“I’m sure Ben would have questioned her,” Keeley said, taking a large bite of her toast. The jam was delicious, the strawberries having been picked locally from the Glovers’ farm. She had Diana Glover coming for a private yoga session that morning before she opened up; she would have to take it downstairs, rather than subject Diana to the appraisal of her mother.
“I had better get ready,” she said, looking at the clock and seeing she had overslept. No doubt a night of tossing and turning on her couch hadn’t helped. Her mother, on the other hand, looked as fresh as a daisy.
Downstairs she saw Diana already waiting outside, her hands clasped together in their usual nervous gesture, long fingers fidgeting with each other.
“Morning, Diana, how are you?”
Diana gave her a weak nod as she came in, yoga mat under her arm, not quite meeting Keeley’s eyes. Diana was a regular at Keeley’s class at the leisure center, and had recently started having one-to-one sessions with her. She was a timid woman who worked hard on the family farm under the watchful eye of her bullying husband, Ted, and Keeley often thought that the yoga classes were the only time Diana had to herself, and wondered if the mysterious backache Diana claimed as the reason for her interest in yoga was simply a convenient reason. Keeley pulled out her bolsters and her own mat from where they were stored under the counter.
“If you don’t mind, we’ll have to practice down here today. I’ll push the tables over and keep the blinds down.”
Diana just nodded and began to help move the tables. She was even quieter than usual, and as the sunlight came through the slats in the blinds and alighted on the older woman’s face, Keeley saw the mark of a yellowing bruise, barely covered by cheap powder. Her stomach rolled and she turned her face away before Diana caught her staring, telling herself sharply not to jump to conclusions.
“So how are you feeling?” she said instead, rolling out the mats. “How is everything at the farm?”
“Just busy. I’ve been very tired. My back’s been aching something fiendish this week.”
“In that case we’ll concentrate mostly on some restorative poses,” Keeley said. Not only were restorative poses good for aches and exhaustion; they were an antidote to emotional trauma also. Although Keeley had no way of truly knowing what went on behind closed doors at the Glovers’ farm, she had the innate sense that Diana was a deeply unhappy woman.
She sat down cross-legged on the mat, indicating for Diana to copy her, and then took her through a few rounds of Skull Shining Breath, a breathing exercise designed to clear the mind and increase feelings of happiness. After just a few minutes Keeley saw some of the tension drop from Diana’s face, the lines on her forehead seeming to smooth out and a soft smile relaxing her mouth. She really was quite pretty, Keeley thought; most likely a stunner in her youth, before life and marriage had taken its toll on her.
Keeley then led Diana through some forward bends and other sitting postures that she knew would be good for the other woman’s back, and after a while Keeley felt a sense of peace settle over herself as she led Diana through a kneeling spinal flow, feeling her own tensions, which she hadn’t even been aware of carrying, ebbing away from her.
To finish the practice Keeley spent the last twenty minutes taking Diana through some lying-down poses, propped up where needed by the bolsters. Although Keeley’s own practice tended to be a lot more energetic, as she watched Diana lie on her mat, radiating serenity, she realized it might be a good idea to allow herself more time for some deep relaxation. Things had been so manic the past few months that she often felt as though she didn’t have chance to pause for breath.
As she waved Diana off, Keeley thought it was strange that Diana hadn’t mentioned Gerald’s murder; perhaps, stuck up on the farm, she hadn’t heard about it yet, or perhaps she had forgotten in the wake of her own obvious problems.
She watched Diana walk away, her steps lighter and her shoulders less hunched, and allowed herself a warm glow. This was what it was all about for her, really: serving others. Although often forgotten in the modern craze for new exercise routines, the cornerstone of yoga practice wasn’t postures or flexibility but living by spiritual principles, of which helping others was one of the most important. Back in New York Keeley had taught a number of nonprofit classes for inner-city teens or at rehab centers and had always got more satisfaction from them than the higher-paid sessions she taught at expensive studios. Sometimes she missed all that, but Belfrey was her home again now and the Yoga Café her dream; and perhaps she was still able to help, if Diana’s face was anything to go by.
