Chocolate Cake and Chaos (Peridale Cafe Cozy Mystery Book 4) Page 2

  Julia's stomach knotted inside her as she bit her lip and looked down at the ground to stare at her filthy and torn tights. It had been three weeks since Barker had been suspended and there hadn't been a day that Julia hadn't blamed herself for getting him into this mess. She was pouring her energy into baking the most perfect chocolate cake for Barker, but it didn't disguise the fact it had been her actions that had caused his suspension. Dragging him into helping her solve the murders of homeless men without official police support was a decision she was regretting every day.

  "No news is good news," Julia offered pathetically.

  "I've never heard of a Detective Inspector being suspended and getting their job back," he said with a small smile. "I need to face the reality of the situation."

  "Temporary suspension," she reminded him. "That's what they said. They would be stupid to let you go."

  Barker smiled at her, but she could see the worry in his eyes. He had been trying to hide it the best he could, most likely to ease her guilt, but they had been spending a lot of time together since he had been without a job, and she had seen the silence from the station chip away at his hope day by day.

  There was nothing Julia could say to ease his worry, so she stood up on her tiptoes and pulled him into a hug. He nuzzled his face into her neck as she squeezed him tightly while the bright sun shone down on them. Julia wished she could make everything better, but behind her words of support, she was just as worried. She couldn't live with herself if her stupid actions lost Barker his career.

  "It'll be okay," she whispered as she opened her eyes. "Everything will be -,"

  Her voice trailed off when she looked ahead at Barker's cottage. She pulled away from the hug and walked around him to unhook the gate as she squinted at what appeared to be flowers on Barker's doorstep.

  "What's that?" Barker asked as he followed her down the garden path.

  Julia shielded her face from the sun and narrowed her eyes, her vision not what it had been in her twenties. The flowers were arranged in a circular design, with a black sash across its middle adorned with decorative silver lettering. When she figured out what the letters spelt out, all of the moisture vanished from her mouth. She parted her lips to speak, but no words came out.

  "What the -," Barker mumbled.

  "‘R.I.P. Barker'," Julia read aloud in a small voice as they looked down at the flowers. "It's a funeral wreath."

  Chapter 2

  Barker paced back and forth, the wreath filling his coffee table. Julia caught herself chewing on the ends of her short nails, something she only found herself doing when she was incredibly stressed. During her divorce, she had practically chomped them down to her cuticles.

  "It's probably a joke," Barker said hopefully. "Right? A joke?"

  "It's not very funny," Julia said, avoiding looking at the wreath. "Who do you know that has this particular brand of humour?"

  Barker paused for a moment while he stared down at the wreath, his brows tensed tightly. He shrugged and continued to pace as he ran his fingers compulsively through his hair.

  "Who does this?" Barker asked, straining a laugh. "It's sick."

  Julia fearfully looked down at the wreath, as if it was a bomb that might explode at any moment. It was clearly a threat. It had felt dirty and strangely weighty in her hands when she had brought it into the cottage.

  The doorbell rang, offering a distraction for both of them. Julia jumped up, and Barker headed for the door, giving her a troubled look as he passed her. Alone with the wreath, she forced herself to read the words again. ‘R.I.P. Barker'. She bit hard into her index fingernail, catching the skin underneath it. Muttering under her breath, she crammed the end of her finger into her mouth, the cut stinging against the edge of her tongue.

  "Julia, this is Detective Sergeant Forbes."

  A man who looked to be in his late fifties walked into Barker's sitting room. He was of average height, with a large stomach pushing through his suit jacket. He had a head of thinning, grey hair, combed over from what was left on the sides. His face reminded Julia of Santa Claus, with plump red cheeks, and a grey goatee framing his smiling mouth.

  "Please, call me Bradley," he said, his voice squeakier and higher pitched than Julia had expected. "I've heard a lot about you from this one. He's quite smitten."

  "Thanks for coming, Bradley," Barker said, slapping the man on the shoulder. "I didn't know who else to call."

  "You sounded rather rattled on the phone, old friend. Is everything okay?"

