by Agatha Frost
Barker looked through the phone, his mind somewhere else. Julia pocketed the device and crouched to meet his eye line, but it took him a second to even see her.
“Huh?” Barker grunted. “Sorry. I was thinking about something else.”
“Is something wrong?” Julia asked as she grabbed two plates from the cupboard. “Do you want to eat in the sitting room or the dining room?”
“What?”
“I made us lasagne,” Julia said with a small laugh as she nodded to the dish on the cooling rack. “And your favourite chocolate cake.”
“Oh,” Barker muttered, zoning out again. “Thanks.”
Julia waved her hand in front of Barker’s face, but his gaze did not falter. She put the plates next to the dish and stared at him with an arched brow. He did not so much as blink over the next minute.
“Barker, I wanted to apologise for how I’ve been acting,” Julia started after taking a deep breath. “I know it must have upset you that I haven’t been as involved as I should have been. I’ve been reading about all of the amazing things your book has achieved, and I couldn’t be prouder of you if I tried.”
“Why are you apologising to me?” Barker asked, his eyes locking on Julia.
“I just told you,” Julia replied, her eyes narrowing on him. “What’s happened? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
Barker opened his mouth to say something, but the front door opened once again. Leaving him behind, Julia walked into the hallway.
“I hope you’ve come back to tell me you’ve changed your mind about the rave and that – Gran!” Julia stopped in her tracks when she saw Dot closing the door behind her, a tattered old shoebox under her arm. “Is my doorbell broken?”
“I’m family,” Dot said with a wave of her hand. “Who’s going to a rave?”
“Jessie.”
“I remember when Sue snuck off to one of those once,” Dot said as she shrugged off her coat. “I found out where she was and went to drag her home, but I must admit, it was quite fun. I didn’t end up finding her, but I had a lovely conversation with a man who was wearing glow sticks as jewellery. Can you imagine such a thing? Is that lasagne I can smell? Make me up a plate, and I’ll show you what I’ve found while we eat. You’re not going to believe this!”
Dot patted the shoebox with an excited grin before shuffling into the dining room. Julia walked back into the kitchen, where Barker was sipping a beer. He pushed forward a smile, but Julia could tell that something was weighing down on him.
“I’ll get rid of her,” Julia whispered. “It’s probably nothing.”
“It’s okay,” Barker said as he opened the cupboard to grab another plate. “It can wait.”
From the look on Barker’s face, Julia was not so sure it could, but she decided not to argue. She put the chocolate cake in the fridge and cut the lasagne into four slices. She put three of them on the plates but put the fourth in the microwave for when Jessie got home.
With Barker’s help, Julia carried the plates through to the dining room with a bottle of wine and some glasses. The second the wine was on the table, Dot cracked it open and poured herself a large glass.
“I’m not really a drinker, but I need something after tonight,” Dot said, taking a large sip. “Oh, that’s quite nice. Is it expensive?”
“£4.89 at the post office,” Julia said as she put the lasagne in front of Dot. “Now, are you going to tell me what’s so important that you couldn’t tell me over a phone call?”
“I couldn’t show you what I found over a phone call,” Dot huffed as she pulled the dirty old shoebox onto the table. “Well, I suppose there’s a way these days with all that new-fangled technology that the kids use, but I didn’t fancy sending it as a hologram, or whatever the latest gizmo is.”
“I won’t try explaining a simple video call,” Barker said as he sat at the table. “Go on, Dot. You’ve got me intrigued now.”
Barker smiled across at Julia as though to let her know he was fine, but she could see right through it. Dot pulled off the lid of the shoebox and dropped it onto the floor. It was filled to the brim with photographs, some of them loose, but most were stuffed into old envelopes. Dot plucked out the top envelope, which was held together with an elastic band. She ripped it off and pulled a stack of photographs out before also dumping the envelope on the floor.
