A Death at the Yoga Café

by MICHELLE KELLY,

  “I used to work with her, you know, at the Buxbys’ before Gerald became mayor. I did a bit of cooking there. She wasn’t the easiest person to get along with; a bit of a bully, in fact. Still, she didn’t deserve that.” Diana shuddered.

  “Nobody does,” Keeley said quietly.

  “I wonder who did it? Does Ben not have any leads?” Diana asked as she relaxed into a lying pose. Then she flushed and brought a hand to her mouth. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t ask that, should I?” She looked mortified.

  “Don’t be silly, it’s perfectly natural to ask,” Keeley reassured her, ignoring the twinge of pain at the mention of Ben’s name. “But no, I don’t think he has.” She didn’t say they were no longer together; she intended to let people find out in their own time. The only person she had told was Megan, and she was dreading the time when it would become common knowledge. Norma and Maggie would no doubt be around with a barrage of questions, and as for what her mother would say, the longer she could avoid her mother’s barbed comments the better.

  “I suppose it was that Raquel,” Diana offered. Keeley shrugged, suddenly not wanting to get drawn into another conversation about it lest the subject turn back to Ben, but Diana’s uncommon chattiness continued. Normally Keeley liked to keep her clients focused on their breath, but it was such a pleasant change to see Diana so communicative that she let her carry on.

  “Everyone acted so surprised when he got together with her, but he was always one for the ladies, you know. He even used to flirt with me a lot when I worked there, that was probably why Edna didn’t like me.”

  “Really? Goodness.” Since his death it seemed everyone had a tale to tell about the mayor’s apparent randiness.

  “Oh yes,” Diana went on happily, following Keeley’s lead and bringing her knees to her chest, “it was the talk of Belfrey for a while. Awful really, that kind of thing can cause so much hurt. Especially when poor George found out…” Diana went red and fell silent, a look of horror in her eyes as she realized what she had just said. It took a few moments for the implications of the woman’s words to register in Keeley’s mind, then when they did she sat up abruptly, her reclining pose forgotten.

  “George? You mean my father, don’t you?”

  Diana sat up too, looking as though she was about to burst into tears. “Keeley, I’m so sorry. I’m such an idiot. Ted always says I should learn when to keep my mouth shut.”

  Keeley shook her head against the woman’s words. “No, Diana, that’s an awful thing for him to say. But what did you mean?” When Diana pressed her lips together as if to prevent herself from elaborating further Keeley added, “Please?”

  Diana sighed. “There was talk that Gerald and your mother were, you know, involved. It wasn’t common knowledge, it all got hushed up. I don’t even know the truth of it really.” Diana was backtracking.

  “It’s okay,” Keeley reassured her. “I know about what happened when my mum and dad were first married.” I just didn’t know it was Gerald my mum had the affair with, she thought, her mind whirling with half-formed scenarios. Why had Darla not told her when Gerald’s death had been announced? After all, Keeley already knew about her mother’s past infidelity. Apart from the initial shock at the news, Darla seemed to have taken it perfectly in stride, as though Gerald really was no more than an old acquaintance. Perhaps Diana was wrong, Keeley thought, or rather hoped, but her gut told her the information was accurate.

  They finished off the session with Diana back to her more subdued self, unable to meet Keeley’s eyes as she paid and made to leave. Keeley felt pity for her, calling her back before she went out the door.

  “Diana? Please don’t worry about what you said, honestly, it’s fine.”

  Diana gave her a weak smile. “I just hope I haven’t upset you, I just didn’t think before I spoke. I’ve had a lot on my plate, you know, running the farm while Ted’s away.”

  “Ted’s gone away?” That might explain why Diana had seemed more talkative than usual, given her temporary hiatus from her domineering husband.

  “Yes, just on a shooting holiday for a few days. He’s back at the weekend.” A shadow seemed to cross her eyes at her last words, and she hurried out. Keeley watched her, wishing there was something more she could do for the downtrodden woman. Then her thoughts turned back to this new and unexpected piece of information. Her mother and Gerald? Her every sense rebelled against the thought, but she supposed it wasn’t so ludicrous really. They would have been around the same age, and both were very attractive in their youth. She felt a surge of sympathy for her late father. He must have been devastated.