  Julia stepped to the side, glancing down at the wreath as she did. Bradley squinted at the flowers before pulling a pair of thick-rimmed glasses from his upper pocket. With his eyes magnified to the size of large saucers, he leant into the wreath, teasing the sash with a finger.

  "Who died?" Bradley asked. "Does that say -,"

  "Barker," Julia said with a nod. "It was on the doorstep when we came back from the beer festival."

  "Oh, how was it?" Bradley asked with a cheerful grin. "I meant to drop by, but I shouldn't really drink on the job. You know what it's like."

  Bradley chuckled as he took off his glasses and slotted them back into his pocket. Julia looked desperately to Barker, wanting him to stress the seriousness of the situation.

  "The thing is, Bradley, somebody left this on my doorstep," Barker continued. "Why don't I make you a cup of tea?"

  "I'm parched, that would be great," Bradley said, already sitting on Barker's creaky white leather sofa. "A wreath, eh? Is this someone’s idea of a practical joke?"

  "I hope so," Julia whispered, sitting next to Bradley as Barker rushed into the kitchen.

  "Not very funny, is it?"

  "That's what I said."

  Barker returned with a cup of tea for Bradley, a cup of coffee for himself, and a cup of peppermint and liquorice tea for Julia. She had never been more grateful for a mug of her favourite comforting beverage.

  "How are things at the station?" Barker asked as he sat in his armchair, perching on the edge, dividing his attention between Bradley and the wreath.

  "Oh, you know," Bradley said with a small shrug. "The usual."

  Barker nodded and looked down into the black surface of his coffee. Julia could tell he was disappointed with Bradley's answer. He missed the station so much, he probably would have liked to hear the boring in and out details of their usual daily routines.

  "Heard anything from the gaffer yet about my – ya'know – suspension?" Barker urged, twitching in his seat.

  "You know the Chief Inspector," Bradley said with another small shrug. "Jim is a man who works at his own pace. I'm sure you'll be back soon enough, although not too quick I hope. I'm enjoying playing inspector while you're away."

  "So they haven't replaced him?" Julia asked. "I'm sure that's a good sign. Right, Barker?"

  Barker nodded as he sipped his coffee, his eyes firmly on the wreath. Julia could tell it didn't reassure him as much as she had hoped.

  "Rough business, this suspension," Bradley said as he blew on his tea. "It will sort itself out. You watch. You don't get to be my age in the force without ruffling a few feathers."

  "Have you ever been suspended?" Barker asked.

  "Well, not quite. But I've had my fair share of slaps on the wrist!" Bradley replied with a soft chuckle, his bright red cheeks glowing. "Any idea who sent this thing?"

  "Not that I can think of."

  "Somebody you've upset?"

  "You don't make many friends in our job, you know that."

  "I do indeed," Bradley said, nodding in agreement as he turned and smiled at Julia. "I once had a steaming bag of – well – since we're in the presence of a lady, I won't go there. But it's not a job that wins you favour with the people. Anybody you arrested recently that you might have given enough reason to want to scare you?"

  Barker gawked at the wreath and seemed to rack his brain for a minute.

  "There's a couple," Barker said with a heavy sigh. "Peridale's a quiet place. Most of the t
ime it is trouble with the kids from the Fern Moore Estate."

  "I said they should never have built that awful place," Bradley said, his squeaky voice deepening suddenly. "Brought my house value down thousands back in the eighties. Of course, it's fine now, what with our beautiful village being so desirable, but that's not the point. Nothing good comes out of Fern Moore! They’re all slippery little buggers from that place!”

  "Billy Matthews, for example," Barker whispered under his breath.

  "You said that name before," Julia said, her ears pricking up. "That kid who tried to steal my handbag?"

  "Billy Matthews pinched your bag?" Bradley cried, shifting awkwardly in his seat, his large stomach not allowing for much movement. "Did you report it?"

  "Well, he didn't steal it. We caught him, but he tried. That boy can run."

