by Agatha Frost
Julia opened her mouth to talk Johnny down, but she stopped herself. She was certain she had said the exact same words when she had been sure she was onto something. She gave him an encouraging smile, knowing what it felt like to be disbelieved about something so serious.
“If there is anything I can do to help, let me know,” Julia assured him with a soft smile. “And promise me you’ll get some sleep?”
“Okay,” he said dismissively. “Keep your ears open for their names in your café.”
Julia promised that she would before Johnny hurried around her and into the village hall. She had been away from her café longer than expected, so she hurried across the village, pondering everything Johnny had told her. Now that she thought about it, she remembered hearing about two elderly residents dying, but she didn’t recall anyone mentioning their deaths being anything other than tragic accidents. They had not been hot topics in her café for long. If there was a mystery there, it was not hers to solve. Breathing a contented sigh of relief, she pushed on the door of her café, a smile infecting her lips when she saw Billy and Jessie chatting at the counter.
“He was just leaving,” Jessie mumbled, her eyes dropping to the floor. “Weren’t you?”
“Call me, yeah?” Billy said as he walked past Julia. “Missing you already, babe.”
“Shut up,” Jessie whispered, summoning her usual teenage grumble. “Whatever.”
The café was quiet, and the stock check and deep clean could wait until tomorrow. Julia made them both a cup of peppermint and liquorice tea, and they sat at the table nearest the counter and talked about everything aside from Billy Matthews.
3
Despite going to sleep with a clear mind, Julia awoke the next morning with thoughts swimming around her head, all of which revolved around what Johnny had told her.
As she sipped her tea, with her half-eaten slice of wholemeal toast sitting next to her, she scrolled through the web page after searching for ‘Margaret Harwood’. As she had suspected, there were not many results. Like most people over seventy in the village, she did not have much of an online footprint. Aside from her obituary, which detailed her career as a cleaner at St. Peter’s Primary School, being widowed three years ago, and leaving behind no children, there was not much else to read about. Her name popped up in a couple of articles connected to the Peridale Green Fingers, but there was nothing online to give Julia any hints about her life aside from the basic facts.
The same could be said for Elsie Davies. She was also widowed but left behind a daughter and three male grandchildren, all of whom were now grown up. She had worked as a secretary at the police station before retiring and spending her time in her garden. She had come third in a competition to find the best jam in Peridale in 2004, petitioned to keep the library open in 2009, and had been included in many Peridale Green Fingers related articles along with Margaret.
Julia clicked on the article about the opening of the allotment Johnny had told her about. Margaret and Elsie were standing side-by-side, next to Yolanda Turner, who was holding a pair of giant gold scissors in front of a green ribbon. Emily and Amy were on the other side with two other men, all beaming at the camera. Julia recognised the men as Edgar Partridge, a retired butcher, and Malcolm Johnson, a recluse with a criminal reputation who lived on the outskirts of the village. The rest of the Green Fingers were on the edges of the photograph, all looking directly down the lens.
Julia slammed the laptop shut and wondered if there really could be something suspicious going on. It was not uncommon for women in their seventies to fall, even if it was unusual for two to die within a day of each other. No matter how much she tried to rationalise their deaths, she kept coming back to the obituaries. If it had not been for them, she might have dismissed things entirely, but she could not seem to explain them in a way that made her feel comfortable.
“You’ve been researching those deaths, haven’t you?” Jessie asked with a yawn after shuffling out of her bedroom. “I thought you said you were going to leave it.”
Julia almost denied her lodger’s accusations, but Jessie knew her too well. She looked down at the closed laptop and nodded, unsure of what she would have done with any information she might have found.
“Something feels a little off,” Julia admitted as Jessie filled the kettle to make two cups of peppermint and liquorice tea, even though Jessie never finished a full cup. “How did those obituaries get there before those women died?”
