A Death at the Yoga Café

by MICHELLE KELLY,

  Megan soon left to open up Crystals and Candles, and Darla made an appearance around midmorning, just as the café began to fill up with art lovers and tourists. Keeley was soon rushed off her feet, and glad when Darla pulled on an apron to help out, albeit with a look of weariness.

  “You really need to get more organized,” her mother said, though there was no real criticism in her tone, more force of habit.

  “Did you have a nice time last night?” Keeley asked before she could help herself as she chopped apples for the blender. Her mother paused, seemed to stiffen and then relax again before she looked Keeley dead in the eye.

  “I need to talk to you later, dear,” she said in a low tone that sounded ominous to Keeley’s ears.

  “What about?”

  “Not now, dear,” Darla said in a firm voice that made Keeley feel about five years old again. “It’s very important, and I’m afraid you might be quite shocked.” Then she walked into the kitchen, leaving Keeley gaping after her. What could she want to tell her? The reason behind her odd behavior of late, certainly, but was it going to be the revealing of a new lover or the confession of something much worse?

  Lunchtime fast approached, and Suzy stood up to do her talk. The café was heaving now, with a great deal of people unable to sit down and standing around the edges, drinking tea and eating meringues. Keeley had nearly run out of her goat’s cheese tart, and she began to cut a large slice for Jack before it ran out.

  Right on cue, the door chimed and Jack came in, Bambi following faithfully behind him, woofing quietly and wagging his tail in excitement at the small crowd of customers. Suzy, who had been about to begin speaking, looked over at Jack and glared. Jack stared back, puffing on his pipe, until Suzy looked away, flustered. Keeley suppressed a smile. There wasn’t much, she reckoned, that could intimidate the old man.

  “Here’s your tart,” Keeley said, sliding it over the counter toward him, “and there should be enough there for Bambi too.” The dog, hearing her mention his name, wagged his tail even harder, knocking into the legs of at least three people behind him.

  “What’s she going on about then?” Jack asked a few minutes into Suzy’s talk.

  “She’s doing a brief talk on accessing the muse, I believe,” Keeley said, “and then she’s going to unveil that big painting over there.”

  “What’s with the secrecy? It’s just a painting.”

  “I’m sure it will be very good.”

  “Well, I can’t understand a word she’s saying.” Jack turned back to his tart, leaning on the counter. Keeley tried to tune in to what Suzy was saying as she went around collecting cups and plates to take in to her mother in the kitchen, who was washing up, in spite of the damage she insisted it would do to her manicure.

  “A true artist,” Suzy was saying with more than a touch of arrogance in her voice, “should never shy away from the difficult subjects. Grief, anger, even brutality and abuse … these are all environments in which great art can grow, like a lotus from the mud.”

  Keeley grimaced, although around her Suzy’s fellow artistes were staring at her in admiration. The door chimed, and Keeley looked over the heads to see who it was, wondering quite how she was supposed to fit any more people into the café. A tall, broad-shouldered man came through the door. She couldn’t quite see his face, but she knew that physique anywhere.

  Ben.

  She watched, suddenly frozen to the spot, as Ben made his way through the crowd toward her, his eyes focused on her face. People automatically moved out of the way for Ben, she noticed, without even seeming to register that they were doing so. Megan would no doubt put it down to his “aura.”

  “Hey,” he said. Keeley just nodded, unsure of what to say, feeling her heart starting to pound in her chest and not wanting to say anything that would reveal her reaction to him. He sounded softer, more unsure of himself than he had on the phone the night before, and she felt a flutter of hope.

  “Hello,” she said, in a formal tone that didn’t sound quite like herself somehow. “I didn’t think this would be your sort of thing?”

  “It isn’t,” he admitted, “but I thought I would see how you were getting on. And I wanted to apologize for being short with you on the phone last night. It was a long day.”

