A Death at the Yoga Café

by MICHELLE KELLY,

  “Well, who knows. Perhaps Edna had found some evidence that she killed Gerald?”

  “You know,” Norma chimed in, “Keeley might have a point. Perhaps one of Gerald’s discarded lovers has carried a grudge all these years? And I bet Edna would have known all his secrets.”

  “Maybe he even had a secret love child or two,” Megan said, her voice all innocence. Keeley spun on her heel and glared at her, but Megan gave her a bland smile back.

  Norma and Maggie looked excited at the prospect. “He could have a whole brood of them, who knows?”

  “Well, evidently Edna did.”

  “Or Diana,” Maggie said. Keeley frowned.

  “Diana Glover? Why would she know anything about Gerald?”

  “Well, she worked for him alongside Edna a good few years ago, doing the cooking and things when his wife was still alive and he was carrying on his shenanigans. In fact there were even rumors they were involved, and she suddenly stopped working there. Not long after she met Ted.”

  Keeley felt surprised. Somehow she had never envisaged Diana with any life other than the Glovers’ farm, but of course she must have been young once. And pretty, she thought, remembering she had been admiring Diana’s bone structure the other day. Had she had an affair with Gerald? Diana had long dark hair, just like the woman Tom had seen. Keeley caught her own thoughts, shocked at the turn they were taking. If she wasn’t careful she would end up like Norma and Maggie. The thought made her smile, a welcome relief from the morning’s melancholy, as she imagined herself and Megan in thirty years’ time, the next generation of village gossips.

  “I’m sure Diana doesn’t know anything,” Keeley said softly, “and it’s pointless us debating it. The police will get to the bottom of it.”

  “We hope.” Norma gave a disbelieving snort, but Keeley had already turned away, back to her mug rearranging. Sensing her friend’s withdrawal Megan fell quiet too, and realizing they were no longer being listened to, Norma and Maggie soon finished their drinks and left.

  Megan raised her eyebrows at Keeley.

  “Well, that was interesting. Seems our beloved Lord Mayor had a bit of a racy past.”

  “We’ve all got skeletons in the cupboard,” Keeley said diplomatically. Megan grinned and cocked her head to one side, surveying Keeley with an amused twinkle in her eyes. “Really? So what’s yours? You don’t strike me as the secretive type.”

  “Can’t you read it in my aura?” Keeley teased her friend good-naturedly, glad of the light relief. It felt like a long time since she had really smiled. “I don’t know. Maybe that I used to be overweight and have a serious chicken nugget addiction? Hardly what you would expect from a qualified nutritionist and yoga teacher. What’s yours?”

  Megan shrugged. “I don’t suppose I’ve really got anything either. I listen to really cheesy pop music sometimes, instead of the hippie New Age pan pipe stuff people seem to expect me to be into.”

  Keeley laughed at that, then said on a more serious note, “Gerald’s skeletons were a bit more extreme than that. Still, being guilty of a few affairs in years gone by doesn’t seem like a very good motive for murder.”

  “It’s definitely not the gardener? He seems to be the most recent person with a viable grudge.”

  Keeley shook her head.

  “He seems to have an alibi. No doubt Ben will check it out.”

  “That just leaves us with the affairs. Maybe someone never got over him, and was jealous of his relationship with Raquel. Then they killed Edna because they thought she suspected them.”

  Keeley mulled over her friend’s theory. “But if Edna suspected someone, wouldn’t she have said, when she told me she didn’t think it was Raquel?”

  Megan shrugged. “Maybe she didn’t want you to know. She was very protective of him. She obviously didn’t want anyone to know he had an illegitimate daughter. I wonder what happened to her, if she knows who her dad is?”

  “I would imagine she would despise him if so, if he has never had a relationship with her,” Keeley said, keeping her voice neutral although a new possibility had occurred to her. Nevertheless, Megan picked up on the words she had left unsaid.

  “You think the daughter killed him?”

  “It’s possible. I mean, growing up with a father who doesn’t acknowledge you, it could result in some really deep-rooted issues.” In her work with traumatized and difficult adolescents in New York, Keeley had seen firsthand the results of childhood rejection and abandonment.

