“How did you know?” She made no attempt to deny it.
“Someone told me, but they didn’t mean to,” Keeley said, wanting to protect the gentle Diana Glover from her mother’s wrath. “And it wasn’t Norma or Maggie,” she added.
Darla frowned. “Well, I wasn’t aware it was common knowledge,” she said stiffly.
“I don’t think it is,” Keeley assured her. “But don’t change the subject, Mum.”
“You’re the one changing the subject,” Darla snapped, sounding more like her usual self. Keeley frowned, confused.
“Isn’t that what you want to talk to me about?”
“Why on earth would it be? It was years ago, Keeley.” Darla looked annoyed. Keeley put a hand to her forehead, trying to collect her thoughts.
“Because you didn’t tell me,” she said quietly. “You told me about the affair, but never about who it was, and you barely seemed to react when you found out about his death.”
Darla shrugged. “Well, I was shocked, of course, but I can’t say as I had particularly strong feelings about it. Gerald stopped meaning anything to me a long time ago. He never did, really, I was always in love with your father, I was just very young and foolish.”
That was exactly like her mother, Keeley thought. Gerald’s death didn’t have any impact on her life, so Darla was hardly likely to have any strong emotional reaction to it just because she had cared about him once. In hindsight, Keeley wasn’t sure why she would have expected anything else.
“I see. I just thought it was odd,” she said. Darla tutted.
“Honestly, Keeley, why are you harping on about this? Anyone would think you thought it was me that murdered him.”
Keeley, who had thought exactly that, looked down at her feet, hoping that her mother wouldn’t pick up on her guilt.
“So what did you want to tell me?” she asked, more to distract her than anything else. When her mother again began to fidget Keeley looked up again, her interest renewed. She heard Jack cough outside in the café and nodded toward the door.
“Shall I ask him to go, so we can have a bit more privacy? I’m shutting up now anyway.”
To her surprise Darla shook her head and flushed bright crimson.
“No. Jack’s waiting for me.”
“Why on earth is Jack waiting for you?”
As her mother flushed even deeper and looked down at her own feet, looking for all the world like a naughty schoolgirl, Keeley felt understanding slowly dawn. This was the reason behind her mother’s odd behavior and disappearances. She had a lover all right, but it certainly wasn’t anyone that Keeley had been expecting.
“You and Jack? That’s where you’ve been sneaking off to?”
Darla tutted. “I hardly sneak, dear.”
Keeley felt a laugh bubbling in her stomach and traveling through her. She tried to disguise it with a cough, but couldn’t stop a wide grin from splitting her face. Her mother, and Jack? She just couldn’t picture her prim and proper mother with the grizzled old man. He must be at least ten years older than her. And yet, on some level, it made a strange kind of sense. It explained the wine too; Jack was notorious for his home-brewed stuff.
“You and Jack,” she said again with something like wonder. After all, Jack was in his early sixties.
“Yes, dear, you don’t need to keep repeating yourself.” Although Darla had regained her composure, the color was still high on her cheeks.
“Well, I’m very happy for you both,” Keeley said, feeling the urge to laugh again and wondering if it wasn’t something like shock. “Let’s go out, shall we? I want to congratulate Jack too.”
She walked into the café, where Jack was still sitting on the counter, tucking into his third meringue. He stopped and looked up, his eyes taking in Keeley and Darla standing behind her. For a moment he too looked nervous, not an emotion she had ever associated with the old man.
“You’ve told her then.” His voice was gruff.
“Yes.” Darla sounded unsure, and Keeley was aware of them both looking at her, waiting for a reaction. Keeley walked around the counter, and before she was even fully aware of what she was about to do, threw her arms around Jack. At their feet Bambi gave an excited bark, wagging his great tail. Jack hugged her back awkwardly, then disentangled himself, looking embarrassed. He swiped at his eyes, and Keeley realized there had been tears in them. Had he really been so worried about her reaction? But then, she thought, he had been very close to her father once.
“I’m very happy for you both,” Keeley said again, this time really meaning it.
“Well, lass, I’m glad of it,” Jack said, picking up his pipe. Darla stood behind the counter, watching them with a strange look on her face. A soft look, Keeley thought, almost loving. She was beginning to feel like she had woken up this morning into some strange warped reality, what with Suzy’s crazy painting and now this.