“I was looking through my old memory box to try and find some decent pictures of Mabel,” Dot said as she shuffled through the pictures. “Keith called me and said the police had released her body so they were going to start planning the funeral so she could finally be laid to rest.”
“Does that mean they’ve figured out who killed her?” Julia asked, the lasagne on her fork stopping before it reached her mouth.
“Not necessarily,” Barker said with a shake of his head. “It just means they’ve gathered as much forensic evidence as they can from her remains. Forensics is only one part of the picture.”
“May I continue?” Dot asked with a pout. “Honestly, hold onto your chair.” Dot continued to leaf through the pictures before landing on the one she had been looking for. “Here it is! When I was looking through my pictures, I found this envelope. They’re all from the 2008 St. Peter’s Church spring fête. They do it every year, but this one was especially important because it was to raise money for the roof. It was a particularly beautiful spring that year, so I decided to take some pictures to commemorate the day. I was going through my photography phase. The fête was on a Saturday in May, and almost exactly a month after Mabel left the village. She’d promised we’d take up photography together, but she left before we bought cameras, so I was just using my usual wind-along point and click one. I almost flicked through this picture, but I heard my old friend call to me, and that’s when I saw her.”
“Saw who?” Julia asked, her brows furrowing, and her lasagne completely abandoned.
Dot passed her the picture with an eager smile. Julia squinted at the small photograph which looked to have been taken from the perspective of the church. The village green took up most of the scene, but Julia spotted her café, which had been a travel agent at the time. She scanned the rest of the picture, unsure of what she was supposed to be looking at.
“Look at my cottage,” Dot hinted. “Look who’s standing at my front door.”
Julia brought the picture right up to her nose. Dot’s cottage could be seen on the edge of the photograph, and as promised, there was someone standing at the door. At first, Julia thought her gran was looking too far into things until she recognised the woman.
“That’s Mabel!” Julia exclaimed. “That’s definitely her.”
Instead of looking like the woman she had seen in the Spain picture, she had her hair back in its signature roll, and she was back in her white blouse and pleated skirt.
“That was a month after she legged it abroad,” Dot said as she took the photograph back. “This must have been the day she came back, and the day she – the day she died.” Dot paused, the corners of her mouth dropping. “If I’d been in to answer the door, she might still be here.”
“You can’t think like that, Gran,” Julia said, reaching out to touch her hand. “I have a feeling Mabel didn’t want to be seen the day she came back. She would have known everyone was at the fête and didn’t want to get too close.”
“So, you’re saying the next person who saw her was the one who killed her?” Dot asked as she stroked the picture.
“That’s exactly what I’m saying,” Julia said. “Can I look through the rest of the pictures?”
“You won’t find much,” Dot said as she passed her the glossy stack. “I looked through, but that’s the only one Mabel showed up in. The rest are just of the fête.”
The first picture was one of a younger Evelyn sitting at a table in the Church grounds giving a palm reading. The next was a picture of Gertrude Smith, the now deceased Church organist, telling off a small child who appeared to have stepped on a patch of daffodils. She
skimmed through the pictures, unsure of what she was looking for. She had not lived in Peridale during this time, so she hoped it would put her in the right frame of mind of the village at the time. When she neared the end of the pile, she flicked past a picture, and then pulled it back again. She looked closer, something familiar jumping out at her.
“That’s Donna,” Julia said as she squinted at a woman wearing a short skirt and a leopard print blouse, a cloud of smoke in front of her face. “And Shannon is standing right next to her. When did they leave the village?”
“Before this,” Dot said with certainty. “I remember talking to Peter about it that morning in the post office. He said he wasn’t in the mood to go to the fête, so I left him to it.”
“Didn’t Shannon say she hadn’t come back to Peridale until recently?” Barker asked. “And don’t you think it’s a little odd that Shannon and Donna were here on the day Mabel was likely murdered?”