But you wouldn’t help Raquel, piped up an inner voice that Keeley pushed away with a mixture of guilt and frustration. Ben was probably right; the case was something she should keep out of. It was in Ben’s hands and if Raquel truly was innocent, then she was sure the truth would come out. Pushing away thoughts of news stories of innocent people being convicted for crimes they didn’t commit, Keeley started pulling the tables into place and getting ready to open up for the day. She would be glad when the murder was solved and the whole thing done and dusted. Quite what Raquel thought she could even achieve for her, Keeley had no idea. Perhaps she thought Keeley could pull some strings with Ben, not understanding, as Keeley did, that Ben was straight as an arrow when it came to his role as a police detective. It was one of the things about him that she loved most, even if there were times when his black-and-white view of the world infuriated her. She pushed away the small voice in her mind that told her that maybe she could help Raquel, and if she could, then she should.
As the morning wore on, with Darla staying upstairs, having apparently decided not to risk her hair and nails that day, Keeley couldn’t push Raquel’s request from her mind. Later, when Megan came in with Christian for a flapjack and a smoothie, she shook her head at Keeley, the colored beads in her dreadlocks dangling.
“I don’t know why you’re assuming it isn’t her. All the evidence points to it, and I’ve always thought she had a viciousness about her.”
“I don’t think she’s capable of this. I mean, where’s the motive? An argument about her flirting hardly warrants murder.” Keeley fell quiet as she remembered it was Christian himself who she had apparently been accused of flirting with. Christian, his hair flopping becomingly over one eye, gave a graceful shrug.
“I didn’t even think she was being flirtatious with me, although Suzy wouldn’t agree. But then”—he grimaced—“Suzy can be very possessive.”
“Where is she today?” Keeley asked, although she was quite relieved that the intense young artist wasn’t there; Suzy set her on edge.
“She’s working on a new piece that she wants to unveil here the first day of the festival.”
“Oh? What is it?” Although Keeley was quite looking forward to turning the café into an art gallery for a few days, it occurred to her that she hadn’t even seen Suzy’s work. She hoped it wasn’t going to be nudes, or something equally shocking to the older residents of Belfrey.
“I don’t know, she’s being very secretive about it, she always is when working on a big piece. It will be wonderful, I’m sure,” Christian assured her. “She’s incredibly talented.”
“She’s using my attic as her studio at the minute,” said Megan in carefully neutral tones that Keeley understood meant that she was less than thrilled about this new arrangement.
“Here.” Christian showed Keeley his phone. “Here’s some pictures of Suzy’s last exhibition.”
Keeley took the phone and scrolled through the pictures of Suzy’s work. Keeley knew next to nothing about art, but there was no denying the girl was good. She used a mixture of acrylics, pencils, charcoal, and even unusual mediums such as pieces of glass and what looked like dirt to create undeniably beautiful pictures, mainly of young women in fantastical surroundings wearing tortured expressions. Beautiful, but dark. Still, she hadn’t expected pretty pastoral scenes.
“They’re very good,” Keeley said, handing t
he phone back. “Have you got any of yours?”
He handed it back, to reveal mostly charcoal sketches of local landmarks, including a detailed one of the local windmill, a popular tourist attraction, as it was the country’s only existing windmill that still produced grain. Although his work lacked the undeniable brilliance of Suzy’s, he was obviously very good, and it was much more in keeping with the kind of thing Keeley expected the average citizen of Belfrey to enjoy. She sighed, wishing Christian had come to her before Raquel. Then she frowned as she had a thought.
“Will you still be exhibiting at the diner with everything that’s happened?” She couldn’t see Raquel rushing in to open up at the moment. It wasn’t as if she needed the money—Raquel’s parents were quite well-off and had purchased the diner for their daughter more to give her something to do with her time until she snared a rich husband than anything else. Raquel did little of the work there herself, employing a cook, two waitresses, and a cleaner.