  “Right, I see. Thank you,” she said, still in that same tone. Next to her Jack was watching them with undisguised interest. There was an awkward silence. Flustered, Keeley turned her attention back to Suzy in an attempt to regain her composure. The artist was talking louder and faster now, reaching a crescendo, and moving toward the veiled painting, getting ready to reveal it. Keeley watched with genuine interest, eager to see what lay under the shiny fabric.

  “As you will see from my latest project, I take inspiration from all that is dark in humanity,” Suzy said, lifting up a corner of the silk. “From death. From tragedy…” she pulled the silk from the canvas with a dramatic flourish.

  “From murder.”

  Keeley’s mouth fell open, and a collective gasp ran around the café. Darla, who was standing behind the counter, made a strangled sound. Bambi, picking up on the atmosphere, growled low in his throat. On the canvas, in a riot of color, was the depiction of a man, sitting twisted in a chair, covered in blood. Not just any man. Gerald Buxby.

  Suzy had painted, in lurid and gory detail, the murder of the mayor of Belfrey.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Someone let out a little scream. Jack whistled low under his breath. Next to her, Keeley felt Ben go stiff. When one of her regular customers retched on her omelet, Keeley pushed her way through the crowd and faced Suzy, who was standing next to her painting, her arms outstretched around it as she presented it to the onlookers, a look of triumph on her face.

  “What are you doing?” Keeley said, reaching for the fabric in Suzy’s hands. “Cover it back up!”

  Suzy put her hands—and the fabric—behind her back, glaring at Keeley.

  “It’s art,” she said loudly. Behind Keeley, a few of the tourists murmured in agreement.

  “It’s completely inappropriate,” Keeley said, angry now. How could Suzy be so insensitive as to unveil such a thing just a week after the mayor’s death, in his hometown and in front of people who had both known and liked him? Who had elected him mayor? “And I don’t want it in my café.”

  No wonder Suzy had been so adamant that no one could see what she was working on.

  Right now, Suzy looked as if she could cheerfully punch Keeley. “You’re ruining my exhibition,” she said, a touch of hysteria in her voice.

  “You’ve done that yourself,” Keeley said firmly. “Cover it up, or get it out.”

  “No,” said Suzy, a petulant look on her face, the silk still behind her back. Keeley half expected her to stamp her foot.

  “Then I’ll take it out. I won’t have this in here, Suzy.” Keeley stepped to the painting and put her arms around one side.

  “Ben? Can you give me a hand, please?” She said over her shoulder. Ben started to move toward her, a grim look on his face, and once again the onlookers moved out of the way.

  Suzy lunged. She rushed at Keeley, trying to push her away from the painting.

  “Get off my work!” she screamed. Her eyes were wide, and her lips curled back from her teeth, giving her such an eerie appearance that it made Keeley lean away from her, still holding on to the painting, just as Suzy grabbed the other end. Keeley stumbled, her knees giving way underneath her as the painting tipped, its full weight leaning on her body.

  Then a large, soft body crashed into her and the painting was torn from Keeley’s hands. She felt herself fall.

  Straight into Ben’s arms. She looked up as he caught her, her breath catching in her throat at the proximity of him and the sensation of his arms around her. For a moment she forgot about the painting, and Suzy, and the café, and the small crowd of people watching them. Her whole world dwindled down to her and Ben, and the fact that he was holding her again.

  Th
en he let her go and turned to the chaos in front of them. The world came crashing back in to her consciousness, and the first thing she was aware of was a dreadful snarling sound. The painting had fallen to the floor, and Bambi was on top of it, ripping at it with his teeth, his lips curling. Keeley had never seen the dog react violently to anything. Her customers were milling around, one old lady ineffectively striking at Bambi’s back with her umbrella. Suzy was tearing at her hair and wailing.

  “My work!” she shrieked. “He’s destroying my work!”

  “Jack. Call off your dog,” Ben said. Keeley thought she detected a hint of amusement in his voice.

  Jack made his way over to Bambi, laying his hand on the dog’s back. “Bambi. Leave it.” He spoke in a voice so quiet it was barely audible, but the dog stopped and raised its head, dropping the canvas, which was now badly ripped. Suzy sank to her knees, sobbing. Bambi looked around, saw Keeley and loped over to her, licking her hand and turning large, expectant eyes to her.