“It could be a coincidence,” Julia suggested as she snapped a copy of the photograph on her phone. “But why come back so soon after leaving and then not mention it in a conversation about not coming back to the village?”
“She’s lying!” Dot cried. “What if one of them did it?”
“What if,” Julia mused. “I think I need to talk to Shannon to find out what she knows. I don’t think Donna will be much use, but Shannon seems to be the only Crump who has had any real information until now.”
As they finished the lasagne, the conversation quickly turned to more trivial matters. Dot told Julia all about Mabel’s favourite hymns and how she was going to suggest them to Keith to use them in the funeral service. When Julia’s plate was clear, Dot recounted an in-depth story about how the local butcher had put their mince price up by five pence a pound. She finished off her second large glass of wine, letting out a hiccough followed by a long yawn.
“Why don’t you go home to bed, Gran?” Julia suggested. “It’s getting late.”
“Good idea, love,” Dot said as she clumsily gathered up her photographs, knocking over the empty wine bottle in the process. “Thanks for dinner. I’ll show myself out.”
With her cardboard box wedged under her arm, Dot waved as she left the dining room. Julia waited until she heard the door slam shut before standing up to gather up the plates.
“Let me do that,” Barker said, pulling the plate from Julia. “Go and put your feet up.”
“I don’t mind.”
“You deserve a break.”
“I honestly don’t mind.”
Julia pulled the plate back from Barker, but he let go a little too quickly, and it fell from their fingers and smashed against the edge of the table.
“I’ll get the dustpan and brush,” Barker said. “Sorry.”
“Barker?” Julia said, grabbing his wrist to stop him from leaving. “What’s happened? Please, just tell me.”
Barker stared at her like a wounded puppy. He looked like he wanted to do nothing more than run away and hide somewhere she could never find him. She smiled, hoping it would reassure him, but he could not return it.
“Izzy tried to kiss me,” he said bluntly. “We were at the pub, and she tried to kiss me.”
Julia’s fingers slid from Barker’s wrist as the walls closed in around her. She did not realise she was backing away from him until she bumped into the sideboard.
“She kissed you?”
“She tried to kiss me,” Barker said. “One minute we were talking about the book, and then the next thing I knew she was leaning in. I pulled away, and asked her what she was doing. She said I’d given her the impression I wanted her to, but we were just talking about work! I swear!”
Julia stared past Barker and out of the window into the night. She felt sick to her stomach, her worst fears confirmed.
“Say something, Julia,” Barker begged, grabbing her hands in his. “Please, forgive me. I love you.”
“Why do I need to forgive you?” Julia asked, her eyes meeting his. “If what you’ve said is true, the only thing you’re guilty of is being blind. My gran was right about the sharks.”
“Huh?”
“It doesn’t matter,” Julia said. “But I’d been worrying about her since the first time I met her. I trusted you, but I didn’t trust her, and it turns out I was right not to.”
“What are you going to do?” Barker asked, his eyes searching Julia’s face.
“I’m going to have a little talk with Izzy,” Julia said, pulling her hands away from Barker’s. “Woman to woman. I appreciate you telling me this, Barker. I know it couldn’t have been easy.”
Before either of them could say anything else, the front door opened again, slamming in a way only one person could make it.
“The damn pigs!” Jessie cried as she kicked off her shoes. “The police figured out the puzzle too and shut it down before it even started! I knew it had to be easy if Billy could crack it. That’s my night ruined!”
“What a shame,” Julia said, relief spreading through her. “There’s lasagne in the microwave.”
Jessie marched into the kitchen and turned the microwave on before planting herself down on the stool at the counter. She swiped her finger across the glossy surface of the chocolate cake and licked the icing off with a satisfied hum.
“What now?” Barker whispered. “Where do we go from here?”
“Do you still want to marry me?”
“Of course I do!” Barker cried, cupping her face in his hands. “You don’t even need to ask me that!”
