.
“Does Jack still own the antique barn?” Brian asked Rosemary after sipping his wine.
“He died last year. His son has taken it over now,” Rosemary said, almost glad for the change of subject. “I have no idea what he’ll do with it. I was almost relieved when Anthony told me he was opening a coffee shop, if only to get out of the antique business.”
“It’s not so bad,” Brian said.
“Well, it turns out what he got into was a lot worse,” Rosemary said, glancing at Gareth again. “He made sure to tear as many lives apart as he could before he died.”
“Like Timothy Edwards,” Julia said casually. “It’s a shame he had to die too.”
There was an uncomfortable shuffle around the table. As though Julia had just dropped a conversational bomb, Rosemary and Yelena stood up at the same time picking up their plates.
“I’ll do it,” Barb said, standing up and grabbing the plate from Yelena. “It’s only fair I pull my weight if you’re going to be putting me up here.”
Rosemary passed her plate around to Barb and sat down again. She stared blankly at Julia as she tossed back the rest of her wine.
“Gareth, why don’t you go and clean up the living room so we can go through?” Rosemary asked, glancing at Barb as she washed up the plates as Yelena passed them to her.
Gareth huffed and slid off his stool. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and walked through to the living room. Julia looked through the conservatory as the sun started to slowly edge closer to the horizon, making the dim spotlights under the counter and above the island struggle to keep up.
“I heard your boyfriend hit Jerrad,” Rosemary said. “His nose is broken.”
“Does that upset you?” Julia asked.
“I’m sorry?” Rosemary replied, recoiling her head a little. “What do you mean?”
“Well, Jerrad is now your boyfriend, isn’t he?” Julia asked. “Or is it not that serious?”
Rosemary lifted her glass up to her lips, but it was empty. She looked at the equally empty bottle of white wine in the middle of the table before sliding off the stool, appearing to be avoiding Julia’s stare at all costs.
“I’ll grab another one from the cellar,” she said as she walked over to a door, which she quickly slipped through.
“Can you grab my pills, Yelena?” Barb ordered. “They’re upstairs on my bed.”
Yelena nodded and slinked out of the kitchen, disappearing down the dark hallway. The sound of the TV drifted in from the living room, but the prickly silence in the kitchen was impossible to ignore. Brian sipped his wine as he quickly looked at Julia with a small nod.
Julia slid off her stool and gathered up the rest of the plates. She took them over to the sink and placed them with the others as Barb washed them, her painted fingernails bobbing in and out of the bubbles.
“That’s a pretty colour,” Julia remarked as she leaned against the counter. “What’s that shade called?”
“Blood Rose,” Barb replied with a polite smile as she grabbed the next plate. “She has a dishwasher, but I prefer to keep my hands busy.”
“I find dishwashers don’t get things quite clean,” Julia said. “Blood Rose. That’s an interesting name. It almost looks like blood, doesn’t it?”
Barb looked up at Julia, a slight arch appearing in her brow, lining her wrinkled skin.
“It’s one of Yelena’s,” Barb said with a shrug. “It’s one of those long-lasting ones.”
“Still keeps its shine though.”
“I suppose it does.”
“Almost like real blood,” Julia said as she pulled Jessie’s phone from her pocket. “That’s what I thought this was.”
She pinched the screen and zoomed in on the red writing on the sugar before showing it to Barb. She glanced at the picture, but a reaction didn’t register on her face.
“What’s that?” she asked as she looked down at the water.
“Just a little something somebody knocked up to frame me for Anthony’s murder,” Julia said as she slotted the phone away. “Arsenic poisoning is quite a nasty way to kill somebody, don’t you think?”
“I haven’t given it much thought.”
“Are you sure?” Julia asked, folding her arms across her chest as she leaned into Barb’s ear. “I think the problem is, you gave it far too much thought, at least every Friday when Anthony visited you at Oakwood Nursing Home.”
“Excuse me?” Barb cried with an awkward laugh as the plate slipped from her hands and into the water. “What are you talking about, you silly woman?”
“A lot of people don’t know that you can slowly poison somebody with arsenic,” Julia said. “I didn’t know that. Did you know that, Dad?”
“I didn’t,” he called across from his seat at the island.
