Stroke of Death

by Agatha Frost

  “Well, take a seat then,” he cried, pointing at a similarly clothes-covered armchair. “You’ve probably come to question me, haven’t you?”

  Lance swigged another mouthful of gin before hiccupping. He turned to the painting and let out a deep and sinister chuckle. Liz perched on the edge of the armchair, her hand wrapped tightly around Paddy’s lead. He looked up at her as though to say, ‘what are we doing here?’; she had no response.

  “I know about your relationship with Katelyn,” Liz began. “I can’t imagine what you’re going through right now.”

  “You’re right,” he said taking another long swig. “You can’t. Everyone really does know everyone else’s business around here. Makes me wonder why I even came back.”

  Liz thought back to the man she had met during her first art club meeting. Lance had been sweet and funny. Nothing had hinted at the inner turmoil he must have been feeling. She imagined it must have been easier to bury when the person he had been so desperately in love with had still been alive.

  “I heard about the way she treated you,” Liz said, trying to gauge his reaction. “That must have been difficult to live through.”

  “Not that it’s any of your business,” he said. “But yes, it was. I had my old friend gin back then, and I have it again now.”

  Lance laughed coldly as he looked at the picture again. For a moment, a gut-wrenching look replaced the coldness. He swallowed it down with more gin. Was he drinking to cope with the pain, or to forget about wrapping a curtain tie around Katelyn’s neck?

  “I’m pathetic,” he mumbled as he slumped into the corner, the almost empty gin bottle following him to the floor. “It was always her. I could never get over her, no matter how many beautiful women I had in my bed. Katelyn had a different side to her that no one knew. She could be sweet.” Lance’s bottom lip wobbled for a minute, but the tears did not come. “She had these three little Pomeranians. Fluffy, Bear, and Cuddles. She treated them like her babies.”

  Liz tried to imagine Katelyn with three fluffy dogs, but the image would not appear. She wondered if the gin had begun to affect his memory, or if it were possible for Katelyn to have had a side only Lance had seen.

  “I waited all this time,” he said, his red-raw eyes looking deep into Liz’s. “And for what? She’s gone. I always thought we’d end up back together. It was meant to be.”

  Liz knew crimes of passion were common when it came to murders, and when it came to Katelyn, he was passionate. From the feverish brushstrokes of the horns and the blacked-out eyes, Liz could feel his deep-rooted confliction. Was that conflict enough to lead a man to murder the woman he loved because he knew she would never love him back?

  Lance sprang up suddenly, making Liz jump. She pulled Paddy closer to her as Lance’s shirtless torso filled the room, his messy hair casting his eye sockets in dark shadows.

  “Time’s up,” Lance said before scooping up the gin bottle to finish the last mouthful. “I would like to grieve alone.”

  Liz did not hesitate. With Paddy by her feet, she hurried to the door, closing it tightly behind her. The glass bottle shattered against the wood seconds later, making her speed down the short garden path. She looked back at the cottage one last time before setting off back to the farmhouse.

  Liz had always liked Lance, but she had seen a side of him that had scared her. It was not so much his actions because he was not the first drunk she had met, but rather his sudden change in personality. The way a person could switch from Jekyll to Hyde had always fascinated her, but in the case of Lance, it scared her. She would never have thought the handsome, talented artist could get blind drunk and smash a bottle against a door. It only made her think seriously about what else he could be capable of.

  Was Lance so in love with Katelyn that it drove him to kill her? The thought sent a shiver down her spine, adding another burst of speed to her steps.

  “That wasn’t a good idea, was it, boy?” she whispered to Paddy when she was finally unhooking the farm gate again. “Why didn’t you stop me?”

  8

  “Two weeks?” Liz cried as she stood outside her shop the next morning. “You said the new kitchen would be fitted by the end of last week!”

  “At least,” Bob Slinger said with a whistle as he rocked back and forth on his heels. “You know what it’s like.”

  “Why is it taking so long?”

  “Ordered it from China, you see.”

  “China?” Liz remarked.

