Peridale Cafe Mystery 21 - Profiteroles and Poison Read online

  “Did you pay Lynn?” Julia asked.

  “For a while,” she replied. “But I couldn’t keep doing it. This place costs a fortune to run, and I was in the process of redesigning the kitchen. My life is expensive. She was draining me like a leech, so I called her bluff. I cut her off. I didn’t think she’d actually go to him. I thought she’d renegotiate. I wanted to barter her down, but the witch wrote him a letter. He went straight to his lawyer and froze my money. The morning Lynn died . . . that phone call . . . that was him. Bragging that he’d permanently cut me off and I’d be hearing from his lawyer. I couldn’t believe it. I can’t believe it! I’m broke.”

  “That’s why you sold everything to my dad?”

  “I wanted to buy some time,” Kerry replied, glaring at her. “Your slimy father took advantage of my vulnerable state, but I didn’t have much choice. I couldn’t have debt collectors showing up. I’d sold almost everything else, and I could always repurchase furniture when I figured something out.”

  “You could have got a job,” Barker suggested.

  “I was thinking more of a new husband.” Kerry looked down at her ringless hand. “You know, I’m jealous of you two. You actually seem to love each other, unless that baby was an accident. Either way, you’ve got this far with it, even at your age. All three of my husbands made sure I never got that far. I kept trying. You know, beget the son and heir and secure my future. But men are so careful these days. And the older I get, the more difficult it is to find a man willing to provide the life I’ve grown accustomed to.”

  “I think I’ve heard enough,” Barker said, pulling the police radio from his pocket. He clicked it and, into the static fuzz, said, “Christie, we’re done.”

  The door opened seconds later, and police officers Julia hadn’t heard creep up the stairs rushed in and cuffed Kerry. She didn’t fight the cuffs as her twisted smile grew.

  “Not quite an ending for your novel, Mr Brown,” Kerry said as the officers hustled her out of the room. “How about one more twist?”

  Barker held up his hand. After glancing at each other and then at the radio in his hands, they stopped, accepting his non-existent authority.

  “Go on,” he ordered.

  “How about I whisper it to Julia?” The officers pulled Kerry back as she attempted a lunge. “I promise I won’t bite.”

  Gulping hard, Julia took one step closer to Kerry and leaned in. The officers pushed Kerry forward, keeping their tight grip on her. Shuddering, Julia turned her ear.

  “I saw who poisoned Lynn’s teapot,” she whispered, her hot breath, tinged with wine, tickling Julia’s ear.

  “Who?”

  “That would be telling.”

  Kerry pulled away from Julia voluntarily and stopped resisting the officers. She led the way down the steep staircase. Julia wanted so desperately to chase after her, to shake the answer out of her.

  This was all a game to Kerry.

  The letters.

  The threats.

  Lynn’s murder.

  “What did she say?” Christie demanded once they’d returned to the ground floor. “Did she confess?”

  “To the letters, yes.” Barker returned the radio. “She denies poisoning Lynn, but she says she saw who did it.”

  “And let me guess, she didn’t say who?”

  “Bingo.”

  “What about Terry Trotter?”

  “What about him?” Julia asked, arching a brow. “Is there a connection?”

  “Not yet, but I’m shutting this place down as a crime scene just to be safe.” He looked up at the high ceiling. “The official report isn’t through yet, but I’ve been getting somewhere with the Cumbria lot, finally. From the sounds of it, Terry Trotter has been dead for months; probably for as long as he’s been missing. There was some confusion because his body was so . . . well-preserved.”

  “How?” Barker asked.

  “Apparently, he, uh, spent the last few months frozen.”

  “Frozen?” Julia said. “How can you be sure?”

  “You know when you bring your Christmas turkey out of the freezer and it takes all night to defrost?” He grimaced. “When they found him, Terry Trotter hadn’t quite finished . . . thawing. And given how cold it’s been . . . well. Did she say anything that would suggest she could have killed Terry? If we can get her for both, she stands a better chance of going down. The letters alone, you’re only looking at a harassment charge.”