“The funny thing about arsenic is that it can stay in your system and wreak havoc. A little bit can get in your bones, and stay there. It can kill a person quite slowly if left undetected, but if you’re being given a drop in your coffee, let’s say, every Friday, it can be quite dangerous. Of course, you knew that, didn’t you Barb? That’s why you poisoned your son.”
Barb pulled her hands out of the sink, her eyes trained on Julia. She grabbed the tea towel and wiped the suds off her fingers, before tossing it onto the island.
“I’ve heard quite enough of this!” Barb snapped. “Your mother was a fantasist too.”
Julia gulped hard at the mention of her mother. She glanced at her father, his gaze giving her the strength she needed.
“Oakwood Nursing Home is rather expensive, isn’t it?” Julia asked. “That’s why you plotted to kill your son when you found out about the painting. Was the pension fund running out a little quicker than you expected, or did you not think you’d live this long?”
Shaking her head, Barb walked across the kitchen, but she stopped in her tracks and turned to face Julia.
“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” Barb said. “You’re just a silly little baker with ideas above her station.”
“That’s funny because you’re not the first person to say that,” Julia said, walking forward so that she was face to face with Barb in the dim light. “Would I be right in guessing you heard that from your son? The son who visited you every Friday out of guilt. He might have been a conman, but you were still his mother, even if it was a flying visit. What was it? Ten minutes a week? He sipped his coffee, told you what he was up to, and left?”
“He checked his watch the whole time,” Barb said bitterly, echoing what she had said at the nursing home. “Babbled on about antiques even though he knew I didn’t care. His father was in antiques too, and just as useless at it as he was.”
“Except the day he slipped into the conversation that he had acquired a rare Murphy Jones painting, I bet your ears pricked up for the first time in years. I suppose he didn’t think you’d know who he was. I’d never heard of him. Why would I have? But he was quite famous, or so my father says.”
“For people of a certain generation,” Brian said with a firm nod. “They used to teach about him at school.”
“You knew all about Murphy Jones, and his days before the war painting the Peridale landscape,” Julia said, tapping her finger against her chin. “You knew at least enough to know those paintings were valuable.”
Barb’s jaw clenched as she stared ahead at Julia, her face becoming nothing more than a shadow as the sun drifted past the horizon.
“The fool was stupid enough to tell me exactly where he’d hidden the painting,” Barb scoffed darkly. “Thought he was clever.”
“This painting has caused quite a storm in a teacup,” Julia said with a sigh. “Everybody wanted to get their hands on it. Rosemary, my ex-husband, even Gareth perhaps, you all thought you were entitled to a slice of the money, but only you knew where it was, so you slipped arsenic into your son’s coffee once a week, and you waited.
You watched and waited until he died, so you could slip in and steal the painting. You even managed to get one of the screws out, but you were startled. Somebody broke into my café, and the alarm scared you off. You fled, and you’ve been waiting ever since to go back and take it, knowing that nobody had a clue it was there. They might not have noticed it was even missing.”
Barb laughed coldly and shook her head. Her bony hands drifted up to her hair, which she checked to make sure was all still in the bun.
“My son underestimated you,” Barb said with a sigh. “It’s almost a shame nobody will believe you against a little, frail, old woman.”
“They might believe me though,” Rosemary said, her voice echoing around the stairway down to the cellar as she slipped out of the shadow. “Did you really kill my husband for the sake of keeping your room at the nursing home?”
Barb turned around and faced her widowed daughter-in-law. Julia almost expected Barb to put on her forgetful old lady routine and try to wriggle out of things, but her steely expression didn’t falter.
“They’ve been threatening to evict me for weeks,” Barb snapped. “They want thousands a month! I gave birth to the boy!”
“It doesn’t give you the right to kill him,” Rosemary said, her voice cracking with sadness for the first time since her husband’s death. “I might not have liked the man, but that’s low, even for you, Barb.”
“I would have shared the money!” Barb cried desperately. “We deserved it. It’s not too late, Rosemary. The painting is still there. We can deal with this!”
“Like you dealt with Timothy Edwards?” Julia called out, forcing Barb to spin around again. “I suppose he was somewhat surprised to see you turn up at his flat. You didn’t have time to poison him slowly, so you did it in one go. I watched the man die.”
“I’d known about their seedy affair for years,” Barb whispered. “He was just one of them. When he mentioned that he’d bought the painting from Timothy, I realised it was only a matter of time before he realised the true value.”
“You killed him to keep him quiet.”