  “Yup,” Bob said nonchalantly, pleased with himself. “I got a great deal! My eyes aren’t what they used to be though. I didn’t check the small print, you see. It’s coming on the slow boat.”

  “Of course it is,” Liz muttered, as she clenched her eyes together with a sigh.

  Liz usually found Bob’s quirks quite endearing, but when it came to his responsibility as her landlord, it was certainly not his forte.

  “I heard you were staying with that farm boy,” Bob said as he nudged her playfully in the ribs. “Aren’t rushing to leave, are you?”

  Liz blushed a deep crimson as Bob chuckled at his joke. Was it not possible to keep anything private in this town?

  “We’re sleeping in separate rooms,” Liz said quickly. “I like my space, that’s all.”

  “I’m not clueless when it comes to matters of the heart,” he said with another deep chuckle. “Simon Greene is the man for you, Liz Jones!”

  “Let me know when the new kitchen arrives,” Liz said. “I’d quite like to get back to normal.”

  “You can have this month’s rent for free,” Bob said with a wide grin. “And don’t try to protest! It’s the least I can do.”

  As soon as Liz heard this, the two weeks did not feel so long. She wondered if Bob even cared that she had burnt down the kitchen with her reckless attempt at baking.

  “Well, I must dash,” he said before rushing along the pavement, his bright yellow parka almost scraping the floor.

  Liz walked back into the shop and continued setting up for the next instalment of her art club. Polly and Sylvia were the only two who had arrived so far. She wondered if they were going to be the only ones who did turn up. She could not imagine Lance showing his face, nor could she imagine Nancy turning up after their frosty interaction. She also would not be surprised if Debbie and Trevor decided to ditch art altogether.

  “I think this is it,” Liz said with an apologetic smile as Polly and Sylvia set up their workstations.

  “We don’t mind,” Polly said, her squeaky Essex accent the ray of sunshine Liz needed. “We’ll crank the radio up and have fun regardless.”

  Liz wished she had Polly’s optimism. Years of police work had jaded her view of the world. She was not sure if it could ever be repaired, especially when she kept finding herself in the middle of unofficial murder investigations. She retrieved a ram’s head from behind the counter and placed it on the stool in the middle of the room. She had found the skull that morning when walking Paddy around the farm; it somehow described her current mood perfectly.

  “How macabre!” Sylvia exclaimed as she riffled through her box of paints. “Well, I suppose we should get on with it.”

  At that very moment, Debbie walked in, followed closely by Lance, who looked like he had not slept a wink. Liz instantly noticed the stench of alcohol and that he was wearing the same clothes as last night. The bags under his eyes were so big, she wondered when he had last slept.

  By the time Debbie and Lance had set up their easels, Trevor walked in to take his usual spot. Their arrivals surprised her, but she was even more surprised when Nancy completed the group.

  Liz was happy to see Nancy, even if she was ten minutes late. Despite being scatter-brained, Liz could not remember a time Nancy had ever been late. She wondered if her friend was trying to make a statement, but she decided against looking too deeply into it.

  Nancy took up her usual spot next to Lance. Liz noticed that her eyes were also red and puffy like Lance’s, but she knew
in her case it was from the lingering cold.

  “How are you feeling?” Liz asked Nancy with a smile, hoping to defuse the tension lingering between them. “You’re looking better.”

  “I’m almost through it,” she said, a touch of sarcasm in her usually cheery voice. “I couldn’t miss this.”

  Liz looked at the group, but no one else seemed to pick up on the strange tone of Nancy’s voice. Liz tried to smile at her, but Nancy seemed to have decided she was going to avoid looking at Liz at all costs.

  “I wouldn’t wait for Catherine,” Debbie announced. “She’s probably at the salon having her hair dyed exactly like Katelyn’s to complete the transformation.”

  The group looked uneasily at each other at the mention of Katelyn. Lance fidgeted in his seat, his eyes drifting up to Liz for a moment. His brows knitted together briefly before he turned his attention to his blank canvas. Did he even remember Liz’s late-night visit?

