A Death at the Yoga Café

by MICHELLE KELLY,

  “How are your guests?” Keeley changed the subject. It worked to lighten the mood, as Megan gave a chuckle at the mention of Suzy and Christian.

  “Interesting, to say the least. I found Suzy making stone rubbings on the cottage wall at six this morning. Said she was getting a feel for the place, inviting her muse in.”

  “I thought you liked all that sort of thing?”

  “Well, I do, but she said it in such a patronizing way, basically implying that I would never understand because I’m not an artist. I tried to talk to her about spirits of the place and how Belfrey is a very spiritually rich place, and she said she didn’t care about any of that, all that mattered to her was her art.”

  “I wonder how poor Christian feels about that?”

  “Well, considering they kept me awake half the night in their throes of passion, I don’t suppose he cares,” Megan said, wincing.

  “Oh, dear. That’s a bit rude, when you’ve been good enough to let them stay. Perhaps you should say something?”

  “I know, but how do I bring that up? ‘Excuse me, can you keep your love-making down?’ It’s hardly over-the-breakfast-table conversation, is it?”

  Keeley burst into laughter at her friend’s words. Megan could always cheer her up. She finished making the smoothie, to Megan’s appreciation, and was just clearing tables when the door chimed again. She looked up, feeling the flush in her cheeks as she recognized that familiar footstep. A few months in, and Ben still had that effect on her.

  He kissed her cheek, his lips lingering just for a moment over her skin. Up close, she could see how tired he looked.

  “How are you? I’ve still got plenty of breakfast left, if you want some?”

  He shook his head.

  “I’ve got to get back to the station and write these witness statements up properly, but I’ll have a quick coffee. Real coffee, not decaf.”

  “Come into the kitchen. Oh, and this is my mum, Darla. Mum, you remember Ben?”

  Darla looked up, and her stern features became a charming smile as she took in the grown Ben Taylor. Her mother was still very beautiful, Keeley thought.

  “Well, look at you! You look wonderful. How are your parents?”

  Ben exchanged a few pleasantries with Darla, his voice friendly but his eyes wary, before following Keeley into the kitchen.

  “How has it been this morning?” he asked as he pushed the kitchen door closed behind him, and Keeley knew he wasn’t referring to business at the café or even the mood of her customers following the tragic news, but rather the presence of her mother.

  “She’s actually been quite helpful in her own way,” Keeley acknowledged. “When she goes back to London, I’m going to have to get some help in. But enough about me, how has your morning been? You look exhausted.” She wound her arms around his neck, and Ben pulled her into him for a brief embrace.

  “Busy,” he said, “and likely to get busier still. And it’s a strange one, Keeley; so far, no one seems to have seen or heard anything, not even that housekeeper of his. But there are no signs of forced entry.”

  “So it was someone he knew,” Keeley said, feeling queasy. “I heard you had questioned Raquel?”

  “Of course; she was the first person I spoke to. I’m going to have to take statements from everyone who witnessed their argument as well. I’ve already spoken to Duane. Raquel claims to have been with him at the time of the murder.”

  Keeley raised an eyebrow. If Gerald had been killed early last night, that implied that Raquel and Duane had at least spent part of the night together.

  “Megan’s here, she heard them. And the two art students.”

  “I’ll get to it later,” Ben said, moving his mouth to hers and kissing her briefly before pulling away with a sigh.

  “I’ve got to go.”

  “I thought you wanted coffee?”

  He gave her a tired grin, and she saw the dimples at the side of his mouth, making his face suddenly boyish. She felt a tug in her chest, felt the instinctive pull this man had on her.

  “No, I just wanted to get you on your own for five minutes. I’ll call you as soon as I can.” He kissed her again before leaving, saying his good-byes to those in the café. He gave Darla an extra-charming smile, and Keeley was amazed to see her mother actually pat her hair in an almost simpering gesture. Ben winked at her as he left, and Keeley stifled a smile.