  “She might not even have known,” Megan pointed out. “If the mother was married herself, or met someone when the girl was small, she might not even know Gerald was her dad.”

  Keeley nodded. “It’s all speculation. Ben knows about the daughter now, so I’m sure he’ll look into it.”

  Megan gave a wry smile. “If you hadn’t gone to speak to Edna, he wouldn’t have known about it at all. You would think he would be a little more grateful.”

  “I think he just thinks I was interfering,” Keeley said with a sigh, her lift in mood rapidly dissipating at the thought of Ben. It still seemed surreal, as painful as it was, the idea that he wouldn’t be in her life on an intimate level anymore. She hoped he would change his mind, longed for it even, but it wasn’t a thought she was going to readily admit to.

  Megan went to reply, but was interrupted by the chiming of the door and the entrance of Suzy and Christian. Suzy’s pink hair was now lemon yellow, and she carried a large portfolio under one arm. Christian looked as easily handsome as ever. Keeley reflected again on what an odd couple they seemed to make in terms of temperament. Still, who knew what went on behind closed doors? Plenty of people might not have envisaged her and Ben together either.

  “I brought some of my paintings to show you, so we can plan where everything’s going to go,” Suzy said in the surly tone Keeley was coming to realize was characteristic of her.

  “That’s fantastic.” Keeley attempted to sound enthusiastic, but in all honesty she had forgotten all about the art festival given the events of recent days. Neither was she relishing the prospect of a café full of people from outside Belfrey who would have heard about the murders in the regional papers and no doubt be full of questions. Still, at least it would give her the chance to try out her new recipes, and spending the rest of the week concentrating on cooking would hopefully take her mind off Ben.

  “How are you?” Christian asked, giving her a sympathetic smile. Keeley smiled back, trying to ignore the venomous look that Suzy gave her.

  “I’ve been better,” Keeley admitted, “it’s been a tough few days. Thankfully the festival will give me something to focus on. Are you still displaying your work at the diner now that it’s open again?”

  Christian nodded, looking pleased, and Suzy cut in quickly, opening her portfolio and spreading some pictures over the counter. They were much the same as the images that Christian had shown her on his phone. Beautiful, but somewhat dark in tone. Not really the sort of thing that she thought reflected the atmosphere of the Yoga Café; she would have preferred to be displaying Christian’s work.

  Suzy was looking around, her face set in concentration.

  “I think I’ll have the trio of mixed media pictures on that wall there, some smaller pieces along the back wall—you’re going to have to move that table, Keeley, it’s going to be in the way—and that will leave the window for my new piece, which is going to be quite large. I’ve nearly finished it.”

  “She’s been working through the night,” Christian said, and although his tone was amiable enough there was just the fleeting glimpse of an expression that suggested he wasn’t entirely happy with the lack of attention. Keeley imagined he would often find himself coming second best to Suzy’s devotion to her art.

  “The decor doesn’t really go, does it?” Suzy glanced around at the fresh lemon walls with the white coving. “Have you ever thought about a nice purple? Or gray perhaps. That would provide a fantastic backdrop to my work.”


  Keeley bit her lip, ignoring Megan’s snort of laughter at the girl’s presumption.

  “Er, no. I can’t say I have. I don’t think that would really reflect what I’m doing here.”

  “Well, you could always paint it back afterwards,” Suzy said, as though that were a perfectly reasonable request. Keeley decided to pretend she hadn’t heard and went back to looking at the paintings. She glanced at Christian, who had the grace to look embarrassed.

  “I’m sure Keeley wants to keep the café as it is,” he reprimanded his girlfriend gently. “It looks lovely; you’ve done a really good job with the place,” he added to Keeley, who felt herself flush with pleasure at his praise. Suzy glared at her and snatched her portfolio back up.

  “I’ll come in tomorrow to discuss it properly,” she said, and turned on her heel, motioning with a jerk of her head for Christian to follow her. He gave Keeley and Megan a sweet, apologetic smile before following. As the door shut behind them Megan raised her eyebrows at Keeley.