  “I thought we’d go for something a little different today,” Liz announced as she motioned to the ram’s head. “We haven’t touched on animal anatomy yet, so I thought this was the perfect place to start.”

  “It’s creepy,” Polly squealed with a little bounce in her seat. “I love it.”

  “I do hope it died of natural causes,” Debbie added. “I’d hate to paint a poor murdered soul.”

  Liz took her seat and began to sketch out the outline. Her lead encouraged the rest of the group to start their work. It almost felt as though nothing sinister had happened and they were an art club again. If it had not been for Nancy glaring at her from across the circle, Liz could have slipped into her special world. She had never wanted her classes to finish early, but today she could not wait to get away from Nancy’s scrutinising gaze.

  Feeling restless in front of her easel, she decided to walk around the circle. Polly had risen to the challenge and decided to paint the skull in pale pinks, Sylvia trying to copy her again. Debbie’s piece was abstract as usual, but it was less inspired than her usual work. Lance’s work was drab and devoid of much colour. He had the proportions of the skull perfect, but it was the most literal interpretation she had seen from him. Trevor had once again started with a black canvas and was building up the shades in his usual gothic style. Liz came to Nancy’s last, deciding not to linger for too long. Her proportions were completely off, and she had started with a garish shade of brown, but she seemed to be trying harder than ever. Liz wondered if she was trying to make a point.

  Liz let another hour pass before announcing the end of the class. Everyone seemed to be in a rush to leave except for Debbie. Nancy was the first out of the door, followed closely by Lance and Trevor. Polly and Sylvia were the only ones to say goodbye to Liz. Debbie, on the other hand, remained in front of her painting, staring right through it.

  “Debbie?” Liz whispered as she placed her hand on her shoulder. “Are you okay? We’ve finished.”

  Debbie blinked heavily, snapping back to reality. She stared up at Liz, tears immediately flowing from her eyes as her bottom lip wobbled out of control.

  “He wants a divorce,” she cried, cupping her face with her ring-covered hands. “Raphael is leaving me.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Liz said, crouching to Debbie’s side despite not having known she was married. “Come with me. There’s a slice of cake with your name on it at Driftwood Café.”

  Debbie nodded through her sniffles. She wrapped herself up in a thick shawl before getting to her feet. Liz flicked off the lights, leaving behind their easels for clearing later.

  Violet Lloyd, the kind owner of Driftwood Café, greeted them both with a warm smile as she wiped up a ketchup stain from a nearby table.

  “Evening, ladies,” Violet said as she pulled her little notebook and pencil from the front of her apron. “I’m afraid the kitchen is closed for the night, but we still have whatever cakes are on display.”

  “Can I have a coffee please?” Liz said as they sat at the table closest to the window. She glanced at the half a dozen cakes in the cabinet, her stomach rumbling a little. “And a vanilla slice, please.”

  “Uh-huh,” Violet said, scribbling down the order after licking her pencil. “And for you, Debbie?”

  “Can I have a green tea, and a slice of Victoria sponge please?”

  Violet finished scribbling down the order before stabbing the pad with her pencil. She turned and shuffled over to the counter, leaving the two women alone.

  “We met in France six years ago,” Debbie started as she stared out of the window at the purple sky. “I was on a spontaneous painting holiday on the south coast after packing a bag full of paints and canvasses. I went to paint, but I never expected to fall in love. Raphael walked over, and we instantly hit it off. He was tall, dark, handsome – the usual stereotype when it comes to beautiful men, but he was different. He saw me, somehow. The real me. I’d never been fortunate in love, but I fell hard and deep. We both did. I went home after two weeks, but he came with me, and he never left. We married almost immediately, and it was perfect.”

  Violet placed their cakes and drinks on their table before shuffling back to the kitchen.

  “He’s been cheating on me,” Debbie continued. “I thought I could live with it, but he couldn’t.”

  “He’s an idiot then,” Liz replied, sliding her hands across the table to grab Debbie’s. “You’re better than that.”

  “I don’t blame him,” Debbie said, frowning into her murky green tea. “I’ve always been ten years older than him, but it’s never been more obvious than it is now. He’s still as gorgeous as the day I met him, and I’m thirty pounds heavier and beginning to resemble an old shoe.”