  “The affair?” Barker suggested, looking at Julia as though seeking approval for the idea. “She didn’t say who it was with?”

  “Maybe?” Julia scratched her head. “She could have met Terry through Debra via the book club?”

  “Good enough for me.” Christie motioned to the officers lingering outside the door. “Search this place from top to bottom. We’re looking for a freezer big enough to hold a human body. Don’t miss an inch.”

  As they set off on their task, Christie and Barker drifted outside.

  Julia didn’t follow. She went into the library, where, after spending so long in the cold house, the crackling fire warmed her through. Kerry had pushed the chairs from their meeting up against a bookcase, and a blow-up mattress had taken their place. A book she didn’t recognise rested on the pillow. Next to the bed, a lap tray contained a stack of thick cream paper, matching envelopes, and a pot of fountain pens.

  Scanning the bookshelves, she quickly figured out that Kerry kept her books in alphabetical order by author. At ‘B’, she found the original first edition hardback of The Girl in the Basement by Barker Brown. Below ‘To Kerry’, Barker’s familiar autograph filled half the page. A smudged red lipstick print covered half his name.

  Julia remembered that day like it was yesterday, and not just because a body had fallen out of the ceiling. She’d been so proud to see her husband live his dream. She was still proud. Contrary to Kerry’s suggestion that she didn’t want Barker to write anymore, she’d support him whatever he did.

  As she closed the book, the familiar cover was a reminder of how different things were now. Julia and Barker’s engagement had been in its infancy. The possibility of having a baby had barely been acknowledged. Alfie had only just settled in the village, Jessie still lived at the cottage, and Dot had been on her own. So much had changed, and so much more was about to. Their lives were at a tipping point, and the false labour was a stark reminder of how close that change was.

  If she said she wasn’t scared, she’d be lying.

  “Julia?” Barker called before opening the door. “You need to see this.”

  Julia slotted the book in its place and followed Barker to the door at the end of the hall. A less glamorous service hallway ran across the back of the house, lined with more closed doors running off to who knew where. Through the only open door, a staircase descended into a dark cellar.

  “Everyone out!” Christie demanded, ushering the officers back up the stairs. “Forensics will be here in ten. They’ll throw a fit if they find any of our DNA down here. Come on, move it!”

  Julia stepped to the side, letting the officers file out. Before Christie shut the door, she crouched slightly and got a quick glimpse of what had caused the commotion: a white plastic chest freezer lit by the harsh glow of an exposed tube light in the low ceiling.

  Julia had been sure Christie was trying to connect dots that weren’t there.

  Now, she wasn’t sure of anything at all.

  12

  BARKER

  Sipping his second coffee of the morning as rain lashed against the windows, Barker assessed the makeshift investigation board that had taken over the dining room wall. It wasn’t much, but it saved him having to go to the office.

  News of Kerry’s letter-writing arrest had spread the length and breadth of the village. Barker’s phone hadn’t stopped ringing in the few hours since sunrise. So far, he’d declined to give Johnny a quote for The Peridale Post and asked four ‘concerned’ villagers he didn’t know how they’d got hold of his
number.

  Scrolling through the comments under the ‘Lynn Sweet Suspect Sends Sick Letters’ article on the Peridale Chat group made it apparent most assumed Kerry was also behind Terry and Lynn’s murders. A man claiming to know someone inside the police was telling anyone who would interact with him that a ‘statement was coming soon’. A quick text to John confirmed the man was ‘talking rubbish’, as there was no statement to make.

  According to John, Kerry hadn’t given them anything other than ‘no comment’ and a sadistic smile. Barker had hoped the freezer in the basement was the glue to pull everything together, but it didn’t bode well that absolutely nothing had come back from the forensic department.

  Pinning Lynn’s murder on Kerry, however, was still very possible.

  It would make sense.

  Make the case easier.

  On the notes wall, he’d written every detail of Kerry’s confession he could remember, but her rapid switches between apology and arrogance made trusting the details difficult.