  “She’s certainly the dominant one, isn’t she? I can’t work out what he sees in her. It’s a shame; he’s so handsome.”

  Megan looked almost dreamy for a moment and Keeley grinned, surprised.

  “You like him, don’t you?” It was the first time since she had met her that she had heard Megan express an interest in a man. Megan colored prettily.

  “I just think he’s a nice guy. Though there are parts of his aura I can’t read; I think he’s been through some trauma. Perhaps that’s why he likes Suzy, she’s a domineering force, it might make him feel protected.”

  For some reason, Keeley found herself thinking about Diana again. She didn’t think she was very protected by the domineering Ted Glover. She pushed away the thoughts and smiled indulgently at Megan, who then surprised her by saying, “It would be no good even if he did get rid of Ms. Tortured Artist. I think he likes you.”

  “Me?” Keeley wasn’t sure she felt entirely comfortable with that idea. She was with Ben. Correction, I was with Ben, she thought dismally.

  “Yes, it’s in his eyes when he looks at you. I’m surprised he hasn’t turned up to one of your classes.”

  “I doubt Suzy would let him,” Keeley shrugged. “Actually, yoga might do Suzy some good. I’d suggest it, but she’s so prickly.”

  “Can you believe she suggested you redecorate the café?” Megan said, laughing. Keeley made herself laugh with her friend, but her heart was no longer in it. Thinking about Ben had brought the reality of the situation back home to her. People were dead, and Ben had left her. She felt suddenly drained.

  After Megan had left, Keeley went through the rest of the afternoon on autopilot, glad that the café wasn’t too busy, then she closed a little earlier than usual and went over to the supermarket for the ingredients for the impending art festival. She would try out her recipe for the goat’s cheese and walnut tart tonight.

  Even shopping for ingredients failed to cheer her, and as she walked home with her bags she felt a distinct lack of enthusiasm. She had bought a frozen cheesecake too, on impulse, thinking her mother might enjoy a slice. Or at least, that was what she told herself. It had been a long time since Keeley had used processed sugar as a comfort blanket, but then it had also been a long time since she had experienced a major heartbreak. This, she thought, was worse than Brett. She had always known, deep down, that Brett had been no good for her, that if she truly examined it, her “love” for him was based more on her own need to feel loved and wanted. With Ben, it had been different. It had been real. And she had been so sure that their futures would be entwined, and so sure he had felt the same.

  When she got back to the apartment, she found her mother shrugging on a linen jacket and spraying on floral perfume. She looked lovely, she thought, as ever envious of her mother’s perfect bone structure and effortlessly slender figure.

  “Are you going out?” she asked, oddly disappointed. She realized she would have welcomed her mother’s company. She was getting used to having her here, and her mother’s erratic and haphazard attempts to be a little more, well, motherly, were strangely touching.

  “Yes, I’m off to the Matlock Women’s Association,” Darla said. “I won’t be late.” She air-kissed Keeley and was gone on a cloud of scent. At least she was making friends, Keeley thought as she took her shopping over to the kitchenette and got her cooking utensils ready. She also put the cheesecake on a plate and left it to defrost.

  As she chopped and sliced fresh leeks, carrots, and parsley, she waited for the relief that the simple, repetitive tasks usually brought her, but it was slow and partial in coming. Keeley loved cooking; it was like an extension of her yoga practice in that it enabled her to focus on the task at hand and the present moment, and the benefits that the end result had on her body and mind. Gradually the rhythm and fresh smells began to soothe her, so that as she rolled out the puff pastry and roasted the leeks with the herbs and some lemon, she felt some of the tension in her body unknotting and the pain, if not abated, was at least less acute.

  While the tart baked in the oven, Keeley found herself eyeing up the cheesecake. Although she preferred her puddings fresh and homemade, the sugary treat looked tempting. One slice, she reasoned, could hardly hurt.

  She sat on the sofa with her cheesecake and picked up the local magazine her mother had left on the cushion. She flicked through the features, not really taking in the information, and ate the cake without truly tasting it. It was gone before she knew she had eaten it, so she went and cut herself another slice, larger this time, determined to enjoy this one.

