Pancakes and Corpses: A Cozy Murder Mystery (Peridale Cafe Mystery Book 1)

by Agatha Frost

  “You know very well I don’t want a cake or a damn coffee!” William slammed his hands down on the counter. “What were you doing at my mother’s cottage last night? One of the neighbours saw you being carted off into a police car, and another fleeing the scene. Your accomplice to murder, no doubt?”

  William failed to take a breath. His face burned amber and a vein at his temple bulged violently out of his skin.

  “Why don’t you just sit down, and calm down?” Julia suggested. “If you want to talk to me like a reasonable adult, I’d be more than happy to.”

  “Reasonable?” He choked on the word. “You murdered my mother!”

  “I certainly did not!” Julia cried, her tone matching his. “Now, you can sit down, or you can leave!”

  William looked to the table nearest the counter and he reluctantly sat down, making sure to make as much noise as possible. Julia had never had children, but she expected this was how teenagers acted when they didn’t get their own way.

  Julia sat across from him and waited for him to visibly calm down.

  “I didn’t kill your mother,” Julia said calmly. “I went to the cottage to find you, actually. I thought you might have been there. I wouldn’t have gone in, but I saw a light on, and I assumed it was you. Obviously, it wasn’t you, nor was it my accomplice. I’m sorry about what has happened to your mother, but I’m trying to figure this out as much as everybody else.”

  William suddenly started crying, and Julia was quite taken aback. She offered him her handkerchief, which he gratefully accepted. When the blubbering finally stopped, he inhaled deeply, his face redder than ever.

  “The last thing I said to her was that I hated her,” William said, his voice finally calm and a reasonable volume. “If only I had known what was coming.”

  “None of us knew.”

  “I didn’t have the best relationship with my mother. We never saw eye to eye on anything. I was always much closer to my father, God rest his soul.” William paused to wipe his nose with the handkerchief, and Julia made a mental note to wash it before pocketing it again. “Despite all of this, I never thought her final action in life would be to spite me.”

  “The change of the will?”

  William nodded. He didn’t bother to ask how Julia had found out.

  “Now the police seem to think I killed her!” William cried. “It’s absurd. We might not have liked each other, but I still loved her. I thought she loved me somewhere deep down, but this just proved she didn’t.”

  Julia decided there and then that William hadn’t killed his mother. He had been the main suspect in her mind, but seeing how fragile the man was about his relationship with his mother, she knew he could never have been the one to sink the knife into her back.

  “Do you know who your mother was going to leave her inheritance to?” Julia asked.

  “No. That’s why I went there. She called me to let me know I was being disinherited. That was the type of woman she was. I left work, jumped in my car and drove straight there.”

  “And what time was that?” Julia pulled out her recipe notepad and pencil out of her dress pocket, and flipped to the notes page.

  “About five,” William said. “I was gone by ten past. I knew there was no making her see sense. She had two women in her living room, and they were all drinking tea like nothing was happening. The truth is, I don’t even need whatever she’s leaving behind. I moved to the city and I made my own money, but it’s just the biggest slap in the face.”

  “Two women?” Julia asked, her pencil primed over the paper.

  “Yes, two,” William said certainly. “One dressed in pink and blue, and one with red hair.”

  “How red?”

  “What?”

  “How red was her hair?”

  “Faded,” William said with a shrug. “It was greying.”

  Julia flipped the page to her list of suspects. She crossed out William’s name and scribbled down ‘Imogen Carter’. Rachel might not have inherited her mother’s ginger hair, but Roxy had.

  “You mentioned your father,” Julia said. “When did he die?”

  “Three years ago,” William said heavily. “He had a heart attack and that was it, he was gone. His wife still hasn’t come to terms with it.”

  “Wife?” Julia asked, completely puzzled.

  “My mother and father divorced in 1978,” William said. “He had a lucky escape.”

  When Julia was alone in her café again, she scribbled down two notes. The first was ‘why was Imogen Carter at Gertrude’s cottage with Amy Clark?’ and the second was ‘find out more about what happened in 1978’, both of which she hoped to figure out in her next visit.