“We’re going for a quick drink at the Wheatsheaf, if you’d like to join us, Keeley?” Darla said. Keeley thought about it, then shook her head. She could do with some time on her own to process everything.
“Thank you, but I’m going to get finished tidying up and then go and unwind. It’s been a long day.”
Her mother kissed her cheek in answer, looking relieved. Keeley watched them go. The hysteria she had felt creeping up on her had subsided, to be replaced with a sense of calm. As odd a couple as they may appear to be on the face of it, somehow she felt instinctively that they were right for each other. That her father would approve, even.
In fact, now that she knew the truth, she felt guilty that she could ever have suspected her mother. Darla had been, in her own way, more open with Keeley in the last few days than she had perhaps ever been in her life, and here she was accusing her of murder. But along with, and stronger than the guilt, was the relief that she had been wrong.
As she finished clearing and locking up, she thought about the rest of the day. Whatever she had been expecting from the art festival, it hadn’t been this. Had Ben really thought Suzy had been responsible, just because of a painting? But then, if the details had been that accurate … Keeley shuddered as an image of the painting flashed across her mind. Suzy had captured the moment of death in grisly detail, a lurid grimace on Gerald’s face, a look of frozen terror in his eyes. Somehow she had captured the depth of his anguish in the painting, the true horror of what had happened to him, stabbed to death in his own living room. There was no doubt Suzy was an incredibly talented artist, and definitely a bit strange, but that didn’t make her a murderer.
The case was running out of suspects, Keeley reflected as she locked up the café and pulled down the blinds. It wasn’t her mother, she still didn’t believe it was Raquel, and Ben had said that Lydia’s mother was a dead end. Maybe it was just some psycho, and the fact that the first two victims had known each other well was just a coincidence. But the idea of some crazed serial killer running around Belfrey, as terrifying as that prospect was, felt inherently wrong. These murders felt personal. She had been so sure that they were connected to Gerald’s past, and specifically to Lydia, but Ben had seemed certain that wasn’t the case, and she was sure he wouldn’t dismiss it without reason. Yet it felt like a strong motive; grief over her daughter’s death could surely crystallize into rage against the father who had never provided for her.
Keeley rubbed her head as if to clear it of the morbid thoughts and went upstairs to roll out her mat. She could do with a long, restorative practice, she thought, followed by some good hearty food. The goat’s cheese tarts were gone, but there was plenty of summer stew and salads left that would feed her well over the next few days. She stood in Mountain Pose, rooting her feet down to the earth, stretching her body tall, and let out a slow, deep exhale, consciously trying to clear her mind. Then she moved into a few deep standing stretches, feeling the tension in her body and mind release and flow through her as she moved into hip stretches and back bends. Almost on impulse she found herself moving through a series of the more difficult arm balances, then lifting her legs up above her head into a handstand.
Keeley found herself thinking about her mother again as she stood on her hands, legs up against the wall in an inverted pose. It had been one of those days when her usual series of postures just wasn’t going to cut it. In fact, it seemed quite appropriate to be viewing the world from a different perspective, given the news she had heard today. The notion of her mother with Jack Tibbons had shaken her entire worldview. It seemed opposites really did attract.
At least she knew she wasn’t a murderer. Now, she decided, she would leave Ben to get on with catching the killer.
At the thought of Ben she felt her temporary good mood dissipating and brought herself down out of the handstand to rest in Child’s Pose, trying to clear her mind of images of him. She knew getting over him was going to be a long and painful process, but she could get a few minutes respite at least.
The doorbell rang just as she had settled into a meditation posture and started her deep breathing, and she bit back a curse as she got up, wiped her forehead with the cardigan laying over the back of the sofa, and went downstairs, wondering who it was likely to be this time in the evening. Megan, maybe.
She knew from the silhouette who it was; knew those strong shoulders and that posture as well as she knew the contours of her own body. She opened the door, her breath catching in her throat.
“Hello, Ben.”
“Can I come in? You look busy,” he said, his eyes flickering over her, taking in her vest and tight yoga pants. He had always loved her in yoga pants.
“I’d just finished my practice.” She held the door open for him, wondering what he wanted. Perhaps he had found the killer; although the look on his face suggested he was anxious rather than triumphant. She hoped nobody else had been hurt, and felt a flutter of panic.
“Can’t we go upstairs? This is important,” he said when she went to pull out a seat. The flutter of panic increasing, she nodded and opened the door that led to the upstairs apartment. He followed close behind her, so close that she was acutely aware of the nearness of him, of his size and smell. For a moment she missed him so badly it was a physical ache.