  “Reckon he was trying to protect you,” Jack said amiably. “it must have looked to his dopey brain that the painting was attacking you.”

  Keeley ruffled the fur around Bambi’s ears. He sat at her feet, panting and wagging his tail. Keeley looked around the café. A few of the regulars were leaving, while those who had come from outside to see Suzy’s exhibition had either gathered around the biggest table, talking excitedly, or were thronging around Suzy, trying to comfort her. Darla sat next to the till, observing the scene with her usual personal blend of detachment and contempt.

  “We had better tidy this up,” Keeley said, hoping people would get the message and start to leave.

  “Not yet,” Ben said. There was an edge to his voice, and Keeley frowned as he crossed over to Suzy and helped her to her feet. Although she looked at him gratefully, there was no sympathy in Ben’s face.

  “Interesting subject,” he said in a dry tone. Keeley gave a sharp intake of breath as she understood what was coming. “I have to say, it looks very much like the crime scene. I wonder exactly where you did get your inspiration?”

  Suzy went pale under her already chalky makeup. An expectant hush settled across the café.

  “I don’t understand,” Suzy said, although Keeley thought she understood very well.

  “Could you come down to the station? I’d like to ask you a few questions.” It was phrased as a request, but Keeley knew that tone. This was Detective Constable Taylor, not Ben. And he thoroughly expected his requests to be complied with.

  Suzy’s mouth fell open. “Are you arresting me?”

  “No,” Ben said, and the Not yet seemed to hang, unspoken but still somehow heard, in the now hushed atmosphere of the café. “I just want to ask you a few questions.” He held an arm out to Suzy. Suzy stared at it, then took it, leaning on him as if he was the only thing holding her up. Ben led her out of the café. Keeley watched, blinking against the surreality of it all.

  She looked around at the café. “I really need to clear this up,” she said in a loud voice. “So unless anyone is ordering food or drink, the exhibition is over.” The café snapped back to life as people began to get up and leave. The two women who had been crouching next to Suzy began to pick up the remnants of the offending painting.

  “We’re her friends. We’ll look after it,” one of them said, glaring at Keeley as though she was personally responsible for its destruction. Which she supposed she partially was, she thought as she glanced over at Bambi, now lying placidly at Jack’s feet.

  “Thank you,” she murmured, and started to clear tables. She waited until the café was clear before sitting at the counter with her mother and Jack.

  “Well, well, well,” Jack said, then. “Have you got any more of that tart?”

  “I’ll get you some,” Darla said, motioning for Keeley to follow her into the kitchen. Once inside, she turned to her daughter with wide eyes.

  “What on earth just happened?”

  “You know as much as I do, Mum,” said Keeley.

  “Well, she’s your friend.” Keeley went to respond that she would hardly classify Suzy as a friend, but Darla continued. “I don’t think those are the sort of people you should be having in the café. And you certainly shouldn’t be displaying atrocities like that … thing she unveiled.”

  Keeley felt stung. “That’s hardly fair, Mum,” she said, wincing as she heard herself revert back to about thirteen years old, “how was I supposed to know she had painted Gerald’s death?”

  “You should have demanded to know what it was or you wouldn’t have unveiled it. Is this your business or not? Take some control, Keeley. That’s what I would have done.”

  “But I’m not you, Mum,” Keeley said quietly, then physically flinched at the scathing look her mother gave her.

  “I’m well aware of that, dear,” she snapped, and went to walk back into the café. Keeley felt a wave of shame and resentment. Still, after all these years, her mother could make her feel worthless with a look. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, reminding herself she was okay, she was safe, and she was not the image that her mother projected onto her. When she opened her eyes she was surprised to see Darla had paused at the door and half turned to look back at her daughter, an expression on her face that looked like remorse.