  As she sat back down and picked the magazine back up, she noticed an article about the Matlock Women’s Association and their recent bake sale. Remembering that was where Darla had announced she was going, she read it with a vague interest. Then frowned at the part that detailed when meetings were held, on Sunday afternoons and Tuesday mornings. Not Wednesday evenings. Perhaps the writer had gotten it wrong, or Darla had, although that struck her as most unlike her mother.

  Or she was lying. As soon as Keeley thought it she felt disloyal, but even so the thought took hold and nagged at her. Darla was acting quite strangely, being far too nice one minute then back to her usual self the next, and going off with “old friends” Keeley had never met. Maybe she was up to something, although quite what she could be up to she had no idea.

  The thought that her mother had deliberately lied about her plans for the evening made her feel uncomfortable and agitated, and she found herself going back to the cheesecake and this time not even bothering to cut a slice but bringing the rest back to the sofa with her. As she ate, she thought about her mother, and Ben, and Brett, and her father, and ate faster as if to smother the tears and feelings of loss that welled up inside her.

  Then she looked down at her plate and saw she had finished the entire thing. Feeling sick, bloated, and disgusted with herself, and remembering her mother’s comments about her thighs, Keeley set the plate down on the floor and then curled up on the sofa under the blanket, trying to fight back the tears that gathered at the corner of her eyes. She didn’t want to cry herself to sleep for a second night.

  She must have drifted off into sleep, however, as when she opened her eyes again it was getting dark. Hearing something, she sat up to see Darla coming in, her face flushed.

  “Have you only just got in?” Keeley felt a sick, heavy feeling and, remembering the cheesecake, she looked down and pushed the plate under the sofa with her foot, feeling ashamed and not wanting her mother to see it and know she had gone back to the habits of childhood. Using sugar as an alternative to love, Keeley thought with bitterness and more than a touch of self-pity.

  “Yes,” her mother said with no word of explanation. The women’s association meeting must have gone on for quite a while, and the flush on her mother’s cheeks indicated she had been drinking wine. Perhaps they had had a wine tasting session? She remembered the magazine.

  “So, did you go to the WA meeting?” s
he asked, keeping her tone light. Nevertheless her mother gave her an annoyed look.

  “Yes, dear, like I told you. Why are you interrogating me? It’s your boyfriend who is the policeman, you know.”

  Wincing at that comment, Keeley took herself to the bathroom to wash her face and clean her teeth. She curled back up on the sofa and went to sleep in her clothes, feeling utterly dejected.

  Chapter Twelve

  The next morning Keeley stood straight in Tree Pose, standing on one leg, letting her gaze focus on a point on the wall in front of her. She had woken up feeling as sorry for herself as she had the night before, but after getting up and making her way to the bathroom and seeing herself in the mirror, her face puffy and red from crying, she had felt a spark of rebellion. She was not going to allow herself to fall apart over Ben Taylor; she was stronger than that. It was going to hurt, she knew, and hurt badly, but it wouldn’t kill her. She still had her business, her friends, her practice, and most importantly her integrity. As much as she loved him, she didn’t need him.

  Keeley took herself through a series of standing postures designed for strength and balance, and to build resilience. All the things that she needed right now. There was an ever present dull ache of grief, no matter how much she tried to empty her mind of thoughts of Ben, but, she told herself firmly, she was just going to have to get on with it.

  Darla remained asleep while Keeley got ready for another early morning session with Diana. Perhaps she had had more wine than Keeley had thought. She thought about her mother’s claims that she had only been to the women’s association with no small amount of skepticism. Still, it was her business, she supposed.

  Diana was chattier than usual, the bruise on her eye faded to nothingness, and as she placed a hand in the small of her back to help her ease into a back bend, Keeley recalled Norma and Maggie’s intimation that Diana had known Gerald quite well. She wanted to ask her about it, but couldn’t see how to bring it up, though in the end it was Diana who mentioned the subject, shaking her head over the plight of poor Edna.