  “I’m afraid you’ve just fallen for the classic red herring,” she had said. The crazed look in her eyes was still fresh in his mind. “I only wrote the letters. I never killed anyone.”

  Had she confessed so openly to the letters hoping these fragments of honesty would be enough to distract from the whole truth?

  Or was it the truth?

  Barker almost wished this were one of the plots Kerry so desperately wanted him to write. He’d be able to tie everything together in whatever neat bow he liked. Investigating something with so many moving parts without the resources afforded to official detectives had him on the back foot.

  As it stood, the field of suspects hadn’t narrowed. Anyone in the book club could have slipped the lethal cocktail of medication into Lynn’s teapot, leaving behind no fingerprints or concrete evidence. If he were to believe Kerry, the killer hadn’t been careful enough to avoid detection; a theory that would narrow the list to three.

  If he were to believe Kerry.

  Barker removed his reading glasses and rubbed at his temples to ease the tension behind his eyes. He’d been up before the sun after yet another restless night. Floorboards creaked in the bedroom next door. He finished his coffee and waited for Julia to open the dining-room door.

  “Whoa.” Julia squinted through her sleepiness at the wall. “You’ve been busy. Getting anywhere?”

  “I wish,” he replied, pulling out the chair next to him. “I’m trying to decide if I should rule Kerry out of Lynn’s murder. And if I do, which of the other three has the most credible motive? They all had the opportunity and means.”

  “Means?” Julia asked after a yawn.

  “I thought Jade had the clearest connection to the medication that killed Lynn, and her being missing doesn’t help,” he said. “Debra is hardly a spring chicken, so she could have the medical issues for which those pills are prescribed. And Stacey is a nurse, so there’s that.” He rose, holding his empty coffee cup. “Might be time to double down and talk to them all again.”

  Julia ignored the chair and moved closer to the notes. Hands behind her back, she leaned in and started reading. A knock at the door pulled her away.

  “I’ll get it,” he said, already standing. “It’s probably some gossip wanting a recount of last night.”

  Or it could be Lynn’s murderer coming to eradicate the two people refusing to give up the search, but he kept that thought to himself. The gossips weren’t the only reason he’d wanted to stay at the cottage today.

  Barker opened the door and was surprised to see Stacey in a hooded raincoat.

  “Are you going to let me in?” she asked through chattering teeth. “Or are you going to keep staring at me like I have something on my face?”

  “Sorry.” Barker shook away the shock and ushered her in from the rain. “I wasn’t expecting to see you today, that’s all.”

  “It’s Julia’s antenatal appointment. It’s been in the calendar for a while.” She hung her wet coat on the hooks. “We’re understaffed enough without me taking time off to wallow at home. It’s not like my dad has just died. I’ve had four months to get used to the idea.”

  And less than twenty-four hours since confirmation of it.

  Stacey was comfortable in the cottage after her many professional and social visits, so she walked straight through the open dining-room door when she didn’t find Julia in the bedroom.

  “Why don’t we go through to the sitting room?” he heard Julia say.

  Remembering the wall, he raced in after her, but Stacey had already made a beeline for the notes. How could she avoid being lured in? He’d written the suspects’ names in bold marker.

  “Is this for real?” she asked, letting her bag slide onto the floor. “‘Could have stolen patient’s medication. Strong motive: wanting to keep unborn child’s paternity secret.’” She resisted Julia’s attempt to step in front of her and moved closer to the wall. “Is that what you really think of me? That I’d kill Lynn to keep my dirty little secret, which by the way, is no longer a secret. I told Ben last night like I was always going to. He reacted exactly like I thought he would, and I haven’t heard from him. Have you got a pen? I’ll add that myself.”