“I believe so. I’m going round to see Raquel this evening; I expect to discuss that very thing.”
Megan raised an eyebrow. “Is Suzy happy about that?”
Christian looked uncomfortable.
“Well, I haven’t had the chance to tell her yet; she’s been painting all last night and this morning, and it’s always best not to disturb her when she’s involved with her work. I’ll tell her later. I expect she’ll end up coming with me.” He said the last with no indication that that was in any way a bad thing, but there was a slightly pained expression in his eyes that made Keeley feel instantly sorry for him, wondering how hard it must be to cope with Suzy’s possessiveness. She thought again of Diana Glover and the haunted expression she so often wore. I’m so lucky to have Ben, she thought with a rush of love.
“I’d be surprised if she doesn’t keep the diner shut for a while,” Megan said. “It was closed when I walked past on my way here. Perhaps she’s going to tell you she can’t exhibit your work after all.”
Christian looked crestfallen.
“If that’s the case, perhaps you and Suzy can both display here? Or you could use Crystals and Candles?”
“I’ve already got my friend displaying her range of hand-painted tarot cards, and David is coming in on the first day to create a sculpture. He’s a druid, you know, so I’ll be displaying some of his work too. Otherwise I would have loved to,” Megan explained.
Wondering exactly what a druid was in its present-day form, Keeley shrugged at Christian.
“Well, you and Suzy are more than welcome to share the space here if necessary.”
“Thank you,” he said, looking relieved and giving her a sweet smile. Keeley thought again that she really wouldn’t have put him with the intense Suzy. Still, opposites attract, she supposed. In many ways she and Ben were chalk and cheese also, yet she felt they fit perfectly. Suzy no doubt had her softer side; people were rarely just one thing.
“That’s settled then,” Keeley said, and then moved further down the counter to serve two teenage girls who had just come in, while Megan and Christian took their pot of herbal tea and sat down at one of the tables. The lunchtime rush soon started, and Keeley wondered as she rushed around doing three jobs at once just what her mother was doing upstairs, and how amenable she was likely to be to giving Keeley some help.
As it turned out, not at all. Darla appeared in a haze of perfume and powder, announced she was off to Matlock to do some shopping, and disappeared before Keeley could make any request. It really was high time she took some help on; she would start advertising this week, she decided.
The afternoon was getting on before the line of customers slowed down, and Keeley retreated into the kitchen to phone Ben, hoping he wasn’t too busy to answer.
He answered on the third ring, his deep voice evoking a fluttering feeling in Keeley’s belly that hadn’t subdued after four months of dating.
“Dinner tonight?” he said after she had given him a brief rundown of the morning. “Perhaps we could go to the Wheatsheaf and take your mother.”
Keeley tried to sound enthusiastic. As much as she appreciated Ben’s efforts to get on with Darla, in all honesty she would prefer to keep her mother as far away from her boyfriend as possible, perhaps worried that Darla’s often critical analysis of her only daughter would rub off on Ben. She should really give him more credit; Ben showed her how much he loved her so often, and in so many ways, that Keeley knew it was only her own often-fragile self esteem that kept her from sometimes fully accepting it.
“Sounds great. How has your day been? Any headway on the Gerald case?”
There was a noticeable pause before Ben answered, sounding suddenly distant. “Not as yet. I’d better go, I’ve got a ton of stuff to do; I’ll ring you later to sort out tonight. Love you.” He rung off before Keeley had even had the chance to form her own words of good-bye. She glared at the phone, feeling annoyed. She was really starting to get the feeling that he was shutting her out over this case, ever since his comment the day before about staying out of this one. They had never really spoken about her involvement in the Terry Smith case since they had gotten together as a couple, and Keeley wondered if he still for some reason resented it. It had certainly caused friction between them when they had first met, but Keeley, knowing herself to be in danger, had found herself unable to just sit back and let events unfold. If it hadn’t been for her, the murderer might well have never been caught. Not that that was any great reason for pride, she told herself sharply, given the fact that right up until the end she had been certain that Raquel was the villain.
