“This is a great weight off my mind,” said Rakesh. “I really thought I was in dreadful trouble. My poor wife, I didn’t know what she was going to find when she came back.”
He started arranging dishes on the table. “Sergeant Wilson came round and told me I mustn’t leave the area. I knew I hadn’t done anything wrong but – well, you never know.”
No, thought Alfie, you never knew with Sergeant Wilson. It was particularly fortunate that Rakesh didn’t know what Emma had recently divulged, that the sergeant thought Rakesh was a snake whisperer.
“So!” Rakesh beamed. “Ladies, you had a takeaway meal from me the other day, and I don’t want you to get bored, so this is something a little different. Everything is Keralan, from the south of my country. Here we have a chicken stew with cloves and cinnamon and coconut milk. This is a sardine curry, and these are special rice flour pancakes.”
Alfie’s mouth was watering as Rakesh enumerated the dishes. He, Liz and Marge had protested over and over again that they had done nothing, they had taken no part in solving the case, and it was entirely the pathologist’s doing, but their protests were dismissed as modesty.
Village gossip insisted that it was another successful investigation by the Bunburry Triangle, and Rakesh was greatly relieved that the threat of imminent arrest was no longer hanging over him.
In the end, Marge convinced Liz and Alfie that they should gracefully accept the celebration meal, and hope they performed better when there was another murder. (“If, dear, if,” corrected Liz.)
“Rakesh, this is fabulous,” said Alfie. “Liz and Marge always claim I don’t eat enough – wait till they see me demolish this lot.”
“Not so fast,” said Marge. “Ladies first.” She began spooning sardine curry on to their plates.
“Poor Eve Mosby,” said Liz once Rakesh had left them to their meal. “Emma says they’ve pieced together what must have happened. Eve realised she’d eaten nuts and tried to get help. But she didn’t have her phone, and Debbie had moved her glasses so she couldn’t see. She must have been in a complete panic trying to find Debbie’s phone, and just sent everything crashing to the ground. And then it was too late.”
“I’m not saying I’m glad she’s dead,” said Marge, trying some lemon rice.
“But?” prompted Alfie.
“But she was a dreadful woman who brought misery to so many people. Look at Debbie and Rakesh. You thought they were behaving peculiarly after she died – they were both weak with relief. Rakesh thought he was going to have to close the restaurant because he couldn’t afford the rent increase – he thought his wife and kids were going to come back and find they had no home. I’m surprised he didn’t start putting out the flags after Debbie found her.”
“Margaret!” said Liz.
Marge was undeterred. “I wouldn’t be a bit surprised if what Theresa said was true, that Thomas killed himself rather than it being an accident. I think we should be saying poor Theresa rather than poor Eve.”
“Poor Theresa indeed,” sighed Liz. “She’s been taken back to the psychiatric hospital, and Emma says she may never stand trial.”
Alfie’s food lay untouched. “I saw her in the cemetery the day it happened. She was visiting her husband’s grave. Then I spoke to her in the tea-room when I delivered the fudge. She wanted to chat to me about him. I never got around to it. I wish I had.”
“It wouldn’t have made any difference,” said Marge. “She must already have doctored the petits fours by that time.”
“I know.” Alfie felt suddenly weary. Theresa had been driven by desperation and revenge, and he couldn’t begin to condemn her for it. The pain of losing the person closest to you – if someone had killed Vivian, he could imagine himself hunting them down. He couldn’t imagine himself killing anyone – he recoiled even from the thought of hitting someone. But he would do everything in his power to bring them to justice, make sure they paid for what they’d done. Charlie Tennison. Charlie “Teflon” Tennison had killed his grandparents and never paid for it.
“Alfie!”
He turned to see where the squeal of delight had come from and found Debbie had just come in.
She kissed him on the cheek and beamed at Liz and Marge. “Thank goodness for all of you. Sergeant Wilson was so scary. I kept telling him I hadn’t even given Mrs Mosby the Botox, but he just kept saying forensics were still investigating and I mustn’t leave the area. But the three of you cleared my name.”
“We didn’t, Debbie dear,” said Liz. “We really didn’t do a thing.”
Debbie turned to the man behind her, young, with a blond beard and moustache. “Didn’t I tell you? Aren’t they lovely? You can never get them to take the credit for what they do.” She took his hand and drew him closer to the table. “Ladies, you remember Edward?”
“Oh yes,” said Marge. “We certainly do.”
“I don’t think we’ve met,” said Alfie, standing up and shaking the hand that wasn’t clutched in Debbie’s. “I’m Alfie McAlister.”
“Edward Wright. Good to meet you.” The young man had a pleasant voice and look. Alfie wasn’t sure what he expected a toy-boy to be like, but this wasn’t it.
“Edward and I have been talking about my vision for the salon,” said Debbie. “He’s going to give me an interest-free loan. And he thinks I’m paying too much rent.” She gazed up at him adoringly.
“Ah, my new landlord!” Rakesh joined them and wrung Edward’s hand. “Thank you for – anyway, we mustn’t talk business, but thank you, it will make all the difference. Your table’s waiting.”
Debbie released Edward’s hand and let him follow Rakesh before leaning over the table to speak confidentially. “I’m so grateful to you, and I’d like to offer you all a free salon treatment, whatever you want.”
“Not Botox,” said Marge. “But I’ve always wanted to try one of these hot stone massages.”
“Of course!” said Debbie. “It’s very good for relieving aches and pains. What about you, Liz?”
“If it relieves aches and pains, then I’d like the same, please,” said Liz.
“And Alfie? Hot stone massage for you as well?”
“If it’s okay with you,” said Alfie, “please may I have a pedicure?”