  “He’s absolutely adorable, Keeley,” her mother said. She braced herself for the next comment about how lucky she was to get him and how it would be a miracle if she could keep him, or similar, but it didn’t come. Instead her mother busied herself collecting plates. Keeley raised her eyebrows at her mother’s back, wondering at this softening of attitude.

  She had little time to wonder, as just as they had cleared away from breakfast, it was time for lunch. The next few hours blurred into a rush of cooking and serving, and thankfully left her busy enough to avoid questions from those locals who had heard about Gerald’s murder, which after the midmorning papers was more or less everyone, and who also knew she was the girlfriend of Belfry’s only detective constable—hopefully soon to be detective sergeant. As she had predicted, the café was a lot busier than it would normally be early in the week, and Gerald seemed to be the sole topic of conversation. Murder, it seemed, was good for business. Of course, there was the fact the diner was also closed, causing many of Raquel’s regulars to drift into the Yoga Café, swapping their pork burgers for tofu ones. Keeley marveled at the disloyalty being shown as they cheerfully echoed Norma and Maggie’s earlier sentiments. The general consensus of the village seemed to be that Raquel was the villain of the hour. Although instinct told Keeley that wasn’t true, nevertheless there was something nagging at her, something Ben had said, or maybe Megan, that she just couldn’t quite put her finger on.

  It was midafternoon before the café slowed and Keeley and Darla were able to sit and enjoy a cup of tea and a meal. Or at least, Keeley enjoyed it. Darla’s unexpected and more open mood seemed to have evaporated over the course of lunchtime, and she soon proceeded to turn her nose up at every item on the menu.

  “Don’t you serve any actual real food, dear? I’m surprised the café is doing as well as it is. I do hope this isn’t just a novelty and you don’t start struggling to keep customers.”

  Keeley gritted her teeth at that to stop herself retorting. The café had a good base of regular customers, many of them also visitors to Keeley’s yoga classes, but the fact remained that it had always been a risky venture opening a vegetarian café in a traditional farming community like Belfrey, and her mother’s words only echoed Keeley’s own early fears. She had worked hard to make the café part of Belfry, making sure all of her dairy and eggs were sourced from local organic farms, as well as using local fruit and vegetables where possible, and getting involved with community events, such as the upcoming art festival. Her work had paid off, but she also knew she had been given a head start by the fact that she had been born and raised in Belfrey and her father, George, had been a popular local figure. Keeley shuddered as she remembered how she had even been accused of “betraying his legacy” by transforming his shop.

  There was another reason Keeley bit her tongue at her mother’s comment; Darla still owned half the premises, making her in effect a sleeping partner. Her mother’s decision to visit had made her more than a little nervous; although Darla had no reason to complain about the way her daughter was running the business, given that it was already turning over a small and increasing profit, it would be out of character if her mother didn’t attempt to have some kind of influence.

  Indeed, Darla was looking around the café, her eyes narrowed.

  “Perhaps we should change things just a little? Give it more of a vintage feel, serve more cream teas and cakes? Those types of places are very popular, you know, and are less likely to be just a fad.”

  “I don’t think people regard the Yoga Café as a ‘fad,’ Mum,” Keeley said softly, though her mot
her’s words had stung her, “and there are three of those teashop-type places in Belfrey already. This place is unique.”

  “Well, it’s certainly different,” Darla said with what sounded like a long-suffering sigh, as if this was a quirk of Keeley’s she must endure. Keeley resisted the urge to roll her eyes, glancing at the clock.

  “I think I might close up and pop into the Tavern for a glass of wine, if you’d like to join me?” Keeley asked, feeling mean as she knew she hoped her mother would refuse.

  “Oh goodness me, no, I wouldn’t set foot in that dump, I never understood why your father liked the place. No, I’m going upstairs for a lie down, today has been absolutely exhausting, and my manicure is ruined.”

  Darla left Keeley to tidy up, and Keeley found herself, after such a busy morning, glad of the solitude. Except it was hard not to think of the demise of Gerald Buxby without anything else to distract her. She tried to push the thoughts out of her mind, her natural curiosity warring with revulsion at the news of another murder in Belfrey.