Perhaps, she mused to herself, drumming her fingers on the work surface in front of her, that was why she felt the need to defend Raquel’s innocence now: because of a misplaced sense of guilt. Just because the woman hadn’t been responsible for Terry Smith’s death didn’t mean she wasn’t responsible for Gerald’s. Besides which, it was nothing to do with her. She had been unwittingly involved last spring; this time there was no reason for her to be concerned. Except that Raquel had directly asked her for help.
“I need you to help me, Keeley Carpenter,” came the voice of Raquel herself, causing Keeley to nearly jump out of her skin. She spun around, seeing Raquel in the doorway of the kitchen. She had been so lost in thought she hadn’t even heard the jangling of the café door that indicated a customer.
Although Raquel’s tone was as imperious as ever, she looked awful, Keeley thought, her usually glowing skin gray and dry, her hair greasy at the roots and lines of fatigue around her mouth and eyes. Her face was puffy too, as though she had been crying, and Keeley had the urge to throw her arms around the girl, although it was an urge she resisted. Instead, she ushered Raquel back into the café, turned the sign on the door to CLOSED and put the kettle on.
“English Breakfast, two sugars?” she asked. Raquel nodded, giving Keeley a weak smile.
“You always remember everyone’s drinks. And names. I wish I could be like that at the diner.”
Keeley tried to hide her surprise at the other woman’s compliment and admission of anything less than absolute perfection. She carried two mugs and a pot of tea over to the table and sat down.
“I’m sorry if I was short with you yesterday,” she began, pouring Raquel a mug, noticing as she did so that the other woman’s hands were shaking. “But I just don’t really see how I can help.”
“Find out who did it,” Raquel said abruptly. Keeley nearly dropped the sugar. She looked at Raquel with wide eyes.
“I can’t do that, Raquel. It’s a matter for the police.” She could hear Ben’s voice again, warning her away, and again felt a flash of annoyance. If Ben wasn’t her boyfriend, would she be more open to helping Raquel? Keeley thought that she would, and that made her feel instantly guilty.
“The police think it’s me,” Raquel pointed out, oblivious to Keeley’s mental wranglings. “It wasn’t, you know, it really wasn’t. I haven’t seen Gerald since we had that row. It was just a silly argument.” She s
hook her head, blinking rapidly as if fighting back tears, and Keeley felt her heart go out to her. All of her instincts screamed at her that Raquel was telling the truth. But then, the voice of reason countered, if she had been wrong about Raquel’s guilt before, how could she be certain she wasn’t wrong about her innocence now?
“I believe you,” she said. “I don’t know why,” she went on more honestly, “but for some reason I do.”
Raquel nodded. “Thank you.”
There was an uncomfortable silence, Keeley thinking of all the times Raquel had been hostile toward her or mocked her since her return to Belfrey, and now here she was asking for her help. Reflecting on how proud, if not downright arrogant, Raquel usually was, she thought that the girl must really be desperate.
But desperate because she was innocent, or desperate because she was guilty? In spite of her gut feelings that Raquel was genuine, Keeley was under no illusions that the other woman was quite capable of putting on a contrite façade in order to manipulate her.
And yet … Keeley looked at Raquel, so uncharacteristically forlorn, and made her decision. She could worry about the implications with Ben later.
“Okay,” she said, trying to sound forthright, though her stomach was fizzing as she understood what she was about to take on. “So if you didn’t kill Gerald, why did you get Duane to provide you with a false alibi?”
“I was scared,” Raquel said simply. “I knew they would look to me as his girlfriend and because everyone had heard us arguing, and I was just covering my back.”
“So where were you really?”
A Death at the Yoga Café Page 7