  After baking a box of cinnamon swirls, she set off across the village to Imogen Carter’s home.

  Imogen Carter’s house was unusual in Peridale, in that it wasn’t a cottage, and it was quite modern. Julia had always marvelled at the strange glass construction as a child, and she always loved going to Roxy’s house for supper after school.

  Julia remembered how much life the house had when she was a child, but now it looked sterile and cold. Imogen’s husband, and Roxy and Rachel’s father, Paul Carter, passed away when Roxy and Julia were teenagers, and now Imogen lived in the house alone. It looked more like a glass prison than an inviting home these days.

  The doorbell rang throughout the house and Imogen Carter answered the door, with rollers in her faded ginger hair. She clutched a white silk robe across her body, which looked thinner than Julia remembered.

  “Julia, dear,” Imogen said with a shaky smile. “So nice to see you. Come in. Do I smell the distinct scent of your cinnamon swirls?”

  “The very same.”

  “You’re an angel, Julia,” Imogen beamed as she accepted the box. “I haven’t been eating much, so these will go down a treat.”

  Julia followed Imogen across the shiny white floors of the grand entrance, which had a large domed window in the ceiling looking up at the pale blue sky above. They walked through to the living room, which was as sterile as Julia remembered. Everything was white, including the carpets, and Julia knew they wouldn’t last two seconds in her cottage with Mowgli’s muddy paws.

  “Please, sit,” Imogen offered as she tightened the tie of her silk robe. “I’ll make us up some tea. I have some of that peppermint and liquorice tea you like so much.”

  “That would be lovely.”

  Imogen hurried off to the kitchen, leaving Julia alone in the living room. She was scared to sit down on the white leather couch, in case the dye from her peach coloured 1940s style dress somehow leaked and injected some much needed colour onto the blank canvas.

  The only colour in the entire room came from the select pictures in glass frames, which were displayed neatly on the mantelpiece, all pointing forty-five degrees to the right. Julia spotted herself with Roxy as little girls in their yellow summer school dresses. She smiled. A slightly older Rachel was in the background of the picture, pulling a face behind Roxy’s back, as the two girls grinned unaware. A part of Julia yearned for those simpler days.

  She heard the kettle ping and decided to sit on the couch. The leather creaked underneath her, as though it was never used, and was just for show. An opened envelope caught her attention on the gleaming glass coffee table. She recognised it as a bank statement because she was with the same bank. Julia chewed the inside of her lip and looked in the direction of the kitchen. She couldn’t see Imogen, so she quickly pulled the letter from the envelope.

  Julia knew she was invading her friend’s mother’s privacy, but she was only looking for one piece of information and she could ignore everything else. She ran her finger down the ‘PAYMENTS’ column, and snapped her fingers together when she saw a five hundred pound payment to Gertrude Smith. She heard the jingle of china cups on a metal tray, so she quickly stuffed the paper back into the envelope and sat back on the couch.

  “I’m afraid I haven’t heard from Roxy if that’s why you’re her
e,” Imogen said as she set the tray on top of the envelope. “I’m beginning to really worry. The school even rang me to ask if I knew where she was. It’s not like her to miss work. She loves that place. I hope nothing bad has happened to her.”

  Julia suddenly realised she hadn’t even considered that Roxy could have faced the same fate as Gertrude. Her stomach turned and she pushed that thought to the back of her mind.

  “I’m sure she’s fine,” Julia said, unsure of whom she was trying to convince. “She’ll be in touch when she’s ready.”

  “I hope so,” Imogen said with a heavy sigh. “I haven’t left the telephone’s side. It’s not like Roxy to take off and not get in touch.”

  Julia knew that much to be true. Roxy was the type of friend who would call, or send a text message every day of her holiday, just to let you know she was doing okay and having a fun time.

  “Do you go to church every Sunday?” Julia asked.

  “Church?” Imogen said with a confused smile. “Oh, not really. I was only there because the women at my book club called and said it was going to be eventful. I don’t know what they were expecting to happen, but the most we got was Amy Clark’s mediocre organ playing.”