  When Keeley had found out about her mother’s infidelity, in the wake of her return to Belfrey and the Terry Smith murder, it had shocked and upset her. However, the unusually candid conversation she had had with Darla afterward had left her feeling she knew her mother better, and also enabled her to see just how deeply her parents had loved one another, in spite of Darla’s outwardly cold exterior. So any resentment Keeley might have felt toward her for that particular subject had largely dissipated. Even so, she felt shocked at the revelation that her mother’s former lover was the recently murdered mayor.

  A horrible, creeping suspicion filled her mind. Could her mother possibly know something? That might explain her rather odd behavior and the wine consumption last night. Once again, Keeley wondered if she had really been at the women’s association meeting, and she knew that once that thought took hold, it would nag at her until she knew the truth.

  Well, there was only one way to find out. Keeley retrieved her phone from where she had left it during her session with Diana, rooted around in the cabinet for the local phone directory, and rang the church hall where the WA group had their meetings.

  It was still early, and she half hoped no one would answer, but a croaky voice came at the other end of the line.

  “Yes?”

  “Good morning,” Keeley said brightly, already feeling guilty for the lie she was about to tell, “I wanted to inquire about the women’s association meeting on a Wednesday. Is it okay to just come along?”

  “It’s not a Wednesday, duck,” came the voice, old and croaky and of indeterminate gender, “Tuesdays and Sundays after the service, been the same for years.”

  Keeley felt a curling of dread in her stomach.

  “So there was no meeting last night?”

  “No, duck,” the voice said with a touch of impatience. “Like I said, Tuesdays and Sundays.”

  Keeley cut the call without speaking, a dreadful thought beginning to take shape in her mind. Why was her mother lying about where she had been? And why had she seemed so blasé about Gerald’s death? It was ridiculous to think her mother could have anything to do with what had happened. The two things were most likely unrelated.

  And yet.

  It made no logical sense; after all, why would Darla want to kill Gerald, a man she had had an affair with twenty-seven years ago? There was no motive. Yet she couldn’t deny that her mother’s actions were suspicious to say the least: lying about her whereabouts, lying about how well she had known Gerald, when after all Keeley already knew about the affair itself, and her erratic behavior lately. Then there was the fact that the murders had coincided perfectly with the arrival of her mother back in Belfrey. She had to conclude that if Darla was anyone but her own mother, she would see them as a viable suspect.

  And so, she realized, would Ben. She wondered if she should tell him, then dismissed the thought straight away. As much as Darla and she hadn’t exactly always seen eye to eye, her mother had been making more of an effort recently and she wasn’t about to report her to the police just out of a half-formed suspicion. Given that Ben was barely talking to her, she doubted the fact that Darla was her mother would sway him toward sympathy. Ben would, as ever, do his job. The very thing Keeley had once admired about him—his integrity and devotion to his work—now struck her as more of a defect, manifesting in that bull-headed stubbornness and pride t
hat had him walking out on her and the promise of a future together.

  No, she wouldn’t tell Ben. She would be better off talking to her mother herself.

  Keeley was drumming her fingers on the top of the counter, her mind whirling, when she noticed a piece of paper on the floor under the till. She picked it up and turned it over to see a beautiful color sketch of a young girl, with a haunted expression in her eyes. It must have fallen out of Suzy’s portfolio the day before. It was very well done, if typical of the artist’s subject matter. The girls’ eyes seemed to stare at her out of the picture, a look of pleading in them.

  The door chimed, startling Keeley, and she turned around to see Christian come in, alone for once.

  “Hey,” he said with that easy charm of his, and in spite of her current mood Keeley could hardly help but respond with a warm smile. “I’ve just been in to see Raquel about showing my work on Saturday, and thought I’d pop in. I’m at a bit of a loose end and Suzy’s holed up in the attic.”

