by Agatha Frost
“I don’t need to be good at it,” Dot said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “I pay Billy’s dad, Jeffrey, to cut the grass once a month and I let the rest grow. It’s natural. How is Billy, Jessie?”
Jessie looked up from the cake display stand she was polishing. Her cheeks flushed, and her eyes narrowed.
“How should I know?” she snapped, before picking up the bottle of window cleaner and hurrying into the kitchen.
“Young love,” Dot sighed as she stared off into the corner of the room. “I almost can’t remember what it feels like.”
Julia glanced through the beaded curtain into the kitchen where her young apprentice was checking her phone. Jessie had yet to admit that she was seeing local troublemaker, Billy Matthews, but Jessie did not know Julia had caught them kissing behind the café a couple of weeks ago. Even if she had not caught them, the way Jessie looked at her phone whenever it announced the arrival of a new text message gave everything away. It was the same look Julia found herself giving Barker whenever she saw him.
“How do these look?” Julia asked as she placed the final rose on top of the last cupcake. “I had some free time, so I thought I would make these for the Green Fingers.”
Dot cast her eyes over the delicate handcrafted edible flowers of all colours, which lay on top of a dozen lemon buttercream cupcakes. Her tongue poked out of the side of her mouth as her hand reached out for the one adorned with a yellow daffodil. Julia slapped her hand away and secured them under a plastic lid.
“How am I supposed to tell you if they’re any good?” Dot mumbled through pursed lips. “I can’t wait for this whole ordeal to be over! The entire village is going flower mad. It’s positively driving me up the wall.”
“I suppose that means you won’t want your garden photographed for the magazine?”
“Well, I never said that,” Dot said thoughtfully as she sat back in her seat and picked up her small teacup. “It is a magazine, Julia. Let’s not be hasty.”
Julia chuckled as Jessie thrust through the beads, tucking her phone into her jeans pocket. She avoided both of their gazes as she took a bucket of water and a cloth over to the window, which looked out onto the village green.
“Texting anyone interesting?” Dot asked, winking at Julia out of the corner of her eye. “Any boyfriends?”
“It was just Dolly and Dom,” Jessie snapped back. “They were asking about college stuff.”
Even though Dolly and Dom were Jessie’s best friends, and the only other people she would be texting, Julia saw the lie written across Jessie’s face. The teenager had been living with Julia since the beginning of the year, and she had come to know her like the back of her hand. Whenever Jessie lied, her nostrils flared and her ears twitched, something she had done when answering Dot’s question.
“I’m going to pop these into the Green Fingers’ meeting,” Julia said as she pulled her apron over her curls and dusted down the front of her salmon coloured summer dress. “Emily told me this morning they were meeting in the village hall to discuss the competition.”
“Ten thousand pounds for some flowers and grass,” Dot whispered bitterly before draining the rest of her tea. “I should go. Some of the girls and I are heading down to London for the evening. Barbara managed to snap up some cheap tickets for The Lion King musical, and it would be rude not to. See you later, girls.”
“Bye,” Julia and Jessie chimed in unison as Dot hurried out of the café, her pleated skirt fluttering behind her.
Julia watched as she darted across the village green, weaving in and out of a game of football a group of boys were playing. The ball headed for her, and instead of dodging it, she kicked it through the goal before adjusting the brooch holding her stiff white blouse collar in place. Julia hoped she had half her gran’s energy when she reached her eighties.
Leaving Jessie to look after the café, Julia walked around the village green with her box of cupcakes. The scent of freshly mown grass tickled her nostrils as the sun prickled her face. She was particularly proud of how the flowers had turned out, considering how tricky they had been to craft. Her mother had always made it look so easy, but it had taken Julia most of her adult life to perfect the skill.
Julia walked past St. Peter’s Church and pushed on the door of the more modern village hall, which had been built in the 1970s. It was home to many different clubs and organisations, none of which Julia was a member of. Between running her café and juggling her home life with her relationship, she did not have a spare second to indulge in anything other than a little therapeutic baking.
The hall was brightly lit, with the fluorescent tubes in the low ceiling shining on the polished wood floor beneath. Pine disinfectant and the engrained scent of cigarette smoke hit her as she walked through the door. Seats were arranged in a circle in the middle of the room, but they were all empty. If it was not for Julia’s neighbour, Emily Burns, and Amy Clark, the church organist, talking on the other side of the room, Julia might have thought she had heard wrong about the meeting.
She took a step forward, her heels squeaking on the floor. She waited for Emily or Amy to turn around and acknowledge her, but neither of them looked up. They were talking in hushed whispers, their voices echoing around the vast hall.
“You mustn’t worry,” Emily said through almost gritted teeth. “You’re going to ruin this for all of us.”