  “You’re still young,” Liz said with a chuckle. “You’re a couple of years younger than me, so what does that make me? An even older shoe?”

  “You’re gorgeous, Liz,” Debbie said as she stared at her cake. “I don’t even think I’m hungry.”

  Liz bit into her vanilla slice, custard flowing out of the sides. She caught it with her fingers before cramming it into her mouth. She was glad when Debbie copied.

  “All I wanted was children,” Debbie said through a mouthful of cake. “He said he was too young, and before I knew it, I was thirty-nine and childless.”

  “People have children later and later these days,” Liz assured. “It’s not like it used to be anymore. There are so many options. Simon’s parents fostered for years, and then they adopted in their late fifties.”

  “But nothing is going as planned.”

  “Does it ever?”

  “I dreamed of the perfect job, and the perfect husband at home with a couple of kids running around,” Debbie said as she licked crumbs from her lips. “Instead, I struggle to get by selling my art online, and I haven’t slept in the same bed as my husband for six months.”

  Liz could sympathise. She had been on her perfect life path until Lewis’ murder. In those early days after the funeral, there had been times she had thought her life would never contain any happiness, but here she was.

  “It’s never too late for a fresh start,” Liz assured her before sipping her hot coffee. “I had a completely different life before Scarlet Cove, and I wasn’t particularly happy with it. I left it all behind to take a chance on happiness, and it worked. You can still do that.”

  “I’m not that brave,” Debbie said, pushing forward a shaky smile. “I’m not like you, Liz. I always thought if I had my art, I’d be happy, but even that isn’t working anymore. It’s disappointing me at every turn. I’m getting worse and worse at it. Would you listen to me?” Debbie paused, letting out an unsettling laugh. “No wonder my nickname was Debbie Downer at college.”

  “Nicknames are silly.”

  “But it’s true,” Debbie said with a heavy sigh. “Nothing has ever gone right for me since then. I graduated, but hardly. My art was always too ‘out there’. Katelyn graduated with honours. She stuck to the rules, and she was rewarded for it. Working at the gallery would have
changed everything, and she got that job. We both applied for the position at the same time, and I didn’t even get an interview. I would have made that gallery a place for everyone. We all deserve a chance.”

  “You’re right,” Liz agreed. “Our exhibition proved that, but it’s not too late. Can you not talk to the people who own it? Catherine might not have the job on a permanent basis. They might be looking for a new lease of life.”

  “It’s a faceless company,” Debbie said with another heavy sigh. “Catherine wanted that job as desperately as I did. She might have bowed to Katelyn’s every demand, but she’s a ruthless woman. You saw that. She wouldn’t give it up without a fight.”

  “So, fight,” Liz whispered with a grin. “Don’t give up on your dreams. You deserve better than a man who is going to cheat on you. Don’t settle for second best, Debbie. Enough women do that every single day. Don’t be one of them.”

  They finished their cakes in a comfortable silence as the dark purple sky faded to jet-black.

  Liz paid for their drinks and cakes before they left Violet to close up the café. When Debbie hugged her goodbye, Liz hoped she had succeeded in cheering her up, if only a little. She had been where Debbie was, and she knew how easy it could be to continue falling down that slippery path.

  Standing outside Driftwood Café after Debbie walked off, Liz fastened up her coat, ready to walk back to the farm. When she saw Christopher cutting across the market square, she changed direction and met him halfway.

  “Good evening, Elizabeth,” he said, out of breath. “I was hoping to catch you. I heard you were staying at the farm, but Simon’s parents informed me that you hadn’t returned from work yet.”

  “Art club,” Liz said, hooking her thumb over her shoulder to her shop. “How are you doing?”

  As she waited for Christopher to concoct his reply, she realised this was the first time she had seen him without his fiancée stuck to his side.

  “Things are fine,” Christopher answered in an unconvincing voice. “Lizzie and I were wondering if you and Simon would like to join us for dinner tomorrow evening.”