  “Hey yourself. I’ve just found this, it must have fallen out of Suzy’s things yesterday. Could you return it for me?” She passed the sketch to him. Christian took it from her and nodded, staring intently at the picture.

  “I haven’t seen this one before.”

  “It’s beautiful,” Keeley said. Christian nodded.

  “Like I said before, she’s incredibly talented. Almost makes it worth putting up with her mood swings.” He laughed at his own comment, and Keeley laughed with him, glad he had voiced what he knew everyone must be thinking.

  “She seems very intense. Are you very passionate about art yourself?”

  Christian nodded fervently.

  “Oh yes, it’s all I’ve ever wanted to do. I’m interested in all forms of creative expression, though, not just visual art. Performing arts is a big love of mine, and poetry.” He looked shy as he said the last, and Keeley felt a shudder of an emotion she couldn’t quite name. Ben wouldn’t know a thing about poetry if it jumped up and bit him, she found herself thinking, then felt immediately disloyal in spite of the estrangement between them. Once, particularly during what she liked to think of as her “yoga years” in India, someone like Christian would have been her exact type: boyish, laid-back, and a bit arty. Alpha males like Ben she had kept well away from ever since Brett. Now, though, Ben was all she wanted.

  The feeling of loss swept over her so suddenly that she had to turn away to hide the tears that welled up in the corners of her eyes.

  “Would you like anything to eat or drink?” she asked, fighting to keep her voice steady. Christian picked up a menu.

  “Yes, can I have a peppermint tea, please? And a red pepper, spinach, and potato omelet.”

  Keeley poured a tea and went into the kitchen to make the omelet, still thinking about Ben. She was just flipping the omelet onto a plate when she thought she heard his voice and jumped. Was she so lovesick she was now conjuring him up in his absence? She carried the plate out, shaking her head at herself, then jumped again when she saw Ben standing by the counter, talking to Christian. She passed Christian his food, her heart thumping in her chest as she looked up at Ben.

  “Can I help you?” she said, her voice cool.

  Ben glanced at Christian, around the empty café, then back at Keeley. “No,” he said curtly, “I just wanted to check you were okay.”

  “Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?” Keeley asked, just as curt. Christian was watching them with interest, and Keeley sat opposite him, giving him a smile.

  “So tell me more about your art,” she said, effectively freezing Ben out. Ben stared at her for a moment, then turned and walked out. Keeley’s face crumpled.

  “I take it you two have had a row?” Christian said, handing her his serviette. Keeley wiped her eyes, nodding.

  “You could say that.”

  “Do you want to talk about it? Tell me off if I’m being nosey, but if you need an ear, I’m all yours.” He took a bite of his omelet, nodding with satisfaction. “This is really good,” he added.

  “Thank you,” Keeley said, then sighed. “There’s not much to say really. These murders, they’ve upset everyone. He accused me of interfering with the case because I went round to talk to a few people.” She stopped, seeing the interest on Christian’s face and aware she was saying too much. She didn’t want the whole of Belfrey to know she was investigating on Raquel’s behalf.

  “I heard you solved a murder before,” Christian said in between mouthfuls. “You’d think he would be glad of the help.”

  “I don’t know if ‘solved’ is the right word, I kind of ended up getting involved through circumstances really. I nearly got hurt, so I suppose Ben just feels protective.” She found herself defending him.

  “Maybe. Or maybe he doesn’t want you stealing his thunder.”

  “That’s what Megan said. But that’s just ridiculous, Ben isn’t like that,” she said, even though in her more prideful moments she had come to that conclusion herself.

  “Well, I hope you both sort things out,” he said diplomatically, giving her a sympathetic smile. Keeley wanted to say she hoped so too, but that hope felt so futile right now that she didn’t even want to voice it.

  Christian continued to eat his omelet and Keeley got up as two elderly women came in. They ordered two of her summer cream meringues and she busied herself making them, thinking as she did so about the coming Saturday. She really wasn’t looking forward to it, in fact she wanted it over and done with as quickly as possible. Usually Keeley would welcome the chance to get involved in the local community, especially something that was likely to drive new visitors to the café and enable her to try out a new recipe, but the thought of spending the entire day with Suzy, surrounded by her stunning but tragic images, didn’t exactly fill her with enthusiasm given the bleakness of her existing mood. More than that, she had a slightly ominous feeling about the art festival that had been creeping up on her the past few days, or perhaps she was just being negative, given that events of the past week had been decidedly less than cheery.