  “I’m sorry,” her mother said. The words sounded new and untested in her mouth. “I didn’t mean that, dear. You’ve done a wonderful job with the café and I’m very proud of you.” Then she went quickly into the café before a stunned Keeley could formulate a response. She had thought her mother was acting oddly, but this was beyond bizarre. She blinked back sudden tears, a reaction to hearing her mother express any pride in her daughter, something Keeley had wanted her entire life but had resigned herself to never receiving.

  There was definitely something wrong, and she wondered again what it was that her mother wanted to talk to her about. The debacle with Suzy had perhaps opened up a new avenue of suspicion for Gerald’s murder, but Keeley hadn’t ruled Darla out as a suspect. Perhaps her impending confession had prompted this sudden softness.

  Keeley composed herself and joined her mother in the café, where Jack was shrugging on his coat.

  “I’ve got to go walk this old fella,” he said, motioning to Bambi, whose ears pricked up at the sound of his favorite word. The great dog looked so harmless, Keeley could hardly believe that just a few moments ago she had seen him ripping Suzy’s painting apart like a wild animal. “Reckon I’ll pop back in later.”

  “That would be great,” Keeley said, smiling with genuine affection at the old man. When she had first returned to Belfrey, Keeley had been unsure how to take the old man, whose gruffness could easily come across as rudeness, but she had become very fond of him over the last few months. Even her mother seemed to like him.

  Did Jack know about Darla and Gerald? It had been him who had confirmed Edna’s tale of infidelity in her family back in April, though he had refused to give her the details, telling her instead to ask her mother. Jack knew a great deal more about most people than he let on, but getting any information from him was like pulling teeth. Even so, Keeley realized he may be the perfect person to find out if her mother had any past motives for a grudge against Gerald or Edna.

  Hopefully she would never have to ask him, she thought. Suzy would turn out to be the perpetrator, Ben would arrest her and the whole mess would be over. And maybe, just maybe, she could get Ben to talk about their relationship. She was sure she hadn’t imagined the look on his face when she had fallen into his arms earlier. Maybe there was still a chance. Perhaps she shouldn’t have been so hasty in throwing Megan’s herbal concoction away.

  Right on cue, Megan walked through the door, accompanied by David, the sculpting druid, again dressed in some kind of long tunic with loose trousers, but this time in black, and covered in clay.

  “What’s happened?” Megan said, enveloping Keeley in a hug. “You look as white as ghost.”

  “I’m
surprised you haven’t already heard. The whole of Belfrey will be talking about it.” This year’s art festival would certainly be remembered.

  She told Megan and her companion what had happened while Darla made drinks. Megan was suitably shocked, unlike David, who had closed his eyes and sat cross-legged on a chair. Keeley wondered if he ever actually spoke.

  “Is he meditating?” Keeley mouthed to Megan, who nodded. “He’s absorbing the energies of the café.”

  “Well, I don’t think they’ll be very positive today,” Keeley said, trying to ignore Darla’s loud snort of amusement behind them.

  “I knew she was working on something odd, but I never suspected it would be anything like that. She has such a dark energy about her, that girl. I know you don’t believe in it, Keeley, but you should really let me perform a cleansing ritual on this place.”

  “Maybe I will,” Keeley murmured, then got up to serve as an elderly couple came in. After she had dished up two plates of salad and Halloumi, Keeley sat back down. The druid had opened his eyes now, although they looked unfocused and otherworldly.

  “You think she did it?” Megan said. Keeley shrugged, her palms up.

  “Maybe. Who knows? Where’s the motive?”

  Megan looked excited. “Maybe,” she said, leaning over the table and speaking in a tone that Keeley thought was meant to be a whisper, but was in fact so loud half the High Street could probably hear her, “Suzy is the long-lost daughter? She could be around the right age?”

  Keeley shook her head. “No.” She glanced at the druid, who was now looking at her with interest. “I’ll explain later,” she said, “but it’s definitely not that.” There could be a connection, though, she thought. She was beginning to think she had been looking at this case all wrong. There was something she was missing, but she just couldn’t pinpoint what that something was.