  "He's a little toad," Bradley mumbled after sipping his tea. "Might as well get him a permanent cell at the station. Arrested more times than I've had hot dinners. Always let off with a caution or a fine though. I say lock him away and throw away the key, even if he is only seventeen!"

  "I arrested him for stealing Denise Andrews' tractor from Peridale Farm not long before I was suspended," Barker said, suddenly snapping his fingers together. "He was here in the village today. It's got to be him!"

  "I wouldn't put it past him," Bradley affirmed. "Aren't these wreath things on the pricey side? When my dad died, the flowers for his send off cost us a small fortune, and that was ten years back."

  "He could have stolen another bag?" Julia offered. "He seemed to know what he was doing."

  "This isn't his style," Barker said, talking himself out of it. "He's more likely to put a brick through your window. He doesn't have the brains for this."

  They all sat in silence again as they tried to think of how the wreath could have turned up on Barker's doorstep. Julia didn't know the ins and outs of Barker's list of enemies, but she did know that whoever sent the wreath meant to seriously scare Barker, and if not frighten him, to warn him. She looked at the writing again, then gulped down her warm tea, not wanting to think of what it could really mean.

  "It's probably nothing," Barker said, breaking the silence. "Can you look into it, old chap? Unofficially, of course. No point kicking up a fuss over some flowers."

  "Leave it with me," Bradley said with a wink and a tap on the side of his nose. "I'll get to the bottom of this. Just call me Detective Inspector Forbes. Can you imagine?"

  The man chuckled again, finished his tea, and stood up. He shook Julia's hand once more and headed for the door with a promise that he would look into it the second he was back at the station. When he reached the front door, he stopped in his tracks and turned back to Barker, his brows pinched, a curious look in his eyes.

  "I’ve been meaning to ask you this for a while. Does the name ‘Jeffrey Taylor' mean anything to you?" Bradley asked as he brushed down the wispy stray strands of hair on the top of his head.

  Barker's face turned a deathly shade of white right before Julia. Eyes wide and jaw gritted, Barker looked more terrified by the name than he had at the wreath.

  "Where did you hear that?"

  "Your name came up in conversation with his earlier this week. He's just moved into the village, and they usually let us know when new releases come to our corner of the world."

  "Jeffrey Taylor is here?" Barker asked quickly. "In Peridale?"

  "Staying at Evelyn's B&B last I heard," Bradley said, the twinkle in his eye growing ever more curious. "Anything we should be worried about, boss?"

  Barker appeared to be somewhere else, his eyes completely glazed as he stared through Bradley, through the door, and out of Peridale entirely. Julia nudged him, and he blinked forcefully, suddenly looking down into Bradley's face again. He forced a smile, which Julia recognised as his ‘everything is fine' smile, and shook his head.

  "He's nobody," Barker said confidently. "Thanks for coming ‘round. If you hear anything about my job, you have my number."

  Bradley shook Julia's hand for the third time, and then left them alone in the cottage. When Barker closed the door behind him, he leant against the wood and banged his head against the frosted panel of glass.

  "Who's Jeffrey Taylor?" Julia asked, her voice suddenly shaky. "Barker? Are you okay? You don't look well."

  Barker's eyes glazed over again, and he seemed to be somewhere else entirely until he blinked and looked down to Julia, this time without the forced smile he had given Bradley.

  "He's somebody I put away on a murder charge years ago, and last I heard he was serving a life sentence in prison," Barker said, his voice gritty. "Last time I saw him was in court for his sentencing. He said if he ever saw me again, he'd kill me, and now I guess he's in Peridale."

  Julia felt a fist tighten around her heart as the village she adored suddenly became a dangerous place. She pulled Barker into the living room, sitting him back in his chair. She forced his cup of coffee into his hands. He stared down into the dark liquid, but he didn't drink it. Julia had so many questions to ask, but Barker had experienced enough stress for one day so she decided she would wait until he wanted to talk.

  Instead, she went through to his kitchen and made ham and cheese sandwiches with the few ingredients in Barker's fridge. When Barker started to eat, Julia's nerves eased a little. She looked at the wreath once more, something new catching her eye. A small white tag was poking out from under the sash, which must have been disrupted by DS Forbes' brief examination. She reached out and read the stitched writing on the small tag.