  “Stacey, it’s just procedure,” Barker said feebly. “It’s best to assess all information from a factual point of view. I’m sorry if—”

  “I’ve been visiting your office for months,” she cried, facing him with tears in her eyes. “Sobbing on your shoulder about my father. Pouring my heart out, thinking I could trust you.” She turned to Julia. “Both of you. And you think I’m capable of murdering Lynn? I knew the police had me on their list, but I assumed you two knew me better than that.” She turned to the wall again and ripped a sheet down. “‘Has an angry streak like her father.’ Where did you get this rubbish? You didn’t even know my dad. He was a timid, mild man. He wasn’t angry in the slightest.”

  “That’s what your mum told us,” Julia said, her voice as feeble as Barker’s had been. “Oh, I’m sorry, Stacey. You shouldn’t have had to see any of this. It’s not what we think of you. It’s just information to see the bigger picture. I know how it looks, but—”

  “Your picture is wrong.” Stacey scrunched the paper up and tossed it across the room before ripping down another. “It’s all wrong. My mum and dad didn’t separate earlier this year. What utter nonsense!”

  “Your mum didn’t want you to find out. She didn’t want you to get upset,” Barker offered.

  “Why would I be upset about my adult parents separating?” Stacey forced a bitter laugh. “I wanted him to leave her. He wanted to leave her. He confided in me about everything. Told me he wanted to divorce her but didn’t know how to approach it. She clung to him. She was terrified of losing the one person she somehow hadn’t pushed away.”

  “And your mum didn’t know any of this before he went missing?” Barker asked, a brow arching.

  Stacey shook her head. “He feared the confrontation. Like I said, he wouldn’t say boo to a goose. The week he disappeared, we met for a drink at The Plough. He asked if I knew of any divorce lawyers. I was so happy for him, but he never got around to telling her.”

  “But that came from your mum,” Julia said, looking at Barker with the same worry in her eyes that was bubbling in his chest. “She volunteered that information. She was the first to tell us she was being blackmailed by Lynn because of . . .”

  “‘Lynn found Debra’s online dating profile’,” Stacey read aloud before forcing out a laugh. “She told you she was online dating? My mother doesn’t even have a TV, let alone a computer.”

  “She said that about the TV,” Julia said to Barker. “At the bookshop the first time we interviewed her.”

  “Couldn’t stand modern things,” he remembered aloud. “Wait, if she didn’t have a TV, how did Terry sit around ignoring her all day watching football?”

  “My dad hated football.” Stacey looked between them, clearly confused by the impression they
had of her father. “He was a reader like my mother. It was one of the few things they still had in common. That, and how much they loved the bookshop.”

  Barker glanced at Julia, and her expression told him her mind had wandered down the same dark path. They both knew the statistics related to spouses being likely culprits when their other halves disappeared under mysterious circumstances.

  By her own admission, the police had interviewed Debra repeatedly when Terry first vanished, and her home searched multiple times. They never found anything, and with no clear evidence to suggest Terry wasn’t alive somewhere, they dropped the lead. Debra hadn’t offered much in the way of useful information when Barker first took on the case and pulled on that same lead. Like Stacey, she’d only said he was there one day, and gone the next.

  “Why didn’t you mention anything about the divorce earlier?” he asked.

  “Because it didn’t seem important?” Stacey said almost defensively. “It was just talk. Even then, I didn’t think he’d go through with it. He was the sort of man who would just go along to get along.” She pulled another note off the wall. “Although you’ve got one thing right. She did ask me to keep her affair secret when I was a kid. I think my dad knew, but I didn’t want to be the one to hurt him like that, so I kept my promise. That’s not the reason we aren’t close, though. We’ve never really been close.”

  “Why not?” Barker pushed.

  “She’s always been . . . too much.” She sighed as though conflicted about even admitting it. “Suffocating. Dad always said we were like chalk and cheese. I couldn’t wait to move out, but even when I did, she still wouldn’t give me space to be myself. She wanted to be involved in every decision, to control everything. I consciously put distance between us. I needed it. I wasn’t close to my dad because I wasn’t close to her. I actually like” – she paused and corrected – “liked him.”

  The mention of her father brought a fresh stream of tears. She wiped them away and sat at the table. She dragged her fingers through her dark hair as she gnawed at her bottom lip.