She turned to him as they reached her apartment, crossing her arms over her chest defensively and waiting for him to speak.
“Aren’t you going to offer me a drink?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Just tell me what’s the matter, Ben,” she snapped, more aggressively than she had meant to. Ben nodded and visibly swallowed. He looked nervous, she realized, not an adjective she would usually associate with him.
“I’ve hurt you, haven’t I? You’ve got every right to be mad with me. I acted like a jerk.”
Keeley felt her eyes go wide with surprise. Whatever she had been expecting, it wasn’t this.
“You did upset me, very badly. But I’m sure you had your reasons,” she said stiffly, hugging her arms even tighter around her torso. If Ben had come to apologize for dumping her in a bid to make himself feel better about it, she wasn’t intending to make that easy for him. To help him soothe his conscience so he could move on easier, she thought bitterly.
“My reasons were stupid. And maybe a bit selfish,” Ben said with sudden passion in his voice. Keeley bit her lip, shocked, but let him carry on.
“I was just so scared of you getting hurt, Keeley, of losing you. When I found you at Edna’s with those marks on your face, and then she turned up dead, I just kept thinking it could have been you. And that I couldn’t cope if I lost you. You mean the world to me,” he finished in a rush.
Keeley’s arms dropped down to her sides, and she stared, not knowing what to say, taken aback by this sudden display of emotion.
“That doesn’t sound like a stupid reason,” she said carefully. Ben took a step toward her, reaching his hands out to her almost pleadingly.
“Can you forgive me?” he asked, his voice imploring. “It was stupid, Keeley, because I was trying to control the situation, to control you, and that was wrong of me. I got this notion in my head that if I was with you then I wouldn’t be able to properly protect you, because I’m too close, you see? And selfish because I suppose my pride was hurt by the idea I couldn’t keep you safe. And if I’m honest, by the fact you found things out I hadn’t. That was in there too. I’m so pigheaded sometimes.”
Keeley nodded, still intent on not giving an inch, not yet, although she could feel the love for him welling up in her chest and she had to blink back tears.
“But these last few days,” he went on, “have been torture. I don’t want to be without you, Keeley, and I love you the way you are, even if you do infuriate me sometimes. I’ve regretted what I said ever since I said it, but I was too stubborn to do anything about it. Then when I came in yesterday and you all but ignored me and sat with that painter, and I felt so jealous … I just thought, Ben Taylor, are you really going to be stupid enough to let the best thing that ever happened to you go? So here I am, if you’ll have me.”
Keeley had a moment of reticence, of telling herself she shouldn’t give in so easily, that she should make him work a little harder, then she went with her heart and all but threw herself into his arms. Ben hugged her to him, squeezing her as if he would never let her go again.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered into her hair. Keeley breathed in the scent of him, overwhelmed by her feelings for him. By the knowledge that he was still, if she wanted him to be, hers.
“I’m sorry too, and you’re squashing me,” she said, her voice muffled by his chest. He let her go, laughing. His dimples came out when he laughed like that, and he looked almost boyish. DC Taylor was left behind, and he was just Ben. Her Ben.
“I am sorry,” she went on more seriously, “I should have been more open with you that I was helping Raquel. It seemed the right thing to do at the time, and I was so worried for Raquel. But I could have spoken to you first.”
“No, Keeley, I never gave you the chance. I shouldn’t have shut you out. I just didn’t want you hurt. And I didn’t trust Raquel, and I was worried she was trying to drag you into something for her own ends.”
Keeley sighed. “I can understand why you would think like that, but really, you have to just trust sometimes that I can make my own decisions.”
“I’ll try, Keeley,” he promised, “I just get so caught up in wanting to protect you, and fix everything, and solve this bloody case.”
Keeley took his hand and led him over to the sofa, where they sat down next to each other, their fingers entwined.
“I don’t care about the case right now,” Keeley murmured, her eyes on that deliciously full mouth. She leaned over and pressed her lips softly against his, and instantly his arms were around her again and his mouth crushing against hers, and she lost herself in the sensation of him for a few minutes until she pulled back, smiling. He looked into her eyes, his expression serious.
“I’m never letting you go again.”