  "At least we know the florist," Julia said, a small smile lifting up the corners of her lips. "It's from Pretty Petals, the only florist in Peridale. I think we need to pay them a visit and get to the bottom of this ourselves."

  Chapter 3

  Mulberry Lane was the oldest known street in Peridale. Its golden Cotswold stone buildings, with sagging slate roofs, and tiny windows and doors, dated back to the 1700s. The shops and cottages contained within the winding lane were impossibly crammed together, as though they had been built on top of each other. They looked like they could crumble without a moment's notice. Despite this, they had stood the test of time.

  Julia pulled up outside Pretty Petals in her aqua blue Ford Anglia. She crammed her stiff handbrake into place, and she peered through the single-paned bay window of the tiny shop. Just seeing the flowers made her feel uneasy.

  "We're taking my car next time," Barker mumbled as he unbuckled his seatbelt. "This thing is ready for the scrap heap."

  "She's vintage."

  "She's close to death."

  Julia almost laughed, but the mention of death stopped her. The wreath was still burning a hole in the pit of her stomach, as well as Barker's coffee table.

  They climbed out of her petite car and stood on the narrow pavement outside the shop. They both stared at the small hand-painted sign, its peeling lettering matching that of the tiny white tag on the sash. Barker pulled it out of his pocket, and held it up to the sign, just to make sure.

  "Let me do the talking," Barker said as he adjusted his stiff white collar. "It is my wreath, after all."

  Julia nodded and pulled an invisible zip across her lips, locking it at the corner. She wondered if she should have told Barker that she knew the owner of the shop, but it hadn't gone unnoticed to her that he had dressed for the occasion in a freshly ironed shirt, pressed trousers, and his shiniest shoes. She hadn't seen him dressed so smartly since his suspension, and even though he didn't have his job back yet, it warmed her to know he had a purpose again, even if it was under morbid circumstances.

  A bell tinkled as Barker opened the door. He ducked into the shop, holding the door open for Julia. She stepped inside, and the scents of a dozen different brightly coloured flowers fought for her attention. A bucket of unusually bright yellow roses caught her eye, which she thought would look nice in her kitchen window. She made a mental note to pick up a bouquet for herself if things went well.

 
They weaved in and out of the displays towards the counter, where Harriet Barnes was peering over the top of her hot-pink glasses as she re-potted a bright orange plant with thick green leaves. Barker cleared his throat, but she held up a finger without looking at him.

  "Just a second," she mumbled. "This part is critical."

  Julia bit her lip to stop herself from laughing. With a frown deep in his brow, Barker puffed out his chest and stiffened his back, the top of his hair almost touching the low-beamed ceiling.

  "Perfect!" Harriet exclaimed, holding the plant up to the light. "Don't you think? Nothing makes me happier than a healthy guzmania. They are beautiful, aren't they? Oh! Hello, Julia! What can I do for you today?"

  Julia smiled her acknowledgement, but she kept true to her promise to let Barker do the talking. She stepped to the side and allowed him to take centre stage, something that caused Harriet to pull off her glasses so she could assess him suspiciously. Harriet was a regular in Julia's café, always ordering a cup of camomile tea with a slice of fruitcake. Aside from her amazing florist skills, she was well known in the village for her crazy patterned cardigans and her frizzy silver hair, which was always held up in a bun by two pencils. She was also known to call upon them if anybody ever needed something to write with.

  "I was wondering if I could ask you some questions, Mrs. -,"

  "Ms. Barnes," Harriet corrected him firmly. "I kept my husband's name after divorcing him. It was a darn sight better than Harriet Hudders. I can't tell you how many cow and milk jokes I had to endure as a child. And you are?"

  "Detective Inspector Barker Brown," he said, a quiver in his voice. "I'm here unofficially to ask you about a wreath I think you might have made."

  "I should hope it's unofficial," Harriet said casually as she put her glasses back on before flicking through a large appointment book in front of her. "I heard the new DI was fired quite recently."