  After locking up, she walked over to the Tavern, blinking as she walked from the sunny High Street into the pub’s smoky gloom. The interior hadn’t changed from as far back as Keeley could remember, and it had been shabby then. Still, she had an enduring fondness for the place, remembering many an afternoon sitting with her dad and his friends after school had finished and the butcher’s had closed. She smiled to see Jack and Bambi at their usual spot, and pulled out a chair to sit next to them. Bambi laid his great head in her lap, looking at her with doleful eyes. Keeley scratched him behind the ears.

  “Aye; the dog’s got a fondness for you. How was the rest of your afternoon, lass?”

  “Busy,” Keeley said. Jack peered at her, taking a long drag on his pipe.

  “And with your mother? She’s not the easiest woman to please.”

  Keeley grinned at him, grateful for his astuteness. She never could get anything past Jack, and of all the older residents in Belfrey he had known and remembered her family well, having not just worked for her father but been one of his close friends also. He would have known Darla, and all of her idiosyncrasies, all too well. Even so, although he had always seemed to have the measure of her mother, he nevertheless always spoke of her with a kind of grudging respect. He had told Keeley, once, that he had never been in any doubt as to Darla’s love for her husband, and that seemed to be enough for Jack to hold her in higher esteem than he perhaps otherwise would have. He had been one of the few people Keeley had found herself able to confide in when she had discovered her mother’s infidelity before Keeley had been conceived.

  “It’s not been quite as bad as I expected, to be honest,” she admitted, burying her hands in the fur around Bambi’s neck and being rewarded with a happy shudder from the dog. “I suppose having her around just puts me on edge. I always feel like everything I do isn’t good enough for her, and I so want her to be proud of what I’ve done with the café. Then earlier, she actually admitted she could be too hard on me sometimes, which isn’t like her. So now on top of everything else I feel guilty for feeling cross at her.” She stopped abruptly, embarrassed at her own openness. She had always found Jack easy to talk to, but even so she had barely admitted those feelings to herself all day, never mind anyone else.

  “I’m sure she is proud,” Jack said with a wry smile, “just as I’m sure she’ll find it near impossible to tell you. She was as proud as punch of you as a kid, you know, always talking about how clever you were to people.”

  “Really?” That was news to Keeley, who wasn’t sure how she felt about Jack’s revelations. She was beginning to wonder if she had her mother all wrong. “She was in a better mood than I expected. She seemed to like Ben. But then she started being all critical about the café again.”

  “Maybe she’s a bit shook up as well. She knew Gerald quite well when you were young; it’s not good news to come back to.”

  Keeley nodded thoughtfully. In all honesty she hadn’t stopped to consider how Darla might be feeling about her return to Belfrey, ten years after the death of her husband. It could be quite painful for her. Keeley felt a stab of guilt, realizing she had been so caught up in her own feelings she hadn’t acknowledged that her mother may be struggling with her own. That was Darla’s way: to be so guarded about her emotions it was easy to assume that she just didn’t have any. Other than contempt, of course, and irritation. She did those well enough. Defense mechanisms, Keeley thought with a rare wave of sympathy for her mother.

  “Maybe I should do something nice for her; take her out to dinner. Ben suggested it too.”

  Jack took another drag on his pipe. “Maybe you should. You can come to me one night as well if the pair of you would like to, and bring young Ben. My housekeeper does a lovely lamb casserole; I’m sure she can take the meat out of yours.”

  “That would be lovely!” Keeley felt a rush of warmth for the older man, leaning over and giving him a brief hug. Jack flushed and puffed again on his pipe. Gently pushing Bambi’s head from her lap, Keeley got up to go to the bar and order herself that glass of wine. The barman, Tom, gave her a weak smile.

  Tom was what was affectionately known—or perhaps with less affection from the older locals—as a “metal head” due to his love of heavy metal music, which he partially expressed with a tendency to wear all black, sport a long beard and hair, and have various pieces of metal adorning his lips, brows, and ears. Keeley remembered Tom from school as a shy, unassuming boy, and the transformation never failed to startle her.