“Good,” she quipped, then went on, “Honestly, Ben, I’ve been so heartbroken at the thought we were over. Don’t do this to me again, not unless you’re certain you mean it.”
“It’s never going to happen,” he promised, running the pad of his thumb over her mouth. She bit her lip, her eyes automatically going to the bed. He followed her gaze and grinned.
“Let’s go and make up properly, shall we?”
She nodded, then gasped as in one movement he pulled her onto his lap and then stood up, lifting her. Then he carried her over to the bed and proceeded to show her exactly how much he had missed her.
Afterward, she lay with her head on his chest, her hand entwined with his. The world felt right-side up again. She told him about Jack and her mother, laughing when he looked completely bemused.
“Really? I would have never put those two together. Still, if they’re happy, I’m happy for them. She might just have met her match there.”
“I think so. She seems to really like him. I knew she’d been acting odd lately. I even started wondering if she might be the murderer.”
“Your mother?” Ben said incredulously. “Why on earth? I know she can be hard work, Keeley, but why would you think that?”
She told him about Gerald and Ben nodded, understanding dawning.
“Gerald had secrets everywhere. Remember the Terry Smith case, when his finances got him mixed up in that, and now it seems he was having affairs left, right, and center.”
“If he was paying out for a secret daughter for fourteen years, maybe that’s one reason his finances ended up in a mess,” Keeley mused, then saw Ben frowning at her and realized what she had said.
“You know she died when she was fourteen?” Ben asked. Keeley sighed, then nodded. If they were going to get back together, then she wasn’t going to start on a lie. She just hoped he wasn’t going to be angry again.
“I did do some asking around. I was starting to worry about Mum and I was desperate for it to be someone—anyone—else. I won’t do it again without telling you,” she promised, then heard her own words and amended them to, “Well, I’ll try not to.”
Ben gave her a wry smile. “I don’t believe that for a moment, Keeley Carpenter. You’ve actually got a knack for it, maybe it’s a new calling,” he teased before saying earnestly, “Let’s just tell each other things in the future. I’ll be more open about my work, and you don’t go rushing off asking questions without at least speaking to me about it first. You never know, you could be quite a good sidekick.”
Keeley jabbed him playfully in the ribs. “Less of the ‘sidekick.’ But yes, that sounds like a compromise we can live with.” They kissed again, and then Keeley said, coming up for air, “Does this mean you’re going to let me know what’s going on now, then?”
Ben pulled her back onto his chest. “Tenacious, aren’t you? And I would if there was anything to tell. But I’m just no further along. The problem really is the murder weapon. We haven’t found one and don’t even really have a clue exactly what it was.”
Keeley thought about that. This was the one thing she didn’t know much about.
“They were both stabbed, right? With the same weapon?”
“Presumably, yes, but by the look of things not with any normal knife.”
“Oh?”
Ben grimaced. “No, we’re looking at something very small and very sharp—like a scalpel of some kind.”
“A scalpel?” That would imply someone with a medical background surely—or at least access to their tools. She could ask Diana, she said; she had trained as a nurse briefly.
“Yes. Gerald was killed with long cuts to the torso, after what looks like an initial stab to the heart. Almost like someone was trying to perform open heart surgery.”
“You’re looking for someone with a basic knowledge of human anatomy then?”
“Rudimentary, at least. Think butcher rather than surgeon. Sorry,” he said quickly when Keeley shuddered. Watching her father carve up carcasses had helped put her off meat for life.
“How about Edna? Was she killed in the same way?” She felt sad at the thought of someone treating an old woman in that way, and almost relieved when her death proved to be slightly less macabre.
“Same weapon, but she was stabbed in the neck. Right in the jugular. So again, the murderer at least knew where they were aiming.”
“Who could do that?” It sounded a very cold, premeditated way to kill people, Keeley thought, not a spur of the moment crime of passion. Whoever the murderer was, they had gone to see both Gerald and his former housekeeper with no intention of leaving either of them alive.
“Well, that’s where I’m stuck,” Ben said with a bitter laugh. “Anyone with any motive has an alibi. Suzy has a slightly suspect alibi for Gerald, given that it’s her boyfriend, but no motive. Even Raquel has an alibi—a real one—for Edna’s death. Not that it will prevent her being charged with Gerald’s death if CPS decide to do so.”
“So she still isn’t off the hook.” Keeley sighed. It seemed her own investigating had reached the same dead end as Ben’s, and she hadn’t succeeded in completely clearing Raquel’s name either.