“Like you said last night, it’s probably just an admin error,” Jessie said before letting out a long yawn. “What’s in the oven? It smells good.”
“Macarons,” Julia said with a sigh. She slid off her stool and crouched to peer through the dimly lit oven at the tray of pink macaron shells. “I never know when they’re done.”
“I thought you were the Goddess of baked goods?” Jessie replied as she poured boiling water into two cups. “You can bake anything.”
“Macarons are tricky. They need a steady, low temperature. Too high and they burn, too low and they don’t cook all the way through.” Julia opened the oven and pulled out the tray. She gave the tops a little prod with her finger, but they didn’t have the hard shells she needed. “I’m going to need weeks to perfect this.”
“I have faith,” Jessie said as she handed Julia a cup of tea. “Find anything interesting online?”
“Just the usual,” Julia said, taking up her seat at the counter once more. “They weren’t the types of women who posted everything on their social profiles. They didn’t even have social profiles.”
“What were you expecting to find?” Jessie asked with an arched brow. “A status update pointing you to a murderer? ‘Just been pushed down the stairs. About to die. Will update from the afterlife.’”
Julia let out a soft chuckle as she blew on the hot surface of the tea. She could always rely on Jessie’s dry humour for some perspective.
“Johnny thinks the Green Fingers are being targeted,” Julia said as she stared down at Mowgli crunching his cat food. “If they are, it would help to know why.”
“It’s probably just a coincidence,” Jessie said as she put her cup on the counter after taking one sip. “I need to shower. I smell like Mowgli after he’s been rolling in the garden.”
Jessie shuffled off to the bathroom, the sound of rushing water immediately filling the cottage. As Jessie woke up under the hot water, Julia’s mind whirred, trying to piece something together, which could have plausibly been cooked up in Johnny’s imagination.
She thought until a light bulb sparked above her head. At the same moment, the shower cut off, and Jessie emerged with a towel tucked under her arms, her wet hair dangling over her face.
“I’ve had an idea,” Julia said nervously, pushing forward a smile. “It probably is nothing, but it’s better to be sure. If somebody is targeting the Green Fingers, I need to find out why.”
“Okay?” Jessie asked as she pushed her hair away from her eyes. “How are you going to do that?”
“I need somebody inside,” Julia said with a nod, her smile widening. “Somebody to ask the right questions.”
Jessie stared at her for a moment before she realised what Julia was implying. When she did, she laughed awkwardly, shaking her head as she turned to her bedroom.
“Not a chance,” Jessie called over her shoulder. “I’m far too young to hang around with those old cronies.”
Julia felt deflated for a moment until another light bulb sparked above her head. She sipped her tea with a pleased smile as Jessie dressed for work, knowing exactly who she was going to ask.
“You want me to do what?” Dot cried as she thrust an empty beer can into a black bag. “Those damn kids from the Fern Moore Estate need to stop throwing their rubbish into my garden! I bet your boyfriend is one of them, Jessie.”
“He’s not my boyfriend,” Jessie mumbled. “And Billy doesn’t even hang around with those guys anymore.”
Julia watched as Dot bent over
and picked up the last can in her small garden. She was trying to think of the right things to say to convince her, but Dot was stubborn when she wanted to be.
“It will only be temporary,” Julia urged, leaning over her gran’s garden wall. “And there’s a cash prize up for grabs. You never know, you might have a secret talent and scoop up the money.”
“I have many talents, Julia,” Dot said as she straightened up and knotted the bag. “Gardening isn’t one of them. Why do you want to start investigating this anyway? I knew Margaret and Elsie. They were old and clumsy. Nobody was surprised when they died. They were the best of friends too. I’m not surprised they went together.”
“I just have a feeling,” Julia said as she chewed the inside of her cheek. “It doesn’t matter.”
Dot smiled apologetically before looking down at the plastic box Julia was holding. She peered down at the macarons and gave Julia an uneasy look.