  Julia was surprised Imogen had been the one to bring up Amy Clark because that’s where she had been hoping to steer the conversation. Julia picked up her cup and took a sip of the peppermint and liquorice tea, wondering the best way to broach the subject.

  “Are you friendly with Amy Clark?”

  “Not really,” Imogen said casually. “She’s quite garish with all of that colour.”

  If Amy’s pastel pink and blue cottage was the opposite of Gertrude’s eerie dark cottage, Imogen’s white and glass house was the opposite of both of them.

  “So you weren’t at Gertrude’s house with Amy, an hour before she was murdered?” Julia asked, taking a sip of her tea.

  Imogen’s eyes popped open and she choked on the cinnamon swirl she had just taken a bite of. She quickly chewed and swallowed, covering her mouth with her hand.

  “Where did you hear that?” Imogen asked, not denying it.

  “William told me he saw two women when he went to visit his mother. I only knew Amy was there, and his description led me to you.”

  Imogen took a sip of her black coffee and set it back down, taking her time to adjust it so that the handle was exactly parallel to the lines of the tray. She tilted her head and observed her handiwork, as though it was the most important thing in the world.

  “I was there. What of it?” Imogen said.

  “Why were you there?”

  “What business is that of yours?” Imogen snapped, revealing a different side of the woman Julia had known since childhood. “It’s not a crime to visit a neighbour. I didn’t kill her.”

  “Did your visit have something to do with Gertrude blackmailing Roxy?” Julia asked.

  “What?” Imogen mumbled. “Gertrude was blackmailing Roxy as well?”

  Julia frowned and tilted her head. She suddenly realised she had crossed wires.

  “As well?” Julia asked. “You mean to say Gertrude was blackmailing you too?”

  Imogen tried to laugh off the suggestion, but only for a split second. Her expression quickly turned grave and she pursed her lips and rested her hands on her lap. She stared sternly at Julia, and then down to the tray, as though she was seeing through it to the bank statement below it.

  “Why was Gertrude blackmailing Roxy?” Imogen whispered, her eyes glazing over.

  “I don’t know why,” Julia lied carefully, not wanting to out her friend’s secret lover. “I just know that she was. Her friend, Violet, confirmed that’s why Roxy has been so stressed, and I suspect that’s why Roxy has gone into hiding. I also suspect she was blackmailing Amy Clark too.”

  “Roxy didn’t kill Gertrude,” Imogen said. “And neither did I!”

  “How long was Gertrude blackmailing you?”

  Imogen sighed and collapsed back into the couch. She rested the back of her hand against her forehead and exhaled dramatically. Whatever had been going on had clearly drained Imogen, just as much as it had Roxy, but the mother seemed better than the daughter at hiding the truth.

  “Only a couple of weeks,” Imogen said after a moment’s silence. “It came out of the blue. Gertrude turned up on my doorstep one night. It was quite the surprise, so I invited her in, and she said if I didn’t send her five hundred pounds a week, she would –,”

  “Reveal your secret?” Julia finished the sentence for her.

  “How do you know about the adoption?” Imogen cried, sounding more surprised than ever.

  “I didn’t,” Julia said, suddenly putting her cup back on the table. “I just think that Gertrude knew something about Roxy and that’s why she was blackmailing her, and I think she knew something about Amy, and that’s why I suspect she’s also a victim of Gertrude’s blackmail.”

  Imogen sunk further into the white leather and began to sob. Julia offered her the freshly washed handkerchief, which she snatched out of Julia’s hands and dabbed her eyes with.

  “Nobody can know about this,” Imogen said. “I don’t even know how that witch found out. I made sure to cover my tracks perfectly. I didn’t leave a trace.”

  “Know about what?” Julia asked, leaning forward.

  “Roxy and Rachel are adopted,” Imogen said with a wild sob. “Neither of them knows.”

  Julia clasped her hand over her mouth and her eyes widened. She didn’t know what she had been expecting, but it wasn’t that.