  “Heard the news?” he asked, reaching for a small glass and a bottle of house white.

  “I was with Ben last night when he got the call,” Keeley confessed. “It’s a big shock.”

  “Dunno who would want to murder the mayor.”

  Keeley thought about that. Any murder of a resident would send shock waves through the local community, but even more so when that resident was such a prominent figure, the public face of Belfrey in a sense. And so close to the annual art festival too. Keeley wondered if the festival, which had been hugely popular until recently, would pull in more visitors this year as a result. Tragedy was good for tourism. As awful as it was, she knew it was only the truth, as the day’s influx of visitors to the café had shown.

  “Me neither,” Keeley murmured, taking a grateful sip of the wine Tom handed to her, which was cool and sharp in her mouth. She smiled at him, glad that, unlike everyone else that day, he didn’t seem to automatically want to put Raquel in the frame.

  Until his next words.

  “Raquel will be in trouble, won’t she?”

  Keeley frowned. “As they were going out, of course she would be one of the first to be questioned,” she said, aiming for diplomacy and wondering if Tom had heard about yesterday’s argument in the street outside the café.

  “Yeah, but I mean because she was the last person to see him alive. She was with him last night, wasn’t she.” A statement, not a question. Tom picked up a glass and started cleaning it.

  “I don’t think so.” Keeley thought about what Ben had said, that Raquel had been with Duane all night. Again she had the niggling feeling that she had missed something.

  “Yeah, I saw her on the way home from here last night,” Tom said. “Coming out of the mayor’s. So if he was killed last night, then she must have seen him just before.”

  Keeley felt as though a bucket of ice had been tipped down her back. As Tom’s words and their implications sank in, she remembered what it was that had been bothering her.

  Ben had said Raquel claimed to have been with Duane last night. Which was at odds with Tom seeing her coming from Gerald’s house. But from what Megan had said, Raquel had turned up at Duane’s early that morning.

  Which meant not just that Raquel was lying, but that Duane was providing her with an alibi. And innocent people didn’t need an alibi.

  Chapter Four

  Keeley looked up as Ben entered the café. She was sitting at the corner table b
y the window, looking out over the High Street and wondering if she had done the right thing in ringing Ben, after explaining to Tom how important it was that she tell him. Tom had seemed happy enough to do so, after Keeley had reassured him that no, Ben wouldn’t be searching him. Although Tom never openly admitted it, the permanently stoned expression and often suspicious smell that clung to him left no one in any doubt that his rolled cigarettes contained something stronger than tobacco.

  Right thing to do or not, Keeley couldn’t help feeling disloyal, even though she knew that she owed Raquel no loyalty, not really. Even less so after Duane’s revelations that the other woman had been planning on introducing dishes similar to Keeley’s onto her menu. Perhaps the feeling came from all those times at school when Raquel had used Keeley to cover up for her by telling her parents they were doing homework together when she was in fact off to meet a boy, or to go and hang around with the older crowd in Ripley, an area often regarded as “common” by the residents of Belfrey, and certainly by Raquel’s parents, who could give Darla a run for her money in the snobbishness stakes.

  Ben, who knew Keeley well enough by now to guess how she was feeling, wrapped his arms around her and kissed her firmly on the lips before sitting in the chair next to her. It was evening now, a few hours after he had spoken to Tom and then pulled Raquel and Duane in for questioning. Keeley had spent most of it anxiously waiting for news. Even cooking a large pot of spicy summer casserole for tomorrow’s main dish hadn’t calmed her racing thoughts. She looked at Ben with a question in her eyes. Ben sighed.

  “She’s been released pending further inquiries. She admitted to using Duane as a false alibi; she wasn’t with him last night when Gerald was killed. I say admitted it; it was more a case of tripping herself up and then realizing and becoming completely histrionic.” He looked even more exhausted than he had earlier. No doubt a few hours in an interview room with an overwrought Raquel had been less than pleasant. “But it came out in the end; and then Duane confirmed it; I think lying was getting to him.”