“Are they supposed to be so – wonky?” Dot asked tactfully. “I’m sure they taste lovely.”
“We’re still perfecting the recipe,” Jessie answered for her. “Give us a week, and they’ll be the best macarons you’ve ever tasted.”
“I’ve never been much of a fan of them,” Dot said with a shrug as she adjusted the brooch under her neck. “French food and I don’t mix. The girls wanted me to go to a French restaurant when we were in London yesterday, but I point-blank refused! You won’t catch me sucking a snail out of its shell anytime soon!”
“How was The Lion King musical?” Jessie asked.
“There was a lot of singing and dancing,” Dot said through pursed lips as she pushed her curls up at the back. “Not my cup of tea. I was expecting real lions, not half-naked men in hats, but I suppose if you like that sort of thing – Oh! Who’s that poking around in front of your café?”
Julia turned and looked across the village green at her small café, which was sandwiched between the post office and the hair salon. A woman and a man were staring at Julia’s flower box under the window. The woman scribbled something down on a clipboard while the man took photographs.
“I think they’re from the magazine,” Julia said as she turned on her heels. “I’ll see you later.”
Julia and Jessie walked across the village green, the August morning sun beaming down on them. Peridale was a beautiful village, but it was at its most attractive during the height of summer. All the flowers were in bloom, the leaves were still green on the trees, and the weather was the best it was going to get all year. She was not surprised the magazine had chosen August to feature Peridale.
Julia approached the man and woman slowly as they talked in low whispers. She pulled her café keys from her pocket to catch their attention.
“You must be the owner of this rather delightful flower box,” the woman said, her teeth and tongue wrapping around every letter with perfect enunciation. “It’s a rather brave choice to have poppies and yellow chrysanthemums side by side, but I dare say it works.”
Julia smiled her thanks, even if the handiwork was not her own. She did not admit that she paid a company to tend to her flower boxes to make her café look as inviting as possible.
“You must be the judges from the magazine,” Julia said as she held out a hand while balancing the macarons with the other. “I’m Julia South, and this is Jessie. You’re both more than welcome to come into our café if you want to sample some of our cakes.”
“Best cakes in Peridale,” Jessie announced proudly. “Although don’t look too closely at these macarons. Bit wonky.”
The woman stared down at Jessie with a strained smile. She appeared to be in her early fifties. There was not a black hair out of place in her sharp bob, her make-up was clean and subtle, and her red blazer and pencil skirt were completely free of creases. She exuded effortless grace and authority in a way that made Julia feel uncomfortable. The man, on the other hand, appeared a little more relaxed as he flicked through the pictures he had just taken with his professional camera. He looked to be around Julia’s age. He was wearing loose jeans, a baggy t-shirt, had dirty blonde surfer-style hair, and had a goatee beard framing his mouth.
“Mary!” Emily Burns called out as she scurried towards them from the direction of the village hall. “Brendan! I wondered where you had got to.”
“We were just admiring Julia’s charming flower boxes,” Mary said with a frozen smile. “And her peculiar arrangement choices.”
“She doesn’t do them herself,” Emily quipped as she peered down at the clipboard. “She pays somebody to look after them.”
Julia recoiled, a little taken aback by Emily’s blunt confession. Julia did not care that Mary knew she was not a talented gardener, but she had not expected her neighbour to announce her secret to score points. Julia glanced at the pin shining from Emily’s blouse and wondered if it had anything to do with Emily’s sudden change of character.
“I captured some good shots,” Brendan said, his accent distinctly Welsh. “The yellows and reds will really pop in print.”
“You’re including them in the magazine?” Emily asked, her eyes widening as she forced an uncomfortable smile in Julia’s direction. “Why don’t I take you on a little tour of the village? I’m dying to show you my roses.”
Before any of them could object, Emily pushed herself between the judges and dragged them away from Julia’s café and towards the winding lane up to her cottage.