  “But you and Roxy look so much alike,” Julia said, unsure of why her mind went straight there.

  “I got lucky with her,” Imogen said, before blowing her nose on the handkerchief, which would need it’s second wash of the day. “Rachel not so much. I found out very young that I couldn’t have children and it was all I ever wanted. I couldn’t swallow the thought of going through life not knowing the joy of being a mother. It was my late-husband’s idea to adopt. I wasn’t so sure because I didn’t think I could love another person’s child as though it were my own, but the second I held Rachel in my arms for the first time, I knew she was mine. It was a bond I had never known before. I adopted Roxy two years later and it was the same. It was so perfect, I didn’t want to admit I didn’t give birth to them. I didn’t want anybody questioning who their real mother was, because it was me. I was raising them, so they were my babies. My husband and I swore we would never tell the girls the truth. I was going to take that secret to my grave, until Gertrude turned up that night. I was so shocked that she knew, and so devastated that she was going to tell my girls the truth, I signed the cheque there and then and I’ve been bank transferring the money to her since, once a week. I don’t even know how she found out. She said something about not being the only one with a secret child and that’s when she left.”

  Julia wanted to pull her notepad out to scribble down every last detail, but she stopped herself. Instead, she sat next to Imogen and pulled her into a hug. The woman sobbed for minutes without talking, before finally pulling away and drying her eyes one last time.

  “You can’t tell them,” Imogen pleaded, clutching Julia’s hands tightly. “Promise me you won’t tell them.”

  Julia knew the girls had a right to know where they had come from, but it wasn’t her place to reveal that truth to them. As she looked into Imogen’s eyes, she saw desperation and heartbreak, and it was something Julia could empathise with, but hadn’t experienced herself. She had always assumed she was going to have children of her own one day, but now that she was alone at thirty-seven, she knew the clock was ticking. Jerrad had convinced Julia that they should wait until later in life and she had somehow gone along with it. Looking back, she knew Jerrad had just been stalling for as long as he could until he had the guts to end things.

  “I won’t tell them,” Julia said. “But maybe you should.”

  “This secret goes to the grave with Gertrude Smith,” Imogen said, a stra
nge smile filling her lips. “Nobody needs to know a thing. It’s like it never happened.”

  Imogen resumed eating her cinnamon swirl as though nothing had actually happened. Julia left soon after that and scribbled down two new notes to her list. The first was ‘Roxy and Rachel are adopted’, and the second was ‘Gertrude’s secret child?’. She didn’t know how either thing was connected yet, but she had a feeling they were. She flipped back to her suspects’ page and drew a big arrow from Imogen to Gertrude.

  Julia pushed her peas around her plate. She wasn’t particularly hungry, but her Gran had gone to the effort of cooking for her, so she’d tried her best to eat as much of the homemade cheese and onion pie, peas and mash as she could. The summons to supper had come on Julia’s walk home from Imogen’s immaculate prison, so Julia ran home to feed Mowgli, and headed straight to her Gran’s, where Sue was already waiting for her.

  “I was thinking of having my birthday party at the gallery this weekend,” Sue said after sipping some of her white wine. “We could have some food, and some drinks. I could invite some girls from the hospital and we could make a real night out of it. I know I’m only turning thirty-two, but it’s a reason to party. What do you think, Julia?”

  “About what?” Julia mumbled.

  “A party at the gallery.”

  Julia stared from Sue to Dot, wondering if there was something she had missed. She shook her head and dropped her fork onto the plate, and pushed it away, finally giving up on trying to force-feed herself.

  “Yeah, sounds like fun,” Julia said, nodding enthusiastically while also staring at the table and still deep in thought. “I’m sure Rachel will appreciate the business.”

  “A party is just what this village needs,” Dot exclaimed. “I’ll invite the girls from poker club, if that’s okay with you, Sue?”

  “Poker club?” Sue said with a laugh. “And that’s fine by me.”

  “Me and some of the girls got a little bored of the weekly trips to bingo, so we meet here on Fridays and have a little tipple.”

  “Isn’t that illegal?” Sue asked.