  She needed a good, vigorous workout, she thought, looking at the clock. In fact, if the café stayed this quiet she decided she would close up early and go and roll her mat out. A few flowing sequences and yogic push-ups would be just what she needed.

  Not to mention the fact that she needed to burn off last night’s cheesecake. Remembering she had left the plate pushed under the sofa, she hoped Darla hadn’t found it when she got up. She was surprised her mother hadn’t yet put in an appearance; perhaps she was feeling ill from the wine she had drunk. At the meeting that she hadn’t in fact gone to. Again she wondered why her mother would lie.

  The day seemed to drag on, a slow but steady trickle of customers ensuring that she couldn’t just leave, and so it was late afternoon before she went up to the apartment, to find her mother ironing a dress. Her hair was artfully arranged in a chic updo and her makeup carefully applied.

  “You’re off again then?” Keeley said, trying not to sound too suspicious and then wincing as she heard the tone of her voice and knew she had failed. Darla pulled a face, pursing her lips.

  “I am allowed to have a social life, you know, dear.”

  “I know, Mum, I’m sorry.”

  Darla didn’t respond but continued to iron her dress. Keeley watched her, shifting from one foot to the other, wondering if now was the right time to say anything. To ask her mother where she had really been last night. Or why she had lied. Or about Gerald. Although part of Keeley had a burning desire to know what had happened between her mother and the unfortunate mayor, another part of her wished she didn’t know at all. Keeley suspected that had as much to do with her own squeamishness at the thought of Darla and Gerald entangled in some passionate liaison as it did with the fact of his death. The thought of her mother as some kind of seductress was almost as horrifying as the thought of her as a murderer.

  Darla looked up and frowned at her daughter.

  “Is there something
wrong?”

  Keeley opened her mouth to speak, but then found herself shaking her head instead.

  “No. It’s just been a bit of a long day.”

  Darla raised an eyebrow as she turned her dress over and began to iron the sleeves with practiced precision.

  “You do seem stressed, dear. The café isn’t getting too much for you is it?”

  “No!” Keeley protested, feeling suddenly panicked. “Everything’s going fine. I love the café.”

  She fled to the bathroom before her mother could push the subject further. Somehow her mother had turned the conversation around without Keeley finding out anything.

  She emerged from the bathroom and took up her place on the sofa, waiting for Darla to go out so that she could unfurl her yoga mat and throw herself into a practice. She didn’t want her mother’s eyes on her while she was sweating and contorted.

  When Darla left, however, Keeley continued to sit for a few minutes, ruminating over the day’s revelations. Questioning her mother was unlikely to lead to any concrete answers in any case, she thought, and telling Ben certainly wasn’t an option. She could hardly share her new suspicions with Raquel either.

  Because now it wasn’t just Raquel she was trying to get off the hook. But unlike Raquel, she found she couldn’t so easily convince herself of her mother’s innocence.

  All at once, this case had become very personal indeed.

  VRKASANA—TREE POSE

  A standing pose that improves both balance and concentration. Like a tree, your standing leg should feel rooted to the earth, your torso strong, and your arms stretching to the heavens.

  Method

  • Stand with your feet hip-width apart, your spine straight, shoulders back and down, looking straight ahead with your arms relaxed by your side. Focus your gaze on a single point directly in front of you and take three deep breaths. Bring your hands to a prayer position in front of your chest.

  • Bend and lift your right leg, then place the sole of your foot against the inside of your left thigh, just above your knee. To make this easier, place your foot against your left shin, or to make it more challenging slide the right foot up toward the groin. Keep your gaze focused ahead and breathe steadily. Find your balance. When you feel comfortable, raise your arms straight above your head. Keep the hands in prayer position if you can, otherwise keep the palms facing each other.