“What’s got into her?” Jessie mumbled as Julia unlocked the door. “She’s acting like such a weirdo.”
“Power,” Julia said with a quick wink. “Goes to people’s heads.”
It was not long before Julia’s café was filled with villagers. Julia put her macarons on the counter and offered them to customers for free in return for constructive criticism. Despite their misshapen appearance, their unique flavour seemed to go down well.
“Macarons!” Barker announced as he walked into the café on his lunch break, his briefcase in hand. “How cosmopolitan. Haven’t seen them since I was in London.”
“They’re for the grand prize reveal,” Julia said as she offered him one. “Between you and me, they’re not my finest effort.”
Barker took a bite into a rose flavoured macaron. Pink crumbs dropped down his chin and stuck to his shirt as he chewed the light and airy creation.
“It’s definitely floral,” he said with a small cough as he placed the second half back on the counter. “Not my cup of tea.”
Julia pulled a piece of chocolate cake from under the counter that she had sliced five minutes ago in preparation for Barker’s usual lunchtime visit. His eyes lit up as he leaned in to kiss her.
“Now you’re talking,” he said rubbing his hands together while licking his lips as he took the seat nearest the counter.
Julia made him his usual black Americano and placed it in front of him as he tucked into the rich, double chocolate fudge cake, not caring about the buttercream all around his mouth.
“I heard Johnny Watson from The Peridale Post came to see you,” Julia said casually as she arranged the cakes in the display cabinet. “I bumped into him yesterday.”
“Total nutcase,” Barker said with a roll of his eyes. “Tried to tell me two women were murdered and that their obituaries were sent to the paper as warnings. Didn’t have a scrap of real evidence, aside from some woman’s guarantee that she was sure of the dates because of a curry night at The Comfy Corner.”
“Spicy Friday,” Julia corrected him. “You don’t think there’s anything to it?”
“Do you?” Barker asked with a small laugh. “It’s a bit unlikely.”
“I suppose it is,” Julia said, suddenly feeling a little foolish for her early morning research. “You’re probably right.”
Barker licked his fingers as he finished his cake. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand before pushing the plate away and leaning back in his chair. Julia couldn’t take her eyes away from the briefcase on the floor next to him, the urge to know what was
inside rising once more.
“Delicious as always,” Barker announced with a pleased grin. “This magazine visit has turned everyone at the station bonkers. I didn’t know so many of them were so interested in gardening. It’s all they’re talking about.”
Julia peered through the window as Emily dragged Mary and Brendan towards St. Peter’s Church, bypassing Dot’s cottage entirely.
“It’s certainly captured the village’s attention,” Julia mumbled as Emily dragged them both into the village hall. “I just hope people go back to normal when –”
Before Julia could finish her sentence, her mobile phone rang behind the counter. She never put it on silent because the only people who would ever call her while she was at work lived in the village and they were more likely to pop in and visit her than call. She hurried behind the counter and pulled her phone from her handbag, her stomach knotting when she saw Johnny Watson’s name flash on the screen.
“Hello?” Julia said, waving goodbye to Barker as he headed for the door mouthing that he would see her later. “Is everything okay?”
“No, it’s not, Julia,” he said, his voice shaking. “Do you know Edgar Partridge?”
“The name rings a bell,” Julia said with a nod. “I think he lives in a cottage near the B&B.”
“Is he dead?”
“I don’t think so,” Julia replied. “Why?”
“Another obituary just came through,” he said, his voice small and afraid. “Same as the last one. Just appeared on the desk and nobody knows where it came from. I’m on my way down there now.”
“I’m closer,” Julia said, already pulling off her apron. “I’ll meet you there.”
Julia ended the call and tossed her phone back into her bag. Barker had left his briefcase next to his table. She realised it was her chance to find out why her name was written on a piece of paper inside it, but she knew this was more important. She told Jessie to watch the café, then headed straight for the door without a second glance back at the case.