“Then it changes nothing between us,” Julia said before kissing Barker on the lips. “I suggest we eat some chocolate cake before Jessie contaminates the whole thing.”
They walked into the kitchen and Julia grabbed them two small plates from the cupboard. As she cut two generous slices, she could tell Barker still felt uneasy, so she smiled at him, even if her blood was boiling under the surface. Even though her anger was not directed at him, she could not push it away, and she knew it would remain until she had spoken to Izzy.
11
At lunchtime the next day, Julia left Jessie in charge of the café. With a special batch of blueberry muffins, she walked up to Evelyn’s B&B. Evelyn answered the door with a copy of Barker’s book, claiming she was re-reading it for the fourth time. When Julia told her she was there to see Izzy, Evelyn pointed her upstairs to the room she was staying in on the second floor.
After ascending the two flights of stairs, Julia knocked carefully on the door to number nine. She applied a smile and held up her muffins, but no one came to the door. She knocked again, making sure to beat her knuckles down on the wood.
“What?” a voice groaned through the wood. “I don’t need any more toilet roll, you batty woman. Stop knocking on my door!”
“Izzy,” she called through the wood, her tone firm. “It’s Julia, Barker’s fiancée. Be a good girl and open this door before I kick it down.”
There was a moment of silence followed by a moment of scrambling. It brought Julia a sprinkle of joy to know the panic that must have been coursing through Izzy’s veins as she decided whether to open the door or not. When the door opened, Izzy looked less than perfect for the first time. Her blonde hair hung loosely down her face, and her make-up free skin looked dull and tired. The pimples scattered across her chin and forehead made her look Jessie’s age. Her eyes were red, and the bags underneath were purple. She was wearing a dressing gown, which appeared to be stained with red wine.
“What do you want?” Izzy asked, tightening the dressing gown. “I’m busy.”
“I brought you muffins,” Julia said, pushing past Izzy and barging into her room. “I suggest you sit down because you are going to listen to me, young lady.”
The usually smarmy publicist closed the door and shuffled over to the bed, her hand up to her head. From the empty bottle of red wine on the bedside table, Julia could figure out how she had spent the rest of the evening after Barker left her in the pub. Deciding she could justify bein
g a little unpleasant, Julia wrenched open the curtains and enjoyed watching Izzy shield her eyes like a vampire in the sun.
“What do you want?” Izzy repeated. “This is highly inappropriate.”
“Believe me,” Julia started as she stood over Izzy, making sure to stare her into the bed, “most women would have clawed out your eyes and pulled out your hair by now, so feel lucky I’m not like most women.”
“Oh,” Izzy said, looking irked rather than scared. “He told you.”
“Yes. My fiancé told me that you tried to kiss him. Now, you’re going to listen to me. You might think you have the whole world figured out at twenty-five, but you don’t know a single damn thing about how this game works. It might be cute to run after other women’s men, and you might get away with it half the time, but that’s because most men are stupid enough to fall for a nice pair of legs and a pair of fluttering lashes. I know my first husband was, but Barker is not like that. Acting like this will get you nowhere. You’re a woman, and you shouldn’t do this to other women. You must know how it feels to have your heart broken, or have you not been lucky enough to fall in love yet? Consider this your first and only warning, Izzy. A small part of me thought you wouldn’t try something, even if I suspected you might. I was jealous of you because you’re young and beautiful, but Barker put this ring on my finger because he loves me, and I knew he wouldn’t throw that away. If you so much as look at Barker in a way I deem inappropriate, I can’t promise I won’t react like most other women do. Do you understand?”
Izzy simply gulped and nodded, unable to look Julia in the eyes. Julia had planned to say even more, but the girl looked like she had got the message. Julia held out the box of muffins, causing Izzy to look up.
“Gluten-free muffins,” Julia offered. “I baked them especially for you. I was careful about cross-contamination.”
“Why would you do that?” Izzy asked, her brows pinching together. “Have you poisoned them?”