“But I feel so bad!” Amy pleaded as she stuffed her hands into her pale pink cardigan pockets. “What if they find out?”
Julia cleared her throat, not wanting to be caught in the act of eavesdropping. Both elderly women spun around, their heels also squeaking on the floor. They pushed forward wide smiles, but Julia could feel the strain behind them.
“I brought some cupcakes for the meeting,” Julia announced, an echo to her voice. “Do I have the right time?”
“You’re a little early,” Emily said as she walked across the hall, her smile widening. “The slimming club has only just finished. Oh, Amy! Would you look at these cupcakes? They’re gorgeous!”
Joy bloomed within Julia. She poured her heart and soul into everything she baked because she knew it made the result better. If she had no one to share her creations with, it wouldn’t be half as fun.
“So realistic,” Amy added as she joined Emily. “I bet they taste even better than they look.”
Emily nodded, the green pin on her blouse sparkling under the lights. Amy glanced at it, the corners of her smile faltering. Julia almost wanted to ask if everything was okay, but she knew it was not her place. She was not part of the club, and she was not about to become a member, even if there was a cash prize up for grabs. The money would be nice, but she knew she did not deserve it.
Julia walked over to the tables underneath the window. She looked out at the graves in the cemetery, spotting her mother’s amongst the mass of stones jutting out of the grass. Her mother had not just been an excellent baker; she had also been a skilled gardener. Julia did not doubt that if she had lived beyond Julia’s twelfth birthday that her mother would have been a Green Finger, if not the president of the whole club.
As she was about to excuse herself, a group of villagers walked through the doors, chatting amongst themselves, a shared enthusiastic look of excitement on their faces. Aside from one blonde woman who Julia recognised from her school days, Chloe Johnson, Julia was bringing down the average age by more than several decades.
“Julia baked cupcakes to celebrate the good news,” Emily announced brightly, the tension from earlier either gone or well hidden.
“I foresaw a sweet surprise this morning in the tea leaves!” Evelyn, the eccentric owner of the B&B, announced from the crowd as she pressed a finger to the glittering brooch in the middle of her bright green turban. “I should have known it meant you, Julia!”
The group made their way over to the box, ‘ooh’ing’ and ‘ah’ing’ as they peered at the small cupcakes. Julia looked around the room, realising she had underestimated how many
people were coming to the meeting. She recognised most of the faces, and it seemed that every old age pensioner was in attendance, apart from her gran.
“I must be getting on,” Julia said, glancing at the door as more villagers poured into the hall. “The café won’t run itself.”
“Oh, Julia! This is wonderful!” Evelyn exclaimed through a half-full mouth after biting into one of the cakes. “Lemon buttercream? Inspired! I didn’t need the sight to know your baking would be delicious as always!”
“We should have her bake for the prize reveal,” Amy suggested. “The magazine is putting on a little show to announce the winner of the best garden in Peridale, and they’ve given us a budget to sort out the arrangements.”
There was a murmur of agreement as those closest to the cupcakes scooped them up, leaving the rest who didn’t get a cake to stare longingly at those who did.
“That settles it,” Amy said with a nod. “That’s if you want to?”
“I’d be honoured,” Julia said, glancing at Emily, knowing she was the president of the club. “If that’s okay?”
Emily looked at Amy, apparent rage flaring her nostrils, but she did not let the emotion register on her face for too long. She turned to Julia with a beaming smile and nodded.
“Of course!” Emily exclaimed in a singsong voice. “I couldn’t think of anyone better.”
“The cards told of a new business opportunity in the village!” Evelyn cried, throwing her arms up through her kaftan and pointing them to the roof. “Praise the heavens! They never fail us with their all seeing eye.”
Julia smiled her thanks, knowing Emily’s anger was most likely directed at Amy for stepping on her presidential toes and not directed at Julia’s baking.
“Think about what you want, and I’ll come up with some ideas.”
“How about macarons?” Amy exclaimed, looking around the group for encouragement. “Those little French things. They’re so colourful and light! I had them on holiday last year. They were delicious.”
The villagers nodded enthusiastically. Julia noticed the same angry flare of Emily’s nostrils again.
“Macarons?” Julia confirmed with a gulp, not wanting to admit they were the one baked item she had always struggled with. “Consider it done.”
Julia left the group to get on with their meeting. She had lived across the lane from Emily for over two years, but it was not until now that she had seen this new side of her. It surprised Julia how seriously she was taking her new position and pin.
On her way out, she spotted Johnny Watson, a journalist from The Peridale Post, parking his car behind a Peridale Cleaning Company van. They were the same age, had gone to school together, and had even gone on a date when Julia first moved back to the village after spending her twenties and early thirties living in London with her now ex-husband. The date had only affirmed to Julia how good they were as friends, but Dot and her sister, Sue, still insisted that Johnny had always been in love with her. Julia did not want to think that about Johnny, but she often caught him giving her a similar look to the one Jessie gave to her phone.