“A lead will turn up somewhere,” Ben said, trying to sound upbeat. “I’ve just got to keep digging.” He kissed the top of her head. “I need to get back to the station and finish up some paperwork; I came running round here without sorting anything. How about I pick you up for dinner afterwards?”
“That sounds lovely,” Keeley smiled. They kissed again, then she swung her legs out of the bed and got up to get dressed. She watched Ben as he pulled his clothes on, a rush of happiness making her feel giddy. God, but she loved him.
She walked him down to the door, and was halfway up the stairs to the apartment when she heard her phone ring. She jogged up the last couple of stairs and picked her phone up from the kitchenette counter, seeing Raquel’s name flash up on the screen. She wondered if she was going to ask her to start investigating again.
“Hello?”
“Keeley? I was wondering if you could come over?” Raquel sounded strained. “I’m at the diner.”
“Okay,” Keeley said slowly. “Any particular reason?”
“It’s about Gerald, I think I’ve found something out. I can’t talk over the phone.”
“I’ll be there in ten minutes.” Keeley cut the call, staring at her phone. There had been something off about Raquel’s voice. Realizing she could be walking straight into danger, but knowing she was still going to go, she phoned Ben, cursing when it rang through to the voicemail. She left a message, then stood for a while drumming her fingers on the countertop, wondering what she should do. The phone rang again, making her jump. It was Megan.
“I just found out something,” she said excitedly.
“You’re not the only one tonight.” She told her friend about Raquel’s call, then asked, “What is it?”
“I’m in Matlock listening to my friend’s band. His mum knows Gerald quite well, I mean knew, and she was just telling me how apparently, a few days before his death, he was getting irate calls from some young woman, an artist, because Gerald had voted to cut funding for the art festival next year, so it won’t be going ahead.”
“Right,” said Keeley, wondering if Megan was being deliberately obtuse or if she was just missing the point, “so what’s that got to do with his death?”
“Well, how many angry young female artists do we know? One who seemed to take great relish in painting the manner of Gerald’s death.”
“Suzy. But she was with Christian. You think he would really cover up for her?”
“Duane did for Raquel,” Megan pointed out, “and Suzy and Christian have been together a lot longer.”
Keeley recalled what Ben had said about Suzy. Her alibi could be shaky, but she had no motive. Was Gerald’s lack of concern for the arts enough of a motive? It sounded flimsy, but there was no denying Suzy was passionate, to say the least.
“She doesn’t have long dark hair,” she pointed out, referring to Tom’s sighting.
“Tom is a space cadet,” said Megan with no apparent irony. “He told me he saw unicorns once. Too many magic mushrooms.”
“I thought you believed in unicorns?”
“Not when Tom sees them,” Megan said firmly. Keeley suppressed a laugh, turning her attention back to matters at hand.
“I’ll tell Ben. I’m trying to get hold of him to tell him about Raquel.”
“You’re on talking terms then?”
Keeley told her of the evening’s events and Megan gave a little whoop. Then she agreed to make her way back to Belfrey and meet Keeley at the diner.
“If it is Suzy, she’s staying in your house,” Keeley pointed out. She rang off, tried Ben again to no avail, and then shrugged on her jacket and started to make her way to the diner. As she walked she thought about what Megan had told her. To Suzy, Gerald’s voting against the festival might be motive enough in her mind, but where did Edna fit into that? And what about the murder weapon? Where would Suzy get a surgeon’s scalpel from?
Unless, said a voice in her mind, it wasn’t a surgeon’s scalpel at all. Didn’t artists use scalpel-like tools? Suzy worked with glass and also did engravings and sculpture—it was well within the realm of possibility that she used tools that would be sharp enough to kill. And artists were likely to have at least a basic knowledge of human anatomy. Feeling she was on to something, Keeley felt her heart thump in her chest. It still didn’t explain where Edna fit in to it all, but perhaps Raquel had discovered something?
She was nearly at the diner now. Stopping, she pulled out her phone and tried Ben again. Still no answer. She left a rushed message, relaying what Megan had told her and her thoughts about the murder weapon, then headed into the diner. The blinds were down, but light peeped through them and the door was open. She knocked and went in.
There was no sign of Raquel. The diner wasn’t empty, though. Her heart sank as she saw the young woman leaning against the counter, regarding her with a satisfied smirk.
Suzy.