Johnny headed in her direction, his face buried in a bundle of papers. He adjusted his glasses, dark circles under his eyes. His usual neat bow tie was messily done, and his short curly hair was dishevelled. He did not look up and spot her until he almost walked straight into her.
“Julia!” he cried as he pushed his glasses up his nose. “What are you doing here?”
He looked around her to the door of the village hall. The chatter of the meeting floated through the open windows, Emily’s voice rising above the noise. Julia glanced down at the papers in his hand, but she could not quite read them upside down.
“I’ve just dropped off some cakes to congratulate the Green Fingers,” Julia said as she hooked her thumb over her shoulder. “I didn’t have you down as the gardening type.”
“I’m not,” he said rather sternly, his eyes darting down to the papers. “I was just – actually, I’m glad I’ve bumped into you. You were the first person I thought of when the police laughed me out of the door.”
“Police?” Julia replied, her ears rapidly pricking up. She leaned in a little, her arms folding firmly against her chest. “Are you in trouble?”
“I’m not, but I think the Green Fingers are,” Johnny said, glancing at the door again. “Here, look at these.”
Johnny pulled her into the shade of a tall yew tree. He stared down at the papers, biting his lip nervously. It was clear to Julia that he had not slept a wink. He finally turned the papers around and passed them to Julia.
“Obituaries?” Julia asked as she looked over the writing. “I don’t understand.”
“Margaret Harwood and Elsie Davies,” he whispered as he looked around the church yard. “Both died three weeks ago, one day after the other. Both in their seventies, and both fell down the stairs.”
“Okay?” Julia replied, not noticing anything unusual in the typical style of obituaries she found in The Peridale Post. “Is it uncommon for people of a certain age to trip and fall?”
“No,” Johnny said, almost frustrated. “But it is uncommon for their obituaries to be sent to the newspaper a day before they actually died.”
Julia’s ears swiftly pricked up again. She looked back at the writing and scanned it once more. Both obituaries detailed their lives and family members. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary.
“Are you sure?” Julia asked as she handed the paper back to Johnny. “When did you last sleep?”
“I couldn’t sleep,” Johnny snapped as he quickly polished his glasses on the edge of his navy-blue shirt. “I discovered this by accident. I was filling in for Rhonda. She usually deals with the obituaries, but she has that bug that has been going around the village, so I started sorting through the paperwork on her desk. I found these last night and matched them to the issue they were published in. Rhonda is thorough, and she dates everything. When I noticed these were dated the day before the date of deaths in the newspaper, I stayed up all night making sure it wasn’t a mistake.”
“Isn’t it?” Julia asked sceptically.
“I wish it were,” he whispered, looking her straight in the eyes, his dilated pupils magnified behind his spectacles. “I traced them back to the day they were sent in. Nobody knows where they came from, or who sent them, but they definitely arrived the day before each of these women died.”
“And you’ve shown this to the police?”
“I’ve just come from there,” Johnny said bitterly. “Your boyfriend practically pushed me out of the station. Said they were accidents and that Rhonda must have got the dates wrong, but I called Rhonda first thing this morning, and she was sure of the dates because she remembered the first one turning up on her desk on Saturday morning. She ate a curry at The Comfy Corner the night before.”
“And they only serve curry on Friday nights,” Julia said with a nod. “Spicy Friday.”
“Exactly,’ Johnny said, a nervous smile flickering across his lips. “That’s not all. I was trying to find a connection between Margaret and Elsie, and aside from being women in their seventies, I couldn’t find much, except for one thing.”
“Go on,” Julia urged, more than a little intrigued.
“They were both members of the Peridale Green Fingers,” he announced triumphantly. “I searched their names in the newspaper database, and by chance, I came across an article I wrote three years ago when the new allotments opened up near Peridale Farm. I interviewed both of them, and they were even in the picture with Yolanda Turner cutting the ribbon.”
Julia thought for a moment, wondering if she believed what Johnny was saying, or if he was trying to piece something together that was not there. She considered the alternative for a moment. If he was right, it meant both women had been murdered, and the obituaries had been sent as a twisted joke. Even compared to the mysteries Julia had stumbled upon and solved, this one seemed a little far-fetched.
“Are you going to tell the
m?” Julia asked, glancing over her shoulder at the village hall. “You might spook them.”
“I’m writing an article about the magazine and the competition anyway,” he said as he stuffed the papers into the canvas bag looped over his shoulder. “Emily Burns called and told the paper about the news this morning. It won’t stop me from asking questions about these deaths if I need to. If somebody is targeting the Peridale Green Fingers, I can’t just sit back and do nothing.”
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.
